i^^
 
 FUN 
 
 EVERY TUESDAY. 
 ONE PENNY.
 
 BEAUTIES OF THE PERIOD.
 
 MERRY THOUGHTS. 
 
 BY 
 
 TOM HOOD 
 
 AND OTHER AUTHORS. 
 
 PHOFUSEIaY IlalaUSTHATED BY VAHIOUS AHTISTS. 
 ENGRAVED BY DALZIEL BROTHERS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PUBLISHED AT THE "FUN" OFFICE, 
 
 153 FLEET STREET, E.G.
 
 SRLF 
 URL 
 
 oo/z.oiOL3C? 
 
 THE POTEiNCY OF COMIC ANNUALS. 
 
 (^ir JiU-tcnrccalcb ^.bbcvtbcmcnf.) 
 
 You generally find 
 That folks of all conditions 
 Are anything but kind 
 
 To ghostly apparitions ; 
 To cheerless spots and wet 
 
 The ghosts we always shoulder, 
 And there they sit and fret, 
 
 And miserably moulder. 
 But give the ghost a chance 
 
 Like any living body ; 
 Invite him in to dance 
 
 Or take a little " toddy ; " 
 He'd undergo a quite 
 
 Delightful reformation 
 With proper warmth and light 
 
 And cheerful conversation. 
 I Ve theories that fit 
 
 This theme, and like to spout 'em ; 
 The space will not admit 
 
 Or I 'd enlarge about 'em.
 
 12 THE POTENCY OF COMIC ANNUALS. 
 
 Amid my lordly park 
 
 Particularly ONE, 
 
 (A commonplace possession 
 
 Which ever shall be nameless. 
 
 Among, I may remark, 
 
 I read these books aloud ; 
 
 The Comic Bard profession), 
 
 The act was well-directed ; 
 
 Amid its wooded land, 
 
 The disembodied crowd 
 
 In fine chaotic jumble. 
 
 Were visibly affected ; 
 
 A monastery and 
 
 But laughter was unknown 
 
 Its cemetery crumble. 
 
 To these monastic sages 
 
 For this secluded spot 
 
 W^hose sanctity had blown 
 
 At eventide I started. 
 
 About the middle ages. 
 
 And haply found a lot 
 
 
 Of ghosts of monks departed ; 
 
 They thought they ought to weep 
 
 These shades were damp and sad, 
 
 On hearing comic verses, 
 
 A thing to be expected 
 
 Displaying all the deep 
 
 In ghosts who always had 
 
 Solemnity of hearses. 
 
 Been brutally neglected ; 
 
 I realized with ease 
 
 As dismal as their home, 
 
 This fault of education ; 
 
 Their single recreation, — 
 
 I taught them by degrees 
 
 A musty spectre tome 
 
 The art of cachinnation. 
 
 With queer illumination. 
 
 The erst despondent elves 
 
 
 Became elate and hearty ; 
 
 I recognized aright 
 
 They gave among themselves 
 
 The physic they were needing — 
 
 A weekly dinner-party ; 
 
 A little wholesome, light, 
 
 A joyous mortal tone 
 
 Exhilarating reading. 
 
 Now marked their everj^ action, 
 
 The yearly books were new 
 And gay with illustrations; 
 
 I went and chose a few 
 Among these publications ; 
 
 These books are full of fun, 
 Their moral tone is blameless ; 
 
 Transparency alone 
 
 Betraying their extraction ; 
 Though some of mortal clay, 
 
 I have my own suspicions. 
 In this especial trait 
 
 Excel those apparitions. 
 
 J. F. Sullivan,
 
 SOME TRADE ADVERTISEMENTS.
 
 IN THE WRONG BOX. 
 
 W 
 
 'HEN Eagle Davis died, 
 I was sittin' by his side, 
 'T was in Boston, Massachusetts ; and he said to me, 
 " Old boy ! 
 This climate— as you see — 
 Isn't quite the size for me ; 
 Dead or livin', take me back if you can to EUanoy ! " 
 
 So I took him by the hand. 
 
 But he'd just run out his sand. 
 And his breath was gone for ever — before a word 
 would come ; 
 
 Then I and other three, 
 
 Together did agree, 
 In a party for to travel and to funeralize him home. 
 
 But Goshen Wheeler said. 
 
 As he looked upon the dead, 
 Weepin' mildly, "Just remark my observation what 
 I say : 
 
 That deceased, now glorious, 
 
 Was in life a curious cuss, 
 And somethin' unexpectable will happen on the way. 
 
 " Frum the time that he was born 
 Till he doubled round the Horn 
 Of Death, all his measurements and pleasurements 
 were odd. 
 And odd his line will be 
 As you 're registered to see 
 Till his walnut case is underneath the gravel and 
 the sod." 
 
 It was bitter winter weather 
 
 When we all four got together 
 At the depot with the coffin in an extra packin' box, 
 
 And a friend, with good intent, 
 
 A cask of whiskey sent. 
 Just to keep our boats from wrackin', as they say, 
 upon the rocks. 
 
 Then a ticket agent he 
 Seein' mournin', says to me, 
 " Can I get the cards, or help you in your trouble. 
 Mister Brown?" 
 So with solemn words I said, 
 As I pinted to the dead, 
 " There you '11 find, I guess, our pilgrimage and 
 shrine is written down." 
 
 Then all night beneath the stars, 
 We sat grimly in the cars, 
 Sometimes sleepin', sometimes thinkin', sometimes 
 drinkin', till the dawn ; 
 And each man went in his turn 
 To the baggage-crate to learn 
 If the box was keepin' time with us ; and how 't was 
 gettin' on. 
 
 Then all day beneath the sun. 
 
 Still the train went rushin' on, 
 While we still kep' as silent as grave-stones as we 
 went : 
 
 Playin' euchre solemnly, 
 
 Which we kinder did agree 
 With the stakes to build for Davis a decent monu- 
 
 [ment. 
 
 'Bout once in every mile 
 
 Some mourner took a smile, 
 But we did no other smilin' as we travelled day or 
 
 And once in every hour [night, 
 
 Some one went into the bower. 
 And reported the receptacle of Davis was all right. 
 
 But when four days were past, 
 Which we still were flyin' fast, 
 Goshen Wheeler, very solemn, with expression to 
 us cries, 
 " Where we are it should be freezin' 
 And our very breaths a-squeezin', 
 Whereas the air is hot enough to bake persimmen 
 pies.
 
 IN THE WRONG BOX. 
 
 15 
 
 " Don't you smell a rich perfume 
 As of summer flowers in bloom ? 
 'T is magnolias a-peddled by yon humble coloured 
 boy : 
 Now, I never yet did know 
 That the sweet mag-no-li-o 
 Grew in winter in the latitude of Northern Ellanoy." 
 
 Then said Ebenezer Dotton, 
 " I behold a field of cotton, 
 And I wonder how in thunder such a veg'table got 
 here. 
 I don't know how we 're fixed, 
 But the climate 's gettin' mixed. 
 And it's spilin' very rapidly with warmness as I 
 fear." 
 
 Spoke Mister Aaron Bland, 
 " I perceive on yonder land 
 That sugar-cane is bloomin', correctly, all in rows. 
 And not to make allusions 
 To Republican delusions, 
 But the niggers air a-gettin' all around as thick as 
 crows." 
 
 Still we sat there mighty glum 
 Till along a fellow come. 
 And I says, says I, " Conductor, now tell us what it 
 means, 
 Just inform us where we be ?" 
 " Wall, now, gentlemen," said he, 
 I reckon we air comin' to the spot called New 
 Or-le^ns." 
 
 So we rushed all in a row, 
 
 When we got to the depot, 
 To the baggage-crate a-wonderin' at these trans- 
 formation scenes ; 
 
 And we found out unexpected. 
 
 That the box had been directed 
 Not unto Ellanoy, but to a man in New Orleens ! 
 
 Without carin' if I 'd catch it, 
 
 I straightway took a hatchet, 
 And busted off the cover without openin' my mouth ; 
 
 And found a grand planner 
 
 Which we 'd followed for our banner 
 All the way from Massachusetts unto the sunny 
 South ! 
 
 Then I said, " I rather guess 
 
 I can see into this mess. 
 And explain the startlin' error which has given you 
 such shocks. 
 
 When that Boston fellow, he 
 
 Asked the route I 'd take of me, 
 I pinted, inadvertional, unto another box." 
 
 Now Eagle Davis lies 
 Beneath the Northern skies. 
 Where the snow is on the pine-tree while we are 
 with the palm, 
 But I reckon if his spirit 
 Should ever come to hear it, 
 He'll be perfectly contented with the story in this 
 psalm, 
 
 Charles G. Leland.
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 MR. BROWNSMITH hoped that it would 
 be a boy ; was indeed confident that it 
 Avould be a boy. Mrs. Brovvnsmith, on the other 
 hand, maintained a prudent reserve ; her aspirations 
 and her opinions remained unexpressed. She contem- 
 plated the subject broadly — she eschewed details. 
 She prepared to give the expected child the warmest 
 of welcomes, the best and choicest of baby linen. 
 Boy or girl, what did it matter? It was enough for 
 her that it would be a baby, and that she would be 
 its mother — Mr. Brownsmith, of course, being its 
 father. But when events of this sort are under con- 
 sideration, the father is usually viewed as " a bad 
 second " — to employ a term of the turf — if, indeed, 
 he may not rather be described as " nowhere." 
 
 The Brownsmiths had been married some years. 
 Their childless state had been a source of keen re- 
 gret to them. It was, therefore, with much gratifi- 
 cation and special interest they now looked forward 
 to the advent of a bantling — possibly a son and heir 
 — at the very least, a daughter and heiress. 
 
 Jacob Brownsmith was a prosperous gentleman : 
 he had realized a very comfortable fortune by his 
 successful trading in spermaceti, spelter, and sundry 
 other articles. His offices were in Mincing Lane ; 
 his private house, "a noble mansion," according to 
 the auctioneers, was in Harley Street, Cavendish 
 Square. He had married rather late in life, having 
 long been regarded by his friends as a confirmed 
 bachelor. But, of course, confirmed bachelors are 
 always possible husbands ; just as the lowest class 
 of savages are convertible into Christians when duly 
 qualified missionaries arrive upon the scene. 
 
 Joseph Perkins and Jacob Brownsmith had been 
 boys together — fond and firm friends. For some 
 time they had run a sort of ncck-and-neck race for 
 fortune. But the prize was not for Joseph Perkins. 
 He was at length completely outstripped by Jacob 
 Brownsmith, who, when in sight of the goal, looked 
 ■back to find his old comrade and rival altogether 
 
 out of the running, prone upon the sward, fallen 
 never to rise again. Dying, Joseph bequeathed his 
 only child, Janet, to the care of Jacob, appointing him 
 her sole guardian. Janet was not pretty exactly, but 
 her looks appealed to sympathy. Jacob Brownsmith 
 found himself much moved towards Janet Perkins. 
 Presently he asked her to become his wife. Perhaps 
 he thought he could best fulfil the duties of a guar- 
 dian by combining with them the responsibilities of 
 a husband. She consented. She did not love him, 
 but she certainly liked him. He had always been 
 very kind to her. She had not repented her accept- 
 ance of his suit. 
 
 Jacob Brownsmith was fifty, and looked as much. 
 He was rubicund and double-chinned ; his figure was 
 rotund ; his hair and whiskers were iron-grey. He 
 was, indeed, a person of rather commonplace aspect. 
 Still, he was a worthy and pleasant man, genial and 
 frank; and he was supposed to have acquired his 
 wealth by honest courses, although, as he openly 
 avowed, he had sprung from nothing. He said this, 
 however, with an air conveying that it was rather ad- 
 vantageous than otherwise to spring from nothing, 
 and that, so springing, you were more likely than not 
 to arrive at something. At the same time he admitted 
 with regret that his education — he preferred to call 
 it cddication — had not been what it might have been. 
 He had, in truth, received few benefits of that kind. 
 He understood his business and the City generally ; 
 but away from Mincing Lane he was an uninformed 
 man. That he wrote a very bad hand did not matter 
 so much, but he spelt shockingly ; and he was pro- 
 foundly ignorant of many things that are commonly 
 known. 
 
 He was all the more resolved that the son about 
 to be born unto him should be fully possessed of the 
 advantages which he had been denied. The boy 
 should be highly educated, both classically and com- 
 mercially. No expense should be spared. He should 
 be placed at the best of schools and colleges. The
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 17 
 
 most accomplished masters should be secured and 
 charged to instruct him extremely. He should learn 
 Latin and Greek, possibly Hebrew, and certainly 
 book-keeping by double entry. He should make 
 the acquaintance of the ancient sages, poets, and 
 historians, and should be intimate, nevertheless, 
 with spelter and spermaceti. His morality should 
 be likewise particularly cared for, and altogether he 
 should become and be regarded generally as a 
 superior person. 
 
 Jacob Brownsmith was, indeed, much bent upon 
 his son's becoming a Superior Person. 
 
 II. 
 
 Midnight and past. The event so long looked 
 forward to in the house of Brownsmith was now 
 imminent. The doctor had been sent for. The 
 nurse had already arrived — a portly woman, who 
 spoke in a loud husky whisper — bringing with her 
 an umbrella, a bundle, a brown paper parcel, a 
 basket, and a large box covered with cow-hide and 
 decked with brass nails. She evidently purposed to 
 make some stay. She was as an army of occupa- 
 tion : there was no knowing exactly when she would 
 vacate the premises. 
 
 A subdued and considerate knock at the street 
 door. The Brownsmiths' medical man was in at- 
 tendance. Lights whisked and flitted about the 
 house. Converse was carried on in whispered tones. 
 
 Mr. Brownsmith felt that there was nothing for 
 him but patience; although, under all the circum- 
 stances of the case, it was not so easy to be patient. 
 He paced up and down, up and down the dining- 
 room in Harley Street. The thick Turkey carpet 
 deadened the sound of his footsteps. There were 
 many bottles and glasses upon the table ; a decanter 
 of very choice port wine was especially to be ob- 
 served. Mr. Brownsmith thought that possibly the 
 doctor might like a glass of wine, or that the nurse 
 might require support. Moreover, he felt his own 
 need of refreshment ; and he had a notion of drink- 
 ing as soon as he possibly could to the health and 
 long life of his son and heir. Meantime he waited, 
 walking up and down. He lit a cigar, stirred and 
 re -stirred the fire — it was wintry weather — but the 
 
 room was already almost intolerably hot. He mixed 
 himself a strong glass of brandy and v.atcr. 
 
 in. 
 
 Suddenly Mr. Brownsmith paused in front or 
 his bookcase. His expression was one of vacancy 
 or abstractedness as he glanced at his books, and he 
 permitted his fingers to wander about them, lightly 
 tapping their backs. Usually Mr. Brownsmith was 
 not a man who cared for books. Still, there were 
 books in his house— not many, but some — as there 
 were pictures, china, chiftbniers, and cabinets. He 
 took down one or two volumes, making his selection 
 quite at random as it seemed. He found himself 
 turning over the leaves of a work entitled " The 
 Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gent." He 
 hardly knew what he was doing. A more modern 
 production was tucked beneath his arm. It con- 
 tained, among other things, curious particulars con- 
 cerning a certain lady named Gamp. 
 
 He read of Mr. and Mrs. Shandy, of my irncle 
 Toby, of the birth of Tristram, and of other matters. 
 
 " ' It is two hours and ten minutes, and no more, 
 cried my father, looking at his watch, 'since Dr. 
 Slop and Obadiah arrived, and I know not how it 
 happens, brother Toby, but to my imagination it 
 almost seems an age.' " And so on. 
 
 By-and-bye he was reading a true and particular 
 account of one Mrs. Harris, related by her most 
 intimate friend. 
 
 " ' I have know'd that sweetest and best of women 
 said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her head and shedding 
 tears, ' ever since afore her first, which Mr. Harris, 
 who was dreadful timid, went and stopped his ears 
 in a empty dog-kennel, and never took his hands 
 away or come out once till he was showed the baby, 
 when being took with fits, the doctor collared him. 
 and laid him on his back upon the airy stones, and 
 she was told, to ease her mind, his 'owls was or- 
 gans,' " &c., &c. 
 
 " Dear me, dear me !" said Mr. Brownsmith, and 
 he mused over the appositeness of these passages, 
 his own circumstances being considered. He recog- 
 nized too that there was really more in books than 
 he had been altogether aware of previously. 
 
 2
 
 i8 
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 Then — whether it was induced by the unusual 
 exercise of reading, or by the lieat of the room, the 
 strength of his brandy and water, the fumes of his 
 cigar, or the veiy trying nature of the position in 
 which he found himself, a certain numbness or 
 letharg}' stole over him, suppressing his sensations 
 without wholly deadening his faculties. He did not 
 go to sleep — he was quite positive as to that — but 
 some of the earlier symptoms of sleep he admitted 
 he did experience. All the same, as to his mind, 
 he maintained that in the whole course of his life 
 he had never been wider awake, if so wide. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Twins ! " Mr. Brownsmith 
 
 was not quite sure who was the 
 
 speaker. It might have been 
 
 the doctor. It might have been 
 
 the nurse. 
 
 The room was dark. 
 The lamp was burning 
 dimly ; the flame, a 
 sickly blue in colour, 
 flickered and smoked, 
 emitting an unpleasant 
 odour. The fire had 
 sunk to a dark mass of 
 embers, which glowed 
 feebly but shed little 
 light. 
 
 " Twins ! " repeated Mr. Brownsmith. " I only 
 expected one. I was not prepared for such a 
 quantity." 
 
 He then became conscious that two figures had 
 noiselessly entered the room, and were courteously 
 bowing to him as they drew chairs towards the fire. 
 "Boys? twin boys?" inquired Mr. Brownsmith ; 
 and he peered at his visitors through the twilight 
 of the room, seeking to discern their forms and 
 features. 
 
 " We must introduce ourselves, it seems," observed 
 one of the figures in a curious tone of voice, which 
 had about it something of the treble of -infancy, 
 something of the tremulous piping of age, "or we 
 might introduce each other. What say you, brother?" 
 " By all means. This is Castor." 
 
 Thereupon the figure thus designated bowed 
 formally to Mr. Brownsmith, and then in his turn 
 introduced his companion. 
 
 "This is Pollux." 
 
 The figure called Pollux bowed with equal 
 formality, muttering something about the pleasure 
 he felt at making the acquaintance of Mr. Brown- 
 smith. 
 
 " Castor and Pollux ! " muttered Mr. Brownsmith. 
 " Highly classical, I believe. I never thought ot 
 quite such ancient names as that. But then I ex- 
 pected only one son. And I had intended to call 
 him after myself — Jacob." 
 
 " The fact of our being twins makes a difference," 
 observed Castor. " And there 's a sort of etiquette 
 about the thing : it 's governed by an unwritten law. 
 There must be some connection or harmony between 
 the names of the twin-born ; that is the usual course. 
 You see, if you had called one of us Jacob, you must 
 have called the other Esau. That, I submit, would 
 hardly have done." 
 
 Mr. Brownsmith had become more accustomed 
 to the darkened state of the room, or the lamp now 
 afforded more light. He could see his visitors, not 
 very plainly, perhaps, but still sufficiently. And he 
 admitted forthwith the inappropriateness of calling 
 either of them Esau, for really they had not a hair 
 between them : they were as completely bald as 
 very young children or as very old men. 
 
 Then he was led to ask himself : Are they young, 
 or are they old ? Are they aged babies, or babyish 
 old men? What are they? Infants, boys, hobble- 
 dehoys, adolescents, men, sages, patriarchs, or what? 
 Gnomes, sprites, imps, pixies, effreets, dwarfs, gob- 
 lins, ghosts, spectres, phantoms, or what ? 
 
 They had bald heads, protruding brows, and small 
 flattened features. They were pallid of complexion, 
 and flabby-looking, and what is called pasty-faced. 
 Their large goggle eyes rolled and glared in a dazed, 
 vacant, witless fashion. So far they might have 
 been children who had but recently made their first 
 appearance in the nursery. But these heads crowned 
 the figures of lean, shrivelled, narrow-chested, 
 spindled-limbcd boys or young men. They wore high 
 shirt-collars, and white cravats tied in the neatest of 
 bows. They were clad in evening dress, making
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 19 
 
 profuse exhibition of their shirt-fronts ; heavy watch- 
 chains swung in front of their waistcoats. Their 
 hands were covered by white kid gloves ; lacquered 
 shoes and crimson silk socks adorned their feet. 
 Each carried a Gibus hat. Both, by way of garnish 
 to their mouths, held toothpicks between their lips, 
 although such implements were clearly not required 
 by their " boneless gums " (to employ Lady Mac- 
 beth's form of expression). They were surprisingly 
 alike ; it was hard to distinguish them. Mr. Brown- 
 smith felt that he should never know them apart, or 
 decide which was which. But there was just this 
 difference : Castor wore spectacles ; Pollux preferred 
 a pince-nez. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! "exclaimed Mr. Brownsmith, 
 when he had completed his inspection of his visitors. 
 " I was not quite prepared for this. And you are 
 really my sons ? " 
 
 "Well," said Castor, with an air of hesitation, "we 
 are not unwilling that you should so consider us, if 
 only out of regard to our mother's feelings on the 
 subject. I think I may say so much, brother ? " and 
 he turned to Pollux. 
 
 " Quite so," said Pollux. " But we should wish 
 you to view the admission that we are your children 
 as made without prejudice." 
 
 "Precisely; without prejudice," echoed Castor. 
 
 "Without prejudice to what?" demanded Mr. 
 Brownsmith, with a puzzled look. 
 
 "Well," said Pollux, "without prejudice to the 
 wider question as to whether we can consider you 
 as our father." 
 
 " I fear I don't understand you." 
 
 " I dare say not," observed Castor, shrugging his 
 shoulders, and smiling with a sort of bland contempt. 
 "We were prepared for this, brother, I think.?" 
 
 " Fully prepared." 
 
 " We will descend to the plainest terms. My 
 brother and myself have always looked forward to 
 our father's being a very Superior Person." 
 
 Mr. Brownsmith started. This coincidence of 
 ideas was curious. " I had always looked forward 
 to my son 's being a Superior Person," he said, with 
 rather a wild expression of face. 
 
 " My dear sir, you may be the father of a Superior 
 
 Person, or of Superior Persons. Non constat, as the 
 lawyers say, that you are yourself a Superior Person. 
 You agree, brother ? " And Castor turned towards 
 Pollux. 
 
 " Perfectly. Very well put," said Pollux, with a 
 wave of his Gibus hat. 
 
 Mr. Brownsmith had a notion that he was being 
 rather rudely treated. 
 
 " I am a plain man," he said sturdily. " I am well 
 known in the City, I am worth a very tidy sum. 
 I've dealt in spelter and spermaceti and other 
 matters to a very pretty tune. My name is Jacob 
 Brownsmith. I sprang from nothing. I've had little 
 or no eddication. But I wished that my son " 
 
 "Yes, yes; we quite understand. But you will 
 permit me to say, my dear sir, that these biographical 
 details, however interesting in themselves, have little 
 bearing upon the question before us. That question 
 — will you state it, brother ? " 
 
 " That question is," said Pollux, " whether we can 
 recognize you as our father. You see, you are not 
 by any means a Superior Person ; you are, indeed, 
 upon your own showing,a decidedly Inferior Person ; 
 and as my brother just now stated, we have from 
 our very earliest moments so counted upon our 
 father's being a Superior Person. The result is that 
 we find ourselves placed in a very peculiar dilemma 
 — our disappointment is very considerable. That 
 is so, brother?" 
 
 " That is so, without~doubt. It 's really a very 
 sad thing when sons have reason to be ashamed of 
 their father — when they are constrained, as a measure 
 of justice to themselves, to decline his acquaintance, 
 and, in point of fact, disown him altogether ; very 
 sad and very painful. But such cases sometimes 
 occur." 
 
 "You mean that YOU disown ME?" cried Mr. 
 Brownsmith. " Why, you ungrateful young monkeys, 
 do you want to insult your own father? Tell me 
 one thing — are you my children or are you not ? " 
 
 " My dear sir, do not excite yourself. Do not raise 
 your voice unduly. Please to recollect that there is 
 an invalid upstairs — our mother, in point of fact. 
 You would not be so inconsiderate as to disturb her, 
 perhaps even alarm her, at a time when she stands 
 particularly in need of repose and quiet. And do 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 not misunderstand us. We did not intimate that we 
 had decided upon disowning you. I think you can 
 bear me out in that statement, brother ? " 
 
 "Assuredly; and, as a matter of fact, we have 
 not decided upon disowning you. Quite otherwise. 
 We have been rather endeavouring to find some 
 method of compromise, so to say. We thought it 
 possible to hold our recognition of you in suspense, 
 as it were, giving you meanwhile an opportunity of 
 redeeming your character, or rather of acquiring a 
 new one. We had no desire to condemn you abso- 
 lutely unheard. We rather thought that if time were 
 allowed you, you might really be able to improve 
 yourself so as to become worthy of your position in 
 our regard. You might instruct yourself or obtain 
 instruction upon a great variety of matters. You 
 might possess yourself of sundry accomplishments. 
 Polish does so much. Why not polish in this case ? 
 That was one of the questions we asked ourselves." 
 
 " I 'm too old a dog to learn new tricks, if that's 
 what you mean," said Mr. Brownsmith. 
 
 The twins took no notice of this observation. 
 
 " We feel, of course," said Castor, " that many 
 excuses are to be made for you. You are no longer 
 young." 
 
 " I am fifty— a good fifty." 
 
 "You belong to the past. Yours was the pre- 
 scientific generation. They taught little in your 
 time, and taught that badly. And then you were 
 not in the way of obtaining even that inferior in- 
 struction." 
 
 " I began life as an errand-boy. I learned my 
 letters at a charity school." 
 
 *' Pray spare us ! You must surely be aware that 
 these distressing details are not inducements to us 
 to recognize you as our father. We would rather 
 regard you as an elderly gentleman of property and 
 respectable social position whose education has been 
 unfortunately neglected." 
 
 " But who is now resolute," said Pollux, "as far as 
 in him lies, to make up for lost time." 
 
 " What do you mean .' What would you have me 
 do?" demanded Mr. Brownsmith. 
 
 " Well, there are schools for backward boys ; it 
 may be that there are seminaries for backward old 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " Do you dare to tell me that I am to go to school 
 again ? — at my time of life ! " 
 
 " Well, it 's very essential that something should 
 be done," urged Castor. " I am sure you would wish 
 to be a credit to us— to spare us anxiety on your 
 account. You would not have us blush for you. It 
 is so very sad when fathers fail in respect for their 
 sons." 
 
 " And you must be aware that we have grave rea- 
 sons to complain," continued Pollux. " I will not say 
 much of your appearance : it is not what it might be, 
 or what we could wish it to be. You will urge that 
 Nature made you plain, and you have been content 
 with that dispensation ; but, without doubt, Art could 
 have done something for you. You dress disgrace- 
 fully. I do believe you buy your clothes ready made ! 
 You might at least employ some respectable tailor. 
 And there is something rather offensive in the way 
 you wear your hair, and about the cut of your whis- 
 kers. You seem to cultivate a sort of John Bull look 
 that's very unpicturesque and altogether odious." 
 
 " I am sorry you don't like your father's looks 
 young gentlemen," said Mr. Brownsmith, grimly. 
 " Not that looks, to my thinking, signify much." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Pollux ; " but it isn't only 
 looks — your manners are really deplorable ; and you 
 have no taste whatever." 
 
 " You eat peas with a knife, you know ! " and 
 Castor shook his head with an air of reproach, 
 
 " You call for beer at dinner." 
 
 " You 've been seen employing a fork as a tooth- 
 pick." 
 
 " You 've been known to smoke a long pipe— a 
 churchwarden — a yard of clay, you called it." 
 
 " Your favourite supper is tripe and onions. Don't 
 deny it ! " 
 
 " I am not going to deny it. I glory in it. Why 
 shouldn't I eat tripe if I 've a mind to?" 
 
 The twins replied only by a sort of duet of groans. 
 
 " Have you anything more to say, you insulting 
 young ragamuffins ? " demanded Mr. Brownsmith, 
 noisily. 
 
 " We are not surprised at this violence," Castor 
 said with composure. "It is only what we might 
 have expected. It results naturally from ignorance 
 and neglect. Sad, very sad ! But can nothing be
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 21 
 
 done to fit you for your situation as a parent ? That 
 you will ever become a Superior Person — a father in 
 whom we may take pride — is, I fear, out of the ques- 
 tion. May we hope for any amendment in you ? 
 Will you really try and turn over a new leaf? When 
 will you make a beginning ? Let us but see you in 
 a proper state of mind, and really desirous of im- 
 provement and instruction." 
 
 " We will admit," added Pollux, " that the task 
 before you is one of difficulty. At your age you 
 shrink from change and from effort ; and of course 
 your want of preparation is dire — I can use no other 
 word. I suppose you know nothing of the'ologies'?" 
 " Not a rap," replied Mr. Brownsmith, sturdily. 
 " You have not even a rudimentary acquaintance 
 with the classics? You could not even construe 
 Cornelius Nepos ? " 
 
 "D n Cornelius Nepos!" cried Mr. Brown- 
 smith. " That is," he explained in a milder tone, 
 " I don't wish the gentleman any harm. I don't 
 know him, and what 's more, if he 's one of your sort, 
 my lads, I don't want to know him." 
 
 " I may take for granted, I suppose, that you have 
 little or no acquaintance with modern literature and 
 languages ? " 
 
 "There's one thing I know," said Mr. Brown- 
 smith — " I shall be using very bad language in a 
 minute or two." 
 
 "This is indeed a sad case, brother," said Castor. 
 "Our only course would be to find some good school 
 where old people of neglected education are received 
 as pupils. Or perhaps we might discover a private 
 home for him in the house of some zealous and 
 devout clergyman accustomed to the care of the 
 backward, the perverse, the neglected, or the ill re- 
 gulated. Really, you know," — and he turned from 
 Pollux to Mr. Brownsmith, — "you can only hope to 
 improve by absence from home, and submission to a 
 wholesome course of scholastic discipline. I think 
 you should have no holidays whatever, and although 
 I am usually disposed to be liberal in such matters, 
 I am rather of opinion that your allowance of pocket 
 money should be niade dependent upon your edu- 
 cational progress." 
 
 " You know," Pollux interposed, " there really 
 ought to be an asylum for cases of this sort." 
 
 *' What ! you would send me to an asylum, would 
 you ? That 's how you would treat your poor old 
 father, is it? Where's your duty as children? Where's 
 your filial piety? Where's the obedience and respect 
 due from sons to their father?" 
 
 Mr. Brownsmith was now very angry indeed. 
 
 " The usual cant," replied Castor, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " It was just a case in which this old-fashioned 
 rubbish was certain to crop up," observed Pollux. 
 " How hard it is to eradicate the defects of early 
 training ! What are we to do, brother ? " 
 
 " There is but one thing for us to do, brother." 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 They rose from their chairs. 
 
 " This is a hopeless business," said Castor, hold- 
 ing up a minatory forefinger, and speaking at Mr. 
 Brownsmith rather than to him. " In spite of all 
 we have said and done, he remains obdurate. We 
 must visit him with our filial indignation. We must 
 disown him. He is an Inferior Person — hopelessly, 
 abjectly inferior. He must never more look upon 
 himself as a father of ours." 
 
 " He has made his bed, and he must lie in it." 
 
 " He may consider himself as one disinherited — 
 cut off with a shilling. Go, old man ; your future 
 is no more an affair in which we have any interest. 
 Henceforward you are no father of ours. We are no 
 more your sons. You will be kind enough to forget 
 that we ever existed. Farewell. We beg to wish you 
 a very good evening." 
 
 Simultaneously and explosively they opened their 
 Gibus hats, and moved towards the door. 
 
 " Stop!" cried Mr. Brownsmith. " I 've listened to 
 you long enough ; it 's high time you listened to me 
 a little. I haven't much to say ; but it 's to the pur- 
 pose. In the first place, you 're a couple of worth- 
 less and contemptuous young prigs — that's about 
 what you are ! Call yourselves Superior Persons, 
 forsooth ! Why, the first shoeblack or chimney- 
 sweep or scavenger I may meet in the street, who 's 
 got a grateful heart in his bosom, is a better man 
 than either of you, or than both of you put together. 
 Yoti ashamed of vie ? It 's / that am ashamed of 
 yoii, as I 've good cause to be, and ashamed of 
 myself for being the father of such miserable little
 
 22 
 
 OLD HEADS ON YOUNG SHOULDERS. 
 
 imps. You presume to dictate to your own father, to 
 look down upon and despise him because he 's never 
 had the advantages such as his honest industry has 
 obtained for you, because he 's a self-made man, of 
 little or no eddication to speak of! You talk of send- 
 ing him to school again because he don't know this 
 or that, or of locking him up in an asylum because 
 he chooses to put his knife or his fork farther into 
 his mouth than your worships quite approve, or 
 because he talks a vulgarer sort of talk — being a 
 plain man — than your lordships are accustomed to ! _ 
 Why, I say that you ought to have been made away 
 with, both of you, in a pail of water or summat as 
 soon as ever you were born, like a couple of kittens 
 or puppies that are not wanted and no one cares to 
 
 own 
 
 I" 
 
 " We 'd really better go, brother," said Castor to 
 Pollux. "It'snouse. There's no reason why we should 
 subject ourselves to this low abuse and gross inso- 
 lence. The fact is, however we may seek to conceal 
 it from ourselves and from society, our father is a 
 Cad ! He never ought to have been our father. He 
 should never have been allowed to marry our mother. 
 Come, my dear Pollux." 
 
 " Stop, I say again ! " shouted Mr. Brownsmith. 
 " I 've nearly done, but not quite. Just one word 
 more. I '11 disown you — 1 '11 disinherit you — I'll cut 
 you off with a shilling — alittlelatei-,not just yet. First 
 of all I "11 avail myself of my rights and privileges 
 as a father. I won't spoil the children by sparing 
 the rod. I '11 punish you in the good old-fashioned 
 way, which you may think exploded cant or bygone 
 rubbish cropping up unexpectedly, until you feel it 
 tingling on your bare backs. In plain words, I '11 
 thrash you both, you Castor and you Pollux, within 
 an inch of your scoundrelly young lives !'' 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Brownsmith plunged passionately 
 forward, with both arms extended, resolved to seize 
 the twins by the collars of their coats, and to ad- 
 minister to them both personal chastisement in its 
 severest form. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Mr. Brownsmith suddenly found himself strug- 
 gling in the amis of his medical attendant. 
 
 " Why, my dear friend, what 's the matter? What 
 has happened ? You 've let the fire out, and your 
 lamp 's expiring, and you are all in the dark ! I 
 see, I see ! You 've been asleep : over-fatigue — ex- 
 cessive exhaustion — severe trial of both mind and 
 body. We can't overreach Nature, Mr. Brownsmith. 
 We must deal fairly with her or she won't deal fairly 
 with us. You 've been asleep and have suffered from 
 nightmare, the result of imperfect digestion and 
 mental anxiety. But first let me turn up the lamp. 
 There, now we can see eacli other. And let me con- 
 gratulate you, Mr. Brownsmith. You are a father ! 
 I congratulate you most sincerely." 
 
 " A father am I ? You did not meet anybody going 
 out of this room as you entered it, did you, doctor ?" 
 
 " I did not, Mr. Brownsmith. You have been alone 
 here sir, quite alone ; and, I may add, asleep and 
 dreaming. I think you are hardly awake yet, if 
 you '11 excuse my saying so. I repeat my congratula- 
 tions on your becoming a father, and I 'm sure you 
 will be glad to know that both mother and child are 
 doing admirably — going on as well as could possibly 
 be expected." 
 
 " There are not two of them, then ?" 
 
 "Two children? No; only one this time, Mr. 
 Brownsmith. Did you expect two?" 
 
 " I shall call him plain Jacob," said Mr, Brown- 
 smith, abstractedly. 
 
 " Well, there 's only this objection — I don't know 
 what the feminine of Jacob may be — but the child 
 happens to be a little girl," 
 
 " A little girl, eh ? Then you don't think she 's at 
 all likely to be a Superior Person ? " 
 
 " Well, Mr, Brownsmith, she 's a very fine little 
 girl, plump and pretty, and rather over the average 
 size, I should say." 
 
 "Is she bald?" 
 
 " Not particularly so. Not balder than a baby is 
 entitled to be," 
 
 " One question more. Does she wear spectacles ? " 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " Then we'll drink her health, and the health of 
 her blessed mother ! " 
 
 And Mr, Brownsmith poured out large and full 
 glasses of the choice port wine, 
 
 DuTTON Cook.
 
 A GHOST WANTED! 
 
 A SLAVE am I to Mystery, a bondsman to 
 Romance ; 
 My days as in a dream go by, my nights as in a 
 
 trance. 
 I haunt a magic universe, exclusively mine own, 
 And sights of earth and sounds of earth to me are 
 
 barely known. 
 Dim shapes along the busy Strand flit onward in a 
 
 flood : 
 I deem them only airy things, not formed in flesh 
 
 and blood. 
 What boots it that I deem them so ? — It makes me 
 
 cry almost 
 When I reveal this bitter fact : — I 've never seen a 
 
 Ghost ! 
 
 I read no trite or vulgar books, no scientific lore ; 
 But court the supernatural that thrills me to the 
 
 core. 
 The pulseless novels of the hour to children I 
 
 resign ; 
 Let "Frankenstein," "Zanoni," and " Le Juif 
 
 Errant" be viine. 
 The tales of Mr. Maturin by heart I nearly know, 
 And those of Wilkie Collins and of Edgar Allen 
 
 Poe, 
 Monk Lewis, Mrs. Radcliffe, and their fellows by 
 
 the host : — 
 My labour's only thrown away;— I 've never seen a 
 
 Ghost ! 
 
 The course of diet 1 pursue is frightfully unfit 
 For man, for woman, or for child ; — that 's why I 
 
 follow it. 
 One apparition — only one — was all my end and aim ; 
 But, though I waited night by night, no apparition 
 
 came. 
 On chops and sausages of pork what suppers have 
 
 I made ! 
 
 What ghastly heaps of apple-pie, to lure the kindy 
 
 shade ! 
 Welsh rarebits have I revelled in, on thickly-biittered 
 
 toast; — 
 But, though they cost me agonies, I 've never seen 
 
 a Ghost ! 
 
 I know 't is rarely they appear 'mid London's giddy 
 
 din, 
 But seek the ivied nianor house or haunt the lonely 
 
 inn ; 
 And, on the stroke of twelve o'clock — "the very 
 
 witching time" — 
 Reveal some deeply-hidden hoard or nigh- forgotten 
 
 crime. 
 But I have braved the lonely inn, the ivied manor 
 
 house, 
 And suffered but a single fright : — methinks 't was 
 
 but a mouse. 
 I vainly sought around my bed for shapes in evVy 
 
 post; 
 But, nonsense ! — nothing of the kind ; — I 've never 
 
 seen a Ghost ! 
 
 Why east and west upon my quest unhaunted should 
 
 I go? 
 Some people see them ev'ry night, — at least they 
 
 tell me so. 
 (I 've often heard my grandmamma describe a ghost 
 
 she had,— 
 A lovely one, with saucer eyes, that sent her nearly 
 
 mad.) 
 Alas! my efforts all are lost; m.y life is throAvn 
 
 awaj-. 
 I 've little now to brag about upon my dying day. 
 Whatever few advantages are left for me to boast. 
 One blot will cancel all of them ; — I 've never seen 
 
 a Ghost ! 
 
 Henrv S. Leigh.
 
 NATIONAL PECULIARITIES.
 
 NATIONAL PECULIARITIES. 

 
 THE MAID O' BONTDHU.* 
 
 THE hills o' Dolgelly with honey are sweet, 
 The bell-heather purples them down to 
 their feet ; 
 And the sight up the Mawddach is glorious to 
 
 see, 
 But I '11 sing you a ditty o' fairy Bontdhu. 
 
 A lad from the Westland sped thither one day, 
 By Chirk and Ruabon, brave, gallant, and gay: 
 He had heard of a maiden as blithe as a bee. 
 Sweet Wilhelmy Wynn o' the pretty Bontdhu. 
 
 By the deep dykes of Offa he shot like a swift 
 Or laverock lilting away in the lift. 
 The Vale of Llangollen, and sweet water Dee, 
 And the charms o' Llandrillo brimful! o' Bontdhu. 
 
 Then the broad Lake of Bala he saw in his flight. 
 But the woods o' Bryntillion enraptured his sight; 
 For there, by the Mawddach, as fair as could be. 
 Stood Wilhelmy Wynn, the delight o' Bontdhu. 
 
 Her eyes were ripe mazzards,t and raven her hair. 
 Each cheek a red apple, her forehead snow fair; 
 A bonny green kirtle hung down to her knee, 
 And rapture ran wild at the Lyn o' Bontdhu, 
 
 Her suitors were many: Smith,, Owen, Rob Moore, 
 Hughes, Evans, Lloyd, Thomas, and Joneses a 
 
 score ; 
 With Roberts, I\LacDonald, and Andy M'Cree, 
 All dying in love for the Rose o' Bontdhu. 
 
 Still he ventured. " Dear lass, I have heard of 
 
 your fame ; 
 A sweet little melody rings in your name." 
 She chuckled, and oh, how bewitching looked she! 
 " Here's another in love with the maid o' Bontdhu." 
 
 Then praising her dimples he strove for a kiss. 
 When she cropped his young hope in the bud of 
 its bliss : 
 " Pray stop, pretty bird, you are on the wrong tree 1" 
 Chirped Wilhelmy Wynn v*'ith the pride o' Bont- 
 dhu. 
 
 He hung down his head like abound in disgrace;. 
 When, with rogue in each eye and a blush on 
 
 her face, 
 She gave a loud laugh, but the ring of its glee 
 Told a fool was the heart of the Maid o' Bontdhu. 
 
 Love will not be baulked, so quoth he, " Pretty 
 
 maid, 
 Just fancy myself at the Lyn in your stead. 
 And that jou had come courting far over the lea. 
 What words would you woo me with, Maid o' 
 
 Bontdhu ? " 
 
 She answered in Welsh, but his patience was gone, 
 For colder than Snowdon she seemed to look on; 
 ' I can't understand what you tell me," said he, 
 " But love has its lure, pretty Maid o' Bontdhu." 
 
 Then he talked of the Bards, and he piped her a 
 
 stave, 
 A soul-melting lay of a love-fettered slave. 
 When her eyes flashed a light like the ripples at 
 
 sea, 
 That token for rain. Were there tears at Bontdhu ? 
 
 Every lane has its turning, and Nature will out : 
 Sweet Wilhelmy chid with the prettiest pout ; 
 But maids are the same by the Dart and the Dee, 
 So she pitied the lad that had come to Bontdhu. 
 
 * Pronounced " Bonthee.' 
 
 t The black cherries of North Devon.
 
 THE MAID a BONTDHU. 
 
 27 
 
 He saw she was touched, as she coloured and 
 
 sighed ; 
 Still love must be wilful, so she, in her pride, 
 Sang, "Heart, play the hero and hold thyself free," 
 When a keepsake he asked of the Inlaid o' Bont- 
 
 dhu. 
 
 Ouoth she, " I will give you, whenever )ou leave, 
 A silver-new-nothing to wear on your sleeve." 
 " A bargain ! " he cried, " and I pray you agree 
 To seal it at once, pretty Maid o' Bontdhu." 
 
 Old Cader had put on his cap for the night, 
 And the cotter's wee window-pane blinked with 
 delight, 
 
 When a couple went cosy as cosy could be 
 
 Up the old road to Harlech, away from Bontdhu. 
 
 The moon was o'er Duffryn, and Venus hard by 
 Was seen with her silver love-lamp in the sky; 
 The stars woo in silence, and silent wooed he. 
 Life-linked with the beautiful Maid o' Bontdhu. 
 
 The hills o' Dolgelly with honey ai'e sweet, 
 The bell-heather purples them down to their feet ; 
 But the girls by the Mawddach are sweeter to me. 
 And the sweetest of all is the Maid o' Bontdhu. 
 
 Edward CAPER>r, 
 
 THE CAMBERWELL BEAUTY. 
 
 % Xlomuucc of tbc %d.^ Ccnturn. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TRYST. 
 " ' She Cometh not,' he said." 
 
 WITHIN the Great City the watchmen took 
 intermittent repose. 
 
 In the picturesque suburbs they had comfortably 
 settled themselves for the night. Forth from the 
 dark City came an adventurous lover, and wended 
 his lonely way along the dim winding road which led 
 to one of [the loveliest of the neighbouring villages. 
 
 But it was not in search of the Picturesque the 
 youth had set out. Some readers may think this 
 remark needless, inasmuch as it is difficult to revel 
 in the beauties of nature on a moonless, almost star- 
 less night ; but little do such commonplace minds 
 know of the fine frenzy of the Lover. Nevertheless, 
 it was ?iol the Picturesque which had lured our hero 
 from the pillow that he loved so well. 
 
 His heart beat hard at the thought of the fair fond 
 one he was going to meet ; perchance, also, at the 
 thought of the unfair footpad who might be coming 
 to meet him. 
 
 However, he reached the village in safety. 
 
 Our hero's name was Jacob, a gallant 'prentice lad, 
 who loved his master's daughter, the fair Mistress 
 Margaret,sojourning for the summerwith herparcnts 
 at their rural " Box" among the willow-shaded water- 
 courses and cabbage-grounds of Camberwell. 
 
 Thrice-happy Jacob ! he not only loved, but be- 
 lieved himself beloved. His Margaret — as if desirous- 
 in the same breath to caress and to dignify his name 
 — never called him aught but her Jacobus. 
 
 "My Jacobus !" The words fell like honeydew 
 upon his ear, and thence dropped, soothing and yet 
 intoxicating, upon his heart. 
 
 What services, however menial, would he not have 
 performed for her — nay, had he not performed — 
 when thus addressed ? 
 
 And now, in obedience to the same sweet sum- 
 mons, inscribed in a billet conveyed by the driver 
 of the cart that had brought in a supply of summer 
 cabbage from the Box for her father's place of busi- 
 ness and winter residence in the Borough (it was 
 only by poetical license we erewhile spoke of the 
 City), Jacob had turned his back on busy Southwark
 
 :28 
 
 THE CAMBER WELL BEAUTY. 
 
 and reached the rural groves of Camberwell (Cam- 
 berwell GfoveaX. that time had not displayed its brick- 
 and-mortar charms), and panted, partly through his 
 having run good part of the way, but still more in 
 eagerness to perform whatsoever his Camberwell 
 Beauty might lay upon his allegiance. 
 
 He gained the top of the garden wall, and there 
 he had to linger for a time, anxiously oscillating 
 astride among the broken bottles, for the yard dog 
 gave more than once a warning growl. 
 
 At last the Cerberus that guarded his Eurydice, 
 his Persephone, his anybody beautiful and loved you 
 please, was silent, and Jacob dropped gently from 
 the garden wall, cutting his hands on the broken 
 bottles almost as frightfully as he had torn his 
 breeches. But the footpads had been escaped, the 
 dog was silent, and Jacob felt of heroic strain. 
 
 " What are a few scratches ? ' Faint heart never 
 won fair lady,' " he said to himself, prudently taking 
 care to keep his remarks quite to himself, and stea- 
 dily, although stealthily, groped his way towards the 
 back grassplot on which he had been bidden to wait. 
 Even his heart, however, failed him slightly when 
 compelled to crash through sticked peas and beans, 
 and the reawakened Cerberus again began to yelp 
 and growl. But with reckless boldness Jacob plod- 
 ded across the yielding asparagus-beds. 
 
 True, even in the most propitious periods of his 
 progress, misgivings would intrude. 
 
 " What," he thought, " would my master and his 
 man do to me, if they found me here? Beyond 
 doubt the gardener would crucify me on his rake, 
 my master impale me on his spud. But I must per- 
 severe." 
 
 So he persevered, and walked into the little fish- 
 pond. Fortunately it was not deep, but neverthe- 
 less it was damp, and he fancied that he felt the 
 gold and silver fish, which lie had roughly awakened 
 from their slumbers, feasting on his calves, although 
 they were not fiittcd. The dew was falling fast ; so, 
 could he have seen it, was the mercury in the ther- 
 mometer nailed against the wall beside the back 
 parlour window. 
 
 But if Jacob could not see the cold, he felt it, as 
 he stood, dripping and shivering, waiting for the back 
 bed-room w-indovv to be opened, according topromise. 
 
 Which was the back bed-room window whence 
 his instructions were to issue he had not been told, 
 and Jacob feared to cast up carefully-selected small 
 gravel, to arouse his peradventure oversleeping-her- 
 self Goddess, at the panes of any. His master's 
 bed-room might perchance be at the back, and Mr. 
 Figgins — such was his name among his equals, by 
 rude shopboys irreverently called Old Figs — was; 
 Jacob knew, of a nature at once timorous and fiery. 
 Disturbed in his snores by a rattle on his window- 
 panes. Old Figs would doubtless, ere ostrich-like he 
 buried his head in the bed-clothes, answer with a 
 blunderbuss. 
 
 One or two stars had for some time been blinking, 
 now they began to wink at one another in so marked 
 a manner that our hero could not resist the con- 
 viction that, whatever might be the case on earth, he 
 vv'as mocked by heaven. 
 
 Such was his love, however, that still he waited. 
 
 But still she came not. 
 
 Longfellow then was not born, nevertheless Jacob 
 quoted from him in unconscious anticipation. 
 
 ■■ She sleeps ! 
 
 yiy lady sleeps ! 
 She sleeps ! " 
 
 our hero muttered in surprise, not unmingled with 
 bitter scorn, when Aurora had laid her rosy finger- 
 tips upon the curtains of the night, and yet there 
 was no sign of Mistress Margaret's having flung 
 back those of her mahogany four-poster. 
 
 In the Arcadian times of which we write, the bed- 
 steads of France and of Araby (although the latter 
 may be found in every desert tent) had not been 
 wafted to our shores in painted iron or of gleaming 
 brass. It was necessary for Jacob to retreat. 
 
 He had gained the top of the garden wall, and 
 was preparing to manoeuvre through the passes of 
 the broken bottles, when, alas ! the yard dog, which, 
 after a troubled night, had come out to refresh him- 
 self by a stroll between the raspbeny-canes in the 
 morning twilight, sprang at the clinging climber. 
 
 With one bound our hero leaped into the lane 
 outside, but he left a considerable portion of the 
 remnant of his Sunday breeches in the possession 
 of the yard dog, unsatisfactory spoil, which Keeper 
 proceeded to worry with a disappointed growl.
 
 THE CAMBERWELL BEAUTY. 
 
 29- 
 
 The nodding '•' driver " — seated on the shaft, with 
 nose ever and anon attempting to kiss his knees — 
 of a wain, high-piled with the vegetable produce 
 of our fair, fertile land, bound for the Borough 
 Market, made no objection when the weary Jacob 
 solicited a lift. Perchance the driver did not hear 
 him, but 'tis always well to think the best of human 
 nature ; we have no other on which we can personally 
 fall back. 
 
 However this may be, Jacob clambered up among 
 the bean-baskets, and fell back among the peas. 
 Their shucks felt smooth to his beardless cheek. 
 Like the oblivious lady of his love, he slept— a sleep 
 so deep that he did not even dream of her. 
 
 But he was rudely awakened when the wheeled 
 couch on which he had slept so soundly reached its 
 destination. Dragged by the collar from his resting- 
 place, he was propelled by a kick, fortunately not 
 whither he was verbally directed by the irate driver, 
 the snowy purity of whose " turmets " he had stained 
 with his heroic life's blood. 
 
 " For thee I have endured all this, cruel Margaret," 
 moaned Jacob, as he stealthily unlocked his master's 
 private door. 
 
 He re-locked it, hung up the key where it was 
 wont to hang, and crept to his pallet in the garret. 
 
 On his poor bed he flung himself, without disen- 
 cumbering himself of what was left of his raiment- 
 turned in, as our gallant sailors graphically, although 
 somewhat illogically, express themselves, "all stand- 
 ing." 
 
 Again he slept ; again he was roughly roused from 
 his slumbers. 
 
 Like the oblivious lady of his love, he had over- 
 slept himself. 
 
 It was his turn to take down the shutters. The 
 spells of Morpheus prevented him from doing so ; 
 and Momus, in the form of the foreman, brought 
 him back to consciousness with a shower-bath from 
 a bucket. 
 
 Worse still. When he sent up his plate for fried 
 bacon at breakfast, the foreman reminded him that 
 he had already had cold pig. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 '•■ Hang it all ! "—Ohi Play. 
 
 The days went by, but no word came to Jacob 
 from Mistress Margaret. At first he thought that 
 his master looked strangely at him when he came 
 in to business ; but this feeling passed, and with a 
 thirsty heart he longed for tidings from the Box. 
 
 Whether summoned or not, he felt that he could 
 not much longer refrain from going out to make in- 
 quiries, or at least observations; to discover whether, 
 after all the evils which he had experienced from 
 it, hope yet remained for him in the Box, as in Pan- 
 dora's. He was ever reminded of it. 
 
 Mr. Figgins, as has been intimated, was in the 
 habit of supplying his town establishment with pro- 
 duce from his countiy seat, and at this season his 
 Borough household was liberally supplied with the 
 same. Let us do Figgins justice. He was a free- 
 handed man. Too free, thought his 'prentices, whose 
 ears he smacked without stint. 
 
 To return. The eggs and bacon at breakfast, the 
 pork and fowls at dinner, the peas and beans, the 
 cabbages and carrots, the parsley and potatoes, the 
 gooseberries and currants of the week-day pud- 
 dings, the cherries of the Sunday pie — all these came 
 from the grounds in which Margaret wandered, but 
 from which Jacob had been by Keeper ignominiously 
 expelled. 
 
 However, he swallowed his emotions, and with 
 them, sensibly, his full share of the Box's bounteous 
 provender. 
 
 CHAPTER II L 
 
 THE ISSUE. 
 " She loves and rides away." 
 
 But at last Jacob heard from his Margaret again. 
 Once more she sent him a billet by the driver of the 
 cabbage cart — nay, rather, call it cornucopia. 
 
 " Jacob," the missive began ; no fond " My Jaco- 
 bus." The artful beauty would not own to the prosaic 
 fact to which we have already alluded, to wit, that 
 she had overslept herself, but laid all the blame for 
 the frustration of the projected interview on Jacob.
 
 3c 
 
 THE CAMBER WELL BEAUTY. 
 
 He had been too timorous to await her coming, she 
 hinted, — had fled on slight alarm ; and that in so 
 clumsy a manner, that her father, enraged at the 
 damage he had done, had been more than ever stern 
 with her, and kept her a close prisoner — all through 
 /«';«. 
 
 Jacob burst into a flood of bitter tears— a cas- 
 cade turned into a cataract by his elevated Grecian, 
 i.e., Socratic nose ; and beneath his tears he saw 
 his drowning hopes gazing upwards with despairing 
 -eyes. 
 
 But with his own dim eyes he read on, and soon 
 glowing hope, like a rainbow, spanned his tears. 
 More than one Iris played about the — well, if not 
 tip, the top of his most prominent feature. At one 
 time she had thought of never thinking of him again ; 
 
 but— 3?//— BUT— B U T 
 
 S/ie had made all arrangements. At midnight a 
 chaise and four would be waiting within a furlong of 
 the blue back garden gate : nearer the house of her 
 stern parent, vigilant as a spider in the centre of its 
 web, she durst not suffer the equipage to approach. 
 Within it she would await her Jacob's coming ; but 
 a few minutes before the clock struck twelve he must 
 be at the back garden gate, to help her maid — who 
 was to be the companion of her flight — carry her 
 boxes to the carriage. She could not flee without her 
 boxes, because they contained her dresses. Abigail 
 ■could not carry them by herself, and the post-boys 
 could not leave their horses. He, Jacob, only could 
 be trusted. 
 
 "You will not fail me, my Jacobus?" was the 
 pathetically-affectionate conclusion of the epistle. 
 
 "Fail thee!" exclaimed Jacob, in the garret to 
 •which he had retreated to read her letter, dropping 
 •upon one knee, and raising both his clasped hands 
 to heaven. "Fail thee, divine darling! And thou 
 hast done all this for me ! /should have made these 
 preparations for our flight to Paradise!" 
 
 Betimes, but not too soon, lest he should awaken 
 suspicion, Jacob arrayed himself in his Sunday 
 clothes. The new breeches which he had ordered in 
 the stead of those which had met with catastrophes 
 had arrived in the nick C)f time. How he wished 
 that he had ordered an entire new suit ! He set out 
 for Cambcrwcll, and reached the blue back garden 
 
 gate. Abigail, who had begun to fear that he would 
 not come, was so pleased at his arrival that she 
 would fain have embraced him. But Jacob, loyal 
 to the mistress of his heart, chastely refused the 
 proffered salute. Nevertheless, in other respects he 
 was very gallant to Abigail. 
 
 He did almost all the carrying of the boxes, and 
 the cording of them on to the back of the carriage. 
 Most gallantly he assisted Abigail into it. 
 
 " Put up the steps, my Jacobus ! " said the sweet 
 voice he knew so well — heard for the first time that 
 night. 
 
 Jacob obeyed ; and prepared to leap into the car- 
 riage with the alacrity of a lamplighter — in the days 
 in which lamplighters ran up ladders instead of 
 carrying lazy magic wands. But the carriage door 
 was slammed to, and a rough hand thrust him back. 
 
 " Thank'ee, lad," said the voice of one of his own 
 sex — a voice gruff indeed, and yet not altogether 
 unkindly. " There 's a guinea for thy trouble. Make 
 haste back to the shop, or thou 'It catch it." 
 
 The coin was dropped upon the ground. 
 
 " Drive on, boys ! " shouted the deep voice. 
 
 The postboys cracked their whips and started at 
 full gallop. 
 
 " Farewell, my Jacobus ! Good bye, dear, trustful 
 Jacob ! " were the words that came back to our hero, 
 in silvery accents, on the night wind. 
 
 It was her last farewell. 
 
 By the light of the rising moon he had recognized 
 in the face of the male speaker the features of a 
 young blood whom, more than once before, he had 
 seen, with green eyes of jealousy, in Mistress Mar- 
 garet's company. 
 
 And now, far clearer than the struggling moon- 
 shine, the whole truth beamed upon him. He had 
 helped his Beauty — at any rate, her boxes — out of 
 the Box into his rival's arms. 
 
 Again he fell upon his knee — his knees — and, 
 raising his frantically-clenched fists towards the be- 
 tween 12 p.m. and i a.m. skies, he solemnly swore: 
 " By yon pale orb of night — by moon and star — by 
 cock and pie, and by my mother's grave ! I vow that 
 I will be avenged ! He, she, hath robbed me of my 
 bride ! " 
 
 "Sojw/t've been in it !" shouted old Figs, in his
 
 NO MORE 
 
 3t 
 
 night-shirt and slippers, suddenly pouncing on the 
 disconsolate lover, with a horsewhip in his hand. 
 "You 've lost your bride — have you? Well, I '11 give 
 you a drubbing to make up for her." 
 
 And the master cruelly chastised the 'prentice. 
 Had even the faithless Margaret beheld his writhings 
 she must needs have exclaimed in unfeigned com- 
 passion," My poor Jacob I" Then the tyrant haughtily 
 commanded his indentured slave to return to his 
 servitude in Southwark. 
 
 Jacob hastened to obey. 
 
 Ere he went, however, he picked up the guinea 
 that had been cast him, hissing between his teeth 
 that it should wreak his vengeance. 
 
 His intention was to purchase a second-hand 
 blunderbuss, and with it blow out the brains of his 
 Beauty, her bridegroom, her father, her Abigail, and 
 then his own. 
 
 But he changed his mind. 
 
 For a time his fellow-'prentices taunted him with 
 the cry of" Who carried the boxes from the Box ?" 
 
 But he held his peace; and ere long they v\earied 
 of their satire. 
 
 Meanwhile and afterwards he practised a revenge 
 more profitable than that which he had at first 
 designed. 
 
 Instead of a blunderbuss, he purchased a butterfly 
 net, with which on holidays he haunted the willow 
 groves of the fair Surrey village in which his heart's 
 happiness had been wrecked, capturing specimens 
 of the Camberwell Beauty (Vanessa antiopa), deftly 
 nipping them in the net between the thumb and 
 finger, and selling their fair corpses to the naturalists 
 for sums that kept him comfortably in pocket-money. 
 
 Thus did Time prove the Great Consoler. 
 
 As Wordsworth beautifully observes — 
 
 "Nature never did betray 
 The heart that loved ' 
 
 to get something out of her of some kind : if not a 
 Camberwell Beauty of one species, then numerous 
 more remunerative specimens of another. 
 
 Richard Rowe. 
 
 NO MORE! 
 
 How did Love sleep? The sweet moon sailed 
 In robes of dusky gold last night, 
 Until her tender glory paled 
 
 Before the ruddy dawn of light ; 
 Love lay enshrined in bridal bowers. 
 
 And kissed the sweets that come and go 
 From far-off fields — from all the flowers 
 That blow. 
 
 So Love returned when twilight fell. 
 And found his flowers dying — dead ; 
 
 The queenly rose he loved so well 
 Lay in his arms with drooping head. 
 
 II. 
 
 How did Love wake ? The early beams 
 Had pierced the rose-leaf where he slept, 
 
 And rising from his perfumed dreams, 
 Into the dewy world he leapt. 
 
 Singing, soared upvv'ard into light — 
 " For day is but a little pain. 
 
 And then 't is night, with soft delight 
 Again ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 " Ah, Love ! " she cries ; " thy kisses burn : 
 
 But Death has wooed my lips before ; 
 If Love once flies— he may return 
 No more ! " 
 
 Launce Lee.
 
 ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 WITH SOME HINTS ON WIFE MANAGEMENT. 
 
 Ancient Roman on hearing that there is cold mutton for dinner. | Greek System— Marry a Statue (Galatea, or any other gal), and 
 
 warm her up when required. She can be petrified and re-wived ad Ubitiiiii. 
 
 Assyrian Swell taking his wives for a walk in the Park 
 
 Mediava hubby going to business, and leaving his wife to manage 
 
 herself
 
 ON COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 WITH SOME HINTS ON WIFE MANAGEMENT. 
 
 Too b;ishful 
 fought like cat 
 married. 
 
 to reveal their love ; they 
 and dog after they were 
 
 Here is another bashful couple. She was a sweet 
 thing of sixteen when he first adored her, and he 
 hopes soon to pluck up courage to propose. 
 
 "Oh, Mary Hann ! wilt thou be mine? 
 I '11 never use nothing on yer thicker than 
 these 'ere." 
 
 Bucolic Courtship. The Silent System. 
 
 "Quite too av. fully glad, if I may have the pleasure. We can get 
 divorced as soon as you like afterwards, don't you know '! "
 
 HOW OLD BUFFLES TRAINED DOWN. 
 
 "W 
 
 ANT to 
 
 get your 
 weight off, old man ? 
 very proper too. 1 '11 
 tell you what: look 
 at me ; you recol- 
 lect what I was a 
 year or two ago. 
 Not up to your 
 figure exactly, but 
 good for eighteen 
 stone at least. And 
 what am I now ? 
 Eleven twelve, sir ; 
 nice comfortable 
 weight, enough lor 
 any reasonable 
 man. How did I 
 do it ? Easiest thing in the world, dear boy : tell 
 you all about it some day, too long now." 
 
 " Very — kind— sure. Any— day— half an hour — 
 spare — glad to — see you — crack a bottle - er ? " and 
 old Buffles, having laboriously panted out the fore- 
 going disjointed sentence, eked out his meaning with 
 a feeble flourish of his hand, and subsided with an 
 unctuous smile. For Mr. Buffles, I should explain, 
 had lately waxed exceedingly corpulent ; so much 
 so, that the slightest exertion or expenditure of 
 breath distressed him greatly. 
 
 "Thanks, dear boy. Always happy," said De 
 Creasey cheerfully. " Meantime, instead of telling 
 you the story, I 'm going to do better than that for 
 you. Fact is, you wouldn't believe it, but it's my 
 butler keeps me under. Invaluable person, regular 
 scientific trainer ; just the man for you ! I 'm going 
 to lend him to you for a few months, and depend 
 upon it, if you only put yourself in his hands, you '11 
 be — ah, by Jove ! you '11 be able presently to keep 
 up with O'Leary and that sort of fellows for a week 
 or two." 
 
 " Oh, lor ! " gasped Buffles, and then was heard to 
 murmur, " Thanks — so much— most kind— shure 
 you— but — ah — er — couldn't deprive you— useful- 
 servant. Tell — me — system — try it — self — e — r." 
 
 " Don't mention it. Capital fellow : I don't de- 
 ceive you, I shall miss him much at first, but I want 
 to see if I can't go on without him for a bit ; and if 
 I can't, why, I shall know where to find him. I 
 couldn't part with him altogether, but I '11 lend him 
 to you. Buff, my boy; and do you take my advice, 
 and don't bother yourself about his system, but put 
 your own confidently into his hands and leave the 
 rest to him. I '11 send him round to-morrow, and 
 believe me, Buffy, in a week or two you '11 bless the 
 day you saw him." 
 
 What could be more generous, more disinte- 
 rested, and self-sacrificing than this proposal of De 
 Creasey's ? What could be plainer than that he was 
 touched by the pitiable condition of his friend, with 
 whose sorrows his own experience taught him to 
 sympathize, and impelled him to this liberal offer 
 for his relief .'' What could the obese Buffles do but 
 again wheeze out his thanks, and weakly gesticulate 
 his blessing upon the obliging De Creasey? 
 
 And when the butler came, and his late master, 
 with the kindest forethought, sent with him his foot- 
 man and his valet to assist in carrying out the 
 butler's system efficiently — since the butler, as De 
 Creasy explained, could not be constantly overlook- 
 ing that particular duty — what else could Buffles do 
 but engage the trio of domestics on the spot, and 
 summarily cashier their predecessors ? It was done ; 
 and although Buffles felt that the force of the 
 De Creaseian charity could no further go, yet when 
 that Samaritan presently sent his cook and his 
 coachman, with the assurance that they were indis- 
 pensable auxiliaries to the success of the butler's 
 ministrations, F^uffles, as well as his obesity would 
 permit, could only bow him to the dispensation, and 
 open his doors and his arms to these messengers of
 
 &01V OLD BUFPLES TRAINED DOWN. 
 
 35 
 
 mercy. After this the Do Creaseian page, thrown 
 in as a makeweight, was a mere trifle, to which it 
 would have been simply ungrateful and churlish to 
 object ; especially as De Creasey was willing to 
 place his housemaid and kitchenmaid at his friend's 
 disposal, but said he thought Buffles would now get 
 along very well, and would soon be sensible of a 
 great reduction in his bulk. It will be seen that 
 De Creasey's ideas of reduction were conceived in 
 a trading spirit, and embraced the commercial prin- 
 ciple of taking a quantity ; but no one can reason- 
 ably contend that this in any way detracted from 
 the excellence of his intentions or depreciated their 
 value. 
 
 It would, therefore, have been flying in the face 
 of De Creasey for Buffles to have scorned the sjm- 
 pathies and services of these delegates, particularly 
 as they had not been long established under his 
 roof ere the martyr to adiposity began sensibly to 
 feel the benign effects of their presence. 
 
 It was the footman who began the cure. I must 
 premise that the capacious Buffles, although so 
 
 patiently enduring and mildly melancholy before 
 his friends, was, in his domestic relations, a some- 
 what testy individual. Indeed, some of his depen- 
 dants had been heard to say that he was " a deuce 
 of a temper," and others, that when he was in his 
 tantrums, " a wild elephant was a fool to him ! '' 
 He had occasion very many times a day for the 
 
 services of the new footman, but that majestic 
 menial did not, on his part, see any occasion for 
 his attendance. If ever there was a man and a 
 servant in a chronic state of stoical unconcern about 
 the wants or wishes of his master, that man was De 
 Creasey's quondam Jeames, now enjoying his ease 
 in Buffles' kitchen, studying his master's " Times," 
 and totally ignoring his master's bell. What time 
 the elephantine Buffles was panting and wheezing, 
 and pishing and pshawing, and regularly wearing 
 himself away in his abortive efforts to win to his 
 side this supine and unsympathetic vassak 
 
 It was too true. Buffles already began to diminish 
 under this harassing irritation alone. Imperceptibly, 
 but surely though slowly, he began to fine and shrink 
 away ; and no wonder, you would have said, had 
 you seen him plunging about his apartment, tearing 
 at the bells, flinging open the door to wheeze or 
 whisper stormily downstairs — he couldn't shout for 
 the life of him — and then coming back and plump- 
 ing doubled up in his chair — a very picture of ex- 
 ploded wrath and debris of misery. 
 
 But how about the butler ? It was his office, we 
 hear the reader complain, to get off Buffles' super- 
 fluous weight ; not the footman's. Just so ; but this 
 being a deliberate kind of person, and deputing his 
 duty in the first instance to his subordinate, we have 
 been obliged to observe first the effect of Jiis system. 
 
 When the butler, after settling himself comfort- 
 ably down in his new berth, condescended to inter- 
 view and inspect his magnified master, it was with 
 a grave but supercilious curiosity, much as if he 
 were some overgrown animal, — in not the primest 
 condition after all, — offered to him on easy enough 
 terms of purchase, of which, however, he didn't 
 quite see the advantages. He prodded and poked 
 the unwieldy gentleman as if he were a prize ox ; 
 and having looked him over with mild and well-bred 
 insolence, pronounced that he wanted "tone." It 
 was no use attempting to bring his weight down 
 until his system was thoroughly prepared and forti- 
 fied to meet the exhaustion consequent upon the 
 reduction. That should be his first care, and he 
 would begin at once ; but Mr. Buffles must not cal- 
 culate upon any sensible effects of this treatment. 
 The effects would be apparent only to the operator, 
 
 3 — 2
 
 36 
 
 JIOIV OLD BUFFLES TRAINED DOWN. 
 
 and need be no concern of the patient — indeed, the 
 less the latter knew about what was going on with 
 him, the better. The "toning" and the reduction 
 might be going on together, or alternately, without 
 its being either necessary or competent for the 
 patient to know where one began or the other 
 ended. 
 
 So Buffles put himself, meekly and unresistingly, 
 into the butler's hands, with more docility, certainly, 
 than he submitted to the footman's dispensations. 
 I don't know so well how the reduction went on 
 under the butler's treatment, but I 'm clear on the 
 point that ,this functionary applied himself with 
 much zeal and success to the pleasant task of re- 
 ducing his master's stock of wines and liqueurs. 
 This would have been all very well if he had per- 
 mitted their rightful proprietor to share in this ex- 
 hilarating diversion ; but this was the very thing 
 tabooed above all to Buffles. Some wine, of course, 
 was indispensable to the "toning" process, and if 
 you could have had the hardihood, which I wouldn't 
 have envied you, to taste the "mixture" the butler 
 laid down for and presently gave his governor, you 
 would have understood all about the toning and the 
 reduction going on together. Buffles was "toning" 
 down beautifully. 
 
 Then there was the coachman. The butler- 
 trainer's system embraced plenty of carriage exer- 
 cise, and accordingly the devoted patient went out 
 daily, driven by the first-named official. I despair 
 of conveying anything like an adequate idea of the 
 kind of ordeal this was for the unhappy Buffles. 
 Suffice it to say that from the way in which he di- 
 minished during the hour or two of anguish while 
 he was at the mercy of the coachman, I should say 
 that Buffles fairly oozed out under the carriage 
 doors. His panels were spitted by omnibus poles, 
 and he himself only escaped skewering in like 
 manner by being projected from the back seat to 
 the front by a vagrant pole enterinjf the vehicle 
 from the rear. His wheels became mvolved with 
 other wheels, and with tramway rails and other 
 matters, in the most incomprehensible confusion ; 
 and it may be fairly calculated that this agony and 
 
 mortal terror took it out of Buffles in treble the pro- 
 portion that jockeys are said to lose weight in a 
 strongly-run race. That lasts only for a few minutes, 
 and as Buffles' sweating was protracted into hours, 
 it is easy to conceive the rate at v.hich he wasted. 
 His evaporation went on swimmingly ; there is really 
 no other word for it while it is allowable to speak 
 of people being bathed in perspiration. 
 
 I am half afraid to say anything about the page 
 or the valet. How Buffles sweated and shrank 
 every time he submitted his extensive chin to the 
 razor wielded by the man, and how he subsided 
 like treacle oozing from a leaky can, or foamed and 
 fizzed away like soda-water, under the infliction of 
 the diablerie of the boy — to attempt to record this 
 with anything approaching to truthfulness would 
 ruin my credit forever. I must even fall back upon 
 the cook — no unsubstantial thing to fall upon, even 
 for a Buffles in his pristine portliness ; but I cannot 
 venture to say so much for her dishes and C07is07nmes. 
 Bless you ! they were as poor and thin as — as 
 Buffles himself would have been if this sort of thing- 
 had gone on much longer. 
 
 What he would have come to by this time, or 
 how it would have ended, I 'm sure I couldn't teU 
 you, if, just when he was reduced to a shadow of his 
 former self, and was beginning to wonder what on 
 earth had become of him, or where he had all gone 
 to, Buffles hadn't opportunely woke up from an after- 
 dinner nap, and found himself of the same princely 
 proportions as when he dropped off, but conscious 
 of certain interior sensations that warned him that 
 his repast had not agreed with him so well as usual. 
 But the best of it was that he awoke to the full en- 
 joyment of his own well-appointed and well-ordered 
 household staff, and had never had fathered upon 
 him the worthless minions of a De Creasey — in fact, 
 he had never even heard of that arch- dissembler at 
 all. 
 
 Since then Buffles has gone on making weight as 
 if nothing had happened ; and I am afraid, after 
 all, that the title at the head of this paper is a 
 misnomer. But, then, he certainly lost a lot in his 
 dream ; so, I think I will let it stand. 
 
 H. C. Sessions.
 
 VICISSITUDES OF AN ARTIST'S STUDIO. 
 
 APARTMENTS 
 
 Should you be tircJ 
 of apartments for your 
 studio, build one of your 
 own. 
 
 You consult with your architect, who supplies you 
 with something tasty in design, and informs you it 
 will be finished in three months. 
 
 You get married, and 
 go on the Continent ; 
 you return ; — there has 
 
 been a strike in the building trade. 
 
 In the luUiC3-> ol tune it is, 
 however, completed ; it 's a 
 little damp, perhaps, but no 
 matter, it 's your own. 
 
 
 You likewise i:iid the 
 benefit of skylights, 
 when weallier sets in. 
 
 Then you ha\e the ad- 
 vantage of an.s wering your 
 own door, to models — 
 
 and to beggars, 
 
 .•.,-,.,.,,. I Then there is the fun of 
 not to mention the iax-(_ol ector. , ■ -ex. 
 
 ' working in a forcing-house ri 
 
 summer's scorching rays : 
 
 A patent ^t'j\i:, ,■. .ncli consumes 
 tons of coal, and throws all its 
 heat up the i;himney ; keep on 
 your ulster, lean on the stove, and you "ve not much tc complain of. 
 
 And again, — your studio being mistaken tor a 
 stable varies the monotony of study. 
 
 \\ hen the thaw- 
 sets in, your sky- 
 lights leak, and 
 your pipes burst, — 
 
 -vv(aiCc5t^^c 
 
 \ ou let it for a syna- 
 gogue, and cast yourself 
 once more on the mercy of 
 the world.
 
 LONG-HAIRED LETTICE. 
 
 I. 
 
 OH, do you know Letitia Lane, 
 Called likewise Lettice, to her bane ; 
 The girl who had that curious whim 
 Founded upon a tale in Grimm ? 
 
 The tale of Lettice with the hair 
 So long it served instead of stair, 
 And thus the King's son used to climb 
 The tower, to court her many a time I 
 
 Letitia Lane said to herself, 
 " 1 have pomatum on a shelf ; 
 I know a boy whose name is King ; 
 My hair it grows like anything. 
 
 " I have explored the neighbourhood, 
 And found but one King, — which is good ; 
 Because if there is only one. 
 His son of course is i/ic King's son." 
 
 She knew her grammar, Lettice did, 
 She used to learn as she was bid ; 
 She knew the Articles all right. 
 Definite and Indefinite. 
 
 But now, which made her parents stare, 
 She gave her mind to growing hair ; 
 Her father said, " What can our daughter 
 Be at with all that rosemary water?" 
 
 Alas ! the secret soon was out : 
 Beside her window ran a spout. 
 And one day they beheld the girl 
 Measuring what should have been a curl, 
 
 And heard this murmur from their pet, 
 " Not long enough by six feet yet, 
 But still it makes a nice long shower ; 
 O happy prince, to climb the tower !" 
 
 At first they thought it was her fun. 
 But maids gave notice one by one : 
 They said, " We cannot stand it, ma'am, 
 Circassian cream and rosemary balm ; 
 
 "And hair of this unusual length ; 
 It is too much, ma'am, for our strength." 
 But soon the parents came to share 
 Themselves their daughter's pride of hair. 
 
 " Lady Godiva had a head 
 
 Of long, long hair," the father said. 
 " And who else had, my dearest life ? " 
 " Boadicea," says the wife : 
 
 " There was the beggar maid beside, 
 Whom King Cophetua made his bride ; 
 Saint Dorothea ; Judith. There, 
 We will not cut Letitia's hair." 
 
 IL 
 
 Now, when the girl's hair had run out 
 The full length of that water-spout, 
 Letitia took the tale in Grimm 
 To little King, and showed it him. 
 
 Says she, " You see, it all comes right ; 
 My room shall be the Tower of might ; 
 My name is Lettice, my hair is long, 
 You are the King's son, and are strong. 
 
 " You come and sing, ' Let down your hair, 
 That I may climb without a stair.' 
 You clutch my locks, and then, oh joy!" 
 This greatly pleased King's little boy. 
 
 One night when it was dark and dense, 
 He entered by the garden fence, 
 And underneath Letitia's room 
 He sang that rhyme amid the gloom. 
 
 Letitia said, " Who calls outside ? " 
 " I am the King's son," he replied. 
 Ten feet of hair she then let down, — 
 The hair was soft and golden-brown. 
 
 And King the younger seized the same, 
 And pulled and pulled it, as it came ; 
 Letitia sighed, " Oh, oh ! " and such ; 
 Her poor eyes watered very much.
 
 FIRST APPEARANCE OP JO HIST JONES, COMEDIAN. 
 
 39 
 
 The more he pulled the more he hurt, 
 But Lettice only squeezed her skirt. 
 Not liking to appeal to him, 
 Because that was not put in Grimm. 
 
 But as he tugged and tugged amain, 
 At last she could not bear the pain, 
 And gave ten screeches, loud and clear, 
 And so the maids ran out to hear ; 
 
 Likewise the parents, and some friends. 
 Who rapped the lover's finger-ends. 
 And did not much attend to him 
 When he kept saying, " Grimm ! Grimm ! 
 Grimm ! " 
 
 For by this time Letitia Lane 
 
 Was almost fainting with the pain. 
 
 And two policemen, loud and large. 
 
 With bullseyes, asked, "What is the charge ?" 
 
 Of course the friends hushed up the case. 
 Because they dreaded the disgrace ; 
 But poor Letitia, pale of cheek. 
 She had her hair cut that day week. 
 
 And now the parents keep an eye 
 Upon the children's library ; 
 Admitting science, psalm, and hymn, 
 But angrily excluding Grimm. 
 
 Author of " Lilliput Levee." 
 
 FIRST APPEARANCE OF JOHN JONES, COMEDIAN. 
 
 To quote the words of several competent judges 
 (notably mygood mother and thefamilynurse), 
 I was a born actor. 
 
 From the moment of my entrance upon the Stage 
 of Life, I indulged in tricks and conceits rarely met 
 with on this side of the footlights, my antics being 
 so eccentric that they invariably provoked the re- 
 mark that " it was as good as a pantomime to see 
 me." 
 
 At the age of seven I was a perfect master of 
 Skelt's Acting Drama (the penny plain and twopence 
 coloured arrangement), and before I was seventeen 
 had trod the boards of the amateur Electric Theatre, 
 and enacted the part of Horatio in consideration of 
 the payment of five shillings in advance, fully be- 
 lieving that this character was below my genius, but 
 knowing that the assumption of the Prince of Den- 
 mark was considerably above my means, the fee for 
 murdering Hamlet being two pounds at the very 
 least. 
 
 Thus step by step my passion for the stage and its 
 attractive surroundings had increased, till finally I 
 became a positive slave to Thespis, and had no 
 delight in anything or anybody unconnected with 
 the " profession." 
 
 My frequent performances at the " Electric " were 
 
 crowned with the most flattering success, the ap- 
 plause of my friends (?) on each occasion being so 
 overwhelming as to leave no doubt in my mind that, 
 could I but obtain an appearance, my fortune would 
 be made, and the dream of my life realized. Thus 
 imbued, I set to work and plotted and schemed from 
 morn till night to secure my desired debut, and at 
 length succeeded in obtaining an introduction to a 
 well-known tragedian, Mr. Mortimer Montmorency, 
 then "starring" at the Theatre Royal Cottingham. 
 The interview was satisfactory in the extreme : the 
 great man being so pleased with my appearance and 
 manners, that he determined to secure my services 
 at once, to support him in small but important parts, 
 at a correspondingly trivial salary. Here was joy in- 
 deed! It really seemed too good to be true; but all 
 doubt was removed when the manof many parts bade 
 me be present the following morning at the eleven 
 o'clock rehearsal, adding, " By-the-bye, will you play 
 under your own name, Mr. Jones, or will you have a 
 no7n de plume ? " " Oh, no ! I must have a nom de 
 plume" I replied ; " I cannot play under the name 
 of John Jones for family reasons. Mr. Herbert 
 Granville," I added, " would suit me, if there were 
 no objections." " Certainly," acquiesced my patron, 
 " Mr. Herbert Granville be it."
 
 40 
 
 FIRST APPEARANCE OF JOHN JONES, COMEDIAN. 
 
 The play selected foi- my first appearance was 
 ''Richard 1 1 1.," and the character with which I was 
 to be entrusted was a " Flying Messenger," who is 
 supposed to rush on to the battle-field and announce 
 that " A gentleman, who calls himself Stanley, de- 
 sires admission to the Earl of Richmond ! " having 
 repeated which sentence several times to the satisfac- 
 tion of the stage manager, I was pronounced " all 
 right," and rehearsal was at an end. 
 
 It must be admitted that it was galling in the ex- 
 treme for one who had i-evelled in Claude Melnotte 
 and Romeo to be ignominiously destined to speak 
 one solitary line. However, there was no help for 
 it now, and the only thing to be done was to try and 
 deliver my words in such a manner as to astonish, 
 if possible, the manager and audience, which I de- 
 termined to do, and spent the whole of the after- 
 noon in practising my speech and studying the effect 
 I desired to produce. 
 
 The visions I had originally pictured of my open- 
 ing night — vainly imagining myself the hero of the 
 hour — were somewhat rudely dispelled when I 
 reached the theatre in the evening, and found myself 
 unnoticed and uncared for, and my courage — which 
 had been so grand in the morning — followed the 
 example of the redoubtable Bob Acres, and " con- 
 siderably oozed out." 
 
 As the hour approached for me to go on — time 
 after time did I return from the stage to the dress- 
 ing-room to have yet another look at my warlike 
 appearance. I have a distinct remembrance of 
 getting in everybody's way on this eventful night, 
 and being the recipient of many a strangely-sounding 
 blessing, which increased the nervousness that had 
 now strongly set in. 
 
 I can hardly fancy a more intensely wretched 
 feeling than that which took possession of me at this 
 time, while waiting for my cue — an empty, sinking 
 sort of sensation, as though I had nothing in me — 
 an expression which might have been very truth- 
 fully applied to my acting capabilities. How I 
 longed for my time to come ! or, rather, how I longed 
 for it to have gone ! and what would I not have 
 given to have been released from my responsibility.'' 
 
 Over and over again did I bother the prompter to 
 
 know whether it was near my time — fearful lest 1 
 might not hear my cue. In fact, such a nuisance had 
 I made myself to that necessary but much-abused 
 worthy, that in despair he besought me to get any- 
 where out of his way; which request I complied 
 with by getting to the extreme back of the stage at 
 the very moment I was wanted, from which place of 
 retirement I was seized by him and literally pushed 
 on, in anything but a dignified manner. 
 
 My memory does not serve me sufficiently to 
 recount from personal recollection how I disported 
 myself during the short time that I had possession 
 of the stage, but those who were present on the 
 memorable night affirm that they can never forget 
 it. According to all accounts, my nerve must have 
 entirely forsaken me; for, instead of rushing on in a 
 state of wild excitement, which would have become 
 the scene, I walked quietly up to Richmond, and, being 
 short-sighted, eyed him up and down, as though to 
 make sure I was addressing the right man, and then 
 drawled out in the slowest and swellest of accents, 
 "A gentleman — who calls himself Stanley — desires 
 admission — to the— Earl of Richmond." Thus car- 
 rying out my idea of astonishing the manager and 
 audience, though hardly in the way that I originally 
 purposed. 
 
 What the audience thought of m.y fiasco I know 
 not, but what Mr. Montmorency said I remember 
 very distinctly ; it was this: 
 
 "Granville, I love thee, but never more be officer 
 of mine ;" after which short but characteristic dis- 
 missal, he placed his hand kindly on my shoulder 
 and said, " Never mind, my boy, it might have been 
 worse ; for I remember once, when playing Hamlet 
 one night, being completely nonplussed by the 
 Roscncrantz of the evening. It was in the second 
 scene of the second act, which should be as follows : 
 
 " ' Hamlet. What news ? ' 
 
 ^^' Rosencfants. None, my lord, but that the 
 world 's grown honest.' 
 
 " ' Hamlet. Then is doomsday near." 
 
 " Instead of which, after my inquiry, ' What news ?' 
 the playful Rosencrantz replied, ' None, my lord, 
 but that the world's grown honest and doomsday 
 
 ts near. 
 
 H. G. SOMERVILLE.
 
 THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG. 
 
 (BEING SOME EXTRACTS FROM A " SOCIETY" JOURNAL ; WITH EXPLANATORY ILLUSTRATIONS.) 
 
 Tuit 1^ kt ,•> ijr 
 
 
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 '■:';///,// /Aj HAD JUST TMEN ja/ftCARN STr A Rh'— S.-^ 8c«. 
 
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 ' ".■l^WO ABUmp.WWJv/AfALWMT ACPEAT fSOHY OF I»!INE"
 
 A BREACH OF PROMISE. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 IN WHICH OUR HERO "HAS IT" AT LAST. 
 
 UDWAY GREEN 
 
 " had it " at last ! 
 
 Many a long year 
 had he been struggling 
 for it — now toiling a 
 long way behind it, 
 now having it almost 
 within his grasp, again 
 losing sight of it al- 
 together ; but, never 
 daunted and always 
 pressing onward with 
 renewed vigour after 
 each defeat, until now 
 he really " had it " at 
 last. 
 
 Tudway had been a discontented man — unreason- 
 ably discontented, his friends thought. He had 
 (said they) everything a man could desire— a large 
 estate, an ample income, a splendid cellar, a mag- 
 nificent cook, a perfect digestion, a beautiful face 
 
 and form no ! even the most sycophantic of his 
 
 friends couldn't credit him with a beautiful face and 
 form. The politest of them thought that his eyes 
 "might have been a leetle more— eh?" " His back, 
 perhaps — ? " and his hair " Just a shade or two — 
 um ! — don't you think so ? " But I won't dwell upon 
 these matters, as Tudway may see this, and I have 
 no desire to wound his feelings. We all regard 
 our imperfections through a diminishing-glass, as 
 it were, and persuade ourselves the world does the 
 same, so I dare say Tudway calls his outrageous 
 squint "a slight cast," considers his hair "a sort of a 
 pale auburn," and supposes his hump imperceptible 
 " unless he stands sideways." Such moral blind- 
 ness is a wise dispensation —how would some of us 
 bear our own hideousness else ? I speak feelingly 
 
 on this point. But I am wandering away from what 
 was considered Tudway's crowning reason for satis- 
 faction with his lot. He was engaged to be married 
 to' the young, witty, beautiful, and accomplished 
 Miss Kitty Pyrke. 
 
 I am not going out of my way to describe Miss 
 Pyrke in detail. I 've given her four decently com- 
 prehensive adjectives, and no young lady, however 
 exacting, could expect more. Enough that she was 
 beloved by Tudway, and, doubtless, in return loved 
 — his riches. She may have loved his person, and 
 yet — but who can fathom a woman's fancy ? 
 
 Still, even his love was subordinate to his one un- 
 satisfied longing, the cause of his discontent. This 
 misguided young man, rolling in riches and destitute 
 of poor relations, yearned for fame — literary fame ! 
 He had no desire, mind you, to "wing a lofty flight" 
 (this has the ring of a quotation, so I have placed 
 it in inverted commas ; but I believe I have invented 
 the phrase myself, all the same) ; he merely aspired 
 to the position of a comic writer. He was considered 
 by himself and friends to be " awfully funny," and 
 they all said he ought to " get on " a comic paper. 
 To do him justice, he tried hard ; but editor after 
 editor politely declined his productions, even when 
 he offered them for nothing. Meantime, he utilized 
 all his " good things " in letters to his friends, and 
 the more " comicalities " he sent them, the more 
 they wished him on a "comic." Naturally his "best 
 things " found their way into his Kitty's letters, but 
 all this brought him no nearer his desire. He could 
 have printed at his own expense, of course, but that 
 was not what he wished ; he wanted his things to 
 appear in some periodical where the public would 
 be bound to see them — they might ignore a book — 
 and he had tried every paper he knew of without 
 success, so he was in despair. 
 
 But the tide had turned at last. Sitting over his 
 study fire this evening, and brooding over his ill 
 success, a sudden thought darted through his brain,
 
 A BREACH OF PROMISE. 
 
 43 
 
 and electrified him. Starting to his feet, he slapped 
 his thigh joyously, and exclaimed, "/ have it !" 
 
 Then, with a happy light in his eye, and a merry 
 chuckle — where should a chuckle be? at the root of 
 his tongue? Well, say at the root of his tongue — 
 he put on his hat and sought Miss Kitty's abode. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 THE PLAN. 
 
 Miss Pyrke resided, with her papa and sisters, 
 in a new house in that district of London which un- 
 blushingly calls itself "West Kensington," although 
 " Hammersmith " is written in every feature of its 
 face as plainly as ever Bill was in those of Mrs. 
 Wititterley's page, hight Adolphus. However, this 
 pleases Hammersmith, I suppose, and doesn't hurt 
 Kensington, c ■) there is no more to be said on that 
 point. 
 
 Tu' Iway, on his arrival, made straight for the room 
 in which his Kitty was usually to be found — and he 
 found her. He wasn't quite satisfied with the state 
 of affairs, however, but it was not his usual time 
 for calling, and if lovers will call at unusual times, 
 they must take the consequences. Still, he thought 
 he had grounds for complaint. He wouldn't have 
 objected to finding her surrounded by the family, 
 neither would he have objected to finding her alone ; 
 but she was pursuing a middle course, of which he 
 didn't quite approve. She was very nearly alone, 
 but not sufficiently so. Of course he didn't doubt 
 her, but he thought her one companion too young 
 and too male, and they might just as well have had 
 the gas alight, then he could have been qziite certain 
 whether it was a knee his Kitty started from, or only 
 the sofa. He was too excited with his new idea, 
 however, to do more than make a mental note of 
 the circumstance for future comment, so as soon as 
 the young man (he was plaguy good-looking, con- 
 found him !) had slunk away, and Kitty had lit the 
 gas (for which he couldn t see the necessity now), 
 he said, 
 
 " I say, Kitty, do you object to my jilting you ? " 
 Now, why Miss Pyrke should get red and con- 
 
 fused, and assume the expression of one about to 
 vehemently assert her innocence, passes my com- 
 prehension. Tudway didn't notice it, however, but 
 went on. 
 
 " Because I 've got such a splendid idea. You 
 know how I'm always yearning for fame? Well, 
 look here : suppose I write to you and break off our 
 engagement — you bring action for breach — my 
 letters, with all those funny things in them, read in 
 court — printed in «// the papers — roars of laughter 
 — publicity — fame — happiness ! You and I make it 
 all right afterwards, of course." 
 
 After all, there is no doubt she must have been 
 fond of him : her eyes sparkled with delight as he 
 unfolded his plan ; at last he would be happy — she 
 was thinking of that, no doubt. She grew nearly as 
 excited as he was, and gave his scheme her unquali- 
 fied approval. 
 
 " Go home, there's a dear boy, and write me the 
 letter at once. And I say, Tuddy," she called after 
 him as he hurried down the front steps, " I '11 go in 
 for immense damages— for fun." 
 
 " Bless her heart ! " cried Tudway, as he trotted 
 off, " how she enters into the thing ! " 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 
 THE RESULT. 
 
 The contract thus entered into was faithfully car- 
 ried out. The next morning Miss Pyrke received 
 the following note : — 
 
 My dear Miss Pyrke,— I have just decided 
 never to marry. I therefore beg to release you from 
 your engagement. I shall be glad if you will retain 
 my presents, but please return engagement ring by 
 bearer, as it may be useful, should 1 again alter my 
 intentions. I am, yours cheerfully, 
 
 Tudway Green. 
 
 Upon this Miss Pyrke promptly brought her 
 action, laying the damages at ^100,000. The case 
 was " set down for trial," and in due course came 
 before a judge and two rows of enlightened jury. 
 
 Tudway was mightily amused with the whole thing.
 
 A BREACH OE PROMISE. 
 
 Kno\\ ing it to be a sham, he found something irre- 
 sistibly comic in the grave severity of the judge and 
 the shocked expiession of the jury as the counsel for 
 the plaintiff opened the case, describing him (Tud- 
 way) as a " mouthing Mephistopheles, inebriated 
 witli the exuberance of his own callosity, and dis- 
 turbing the pure waters of a budding consciousness 
 \\\\.h. the insidious insincerities of a fictitious affec- 
 tion," and detailing the " whole course of love " from 
 the first "slight attentions" through the proposal 
 scene (which he described with surprising accuracy, 
 Tudway thought) and long correspondence, until the 
 climax was reached in " this heartless — this gross — ■ 
 this FIENDISH letter." 
 
 Oh, it was a rich joke ! Tudway thought ; a rare 
 joke — perhaps the best he had ever made. He tried 
 to catch Kitty's eye in a telegraphic glance of intel- 
 ligence as she entered the box, but she kept them 
 both cast down, and gave her evidence with a quiet 
 self-possession which elicited a compliment from the 
 learned judge (what an eye for beauty they have, 
 those old fellows !) and nearly sent Tudway into a 
 fit. 
 
 " How well she does it ! " he said to himself with 
 intense enjoyment. " Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! This day 
 will be the death of me." 
 
 His own conduct in the box, however, in conse- 
 quence of his struggles to retain his gravity, drew 
 forth anything but compliments, the judge charac- 
 terizing it as " disgusting flippancy," and threaten- 
 ing to commit him ; while the plaintiff's counsel 
 described it as " consistently brutal." 
 
 But now they reached the point to which Tudway 
 looked forward with such hopes. The counsel lifted 
 the first of his letters, and asked, "Is this your hand- 
 writing, sir?" The reply being in the affirmative, 
 the clerk proceeded to read it. " Now," thought 
 our friend, " for a sensation ;" and he prepared him- 
 self for the look of surprise, the pleased smile, and 
 the final roar of laughter each of his witticisms was 
 to draw forth. But there seemed to be somcthin<r 
 
 wrong ; the letter was read calmly through — not a 
 smile was visible ! Could they have heard it ? The 
 judge was quietly taking notes ; the jury sat at- 
 tentive, but solemn. Tudway couldn't understand 
 it. The second letter made no better impression 
 than the first, nor did the third, except that the judge 
 asking an explanation of a passage containing one 
 of his " best things," and receiving it, remarked con- 
 temptuously, " Oh, some stupid joke ! " He grew 
 bewildered, his laughter all died out of him, and he 
 answered the rest of the questions put to him like 
 one in a dream. Like one in a dream he heard the 
 judge sum up, the jury give a verdict for the plain- 
 tiff — without leaving the box — and for the whole 
 damages claimed. Like one in a dream he heard 
 the judge deliver a long lecture on his " dastardly 
 conduct," and pronounce "judgment accordingly, 
 with costs." His consciousness was benumbed to 
 everything but a sense of gigantic failure ; his last 
 hope had left him, and fame was never to be his. 
 Sad and sorrowful he sought the presence of the late 
 plaintiff. 
 
 " Kitty," he said, sadly, " I have not treated you 
 well. I have been wrong all along. I have wasted 
 time that should have been devoted to you in the 
 pursuit of a chimera — an ignis fat it us — a will-o'-the- 
 wisp. But I have received a lesson : from this mo- 
 ment I give up fame and devote my life to your 
 happiness. Let us be married to-morrow." 
 
 But she received bis advances coldly. 
 
 " No, Mr. Green," she replied ; " you have jilted 
 me cruelly— shamefully. I didn't know how cruelly 
 and shamefully until his lordship made that beau- 
 tiful speech. We meet no more. I go to wed another 
 — the young man you surprised me with the other 
 night, in point of fact~we are going to set up on 
 this hundred thousand pounds." 
 
 And she left him. 
 
 I don't think I can do justice to the rest of Tud- 
 way 's career. 
 
 John W. Houghton.
 
 SOME RAILWAY PASSENGERS. 
 
 The Man who never travelled in a tiani l)cfore. 
 
 I'he Old Party who wants the window shut. 
 
 The Young Party who wants it open. 
 
 The Man who always finds a corner with his back to the engine, 
 
 The I/nbiine. 
 
 The Man who can afford first-class, but always travels third. 
 
 I'he Man who can only afford third, but always goes first-class. 
 The Young Lady who doesn't mind the smoke in the least. 
 The Old Lady who does. 
 
 'I'he Old Woman that always gets in the wrong train. 
 The Man who always invites a very stout party into a very fr.l! 
 carriage, with the remark that there is plenty of room for a little 'un. 
 
 9- 
 lo. 
 II.
 
 A FELINE TRIAL. 
 
 " TT^ON'T stand staring in that imbecile way, 
 \ J my good man," said the magistrate; "you 
 hear what the complainant says." 
 
 "Yes, sir, — yes, your Worship, I mean; but " 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! you have said that before," he 
 cried, and he brought his hand down so viciously on 
 his desk that the perspiration stood in bigger drops 
 than ever upon my head and brow, tickling me 
 horribly as several of the drops got married, and 
 joining themselves into streams, ran down my nose 
 and behind my ears. 
 
 It was very dreadful, and I was so innocent, and 
 somehow people would titter, and I could see a 
 dreadful little man of a plump and rosy aspect in 
 the reporter's box, smiling as he watched me through 
 a pair of the shiniest spectacles I ever saw, and 
 every now and then, after making notes, he kept 
 staring at me as if he were learning me by heart. 
 
 Once or twice he turned and whispered to a fail 
 young man beside him in the box, and he whispered 
 back, and blinked rapidly, and made his fair hair 
 stick up all over his head, as he, too, watched me 
 through another pair of dreadfully shiny spectacles ; 
 and he also seemed to be learning me by heart ; and 
 what's more, just as I was making up my mind to 
 deliver a very powerful bit of defence, this dreadful 
 young man smiled, made his spectacles glimmer, 
 and then seemed to play a tune on the piano about 
 me, all over the front of the reporters' box, with 
 lingers that looked like a phantom chcvcajix dc /rise 
 in rapid motion. 
 
 It was those two reporters at that dreadful police 
 court at Bow Street that upset mc, so that I could 
 do nothing but perspire, till my clean collar was quite : 
 limp, and 1 did nothing at last but gasp like a gold- 
 fish in a globe. 
 
 " You see, sir," said the solicitor, smiling, " there 
 is nothing to be got out of the defendant. As my 
 client the complainant instructs me, this man is a 
 stubborn kind of personage, with a craze for cats, 
 
 and the neighbourhood has become of late perfectly 
 unbearable." 
 
 " With the nocturnal nightingales' notes ? " said 
 the magistrate, smiling. 
 
 " Exactly so, sir; ha, ha, ha ! very good. Excuse 
 my laughing, your Worship," cried the solicitor, 
 wiping his eyes, while all the people tittered ; some- 
 body called out " Silence I " very mildly ; and that 
 plump little man bent over his book, and I am sure, 
 from the way his spectacles twinkled, he wrote down 
 the words, " Roars of laughter." 
 
 " My client, sir, asks for nothing unreasonable ; 
 only that, say, fifty of the cats may be destroyed." 
 
 " Roars of laughter" written down again, and the 
 demon young man with the straight-up hair played 
 a flourish with one hand, and brought down his other 
 as if playing a big chord. 
 
 "There — there are only nineteen ! " I cried at last,_ 
 for I was so exasperated that I was obliged to speak. 
 
 " Oh ! only nineteen, Mr. — Mr. " said the 
 
 magistrate, referring to the charge-sheet before him. 
 
 "Yes, your Worship : nineteen, including the kit- 
 tens," I said, wiping my face. 
 
 "Roars of laughter" written down again, and I 
 felt as if I must throw something at the little man, 
 and something else at his son. 
 
 " Well, but, my good man," said the magistrate, 
 now speaking blandly, " don't you think you can 
 abate this nuisance? Cats are very well in their 
 places, but nineteen or ninety-nine are too many to 
 make the vicinity pleasant for your neighbours." 
 
 " My client advises me, sir," interposed the solici- 
 tor, " that there has been quite a plague of cats for 
 the past twelvemonth." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes ! so I have heard," said the magis- 
 trate, testily. Then turning to me, " Now, this is a 
 nuisance that I must leave to your common sense 
 to abate. I shall dismiss the case on your promise 
 to get rid of the animals and not annoy your neigh- 
 bours any more. If you do not, proceedings will
 
 A FELINE TRIAL. 
 
 47 
 
 doubtless be taken against you by the local authori- 
 ties. Stand down. Call the next case." 
 
 " But— but — but, your Worship," I exclaimed. 
 
 " Stand down, sir ! The next case ! " said the 
 magistrate ; and I was hustled out of the box where 
 I had been standing, and hurried out of the court 
 amidst a burst of titters, while one ribald wretch 
 said, '•'■Miaou .'" 
 
 Some one else said " Miaou ! " outside, and the 
 policemen laughed so, that it was with a feeling of 
 mental agony that I leaped into the first hansom cab 
 — stay, I will be accurate : I never leap now — and 
 sank back exhausted. 
 
 " Where to, sir ? " cried the cabman. 
 
 " Cats, my man, cats," I said, feebly. 
 
 "Where, sir?" 
 
 " Cats — I mean Forty-seven Raven Street, Strand." 
 
 Judith opened the door to me, and about seven 
 cats began to rub their heads against my legs as 
 soon as I was on the mat, but I had not the heart 
 to kick them, and hurrying into my room, I sat 
 down to wonder how I was to abate the nuisance. 
 
 I gazed into the garden, once so neat and pretty, 
 though certainly peppered with soot, but always 
 cheery with its ferns and the little fountain ; now 
 it was scratched by cats and besprinkled with broken 
 missiles that had been thrown from neighbouring 
 windows. In these few square feet you could see 
 three old, very old, boots ; a worn-out hair-brush ; the 
 debris of a washhand-jug — blue Sophonisba pattern; 
 two halves of the lid of a tooth-brush tray ; some 
 dry pieces of soap — sizes various ; a slipper ; the 
 bare stump of a shaving-brush ; half a scuttle, at 
 least, of nubbly coals ; some pieces of tile ; twice as 
 many scraps of slate ; a broken broom-handle ; the 
 foot of a rummer — the top being in splinters too 
 small to count ; the remains of several hot water- 
 iugs ; dozens of medicine bottles ; many pomatum- 
 pots, and their lids ; half a brick ; two old hats — 
 chimneypots, which was probably why they were 
 thrown ; a Bradshaw's Guide, in a very wet and 
 sodden condition ; a thin old bent poker ; the pan 
 of a fire-shovel ; a tin shaving-pot ; a small flat 
 bachelor's kettle ; a French roll, that had swollen 
 horribly since it lay there ; a champagne-bottle, 
 three hocks, and about nine of the small cheap 
 
 shilling clarets ; a half-quartern cottage loaf, in as 
 bad a state as the roll ; while the blank wall was all 
 over dabs of putty, that had flattened there conse- 
 quent upon the young solicitors at forty-five making 
 practice at the cats with a long blow-pipe. 
 
 These are a few of the articles with which the 
 furry creatures had been pelted ; and while my 
 neighbours reviled me about the matter, I hasten 
 to place myself right with the public, and to say 
 that it was not my fault, for I did not like to keep 
 the cats at all, but they would not go. 
 
 I lit a pipe, and mused — please mark, good reader, 
 I do not try to make a pun {muse — views) out of that 
 word, like some ribald writers — and just then Judith 
 entered the room. 
 
 "What would you hke for dinner to-day, sir?" 
 
 " Cats," I said, absently. 
 
 " Lor bless the man I what 's come to him ? " she 
 muttered. " I said, what would you like for dinner 
 to-day, sir?" 
 
 "Dinner? oh, anything, Judith." 
 
 " Please, sir, I forgot to tell you when you was 
 going out, that the big tortoiseshell had kittens in 
 the waste paper-basket in the night — nine of 'em, sir. 
 I never see such a litter afore ! " 
 
 " Nine more ! " I groaned : " then there are 
 twenty-eight. But which big tortoiseshell — that one 
 Jeremy's asked me to take care of while they went 
 to the Isle of Wight?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And it has only been here a week ! " I moaned 
 feebly, as I followed Judith into the front room, 
 where, as soon as I entered, the tortoiseshell Tom 
 — no, stay ; I am so confused with that police court 
 bullying and those two reporters, that I hardly know 
 what I say : it couldn't have been a Tom, of course ; 
 I might have known that, as tortoiseshell Toms are 
 so rare — the tortoiseshell Tibby began to purr; and 
 as I sat myself down, manufacturing dire plots for the 
 destruction of her offspring, if she did not come and 
 rub herself against my legs, and then go back to the 
 waste paper-basket, and take hold one by one, by 
 the skin at the back of their necks, of the nine little 
 faintly-squeaking kittens, with their blind slits of 
 eyes and scrubs of tails, and lay them at my feet, 
 giving each one a lick as she did so ; and when she
 
 48 
 
 A FELINE TRIAL. 
 
 had got them all in a heap, if she did not look up 
 at me and seem to say, 
 
 " There ! wouldn't you be proud if you had nine 
 kittens?" 
 
 Now, here is the way it began : I am a mildly- 
 disposed bachelor, nearly fifty, and live alone, saving 
 my servants, in one of the quietest streets in town ; 
 and because one day I was at a friend's, and 
 stroked and admired a fine white cat with blue eyes, 
 of which he was very proud — it seemed for no other 
 reason than that it was as deaf as a post — he sent it 
 to me next day as a present. 
 
 The very next week, another friend, who had been 
 to my house in the interim and seen the white cat, 
 said, " I say, old fellow, you're fond of cats. You shall 
 have the big old Tom." 
 
 I protested that I would not rob him for worlds ; 
 but he insisted on being robbed. 
 
 " He 's the heaviest Tom in London," he said ; 
 and, in spite of all, he weighted me with that cat. 
 
 Then, like the wind, it was set about that I — Birley 
 — Christopher Birley — was fond of cats ; and Mrs. 
 Martin came over one day with something in a 
 basket, and said that they were going to live in the 
 country, where they would have no use for a cat ; so, 
 as I was so fond of them, and would be so kind to 
 it, she had brought me her Cleopatra. 
 
 I couldn't help myself — I was obliged to take it; 
 and then, at a horrible rate, people brought me their 
 cats to take care of while they went for their autumn 
 trips ; and, when I objected, it was always, " Oh ! 
 it 's only one more, and you won't notice it ! " or, 
 " I wouldn't trouble you, Mr. Birley, but people are 
 so cruel, and I don't think it's right to go away and 
 lock up one's house with the cat left in it to starve." 
 
 And that was not the worst of it : the cats them- 
 selves got to know of it ; and they came from far 
 enough and settled themselves upon my establish- 
 ment, walking in at back door or open window, or 
 coming down through the pavement with the coals, 
 if there was no other part open, so as to get into 
 what they evidently looked upon as a kind of a Cat 
 Paradise. One great black fellow broke an attic win- 
 dow to come in, and another black and white came 
 down the chimney ; so that at the end of a year I 
 really believe there were seventy cats in the house, 
 
 and the people around said I was mad. I couldn't 
 go out without some ribald boy shouting " 'scat 
 'scat ! " and the neighbours began to complain. 
 
 And now all this had resulted in my being sum- 
 moned to Bow Street for causing a nuisance in the 
 neighbourhood — ^just, too, when, by some series of 
 fatalities, numbers of the cats had died, and I had 
 filled the back garden so full that I did not know 
 where to bury the rest. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to obey, so I took 
 Judith into my confidence. 
 
 " Well, sir," she said, " there are certainly a few 
 too many, but don't go pisoning the poor things — 
 it makes 'em that ill that I can't abear to see 'em." 
 
 " Oh, no, certainly not," I said, with a shudder, for 
 I saw in imagination a series of poisoned cats haunt- 
 ing me, and yelling 'Murderer!' "But don't you 
 think, Judith, we might — er — em— er — consign that 
 litter to a — er — em — a watery grave ?" 
 
 " Drownd 'em in the pail, sir ? Well, yes, that 
 would be nine the less." 
 
 So we settled that we would begin with these nine, 
 but not in broad daylight. A deed so dark needed 
 the flavour of night, so at the witching hour of nine 
 I tucked up my sleeves, and coaxing Tibby into the 
 back room with a bit of meat, I shut her in, and, 
 taking the nine infant cats, like a middle-aged Herod 
 as I was, I bore them in the basket down below. 
 
 Judith was already filling a pail at the tap in the 
 back kitchen, and this half full she set down in the 
 middle of the floor and tlien looked at me. 
 
 " Hadn't you better empty them all in at once, 
 Judith?" I said, hesitating, as I looked up at her from 
 the helpless progeny of the mother cat. 
 
 "Me — me put 'em in, sir!" she stammered. "I 
 thought you 'd like to do that." 
 
 " Er — er— no, Judith," I replied. " I have brought 
 
 them down, you must commit the mur 1 mean 
 
 drown them." 
 
 " Lor-a-mussy, sir, no, I couldn't do it ! can't abear 
 even to kill a fle 1 mean fly." 
 
 "Suppose," I said, with a brilliant idea flashing 
 through my mind, "suppose we both take the basket 
 and empty them in ? " 
 
 " Well, we might do that, sir," she said, unwil- 
 lingly. 
 
 Il
 
 A FELINE TRIAL. 
 
 49 
 
 And we did : literally pouring the nine furry babes, 
 as they feebly squealed a protest, into the pail. 
 
 '• Miaou !" said a cat just then ; and, starting in 
 horror, there stood twelve cats, like a jury of the 
 kittens' countrj'men, come to sit in inquest upon the 
 little bodies ; and, directly after, in came Tibby her- 
 self, looking wide-eyed and wondering, to scamper 
 round the kitchen, and tlien look up at me as if to 
 say, " \\'here are my bairns ? " 
 
 It was too much for the feelings of both Judith 
 and myself, and kneeling down, we picked the nine 
 kittens out of the pail, and began to wipe them, 
 efforts ably seconded by Tibby with her tongue, 
 while, as she finished them, she carried them oft' one 
 by one and dropped them into the basket. 
 
 The wiping of those kittens took some time, and 
 evidently afforded a good deal of satisfaction to the 
 cats, with which the back kitchen was now pretty 
 well filled — a satisfaction which they evinced by rub- 
 bing their sides against my legs, and then com- 
 mencing with one ear, pushing their bodies right 
 along to the root of their tails, turning round and 
 repeating the action on the other side. As I had 
 only two legs, and the rubbing process had to be 
 gone through by fifteen cats and kittens at once, 
 some availed themselves of the corner of the sink, 
 others of the wash-stool, while others again tried the 
 pail, and got horribly in the way. 
 
 The little kittens seemed none the worse for their 
 immersion, and it was with a sigh of relief that I 
 saw them snugly settled amongst their mother's fur. 
 So, rising from my knees, I walked upstairs, fol- 
 lowed by a procession of cats, to my study, where 
 the first of the party placed himself on my knees, 
 another leaped to the back of the easy chair, two 
 more settled themselves on the arms, and the others 
 found comfortable places about the room. 
 
 I had come upstairs to place myself face to face 
 with my difficulty ; but I ask an enlightened public 
 how it was possible for me. a quiet, modest, easy- 
 tempered man, to sit there and plot the destruction 
 of a set of animals who, one and all, placed the most 
 implicit confidence in me, and in their smooth, purr- 
 ing way, seemed to say, "All right, old fellow, you 
 won't hurt us ! " 
 
 I aroused myself, and as it was a most suitable 
 
 time for such a business, I rang for my big fishing- 
 creel, persuaded Joseph, one of the biggest Toms, 
 to go in, and, pegging him down, placed the strap 
 over my shoulder. 
 
 It was not pleasant, for as soon as Joseph found 
 himself in prison, and with no chief baker and butler 
 to keep him company, he began to swear. Finding 
 swearing of no effect, he howled ; and, as this was 
 no better, he thrust one claw-armed paw out of 
 the square oblong hole where fish were thrust in — 
 when caught — and tried hard to get out the peg. 
 Then he tried the other paw, with no better result, 
 and ended by calling me something very horrible in 
 cat, and curled himself up. 
 
 By this time I was in a hansom cab and being 
 driven towards Westminster Bridge, over which I 
 had myself taken, and away into the wilds by the 
 " Elephant and Castle," v\here, as we were going 
 down a dark street, I cunningly held the creel on 
 the window, drew out the peg, and the lid fc'l 
 down ; I cried, " 'Sh, cat ! " when there was a leap, 
 and Joseph was gone. 
 
 " One less ! " I said ; poking up the trap, I cried, 
 "Raven Street;" and the cabman turned his horse. 
 
 That cab would cost me about three shillings, I 
 argued. Three shillings a cat would not be dear. I 
 could manage three or four a night that way, and at 
 that rate free my house in little more than a week. 
 
 I reached home in the highest of glee, returning 
 by Westminster Bridge, so as to avoid the Waterloo 
 Bridge toll, when, as I entered my stud}-, I stopped 
 and rubbed my eyes, for there sat Joseph on the 
 top of the arm-chair. 
 
 It was damping, certainly ; but I was not beaten ; 
 and during the next week I drove out in cabs and 
 went by trains considerable distances, and lost the 
 whole of the full-grown cats ; though I might have 
 saved myself the trouble, for they all came back at 
 intervals of from two hours to four and five days, 
 and in the most matter-of-fact way. 
 
 I worked hard at my losing game for a fortnight, 
 and then gave it up in despair ; and, after due con- 
 sultation with Judith, came to the conclusion that 
 there was no help for it — we must have a Borgian 
 feast, to save me from another summons to that 
 dreadful court.
 
 5° 
 
 A lELINE TRIAL. 
 
 So I visited the chemist's, and purchased several 
 ounces of the horrible mineral known as arsenic ; 
 and Judith prepared a savoury mess — a kind of 
 fricassee or curry of chicken, in which the currj'- 
 powder Avas a diabolical poison, and this when cold 
 was placed on the back kitchen floor, and the cats 
 all locked in — to die. 
 
 I say all ; but Tibby did not go, as her maternal 
 duties kept her in the waste-pap)er basket. Her turn 
 was to come. 
 
 We listened at the door, and heard the doomed 
 animals partake of the atrocious compound ; and 
 then, to get away from the death-shrieks that I knew 
 must soon be heard, I went out into the back gar- 
 den, spade in hand, and raking aside the missiles, 
 proceeded to dig a great deep grave. 
 
 Four poor skeletons did I exhume in the process ; 
 but when the grave was deep and wide enough, I 
 placed these sad remains at the bottom, covered 
 them thickly with earth, and then pausing to wipe 
 my face, I — ah ! 
 
 Some one had sent a putty bullet at me, with too 
 good an aim, for it struck me on the cheek, and 
 glancing angrily on in the direction I suspected had 
 given it birth, I hurried indoors, for there were ten 
 different heads at as many windows, and I found 
 that I was being watched. 
 
 "Are they all dead, Judith?" 
 
 " Not one of 'em, sir," said Judith, " I peeped in 
 at the window, and they 're all a-sitting a-licking of 
 theirselves, except them as is gone to sleep." 
 
 " Then they have not eaten the— the — the " 
 
 " Pison, sir? Yes they have ; the dish is as clean 
 as if it had been washed." 
 
 " It has not had time yet to act," I said, frowning, 
 '•'or else we've given it to them too strong." 
 
 Judith stared and shook her head, and then we 
 waited for the first cries of pain, looking guiltily one 
 at the other, till after about an hour the first loud 
 "miaou" began, and then came a chorus which lasted 
 for a full hour, when there was the noise of a break- 
 ing window, caused by one of the cats knocking 
 down a broom, which made an orifice large enough 
 for the whole party to march out one by one, ap- 
 parently quite well, thank you ; and after a good 
 ueal of purring and rubbing, they all settled down to 
 
 a comfortable snooze, except three or four kittens, 
 who played with their tails, the table-cover, and any- 
 thing they could find. 
 
 I saw the chemist about the strength of that poison, 
 and he confessed to giving me powdered gypsum. 
 
 " You see, sir," he said with a smile, " we have to 
 be so particular about selling poison now," 
 
 What was to be done? Poison was not to be 
 thought of now. I could not decapitate them, nor 
 drown them, nor employ another vicariously to the 
 task ; and if I did not get rid of the cunning crea- 
 tures I should be hauled before the judge and bitterly 
 amerced. There was nothing for it but to leave 
 the settlement of the difficulty to chance ; so with 
 a sigh I took up my paper, glanced at it, and set it 
 down, to take up another sent me by a relative, the 
 " Great Midland Gazette." 
 
 " Hum !" I read, " Theatre Royal, Sales by Auc- 
 tion. Houses to Let. Great eh ? what 's this ? 
 
 bless my heart ! Great Cat Show ! " 
 
 I am very stout, I cannot help it. I might go in 
 for Banting, but I prefer nice food. All the same, 
 though I perspired profusely, I got up and waltzed 
 round the room, waving that newspaper like a flag, 
 till it was so much in ribbons that I could hardly 
 read it. But read it I did. Great Cat Show: entries 
 to be sent, carefully packed in baskets, to the secre- 
 tary, with legible directions. The greatest care 
 would be taken, and the animals properly fed. 
 Owners of pets might rest assured that their cats 
 would receive the same treatment as at home. 
 
 " Right fol lol de riddle lol de rido ! " I sang 
 that three times, and threw down the newspaper ; 
 and that night I Avent to bed and slept in peace, for 
 here was the way out of my problem — my feline 
 maze. 
 
 "Twenty-five baskets, Judith!" I cried before 
 breakfast the next morning ; and all that day we 
 were busy packing and directing cats, taking them 
 to different booking-offices, and paying their carriage 
 to Great Irontown, 
 
 The last few baskets bothered us, for we could 
 not take more than two to the same booking-office, 
 and consequently had to hunt out offices in all sorts 
 of out-of-the-way places. But perseverance is its 
 own reward, and at eight o'clock I got out of a cab
 
 AN ANSWER. 
 
 51 
 
 five pounds lighter in pocket, but without a cat ; and 
 as soon as I was in the passage and the door was 
 closed, I threw my arms round Judith's neck and 
 hugged her. 
 
 A week, a second week passed ; and then, from 
 an advertisement I saw in the Greai Midland 
 Gazette, I found that I must have omitted to fulfil 
 all the rules exacted of senders, and not given my 
 address for the return of the cats. In fact, the 
 secretary was advertising to say that if Numbers 
 So-and-so were not fetched away by a certain date, 
 they would be sold to defray expenses. 
 
 But the other advertisement said that owners of 
 cats might rest assured that their pets would receive 
 the same treatment as at home. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 I say, don't ask vie to take care of your cats when 
 you go out of town, I 'm too tabby now. 
 
 By the way, I wonder whether either of those cats 
 took a prize. 
 
 If so, I give it or them, with my compliments, to 
 the secretary. 
 
 Geo. Manville Fenn. 
 
 AN ANSWER. 
 <rff lln ||Totfjtr-in-f nto. 
 
 MOTHER, dear, we got your letter; 
 It was long, but very nice. 
 What could possibly be better 
 
 Than your heaps of good advice? 
 Need I say it gave me pleasure. 
 
 When my Florry read it through ? 
 None can tell how much we treasure 
 Such a dear old pet as you ! 
 
 'Tis no fond illusion, is it? — 
 
 (Best of beings, answer No .') — 
 That we may expect your visit 
 
 In about a week or so. 
 Rapture ! We shall be in clover 
 
 All the while that you are here. 
 Can't you stop a month — or over ? — 
 
 Answer quickly, mother dear ! 
 
 Ere the honeymoon was ended 
 
 (Happy month — 'twas ever r'>Iay !) 
 Florry and myself intended 
 
 Asking you to come and stay. 
 In a close confabulation 
 
 We were striving how to frame 
 Lines of pressing invitation. 
 
 When your kind epistle came. 
 
 Both of us are happy, mother, 
 
 Happy as the day is long ; 
 Oh, so fond of one another, 
 
 Far from Fashion's giddy throng J 
 Still, our life is rather lonely 
 
 In our tranquil suburb here ; — 
 You could wake us up, if only 
 
 Just a little, mother dear ! 
 
 Vou shall saunter with us daily 
 
 On the lawn and on the lea; 
 Or shall sit and prattle gaily 
 
 In the shade, beneath a tree. 
 Should the skies be unpropitious, 
 
 Cards will while away the time. 
 Single dummy is delicious ; 
 
 Penny points are not a crime. 
 
 When may we prepare to greet you ? 
 
 Tell us, for we long to hear : 
 (Could we send a cab to meet you 
 
 At the station, mother dear?) 
 Drop at once a line to Florry 
 
 (Pillar-box — not after five) ; 
 I should feel intensely sorry 
 
 To be out wh&n you arrive ! 
 
 Henry S. Leigh.
 
 HE LAUGHS WHO WINS— A LEAP FOR LOYE ; Or, She Would Have a Horseman. 
 
 The Heroine. 
 
 Suspicion dawns on the Heroes that they 
 are bound on the same errand. 
 
 ' You must decide by contest. I must have a 
 horseman." 
 
 They depart, each confident of his superiority over the other. 
 
 'J hey prepare for the struggle. 
 
 - - -^ ^r^- - •■■■■■V "^•''■^i- -~9~^^ -*•=--, 
 
 En joutc to the course.
 
 HE LAUGHS WHO WINS— A LEAP FOR LOYE ; Or, Slie Would Have a Horseman 
 
 " They 're oft ! The run. 
 
 
 /v / J '^ ■ /> . y^ irJ' < I ' 
 
 
 
 ■' ^■''^^^^ " ^-^^ t^ ::J^^!^'OT*^^ ■v-^C>?JFI--^-"- 
 
 
 Carrj-ing off the prize. 
 
 The Parish Beadle cu's after the naughty Httle boys, who 
 won't be iiuiet dur ng the marriage service.
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 OB RATTLE PATE was hard up ; not that 
 there was anything very unusual in this cir- 
 cumstance, for with Bob " hard-uppishness" was a 
 chronic aihiient ; but at the time in question he was 
 uncommonly hard up. He had anticipated his 
 weekly salary of thirty shillings for a month in pro- 
 spective ; on the preceding evening he had lost a 
 match at billiards for a sovereign ; his watch and 
 chain had been confided to the care of a certain 
 obliging relative ; " Greased Lightning," whom he 
 had backed as a "moral" for the St. Leger, had 
 walked in with the crowd ; and the exemplary pa- 
 tience of Mrs. Mangold, his good little landlady, was 
 almost exhausted. 
 
 " I think I 'm the unluckiest beggar in existence," 
 he grumbled, re-lighting a clay pipe and placing his 
 slippered feet on the tea-table ; but his reverie was 
 interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by the 
 entrance of INIrs. Mangold. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Rattlepate," that lady began, " I really 
 can't have no more nonsense ; my husband an' me 
 has to work too 'ard for our livins to let lodgins to 
 people whose money we don't see the colour of for 
 months an' months at a time. I 'm getting cjuite 
 tired of asking you to pay me my bill." 
 
 "And I 'm just as tired of being asked," replied 
 Bob ; then, seeing a storm imminent, he added in 
 the most coaxing tone he could assume, " I 'm really 
 awfully sorry, Mrs. M., but I '11 try and raise the 
 
 wind somehow this week, if you '11 only "■ — he was 
 going to say " have patience," but even Bob's cheek 
 was not equal to that — "if you'll only give me 
 another day or two." 
 
 " That 's what you 've said all along, Mr. Rattle- 
 pate ; but me an' my husband 's got to live, and a 
 grown-up daughter to support in the bargain." 
 
 " Quite right," answered Bob, " and a remarkably 
 handsome young woman she grows too, Mrs. Man- 
 gold ; the very picture of you, ma'am ; you'd pass for 
 sisters anywhere." 
 
 This last remark had its intended effect : soothed 
 by the compliment, Mrs. Mangold retired from the 
 attack, leaving our friend to resume his brooding 
 over the unkindness of Fate in general, and with 
 regard to himself in particular. 
 
 " 1 wish I 'd never been a lawyer's clerk," he mused. 
 "There's that Dashington De Vere, with no more 
 voice than I 've got, only a lot more cheek, earns 
 more in one week singing a few paltiy songs than I 
 do slaving away at a confounded desk for a month. 
 But what on earth am I to do ? I can't raise the wind 
 any more to the tune of a solitary tanner ! " 
 
 Suddenly he started up, a wild, desperate light in 
 his eyes. " It's niy last card," he exclaimed, "and 
 I '11 play it ! " 
 
 An hour later he left the house unperceived. 
 
 Next morning Mrs. Mangold, upon taking her 
 lodger's breakfast upstairs, was surprised to find 
 his i-oom tenantless ; a minute after her husband, 
 startled by her screams, rushed upstairs and found 
 her seated in Bob's easy chair in a fit of hysteria ; 
 an open letter was in her hand ; snatching it from 
 her he read as follows : 
 
 '■'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Mangold,— Since I can- 
 not meet my liabilities, 1 have resolved to escape 
 them, and to pay the only debt in my power — that of 
 nature. My body will be found in the canal. 
 " Yours" respectfully, 
 
 " Ror.ERT Rattlepate. 
 "P.S.— Best love to Polly."
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 55 
 
 Bob Rattlepate's body was not found in the canal, 
 but a hat, marked, inside with his name and address, 
 was discovered next morning by a bargee, who con- 
 veyed it to the Mangolds. They, tender-hearted 
 souls I were too grieved for the fate of the unfortu- 
 nate Bob to think of the money he had owed them ; 
 but still more affected was their daughter Polly, who 
 had cherished a sneaking kindness for the good-for- 
 nothing lodger, and who shed many tears over the 
 postscript of his note. Lodgers came and lodgers 
 went, but Polly went on mourning the fate of her 
 loved one long after it had been forgotten in the 
 neighbourhood : in vain the baker's boy invited her 
 to share his humble cottage, in vain the nearest 
 butcher proffered her his heart ; she gave the local 
 greengrocer " turnips ; " she advised the love-lorn 
 milkman to " walk his chalks ; " like Ariadne bereft 
 of Theseus, like Calypso deserted by Ulysses, the 
 heartbroken Polly wept for the loss of her parents' 
 " young-man-lodger." 
 
 II. 
 
 But worse misfortunes were fated to overshadow 
 the house of Mangold. Some twelve months after 
 the date of the foregoing chapter, Mr. Mangold, act- 
 ing under the influence of certain friends, invested 
 his hard-earned savings in "The Utopian Island Gas 
 Works Company, Limited," which concern, after an 
 existence of six months' duration, went into liqui- 
 dation, thereby leaving poor Mangold a ruined man. 
 A further call was made on the shares he held, which 
 he found himself unable to meet, and absolute beg- 
 gaiy stared him in the face. At this juncture an 
 unexpected friend appeared. 
 
 No one was more surprised than jMangold himself 
 when Mr. Erasmus Skinner, a neighbouring auc- 
 tioneer, offered to advance him the sum of one 
 hundred pounds, free of interest. Mr. Skinner was 
 a churchwarden and a great parochial authority, but 
 owed his chief reputation to his habits of " sharp 
 practice " and his avarice ; still, his offer was made 
 in such apparent good faith that Mr. Mangold, after 
 some hesitation, gratefully accepted it, whereupon 
 Tklangold, taking the hint, handed his disinterested 
 friend bills for the amount advanced. 
 
 But, alas for Samuel ^Mangold ! just before these 
 
 bills came due another unexpected call was made 
 upon those terrible shares, which satisfied, he found 
 himself unable to repay his obligation ; whereupon 
 Mr. Skinner's motive came to light. 
 
 He was a bachelor, and had for souTe time re- 
 garded Polly Mangold with as much admiration as 
 he considered consistent in a man holding the posi- 
 tion of a churchwarden ; as soon as he found her 
 
 father in his power, he lost no time in declaring his 
 affection, and soliciting Polly to become Mrs. Eras- 
 mus Skinner. 
 
 Then came Polly's hour of trial. She could not 
 love her new suitor, for he was old, pompous, and 
 notoriously selfish; besides, there was something 
 repugnant in the idea of this cunning auctioneer 
 knocking her down, like a table or a sofa, to his own 
 bid ; but then she thought of her father and mother, 
 both stricken down by sorrow and years ; so, with 
 tears in her eyes and a heavy heart, she asked him 
 to wait a little longer, cherishing, like a maiden 
 Alicawber, a secret hope that something would 
 " turn up." 
 
 "But why should I wait, Mary Arme?" asked 
 
 Erasmus. " Procrastination is the soul of bus 1 
 
 mean the thief of time. I'm punctual in my deal- 
 ings, and" (here his voice deepened into a harsh 
 grating tone), " I expect others to be the same in 
 theirs. Listen ! To-morrow is Christmas Eve, the 
 day on which your father's bills fall due ; to-morrow
 
 56 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 evening, therefore, I shall present my hand for 
 your acceptance or those bills for payment." 
 
 Christmas Eve arrived, and so did Erasmus 
 Skinner — an engaged ring which he had bought in 
 cheap at an auction in one pocket, the awful bills in 
 another. Entering the sitting-room, he found Samuel 
 Mangold standing with his back to the fire between 
 his wife and daughter. Mangold's face, always of 
 a "warm tint," was more deeply flushed than usual ; 
 the smile, too, that in cloud and sunshine usually 
 lit up his chubby face, for once was wanting. 
 
 Erasmus Skinner cleared his throat, and posed 
 himself in the attitude he usually adopted at vestry 
 meetings, preparatory to making a speech. 
 
 " Samuel Mangold," he began, " perhaps you have 
 observed the growing regard with which I have lately 
 beheld your daughter, Mary Anne. I think I may 
 say, without egotism, that a marriage with myself 
 would be, socially and morally, advantageous to that 
 young person ; should she, however, be so ill advised 
 as to reject my offer, I shall have no other alterna- 
 tive but to present these bills for the amount of one 
 hundred pounds. Now, Mary Anne, what are you 
 going — going — going— I mean what are you going 
 to do?" 
 
 Then the storm that was gathering in Sam Man- 
 gold's heart burst out, as Mrs. Mangold afterwards 
 described it, " like a wolcaner." 
 
 " Mr. Skinner, look 'ere ! I ain't a man of eddi- 
 cation ; but I '11 say this o' myself, what I won't of 
 you, I 'm a man with a 'art. You come to me when 
 I was in trouble as a friend, I believed you, and 
 I took the money you offered to lend me ; but 
 what I thought was friendship was on'y cunning. 
 You knew an old man like yerself could never ex- 
 pect to get the love of a fine young gal like this, so 
 you thought you 'd buy her. You infernal villain ! 
 you can sell up every stick I 've got, and turn me 
 and my old woman into the street without a 'ome ; 
 but our child 's our child, and while I 've got a right 
 hand to Avork with, I 'd sooner chop it off with my 
 left than sell my flesh an' blood to a varmint like 
 you ! " 
 
 " Brayvo, old son I them 's my sentiments to a T." 
 
 What voice was that ? Was it a ghost Polly be- 
 held in the doorway, that she swooned and sank in 
 her mother's arms ? No ; ghosts don't usually go 
 about in window-pane patterned ulsters, wearing 
 crimson neckties, and smoking Intimidads. It was 
 Bob Rattlepate in the flesh, not the spirit, who ad- 
 vanced into the room, and, taking Polly from her 
 mother's arms, brought the colour back to her lips 
 with a hearty kiss. 
 
 " But what does this mean?" chorused the Man- 
 golds ; " we thought you were drowned in the canal 
 two years ago." 
 
 "No fear !" answered Bob; "not such a muff: 
 that was only a slant. You see, I was awfully down 
 on my luck, when an idea struck me that if I could 
 get clean away, I might do well in some provincial 
 town as a comic singer ; so I wrote that note, 
 chucked my tile in the canal, bolted off, and — to cut 
 a long story short — you now behold ' The Champion 
 Topical and Comic Provincial Vocalist.' But I often 
 thought about you, Mrs. M., and you, old boy ! and 
 what genuine bricks you were. And I never forgot 
 little Polly here. So I made up my mind that, when 
 I 'd saved enough money, I 'd come back, pay off old 
 scores, and ask you to let me marry Miss M., and 
 settle down in some respectable business. I 've kept 
 my word so far. I let myself in with the latch-key 
 I had when I bolted. You'd have heard me knock- 
 ing at the door here, if you hadn't been kicking up 
 a row with this amiable-looking party. As for you, 
 old Kncck-'em-down, you 'd better skedaddle while 
 you 're safe, and send round in a couple of hours for 
 your money." 
 
 " But can you, and will you pay him. Bob ? " asked 
 Polly, who had quite recovered from her fright — 
 assured that no ghost could rattle out as quickly as 
 the new arrival had been speaking. 
 
 " Can I ? — Will I ? Of course I can and will. 
 Haven't the old folks here done me many a good 
 turn in old times ? Yes, Polly, my pet, one good 
 turn deserves another. I 've got the pieces, and as 
 my last song expresses it — 
 
 " ' I only want my darling little Polly ! ' " 
 
 H. T. Johnson.
 
 OUTSIDE THE FRAY. 
 
 lilon petit coin." — Beranger. 
 
 1/ /jc-^ , *' I ^HE bleak tide of battle goes surging 
 u^ K _|_ The foemen — how fiercely they fight 
 
 along, 
 in the frayt 
 Down crushed are the weak by the hand of the strong. 
 Loud cheers and deep groans greet the close of the 
 day. 
 This battle of life, all so ruthless and hard, — 
 
 Now this way and that, — now joy, singing, or moan, — 
 For this bustle and strife take who will the reward, 
 If you leave me to sit in my corner alone. 
 
 Though tinsel and trick in each corner be done, — 
 
 Though pledges are broken and treaties are torn, 
 Great battles are lost and great victories won, 
 
 And dynasties vanish like mist of the morn ; 
 Let those go who care for the rush and the roar, — 
 
 The slaughtering of thousands to build up a throne! 
 I 'd rather be picking up shells on the shore, 
 
 Or sit in my c[uiet cool corner alone. 
 
 Some fight the rough elements in their career, — 
 
 The mad raging ocean with lightning aglow; 
 Some dauntless press forward — though danger is near; 
 Some climb to their summit great mountains of snow. 
 And some, — well, there's some made of different clay, — 
 And candour insists that at once I should own 
 I rather would be quite outside of the fray. 
 And sit in a cool little corner alone. 
 
 There build me a castle high up in the air, 
 
 And guard the poor toilers that live down below ; 
 I 'd give rich reward to the good and the fair, 
 
 And silvr'y bright streams through the meadows should flow ; 
 The flocks and the herds, and the lowing of kine, 
 
 The ripe waving corn ere the summer has flown ; 
 All hearts should be glad, and the joy would be mine 
 
 While building my castle and sitting alone. 
 
 Oh, there should be never a sorrower seen, 
 
 No wailing nor weeping, — no tattered nor torn. 
 But gladness and joy in each corner I ween. 
 
 And charm of song-singing to welcome the morn. 
 The kings that are ruthless I 'd thrust from their throne. 
 
 No cruel oppression or wrong should be there ; 
 And this is my vision while sitting alone. 
 
 Dream-building a castle high up in the air. 
 
 George D.^lziel.
 
 THE MUDDLETON MOUNTED EIFLES. 
 
 1. Mr. Muddleton, alarmed at our responsibilities in the East, discusses his resolve to form a Corps of Yeomanry with his friend and neigh- 
 Lour Mr. I'opkins,— 2. While Mrs. Muddleton discusses bonnets with her fair sister-in-law. ^3. l\Ir. Muddleton, assisted by Mr. Popkins, 
 who produces the national ensign at a telling moment, meets with enthusiastic support. —4. 'I'hrough the interest of Sir Timothy Toddletrot, — 
 5. The Corps are permitted to select their own uniform. — 6. Having obtained the services of Sergeant Slasher of the Cavalry Depot, — 
 7. The Muddleton Mounted Rifles commence to ride without stirrups ; — 8. And the officers jjractice tent-pegging, — g. And lemon-cutting, 
 with startling results. — 10. Having procured a rifle range, they e.\ercise thereon (N.15. — The annexed design is a facsimile of a portion of 
 the range after the first day's practice ; al.so an engraving from a photograph of the target, taken at the same time
 
 THE MUDDLETON MOUNTED EIFLES. 
 
 II. The ladies employ their fair fingers in preparing a banner to lead the Corps to future victory. — 12. Major-General Sir Softly Sawder, 
 commanding the district, inspects the regiment, and is received in a somewhat unusual manner by the commanding; officer. — 13. Lieut. Popkins 
 as he appeared trotting past.— 14. The mounted band playing "God save the Queen." — 15. The ISI. M. R. wheel into line. — 16. The M. M. R. 
 charge by troops. — 17. The M. M. R. perform the pursuing practice at speed. — 18. Close of the inspection. Major-General Sir Softly Sawder 
 {loguiiur). " ^Iuch gratified ; smart appearance ; patriotic movement. With a /eei/e more attention to dressing, gentleman, and one or two minor 
 point>^,"etc., etc., etc.— 19. l.icut. Pcpkins' steed having disappeared, he returns in a manner quite agreeable to his feelings.
 
 THE LAST AFRICAN EXPLORER. 
 
 MY travels have not perhaps been so exten- 
 sive, or so well advertised in the papers, 
 as those of Mr. Stanley and Captain Burnaby; but 
 they have been much more select, and are ex- 
 tremely interesting. I neither travelled to puff a 
 couple of newspapers, nor to work miracles with 
 patent pills upon the wretched barbarians ; I hate 
 thirteen-penny-halfpenny physic, and I despise 
 the penny papers. I disdain to fill pages and 
 columns with desultory descriptions of my voyage 
 and adventures to the scene of discovery. Suffice 
 it to say that after a most fatiguing journey I 
 found myself by chance in a remote and hitherto 
 undiscovered region in the centre of Africa, but 
 having inadvertently left my keys and other scien- 
 tific instruments on the mantelshelf of the private 
 boarding-house where I was lodging in Surrey 
 Street, Strand, am unable to define with exactitude 
 the latitude and longitude of the place. However, 
 I knew it must have been Africa, because I had 
 walked into it from Alexandria. I had walked 
 many miles out of Alexandria, and lost my way, 
 and walked on for some years to find it ; but instead 
 of finding my way, I found some other people's 
 ways, which seemed to me so much more surprising 
 than my way, that I propose to dwell upon their 
 ways rather than on mine. 
 
 Everybody knows that Central Africa is a wild 
 and untameable region, a sink of savagery, full of 
 naked natives with poisoned arrows, and greasy 
 canoes, and spears, and old firelocks, and beads, and 
 feathers and things. But 1 saw none of these things 
 in the region to which chance so fortunately directed 
 my wandering steps. By a singular coincidence, I 
 had been completely versed in the original Aryan 
 tongue by Professor Max Miiller, and it was a 
 charming surprise to me to find that the natives of 
 the country at which I had arrived spoke no other 
 language. It sounded to my ears like ancient music, 
 and I felt myself at home with them directly. I was 
 
 agreeably surprised at the intelligence of the in- 
 habitants. I have an incessant thirst for statistical 
 information, and I am accustomed to believe no other. 
 And as soon as I had said in pure Aryan, "How do 
 you do?" and "What a fine m.orning it is, to be 
 sure," to the first person I met, I asked him gravely 
 to give me full particulars of the statistics of the 
 criminal population of the country. 
 
 The man looked at me in a highly curious way, 
 and shook his head. (Don't suppose he Avas a 
 black man with wool on his head. He was an 
 average specimen of the inhabitants — his com- 
 plexion a delicate copper-colour, his hair and beard 
 silky and red-brown.) 
 
 " I have heard of such things as criminals," he 
 thoughtfully said, " but I have never seen one. We 
 haven't a single specimen in our country; but if you 
 require information on extinct species, you had 
 better go to the King, whom you will find affable 
 and approachable. He always awaits the audience 
 of strangers in his kitchen-garden of afternoons ; 
 but the common people are not allowed to give 
 official information on abstruse topics, or to enun- 
 ciate opinions unlicensed by the Crown and its 
 Ministry." 
 
 " You have a Ministry, then?" I asked in surprise. 
 " I thought you were a race of savages." 
 
 My companion replied, " Monsieur is incredulous 
 upon insufficient information. We do not consider 
 ourselves savages, and we are quite indifferent to 
 the consideration of outsiders. But on these matters 
 you had better consult the King : we citizens never 
 discuss subjects of the kind ; we pay men to do that, 
 and should never keep dogs if we had to bark our- 
 selves." 
 
 The man then directed me to the residence of the 
 King, and took his leave with a studied and respectful 
 bow. 
 
 I found the King's palace an unpretentious build- 
 ing of thatched red brick. His Majesty was in the
 
 THE LAST AFRICAN EXPLORER. 
 
 6i 
 
 back garden, sitting on a rail, with a short pipe in 
 his mouth. The expression of his countenance was 
 one of imperturbable benignity. ( I afterwards learnt 
 that that was what the Kings of this country were 
 chosen for.) 
 
 His Majesty asked me to be seated, and grace- 
 fully offered a share of the rail, ye ;n\issis. 
 
 He asked me as to my nationality and my busi- 
 ness. I told him I was a member of the Royal 
 Jollyological Society, of London, travelling for 
 pleasure, and in pursuit of statistical information. 
 
 The King said he had heard there was such a 
 place as London, and believed it was in England; 
 but that he and his people had too many more im- 
 portant subjects to engage their attention to neglect 
 the cares of State for the study of a science so paltry 
 as Geography. The proper study of mankind is 
 man, not territory. He repeated that he had heard 
 of England in general, and London in particular, 
 and were it not that he disagreed with the principle 
 of missionary enterprise, and thought it wiser to let 
 people mind their own business, he should have 
 long ago sent missionaries to England to expose the 
 defects of its Constitution. 
 
 I then proceeded to ask his Majesty some ques- 
 tions as to the nature of his own Government. He 
 refilled his pipe, partook of a tankard of excellent 
 beer, silently handed it to me, wiped his long beard 
 with a lawn pocket-handkerchief far softer than 
 silk, and began : 
 
 " Our chief Ministers," said the King, " are paid 
 munificent salaries to do nothing but think. They 
 have nothing to do with the executive. They are 
 only allowed to think of one thing apiece, and when 
 they have thought that particular thing clean out, 
 they open their mouths and speak it ; and if it is 
 approved, it is written down into law and preached 
 to the people by officials who are paid to preach and 
 no/ think. But a Minister only speaks once, and 
 goes out of office as soon as ever he has spoken his 
 precept." 
 
 " But why do you only get a single thought out of 
 each man ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well," said the King, " it is more than the ave- 
 rage you can get out of a man, and more than you 
 can get by your plan ; and our thoughts arc new. 
 
 A man has but one wisdom-tooth to pull. We are," 
 the King continued, " of course, in advance of your 
 ideas. We go entirely for the encouragement of 
 the species. We assist Nature in promoting the 
 survival of the fittest. We never suppress human 
 nature wherever we find it, and the consequence is 
 that crime is, with us, an extinct phenomenon. We 
 have extinguished crime, sir. Nothing more simple. 
 The old penal system was very expensive and ex- 
 cessively disagreeable ; and at last it occurred to 
 one of our professional thinkers, that, just as dirt is 
 only matter in a wrong place, so crime is only moral 
 ardour developed in too circumscribed a field. So, 
 instead of insisting that all men and women should 
 be brought up to pattern, we offered official en- 
 couragement to what are called 'criminal tendencies' 
 • — and had, I must say, very remarkable success in 
 developing varieties. Take murderers, for instance. 
 What do _you do with them ?" 
 
 " Hang 'em," said L 
 
 "We never do," said the King. "We use them. 
 In fact, we use all our waste. Murderers are, of 
 course, necessary to the State. You spend millions 
 a year in training men to the artistic trade of murder 
 — you have whole army corps of them ; you arm 
 them with the most powerful and ingenious weapons 
 of murder that you can devise ; yet you no sooner 
 find a man in whom a natural aptitude for murder 
 is developed in a superior degree, than you go and 
 hang him. Do you not see what an idle waste of 
 material you involve ? Whenever wc find a murderer 
 — a man, that is to say, who without any scientific 
 training shows a true instinct for killing, we make 
 an army officer of him at once. For if an untrained 
 man can kill, in an amateur sort of way, with a stick 
 or a stone, how much more will patriotism inspire 
 him to do, when scientifically trained to weapons of 
 precision, and well paid for following his natural 
 bias ? Persons merely convicted of violent assaults 
 we sentence to the ranks, where their robust inclina- 
 tions may find every gratification in assaulting the 
 enemies of the country. This plan saves prisons 
 and warders, besides judges and juries, and provides 
 the best possible army at no cost to the country 
 besides clothes and victuals. Ours is the most 
 terriljle armv in the world. Nothing can touch
 
 62 
 
 THE LAST AFRICAN EXPLORER. 
 
 battalions in which every soldier has a natural turn 
 for violence." 
 
 " And what do you do with your thieves ? " I asked. 
 
 "Same principle," replied the King. "Thieving is 
 a slightly exaggerated desire to acquire, which, how- 
 ever objectionable when manifested in a narrow 
 sphere, is highly valuable in a corporate or official 
 capacity. Governments and corporations have to rob 
 the public, to put their hands deeply into the pockets 
 of individuals, and they require pocket-pickers — 
 acquisitive agents. The truly earnest acquirer — 
 opprobriously described as a thief — thieves for 
 thieving's sake, and not for selfish ends, and will 
 always make, if not an efficient Minister of Finance 
 or a surveyor of taxes, at the very least a finance 
 agent or a rate-collector. We utilize all pheno- 
 menal developments of the sort in the service of 
 the State. We give our people line. If a kite 
 wants to fly, we give it string : yoti^ cut it." 
 
 " But you must have law courts, for the adjust- 
 ment of debts ? " 
 
 "Not so," said the King. "We simply enact that 
 no debt is recoverable by law. The result is that 
 all trade is done for ready money. Nobody makes 
 bad debts ; bankruptcy is impossible. That is the 
 encouragement of the creditor." 
 
 " How do you deal with drunkards ?" 
 
 "Well," said the King, "we encourage them, as 
 we do all our subjects. A great number of drunkards 
 rise to the assault classes, and are drafted off into 
 the army, where discipline flogs it out of them. But 
 where men manifest true original genius for drink, 
 and must and will drink, we do as I say, we encourage 
 them. The State provides them with drink free, and 
 urges them to drink themselves into their graves as 
 quickly as they can. They are exhibited to the 
 public in glass houses, where they have the free run 
 of the spirit-taps during the progress of their self- 
 extinction ; and they form a spectacle which I can 
 assure you is no temptation to the public to follow 
 their example. Liquor should not be sold to 
 drunkards, but provided for them at public expense ; 
 it clears us of them quicker, and is much the 
 cheapest and most benevolent plan." 
 
 " Do you adopt compulsory education ? " I in- 
 quired. 
 
 "Certainly not, sir," said the King; "no more 
 than we adopt compulsory feeding. We provide the 
 fodder and encourage its consumption, but we do 
 not prod children up to partake of it. We offer every 
 encouragement and give every facility for education, 
 and we reward with distinction all who acquire high 
 attainments." 
 
 " But you must still have a good many unedu- 
 cated persons ? " 
 
 " We have," answered the King. " The capacity 
 for imbibing education is very varied, but we allow 
 people to follow their desires and assist them in their 
 development. The dunce is a necessary ingredient 
 to any truly happy population. Our dunces have 
 frequently attained to the greatest eminence in other 
 walks than literary, simply because we do not stuff 
 them with uncongenial diet. We regard dunces as 
 a most valuable element of the Constitution. They 
 are your practical men, who work and don't dream, 
 and don't keep saying ' Why ? ' " 
 
 "And what about sanitation?" I asked. 
 
 " The same system of encouragement," replied the 
 King. " If the waste is properly utilized, sanitation 
 follows as a natural consequence. The only thing 
 we punish is disease, and in the case of all persons 
 not dying a natural death, their property is forfeited 
 to the State — because they otight to die a natural 
 death ; it is ^///-natural of them if they don't ; and 
 any State worthy of the name provides the means 
 of their doing so." 
 
 " But how about the economy of Nature ? " I 
 demanded. " How do you get over that?" 
 
 " By humble imitation of it," said the King. " In- 
 stead of grumbling at the summer heat, and com- 
 plaining of the winter floods, we store the sunshine 
 for our winter's fires, and we store the winter floods 
 to alleviate the burning drought of July. You have 
 only got as far as drying summer grass for winter 
 use. \Vc utilize everything, and encourage every- 
 thing, and recognize the natural principle that what 
 you mistakenly call evil is undeveloped good." 
 
 I could stand this doctrine no longer. It was 
 statistics I wanted, and the King calmly but firmly 
 declined to produce any statistics. I cannot endure 
 the assertion of arguments and principlcs-with which 
 I do not agree without getting very angry. I was
 
 THE LAST AFRICAN EXPLORER. 
 
 (^7> 
 
 shocked at every detail of the King's Government — 
 although, I must confess that his kingdom appeared 
 to me to be a very quiet place to live in, as every 
 person seemed to be happy and to have property. 
 But the ideas of this monarch were so unstatistical, 
 so contrary to propriety, so shockingly bold, that I 
 determined at once what to do. I said, 
 
 " I really must leave you. I have an important 
 engagement. I do not feel well. This wholesale 
 disturbance of all my native ideas is deeply painful 
 to me. Lemme go. Show me my way out." 
 
 " \'ery good," said the King. " I believe you said 
 
 you lived in an antiquated place called, I think, 
 London, in a country which I have seen described 
 on the map as England — but it is a countrj- with 
 which I am totally unacquainted. I will make a 
 note of it." 
 
 The King then ordered his coachman to drive me 
 home ; and, after a long and monotonous journey, 
 in which nothing occurred worth mentioning, I re- 
 turned to my lodgings in Surrey Street, Strand, and 
 was fortunate enough to find my keys and scientific 
 instruments on the mantelshelf in the ver}' place 
 where I had left them. 
 
 Eustace Hinton Jones. 
 
 
 w^^m 
 
 REAL LIFE 
 
 ROMANCE has all fled from our lives 
 Used up in sensational novels ! 
 From John o' Groats down to St. Ives 
 
 Each thought in a money-bag grovels ! 
 In coining our souls into gold 
 
 We labour from Sunday to Sunday ; 
 Then gather fresh vigour to hold 
 The very same course upon Monday. 
 
 We care not for friendship or love. 
 
 Unless it conduces to profit ; 
 We help falling friends with a shove, . 
 
 If we can make merchandise of it ; 
 What use is the heart but to keep 
 
 Our bodies alive by pulsations ? 
 What harvest from kin do we reap. 
 
 Excepting in money relations? 
 
 There is but one use for the brain — 
 
 The finding out ways to make money : 
 For man not to think about gain 
 
 Appears inexpressibly funny ! 
 What value can politics be 
 
 Except as affecting the prices ? 
 For what exhortations care we 
 
 Except correspondents' '"'advices".^ 
 
 So day has its labour for gold. 
 
 And night has its visions of Mammon ; 
 Existence for lucre is sold. 
 
 And honesty bartered for " gammon I " 
 'T is money alone makes the man, 
 
 And fortune the feminine witches ; 
 And happy the end, if we can 
 
 Meet death in the odour of riches ! 
 
 C. H. WARING.
 
 A RUM PHILTER : In Four Chapters. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 Ueside the swiftly-flowing river, reflecting the full moon, sat Sir Guy and the Lady Eveline ; he sang of love, and his melodious power 
 
 mingled with the ripples of the water; but they were watched by the eye of jealousy, for the Lady Rufus also loved him. 
 
 CllAl'TEK IL 
 
 She hastened to the dark woman, a reputed witch. — "Give me," she muttered, "a burning, consuming love philter. 
 
 shrieked the witch. 
 
 -" I will,
 
 A RUM PHILTER: In Four Chapters. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 One day Sir Guy called at Rufiis Castle ; he left when the golden shades of evening were flickering round. — The lady clashed the draw- 
 
 brid'^c il.iwii. " Si.iy crii>_- iiioni.iit," >li.- niurnuire.l ; "aLC'j.t tliU phial, drain it to the dregs, and you shall be for ever happy." 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 And the effect wa.s rum — very rum ! So Eveline gave him soda-water. — "That fearful potation, ah ! this dreadful headache. Oh ! " he 
 
 groaned, " I will for ever despise the Lady Rufus." — The lady heard him, gave one terrible shriek, and fled.
 
 THE REFORMATION OF SHERE BHADxN 
 
 T . 
 
 % ^Xtxiiximx oi gmaws. 
 
 SIVA is mighty, and destroys. The Kawab 
 Odeah Omi Ogooroo was to die, for had not 
 the holy water of Allahabad been brought to him, 
 and had he not washed in it, and after that drunk it ? 
 And had not the Brahmins offered sacrifices for 
 him? And what other medicines are known to man? 
 So his relations, grieving sorely, took him by the 
 head and by the heels and carried him down to the 
 holy Ganges, and laid him on the bank, and took 
 mud and filled up his mouth and his ears and his 
 nostrils, and they poured over him great quantities 
 of cold water, and built a great pile of wood, and 
 laid him on the top to dry. Then all his relations, 
 who did not shrink from the path of duty, went to 
 fetch his widow with much holy rejoicing ; but she 
 had hidden herself in a secret hole, and they sought 
 her many days until they found her. Then they 
 carried her gently to the pile of wood, and brought 
 torches, and invited her to mount and take her part 
 in the ceremony, for they said, " Duty is irksome, 
 but shall we not take our parts also?" for their parts 
 were to light the fire and to look on. But the widow 
 of the wealthy Odeah, alone of all his relations, 
 shrank from the path of duty, and hesitated. And 
 they argued with her thfs way and that, showing how 
 they shrank not from their part, which was to look 
 on ; and they coaxed her, with many tears, and called 
 her many names, and swore. 
 
 And there was a distant relation of Odeah who 
 scoffed at the rest, and counselled her to neglect her 
 duty; and she, being perhaps biassed in her mind, 
 listened to him, and shamefully declined to ascend 
 the pile ; then they lifted her gently by the hair and 
 by the ankles to the top of the pile, and set fire to 
 the bottom with great haste ; but she slid down on 
 the farther side and went her way. So she became 
 a shameful thing and a byword. But the relations 
 of Odeah, who were willing to do their parts and 
 would not be disappointed, fetched a beggar of the 
 lowest caste, and put him on the top of the pile with 
 
 Odeah (who was now sufficiently dry), and lighted 
 it at the bottom, and looked on with much interest. 
 
 Now, he of the ^^rong counsel had come from 
 distant places, and none knew whether he was of 
 any caste; but he cared not, and so was an impious 
 man. And his badness was such as none could 
 measure, for he took the gods of the faithful — the 
 little wooden gods decorated with blue and vermilion 
 and yellow — and made them more round even than 
 they had originally been made, by knocking off their 
 little sacred noses and their other projections ; and 
 he played " bowls " with them, which is the profane 
 game of the English. Nay, he shot with peas at 
 the holy monkeys of Hunimaun (to kill whom is 
 worse than death!) and gave sly pinches to the fat 
 bulls of Siva, and kicked them from the steps of his 
 house, twisting their respected tails ; and he killed 
 in his house all the fleas, and the insects which it is 
 not lawful among the English to mention, for there 
 are many superstitions among them. 
 
 And this man, who was named Shere Bhadn, said, 
 " I will marry the widow of Odeah Omi Ogooroo, 
 for she is wealthy ; " yet she, lamenting for the do-
 
 THE REFORMATION OF SHERE BHADN. 
 
 67 
 
 ceased Odeah, was averse. And this was a great 
 fault in her, for though it is meet that a woman 
 should grieve deeply for him who is departed (the 
 more particularly if he have been masterful over 
 her), yet it is not meet that any mere woman should 
 hesitate to comply with the suggestion of a man, 
 who is a superior being, and, however wicked, can- 
 not by nature and by the sacred laws be so wicked 
 as she. So Shere Bhadn — and in this thing he was 
 justified — fetched her by force, and made great 
 rejoicings, letting off many fireworks ; and hired 
 dancing girls ; and paid for all this out of her money ; 
 and married her. And when she appealed to the 
 judge, he was inclined at first to listen to her ; but 
 when he found that she had refused to accept the 
 suggestion of Shere, he saw that compulsion had 
 been a necessary thing. So the judge let her go 
 easily, and with but a slight rebuke and much good 
 advice, and received the presents of Shere Bhadn 
 gracefully, for he was not just only, but of good man- 
 ners. Then Shere Bhadn built himself a fine house 
 with the wealth which he had acquired, and shut up 
 his wife in a small room at the top, together with 
 some other wives which he had. But he was a 
 wicked man, nevertheless, and continued to kill all 
 the flies, and the fleas, and other insects, so much 
 that soon there v/as no insect to be felt in that house, 
 except in the room of the widow of Odeah and of 
 the other wives ; for the widow of Odeah would 
 have felt it a great sin to slay even the meanest of 
 the insects which the English foreigners do not 
 mention ; and many insects fled to that part of the 
 house for safety ; and they were very thick in that 
 part, which was blessed. And Shere Bhadn gave 
 himself up to all manner of wickedness, insomuch 
 that he took the sacred water brought from the 
 junction of the Ganges and the Jumna, the water 
 of Allahabad, and mixed it with "gin," which is a 
 forbidden thing, and known to the English ; even 
 going so far as to make it hot, and to put with it 
 lemon and bits of the sugar-cane, for Shere had 
 learned many evil habits from the English. 
 
 And there were three men, who were much afflicted 
 at this wickedness in Shere ; and these three men 
 were PhattazBhutter the Brahmin, and Owkhouddee 
 Bhee Dhurteer the holy Fakir, and Strangh Ghlum, 
 
 a Thug, and the chosen devotee of Kali, who is most 
 terrible and loves blood. 
 
 Now these three, who were fast friends and most 
 holy men, communed together concerning the im- 
 morality of Shere, and resolved to try to bring him 
 into the paths of the faithful ; for Phattaz Bhuttcr 
 the Brahmin was greatly grieved that he had not 
 given to the Brahmins any gold, nor any fine 
 raiment, nor rich feasts, nor any like things which 
 the gods require. And the grief of Owkhouddee the 
 Fakir was brought about by the thought of the wick- 
 edness of Shere in the slaying of all those insects ; 
 for great was the affection of the Fakir, as indeed 
 it was meet that it should be, for fleas and other in- 
 sects, the more particularly for the other insects, 
 which loved him and stayed with him always. And 
 the soul of the Fakir was grieved, furthermore, by 
 the cleanliness of Shere's house, for it is right that 
 men should humble themselves in the dirt (as the 
 Fakir did), and in every variety of dirt ; and to be 
 cleanly is to be presumptuous and incur the anger 
 of Brahma, of \'ishnu, of Siva, and of the eighteen 
 thousand seven hundred and seventy-nine lesser 
 gods, who are blue and green and jellow, and lia\ e 
 many hands among them, and even of the Great 
 Brahm himself ! 
 
 But the griefs of the Brahmin and the Fakir were 
 as nothing beside the great indignation of Strangh 
 Ghlum the Thug that the widow of Odeah had not 
 been sacrificed to Kali, but had lived ; for Strangh 
 Ghlum was the chosen of Kali, who delights in 
 death ; and many were the victims that the holy 
 man had dispatched from this world in her honour : 
 so much so that he had made empty and unoccupied 
 
 5 — 2
 
 68 
 
 THE REFORMATION OF SHERE BHADN. 
 
 the houses of all his nearest neighbours, and was 
 compelled to go into the next street for fresh ofter- 
 ings. And now Strangh pined for longing that he 
 might offer to Kali her who had been snatched away. 
 Then Phattaz the Brahmin went to the house of 
 Shere, in the city of Benares, where they all dwelt, 
 and reproved him. And Shere received the priest 
 with much politeness, inviting him to take a mat, 
 and served up a sumptuous repast for him (for 
 Shere did not eat, seeing that it would not have 
 been lawful for the priest to eat with one whose 
 caste was unknown). And Phattaz ate of many 
 strange dishes (but believing the word of his host, 
 that theycontained not the flesh of any animal or any 
 such food as it is unlawful to eat), and enjoying them 
 greatly. And in particular there was one dish of 
 great savour, with onions and much pepper, and 
 \\ell known to the English, as Shere said ; and 
 drinks there were too, the more especially one which 
 was named "Old Tom" among the English, but 
 which the Brahmin (being many times assured that 
 it contained nothing of that which intoxicates and 
 is forbidden to the faithful) drank of with delight, 
 feeling afterwards very happy, and in great high 
 spirits ; so much so that, when he had taken a 
 hearty leave of his entertainer, he fell over three of 
 the sacred bulls of Siva, one after the other, from 
 very elation and gratitude to the gods. 
 
 About this lime there was missed, from wandering 
 to and fro in the streets, and lying across them in 
 the shady places, one of the most sacred of those 
 bulls which are the delight of the mighty Siva ; and 
 great consternation was in the city; and all the 
 
 people made a great search after him, but he could 
 not be found. So the people gave up the search 
 and were troubled, especially Phattaz the Brahmin. 
 
 But of all those who were troubled, none ■was so 
 troubled as Strangh the Thug, the servant of Kali ; 
 for he was so troubled that he took no rest until he 
 had made empty and unoccupied two streets — one 
 on the right of his abode and one on the left, and 
 paused only because of the exceeding shyness that 
 prevailed, insomuch that, when he approached, all 
 the people would make with great haste round the 
 next corner. And presently there was missed an- 
 other bull, but the people said, " It is the doing of 
 Siva himself," and were less troubled. 
 
 Now Phattaz the Brahmin continued to wonder 
 greatly about this circumstance, but he was grateful to 
 the gods- -both to those that were blue and those that 
 were red, or of other colours ; and there remained 
 in his mind the curious repast of which he had par- 
 taken at the house of Shere Bhadn ; and there came 
 within him certain doubts whether Shere had said 
 truly that there was nothing forbidden in those 
 things of which he had eaten and drunk ; so he went 
 again to the house and partook of them again, that 
 he might be the better able to decide whether his 
 doubts were justified ; and he did this many times, 
 but could not be certain ; so he continued to do this. 
 Shere had received the Fakir also with much polite- 
 
 ness, and taken him into his inner courtyard, and 
 had made his servants scrub him with many hot 
 waters and with hard brushes seven times a day for 
 seven days, until he was almost clean, and had put 
 on him clean garments and sent him forth. 
 Then the unhappy Fakir, happening to catch sight
 
 THE REFORMATION OF SHERE BHADN. 
 
 69 
 
 of a part of himself, had perceived his skin, which 
 he never had perceived until that day; and had not 
 known what it was, and had given a great scream 
 of fright, and wept, and hurried unto the bank of the 
 Ganges, to that part where the mud is the muddiest; 
 and had rolled himself in it many times until he 
 could not be seen for muddiness; and he had vowed 
 to stick pins into himself every day until he should 
 be covered like a pincushion, to expiate the sin 
 which he had done in being scrubbed clean. 
 
 Strangh Ghlum the Thug also had been received 
 w-ith great politeness by Shere ; but when he had 
 asked that the widow of Odeah should be given up 
 to him to strangle, Shere had put him off, and given 
 him three female babies, which had somewhat com- 
 forted and appeased the Thug ; but he was resolved 
 to try again for the widow, and was still uneasy in 
 his mind ; for it was a selfish and impious thing for 
 Shere to refuse the request of the holy man ; but 
 then Shere was an impious man in all things. 
 
 And from this time one holy fat bull was missed 
 about every seventh day, and, by a coincidence, 
 about every seventh day Shere invited many of the 
 faithful, and gave them a great feast of many kinds 
 of viands which were new to them ; but they (being 
 assured that the viands contained no flesh or other 
 forbidden thing) enjoyed them. 
 
 And Phattaz the Brahmin went often, and ate and 
 drank heartily, to make himself sure that there was 
 truly no forbidden thing in the viands ; and he grew 
 most friendly with Shere, and stayed and learned to 
 play at the pastime of "bowls"— little knowing that 
 he played with the little sacred gods, for these had 
 become so worn and round as not to be recognized. 
 
 But Shere had soon spent all his wealth, and owed 
 much ; and Phattaz did not know this. 
 
 So Shere took him aside one day, when they had 
 drunk much " Old Tom," the drink of the English, 
 and said, " I have a purpose in my mind to bestow 
 a great and valuable offering upon the holy gods, 
 through your hands. But it is seemly that I should 
 feel that you have confidence in me before I give so 
 great an offering ; therefore I would have you give 
 into my hands all the gold and the other treasures 
 which are in your sacred temple, and let me go 
 round the corner (so to speak) with them." 
 
 Then Phattaz the Brahmin was very joyful at this, 
 and went in haste and loaded two elephants with 
 the treasures from the temple, and gave these into 
 the hands of Shere, and went home in great expec- 
 tation. 
 
 And the next morning he went early to the house 
 of Shere to receive the treasures of the temple, and 
 also the great oft'ering, taking three extra elephants 
 in case of necessity; but it so chanced that Shere 
 was not at home that morning; so Phattaz went 
 away, and returned that evening, but Shere was not 
 at home even yet. 
 
 Then, when he had called many days, Phattaz 
 began to grow uneasy, and went to inquire of the 
 gcds in the temple about the intentions of Shere ; 
 and the gods, one and all, stared blankly at him, as 
 if they were doubtful about it ; so he grew more un- 
 easy, and presently went again and inquired of the 
 gods, who this time stared blankly at him, as though 
 everything did not look right ; and he went a third 
 time, and then the gods stared blankly at him as if 
 all were lost. Then the despair of the Brahmin was 
 great, and his eyes were opened to the badness of 
 Shere, and he went out in his rage and killed three 
 Sudras, who are men of the meanest caste. And 
 for this thing he had afterwards to do penance, for 
 the gods are considerate of the Sudras, to kill one 
 of which is as great a crime as to kill a flea or 
 any insect. And Phattaz the Brahmin w-cnt and 
 banged violently at the door of the wicked Shere, 
 and demanded that the treasures should be returned; 
 but Shere was not even yet at home. 
 
 So after Phattaz had exhausted all the power ot 
 persuasion and of threats, he was forced to have re-
 
 THE REFORMATION OF SHERE BHADN. 
 
 course to a thing which is the fear of e\ery man who 
 has done any injury to another, and very crushing 
 to him ; for it is the custom for one, when another 
 owes him a debt and will not pay it, to sit mourning 
 at the door of that man, taking no food or drink, 
 nor moving away, until the debt shall have been 
 paid ; and if it chance that he who sits mourning 
 shall die so, then the sin of his death will be upon 
 the head of the other; and this is very terrible to 
 that other ! 
 
 So Phattaz went early the next morning with no 
 clothes, and sat down in the sun at the door of 
 Shere in the most uncomfortable attitude which he 
 could find, and ate and drank nothing all that day 
 and night ; and when Shere, not being yet at home, 
 looked out of window next morning, there he was. 
 
 And Shore, who was an impious man, laughed 
 within himself; so Phattaz called all those passing 
 by and made them sit down and mourn with him, 
 to increase the sin of Shere; and about half of 
 the people in that city sat down in the most uncom- 
 fortable positions they could invent, and mourned. 
 
 But that evening Phattaz the Brahmin grew tired 
 of it, and slipped away in the darkness, and when 
 the morning came, all the people who sat there saw 
 that his place was vacant, and said, " Erahm has 
 taken him to himself, and this thing will make it 
 very hot for Shere I " 
 
 Then, on the fifth day, Shere Bhadn looked out 
 of the window again ; and suddenly his conscience 
 smote him heavily, and the whole force of his sinful- 
 ness terrified him; and he became from that mo- 
 ment a changed man and very pious ; and he thought 
 at first to go quickly and give back the treasure to 
 
 Phattaz and perform a great penance ; but then he 
 said, " No; there is only one punishment which is 
 bad enough for me, and it were impious in me to 
 attempt to avoid the doom which the gods have 
 willed for me ; therefore I v/ill let these people sit, 
 and the sin of their deaths shall be upon my head, 
 as it is meet." 
 
 And he sat at a window, whence he could see the 
 discomfort of those who mourned, and smiled pa- 
 tiently, for he was become a righteous man. 
 
 And those who sat without died off, a few at a 
 time ; but he bore this thing meekly. 
 
 Now, as he cast about how he might make repara- 
 tion for his crimes, it occurred to him to deliver up 
 the widow of Odeah to Kali, whom he had unjustly 
 robbed of her; and he was at first minded to give 
 her to Strangh Ghlum the Thug, but then he thought 
 how it v.'ould be more edifying to sacrifice her as 
 she should have been sacrificed at first. So he built 
 a great pile of wood in his courtyard, and gilded it, 
 and sent upstairs for the widow of Odeah ; but again 
 she had hidden herself away (having some sus- 
 picions) in a secret hole, and they had much ado to 
 find her. Then Shere said to her, " Rejoice with 
 me, for I have resolved to do that which is right, 
 and you also shall assist me in that humble way 
 which befits women." 
 
 Yet she did not see the thing in his light, but 
 slipped away round many corners in succession, and
 
 THE REFORMATION OF SHERE BHADN. 
 
 was hard lo catch. But they caught her, and placed 
 lier on the top of the pile, and lighted it at the 
 bottom before she had time to slip down, and Shere 
 smoked at great peace with himself. 
 
 But Strangh the Thug, when he heard of this 
 thing-, was so enraged at the slipping of the widow 
 through his fingers, that he took no rest until he 
 had empted seven more streets ; but after this a 
 great crowd got him, and dug a hole, and placed 
 him in it with his heels highest, and filled up the 
 top of it with clay, and sat upon it for some days, 
 until they were quite sure. 
 
 Now when Phattaz the Brahmin had gone home, 
 tired of sitting, he had in some way found out how 
 those missing bulls had been killed and made into 
 curious dishes by Shere ; and Phattaz knew that he 
 himself had eaten of those bulls ; and he found out 
 moreover that " Old Tom "was indeed an intoxicating 
 and forbidden thing ; and he also found out how he 
 had played with the little sacred gods themselves, 
 in the shape of bowls ; and the wildness of that 
 Brahmin was like the wildness of a whole city-full ; 
 and he went off with great leaps, though it was 
 night, and sat down in his old place at the door of 
 Shere, being resolved that he luottld die this time, 
 for his hatred of Shere. And when Shere looked 
 again out of the window, Phattaz smiled a dreadful 
 smile of satisfaction : so they both smiled. 
 
 Now there was one sin more than all others which 
 pained Shere, and this was the knocking off of the 
 sacred little noses of those gods who were bowls. 
 And one night he dreamed that all those little great 
 gods came to him and told him that he should die, 
 and that for his sins his soul should pass into the 
 bodies of this animal and of that, and that all that 
 treasure, and the wives which he had, and the re- 
 mainder of the " Old Tom," should come into the 
 possession of Phattaz the Brahmin. Then Shere 
 prayed one thing : that his soul might be put into 
 the body of one of the sacred alligators of the 
 Ganges, for he had a certain design in his mind. 
 And the gods promised him this pious wish. 
 
 Then when Shere awoke, he was filled with a new 
 and most pious resolve, and built another great pile 
 of wood, and gilded it ; and sent upstairs for those 
 wives which he had there, and set them all on the 
 
 top of the pile. But they said, " There is some 
 mistake ! We ought not to presume to be burned 
 until we are your widows. We will wait." But Shere 
 said he would excuse their haste, knowing the piety 
 which prompted them, and set fire very quickly to 
 the pile, and v/as filled with a holy satisfaction. And 
 by this time all the people who had sat mourning at 
 his door had succumbed, excepting only Phattaz, who 
 had again tired of it and gone home. 
 
 So Shere, being satisfied with the amount of his 
 punishment (for it is a selfish and presumptuous 
 thing for any man to want all the punishment that 
 exists, robbing othei^s of their share), sent for Phat- 
 taz, and gave to him all the treasures of the temple, 
 together with more wealth which he had borrowed 
 of others, and caused new noses of gold to be fitted 
 to the little gods, and painted them with many 
 colours. And Phattaz was so full of delight that he 
 forgave all that affair of the meats and of the drinks, 
 and they were great friends. 
 
 And that night the soul of Shere left him and 
 went into the body of a sacred alligator ; and the 
 soul was full of a great plan ; and that alligator 
 loitered about that part of the bank of the Ganges 
 Highest to the house of Phattaz the Brahmin, as if 
 it watched for some one. 
 
 Now it chanced that Owkhouddee Bhee Dhurteer 
 the Fakir wandered one dark evening on that part 
 of the banks, seeking for mud still dirtier than that 
 he had yet found. And he had covered himself 
 completely with one coat of pins, and the dirt upon 
 him reached up to their heads and covered them, so 
 that he had begun to stick on an outer coating of 
 pins in the mud above the first coating. And the 
 kinds of dirt which covered him were dirtier and 
 more various than ever before. And as he walked 
 along there was joy in the eye of that alligator, as if 
 of expectation. But when it had opened its mouth 
 very wide, so that the Fakir walked into it in the 
 darkness and was swallowed down, the alligator 
 knew that it was the wrong taste ; and there came 
 over it a feeling of nausea and into its eye a dis- 
 appointed melancholy which never departed from it. 
 And Phattaz lived, and was protected by the little 
 gods with the new noses of gold. 
 
 James F. Sullivan.
 
 G ^r !=' :e^ TJ s 
 
 Vi'llllP 
 
 WORSHIPPING THE 
 
 CvpRiAN Venus
 
 PROCESSION TO CYPRUS. 
 
 King Dizzy's "little wee dog" — Her Gracious Majesty going to see her new property — Bogey to frighten people into Dizzyism — Young 
 Gentlemen who have tried everything here and failed, going to Cyprus to do likewise — Missionary, to enlighten the Cypriotes. 
 
 Distinguished Painter, to establish a "Royal Academy of Harts"— Members of London Mob, to teach politeness and the manners of 
 
 good society — Sensation Loveliness, to show what English Venuses are like. 
 
 British Workman, because he hears that nobody works there, and that the drink is so strong — Matilda Seraphina, to see if the gentle- 
 men of Cyprus have better taste than those of the British Isles — 'I'ymkyns, to see what /le can pick up — Tymkyns's Tailor, to pick up 
 Tymkyns — Promoters of Joint-Stock Companies, Solicitors, Quacks, etc., etc., etc.
 
 MAGNANIMOUS MATCH-MAKING. 
 
 Now, had it not been for a Christmas card, 
 these hnes had never been penned, because 
 it was by means of one of these Decembral extra- 
 vagances they made her accjuaintance. No ; I 'm 
 wrong. A Christmas card was the medium that 
 developed an inter-knowledge of the relative exist- 
 ence of such persons into a fateful friendship. Thus 
 Jack Dawes and Percy Verc v/ere introduced to Miss 
 Ilfra Coombe, known familiarly in domestic and 
 other circles as " Tots," at a quadrille party given 
 by a mutual friend, where, in the following out of 
 the programme and their destinies, both these gen- 
 tlemen waltzed with her. 
 
 Well, after the ball the two young fellows lost 
 sight of Tots for some time, till one day in the be- 
 ginning of December, being at the house of the 
 gentleman by whose means they had been brought 
 together, her name (oddly enough, no doubt) chanced 
 to be mentioned, and a few leading questions soon 
 elicited her address. Walking home, Percy said to 
 Jack, " I say, let's send Tots a Christmas card." 
 
 Jack agreed ; and accordingly on Christmas Eve 
 a highly-coloured production, the work of Mr. Percy, 
 with appropriate verses by Jack, was sent off in an 
 expansive envelope, addressed " Miss Coombe, Beau- 
 rivage, Sunbury." 
 
 When Tots received it she was hugely amused, 
 and shortly after, showing it to the son and heir of 
 the aforesaid mutual party friend, learned from him 
 its originators. Now, Miss Coombe was a young 
 lady who delighted in originality. She was original 
 herself, and liked to see it in others (though, of 
 course, she didn't know it when she did see it, and 
 didn't knoia she liked it) ; so a couple of not alto- 
 gether objectionable young fellows who showed so 
 much idea of their own as to indite, draw, and 
 otherwise manufacture a Christmas card " out of 
 their own heads," as she termed it, naturally in- 
 duced her to make such inquiries concerning them 
 that the mutual friend's serviceable son volunteered 
 
 to bring them down with him some day, to which, 
 I need scarcely add, she assented. Hov/ever, what 
 with one delay and another, it was not until a sunny 
 morning in May that he looked up Dawes and his 
 chum at their chambers, and telling them to put 
 some "flannels" in a bag, added that he was going 
 to take them for a row with a couple of nice girls — 
 Tots had a sister. The inc[uiries as to who they 
 were being satisfactorily settled, the "flannels" duly 
 ensconced in the bag, the three friends alighted at 
 Sunbury Station on an eventful 22nd of May, about 
 the hour of two p.m. Taken to Mr. Coombe's house 
 and introduced to the family, they all went out for 
 an afternoon's lounge on the river. 
 
 I will pass over that and many like visits, river 
 picnics, water-parties, great and small, until these 
 two young fellows came to be regarded as regular 
 friends of the family. They went down there when 
 they liked, stopped there when they liked ; in fact, 
 as far as the Coombe household was concerned, did 
 as they liked. Mrs. Coombe was a second mother 
 to them, as Beaurivage was a second and much 
 more comfortable home. This state of affairs went 
 on all that summer, nor did winter cool their ac- 
 quaintance. They all used to go skating together, 
 or would take the girls up to town to theatres or 
 concerts, so perhaps on the whole the winter was 
 as pleasant as the summer had been. Hiems 
 passed, as did the spring, and by the time July 
 first made moonlight rows practicable, Mr. Jack 
 Dawes made to Mr. Percy Vere the extraordinary 
 revelation that he thought he had fallen in love 
 with Tots, which startling avowal was met by an 
 equally surprising announcement on Percy's part 
 that he too believed himself to be in much the same 
 pretty position ! 
 
 Here was a chance ! A duel a la mode ! Six- 
 shooters ! Goodwin Sands at low water ! One 
 mangled corse, and a semi-murderer coming back 
 after a time and kneeling at the toes of a weep-
 
 MA GNANIMO US MA TCH-MAKING. 
 
 75 
 
 ing Tots ! But then I 'm afraid she avouIcI have 
 spoiled all romance by being so irritatingly matter- 
 of-fact as to lock the dining-room doors on the out- 
 side, and to send for the police. No, they didn't do 
 any of those things ; they didn't even have a row 
 and fling dumb-bells at each other! Percy had 
 spoken last, and Jack simply remarked, " The 
 devil!" 
 
 " Why," suddenly exclaimed Percy, " we 're rivals. 
 Oh I come on ! " and he took up a foil. 
 
 " Well," said Jack, "if you're in love with her " 
 
 '■' No," put in the other, " I didn't say I ivas, I 
 said I thfli'.glit I was." 
 
 " And so did I," cried Jack ; " I 'm not sure, bless 
 you ; neither are you. Oh, it's all right ! We'll 
 wait till we are." 
 
 And that very afternoon they went down to Sun- 
 burj' arm-in-arm ! 
 
 Of course the upshot of all this was that Jack and 
 Percy did not take very much longer to decide they 
 were quite in love with Tots. That was a settled 
 thing. And it must also be confessed that though 
 Miss Ilfra was strictly impartial v.ith respect to our 
 friends, she seemed to like them together far better 
 than the other men of her acquaintance. And so 
 it went on, each having his encouragement to fall 
 more deeply in love with her. It had always been 
 a rule between them never to spoil sport in any 
 case, and the present formed no exception to the 
 principle they had laid down and adopted. 
 
 One night, as they were returning home, extended 
 as comfortably as a South- Western smoking-carriage 
 will permit— both quiet— thinking, I suspect, of "the 
 girl they'd left behind them " — each doubtless aware 
 of the cause of the other's silence — when, to their 
 intense disgust, some one got into the compart- 
 ment they occupied. Oh, how in their hearts they 
 cursed that unconscious youth ! They couldn't, with 
 him there, indulge in those " sweet thoughts far 
 away " they had been previously enjoying. The 
 presence of that young man seemed to break the 
 spell of sympathy which had laid down an electric 
 current of association between Beaurivage, Sunbur)', 
 and first-class carriage 152 B. 
 
 But the strange part of it all was, that though they 
 couldn't reverie of Tots as before, owing to a tJiird 
 
 party being present, yet they knew each other's 
 thoughts were identical. Maybe you'll advance that 
 they couldn't have loved her verj^ much, as there is 
 no true love without jealousy in some degree, and 
 knowing each other's feelings as they did, had they 
 loved her as they imagined, it would have led, not 
 exactly to a desperate struggle, but at least to a cool- 
 ness between them. But they did love her, and they 
 didn't quarrel ; they were just as good friends as 
 before — perhaps better, as now they had one com- 
 mon love, pursuit, and adoration ! The intruder 
 got out at Twickenham, and Dawes was just settling 
 down to another " think," when Percy observed, 
 
 "Jack!" 
 
 " What ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Do you think if you — if you asked Tots to be 
 your wife, she would consent ? ' 
 
 Jack looked up at him for a moment, and then 
 said, " Yes ! " After a pause he added, " And if you 
 asked her the same question, Percy, what sort of an 
 answer do you think you would get ?" 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 It was some short time after this conversation 
 that one evening Percy was busily engaged on a 
 " block," when, on looking up, he observed Jack 
 staring out into space with a most alarming expres- 
 sion of thought upon his countenance. 
 
 " Why, what on earth are you thinking so hard 
 about ? " he inquired. 
 
 " I was thinking that if you or I married Tots, 
 what the lucky one would keep her on." 
 
 Percy jumped up, breaking the point of his pencil, 
 "Jack, I never thought of that," he said, veiy seriously. 
 
 "No more did I till just now. Pleasant, eh? — 
 ' Mr. Coombe — In return for all your kindness to 
 me I ask you to give me your daughter, that I may 
 show my love for her by reducing her from comfort 
 and elegance to a position little better than that 
 of a servant-of-all-work, with more responsibility — 
 herself, a large husband, and the possible con- 
 tingency of a small family, on ^200 per annum'!'" 
 
 " What are we to do ?" faltered Percy. 
 
 His friend smoked a short time in silence; then, 
 half inquiringly, " Give up going down? " 
 
 Percy laughed an odd sort of laugh. 
 
 " 'Tis as hard for me as you," replied Dawes ; "I'm
 
 76 
 
 J/A GNANIMO US MA TCH-MAKING. 
 
 just as hard hit as you are, but I see no other way 
 out of it. Look here, Percy ! if we keep up our pre- 
 sent terms of relationship at Beaurivage, that girl, 
 although she may not have shown it yet, is sooner 
 or later bound to mark her preference for one of us. 
 That she already likes us two better than the other 
 fellows, I am sure. Well, the happier in that case 
 will, in a moment of — what shall I say ?— ob- 
 livion, get saying something serious to her. She 
 will take it as meant, which nieatil in one sense it 
 \\ ill be ; but when it turns out to be altogether hope- 
 less, think how jolly awkward it will be. See?" 
 
 '' Ye-es ! But what are we to do ? " 
 
 " Well, I 've just been thinking. If we continue 
 our visits, we must take precautionary measures." 
 
 '• What do you mean ? " 
 
 "In this way. When one of us sees the other 
 hanging too much about Tots, or misses him and 
 her at the same time for long together, he must 
 go in search, and on finding them remain in such a 
 manner as we once should have called ' spoiling 
 sport.' Thus, you see, one of us may have the 
 opportunity of preventing the other making a fool of 
 himself, and of stalling off Tot's chance of discover- 
 ing which of us she likes best till she will naturally 
 gradually lose that dual preference which seems to 
 cost us so much anxiety." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Percy ; " a sort of Anti-Tots Mutual 
 Protection League, Limited ! " 
 
 And here were two strong big men binding them- 
 selves together in a bond of defence against a poor 
 little harmless creature, w'hose coronet plait brought 
 her on a level with the top button of my waistcoat, 
 and who acknowledged to being tired after two turns 
 round a moderately-sized room to the strains of the 
 Themsclicder, or any other waltz you may like to 
 mention. 
 
 I have been lingering somewhat over the state of 
 Jack's and Percy's feelings, with scarcely a word as 
 to what Tots thought of them. Of course she knew 
 they were fond of her ; for the matter of that, so were 
 all the fellows — but then she owned to being fonder 
 of our two friends than all the others put together. 
 
 I think, after all, we had better ask her sister. — 
 Will Miss Mabel Coombe have the kindness to dis- 
 close anything her sister may have confessed con- 
 
 cerning the state of her feelings with regard to 
 Messrs. Dawes and Vere ? 
 
 Miss Katie Coombe will have much pleasure. 
 
 In the first place, Tots had repeatedly admitted 
 she liked the gentlemen in question "best of all." 
 Secondly, Vere was a prettier name than Dawes, 
 and Ilfra Vere didn't sound at all badly. Thirdly, 
 she thought Percy did not give vent to quite as 
 much playful sarcasm at her expense as Jack did. 
 Fourthly, that Jack seemed to think more of her — 
 to show her more little attentions than Percy did. 
 Fifthly, Percy was the better looking. Sixthly, she 
 thought Jaek would make the better husband — 
 one who would let his wife have more of her own 
 way. And, seventhly, she didn't love either — but 
 she thought she liked Jack a tiny bit the better, but 
 she was a stupid little thing, and wasn't quite sure, 
 and she wouldn't show it ! 
 
 Will Miss Mabel accept our most grateful acknow- 
 ledgements for her important communication ? 
 
 With their diabolical plan in their heads, the two 
 friends visited Sunbury for the next month, and it 
 worked with gratifying success. Although, some- 
 times, when one found himself looked after so assidu- 
 ously, a shade of annoyance might have just passed 
 over him, he directly understood all about it ; Jack, 
 or Percy, was never alone with Tots for long but 
 the other was sure to come upon them. One 
 never went on the water with her without the other, 
 and neither went to Sunbury soltcs. It was an 
 odd sort of arrangement on their parts. They 
 couldn't bring themselves to give up seeing her, 
 which, I suppose, under the circumstances, was 
 selfish and wrong ; and yet they were not so selfish 
 but they endeavoured to take steps that their grati- 
 fication should not be fraught with danger to the 
 origin of it. 
 
 However, one afternoon, while at Sunbury, Percy 
 had a telegram requiring his presence in town, and 
 Jack, who had wisely determined to accompany 
 him, was, by the united entreaties of the " Tots " 
 family, but too easily, prevailed on to remain. As 
 he was leaving, Percy said to Jack, 
 
 " If you go on the river to-night, mind ! there's a 
 moon ; so be sure you take Mabel with you." And 
 then he left him to his fate.
 
 MA GNANIMO US MA TCH-MAKING. 
 
 77 
 
 They did go on the river, and there ivas a moon, 
 l)ut they took Mabel with them. When they came 
 off she went indoors, and Jack busied himself 
 putting the sculls and cushions away, while Tots 
 waited for him on a rustic seat placed under a weep- 
 ing ash, a seat solely and wholly " for talking age 
 and whisp'ring lovers made." After he had locked 
 up the boat-house, instead of insisting on their 
 following Mabel's example, he went and sat down 
 also, saying — he blames it all on the moon — 
 
 " As water finds its own level, Tots, so I find my 
 way back to you." 
 
 " Always on the water," she exclaimed. " But 
 how romantic you are ! Why ! I thought you con- 
 sidered yourself immeasurably superior to me." 
 
 " Love levels all, if I did," he whispered. 
 
 " Levels !" she echoed. " I thought the course of 
 love never ran smoothly under any circumstances!" 
 
 " What a grand institution moonlight is," he said. 
 " And the river ! I think the only poet who came 
 nearest describing Eljsium was he who wrote 
 
 " With indolent fingers fretting the tide. 
 And an indolent arm round a darling waist ! " 
 
 " How many darling waists has your indolent arm 
 been round in its time?" she murmured. 
 
 " None ! " 
 
 "Where is it now.?" 
 
 " Oh, Tottie dear ! " he said, squeezing her closer, 
 " I wish I had a thousand a year." 
 
 " Why ? " she archly asked. 
 
 " Because then I 'd marry you." 
 
 " But I wouldn't have you," she said. 
 
 " Yes, you would ! Yes, you would ! " And just 
 then Mabel came and told them tea was ready. 
 
 When Jack saw Percy the next morning he made 
 a clean breast of the affair, but his soul did not 
 derive that benefit from the confession the proverb 
 might have led him to expect. He admitted the 
 justice of Percy's reproaches, but denied all respon- 
 sibility for his action. It was all the moon ! 
 
 " Oh, Percy ! " he cried, " I wish you 'd marry her ; 
 I could shake hands with her as your wife." 
 
 " Nothing would give me greater pleasure," re- 
 turned his friend; "but unfortunately I can't. In- 
 deed, after the unfortunate occurrence of last night. 
 
 I doubt if she'd have me. But to the point, — did 
 you make her a bona fdc offer?" 
 
 " No !" replied Jack, brightening at what seemed 
 a glimmer of hope— (strange thought to brighten 
 at !) — "no ! I only told her I should like to, and— 
 and — she didn't say she wouldn't." 
 
 " Well," said Percy, " you furnished good advice 
 on a former occasion, which was followed by the 
 recipient ; it is now my turn. You have pro- 
 bably noticed. Jack, how all the eligible /(rr/Z^- who 
 used to go to Beaurivage have fallen off in their 
 visits during the latter part of our acquaintance 
 there. Now, what is the cause of that? Wc are the 
 cause. Some of those fellows went there with certain 
 ideas, but, fancying from the manner wc were re- 
 ceived they stood no chance, have honourably taken 
 themselves off, leaving us a fair field, not unaccom- 
 panied by a considerable amount of favour. We, 
 who with similar ideas, owing to circumstances, are 
 
 unable to put those ideas into tangible form vou 
 
 follow ?" 
 
 "Go on! "said Jack. 
 
 " Now, look here," resumed Percy : "if we continue 
 our visits, which it seems beyond our moral power 
 to forego so long as Tots' name is Coombe,we keep 
 all others out. Does not that strike you as a jolly 
 shame? The girl might go on, aimlessly circled by 
 you and me, till she have no chance of being married 
 at all. Say what you like, marriage is woman's 
 mission, and Mr. and Mrs. Coombe, though of course 
 not anxious to part with their dear little daughter, 
 would, in her own interests, like nothing better than 
 to see her fulfilling her destiny, and happily and 
 comfortably settled. So, my boy, as matters stand, 
 if only in return for their great kindness, it devolves 
 upon us to find some one who can make her happy 
 and comfortable, and who can take this load oft" our 
 hearts. We 're the moths and she the candle. As 
 it is useless striving to keep the moths from the 
 light, the light must be taken from the moths. In 
 other words, we must find llfra Coombe a husband."' 
 
 " What ! " cried Jack. " Turn matchmakers ! Oh ! 
 Ex luce lucclluinf" 
 
 " Matchmakers or not, as you will. That is what 
 in all honour and fairness we must do." 
 
 " Yes ; but don't you reckon without your host ?
 
 /S 
 
 MAGNANIMOUS MATCH-MAKING. 
 
 Suppose she doesn't take to the husband found for 
 her, whoever he may be. What then ? " 
 
 " That is as it may be. We must take our chance 
 of that. What I maintain is that we must do our 
 utmost to repair the — I was going to say, injury, but 
 let the word pass — caused by our — our — terms are 
 so difficult to find ! — our selfishness. Come, do 
 you think she could be brought to give you up with 
 out dying of decline?" 
 
 " I dare say," said Jack, in all modesty. 
 
 "Then this is what I propose doing. There's 
 Tommy Hawkes, one of the best fellows living. 
 Good-looking, plenty of money, and a brick ! Well, 
 we '11 get him to come down to Kingston for a row, 
 go up as far as Sunbury, then land at their garden, 
 telling him we'll introduce him to some jolly people. 
 They 're sure to ask him down again, and he is as 
 sure to fall in love with Tots — every one does, you 
 know. (" Yes.'") And then we must play our cards 
 sufficiently well as to make it a case of — of 'no 
 cards.' In fact, to get him to marry her, and vice 
 z'ersd. What do you think of my plan ? " 
 
 " It is all very good — too good — and I suppose we 
 must adopt it," said Jack, moodily ; " but really, in 
 my heart, I don't think I should grieve to see it fail." 
 
 " No, hang it!" cried Percy. "That is selfish. 
 I 'm just as much singed as you are ; so cheer up, 
 work with a will, and we shall perhaps have the gra- 
 tification of seeing our stratagem successful, and of 
 two weak minds doing a magnanimous action." 
 
 So Mr. Hawkes went with them to Kingston for 
 a row ; he was taken to Beaurivage and introduced ; 
 he was asked to come again; and he went away 
 raving of Tots, to the mingled gloom and satisfac- 
 tion of our male matchmakers. 
 
 Tommy, after that, became a constant visitor at 
 the Coombes', Jack and Percy doing all in their 
 power to bring about what they had set their minds 
 upon. It would have been rather amusing for any 
 one cognizant of the plot to have watched the little 
 manoeuvres the pair had recourse to in the further- 
 ance of their dark design. They commenced by 
 leaving their unconscious victims alone together, 
 and doing all they could to keep them so, for any 
 length of time ; always talking of both in the same 
 breath, coupling their names in a sort of off-hand 
 
 natural manner, until people, supposing them to be 
 of course well posted up in the family arrangements, 
 began to take it for granted that Tots and Tommy 
 were destined ere long to become a unit. This idea, 
 as it imperceptibly took hold of and pervaded the 
 minds of all, was inevitably insensibly communicated 
 to Tots, till her mind became vaguely imbued with 
 some such similar though undefined notions, causing 
 her after a bit to deem it as a not impossible con- 
 tingency, and in time to drift gradually into taking 
 it for granted that things were so ordained and so 
 to be. Another point in favour of it was that she, 
 mindful of and piqued at Jack's gloomy and gra- 
 duating quasi-coolness, attributing it, of course, to 
 anything but the real cause — she had been certain of 
 her preference since that eventful evening — at first 
 solaced her woman's soul with the conventional 
 woman'ssolace undersuch circumstances, viz., taking 
 up with another in order to bring the first back to his 
 sterner sense of duty ; a7id as Jack didn't return, in 
 comforting herself with Hawkes she grew to like 
 him very much indeed, — he was a capital fellow. 
 The two schemers worked upon ///;;/ too in a manner 
 which led him to believe that he was not regarded 
 with total aversion in the little quarter where he 
 long deposited his rather impulsive affections ; but 
 they never tackled Tots personally. At length Mr. 
 and Mrs. Coombe, though somewhat surprised it 
 had not been Jack or Percy, cheerfully adopted the 
 views conveyed to them by people who had been 
 tampered with by the conspirators, and a sort of 
 tacit engagement between the young folks was 
 agreed upon by the outside public. All this had 
 its consequent subtle influence upon the mind ot 
 one of the most interested parties, and Percy's 
 kind arrangements for her future were prevented 
 from failure by Tommy's proposing to Tots, and 
 her unconditional acceptance of him. 
 
 They were now formally engaged, and to all ap- 
 pearance transcendently happy — Jack and Percy 
 being proportionately dismal. They tried to com- 
 fort themselves, however, with the assurance they 
 had done right, and that it was all for the best, 
 but still they were dismal. They didn't go to 
 Sunbury so often — they even passed the campshed 
 occasionally without landing. But if Jack and his
 
 MA GNANIMO US MA TCH-MAKING. 
 
 79 
 
 ■friend absented themselves, Hawkes was there, and 
 their conclusion was they would only have been in 
 the way, and they never spoiled sport. One day, 
 when they went down, Tots had gone to London to 
 have something " tried on." That was enough. 
 They suddenly recollected important engagements 
 at the Foreign Office, and left almost directly. 
 They went back to their rooms feeling very low- 
 spirited, and had just settled down to a lugubrious 
 pipe, when Jack discovered a blue-enveloped letter 
 addressed to himself. He opened it in a listless 
 manner, which changed as he read the contents : 
 
 '• looi Gray's Inm Square, 
 "15///; Sept., 187—. 
 '' Sir, — We much regret to have to convey to you 
 the sad intelligence of the sudden demise of our 
 much-lamented client, your late uncle, ]\Ir. Thomas 
 Dawes, at his station near Bhurtwar, in the Punjaub. 
 At the same time we hasten to inform you, you are 
 left residuary legatee and sole executor under his 
 will, some time confided to our keeping. We know 
 of no other document of a similar nature bearing a 
 more recent date, nor do our agents out there, from 
 whom we have received this information per Indian 
 telegraph. We shall, no doubt, have fuller details 
 by the next mail. 
 
 "Awaiting any instructions you may be kind 
 enough to honour us with, 
 '"' We are, Sir, 
 
 " Your obedient servants, 
 
 " Narravv^ay and Straight. 
 "John Dawes, Esq." 
 
 He threw the letter over to Percy ; then, folding 
 his arms upon the table, drooped his head upon 
 them. Percy read the news, and seeing what was 
 coming, was in a terrible fix. He didn't speak for 
 some time, while something very like a sob shook 
 poor Jack's frame. He pretended to be reading 
 
 over the letter : his usual readhiess failed him. 
 What should or could he say? At last, in sheer 
 desperation, he blurted out, 
 
 " Why, Jack ! this is your Uncle Tom, who quar- 
 relled with his family when quite a boy, and went 
 out to India." 
 
 " Oh, Percy ! " groaned Jack, " why didn't I know 
 this six months ago ? It is too late now." 
 
 " Come, come. Jack, be a man ! I thought you 
 were getting over that." 
 
 " I thought I was perhaps in a fair way of doing 
 so, but this has brought it all on again. Oh, why 
 did I ever take your advice?" Advice again! 
 
 " Jack," said Percy gently, " that is unkind." 
 
 Jack looked up and took his hand. 
 
 " That 's right ! " continued the other, " why, you 
 began to get over it, and if you could do that then, 
 surely you can do it again now. Come, cheer up ! 
 Comfort yourself with the assurance that however it 
 has turned out with regard to yourself — a result no 
 one would have ever dreamed of — you did a right and 
 good action. You were very fond of that girl ; there 
 was no possibility of your marrying her yourself, so 
 you sacrificed your own feelings to the future wel- 
 fare and happiness of the woman you loved. 'Tis a 
 love to be proud of, and its own reward ! " 
 
 And Jack did cheer up after a time. They have 
 both got over their disappointment now, and though 
 when Tots was married, the uncle's affairs had 
 inoppo7-tu7iely called Jack abroad, and Percy accom- 
 panied him, they conjointly sent her the best and 
 most useful present she received. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkes, ncc Coombe, never understood 
 how it was that Jack seemed to diverge at an ob- 
 tuse angle from her after that pleasant evening in 
 the moonlight, and no one ever knew but that her 
 wedding came about in the most ordinary manner 
 possible ; little dreaming it was all owing to the ma- 
 chinations of our Magnaninwtis Maichmahcrs. 
 
 Cyril Mullett.
 
 MY OTTER HUNT. 
 
 One morning in July last I received the following : — 
 
 "Mv DEAR E?Ai', — M): Thhigniiilol's otter hounds iiicci at Whatdyecallum Bridge next Monday morning at /^ a. vi. 
 Conic and jjiii in titcfiin. " i'ours truly, 
 
 "NiMKOD." 
 
 1 went, I " Joined in the fun," and I recorded my experiences, and these are of them : — 
 
 I prospect the weather. Qu ite a new sensation to me to see how 
 the world looks before being properly aired. 
 
 I get myself up, "accord- 
 ing to Cocker," and fancy my- 
 self the considerable Stilton. 
 
 Study of fortification ; not un- 
 necessary under the untimely cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 After a weary paddle up a wet ditch for a mile or more-
 
 MY OTTER HUNT. 
 
 A "find 
 found beyond 
 
 is proclain.ed ; what the long-haired hounds liavc I Crowbars, spades, and pickaxes are put into requisition ; but, as 
 
 a gutter-hole in the bank I fail to perceive. | my education in the manipulation of those tools is, to say the least, ele- 
 
 mentary, and I being,as some of my friends tell me, one of the numerous tribe of the "Go-ONS,". 
 
 
 i 
 
 I betake myself to the shade of a friendly tree for 
 forty winks, 
 
 Out of which lam electrified by maniacal yells and shouts fiom man and 
 dog — " Bolt ! ! Hie gaze ! ! ! Bow-wow ! ! ! ! 
 
 Having read of the plej-sures of "tailing "an otter, I essay I To the irritation of one of the hounds, I Comment is needless! 
 
 the performance, | which "tails" me in return, | The scenes transacted 
 
 within these portals are too horrible for representation ! ! Cauterization is not a matter for 
 joking ! ! ! — P. S. —I shall not be prepared to go out a-hunting the wily otter again for a time. 
 
 6
 
 QUILTER CHAFFERS. 
 
 gis fix^i Effort uni> bis fast Cljantc. 
 
 THE father of 
 Gentle Chaffers, 
 as he was called, was 
 a tailor; and he very 
 naturally expected his 
 only son would follow 
 the same honourable 
 calling. 
 
 The boy's name was 
 " Nero," or more pro- 
 perly, "Jasper Nero," 
 and by these names his 
 father, when he wished 
 to be very correct and 
 proper, always ad- 
 dressed him. Now, 
 Jasper and Nero, 
 though there may be 
 some difference of 
 opinion on this point, 
 are really in themselves 
 very good names, and 
 when combined do not 
 sound badly; yet, by 
 some strange round- 
 about way which it is 
 impossible for me to 
 describe, not being 
 good at puzzles, they 
 became, in this case, 
 corrupted into " Gen- 
 tle," and the boy was 
 known to his friends 
 and acquaintances by that name. 
 
 When Gentle Chaffers approached man's estate 
 — by the way, I may as well now inform the reader 
 that Gentle Chaffers was the father of my hero : pray 
 
 pardon the parenthesis — as Mr. Chaffers approached 
 man's estate, he gradually contracted rather strong 
 political opinions, and became addicted to attend- 
 ing meetings where "Liberty, Equality, and Fra- 
 ternity" were freely discussed and advocated; he 
 now "mixed," as he termed it, "unreservedly among 
 his-fellow men." His views became very broad, and 
 one fine morning, with the object of carrying out 
 his pet theory, I suppose, clandestinely married 
 IMiss Clarissa Thumps, the daughter of a noble- 
 minded gentleman who at this time happened to 
 be the ruling genius of a small tavern in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Clare Market. This is how Ouilter's 
 father and mother got married, and in due time 
 Ouilter Chaffers was born. 
 
 Now, there is an old adage which says " It is the 
 clothes that makes the man." As in this sense Ouil- 
 ter's father had spent all his working hours in "mak- 
 ing men," and his mother had spent all her working 
 hours in drawing — beer, what more natural than he 
 should wish to be an artist?— an historical painter? 
 His great ambition was to paint some grand work, 
 " showing how great deeds of valour had been done 
 by brave men dying in their country's cause." 
 
 This may be a convenient place to mention that 
 the star of Mr. Ouilter Chaffers had not been one of 
 the first magnitude : the fact of his father having 
 married without /a's father's sanction or approval, 
 that gentle, timid democrat was thrust from the 
 paternal roof to fight his way in the wide world as 
 best he could ; nor was the staunch and sturdy 
 parent of his darling one whit more tender. When 
 Mr. Thumps became aware of the fact that his 
 charming Clarissa was now Mrs. Gentle Chaffers, his 
 wrath rose to its maximum height, and after giving 
 utterance to a variety of very carefully-selected 
 words, more weighty than polite, he called into prac-
 
 QUILTER CHAFFERS. 
 
 83 
 
 tice some playful athletic movements, in which he 
 exhibited considerable skill. The consequence was 
 that the floor of the room where they were discussing 
 this interesting family matter appeared to rise up, 
 and come in sudden and very forcible collision with 
 the back of Air. Gentle's head. 
 
 The next morning his face showed strangely out 
 of shape, and about his eyes were many colours ; 
 his vision also was slightly aftected for several days : 
 as it happened, his mental vision recovered by a more 
 rapid process than his physical, and so he quickly 
 found, to his dismay, that he was fairly out in the 
 cold — deserted by his own parents, disowned by 
 those of his newly-married wife, this poor little Re- 
 publican with a big soul, this Jasper Nero Chaffers, 
 found himself in a rather awkward position ; and 
 what was worse, found very few people, if any, that 
 would carry out the principles of " Liberty, Equality, 
 and Fraternity" when it came to the practical part 
 of helping a friend that was down. Yet with all this 
 against him, he met his fate like a man, and did his 
 best in the trade that his father taught him to make 
 provision for his wife and child. 
 
 But it is not our business to record the domestic 
 history of Mr. Gentle Chaffers, and we have only 
 gone thus far to show that the home and early life 
 of our hero was little calculated to foster the burn- 
 ing genius of a great soul like that which animated 
 the little body of Ouilter. I do not hesitate to express 
 my own belief that O. C. was a born artist, and, had 
 he possessed fair advantages, might have climbed 
 the ladder of Fame with a tolerably firm step, and 
 as true an eye as many of the good men of our day. 
 This, Fortune had decreed, should not be his lot. 
 
 Though his soul scorned all other occupation. 
 Art — only Art — could he bear to contemplate ! Yet 
 was he compelled every day to endure many hours 
 of labour as an errand-boy to an Italian warehouse 
 — whatever that may be ! His only school for 
 study was the print-shop window, his onl}- means 
 of practice was making sketches of his father or 
 mother as they sat at work. Although every avail- 
 able shilling was spent in purchasing materials to 
 prosecute his studies, yet he lacked, and yearned 
 for sufficient means to purchase A large canvas, 
 whereon he might paint a grand historical picture. 
 
 He only wanted the necessary materials : he al- 
 ready possessed the genius ! Quilter never doubted 
 that. " Give him the wherewithal to show his power 
 and success was certain." 
 
 Thus several years passed by — hoping ! fearing ! 
 yearning! desponding! — yet always full of self- 
 confidence. "When his chance came, would not he 
 let them see what stuff he was made of ! " 
 
 At the close of a long summer day, which he had 
 spent rambling about Hampstead Heath, and the 
 adjacent fields that lay, at that period, between the 
 high ground and mighty London — moody and dis- 
 contented with himself and everything else in the 
 world — he reached the main road on the south side 
 of Regent's Park. A few steps, and he kicked aside 
 what appeared to be a piece of dirty paper lying 
 on the margin of the pavement. Some feeling of 
 curiosity induced him to turn and pick it up ; to his 
 amazement, he found this dirty bit of paper to be a 
 five-pound note ! The first question — " What was 
 he to do with it ? " 
 
 This knotty point gave him much anxiety, and 
 at least two sleepless nights ; the distressing ques- 
 tion came again and yet again, What was he to do 
 with it? At length, with a fine sense of right, he 
 resolved, and, to his honour be it told, he went 
 every day for seven days and stood upon the very" 
 spot where he had found the money, for seven hours 
 in each day, with the note carefully folded in his 
 pocket, ready to give it up to any one who should 
 prove satisfactorily that the note was his ; but no 
 one did demand it of him, nor did he, he declared, 
 see any during all the time that looked as though 
 they had lost anything of greater importance than 
 their own brains. 
 
 During the interval of watching, he came to the 
 conclusion that there were more empty skulls than 
 empty pockets in the world, which sage reflection 
 shows that our hero was not entirely without brains 
 himself. 
 
 After this laudable and unsuccessful endeavour to 
 find the rightful owner of the treasure, he considered 
 himself fairly entitled to keep it ; and this he did for 
 a time, but only for a very short time. What was 
 he to do with it ? Ha ! now was his chance ; now 
 would the yearnings of his heart be satisfied ! Now 
 
 6—2
 
 84 
 
 QUI ITER CHAFFERS. 
 
 would he purchasealarge canvas, paints and brushes, 
 and astonish the world with his grand historical 
 work ! He'd paint a picture such as man had never 
 yet set eyes on. As to his success, it is not neces- 
 sary' here to express an opinion ; the public at large, 
 to the best of my knowledge, never had an oppor- 
 tunity of expressing theirs. 
 
 It may be interesting to the reader of this brief 
 sketch if I give some idea what this great work Avas 
 like. I confess to approaching the subject with dif- 
 fidence, yet the reputation of poor Chaffers demands 
 this much of me, that those art critics who choose 
 to take the trouble may be able to say whether it 
 ought, or ought not, to have found a place in our 
 National Gallery. 
 
 The principal incident was intended to represent 
 the triumphal entry of the Allied Sovereigns into 
 Paris ; the most prominent figure was meant for the 
 Duke of Wellington, but the painter's model for this 
 had evidently been his own father while he was 
 busily plying his needle and thread, and this man, 
 in the flesh was about as like the "hero of a hundred 
 fights" as his dwelling was to Apsley House, except, 
 indeed, that they both were short men ; but what 
 was the poor artist to do ? If he could not get the 
 best, he must needs use the best he could get ! 
 This group, the Duke on horseback, with two or 
 three attendant Generals, occupied almost the entire 
 length of the picture; as accessories he ingeniously 
 introduced on one side a grand conflagration, in- 
 tended to represent the burning of Moscow ; on the 
 other side was a fierce battle, with a superabundance 
 of smoke : this was intended for the Battle of Water- 
 loo ; while in the middle distance was a male figure 
 standing upon the edge of a rock, his arms folded 
 across his breast, apparently watching the sun as it 
 sank in glowing red below the horizon of the sea : 
 this, the reader will easily understand, was intended 
 for Napoleon at St. Helena. 
 
 As we well know these circumstances did not all 
 occur at the same moment of time, — and I am not 
 by any means certain that the last-named incident 
 ever did occur in the way here represented, — yet is 
 it not admitted by all great minds that the true 
 evidence of real genius is shown in its triumph over 
 petty literal facts and small details.' and in the 
 
 poetry of painting, as in the poetry of language, the 
 author must carry the work to consummation ac- 
 cording to the design of his own lofty intellect. I 
 ought to mention in this description of the picture 
 that, in the sky, the painter had introduced some 
 strangely formed and as strangely coloured clouds, 
 which he said represented " the guardian angels of 
 the world, bearing crowns of laurel wherewith to 
 deck the manly brows of these, the gallant and the 
 brave ! " 
 
 Mr. Ouilter Chaffers was very much surprised and 
 very wroth when informed that it would be necessary 
 he should put his picture inagilt frame before it could 
 be accepted for exhibition at the Royal Academy. 
 Poor little man ! he chafed himself to fury under 
 therestriction, or, as hetermed it, "insult to genius," 
 until he bodly declared " he would himself carry his 
 noble work unfranied to the gallery," and " beard 
 these purse-proud lions in their den" — what he 
 meant by this form of expression the writer of this 
 brief history is altogether unable to explain. " He 
 would carry his picture into their noble halls, and let 
 them reject it if they dare!" He did leave his pic- 
 ture, "unframed," at the doors of their " noble halls," 
 and spent the intervening time until the " opening 
 day " in a state of restless anxiety. 
 
 At length the all-important morning arrived, and 
 Ouilter, " drest all in his Sunday best," full three 
 long hours before the doors were opened, bent his 
 way with hurried steps, that he might be among the 
 first to enter the gallery, in the full assurance that 
 the high place of honour would be given to the great 
 picture he had painted. 
 
 Poor Ouilter Chaffers ! fatal was the hour when 
 he picked up that five-pound note — fatal was the 
 day when he purchased the " large canvas and 
 brushes " — and still more fatal to him was that first 
 Monday in May, when the doors of the Royal 
 Academy opened to receive its visitors. Chaffers 
 entered the first room with as much indifference as 
 he could command, and, with a single glance at each 
 wall, saw that his picture was not there. He did 
 not expect it would be ; for in that room the place 
 of honour was not. He passed quickly on to the 
 next — not there ! — and so to each room of the 
 gallery, with the same result. As he reached the
 
 QUILTER CHAFFERS. 
 
 85 
 
 last, his poor heart sank within him — Ids picture 
 ivas not there! The place of honour was filled with 
 a small picture : the portrait of a monkey cracking 
 nuts, surrounded by a large gilt frame. Again and 
 again he went through the rooms, each time making 
 closer inspection, lest his eye should have over- 
 looked his work amid the "blaze of gilded nothings." 
 No ! it was not there ! Sick at heart and nearly 
 fainting, he leant for a few moments against a 
 doorway. This fainting was quickly followed by a 
 mental phrenzy, that for a time deprived him of all 
 self-control. He rushed from the room, and de- 
 manded of the doorkeeper — " Why his picture was 
 not hung ? " This man, with perfect indifference, 
 referred him to the porter at the receiving-door. 
 Here again, in high-pitched voice, he repeated the 
 question^" Here, you fellow ! why has my picture 
 not been hung ? " 
 
 The man he addressed was a good-hearted fellow, 
 and doubtless had seen many a disappointed youth 
 come nervously seeking for the picture that had 
 " not been hung." He now said a kindly word to 
 Ouilter, which soothed him slightly, and went away 
 to look for the work. With little search he found 
 it. When brought forth, Ouilter again demanded 
 to know — " WJiy it had not been hung upon the 
 walls of the exhibition, when there was not a single 
 picture there at all to be compared, for true artistic 
 soul, to this rejected gem .-* " 
 
 This kindly -hearted man seemed puzzled for a 
 moment ; at last he looked his questioner in the face 
 with a gentle conciliatory smile, and said, 
 
 " Why, it arn't got no frame. You see, sir, we 
 never hang no pictures here what arn't got ne'er a 
 gilt frame on it." 
 
 Happy thought ! thrice-happy thought ! Poor 
 Ouilter Chaffers clung through life to that theory. 
 His picture was rejected not from want of merit, 
 of that he was himself well satisfied, but it had been 
 declared to him by the representatives of the Royal 
 Academy — a real Royal Academician, for aught he 
 knew to the contrary — that it was rejected because 
 it had not got a gilt frame. 
 
 This was Ouilter Chaffers' first venture : we have 
 told you how it failed ; we will now relate his last 
 chance. 
 
 " The youth whose aspirations all were bold, 
 Now shrinking down the shrivelled man and old." 
 
 The gap that lay between these epochs of his life 
 — these wellnigh four decades of years — had more 
 of pain than pleasure, more of homeless wanderings 
 in the dark night, than plucking roses in the sunny 
 day. There was an even downward tendency, and 
 though he tried his best, and manfully fought against 
 the adverse tide of fortune, he could not roll his 
 barrel up the hill. 
 
 One cold wet day — he had now become sadly 
 down in the world — after wandering about the streets 
 for many dreary hours, he stood, with wistful look 
 and hungry eyes, before the window of a " ham and 
 beef shop : " how long he could not tell. At length, 
 with a weary sigh, being perfectly sensible of the 
 empty state of his pocket, he turned away, and had 
 taken scarcely half a dozen steps, when he became 
 conscious that a face which recalled long-past days 
 was standing before him, and a clear, cheery voice 
 cried out, 
 
 " Why, it 's Chaffers ! Ouilter Chaffers ! Ouilter, 
 old boy! how are you? How are you getting on? 
 You don't look very jolly. But come along with 
 me, old fellow, and tell me all about your doings 
 these many a day since we have met." 
 
 Before poor bewildered Quilter could reply, or 
 thoroughly understand what he was about, the 
 stranger hurried him into the eating-house, ordered 
 some food, which he insisted upon Ouilter doing 
 justice to before he spoke a word. When the hunger 
 was satisfied — the poor fellow had been very hungry 
 — these two men sat a long hour in earnest, quiet 
 talk, Ouilter relating the " story of his life," his fitful 
 success, his constant failure, the gleams of hope, 
 his bitter disappointment, and all the ills he had 
 endured since they were thoughtless boys at school 
 together. . That night he slept on a softer and a 
 warmer bed than he had known for many a day. 
 
 This friend of his schoolboy days, now, \\\ his 
 almost hopeless adversity, proved himself a good 
 and true friend indeed. He found him employment, 
 poor and humble enough in all conscie!,\?e^. Yet it 
 was with great joy that Ouilter e^t^ered upon a 
 situation as runner and general drvjshje in the paint- 
 room of one of our principal th;«atres, where he had
 
 86 
 
 QUILTER CHAFFERS. 
 
 many opportunities of relating his strange adventures 
 during a long and chequered life in this wilderness 
 of London, and his many shifts to keep body and 
 soul together. 
 
 He had always been a sort of hanger-on about the 
 outskirts of Art. He was well versed in the practice 
 of lithography, having at a certain period of his life 
 drawn much upon stone, but his works in this de- 
 partment of art were never printed — unless, indeed, 
 the boots of the passers-by might have taken rough 
 impressions of these "gems" after he had retired from 
 the scene of his labours for the night. 
 
 It must in candour be confessed that Ouilter sent 
 forth a frequent and by no means a timid growl 
 against society, and especially against that part of 
 society known as the Royal Academy, which in- 
 stitution he never forgave for having rejected his 
 grand picture of " The Entry of the Allied Sove- 
 reigns into Paris," simply because it had not got a 
 gilt frame : he maintained it was a corrupt combi- 
 nation of men who professed one course of action 
 and pursued another ; that, every man, on being 
 elected an Academician, bound himself by solemn 
 vows, he would, for the remainder of his life, take 
 every opportunity of crushing youthful genius, 
 whenever and wherever he might find it ; at the 
 same time avail himself of every chance to proclaim 
 with a loud voice that the doors of the Academy 
 stood ever open, ready to admit all who pleased 
 to seek instruction there; that it was the true 
 guardian of all Art interest : ever)'thing that had 
 been done, and everything that ever could be done 
 for Art in this country, was and would be entirely 
 owing to the noble and disinterested efforts of the 
 Royal Acadeni}-, 
 
 " Fostering true genius, forsooth ! " Ouilter would 
 exclaim, with wild gesticulation, after uttering fierce 
 denunciations on the Institution — "foster rising 
 genius, forsooth ! Look at me ! look at me ! •' dash- 
 ing his hand rapidly through his hair ; then throw- 
 ing his arms about in a frantic manner, he repeated 
 over and over again, " look at me ! look at me ! " — 
 each time his voice growing more shrill and wild— 
 " look at me ! Here 's an instance of their fostering 
 care ! Ha ! ha ! very tender fostering care indeed ! 
 — Only look at me ! " 
 
 Throughout the greatest part of his struggHng 
 life, Ouilter picked up occasionally a few shillings by 
 sitting as a model to what he called his "brother 
 artists ; " but his head was of the decidedly eccentric 
 class, so he was not in very great demand, moreover 
 his vehemence and loquacity rendered him a rather 
 restless sitter, a defect which told considerably to 
 his disadvantage. 
 
 There is a characteristic anecdote told of the late 
 Duke of Wellington when sitting for his portrait : 
 the artist, a painter of some considerable eminence, 
 did his best to entertain the great man with a little 
 agreeable conversation, in which he could not help 
 observing the Duke took no real interest ; this the 
 artist, with a praiseworthy humility, attributed to his 
 own dullness in not hitting upon some subject that 
 would elicit the sitter's attention. On the second 
 day he prepared himself with one or two anecdotes, 
 which he felt sure would prove agreeable : opening 
 the conversation v,ith some general remarks, he soon 
 drifted into anecdote number one, when he was 
 abruptly " pulled up " by the Iron Duke observing, 
 " Sir, I come here for you to paint my portrait, and 
 not to listen to your chatter; be pleased to proceed 
 with your work." 
 
 And so it was with Ouilter Chaffers, who had 
 often to be reminded that he came to sit as a model, 
 and not to act as a mountebank. 
 
 Notwithstanding his many defects, he was very 
 generally represented in some character or other in 
 the Exhibition of the year ; so, to use Ouilter's own 
 words when referring to the Academy, "Though his 
 own works were not destined to adorn and add to 
 the attractions of the Exhibition, yet he had done in 
 other ways as much, or perhaps more, to fill the 
 hungry coffers of that corrupt body than any other 
 single individual living." For Ouilter always main- 
 tained that those years when he was most frequently 
 represented by the artists who might introduce him 
 in their pictures were all the best and most profit- 
 able years the institution ever knew. 
 
 Poor Ouilter Chaffers ! he hugged his grievances 
 closer than a brother ; it was to him meat and drink 
 and consolation under every conceivable circum- 
 stance ; he was in his own eyes a living e\'idence 
 that the age of martyrdom had not yet passed away,
 
 FOLLY. AN APRIL SONG. 
 
 87 
 
 and that whenever the history of Art in this country 
 should be written, full justice would be done to the 
 great wrongs he had endured, from the crushing in- 
 fluence of the "cold shade" cast upon him; and 
 all because he would not bow to the degrading 
 tyranny which demanded that, before his great his- 
 torical picture could be submitted to the judgment of 
 an appreciative public, it should be put in a " gaudy 
 gilded frame." But for this grievance, which he 
 hugged so close that it kept him warm, he must 
 have died long years ago from the many privations 
 he had suffered. 
 
 He never failed to visit the annual picture exhi- 
 bition, and went through the rooms with a disdainful 
 sneer at everything upon the walls, except where his 
 own head was painted ; then, after a long admiring 
 look, he would shrug his shoulders and pass on ; he 
 pronounced the finest pictures '•' rot " and " mawkish 
 daubs." He maintained that the best of these ex- 
 hibitions was " a very sorry shilling's worth,'' where 
 the truest and grandest triumphs of art were sacri- 
 ficed to the gaudy display of large gilded frames 
 and decorators' mechanism. 
 
 " Look you here," he would say, with all the 
 seriousness of wisdom, " the true state of art in this 
 country will never be properly represented until 
 every man can claim as his birthright to have his 
 picture hung upon the walls of the national institu- 
 tion ; until, in fact, every man can carry his own pic- 
 ture, with or without a gilded frame, just as he may- 
 please, to the door, and demand admittance, select 
 w^hatever position he deems best for the proper 
 display of his work, and hang it up with his own 
 hands against the walls, no one daring to interfere ;" 
 but he would add, with a sigh, " This will not be in 
 my time! not in my time! These stiff-necked R.A.'s 
 would tremble at the idea of giving rising genius a 
 fair, I may say an honest, chance." 
 
 He insists with persistent tenacity that the true 
 translation of " Labor ct ingenmm" printed as a 
 motto on the catalogues of the annual exhibition, is 
 " Labour to crush Genius." 
 
 Poor Ouilter Chafters ! he will die in the belief. 
 
 G. D. 
 
 FOLLY. AN APRIL SONG. 
 
 UPON the very foremost day 
 Of April, Eighteen Forty-seven, 
 I think, my Polly, I may say 
 
 We thought we'd reached the seventh heaven. 
 How hard I strove to tell my tale ! 
 
 Till on my breast you hid your blushes, 
 And o'er us, in the quiet dale, 
 
 There fell the happiness that hushes. 
 
 And then I talked — well, like a lad, — 
 
 I saw you were content to listen ; 
 I told you all the fears I 'd had, 
 
 Until your eyes began to glisten. 
 And then I told, to raise your smiles, 
 
 The gauntlet I had run of chaffing — 
 My jealousy of Harry Giles — 
 
 Lentil you stopped my chatter, laughing. 
 
 A year ! — we married — poor our state, 
 
 Our friends declared it risky — very ; 
 And then, alluding to the date. 
 
 They made themselves extremely merry. 
 But, hand-in-hand, we braved the strife, 
 
 "With youth and modest hope we met it ; 
 And never once in all my life 
 
 Have I had reason to regret it. 
 
 And if I am a fool, I 've fears 
 
 My folly may be never-ending ; 
 I 've been a fool for thirty years — 
 
 I fancy I 'm too old for mending. 
 And when I sum the joys you bring, 
 
 The labours that you lighten, Polly, 
 I bless you, dear, for answering 
 
 " The fool according to his folly ! " 
 
 John "W. Houghton.
 
 THE SKETCHER'S RESOURCES; A HINT TO LANDSCAPE ARTISTS. 
 
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 THE SKETCHER'S RESOURCES; A HINT TO LANDSCAPE ARTISTS. 
 
 8 ~ But 
 
 mwoULDNfdMFrfTHE^RS^^^_^,,Te"R'^"'°-;!^:^^ "^'^'^^^^/O I. 
 
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 //!- The fWILWAY LINE-OVER THE PRIdge T— THETEBBLE^CONTlNUEDy 
 
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 'NSfJHATION,' . UJE P£E3L£'-'. 
 
 
 
 
 
 13 -%E RESULT. Complete succEsr." Broken up a.bit." -"^ 
 
 ^^^^n,3 

 
 BIRDS OF PASSAGE, 
 
 ' O swallow, swallow, flying " 
 
 IF you knew Simpson you would adore him. 
 He is so clever, especially in little matters 
 of cookery, plaVi and Corinthian, and domestic 
 economy. I say "and domestic economy" advisedly. 
 You and I have occasionally been made acquainted 
 with cookery that had no concern with economy of 
 any description. 
 
 Simpson delights in doing the family marketing, 
 /loathe marketing. Simpson understands Leaden- 
 hall. / know a hawk from a hand-saw. Simpson 
 dresses a salad to perfection. / invariably spoil oil 
 and make a mash. To me a leg of mutton is 
 mutton,— mere mutton ; to Simpson it is — well, say 
 a Southdown, a Cotswold, a Welshman, or a leg "to 
 be shunned like a leper." Simpson has at his fingers' 
 ends the proper seasons for whelks, asparagus, 
 cockles, Jerusalem artichokes, curried fowls, and 
 Anglo-Portugo oysters. I have not. The points 
 of resemblance between Simpson and myself are : 
 we are married ; we vote in Finsbury ; we abide 
 (severally) in eight-roomed semi-detached mantraps 
 situated, more or less, upon the slopes of Highbury, 
 and we are (dear me, yes !) something in the City. 
 
 Wrote Simpson to me two or three Christmases 
 back — I shall never forget it: — 
 
 My dear Jack— [the prefatory nomenclature 
 added by my sponsors to the family label of Smith 
 is John Henry]— Step round here, and we will peck 
 a bit together. I have a lay on. Governor's on 
 ilie scoot. Till death, Dolph. 
 
 Rendered into the English which is written and 
 spoken with propriety at depressing seminaries of 
 learning, the idiomatic note of my friend Adolphus 
 expressed his desire for me to lunch with him at his 
 restaurant, as he had something to communicate 
 which, owing to the temporary absence of the 
 
 Ten'nyson. 
 
 principal of his firm, he was enabled to communicate- 
 during the said luncheon. 
 
 "Where do you dine on Christmas Day.'" asked 
 Simpson, as we lingered over the bones of a couple 
 of inadecjuate chops. 
 
 " I 7tc%'er dine on iliaf day," I replied, with severe 
 dignity, "elsewhere than in the bosom of my family." 
 
 " Ah, just so," he rejoined ; "you mean you dare 
 dyspepsia at home. So do I. Now, look here : I 
 am getting tired of my poulterer ; his imagination 
 is far too vivid. The other clay he charged me 
 for a Grcwelthorpe cheese which I had never re- 
 ceived, and I am resolved to abandon him to his 
 sordid fate. It wants three days to the twenty- fifth. 
 Accompany me to Leadenhall, and we will purchase 
 the bird of your choice, be it turkey or goose. What 
 do you say ? Are you game ? " 
 
 In the sense that I was willing to place myself 
 under Simpson's obliging guidance I ivas game. 
 
 We went. On our devious way thither Simpson 
 informed me that he knew a salesman who would 
 put us on the very best terms — with the goose. We 
 would, in fact, be treated just the same as a pair of 
 poulterers. Still, as this obliging salesman was a 
 person of con\ ivial habits, it would be desirable 
 to ask him to join us in a propitiatory glass of a 
 peculiarly fruity wine of Oporto at the private bar 
 of the One-Legged Dodo, which hostelry it was his 
 custom of an afternoon to honour with his support. 
 We visited the Dodo, and sampled the fruity pro- 
 peller; but as our salesman was not j^et come, we 
 sought him in the Mart. 
 
 He was tall and handsome. His countenance 
 beamed with benevolence. He probably Mcighed 
 about seventeen stone six. The greeting between 
 them was hearty, and on Simpson's part impressive. 
 The expression in his eye — Simpson's — said to the 
 salesman, " Look here, old fellow ; I was not brought
 
 BIRDS OI' PASSAGE. 
 
 9E 
 
 up to your business, but no matter — don't try to 
 deceive 7iu\ It won't do." 
 
 He thereupon proceeded to handle the limbs, and 
 stretch the necks, and poke his knuckles into the 
 bosoms of the defunct birds by which he was sur- 
 rounded, with quite a Leadenhall aii-. 
 
 " Capital stuff that, I\Ir. Simpson." 
 
 " Well, yes, pretty fair," replied S., at the same 
 time favouring me with a wink of the deepest diplo- 
 macy. Catch him committing himself! " My young 
 friend here/' indicating me, " is rather green about 
 this kind of thing; but" — hereupon he discharged 
 into the depths of the oracular salesman's left ear a 
 whispered observation which terminated in '■' eh ? " 
 
 "Oh!" replied he of Leadenhall,"! ought not, 
 you know, I am so busy ; but on the strict condition 
 that it is one^only one, mind, — I will." 
 
 Again we lend our support to the Bar of the One- 
 Legged Dodo, and renew our acquaintance with 
 the there's -no -mistake -about -it -mind -you port. 
 Green as the greenest gosling I might be, Mr. Simp- 
 son, but mean, Mr. Simpson, I v.-as not. I had paid 
 for the former goblets of the fervid wine of Oporto. 
 I would also pay for these. — But what luas the paltry 
 sum of two shillings and sixpence in view of the 
 benefits which I was about to derive from Simpson's 
 introduction ? Nothing, — ab-so-lute-ly nothing. 
 
 The shades of evening, not unmingled with fog, 
 had enveloped the upper portion of the imperfect 
 Dodo by the time Simpson's salesman, and Simp- 
 son, and myself, returned to the Mart. We had in 
 the meantime added to our knowledge of that not- 
 to-be-denied vintage of Oporto. — But, I ask, what 
 was the paltry sum of four shillings in view of the 
 advantages which were about to accrue to me from 
 the meeting ? What, indeed ! 
 
 Simpson was splendid. I was nowhere. He held 
 me with his glittering eye, and under its irresistible 
 spell I bought just what he pleased. If he had 
 offered on the spot to purchase the stock, goodwill, 
 book-debts and fixtures, in my behalf, I should 
 have consented. Hear him. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. That flamingo ! Why, I 'd 
 be ashamed to see it on my table. The breast, 
 what there is of it, is torn to pieces. — Now, I tell 
 you what I'll do. It is for my friend here, but 
 
 my friend in these matters is myself. Ten bob for 
 the goose, fifteen for the turkey, and seven for the 
 duck, that 's one and twelve. Now say one and ten^ 
 and it 's a bargain." 
 
 "Mr. Simpson," remonstrated the merchant, "you 
 know there is nobody living I 'd oblige sooner than 
 you, but I could not do it. I can show you my 
 books." 
 
 " Book me no books ; is it yes or no ?" 
 
 " But, Dolph," said I meekly, " my wife abomi- 
 nates duck, and I don't care for turkey ; and our 
 family is- " 
 
 " Bother your family, and you too ! This is gra- 
 titude ! If you say another word I '11 leave you to 
 your own parsimonious devices. Let vie alone. 
 Now, sir," to the salesman, "is it a bargain?" 
 
 It was. I paid sixpence for a rush basket, and 
 hired a youth to carry it, — sixpence more. Five 
 shillings. — But recollecting what advantages I had 
 derived from Dolph's introduction, what li'as the 
 paltry sum of five shillings ? A mere bagatelle ! 
 
 We i-evisited the Dodo, and partook of a stirrup- 
 cup, which everybody insisted on paying for. The 
 settlement was finally effected with the aid of Tommy 
 Dod and — myself.— But bearing in mind the inesti- 
 mable benefits which I had obtained from knowing 
 Simpson's salesman, what was the contemptible sum 
 of six shillings and sixpence? Not worth thinking of ! 
 
 It was not much of a fog, but at ordinary times 
 the sti-eets which lie between Cornhill and the 
 Broad Street Station of the North London are difli- 
 cult to navigate. Then, the youth who bore the 
 basket was imbued with notions ot short cuts which 
 did not accord with my ideas on the subject; and 
 he would insist on arguing the point. During one 
 of our discussions I lost Simpson, and fi-om that 
 moment I became a blighted being. 
 
 Taking Simpson's word for it — (we went into the 
 matter thoroughly on Christmas Day)— and I do 
 not see why I should not, seeing that the fog had 
 not impaired his memory (as it certainly did mine) 
 — I must have travelled to and from Broad Street 
 and Chalk Farm for upwards of four hours before 
 I awoke. 
 
 To seize the basket, show my ticket, and jump 
 into a Hansom, was the work of moments merely ;
 
 <)2 
 
 FROM PARIS. 
 
 but there was a dispute about the fare. Those cab- 
 men are all alike ! He swore — yes, he swore — he 
 had driven me from Dalston. I knew better. How- 
 ever, I detest unseemly altercations on a doorstep ; 
 and so, handing him the sum of two shillings and 
 my card, I said, 
 
 "You have your remedy. You had better take 
 yourself off as quickly as you can." 
 
 He obeyed with remarkable alacrity, and I pre- 
 pared to receive thegreetingsof the wife of my bosom. 
 
 I had known her manner more affectionate than 
 it was on that occasion. But I forgave her. We 
 never know what troubles women have to bear at 
 home during our unavoidable absences in the City. 
 
 "Where have you been, John, until this hour? 
 And what have you been doing with yourself? Why, 
 you are all over feathers and down ! " 
 
 " Doing?" replied I, with a heavenly smile, " ask 
 Simpson ; — and, as for the feathers " 
 
 It was in vain to try to articulate further. The 
 horrible truth flashed upon me. With a frantic yell 
 I tore open the outer door of my once happy home, 
 
 and rushed bareheaded into the road. There was 
 not a vehicle visible, but from the far distance there 
 stole — yes, stole — upon my ear the sound of rapidly- 
 disappearing wheels. The cab was gone, and \n ith 
 it my turkey, duck, and goose. 
 
 # * * * * 
 
 I shall never forget the horrors of that night. 
 Searching for a numberless cabman who has robbed 
 you of your Christmas dinner is a costly proceeding, 
 especially when you do not find him, which was my 
 case. 
 
 ***** 
 
 It was not without some difficulty that my wife 
 could be persuaded to accept Simpson's invitation. 
 At length her scruples were overcome. In all my 
 experiences of geese I never attempted the masti- 
 cation of one so tough. As I caught my wife's 
 look, "more in sorrow than in anger," I thought 
 of that cabman, and wondered whether his or my 
 birds had been suffered to reach the age of Simp- 
 son's goose ere their hour of execution. I fondly 
 
 hoped they had. 
 
 Byron Webber. 
 
 FROM PARIS. 
 
 '' I ""HE peaceful moon of autumn beams 
 
 ^ Soft silence o'er the silvered Seine, 
 
 The lamp-starred Champs Elysdes seems 
 
 Elysian — strange to care and pain ; 
 15eneath its aisles of lights and leaves 
 
 How gaily flit the shadowed throng! 
 Yet here how picturing fancy weaves 
 
 One English scene for which I long! 
 French twittered whispers — what are they ? 
 
 My heart hears voices sweeter far, 
 And memory, love-led, wings her Avay 
 
 To where my distant dear ones are. 
 
 What though before my eyes gleam bright 
 The thousand lamps each lounger sees — 
 
 La Concorde's Place's heaven of light. 
 The Tuileries' dark stirless trees. 
 
 Though Pleasure, masked as laughing Love, 
 Beneath this dreaming midnight sky 
 
 Wins down to earth the joy above, 
 
 And thrills the night with glance and sigh. 
 
 Yet still though these soft sights I see. 
 
 Though round me these new scenes I ^■iew, 
 
 What are they all, O wife, to me ? 
 
 My thoughts will fly to home and you. 
 
 Yes, over leagues of Norman green, 
 
 O'er ocean's night-empurpled blue. 
 My heart speeds far from this bright scene. 
 
 And thrills itself, O love, with you. 
 Die down, O night of Paris, die ! 
 
 Through joy to joy, to radiant day. 
 Through all the hours that softly fly. 
 
 My thoughts will wander one fond way. 
 O coming hours, speed on your track, 
 
 And bring the gifts your hands shall give, 
 And bring the day that speeds me back 
 
 To her for whose dear love I live. 
 
 W. C. Bennett.
 
 THE DIFFICULTIES OF SOME DEAF 'UNS. 
 
 BroMTi was deaf with the right ear, so 
 was Jones. 
 
 "1 was saying," said Brown — 
 
 "Beg pardon," said Jone5;, "but you 
 had my deaf side. "_ 
 
 ' Beg pardon," said Broun, " but you 
 had Jiiy deaf side." 
 
 So they were always running round 
 each other. 
 
 "You're a nuisance !" said Brown. — 
 " You 're a fool ! " said Jones ; but as 
 neither of them heard, it didn't much 
 matter. 
 
 Happy thought — the microphone ; so they 
 bought one of tremendous power. 
 
 They examine intently, 
 
 Fearful catastrophe ! Jones had winked when 
 too near the machine : the noise was terrific. 
 
 So they were both deaf with 
 both ears ever after.
 
 KING JA-JO-JA AND THE POSTAGE STAMPS. 
 
 FROM my earliest days, ay, and nights too ! 
 I have had the instincts of a traveller. I 
 can scarcely remember a time, indeed, when I did 
 not show a marked taste for exploration and adven- 
 ture. I have since been told that I used to weep 
 bitterly even in my perambulator, and refuse to be 
 comforted, when my nursemaid failed to take turn- 
 ings that led to roads new to my infantine gaze. 
 As soon as I gained the free use of my nether limbs, 
 I signalized the fact by toddling off for my little life 
 through a gap in our garden palings ; and was dis- 
 covered, after a long search, placidly sleeping be- 
 neath a rhubarb-leaf in a garden some quarter of a 
 mile distant, with my dimpled face smeared with 
 the juice of the bilberries on which I had supped, 
 thus evincing that faculty for roughing it in the open 
 which stands in such good stead to the traveller. 
 
 As I grew up, running away from school for the 
 day was my besetting sin, and it was soon found out 
 that no more hardly-felt punishment could be in- 
 flicted on me than depriving me of my boots. 
 
 It was not until I was eleven, however, that my 
 first ambitious journey was undertaken. At that 
 age I had ardently read all Captain Mayne Reid's 
 works then published, and their perusal led to my 
 joining to my instinctive desire to explore new dis- 
 tricts a strong wish to be a trapper, with intensely 
 hostile relations with Indians, a la Old Rube. 
 Thus, when I set out to discover the source of 
 the muddy stream that flowed through my birth- 
 place, I determined to make myself independent 
 of the facilities offered me by the civilized cha- 
 racter of the country I should pass through ; and 
 for this purpose included in my scanty kit a large 
 lens, surreptitiously taken from my father's tele- 
 scope ; a clothes-line, purloined from the wash- 
 house ; a piece of pork that happened to be in 
 pickle at the time; and a bow and arrows. On the 
 
 lens I intended to fall back as a means of cooking 
 mj- ration of pork, in case I failed, as I had good 
 reason to suppose I should, in making a fire by 
 rubbing two sticks together ; for lucifer-matches I 
 despised as a mean invention Avhich served to rob 
 , the campaign of its delightful difficulties. The 
 I clothes-line it was my intention to use as a lasso 
 j for any big game that might cross my path ; whilst 
 j I am bound to admit that the notion in my mind 
 when I took the bow and arrows was to shoot rab- 
 bits and stray cats with them, with the view of bar- 
 : tering their skins for firearms and ammunition. 
 
 Looking on that expedition as my initiatory one, 
 I it was anything but propitious ; and long ago as it 
 is since I started on it, I can vividly remember the 
 very unromantic aspect which heavy rain through- 
 out the first night put upon my journey; and how 
 very unlike the rough but cheery meals of Mayne 
 Reid's trappers was my attempt to gnaw a piece of 
 sodden pickled pork, jobbed off with a blunt pocket- 
 knife. Disheartened and damp as I v/as, I thought 
 it my duty to discharge all my arrows at a rook's 
 nest, which I failed to hit ; and then in despera- 
 tion, climbed a gate and flung my clothes-line at a 
 calf, the infuriated mother of which at once came 
 out from behind a haystack and charged at me most 
 furiously. Humiliating as it was, and untrapper- 
 like as I felt it to be, I had to run for my life ; and, 
 clearing a ditch in fine style, I positively ran into 
 the anus of my uncle Ebenezer, who had been ad- 
 vised of my loss by that morning's post, and who 
 took me back home that very afternoon in a quaint 
 covered conveyance, much affected by the yeomen 
 of the neighbourhood, called a Coburg, and some- 
 thing like an exaggerated old poke bonnet swung 
 on two wheels. I was caned by my father, and wept 
 over by my mother, as she administered to me 
 nauseous concoctions of herbs to keep away ague ;
 
 KING JA-JO-JA AND THE POSTAGE STAMPS. 
 
 95 
 
 and, worst of all, had my pocket-money stopped to 
 pay for the purloined pork. 
 
 But I do not propose to give details of my youth- 
 ful escapades further than to state that, after run- 
 ning away from three boarding-schools and being 
 brought back, I finally got right off and went to sea, 
 where, true to my instincts, I was wrecked on a 
 previously-undiscovered island, of which I drew a 
 map, on the only pocket-handkerchief I had left, 
 with the bone of a penguin dipped in cuttle-fish ink. 
 This map I presented to the Royal Geographical 
 Society on my return; and I should have had a 
 medal had not a Fellow spitefully suggested that I 
 no more deserved merit for discovering the island 
 than a drowning man did for slipping a life-belt over 
 his shoulders when it was thrown to him. 
 
 Soon after this, Avhilst I was looking for rubies in 
 the Rocky Mountains, both my parents died, leav- 
 ing me a small competency, that enabled me, how- 
 ever, to fulfil the wish of my heart, which was African 
 exploration. Never yet had I been able with my 
 scanty funds to purchase the half a ton or so of 
 glass beads without which no African traveller dares 
 set out. But at last, by realizing a portion of my 
 property, I could get the desiderated '"gewgaws," 
 and a gross of pocket-mirrors and two hundred 
 and fifty yards of peony-patterned chintz to boot ; 
 and I commenced a series of incursions into the 
 Dark Continent which have continued ever since. 
 
 But how is it, it will be asked, that, after such 
 long devotion to African travel (for it is twenty 
 years ago since I began), I remain unknown to 
 fame 1 — for it would be ridiculous for me to claim 
 the acquaintance of the public even with the name 
 of Theodore John Pulliver. The answer is simple. 
 Lord High Admiral Nelson, I believe I am right in 
 saying, was always a quarter of an hour too early 
 throughout his life, and to this habit owed the fact 
 that, when he cried in the words of the showman, 
 " Kiss me, 'Ardy ; I'm a-wownded !" he had reached 
 the summit of professional glory. 
 
 I,Theodore John Pulliver, on the contrary, unlike 
 the Lord High Admiral I have named, have been 
 
 always a quarter of an hour too late, and with the 
 most disastrous consequences. Had I, for instance, 
 caught the Nile boat that left Alexandria on a Wed- 
 nesday morning, some score of years ago, at 11.15 
 for the Upper Cataracts, it would have been the 
 name of Pulliver, and not those of Speke and Grant, 
 that would have been handed down to posterity as 
 the discoverer of the sources of the Nile. But I 
 missed it, thanks to a stubborn donkey that insisted 
 on travelling tail first, by some twelve minutes ; 
 and had the chagrin, many months after, when I 
 came upon the source of the mighty Egyptian river, 
 to find from a visiting card Captain Speke had cour- 
 teously nailed to a palm-tree, that he and his com- 
 panion had forestalled me by a few hours at most, 
 as the strong smell of fresh tobacco smoke hanging 
 about the spot convinced me. 
 
 Then, again, on the very day that Stanley uttered 
 those historical words," Dr. Livingstone, I presume?" 
 I was rapidly approaching Ujiji on express camels, 
 bound on a similar mission of discovery on behalf 
 of the Elgin and Ban^ Courier. Never shall I 
 forget my intense excitement, as, catching sight of 
 the man whose photograph I had fixed in the crown 
 of my hat, and flinging myself excitedly from my 
 camel, I exclaimed, " That nose ! those eyes ! it 
 must be ! it is the long-lost Dr. Livingstone ! " * 
 
 Nor, again, shall I ever forget my disappointment 
 as the Doctor, gently smiling, calmly replied," You 're 
 a day too late, young man ; I was discovered just 
 about this time yesterday by one Stanley." 
 
 So, too, last year, I was really in front of Henrj-- 
 William on the Congo till the Cataracts were reached, 
 but there I unfortunately broke my leg, and my fol- 
 lowers mutinied and left me literally up a bread- 
 fruit-tree, in the branches of which I had made 
 them place me for safety. Stanley and his party 
 must have gone by one night whilst I slept ; for 
 when I at last was strong enough to get down again, 
 — and this was only just in time, for I had eaten the 
 tree quite bare, and must have starved in another 
 week, — I found traces of them on the bank, and 
 feared at once that my luck had been bad as usual. 
 
 * In my natural excitement at this moment, I believe what I really s-iid was, "Tho?e nose, that eyes, it must is! it be the lobt-long 
 Doctor Livingstone !" L'ut, had the speech become historical, it would have been in its corrected form.— T. J. P.
 
 96 
 
 KING JA-JO'JA AND THE POSTAGE STAMPS. 
 
 I struggled on, however, single-handed, but only to 
 experience, when I at last reached the coast, a very 
 one-horse kind of welcome, and to find all the Bass 
 in the settlement drunk up by my successful rival. 
 
 Most men would have given up geographical dis- 
 covery after such disappointments, and, retiring to 
 some quiet rural district, would have revenged them- 
 selves on their fellow-men by agitating for a school 
 board, or instituting penny readings ; but with me 
 it was discovery or death ; and my journeys were 
 as frequent as my limited means would allow, it 
 being necessary' sometimes to allow my spare in- 
 come to accumulate before I could purchase the 
 requisite quantity of glass beads, for which I found 
 a more extortionate demand the farther I penetrated 
 into the terra incognita of the Dark Continent. 
 
 In the opening of the year 1S74 I started under 
 unusually favourable auspices, for I had more glass 
 beads than I had ever taken before, to say nothing 
 of a dozen second-hand firemen's helmets, which, 
 though bulky to cany, would, I knew, win me a 
 welcome where even cocked hats and Union Jack 
 pocket-handkerchiefs had failed to open me a path. 
 
 Nor was I mistaken. Three negro Emperors, each 
 more powerful than the Mtesa — or Empty Esau as 
 I call him for fun, about whom Stanley made such 
 a fuss — begged on their bended knees for one of 
 those firemen's helmets ; and each and all decreed 
 that it should constitute, in conjunction with a 
 necklace of half-inch beads and an eye-glass, the 
 Imperial state dress of their dynasties. Another 
 potentate offered me a thousand elephants just for 
 the loan of one whilst he went to fight a neighbour ; 
 and as the news spread of the novel article I had 
 in my possession, all the Kings of the country sent 
 pressing messages to me to come and see them. As I 
 had, of course, to reserve the best helmet for myself, 
 and as moreover I used another secretly for culinary 
 purposes, I could not be at all lavish with them ; 
 but one invitation I at once made up my mind to 
 accept, and that was the one sent me by Ja-jo-ja, 
 the King of Mimemi, a monarch to whom report 
 accorded characteristics and capabilities unique in 
 a Central African potentate. Rumour also men- 
 tioned, as the cause of his peculiar enlightenment, 
 the fact that, some years before, a balloon had fallen 
 
 in his country, in the car of which was found no 
 living occupant, it is true, but a number of books 
 that had evidently been put in for ballast, including 
 some odd volumes of Cassell's "Popular Educator," 
 a Mavor's " Spelling Book,'' the " Habits of Good 
 Society," and an " Etiquette for Gentlemen." I 
 made immediate efforts to visit this interesting 
 monarch, in whom I hoped to find a fitting instru- 
 ment for carrying out a plan of which I will give 
 details later on ; and, being met at the confines of 
 his kingdom of Mimemi by an official in white 
 gloves and bathing drawers, who received me with 
 a series of bows, evidently formulated on the di- 
 rections given in a " Handbook of Etiquette," the 
 rumour I had heard concerning Ja-jo-ja and the 
 balloon was at once partially confirmed. Nor did 
 any doubt remain after entering the kingly presence, 
 for the potentate himself, in addition to a bead neck- 
 lace, was attired in a cool-looking surtout made of 
 balloon netting, whilst a pile of well-worn volumes 
 was conspicuously placed to the right of the throne. 
 
 I lost no time in putting my least battered and 
 best burnished helmet on Ja-jo-ja's head, a compli- 
 ment he reciprocated by creating me his Prime 
 Minister on the spot, and placing all my followers 
 on his Civil List, with pensions of a quart of cowries 
 a day, equal to one and elevenpence, say, of our 
 money. 
 
 The general appearance of things about the Court, 
 however, suggested that cowries were anything but 
 plentiful, and I heard an old black woman, who 
 looked suspiciously like the Court Washerwoman,
 
 KING JA-JO-JA AND THE POSTAGE STAMPS. 
 
 97 
 
 having an angry altercation outside the palace with 
 Yum-yum, the official who had come to meet us ; 
 whilst I could not but notice that a big oil-jar to 
 the left of the throne, which was labelled with the 
 Mimemese ecjuivalent for "National Treasury," was 
 so far from full that the negro Chancellor of the Ex- 
 chequer nearly fell headlong into it, in his efforts to 
 get at enough cowries to pay for a barrelful of potted 
 elephant, which the bearer — ominous sign ! — stur- 
 dily refused to leave without the money. 
 
 I was the more encouraged, therefore, as soon as 
 I was alone with the King, to allude openly to the 
 state of his finance, which he promptly confessed 
 was most unsatisfactory. In fact, he went on to tell 
 me that so great had been his expenses — thanks 
 principally to the extravagant example of an uncle 
 of his, who, after passing ten yeai-s of his life in 
 England as a lion-tamer, had returned to Rlimemi 
 to die amongst his people — that the regular taxes 
 had been collected for the next four years in ad- 
 vance, all the current revenue being of an uncertain 
 and fitful character. The ex-lion-tamer, from whom 
 Ja-jo-ja had learned his English, was no more, and 
 since his demise matters had been growing worse 
 and worse, until the King — and this will show you 
 to what depths of impecuniosity he had sunk — 
 actually suggested to me that an exhibition should 
 be made of his new helmet and the large necklace 
 of blue and yellow beads he wore on state occasions, 
 to which his subjects should be admitted on pay- 
 ment of twopence a head.* I assured him that no 
 such step would be necessary if my advice was fol- 
 lowed, and I at once proceeded to unfold the plan 
 already hinted at. 
 
 " May it please your Majesty," I began, " in this 
 otherwise perfect kingdom I surely miss something. 
 You have no post." 
 
 " Post !" re-echoed the King. " Oh, yes, we have. 
 A man was whipped at it yesterday, and he didn't 
 surely miss it, I can tell you." 
 
 As in duty bound, I went off into convulsions 
 at his Majesty's quip, and, presuming on my high 
 office, I even ventured to slightly prod the regal 
 
 ribs, as I exclaimed "Tchuk! you mad wag, you !" 
 But, resuming my gravity, I went on to assure my 
 new Sovereign that it was not a whipping-post I 
 meant. "Oh, dear, no! your Majesty," said I. 
 " What your country is languishing for is a penny 
 post, which, as your lion-taming relative may have 
 informed you, is the glory of Old England." 
 
 " No," returned the King, after reflection : " my 
 uncle Bobo, I believe, told me the glory of your land 
 was rum ; but if the penny post is a good drink, let 
 us have some of him by all means." 
 
 It required considerable explanation on my part 
 to make clear my design to Ja-jo-ja ; but directly he 
 understood its introduction meant a steady income 
 of cowries, he jumped at it, and fell on my neck and 
 embraced me till I was all over native butter. 
 
 I must now take the reader back a little, as they 
 do in the three-volume novels, and let him into a 
 secret. Three months before I had started on the 
 journey I am speaking of, my aunt Hephzibah passed 
 away. She was an innocent old spinster, who had 
 spent her life in making patchwork quilts and col- 
 lecting old postage stamps ; and, much to my sur- 
 prise, I found that of her hoard of the latter, filling 
 three big tea-chests, I was left sole legatee. 
 
 As the Government refused to take legacy duty 
 on these old stamps, and as a collection of a million 
 of them does not confer on the possessor the right 
 of nomination to an Orphanage, as used to be ru- 
 moured ; and as, moreover, I had not the ambition 
 to have a room papered with them (nor a room 
 either, if it came to that), my first notion was to burn 
 my legacy, tea-chests and all. On second thoughts, 
 however, not only did I decide to keep the old 
 stamps, but I also had them packed carefully in a 
 waterproof box, and took them with me on my 
 African journey with my helmets and my beads. 
 
 When, therefore, Ja-jo-ja asked what he was to 
 do for stamps for the new postal service, I was able 
 to assure him that he might rely on me for all such 
 details, if he would only supply, on his part, the 
 recjuisite arbitrary decrees and despotic regulations 
 to bring the postal system into general use. 
 
 * Possibly King Ja-jo-ja's uncle had told him that in England the Crown jewels were on view to all who could pay sixpence for the sight, 
 and the savage potentate thought, maybe, he was merely proposing something of the same hind.— Ed. H. C. A.
 
 98 
 
 KING JA-JO-JA AND THE POSTAGE STAMPS. 
 
 I left the regal residence that clay Postmaster- 
 General as well as Prime Minister of Mimemi, and 
 with a duly signed document in my pocket, securing 
 me half the gross profits of my undertaking. 
 
 It was with a light heart and pleasant thoughts 
 of my aunt Hephzibah I opened the case and found 
 the old stamps in capital condition, with the excep- 
 tion of the top layer, for which, in consideration of 
 their bleached appearance, I promptly resolved to 
 charge fourpence and use for registered letters. 
 
 When all was ready, and a large hut near the 
 palace set apart for the sale of stamps, the King, at 
 my instigation, issued an edict, of which the fol- 
 lowing is a free translation : — 
 
 "to my fond and faithful people of 
 
 " MIMEMI, 
 
 " Our thoughts are ever for your welfare. Night 
 and day have we pondered how to make you happy. 
 
 " At last. We, your King, the lord of many ele- 
 phants and no few rattlesnakes, have taken counsel 
 on your behalf with the stranger from beyond the 
 seas. The white-faced traveller has opened his heart 
 to us ; and, lo ! it is very fair and good towards you. 
 
 " Rejoice, therefore, and buy many postage stamps 
 of the great Yum-yum at the gates of our palace. 
 
 " King Ja-jo-ja." 
 
 On the face of it, this proclamation may seem 
 somewhat vague and inconsequent ; but it should 
 be remembered that for days my followers, acting 
 on my instructions, had been spreading the praise 
 of the postal system throughout the country. I had 
 translated, for one thing, a handbill relating to some 
 famous quack pills into Mimemese, only for the word 
 " pills " I substituted " postage stamps ;" and having 
 made my people learn this by heart, I bade them 
 recite it wherever they went to all they met. 
 
 The popular idea of the new organization, there- 
 fore, was that it Mas a kind of state medicine; and 
 not a few of tlie earlier purchasers of the stamps, 
 which had been carefully re-gummcd, stuck them 
 all over their persons like Liliputian plasters. 
 
 In spite of the rush of the sick and ailing to avail 
 themselves of the new postal facilities, the general 
 result of the first day's business was by no means 
 
 up to our expectations, and the public disappoint- 
 ment, on finding that the postage stamp was not 
 an immediate cure for warts, pimples, or tumours, 
 threatened at one time to take the shape of a vio- 
 lent attack on the post-office. This danger, though 
 we warded off; but, to imbue the populace with a 
 desire to write letters either of friendship, or of busi- 
 ness, or to stimulate it to take a proper view of the 
 boon thus placed within its reach, seemed such hope- 
 less work, that, finding, after the office had been 
 open three days, the takings only amounted to the 
 equivalent, in cowries, of £\ \s. id., including the 
 8j. \d. for the stamps bought by an old chief with 
 intercostal rheumatism to apply to his side like a 
 mustard plaster, I went to Ja-jo-ja to assure him he 
 must adopt more stringent measures. 
 
 " People that can write and won't write," said I, 
 " must be made to write, your Majesty." 
 
 " Just so," returned the genial potentate ; " and 
 perhaps you would like to teach them to do so." 
 
 "What !" I exclaimed, "you mean to say, King 
 Ja-jo-ja, that your people cannot write ? " 
 
 "Write?" said the monarch, smiling, "not a 
 single one of them ! " 
 
 " Then, why, for goodness' sake, didn't you tell 
 me so?" I cried, angrily. "Here have I been ar- 
 ranging for big daily deliveries of letters, and now 
 you tell me no one in your country can write." 
 
 " Wro7ig is more in my people's way," returned 
 Ja-jo-ja, again smiling. " But look here," he went 
 on more seriously : "what must we do really?" — 
 and his face fell perceptibly as he gazed down into 
 the still hopelessly empty oil-jar. 
 
 I had soon hit upon a new plan to meet the 
 prevailing lack of caligraphic skill, and this was 
 embodied in a fresh edict issued by the monarch. 
 By this arbitrary document it was arranged that 
 every adult inhabitant of Mimemi should send at 
 least two letters per week to some one or another ; 
 but that, to overcome the writing difficulty, the en- 
 velope should be directed (for a small additional 
 charge) by the postal officials, whilst the contents 
 might consist of a leaf, a small flower, a butterfly, 
 or even nothing at all, so anxious was Ja-jo-ja 'to 
 meet his people's wishes. As he had 20,000 adult 
 subiects at the very least, the weekly returns ought
 
 KING JA-JO-JA AND THE POSTAGE STAMPS. 
 
 99 
 
 under these circumstances to be close on ^170, and 
 I still saw my way to clearing a handsome sum by 
 my aunt Hephzibah's legacy. 
 
 But, alas ! once more were we doomed to disap- 
 pointment. In spite of the peremptory proclama- 
 tion, few customers came; and those that did severely 
 taxed our resources by wishing to enclose such un- 
 anticipated articles as store pigs, pickled elephants' 
 feet, and puncheons of palm oil. 
 
 Ja-jo-ja, enraged at finding his first day's share 
 in the receipts was but qj. id., sent out his palace 
 guards to seize the first twenty adult subjects they 
 came to. Brought into the royal presence, he fu- 
 riously demanded of them why they had disobeyed 
 the last edict. Their reply suggested collusion, for, 
 lifting up their voices with one accord, they cried, 
 
 " O King ! thine unworthy worms have no one 
 to whom they can send a letter." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the King, " no relative ? " 
 
 " No, your Majesty," returned the adults ; " no 
 relative." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the King, " no friend ? " 
 
 " No, your Majesty," returned they ; " no friend." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed the King, " no anybody ? " 
 
 " No, your Majesty," returned the adults, " no 
 anybody, and we only wish we had ! " 
 
 And with the same they turned on their heels, as 
 though that must necessarily be the end of the dis- 
 cussion. 
 
 But King Ja-jo-ja was not to be foiled like this. 
 For a moment he was silent ; but a glance into the 
 empty oil-jar seemed to reassure him, and, looking 
 up, he hastily winked at me, and then, calling after 
 the adults, he exclaimed, 
 
 " Here, stay a minute! You have no one to send 
 a letter to, and you only wish you had, eh ? " 
 
 "Ah, your Majesty, that we do !" cried they, still 
 with one accord. 
 
 "Then, look here!" returned their monarch — 
 and I never felt prouder of that potentate than at 
 that moment — " you shall all send letters to mc, to 
 
 tell me how you love and honour me, twice a week. 
 The first letter's due to-morrow! Do you hear?" 
 
 " Yes, your Majesty," replied the adults, but no 
 longer in glib unison, for they knew Ja-jo-ja meant 
 what he said ; whilst I, well satisfied at the King's 
 happy thought, stepped out to sell stamps to the dis- 
 comfited twenty as they passed. 
 
 A third edict put the monarch's notion most un- 
 mistakably before the people ; and as it further 
 stated that the King would expect to hear daily 
 from those who failed in their bi-weekly epistle, the 
 rush for stamps the next morning was almost over- 
 whelming, and Yum-yum was kept licking them till 
 he dropped, what with fatigue and bad gum. 
 
 That afternoon I proudly escorted a file of slaves 
 bearing nearly 9,000 letters in baskets to their King, 
 and, what was better, filled two big oil-jars and a 
 bucket with the cowries representing Ja-jo-ja's share 
 of the receipts. 
 
 To shorten my story, I may say that in about six 
 months not a single stamp of my aunt Hephzibah's 
 legacy was in hand ; but I had instead elephants' 
 tusks and teeth in my possession, which, on my 
 subsequent return to this country, brought me in 
 close upon ^2^2, 500, upon which sum, however, I 
 have not yet remitted any legacy duty under the 
 head of " conscience money." 
 
 King Ja-jo-ja pressed me to continue in his ser- 
 vice, but the fact was my faithful followers warned 
 me that, as the originator of the postal service in 
 Mimemi, I was cordially hated by the populace ; so 
 T promised him to return shortly with a fresh stock 
 of stamps, and, pressing on him my last glass beads, 
 went off in the night, with just enough of my fol- 
 lowers to carry my ivory. The others I left charge- 
 able to the Mimemi Civil List, and, so far as I know, 
 they are drawing their quarts of cowries to this day. 
 As for me, I am still what I always was, a traveller, 
 with no civil list to draw upon. So, in default, I 
 draw, as you see, upon my imagination. 
 
 Aglex a. Dowty,
 
 DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW. 
 
 MY swallow-tail coat being shapely and neat, 
 And glossy and black in its brightness, 
 It 's been my unwavering practice to treat 
 
 That garment with studied politeness. 
 I carefully brush it within and without, 
 
 I tend it with interest hearty, 
 And when I appear at a dinner or rout, 
 
 I arrange it shall be of the party. 
 And though in a general way I may note, 
 
 To walk is my regular habit. 
 Wherever I 'm taking my swallow-tail coat, 
 
 I study its feelings, and " cab it." 
 
 And now, as a contrast, remark how I use 
 
 A coat I possess in the City. 
 Just glance at the object — you '11 hardly refuse 
 
 To grant it unqualified pity; 
 It's burst at the elbows, it shines at the seams, 
 
 It's tattered and greasy and nasty, 
 And work among dirty old papers in reams 
 
 Has made it repulsively dusty. 
 And, treated by me in a cavalier way, 
 
 Its aspect grows daily forlorner — 
 It acts as a pen- wiper most of the day, 
 
 And passes the night in a corner. 
 
 But something occurred in connection with each 
 
 To give them an interest vaster: 
 I dreamt they were suddenly gifted with speech, 
 
 And busy discussing their master. 
 The things what that swallow-tail strove to main- 
 tain. 
 
 Not soon from my mind will be blotted : 
 
 I spoke " like a creature deficient in brain — 
 
 A roue — abandoned — besotted." 
 I " shocked him extremely by winding his arm 
 
 At balls round the waist of some gipsy. 
 At dinners I gave him the wildest alarm 
 
 By getting disgustingly tipsy." 
 
 " Dear me, you surprise me uncommonly," cried 
 
 The coat I 'd despised and neglected ; 
 " Your mind to describing our master applied. 
 
 Now, this is what I'd have expected : 
 ' A business-like person of manners sedate. 
 
 In business-like pleasures delighting. 
 And passing his time, whether early or late, 
 
 In adding up figures, and writing ; 
 Devoted alike to his office and wife. 
 
 While cheerily doing his duty. 
 And (not ostentatiously) leading a life 
 
 Of singular goodness and beauty.'" 
 
 * *- * -s * * 
 
 And which is the truth, when my story is done ? 
 
 W^ell, neither the one nor the other. 
 We 're never so black as we 're painted by one, 
 
 So white as we 're limned by another. 
 I leave you \.q g7icss what the story may mean,— 
 
 The style of narration is hollow ; 
 But out of tlie chaos I 've managed to gleam 
 
 A couple of morals, as follow : — 
 Devotion will not always gratitude bring. 
 
 Nor slights the reverse, if we knew it; 
 And any opinion we hold of a thing 
 
 Depends on the point whence we view it. 
 
 John W. Houghton.
 
 s El _A. s o n^ s. 
 
 
 
 
 Tlie youthful year arrives to bring 
 And scatter posies in f'le SJ>ring^. 
 
 
 Time passes on, and liere we find 
 A Slimmer of a doubtful khid. 
 
 While Autumn brings this scene to view 
 (And Echo whispers, " Ought 'em ? " too) 
 
 Till here the end (we represent 
 '"The Winter of their discontent").
 
 THE GALLERY OF ECHOES. 
 
 I. 
 
 " O *-* there is another stranger come amongst 
 
 ^^ us ? " said one of the townswomen. 
 
 " Yes ; quite suddenly ; as Hke a shooting star as 
 any of them," said another. 
 
 " Staying at the Sojourners' House, I hear," says 
 r\Iadam Townswoman the First 
 
 " And very quiet," says Madam Townswoman the 
 Second. 
 
 " Oh, we shall find her out before long." 
 
 " Ay, ay, shall we not, neighbour ? " 
 
 " Mother," says a little round-faced boy, '• I dreamt 
 a white pigeon flew into the market-place last night, 
 and when I tried to catch it, I woke up." 
 
 " Pigeon here, pigeon there ! " cries mother ; 
 "what then?" 
 
 " And then, mother, I went to sleep again, and 
 dreamt I was in the church, and the pigeon flew in, 
 and when the organ began to play, it turned to an 
 angel." 
 
 "You should have offered it some grey peas," 
 says Madam Townswoman the First. 
 
 "And then the angel would have turned back into 
 a pigeon," says Madam Townswoman the Second ; 
 and away they went laughing. 
 
 In the course of the day they called, like other 
 townspeople, at the Sojourners' House, to leave 
 messages of civility for the young stranger. It was 
 a very polite city : all you had to do was not to 
 offend anybody, and then you might be perfectly 
 happy there from morning to night. 
 
 It is very easy never to offend anybody, or, at 
 any rate, it is very easy to say, if it does happen 
 that the fault is not yours. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Here she comes ! here she comes ! " went in a 
 whisper round the market-place ; for it was the 
 busy time of day in that town, and the women had 
 plenty to say of the sweet-faced new-comer. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! that dream of the little one was not so 
 bad. She looks as much like a dove as a woman 
 can." 
 
 " I do not believe in your dovelike girls. Warrant 
 you she makes a sharp bargain with our neighbour 
 the fruiterer there ! " 
 
 " She is not dressed in our fashion, that 's the 
 truth ; but she will learn in time. We shall break 
 her in. What a skirt ! Very bad taste." 
 
 " Your pardon, ladies," interrupted a handsome, 
 rakish-looking young artist, "but I think the taste 
 is good. A little o.d-fashioned, perhaps ; but what 
 could you change for the better ? The dress seems 
 a part of the wearer." 
 
 " You artists are so very original," says Madam 
 Townswoman the First : " we could not think of 
 expecting you to admire such poor watchet weeds 
 as ours." 
 
 And with that the two ladies curtseyed and laughed. 
 
 "What!" said he, "jealous of that quiet little 
 pigeon,— you, in all your splendour ? " 
 
 At this moment the damsel began to cross the 
 square in such a direction that the good wives could, 
 without any particular affectation, manage to meet 
 her, and they turned round to do it. 
 
 " Good morrow, ]\Ir. Hawk," said one of them, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Oh, you naughty man ! " said the other, shaking 
 her head at him. " Go, go 1 " 
 
 Then I\Ir. Artist went to see his friend Mr. 
 Fruiterer, and bought a fine nosegay to send to the 
 beautiful new-comer at the Sojourners' House. 
 
 III. 
 
 In all the history of that town, which is a very 
 long history, there never had been a lady stranger 
 so beset as this, or one so difficult to entrap into the 
 fashion of the place. Oh! she was friendly and 
 sweet. But there it stayed ; and by the custom of 
 the place she was still not allowed or invited to 
 leave the Sojourners' House. Whether she was
 
 THE GALLERY OE ECHOES. 
 
 103 
 
 anxious to stay or to go none could tell, only they 
 were all bent on keeping her among them if they 
 could. It very soon came to be whispered around 
 the city that she was one of the Golden Strangers— 
 a rare visitant. There were Golden Strangers and 
 Silver Strangers, as well as ordinary ones. This 
 did not mean that some were very much richer than 
 others, but only that some brought more of what 
 the townspeople called luck to the town than others. 
 But the one thing the folk were always desirous of 
 was that the Stranger, especially if of the better 
 sort, should go and listen to the echo in their 
 celebrated Gallery of Echoes, and hear what other 
 people heard there. Otherwise they did not con- 
 sider it so lucky as to be free from risk to have these 
 Strangers among them ; so none were invited to quit 
 the Sojourners' House until after they had been well 
 tried with the echoes, and had satisfied the people 
 that they understood what they heard in the gallery. 
 Not that this test was applied openly, as a rule, or 
 at all suddenly. It was used as gradually as a 
 thumbscrew, and very little was said about it, except 
 in a covert way. In general, the Silver Strangers 
 soon came to hear the echoes as others did ; the 
 Golden Strangers were much more hard of hearing, 
 or of understanding, and so the townsfolk took great 
 pains with them. When a Stranger came whom they 
 were very particularly desirous to have among them 
 as one of themselves, they tried everything you can 
 think of, especially at church and all that, you know: 
 they had hymns and collects especially for such 
 people, and they would put them into their litany in 
 a sly way, so as to work upon their feelings. When 
 the Strangers proved after all to be too wise or too 
 innocent to be drawn in, they would turn spiteful, 
 — oh, dreadfully spiteful. Why, when they came to 
 such words as " especially for those who will not 
 understand our celebrated echoes," I have seen the 
 whole congregation turn and fix their eyes with a 
 rude stare upon the new-comer. Of course this was 
 very vexing, and sometimes they gained a point, for 
 perhaps the poor man said, " Confound your cele- 
 brated echoes ! " or ivorse tJian that ; and it was 
 considered a sign of giving in when any one lost 
 his temper, so they often had him that way. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This town was built upon a slope, and the great 
 gathering-place for the people, in hours when they 
 were, as you may say, off duty, was in a beautiful 
 valley at the foot of the hill. This was their parade- 
 ground, where the company assembled to feel in 
 common how they lived their life, and sing songs — 
 sometimes sacred ones, for they patronized religion 
 — and converse about love and duty, and business, 
 and truth, and faith and hope and charity, and edu- 
 cation and philanthropy, and the justices and the 
 new laws, and all the new things in general. Some 
 people used to call this Vanity Fair, but that was 
 considered a great insult to the townsfolk. How- 
 ever, of course the company was very mixed, though 
 none but respectable persons were allowed there, 
 and the highest men and women in the place used 
 to be of the company. 
 
 At one end of the valley was a cavern, with its 
 mouth or ear so placed that it caught all the talk 
 and the songs, and took them in ; indeed you may 
 say it caught all the sighs and the laughter, and 
 perhaps more than that. From this cavern there 
 went up a winding way, all underground, to the very 
 topmost platform of the hilL On the topmost plat- 
 form of the hill were shady trees, with seats for 
 lovers and friends and old people, and near that 
 mouth of the winding way which opened on to this 
 beautiful green platform was a seat called the Echo 
 Seat. That was because you sat there and listened 
 to the confused murmur which, from the people 
 below, came up the winding way, and thus distributed 
 itself in echoes all around the hill. 
 
 What sometimes happened was this. If a Silver 
 Stranger or a Golden Stranger came to the town and 
 sat in the Echo Chair, he was at first much disturbed 
 and confused. The echoes seemed good-natured and 
 instructive, and highly respectable, and he perhaps 
 tried to like them. But this seldom lasted long. 
 When it was known that the Stranger was there the 
 echoes were thicker, louder, and stronger than 
 usual ; and in some cases the new-comer could not 
 endure them. " If I stay here and listen much 
 longer I shall go mad or go wicked," he would say 
 to himself. Just then, for he was always watched in 
 such cases, he would find himself in the presence of
 
 I04 
 
 THE GALLERY OE ECHOES. 
 
 a select company of the townspeople, who would be 
 very friendly, and say, " Well, how do you like our 
 celebrated echoes ? What did you hear them say ? " 
 Sometimes the answer was one thing; sometimes it 
 was another ; sometimes it was angry ; sometimes it 
 was clever; and sometimes — I believe usually — it was 
 rather stupid than otherwise. But the townspeople 
 could tell in a moment, by your answer, whether you 
 liked their echoes and would keep the secret of 
 them — the answers of the Stranger were sure to be- 
 tray him — and, the more honest he was, the sooner. 
 It was fortunate for the townspeople that the answers 
 were so often rather stupid, because they gave all 
 the clever men and women such a chance of making 
 the new-comer uneasy, and also of proving that he 
 was in the wrong, and had misheard the echoes. 
 So they would begin to make politely ironical re- 
 marks, and the attendance at the Sojourners' House 
 would fall off; and at last the Silver or Golden 
 Stranger would be glad to take his departure. For 
 the citizens of the place did not want any of them, 
 Silver or Golden, unless they heard in the echoes 
 exactly what made it certain that they would keep 
 the secrets of the Fair, and in time do their own 
 part towards composing the echoes. A few, a veiy 
 few, of such strangers were entrapped, and made 
 what you may call Prisoners of the Fair ; and very 
 useful they were. These were the doubtful cases : 
 it was never quite clear what they had heard in the 
 echoes, so the citizens had given them the benefit 
 of the doubt, and for their own reasons made friends 
 with them. They never lived long, and were never 
 happy ; but they used to do a great deal to make 
 the echoes less alarming, and so the townspeople 
 used to pretend to be very proud of these Prisoners 
 of the Fair. 
 
 V. 
 
 The artist whom we saw in the market-place 
 was one of these Prisoners of the Fair, and was now 
 rapidly forgetting what the best of it and the Golden 
 Stranger were like. But he was very much struck 
 with the dovelike Damsel who had just arrived. At 
 first he only thought of sending her a bouquet; but 
 that very night he had disturbed dreams, and when 
 he saw her at church he found he could not look her 
 in the face. When she had first caught his eye in 
 
 the market-place, he had thought to himself what a 
 beautiful model she would make ; but in a very short 
 time he would as soon have thought of praying for an 
 angel in heaven for a model. In the meantime the 
 Strange Damsel could not make out the echoes so 
 as to please the townspeople. They had several 
 times tried her, but she only said she did not under- 
 stand, only she was afraid she did not like them : 
 one time they thought they would catch her, so 
 they gave a children's party down in the valley, and 
 got her to go up and listen in the Chair. 
 
 " Ah ! " says she, with a smile, " now I begin to 
 think I understand a little. Didn't I hear ' Little 
 Bo-Peep'?" 
 
 So they were very pleased, and sent a simple 
 message down the hill to tell them to "do Little Bo- 
 Peep over again." And they did ; but this time the 
 Stranger Maiden was not so pleased. " Stop ! " said 
 she, " that is not correct — 
 
 Little Bo-Peep 
 She killed her sheep 
 Because she wouldn't mind em — 
 
 What has somebody been doing ? " 
 
 Now, that was because it was done on purpose. 
 
 A Golden Stranger could always tell when the echoes 
 
 were made on purpose, unless he allowed himself 
 
 to get used to the trick, and then he would lose his 
 
 quickness of sense. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " We will have another trial or two, and then if 
 that fails, we will let the hussey go," said Madam 
 Townswoman the First. 
 
 " It 's a very troublesome case," says IMadam 
 Townswoman the Second. " I do believe the reason 
 she cannot make out our beautiful echoes properly 
 is because she has not learnt grammar — at least, not 
 properly." 
 
 " Orthography, etymology, syntax, and prosody are 
 great acquirements." 
 
 " Yes, neighbour; but what do you say to Logical 
 Parsing ? " 
 
 " Ah, yes ! Subject and predicate, and all that." 
 
 " Let us club together, and send her some treatises 
 on Grammar, and on Society, and Usefulness, and 
 suchlike." 
 
 So they did, and the Strange Damsel got them.
 
 THE GALLERY OF ECHOES. 
 
 105 
 
 Ikit two of the rich old magnates of the town put 
 their heads together about that time, and winked 
 and nodded at each other very much, and it turned 
 out that the young artist had been seen sitting in 
 the Chair of Echoes, with the Damsel, and some 
 even said, with his arm round her waist, and her 
 head leaning on his shoulder. 
 
 " He will soon teach her. He will explain our 
 celebrated echoes, and she will hear nothing but 
 what is good in them, and she will settle down and 
 be like the rest of us," said the Judge. 
 
 " And cease to be impracticable and useless," said 
 the Clergyman, smiling back to his learned friend. 
 
 VII. 
 
 So ONE exquisitely beautiful moonlight night, 
 when it had been found out somehow that the lovers 
 were going up to the hill-top— they were very fond 
 of high places, especially at night — the townspeople 
 decided to have a more magnificent Fair down below 
 than had ever been seen in the valley, and a most 
 splendid company there was, I can tell you, and 
 most improving conversation, science, morality, com- 
 merce, theology, philanthropy, wit, beauty, — oh ! 
 everything that makes the world go round. At the 
 height of the entertainment, when the conversation 
 and the songs and the speeches were at their very 
 \cry best, a select embassy of the townspeople, com- 
 posed of both ladies and gentlemen, stole softly upon 
 tlie young people, who sat in the Chair of Echoes. 
 
 " Ahem ! " said one, not wanting to be rude. 
 
 " A beautiful night ! " said another, by way of 
 giving notice that people were near. 
 
 And then, after a graceful turn or two on the 
 grass, the company approached the artist and the 
 Maiden, and began talking about the echoes. 
 
 " Echoes ?" said the young artist : " I have heard 
 nothing." 
 
 " Nor have I," said the Damsel. 
 
 " Nothing? nothing?" shrieked the fine ladies. 
 
 " Our echoes were never finer," said the gentle- 
 men. 
 
 "Ah, I hear now," said the Maiden, and she 
 stopped her ears with a face full of pain; and the 
 young artist drew her arm tenderly but firmly under 
 his own, and led her away into the winding boscage. 
 
 where they were soon lost to sight, for at that mo- 
 ment thick clouds rushed suddenly over the moon^ 
 and the exploring company were left themselves in 
 darkness. Louder and louder came the echoes of 
 song and laughter from below, and more and more 
 genially and yet confusedly they were echoed back- 
 wards and fonvards hither and thither among the 
 shady places of the hill. The townsfolk, who were 
 now in darkness, could not find their way about well; 
 but very soon a band of their own friends, with 
 torches, came hurr^-ing up in search of them. Then 
 they all joined in pursuing the fugitives down the 
 opposite side of the hill,- for their rage and curiosity 
 were extreme. At daybreak, descending the utmost 
 slope, which curves abruptly to the sea, they caught 
 a distant glimpse of their lost friends. The white- 
 sailed shallop which bore them was just putting off 
 from the shore, and the ocean stretched, calm and 
 beautiful, to the horizon. A loud, long, mocking 
 laugh burst from the lips of the townspeople ; but 
 there was a little heart-ache in it, especially in the 
 bosoms of the women. The departing lovers did 
 not seem to hear it, though the wind set that way, 
 as it filled their canvas. 
 
 " I suppose," said one wise man, ''that is what 
 our artist friend, when he first visited our town, 
 used to call 'launching out into the infinite.'" 
 
 " I pray that he may come safe back," said another, 
 who was also verj' pious. 
 
 " And I am sure I wish him no harm," said a 
 lady, straining her eyes after the lessening sails, 
 " But as for that husse)', if there is anything I hate 
 it is deceit." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So CERTAIN had the friendly conspirators elt of 
 their prey this time, that they had ordered an un- 
 usually sumptuous repast to be prepared in the 
 innermost pavilion of the Fair for the Artist and the 
 Stranger, who was that night intended to catch the 
 true accent of the echoes. This was now distributed 
 among the poor, to the music of drum and trumpet. 
 They were very genial in this town. I have been 
 assured that there never was a place like it. I have 
 also been informed that there was once, but that it 
 has been done away with. Can it indeed be that I 
 dreamt it all ? Matthew Browne.
 
 MODERN ADVERTISEMENTS EMBELLISHED. 
 
 A PROFESSIONAL GENTLEMAN wishes to 
 
 ■^"^ BOARD with a Christian family, where he would be received 
 as one of them. Terms not so much an object as social adaptability. 
 — Address S. A. M., 21, Downers-street, Strand. 
 
 "TWO HUNDRED POUNDS CASH.— FREE 
 
 PUBLIC HOUSE. Lease 20 years. Genuine snug concern. 
 Wife's dislike to business the cause of selling. Should be seen at 
 once. — Apply to Mr. Bung, Jigger's Arms, Swizzleton-st., Barking. 
 
 T OAN or PARTNERSHIP.— WANTED, £70 
 
 •^^ immediately, by an energetic Gentleman barely past the meri- 
 dian of life, for the purpose of extending one of the most lucrative 
 businesses in this vast metropolis. Good security given, or would 
 accept as partner a Gentleman with ^5000. No previous knowledge 
 necessary-. — Apply, H. Walker, 62, Chisull-row, Ludgate-hill. 
 
 T"0 LADIES oi NEGLECTED EDUCATION. 
 
 A Single Lady, whose singularly persuasive manners and high 
 moral culture, combined with rare perspicuity of intellect, render her 
 most capable of educating highly the most obtuse of minds, has now 
 a VACANCY for one of the above. — Apply to Mrs. Grimper, Rose 
 Villa, Notting-hill.
 
 MODERN ADVERTISEMENTS EMBELLISHED. 
 
 r^YPRUS ! CYPRUS ! CYPRUS !— Ladies and 
 
 ^^ Gentlemen, increase your incomes by selling your LEFT-OFF 
 CLOTHES, Boots, Hats, &c., to Mr. JACOB JOB, who, having a 
 large Government order for second-hand wearing apparel, is enabled 
 to give the largest price. Terms cash. — 24, Solomon-street, Covent- 
 garden. 
 
 WANTED, a Church of England Young Man, as 
 
 PORTER ; one who has been some time in a bank, and is 
 capable of cleaning plate preferred ; some slight knowledge of the 
 jewellery business would be an advantage. Good references indis- 
 pensable. — Apply to Messrs. Davis and Gilten, Stregunter-street, 
 Hanover-square. 
 
 WANTED, a single-handed HOUSE-MAID, 
 
 ' who would thoroughly appreciate a comfortable home, in 
 an elderly Christian Lady's family. She must thoroughly under- 
 stand her duties and attend chapel three times on Sundays. Wages 
 /Ci. Apply to Mrs. Hunter, 12, Crumpton-road, Bri.vton. 
 
 l\/TONEYon EASY TERMS.— Mr. GRABALL is 
 
 -^'■^ prepared to make immediate ADVANCES to Gentlemen in 
 bona fide situations at salaries from £,\oa per annum on note of hand 
 only. No questions asked. Money advanced with or without 
 sureties, distance no object.— .Vpply personally, or state amount to 
 Mr. Graball, 2, Trickle-court, Charing-cross.
 
 THE GOOD SPIRIT OF SPACE; 
 
 (Scene— The Earth. T-wo Spirits — t/i^ male- 
 volent Spirit of Crowdedness and the beiievo- 
 Icnt Spirit of Space — hovering^ 
 
 Chorus of Mortals, gru7nblmg: 
 
 EVERY freshly occurring fact 
 Painfully tends to prove 
 Awfully tightly the world is packt^— 
 
 Nobody's room to move. 
 Say that a dozen of hapless men 
 
 Into the world are prest, 
 One of the dozen amving ten 
 
 Minutes before the rest; 
 He, having luckily won the race. 
 
 Just by a shave, at birth. 
 Collars the only untaken place 
 
 On the encumbered earth; 
 
 Then do the rest of 'em, standing by, 
 
 Kicking their heels in vain, 
 Wait till the winner shall kindly die 
 
 Leaving his place again. 
 Shortly — (so rapidly fills the land, 
 
 Truly the mind it scares !) — 
 Everybody will have to stand, 
 
 Having no room for chairs ! 
 
 The Spirit of Space. 
 
 So far so good ; yet how each mortal shelves- 
 His common sense is quite beyond believing,. 
 No smack of inconsistency perceiving : 
 
 Just listen how they contradict themselves. 
 
 Joyfnl chorus of Mortals at a ch)-istening. 
 
 Here 's a host of little dears, 
 
 Freshly in the world arriving, 
 
 Aren't they plump and round and thriving 
 Pray excuse our joyful tears, 
 
 Born of joy no effort smothers ! 
 
 Aren't they — aren't they like their mothers r 
 {}Vith a burst) Tral lal la!. 
 
 Thirty little mortals more 
 
 Come to make creation gladsome I 
 Don't we only wish we had some — 
 
 Any number — say a score ! 
 
 All their future joy be-wreathing, 
 More especially their teething ! 
 
 {Uncontrollably) Tral lal la! 
 
 Horrified chorus of the same Mortals, reading their 
 ne^uspapers. 
 
 Here's a sad disaster — 
 
 Here's a dozen more ! 
 Each is sadder, vaster 
 
 Than the one before. 
 Here are vessels jam in 
 
 Other vessels' sides ;
 
 THE GOOD SPIRIT OF SPACE; OP, AN UNAPPRECIATED GENIUS. 109 
 
 Desolating famine 
 
 China overrides ; 
 Wreck and conflagration, 
 
 Now they have their run, 
 Decimate creation, 
 
 Horrifying one! 
 Dread Destruction's banner 
 
 Seems to be unfurled 
 In the wildest manner — 
 
 What an awful world ! 
 
 Spirit of Crowdedness. 
 Vou see, these mortals rate you as they should. 
 
 Spirit of Space {unhappily). 
 
 Oh ! bitterness too bitter to be stated. 
 
 To feel that one is unappreciated 
 In all one's greatest efforts after Good ! ' 
 No matter, I will labour for awhile 
 
 To thwart thy evil machinations striving, 
 
 And wait until that better time's arriving 
 When men shall greet me in a fairer style. 
 
 Spirit of Crowdedness. 
 
 I fear thee not ; in vain thy threats are hurled : 
 For years untold, through all the earth's duration, 
 Triumph increasing and without cessation 
 
 Has crowned my plans to overcrowd the world. 
 
 Already (so my triumph grows and spreads) 
 I see — thy paltry opposition spurning — 
 The time when men shall lack the space for turn- 
 
 And have to walk on one another's heads ! [ing, 
 
 'T is thus the hatred I have borne to man 
 Shall find its sharp and fitting culmination ; 
 Mea.nwhile the victims of my visitation 
 
 Arc blindly striving to assist my plan. 
 
 So well my spells have undermined their wit. 
 That men receive with joyousness and mirth 
 All things that aid the crowding of the earth. 
 
 Condemning such as tend to lessen it. 
 
 , Spirit oi Space. 
 
 Too true, alas! the greater shame is thine. 
 
 These mortals labour under some delusion. 
 
 But hear — I come to say, to thy confusion, 
 To-day at least the victory is mine. 
 
 For certain mortals, having minds too clear. 
 Too full of light, for all thy glamour's blinding. 
 Have sworn in all to aid me, nobly binding 
 
 Themselves to thwart thee in thy base career. 
 
 The happiness of men their only goal. 
 
 They let my word and lofty reason guide them 
 Whatever woe or punishment betide them : 
 
 Behold, at once, one such devoted soul. 
 
 (The Spirit of Space waves his wand, ana a Rai l- 
 WAY Shunter appears.) 
 
 Son^ of the Good Shiaiter. 
 In days gone by the cumuli 
 
 Of ignorance my reason clouded. 
 It struck me not so fair a spot 
 
 As this our world should not be crowded ; 
 I did not know what evils flow 
 
 From superflux of population, 
 Nor realize how right and wise 
 
 Is well-directed decimation. 
 
 So sharply burst the light, at first 
 
 My reason marvelled what the change mcrint 
 Till something bade me up and aid 
 
 The said beneficent arrangement. 
 " Can one," I said, "so humbly bred 
 
 Assist so vast a reformation?" 
 Yes ! Was it not my happy lot 
 
 To be a shunter at a station ? 
 
 With zealous jerk the points I 'd work, 
 
 And good intent and faith for masters. 
 And cause what men of cloudy ken 
 
 Described as " terrible disasters." 
 With scorn I met inspector's threat 
 
 And chairman's frequent irritation, 
 And made it plain reproof is vain 
 
 For one intent on decimation. 
 
 {He runs an express info a mineral train. The 
 good Spirit of Space blesses hijn, while the evil 
 Spirit ^ Crowdedness ^/^t^^ with rage. The 
 Shunter and his siirroundim^s disappear.) 
 
 {Horrifed chorus of misguided IMortals reading- 
 the news?) 
 
 Horror inducing pallidity ! 
 Here's a disaster again : 
 Passenger-run with rapidity
 
 no THE GOOD SPIRIT 01 SPACE: OR, AN UNAPPRECIATED GENIUS. 
 
 Into a mineral-train ! 
 Villain who turned it misguidedly 
 Ought to be punished decidedly I 
 
 Spirit of Crowd {siieeringly). 
 Thy work, as I perceive, still fails to please 
 
 The thankless mortals whom thou hast befriended. 
 
 Spirit of Space. 
 Oh, wait awhile — our strife is still unended : 
 Behold some other of my devotees. 
 
 {Waves wand again J a QuACK DOCTOR, an ADUL- 
 TERATOR, ajid other Devotees appear.) 
 
 Chorus. 
 Long we 've striven with devotion 
 
 In the interests of Space, 
 Buoyed and solaced by the notion 
 
 That we serve the human race. 
 Far removed from all addiction 
 
 To pecuniary gain, 
 "We rejoice in self-restriction, 
 
 Insult, calumny, and pain. 
 Harsh and many our detractors ; 
 
 By the world we are despised. 
 For as human benefactors 
 
 We are hardly recognized ! 
 Crowdedness, with maw unsated. 
 
 Creeps, a horror, o'er the land. 
 Health and beauty violated 
 
 By its Vandalistic hand ; 
 Silence, peace, and sweet seclusion 
 
 From the recollection fade 
 In the deafening confusion 
 
 Overcrowdedness had made. 
 Let not Space the Decimator 
 
 In derision turn its back 
 On the poor Adulterator, 
 
 Or the unpretending Ouack ! 
 
 {The Spirit of Crowdedness, in derision, lifts a 
 veil and reveals the earthly martyrdo/n of the 
 Shunter, Adulterator, Quack, and other 
 Devotees. The Spirit of Space turns away 
 with a sigh.) 
 
 Spirit of Crowdedness. 
 
 Good reason truly for thy sighing — see 
 The fate for these thy devotees provided ; 
 
 I pray you mark, 7ny choice is better guided ; 
 A fairer lot for those who work for IME ! 
 
 ( Waves wand. A SPECULATIVE Builder appears. 
 Speculative Builder. 
 
 Come, Crowdedness, on in a torrent ; 
 
 Three things where the space is for one ; 
 For Emptiness aye is abhorrent 
 
 And Space is an evil to shun ! 
 Come, Multitude, surging and seething ; 
 
 What mortal with intellect can 
 Imagine that spaces for breathing 
 
 Are truly essential to man ? 
 Come, labyrinth cities, collected 
 
 And limitless mazes of bricks ; 
 One dozen of houses erected 
 
 Wherever there 's standing for six. 
 
 {The World becomes more and more croiuded; ni en- 
 have no longer room to walk, vegetation dis- 
 appears, starvation sets in. Then the eyes oj 
 Mortals suddettly open.) 
 
 Chorus oJ astounded Mortals. 
 
 Goodness gracious ! Why, we 've been 
 
 Victims of hallucination 
 Ever since the dawn was seen 
 
 In the morning of creation ! 
 Ever blindly casting blame. 
 
 Insult, calumny, detraction, 
 Over those whose noble aim 
 
 Was but human benefaction ! 
 Ever from our wrath they fled 
 
 As the quarry from the hunter, — 
 Honour to the martyred head 
 
 Of that most immortal Shunter. 
 Oh that Fate would give him back 
 
 (Though it 's not the wont of Fate) — or 
 That ill-treated, noble Quack, 
 
 Or that good Adulterator ! 
 Never do our thoughts depart 
 
 From the horrors that -await us ! 
 Some one with a feeling heart 
 
 Come and gently decimate us ! 
 
 {The Demon of Crowdedness, nnmashed, vanishes 
 with a shriek, while the good Spirit of Space 
 soars triumphantly.) 
 
 J. F. Sullivan.
 
 A TALE OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 *=^t • G: 
 
 Sir Guidalance was a brave knight, and of gigantic power ; numbers could not subdue him, treachery might. In one of his battles 
 he single-handed took a great company of prisoners, and drove them to his stronghold at Humbledown Tower. 
 
 This is the dungeon, fi\'e thousand feet below the surface, where 
 he confined the living testimony of his mighty prowess. 
 
 This is liow the doughty Sir Guidalance enjoyed himself in his 
 paternal stronghold at Humbledown after the battle.
 
 MR. BARKER AND HIS BRIDE. 
 
 AGENTLEMAN I used to know, 
 About a dozen years ago, 
 1 'd like to introduce to fame— 
 
 And Mr. Barker was his name. 
 He was as genial a man 
 
 As ever I expect to scan 
 (And that is what he seemed to be 
 
 To other men as well as me). 
 He used to rather come the swell, 
 
 In manner spick and span(-iel) ; 
 But some, in spite of splendid " tog," 
 
 Considered him a "jolly dog." 
 He'd always, when you met him, quote 
 
 Some mirth-inspiring anecdote. 
 In which I 've seldom known him fail- 
 He was so waggish with his tale. 
 
 Now, Mr. Barker had a wife. 
 He called the solace of his life ; 
 
 A gentle creature, soft and sleek, 
 And most preposterously meek 
 
 (That is, at least, as I 'vc been told, 
 Tlic character she wished to hold). 
 
 Her timid air, which struck the mind, 
 
 Said pleadingly, " Oh, do be kind ! " 
 Which quite disarmed the cynic's frown. 
 
 And made him long to stroke her down ; 
 It's frequently been said of her 
 
 That you might almost hear her purr ! 
 Though people have been heard to say. 
 
 In some inexplicable way. 
 Complete success became her part 
 
 In any pur-puss she'd at heart. 
 
 The pair I thus present to view 
 
 Did nothing else but bill and coo 
 (Or so I used to then believe) 
 
 From morning grey to " dewy eve." 
 When any one was sitting by. 
 
 They'd gently heave the lover's sigh, 
 And fondly squeeze each other's hand ; 
 
 And if Society's demand 
 Should separate them for avv'hile, 
 
 They 'd catch each other's eye and smile. 
 With leisure from my own affairs 
 
 I 've often watched that smile of theirs. 
 With no desire to make a fuss, 
 
 I 'd indicate its meaning thus :- - 
 Said hers, " For thee I draw my breath ! " 
 Said his, '• My life ! I 'm thine till death ! " 
 
 But o'er us all there came a doubt. 
 Reports commenced to fly about 
 
 Of frequently-occurring rows 
 'Twixt Mr. Barker and his spouse. 
 
 'T was said, for all so blithe a chap. 
 He knew the way to snarl and snap ; 
 
 That, though his oaths might well affright, 
 His bark was better than his bite. 
 
 'T was said his wife was quite his match. 
 And knew the way to claw and scratch ; 
 
 'T was said, for all she looked so fair. 
 She'd sometimes spit and often swear. 
 
 'Twas said, although they seemed to own 
 The life of Darby and of Joan, 
 
 They found the marriage-tie a clog. 
 And led the life of cat and dog ! 
 
 John W. Houghto' " 
 
 CAMDEN I'RESS, N.W.
 
 FUN. 
 
 EVERY WEDNESDAY, 
 
 ONE TENNY.
 
 HOW TO DRESS ON NEXT TO NOTHING A YEAR. 
 
 4th Plan. — Be a walking advertisement to an enterprising milliner. 
 
 jst Plan. — Use up your great-grandmother's old clothes. 
 
 and ,, Wear your husband's cast-off apparel. You can pre- 5th 
 
 tend you are a champion of woman's rights. 
 
 3rd ,, Cultivate your hair, and dress it so that it may dress 6th 
 
 you. Gloves, collars, cuffs, &c., painted on the skin 
 in oil, and warranted to wash. 7th 
 
 Go in for being an interesting invalid, and never get up. 
 
 Have your "At Homes," &c., in your bed-room. 
 Nothing so warm as newspapers. Clothe yourself in 
 
 "the very latest intelligence." 
 Dress as gorgeously as you please, and don't pay.
 
 - CONTENTS. - 
 
 How to Dress on Next to Nothing a Year 
 
 A Bird of Another Feather . 
 
 My O.iiet Fellow-Traveller . 
 
 A Day's Fishing in the Sea . 
 
 Making a Figure , 
 
 Fno-lish History in a New Light 
 
 The Pilot's Story . 
 
 Curried Cow .... 
 
 " TJiat dangerous fellow, Shimmen " 
 
 Hunting. From a New Point of View 
 
 My Protector Jedediah . 
 The Corn-cutter's Story . 
 Two Knights and a Dey 
 Hooked Foul . 
 Difference of Opinion 
 
 Fishing : An Allegory . 
 
 The Family Cat 
 
 My Play 
 
 Smoking Fragments 
 
 Very Fishy. Communicated by Submarine 
 
 A Clcrkenwell Calamity 
 
 The Young Athlete 
 
 The Poets' Mission . 
 
 The Soberwit Club . 
 
 My Pilgrimage 
 
 Raising the ]Vi>id . 
 
 Polly's Wings 
 
 A \ 'ankee Story 
 
 The Hare and Many Friends 
 
 Modern Themes in Ancient Guise 
 
 My Double and I . 
 
 The Faith of the Children 
 
 Eccentric Concentric Circles 
 
 How I Lost my Intended 
 
 The Garden of Eden 
 
 Nelly's Necklace . 
 
 The Queen of the May . 
 
 The Story of a Man with a " Cast" in his 
 
 Miss ISTiles, the Telegraph Girl 
 
 Tympkyns and his Hats : A True Story of Club Life 
 
 Turkey in France . 
 
 IVabtuts for Wisdom Teeth 
 
 A Co7nedy of several Acts 
 
 Ey 
 
 'elegr 
 
 aph 
 
 Gordon Thomson . Frontispiece. 
 
 T. Hood .... 
 
 Laura Adey 
 
 H. Sandercock 
 
 T. Archer 
 
 J. MovR Smith 
 
 Edward C.apern 
 
 DOD Grile 
 ' H. T. . . ■) 
 .F. A. Fraser > 
 ' Ernest Griset ") 
 ^T. H. . . .3 • 
 
 Charles Williams . 
 
 John Stebbing 
 
 W. J. Wiegand 
 
 W. Senior 
 
 J. F. Sullivan . 
 'Ernest Griset ") 
 .T. H. . . .5 • 
 "Prentice IkluLFORD 
 
 John Thomson 
 
 H. J. M. S. . . . 
 
 Gordon Thomson . 
 
 Henry J. M. Sampson . 
 
 J. F. Sullivan . 
 
 J. F. Sullivan . 
 
 William Sawyer 
 
 T. H 
 
 Harry Tuck . 
 
 Frances Freeling Broderip 
 
 G. R. Wadleigh 
 
 T. H. . . .\ 
 
 Ernest Griset ) 
 
 J. MoYR Smith 
 
 W. D. L'E strange . 
 
 Author of "Lilliput Levee 
 
 William Brunton . 
 
 Alfred B. Phillips 
 
 Matthe\v Browne . 
 
 J. Ashby-Sterry 
 
 E. G. Dalziel . 
 
 George Augustus Sala 
 
 Charles G. Leland 
 
 Gordon ThOxMSon . 
 
 T. Hood .... 
 
 T. H. . . ■) 
 
 Harry Tuck j
 
 MR. STREETER, 
 
 j7 CONDUIT STREET, FIVE DOORS FROM BOND STREET 
 LONDON, W., 
 
 SOLE INTRODUCER OF 
 
 18-CARAT GOLD AND GEM JEWELLERY, 
 MACHINE-MADE. 
 
 Machine-made Jewellery, as manufactured by Mr. Streeter, pos- 
 sesses the following advantages: — 
 
 1st. Qu.\LiTY : The Gold used is i8-Carat, containing alloy to 
 the extent necessary for the working of the metal, and no 
 MORE, and is truly described as "honestly and legally G^ld." 
 2nd. Price: The cost of production being greatly lessened, a corres- 
 ponding reduction is made to the purchaser. 
 3rd. Security from Fraud : A guarantee of the quality is given oh 
 the invoice. 
 
 Ilhistrated Catalogue post-free. 
 
 MR. STREETER'S 
 
 MACHINE-MADE ENGLISH LEVER WATCHES 
 AND CLOCKS. 
 
 These productions demand attention for the following important 
 reasons : — 
 
 i9t. Interchangeability of parts. The fitting being regulated by a 
 mathematical system, the errors and accidents incidental to hand- 
 fitting are altogether avoided. 
 
 2nd. Hard-rolled wrought brass and highly-tempered steel are used 
 in place of cast and untempered metals, and the result arising fro[ii 
 superior finish, increased strength, and greater durability, is the 
 utmost economy of keeping in order. 
 
 3rd. Economy in Repairs: — In the event of parts being broken, or 
 otherwise injured by accident or rust, new pieces can be supplied 
 at a less price than would be charged for repairing ths parts so 
 injured. 
 
 4th. Reduction in price to the purchaser is fully 30 per cent. 
 
 Illustrated Catalogue post-Jree. 
 
 MR. STREETER, 
 37 Conduit Street, Bond Street, London, "W. 
 
 Factory— BURLINGTON STEAM WORKS, SAVILE ROW
 
 A BIRD OF ANOTHER FEATHER. 
 
 E S T R E E N , 
 when I retired 
 to bed, 
 
 I had a funny 
 dream ; 
 
 I magi nation 
 backward sped 
 
 Up History's an- 
 cient stream. 
 
 A falconer in 
 fullest dress 
 
 Was teaching 
 me his art ; 
 
 Of tercel, eyass, 
 hood, and jess 
 
 The terms I 
 learnt by heart. 
 
 He flew his fal- 
 con to attack 
 
 The osprey, 
 
 swan, and hern, 
 
 And showed me, 
 when he wished 
 it back, 
 
 The lure lor its return. 
 I thought it was a noble sport, 
 I struggled to excel 
 
 My gentle teacher, and, in short, 
 I managed rather well. 
 
 The dream is o'er, and I to-day 
 
 Return to modern time ; 
 But yet I 've something more to say, 
 
 If you will list my rhyme. 
 I Ve been a witness in a case 
 
 For seven long mortal hours, 
 And, cross-examined, had to face 
 
 The counsel's keenest powers. 
 
 With courteous phrase and winning smiles 
 
 He led me gently on ; 
 I fell a victim to his wiles ; — 
 
 But how he changed anon ! 
 " Oh, you're prepared to swear to that !" 
 
 And " Now, sir, just take care !" 
 And " Come, be cautious what you're at!" 
 
 With questions hard to bear. 
 
 And when he 'd turned me inside out. 
 
 He turned me outside in ; 
 I knew not what I was about. 
 
 My brain was all a-spin. 
 I "m shaking now with nervous fright. 
 
 And since I left the Court 
 I 've changed my dream-opinion quite — 
 
 I don't think Hawkins sport ! 
 
 T. Hoon.
 
 12 
 
 MY Q UIET FELLO W-7RA VELLER. 
 
 MY QUIET FELLOW-TRAVELLER. 
 
 NE bitterly cold evening last winter, I was 
 sitting with my old schoolfellow, Charlie 
 Foster, in my study — the most comfort- 
 able room in the house, arranged throughout with 
 shat regard to warmth and convenience only to be 
 ound in England, that land where comfort is the 
 chief aim of at least two-thirds of the inhabitants. 
 
 " How jolly this is!" exclaimed Charlie, removing 
 his cigar for a moment, and glancing round the cosy 
 room. " I would rather be in than out such a night 
 as this ; just listen to the wind, how it howls and 
 blusters, and yet not a breath gets in here. I must 
 say this is not a bad corner to occupy in this weather, 
 and I envy you not a little ; you are such a lucky 
 fellow, Harry, things always seem to go straight with 
 you. I do believe you never had a slice of ill luck 
 or a disagreeable adventure in your life." 
 
 "You are wrong there, my boy," replied I, "for 
 once upon a time — it is a long while ago now, though 
 — I had a very disagreeable adventure, which might 
 have ended in my being hanged by mistake for some 
 one else. You remember, no doubt, that sixteen 
 years ago, instead of being one of the partners in 
 the firm of Ross, Haviland, and Laurence, I was 
 only a clerk in their office ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," nodded Foster. 
 
 "Well, one day Mr. Haviland, not being well 
 
 enough to go himself, sent me to C on some 
 
 rather important business; some valuable documents 
 had fallen into the hands of an obstinate, stupid old 
 fellow, who had been guardian to a client of ours. 
 The client was now of age, and wished to act for 
 himself, and manage his own affairs, but old Brown, 
 not considering him fit to do so, persisted in retain- 
 ing the papers, and my mission was to persuade him 
 to give them up quietly, and, in the event of his re- 
 fusing, to threaten him with legal proceedings. I 
 had great difficulty in inducing him to listen to rea- 
 son, but when, at last, I succeeded, I telegraphed 
 the news of my success to London, and a little later 
 
 started homewards. I strolled down to the station, 
 took a first-class ticket (the firm paid my travelling 
 expenses, you know), and, after waiting for about ten 
 minutes, the Edinburgh express came up, and I took 
 my seat. As I got into the carriage, a tall good- 
 looking young fellow, fashionably dressed, got out, 
 and with that feeling of idle curiosity that sometimes 
 comes over one when one has nothing to do, I put 
 my head out of the window and looked after him ; 
 to my surprise he got into another carriage a little 
 farther on. I began to wonder why on earth the 
 fellow got out as I got in, and felt vaguely uncom- 
 fortable about it; however, when I perceived that 
 the only other occupant of the carriage was an old 
 gentleman, apparently fast asleep, 1 concluded that 
 the young man wanted to smoke, and that the old 
 gentleman, before addressing himself tohis slumbers, 
 had objected. This satisfied me, and I began to 
 go over in my mind the events of the previous day. 
 'Well,' thought I, 'certainly I have managed the 
 business very well. I expect I shall receive the com- 
 pliments of the firm for it. I wonder if they will 
 give me anything more substantial than compli- 
 ments. If they do make me a present, it will be 
 very acceptable just now,' said I to myself; for 
 you see, Charlie, about eight weeks before, my 
 dear Lizzie had presented me with a plump, red, 
 pugnacious little sprite. Well, all the aunts and 
 cousins — to say nothing of my wife — pronounced it 
 the prettiest baby in the world, and I dare say I 
 thought they were not far wrong ; but one cannot 
 sacrifice to a household idol of this kind without a 
 little extra outlay, and for this reason and a few 
 others not worth while mentioning, Lizzie and the 
 baby were uppermost in my thoughts ; I amused 
 myself like a child with spending the money I hoped 
 to receive in a dozen different ways for their benefit. 
 " At times I glanced at my fellow-traveller, 
 who was all this time sound asleep in the corner 
 directly opposite to me ; his head was thrown back
 
 J/V Q UIET FELLO W-TRA VELLER. 
 
 13 
 
 a bright yellow bandana hankerchief covered his 
 face, and a thick railway rug was tucked tightly 
 round him. Now, having started in a great hurry, 
 as Ross and Haviland had got a hint that old Brown 
 meant to make a lengthened tour on the Continent, 
 I had forgotten to take my wrapper with me, so I 
 contemplated my opposite neighbour with rather 
 curious eyes, thinking how warm and comfortable 
 he looked and how ven,' cold I felt. I tried to for- 
 get my discomfort by reading over my papers, but 
 when at last I got through them, I was as cold as 
 before, or perhaps a little colder. However, we were 
 getting near our journey's end, and that was some 
 comfort. I determined to follow my fellow-tra- 
 veller's example and take a doze. I wish heartily 
 that I had not done so. First of all, I had a singu- 
 larly unpleasant dream ; for I dreamt that on arriving 
 at home, I found the street-door open, and on going 
 in, saw staircases in all directions. I went up the 
 one I fancied led to my rooms ; but it seemed as if 
 I should never get there ! — flight after flight I went 
 up, and thought the stairs would never come to an 
 end. Then suddenly I found myself in the drawing- 
 room, and was struck by the cheerless look of every- 
 thing ; there was no fire in the grate, and the room 
 was so dimly lighted, that at first I did not see 
 Lizzie. Then I became aware that she was leaning 
 back in the arm-chair, with the child lying in her 
 lap ; her eyes were closed, and her face was deadly 
 pale. I cried out her name, but she did not move. 
 With an undefined dread that seemed to make my 
 heart contract, I rushed across the room to her ; 
 the floor heaved and swayed with my weight ; I flung 
 myself down by Lizzie's side, and had seized her 
 hand, when the chair overturned with a crash, and 
 she seemed to fall heavily into my arms ! 
 
 " I awoke with a cry of terror — the train had run 
 nearly off some facing points, and the tremendous 
 iolt had thrown my fellow-traveller across my 
 knees. I lifted him half up, but he made no effort 
 to help himself. With difficulty I replaced him 
 on the seat ; the head dropped back into the old 
 position, and as the light now fell on the face, I 
 saw to my horror that the man was dead. 
 
 " I fell back into my seat, gasping for breath ; but 
 the next instant I started up, and went to the farther 
 
 side of the carriage. ' Dead,' said I to myself, ' no, 
 it's impossible, he cannot be dead;' and turning 
 hurriedly towards the old gentleman, I endeavoured 
 to stammer out a possible hope that the fall had not 
 hurt him. It would not do ; the words died away 
 on my lips. I felt the fact of his death was but too 
 true, and the folly of asking a corpse if a fall had 
 hurt it crossed my mind, and gave me an absurd 
 inclination to laugh, though I never felt less merry 
 in my life. 
 
 " Then a terrible curiosity drew me back almost 
 against my will, to look again at the lifeless man. 
 The blue glazed eyes were wide open, the jaw slightly 
 dropped ; the once ruddy colour had settled in 
 patches of dark purple in the cheeks. He was a 
 tall stout man, apparently about sixty-five, and must 
 have been handsome when alive ; indeed, the face 
 would have been handsome still, but that the half- 
 open mouth and sightless stare gave him such a 
 ghastly appearance. 
 
 " The bad dream I had had, the sudden startling 
 awakening, and then the horrid certainty that I had 
 been travelling all the way with a corpse, utterly 
 unnened me, and I vainly endeavoured to regain 
 my composure. I could only gaze on the dead face 
 before me with vague feelings of wonder and dis- 
 tress. 
 
 " Well, Charlie, I did about the most foolish thing 
 I could have done," continued L " A shrill whistle 
 and the slackening of the speed announced our ap- 
 proach to Highgate, and in another moment the 
 lamps at the station flashed their light in and out 
 of the carriage window, as we passed up to the 
 platform. With a desperate feeling that, as after 
 all it was no business of mine, I might as well try 
 to escape a heap of questions that I could not 
 answer, I snatched up the old man's yellow hand- 
 kerchief, flung it over his face, seized my travelling 
 bag, and sprang out of the carriage. 
 
 " I remember well the nervous dread which came 
 over me that the body would be discovered before I 
 could give up my ticket and get clear of the station. 
 No one stopped me, however. I hailed a cab, 
 jumped in, and in ten minutes more was safely de- 
 posited at my door ; there I dismissed the cabman 
 with a double fare, and in another minute I stood in
 
 i4 
 
 MY Q UIET FELLO W-TRA VELLER. 
 
 my bright cheerful sitting-room, with my dear wife 
 clinging to my arm. 
 
 " Everything was as unlike my dream as possible. 
 Lizzie looked rosy and smiling, baby was in his cradle, 
 fast asleep, there was a bright fire in the grate, the 
 supper-table was laid, and our neat little cook entered 
 with a tray on which Lizzie seemed to have assem- 
 bled all the good things she could think of. But, 
 in spite of the comfort around me, I could not shake 
 off a feeling of disquietude, and I suppose this was 
 visible enough to a pair of loving eyes like my wife's, 
 for she said, 
 
 " ' What is the matter, dear ? You look quite up- 
 set.' 
 
 "'Oh, Lizzie!' I burst out, 'I have had such a 
 horrid adventure ! I must tell you all about it.' 
 
 " ' Not yet,' returned she. * Sit down and take 
 some supper first, and you shall tell me afterwards. 
 However disagreeable your adventure was, it has not 
 ended badly, since I have got you safe home again, 
 my darling.' And thereupon she gave me a kiss, 
 which had such a reviving effect on my spirits that 
 I allowed myself to be seated at the table, and there, 
 under the combined influence of my kind little wife's 
 cheerful face, a good supper, and hot brandy and 
 water, I began to recover myself, and proceeded to 
 relate what had happened. 
 
 " Lizzie only laughed at the dream, and told me 
 not to be superstitious, but looked grave and horri- 
 fied enough over the account of the poor old man. 
 
 " When I had finished, my wife looked so anxious 
 and discomposed that I began to regret having told 
 her, but, suddenly raising her head, she said, 
 
 " * Dear Harry, ought you not to have stayed and 
 explained what had happened ? Might not people 
 
 think that — that' Her voice broke and her eyes 
 
 filled with tears. 
 
 " ' By Jove ! Lizzie,' cried I, starting up, * you are 
 right, of course ! They might think I had a hand 
 in the poor old fellow's death. Why, how could I 
 be such a fool ! I must go at once and give infor- 
 mation at the police office.' 
 
 " I put on my coat as I was speaking, but the 
 happy thought came a little too late ; for just as 
 Lizzie was handing me my hat, there was a tremen- 
 dous peal at the front door ! My wife and I looked 
 
 at each other : she turned very pale, and I burst out 
 laughing — that was not quite the right thing to do, 
 perhaps, under the circumstances ; but I could not 
 help feeling amused, as well as embarrassed, at the 
 scrape my folly had got me into, and I had not at 
 the time the slightest idea of the disagreeable con- 
 sequences that were to follow. 
 
 " ' Cheer up, little woman,' said I ' it is all right ; 
 I did not do it, you know. Go to bed like a wise 
 girl, and I will come back as soon as I can and tell 
 you the sequel to my story.' 
 
 " Just then the cook opened the door, and said, 
 ' Oh, if you please 'um, there 's two pleacemen at 
 the door, and they says, 'um, as they wants to speak 
 to Master.' 
 
 " ' Very well,' said I, ' I will go to them. It is very 
 possible I shall be absent some time, cook, so take 
 good care of your mistress till I come home ;' and 
 giving Lizzy a hasty kiss, I walked out and faced 
 my uninvited visitors. Before I could speak a word, 
 one of the men touched me on the shoulder, and 
 said, ' You're wanted about that old gen'leman found 
 murdered in a fuss-class railway carriage at 'ighgate 
 station.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' I said, ' I was just coming down to the 
 police station about it.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! was you ? ' said the man, in a grimly fa- 
 cetious manner ; and looking up, I saw he had stuck 
 his tongvie in his cheek, and was winking at his 
 comrade. I longed to knock the fellow down, but 
 knew it would hardly do to yield to the inclination ; 
 so I tried to console myself by remembering that I 
 had only my own stupidity to thank for the unplea- 
 sant position I was in." 
 
 Foster grinned, and nodded a friendly and pro- 
 voking agreement. 
 
 " Well," continued I, " the police station was not 
 far off, and we were soon in the presence of the in- 
 spector. As we entered, he turned his calm grave 
 face towards us, and fixed an inquiring look on me 
 for an instant ; then, signing to me to come forward, 
 he said quietly, * Will you state all you know about 
 this affair?' and he pointed with his pen to a bench, 
 on which the body of my late fellow-traveller was 
 lying. 
 
 " I told him I knew nothing about the matter—
 
 MV Q UIET FELLO W-TRA VELLER. 
 
 T5 
 
 that I did not know the man was dead until a few 
 minutes before the train stopped, and had been much 
 startled and shocked at the discover}\ 
 
 " ' Why did you not give information as soon as 
 you reached the station?' asked the inspector, drily. 
 
 " ' Well, really,' stammered I, ' I do not know 
 why ; of course I ought to have done so. I can only 
 account for my neglecting to do it by the fact of my 
 being in a hurry to reach home, and the certainty 
 that he would be seen by the officials directly, who 
 would know better what to do than I did.' 
 
 " This was a sorry kind of explanation, and I was 
 hardly surprised to find that it did not satisfy the 
 police, but was, nevertheless, considerably dismayed 
 when the inspector infoniied me I was a prisoner. 
 
 " ' Poor little Lizzie,' thought I, ' what a fright she 
 will be in.' However, I was permitted to send her 
 a message to the effect that I was detained to give 
 evidence, and that she was not to be uneasy. 
 
 " I was then taken in a cab to Bow Street, where 
 I was charged with robbing and murdering an old 
 gentleman, name unknown. My pockets were turned 
 out, my papers, purse, and watch taken from me, 
 and even my cigar-case, which was at the moment 
 certainly the greatest privation. The charge was 
 taken, and I was marched off to a cell and locked 
 up. There, sitting on one bench with my legs on 
 another, and my back fitted into an angle of the 
 wall, I passed the night — such a miserable night it 
 was, I should have been perished with cold had it 
 not been for the kindness of the gaoler, who lent me 
 a thick loose coat and a blanket. In wretched dis- 
 comfort I dozed and dreamt, starting up now and 
 then in bewilderment, wondering where I was, and 
 then suddenly recollecting, sank back in my corner 
 to doze and wake by turns till morning. After some 
 cold coffee and bread, I was again taken before the 
 Court and examined, and, to my horror, sent to the 
 House of Detention till the inquest should be over, 
 when it was intimated I should be brought up again. 
 
 " Well, to cut short my story, for I see you are 
 yawning, I must tell you that the inquest was held. 
 
 and the doctors discovered that the old gentleman 
 was not murdered at all, but had died of apoplexy. 
 So my offence was reduced to theft only : the old 
 fellow's pockets had been emptied and his watch 
 taken. 
 
 " I should, no doubt, have been sent back for fur- 
 ther evidence, but that a prisoner was brought in, 
 upon whom the stolen property had been found. 
 This prisoner proved to be the identical tall, good- 
 looking man who had left the railway carriage as I 
 got in. The young fellow, who, on account of his 
 gentlemanly stylish appearance, had got the sobriquet 
 of ' the Prince,' was a professional thief ; but on this 
 occasion he had only been on a pleasure trip to the 
 North, to see some friends, and he solemnly declared 
 that he got into the carriage where the old gentle- 
 man was without any business-like intentions ; that 
 he always travelled first-class, because it was more 
 comfortable, besides being ' genteeler.' He said — 
 and, as you know, the statement was borne out by 
 the medical evidence — that the old gentleman had 
 a fit, and that though he did his best to assist him 
 by opening the windows, loosening the old fellow's 
 neckcloth, and holding up his head, he died in a few 
 minutes. ' And then,' added ' the Prince,' ' I thought 
 the poor old boy couldn't want his watch or his purse 
 again, and I knew they would be ver\- useful to me, 
 so they changed pockets ; and then I stuck him up 
 in the corner where the other gentleman found him. 
 But I do hope,' continued he, looking round the Court 
 with an air of candid innocence, so well assumed 
 that I felt inclined to applaud, — ' I do hope no one 
 would go to say as taking what nobody else didn't 
 want was stealing.' Unfortunately, some rather im- 
 portant people could not be brought to see the 
 matter from his point of view, and ' the Prince ' did 
 not visit his friends in the North again for some 
 years. 
 
 " So ended my very unpleasant adventure, Charlie. 
 I have taken many a da)''s journey since, but never 
 again with such a very quiet fellow-traveller." 
 
 Harrv Laurence. 
 
 ^.■crz^^z^jwg^msv/^
 
 A DAY'S FISHING IN THE SEA. 
 
 
 Engage my crew. 
 
 An important item in my outfit. 
 
 Embarkation : more convenient than elegant. 
 I 
 
 A nibble, by Jingo ! 
 
 What nibbled— life-size.
 
 A DAY'S FISHING IN THE SEA. 
 
 After exertion, refreshment. Although "the rover is free," certain uneasy qualms 
 begin to remind him that he is but mortal. 
 
 I feel that I have turned white. 
 
 Those wretches of boatmen consent to put me on shore — which 
 they do in a manner much more effectual than dignified, right 
 underneath the pier and the eyes of Mary Jane. 
 
 I make tracks for home, vowing never nnre to venture my precious 
 body on the treacherous element 1
 
 i8 
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 HEN I tell you how it came about that 
 Alfred Marquis — that 's his name, bless 
 ^ you — first began to keep company with 
 me, you '11 say : " When confidence was a-being 
 given out, she wasn't behind the door." Not as 
 I 'm forward, either, in a general way, but as the 
 poet says — at least, Alfred says he says — there's 
 a " Providence that shapes our ends ;" and as I was 
 always noted at home for a light foot, there seems 
 to have been something in it that I should step into 
 a walk in life that I hadn't sought after. 
 
 Little did I think, when I answered that advertise- 
 ment out of a serious newspaper, whilst I was stay- 
 ing with Aunt Underdone in Berkshire, which is a 
 Dissenter, and so naturally takes it in weekly, that 
 I should be in London and in a place that would be 
 thought worldly by most, and engaged to a real 
 gentleman, mind you, though at present, as he says, 
 in cognetow, which I think is his fun, or else French 
 for lodgings in Camden Town. 
 
 " In a quiet family, four in number, and very little 
 company : ;/^i2 a year, and all found. Address, Pro- 
 fessor, Belmont Hall, Adalbert Gardens, N.W." — 
 that 's how it went. I didn't much like the look of 
 it myself, for I 'm one that can't abear a place where 
 there isn't a little life ; but Aunt she was for my 
 writing at once, as I believe because it was signed 
 Professor, for, says she, "Though it ain't always that 
 practice goes with a great profession — and people 
 don't ought always to be talking about it — yet in a 
 paper like this no doubt it has a meaning, and you '11 
 be none the worse, Arabella, for being with serious 
 professing people." 
 
 My reverences was all right, and you might have 
 knocked me down with a feather when I got out at 
 Chalk Farm, and after inquiring for Mr. Bonamies — 
 just imagine what a name, you know ! — the porter, 
 which I 'd given him a pint of the same to put my 
 trunk into a cab, said the house was but two streets 
 off, and I might know it by seeing "a big liar" stuck 
 
 up between the two front windows, and the name 
 underneath. 
 
 I thought the feller was intoxicated, of course, and 
 tore off to where the driver pointed with his whip, 
 till I felt somehow he was going wrong, and so I 
 screamed out to a butcher boy as was leaving a neck 
 of mutton at a great white stucco place with a front 
 gate that was wide open, and a garden with a big 
 board on a prop that looked like a house to let, when 
 all of a sudden the cab pulled up, and calls out, 
 curling himself round to the window off the box, 
 " Here you are, what are yer hollerin' at?" Then, 
 sure enough, I looked up at the house, and right in 
 front was a great gilded thing like a harp that you 
 see at the top of penny valentines, as I believe is 
 supposed to be played on by Cupid or something, 
 and on the board that was close to the front railings 
 was Professor Bonamies et Fils, in great gold letters, 
 and underneath La Danse on one side and La 
 Miisiqtie on the other, with practice nights Wens- 
 days and Fridays at 8, select assemblies every 
 Tuesday at 8.30 ; ladies' classes by Mademoiselle 
 Bonamies ; which, thinks I, is a little too much of it 
 even for serious people, in my opinion, and I wonder 
 what they call a little company, though I suppose 
 they don't have a tea-meeting so late as all that 
 comes to. 
 
 There was no time to think about it, however ; for 
 what with;^the butcher boy and the cabman, the bell 
 was rung that violent as brought out a little fright- 
 ened-looking gentleman in his shirt-sleeves, and 
 with no collar on to speak of. He stood on the top 
 step, and his hair, which was very long and light, 
 blowcd a'most upright ; so that what with that and 
 a very hookey nose, and a little tuft of hair on his 
 chin, he looked like a poll-parrot with the colour 
 washed out, and a fiddle under his wing. 
 
 No wonder the bell didn't sound much, for when 
 the door was opened, there was a piano going as 
 though somebody had a reg'Iar spite against it, and
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 19 
 
 every now and then a rumbling like a coach and 
 four, and the guard blowing his horn to a tunc that 
 trembled all up and down. This is indeed serious- 
 ness, thinks I, if it ain't Bedlam ; and as I 'd paid 
 the cab beforehand, I was just a-going to get back 
 again, but the man he'd drove off and left my trunk 
 in the front garden, and the butcher boy says, 
 " Here, you're the new servant, ain't you ? just take 
 this in, then," and puts the neck o' mutton, without 
 a bit of paper, into my best gloves. 
 
 " Here, Alphonse ! Hi, Mary Ann ! somebody, 
 bring a dish," squeals the little gentleman on the 
 steps ; and all of a sudden the piano stops, and 
 ;mother little gentleman just like him, only stouter 
 and with his hair dark and all cut short oft", comes 
 down, winking like a blackbird in a tail-coat, and 
 with such tiny feet in shiny boots, that I should say 
 he wouldn't take more than women's small fours, 
 not even if he was to be measured for 'em. 
 
 "What's the matter, boys?" says another little 
 gentleman in a brown wig, and a shirt front that 
 stuck out of his westcoat. " Kelker lead omidge," 
 he says : " Kesker say voo fair ? " and he looks so 
 hard at me with his compliments, that I pretty nigh 
 dropped the neck of mutton. 
 
 " Vat is de ladee stand dere for ? " he cries out in 
 his broken English. 
 
 " All right," says a little lady, so very short that I 
 hadn't seen her till she come from behind a big 
 dish ; " it 's the new servant." 
 
 " Oh, ha ! lar domsteek," says the old gentleman. 
 " Then for vy has there been such a precious row, 
 and how came she by the neck of mutton ? " 
 
 He spoke English all of a sudden just as well as 
 if he'd been a native, and then they all laughed, 
 and the gent in the shirt-sleeves took the mutton, 
 and the other one flew at my box, and tore with it 
 up the steps, in one hand. 
 
 " There," he says, "you couldn't have done that ! " 
 
 " Couldn't I ? " says the first one, and down he 
 pops the mutton, and then he flies at the trunk and 
 runs right upstairs with it before you could say 
 Jack Robinson. This was the four in family, Mr. 
 Bonamics and Fils — which I afterwards learnt 
 wasn't neither of their names, but that they was 
 Mr. Alphonse, called John for short, and Mr. Fred- 
 
 erique, with the que cut off, except on paper ; Miss 
 Bonamies, mostly called by her nickname of Ma- 
 damasel, I think must have been Mary Ann, but 
 they called her anything that came uppermost, 
 mostly out of the titles of music, such as Alayflower, 
 or Opopponacks, or Jerroldeen, and such romances 
 as them. For the fact of it was, that this serious 
 family was teachers of dancing and music, and was 
 always at it, morning, noon, and night a'most. The 
 place used to shake with their playing of a morning, 
 and rock v/ith their dancing at night ; but this I will 
 say, that a kinder set of little creatures couldn't be, 
 and it was true enough about company. There 
 wasn't anybody come to see 'em once a month, and 
 the grand assembly once a c[uarter only meant two 
 pounds of ham cut into sandwiches at the shop 
 round the corner, a couple of plates of mixed bis- 
 cuits, and a jug of lemonade, with one of negus, all 
 set out on a table in the first-floor landing, because 
 of course there was no furniture in the ball-room, 
 except two rout seats and the piano. 
 
 I didn't really find out what they was till after 
 we 'd made a Irish stew of the neck of mutton, which 
 — would you believe it ? — they mostly took their 
 dinners in the kitchen, and picked it up quick, just 
 like so many birds, talking and laughing ajl the 
 time. 
 
 " Perhaps you wouldn't mind cleaning the plate," 
 says Madamasel. She was a pleasant little thing, 
 and as to playing, she was a whole band of music, 
 I should say, and knew every instrument. " Per- 
 haps you wouldn't mind cleaning the plate, as this 
 is our assembly night ? " 
 
 " Yes, miss," I says, " if you '11 please give it me 
 out, and tell me where the plate-brush and tlie 
 powder is. I suppose it isn't all silver, miss ? " 
 
 " Why," she says, busting out laughing, " I mean 
 the plate on the street-door. All our knives and 
 forks are in the dresser-drawer." 
 
 Wasn't it queer ? 
 
 Sure enough, when I went up to look, there was 
 a great white metal plate that made the door look 
 as though it had been put into armour, and on the 
 plate was " Bonamies, Professor of Music and 
 Dancing. Private Lessons. Families and Schools 
 attended."
 
 20 
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 " Well," I says to myself, " this is a little serious 
 now. I shall see something new if I stop here, 
 which I much doubt." 
 
 And I did, too, as you shall hear. 
 
 It was coming on towards Christmas-time — least- 
 ways, it had turned the Michaelmas quarter — and 
 that was the reason why there was such a bustle, 
 because, bless you ! all the young ladies, and some 
 that wasn't over-young too, was preparing for the 
 parties, and naturally had to get up their dancing 
 beforehand. Private lessons was soon a-going on 
 directly after tea-time ; and as the private lessoners 
 was allowed to stop to the practice, and all the prac- 
 tice that chose could pay an extra sixpence for the 
 privilege of coming to the assembly (which they 
 spelt it with a double "e," as was one of their queer 
 ways), the house had a fine time of it, and I often 
 wondered what the parish surveyor was about not 
 to take it up to prevent its tumbling down, as I often 
 thought it would. Everything seemed to dance to 
 music. I scrubbed the stairs to a tune, and made 
 the beds to Weber's last waltz, as I somehow learnt 
 through hearing of it so often set for all sorts of 
 instruments. Madamasel, too, did everything by 
 notes — a lively, little, mild-tempered creature too, 
 she were, and full of her fun ; which you '11 hardly 
 believe, she must needs give me two or three lessons 
 in dancing in the kitchen. Little did I think what 
 was to come of it. 
 
 One day, at dinner (it was liver and bacon), they 
 was all a-laughing and talking as usual, but yet 
 there was a something uncomfortable. I couldn't 
 be off hearing that they had a difficulty as to 
 making up the number as come to their Tuesday 
 evenings, and what was worst was that there was 
 two new pupils — gents that come regular genteel, 
 in white kid gloves and nosegays in their button- 
 holes ; one of 'em a little elderly. It was all very 
 well while the practice was going on, because there 
 was plenty of young girls as come with their Mas, 
 or else was fetched at nine o'clock, as well as a few 
 older ; but it wasn't near enough to Christmas for 
 these to spend extra sixpences for the Tuesdays, 
 and so there was a dearth of females on these oc- 
 casions. 
 
 The very next evening, which was a Tuesday, Mr. 
 
 Alphonse, as was the light-haired one, suddenly 
 come rushing down into the kitchen and asked me 
 for a glass of beer. I drawed it for him, and as he 
 drunk it up quite slow, I could see his pale little 
 blue eye a-glaring at me through the tumbler. 
 
 " You 've got an uncommonly good figure," he 
 says, quite slow. 
 
 He said so just as he might have remarked, 
 " Excuse me, but you 've got a black on your nose." 
 They was all like that : they could say things quite 
 innocent, that in other people would have sounded 
 like impidence ; so I only laughed. 
 
 " Madamasel is coming down to polish you up a 
 bit, and we want you to come upstairs to make up 
 the sets." 
 
 " What ! " I says ; " I don't know of no more than 
 one dinner and one tea set, and a many pieces 
 were broke before I came here, while as to the 
 knives " 
 
 " Nonsense," he says : "you must come and dance ; 
 we want more ladies — don't you see? Nobody 'II 
 know you if you're made up a bit, and you're Miss 
 Montmorency — don't you see ? Here's a pair of my 
 gloves as will about fit you, and as to dress — well, 
 we 've seen you go out on Sundays, and — it '11 be all 
 right. You keep your eye on me when you 're in 
 the room, and you '11 come through like a prize 
 canary." And off he went. 
 
 I was struck all of a heap, and when Miss came 
 down I was almost speechless. But, bless you, she 
 made reg'lar fun of it, and at last I entered into the 
 thing, which, mind you, when I 'd got my best grena- 
 dine on, and a nice muslin fissue trimmed with cherry 
 ribbins, as well as a flower in my hair, and a waist 
 ribbin, all of of 'em lent to me by Madamasel, which 
 is a regular good one, I was ready to be introduced, 
 having previous been showed how to go into the 
 room, and bow to Mr. Bonamies, and shake hands 
 with Mr. Alphonse, and shake both hands with Miss 
 herself, and just give the tips of my fingers to Mr. 
 Fredereek, and to bow in general to the company, 
 in haristockracy manner. 
 
 Of course I didn't do all this, but I got through 
 something like it, though when I followed Miss to 
 the landing, and waited, as she told me, outside the 
 door for a minute or two, I felt a reg'lar thrill, and
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 21 
 
 turned hot and cold. However, it was all right. 
 There was master bowing and smiling like a clock- 
 work image. 
 
 " Ah ha ! " he says. " Mecs Montmorensee. Dis 
 is a playsea unexpected. Commong foo porty foo ?" 
 
 "Permit me," says Mr. Alphonse, offering his 
 arm ; and before I knowed where I was, I was in- 
 troduced to a young gent, quite a lad, in a round 
 jacket and pumps. 
 
 " Please to take your places for a quadrille," says 
 Mr. Bonamies, and began fiddling away like mad. 
 
 Miss was opposite to me, with her partner, and so 
 I got on well enough. Indeed, as we passed back- 
 wards and forwards she whispers, " Bravo ! you 're a 
 treasure," and laughed quite pleasant. But bless 
 you, I 'd no eyes except for him that stood beside 
 her, and he had no eyes except for me. He was 
 elegant that night. All in black, with tail-coat and 
 embroidered silk vest, and a lace tie, and musta- 
 chers that made him look the officer. 
 
 Is it to be wondered at that I felt all of a flutter 
 when he came up, and with a pensive bow as was 
 most becoming, said, " May I hope, Miss Montmo- 
 rency, to obtain the honour of your hand — for the 
 next dance ? " There was a pause after " hand " as 
 made it so expressive that it was like a bit out of the 
 " Family Herald." But why linger thus on the dawn 
 of an affection that was to ripen into the pearl of a 
 mutual love .'' Enough, that we met and met again, 
 and that between the figures of the dances I had 
 poured into my willing ears the oaths — at least, the 
 vows, for Alfred ain't one to use bad language — 
 Well, I 've got his letters, and they can tell you 
 better than my feeble pen what was the sentiments 
 that first won my heart. Do you think I could 
 have wrote like this but for the times and times I 
 read those dear infusions by the light of the rush 
 when I 'd gone up to bed on Tuesday nights ? For 
 I was kept at it till near upon Christmas, and the 
 first of these notes was put inside a booket of flowers 
 that he brought me the second time as ever we met. 
 
 It was my being like one of the family that made 
 it easy for me to get leave to go out for half a day, 
 though it wasn 't my regular Monday. It had come 
 to that. Alfred had implored me to answer his last 
 letter, which said, " Give me but the opportunity of 
 
 pleading my cause where we shall not be remarked 
 by envious or jealous eyes. Say, oh! say you will 
 meet me." 
 
 Sol said," Corner of Maitland Park,by the Orphan 
 School, at half-past two on Monday." 
 
 This was whispered as we turned partners, and the 
 squeeze of the hand he gave me as we led across 
 nearly made me squeal, because I 'd got a whitlow 
 under my glove, wrapped round with Venus turpen- 
 tine. Shall I ever forget that afternoon at the tea 
 gardens at Ham'stead Heath ? Never ! How he 
 declared his undying passion for me, how he would 
 have flung himself at my feet in the arbour, but I 
 pointed out that the floor was fresh painted, so he 
 desisted ; how he spoke of Mr. Gimmidge — as was 
 the sunburnt elderly gentleman in a blue coat and 
 white waistcoat that used to sit mostly to watch the 
 dancing, and only occasionally joined in a quadrille. 
 He was jealous of this person, Alfred was ; and truth 
 to say, Mr. Gimmidge never seemed to take his eyes 
 off of me, especially when I was dancing with Alfred. 
 
 The end of it was, he told me how his relations, 
 especially his mother, had insisted on his taking to 
 a course of life which was unsuitable to him, because 
 of property that was to be his if he pleased a rich 
 uncle, now on his way home from foreign parts to 
 adopt somebody to come into his inoney. 
 
 Wasn't this a romance equal to anything in the 
 penny numbers ? Here was the heir to wealth living 
 in solitary lodgings in Camden Town. Here was a 
 humble maid — I won't say of all work — but a young 
 person engaged in household duties, under a disguise 
 that she dared not yet throw off, though her heart 
 was ready to cry out " Take me as I am, Alfred Mar- 
 quis, or not at all, for I can ne'er deceive thee ; no, 
 nor ever will." There was a probable haughty mo- 
 ther in the background ; a serious aunt further off 
 in Berkshire ; a yaller uncle coming across the seas 
 with gold and pride ; and every week there were 
 sweet but candlesting meetings in the mazy dance 
 to two fiddles and a cornet. What would come of it? 
 
 I must say I was took down a little off this high 
 horse \shcn next we met alone. The romance was 
 faded a bit, but truth prevailed, and two hearts was 
 made happy, as far as they went. " But more anon," 
 as they say in the play.
 
 22 
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 It was at the play that we met, by appointment. 
 The yaller 'bus put us down at the corner of Long 
 Acre, and we took upper box tickets for Drury Lane. 
 We could whisper there without being heard. The 
 noise would have drowned the laughter of a S'triped 
 hyjena. 
 
 But still we were not happy. 
 
 " I must be in solitude with thee," says Alfred, 
 " before I can unfold my secret." 
 
 So we went into Covent Garden Market, and there, 
 under the shadow of a waggon-load of cabbages, and 
 amidst the smell of turnips and such-like, I heard 
 his strange story. Would you believe that Alfred 
 Marquis was a exhile from his home becos of his 
 mothei-'s gentility ? I certainly thought he was noble, 
 and it gave me at first a rude shock when he said, 
 
 " Hear me, adored Miss Montmorency, before 
 you attempt to shatter my hopes for ever. I know 
 you are not indifferent to me. Often have I perused 
 the language of your lovely eyes, and jet we live a 
 mystery to each other ; I know not even where you 
 live, and you — you are ignorant that though I am 
 at present lodging in Camden Town, my property — 
 my means of income — my shop, in short, is in the 
 Bagnigge Wells Road." 
 
 " Shop, Alfred ! " I said, trembling ; " and can it 
 be?" 
 
 "And no mistake," he said, in a tone that was 
 rather, as I thought, a come-down from his usual 
 sweet poetic style. " But let me speak, and then it 
 is yours to judge. 
 
 " I think I have the inkstints of a gentleman," 
 says he. " I 've a third share in a very good busi- 
 ness, now managed by my lady mother and my 
 sister ; but, in what I fear must be called a evil hour, 
 the serpent stung me — at least I don't mean that, 
 that 's in the ' Lady of Lyons ' — what I do mean is, 
 that I heard from my mamma of an uncle of mine 
 that had gone out in the Colonial trade to the West 
 Indies, and had, a month or two ago, said he should 
 by-and-bye come home to die ; and that if he found 
 me to be what he expected from my genteel educa- 
 tion and bringing up, he should make me his heir. 
 Now, I 'd been taught mostly to look to the shop. 
 My education was — Miss Montmorency, don't avert 
 your face — was commercial. I — look upon mc 
 
 once again — I hated the sort of gentility that my 
 mother had always wanted to put upon me ; yet 
 nothing will satisfy her but that I should go forth 
 and learn those graces, as she call 'em, that will 
 put the family stamp upon my name, so that I may 
 present myself before my uncle a finished specimen. 
 Adorable Miss M., I fled from my home. I left a 
 letter to say that in a month of foreign travel I 
 would seek for those refinements which my native 
 land could not afford. I took lodgings in Camden 
 Town — need I say what was awaiting me ? At 
 last — at last, I see my error. At last I begin to 
 loathe the shop, since it may keep thee from me — 
 you, the daughter of a noble race, perhaps. Oh 
 that my home were other than in Bagnigge Wells, 
 and that thy name were not Montmorency !" 
 
 I was all of a tremble. I thought I could see 
 daylight though. Alfred Marquis was a gentleman 
 in face and in figure, and a third of a shop in the 
 Bagnigge Wells Road, if the business was a good 
 one, would do pretty well, in spite of a genteel 
 mother-in-law. Says I, 
 
 " What line's your shop in, Mr. Marquis ?" 
 
 "Ah ! satirical," says he, in a holler voice ; "but 
 no matter. Oil and Italian, with perfumer}-, potted 
 meats, and a brush trade next door. Would that 
 thy name were not Montmorency !" 
 
 I says, " It ain't." 
 
 " What ! " he cries, seizing me by the hand ; 
 "then I am indeed blest ! What is it?" 
 
 "Arabella Coe," says I, bustin' out cr}'ing; and 
 then my heart was that full I told him everything. 
 
 Noble, noble Alfred.! We went back that night 
 an engaged couple ; but we was to keep it secret 
 till he 'd wrote to his mother, and declared that no- 
 thing should change him, not if he sold the shop, 
 as he could do under his father's will, or bought his 
 mother and sister out at a vallyation. 
 
 W TV W tP ^ W 
 
 It was the last assemblee before Christmas. 
 There was a great gathering, as Mr. Bonamies 
 called it ; and the whitlow on my finger was pretty 
 near well, so I bought a bi'an new pair of pink kid 
 gloves, frizzetted my hair, took a pair of white kid 
 dancing-boots out of the paper they'd been sent 
 home in, and when 1 'd dressed, presented myself at
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 23 
 
 the kitchen, where all the family was having a snack 
 of something before tlie company began to arrive. 
 
 So up I goes. Alfred was late ; not so old Mr. 
 Gimmidge, as was there in a canary vest and a 
 shirt-frill with a diamond brooch, quite handsome, 
 for all his brown face and bald head. They made 
 a good deal of Mr. Gimmidge, becos he was said to 
 be a retired person of property, and a look went 
 round when he comes up to me, and says, " As Mr. 
 Marquis isn't here," he says, " perhaps I may ask 
 the favour of the first quadrille." We stood up, and 
 before we'd got to L'Ete, the old gentleman says, 
 " Has Mr. Marquis made you a honourable offer of 
 marriage. Miss M. ?" 
 
 You might have knocked me down with a feather. 
 I know I turned pale, for there was Alfred standing 
 at the door a-glowerin' at old Gimmidge dreadful. 
 
 " You 'd better ask him yourself, sir," with a hys- 
 teric laugh ; " there he stands." 
 
 The old gent was not a bit decomposed. 
 
 " Yes, I see him," he says ; " but I want to know 
 the rights of this. I 've only your interest at heart, 
 believe me — that is, both your interests, but jours 
 first." 
 
 This was strange. 
 
 " He has," I says, "and more than that I won't 
 tell you." 
 
 " More than that I don't want to know at pre- 
 sent," says the old feller, and never spoke another 
 word to me till he leads me to a seat. 
 
 I 'd only a few minutes afterwards to speak to 
 Alfred, for just as I was doing so, Mr. Alphonse he 
 comes up, and says with a bow and a smile, 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, veel you habe the bounty to 
 come to speak with Miss my sistare?" 
 
 I had to go to Miss, which was beckoning me 
 outside the door, where she was talking to Mr. 
 Bonamies. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! mar share hammy ; dis is indeed too 
 joor de great grand playseer, poor fair" — and so he 
 went on cackling till he 'd pulled the door to. 
 
 " You must get downstairs, and no mistake, Ara- 
 bella," he says, "for Mrs. Doublcdavey, the cow- 
 keeper, 's brought her two daughters, and I 'm blest 
 if she isn't going to stay the evening and have a 
 dance, as she says." 
 
 " She 's upstairs now, taking her things off," says 
 Miss. " I 'm quite sorry, Arabella ; but, you know, 
 business is business." 
 
 " She '11 know you for certain," says Master. " One 
 of the girls has been looking you over already. You 
 know you 're often there for milk. You can't hide 
 your figure nor yet your face. Miss Montmorency." 
 
 " Only a minute," I says ; and in I flew to where 
 Alfred was standing all lonely by the window. 
 
 " I shall be obliged to go out after you leave to 
 fetch the supper beer, Alfred," I says ; " meet me, 
 oh, meet me at the corner of the street ; and if you 
 should see your poor Arabella presently in the garb 
 of humility," I says — 
 
 " Mademoiselle, charming Mees," says Mr. Bona- 
 mies, touching me on the arm, "your friend's await- 
 ing downstairs." 
 
 •^ "-TV TV T*" TV T» 
 
 The company was pretty nigh all gone, and the 
 gas was turned down. Perhaps I ought to say, " the 
 guests was departed ; the lights burnt low " — but 
 there's an end of potry for the present Anyhow, 
 only Mr. Gimmidge and Alfred was left, after they 'd 
 seen some of the ladies to their cabs, and they was 
 both having a glass of port wine and a biscuit to- 
 gether, quite friendly like, the family having joined 
 'em in the same. Alfred had started suddenly when 
 I brought in the decanter ; but as I 've said, the gas 
 was down — perhaps lowered a purpose — and I were 
 not reckernised by Mr. G. 
 
 They was enjoying themselves, as I 've stated, 
 when there suddenly came a sound of wheels, and 
 a thundering rat-tat at the door. 
 
 " Somebody ordered a cab and forgot it," says 
 Mr. Alphonse, forgetting all about his French, with 
 his mouth full of biscuit. 
 
 At that moment I was entering the room, with 
 my knees shaking under me, for well I knew who 
 had come like a whirlwind. But thinks I, Madam, 
 if you ain't a lady, I '11 try to be. So I 'd asked her 
 into the parlour below, and left a flat candlestick. 
 
 " A person wishes particular to see Mr. Marquis," 
 I says, but the person herself was behind me, pushes 
 me a one side, and busts into the room. A tall, 
 vinegar-faced woman, in a fashionable hat and a 
 chignon.
 
 24 
 
 MAKING A FIGURE. 
 
 " Yes," she screams, " and I 'm the person, and 
 I '11 just ask you, Alfred, whether this is the sort of 
 thing for a mother to see, when you should have 
 been at Boolong, or else Parris itself, and back, as 
 you said, to spend your Christmas. You that's 
 been deluded by some trolloping gal," she says, 
 "as calls herself Montmorency, does she? and 
 beneath yourself in station, too, eh? but this is what 
 I might expect of your coming to such low haunts 
 as this, where J ='^e even men old enough to know 
 better," and she waves her hand at Mr. Gimmidge, 
 " encourages all sorts of vice." 
 
 " Come, I say, madame, vous avez donk " 
 
 says Master. 
 
 " What are you jabbering your nonsense at me 
 for ? " says she, in a fury. 
 
 " Well then, come," says Mr. Fredereek, " I 
 wouldn't be impolite to a lady for all the world," 
 he says, "but this is my sister" (pointing to Mada- 
 maselle), "and there's no vice and no low haunt, 
 nor low females of any kind where she is," he says. 
 " Permit me to hand you to your cab, madam." 
 
 "Where's Miss Montmorency?" says Mr. Gim- 
 midge, all of a sudden, turning up the gas. " Where 
 is that charming young woman ?" 
 
 " We 're all up the flue now," says Mister Al- 
 phonse ; but he all of a sudden turns round to me, 
 offers his arm, and laughing, says, " This is Miss 
 Montmorency. She 's a inmate of our family," he 
 says, " and a rose by any other name will smell as 
 sweet, so her real name 's Arabella Coe. She never 
 was introduced as a lady. She 's a pupil." 
 
 " She 's a servant — a low, common servant gal," 
 screams Mrs. Marquis ; for that Tartar was poor 
 Alfred's mother, as had come to take him home. 
 
 Now, Alfred had been talking in a corner to Mr. 
 Gimmidge, as he 'd all of a sudden come to be quite 
 friendly, and when his mother spoke like this, he 
 turns round quite sudden, makes a noble bow to 
 Mr. Alphonse, and takes me by the hand. 
 
 " If she will give up her own name, she will 
 honour me by taking mine," he says, and draws my 
 arm under his. 
 
 The old lady was going fast into histeraicks. 
 
 " I '11 leave it to Mr. Gimmidge to decide whether 
 I am right," says he. 
 
 "What, that person there !" she screams. "Alfred 
 Marquis, I disown you. Your blessed uncle shall 
 never be misled by me." And she fell into a chair. 
 
 Mr. Gimmidge's conduct was strange. He walked 
 up to Mrs. Marquis, lifted her bodily, chair and all, 
 under the gaslight, and then standing straight in 
 front of her, says, 
 
 " Do you mean to say, Eliza, that I 've altered so 
 as you don't know me ? Miss Montmorency ain't 
 the only one as has an aleyus," he says, laughing. 
 "My name's not Gimmidge, but Parkins, and if 
 this lady doesn't remember her brother by his face, 
 he remembers her by her temper." 
 
 " You, then, are my uncle, sir ? " said Alfred, as 
 steady as a rock, and holding me tight by the arm. 
 
 " I am, sir," said the old gentleman, looking at 
 him quite straight ; " and as you 've been good 
 enough to tell me, as a stranger, something of your 
 goings on here, I 'd like to ask whether you still 
 mean to pursue the course as you've marked out? 
 Come, sir, just answer." 
 
 "Ah !" screeched Mrs. Marquis, "that's a dear 
 good brother — you're his uncle, you know. Now 
 then, answer. Do you mean to marry this girl and 
 live on the shop ? " 
 
 " I mean to marry this girl, certainly," says my 
 Alfred ; " and I 'd do it — without offence — if twenty 
 uncles stood in the way. You think I might be a 
 gentleman if I didn't — I know I shouldn't be a man 
 unless 1 did." 
 
 Down came the old gent's hand upon Alfred's 
 shoulder. I thought at first he was going to strike 
 him, but he only roared out, 
 
 " And I '11 be hanged if you shan't, too ; at any 
 rate, I 've learnt enough to dance at your wedding. 
 Boy, I 'm proud of you — confound the gentility that 
 needs to keep up a sham with a lie !" And all of a 
 sudden — it give me such a turn — he kisses me right 
 on the cheek, and puts my hand into Alfred's. 
 
 Then in a minute, just as if they'd been hired to 
 do it, and not impromptwo — or at least three — the 
 family bust out with such a roar of music, fiddle, 
 cornet, and pianoforte, as drownded even Mrs. 
 Marquis's sobs. 
 
 Wasn't it romantic ? 
 
 T. A.
 
 ENGLISH HISTORY IN A NEW LIGHT. 
 
 ALFRED -DISCUIStD-AS -A -MINSTREL — 
 
 VISITS-THir-DANISH-CAMP. rz/
 
 26 
 
 THE PILOTS STORY. 
 
 THE PILOT'S STORY. 
 
 OU ask for the " City of London," sir :— 
 Do you see that tug there ? — that is her ! 
 And Kingston, the master — I 'm the man. 
 And you want me to speak o' the wreck, as I can? 
 
 I 've httle to say, sir, yet what I know 
 Of the " Northfleet's " loss and that night of woe, 
 I will give it to you in my own rough way. 
 Though sailors can do much better than say. 
 
 We had just brought up where the pilots lie. 
 As the stinging sleet went driving by ; 
 And hard after that came a hazy rain ; 
 Tlie stars had been out, but were in again ; 
 
 When we saw a big blaze off Dungeness, 
 A look — and we knew that it meant distress. 
 " Up with her anchor, my lads," cried I, 
 As a shower of rockets burst in the sk\-. 
 
 And steering away where some fires burn'd blue. 
 The luckless vessel soon hove in view, 
 As her riding-light in the foremast shroud 
 Was sinking, so " Ship ahoy 1 " aloud 
 
 I shouted : I saw she was going down, 
 And knew that many a one must drown, 
 For souls by hundreds were struggling there 
 In all the agony of despair. 
 
 In less than the time I 've been talking to you 
 We were all among them. Says I to my crew, 
 ** For God's sake, into the boat ! be brave, 
 And see how many, lads, you can save." 
 
 For a moment I lost my head and legs, 
 Since they crowded around me as thick as eggs. 
 " Hold hard ! " I thunder'd, " and let her drive," 
 For the sea with the drowning was all alive. 
 
 Well, we pick'd up thirty-four ; but hold- 
 No, thirty-eight, if the truth is told ; 
 For their boat that was sinking beneath my view 
 Had four of my own good sturdy crew. 
 
 That poor little thing, the Cap'n's wife, — 
 I 'm happy to say I sav'd her life. 
 And huddled her into my berth below : 
 Says she, " Is my husband alive or no ?" 
 
 I answer'd, with look as hard as steel, 
 " Gone off in a lugger, and safe at Deal." 
 May God forgive me for telling the lie, 
 But what could I say? so that said I. 
 
 And then she pray'd as a woman, sir, will, 
 That I through the night would keep a watch still ; 
 I promis'd, and did, though a mad chopping sea 
 Oft threatened to make a shark's meal o' me. 
 
 And what did we see at the peep o' the day 
 But the three mast-tops sticking up in the bay? 
 When we very soon made us a hasty flight. 
 To save the poor wretches the pain of the sight 
 
 To finish my tale, and to cut it short, 
 
 We put on all steam and got into port : 
 
 "Is the Cap'n all right?" and the answer came, 
 
 " No "— 
 That was a regular knock-down blow. 
 
 And I blubbered just like a silly child. 
 For the poor little young thing 1 knew was wild. 
 " You are wanted," some one said, " below ; 
 The skipper's wife " — but I dare not go. 
 
 For she, poor broken-hearted soul, 
 
 Her sorrow was quite beyond control ; 
 
 She would neither bite a bit nor sup, 
 
 Though I got some tea and made her a cup,—
 
 CURRIED COW. 
 
 27 
 
 Made her a cup with these very same hands. 
 Ay, a loss like o' that, sir, who understands ? 
 But if ever again we meet together, 
 I hope it will be in better weather. 
 
 You 've heard what the bos'n and Pilcher said. 
 And seen how Jack Stanley went off to their aid, 
 When the Spaniards who sank them had left them 
 
 to die, 
 With never a speck of a star in the sky. 
 
 Curse the lubbers ! I say ; and, egad ! 
 If I 'd got them here, I 'd hang them, my lad; 
 I 'd string them all up from stern to stem, 
 And make a jolly quick end o' them. 
 
 Hear poor Cap'n Knowles — pray pardon the tear — ■ 
 " Save the women and children : my duty is here." 
 "A Briton," you say: you'd have done the same: 
 It is easy to die if )ou are but game. 
 
 Good skippers think nought of themselves, sir, when 
 They 're sinking with children, women and men ; 
 And the " Northfleet's" — God bless him for losing 
 
 his life — 
 Had only been married six weeks to his wife. 
 
 'T is well for the lubber the coast was clear. 
 And no British thunderer chanced to be near, 
 Or a shot would have made her move more slow, 
 Or sent her down to her place below. 
 
 I 'm ashamed, I say, sir, to pipe my eye. 
 But the heavens were rent with their drowning cry ; 
 And English sailors, though rough we may be. 
 Have the old true stuff of humanity. 
 
 I have little to tell, as I said before ; 
 I have done a man's duty, and nothing more ; 
 The help that we lent them, alas ! was small. 
 But I would to God we had rescued them all. 
 
 Edward Capern. 
 
 CURRIED COW. 
 
 a^^w ^' -^"i^t Patience, who tilled a small farm in 
 W^k g Badger County, State of Michigan, had 
 ^fc ^"*?^* " * ! a favourite cow. She was not a good 
 cow, nor a profitable one, because, instead of em- 
 ploying a part of her leisure in the secretion of milk 
 and the production of veal, she concentrated all her 
 faculties upon the study of kicking. In that business 
 she embarked her entire intellectual and muscular 
 capital. She would kick all day, and get up in 
 the dead waste and middle of the night to kick. 
 She would kick anything — hens, pigs, gate-posts, 
 loose stones, birds in the air, and fish jumping 
 out of the water ; all were equal in the sight of this 
 impartial beef — all similarly deserving of a lift hea- 
 
 venward. I have often thought that when Dryden 
 wrote of some one who " raised a mortal to the 
 skies," he had my aunt's cow in his prophetic soul, 
 for she was always doing it, more or less. It was a 
 choice delight to see her open a passage for herself 
 through a populous barn-yard. She would flash out 
 right and left, first with one hind-foot and then with 
 the other, and would sometimes have a large and 
 select assortment of domestic animals in the air at 
 one time. 
 
 Her kicks, too, were as admirable in quality as 
 inexhaustible in quantity. They were unspeakably 
 superior to those of the untutored kine who had not 
 made the art a life study — mere amateurs, who
 
 28 
 
 CURRIED COW. 
 
 kicked " by ear," as they say in music. I saw her 
 once standing in the road, professedly fast asleep, 
 and mechanically munching her cud with a sort of 
 Sunday morning lassitude, as one munches one's cud 
 in a dream. Snouting about at her side, blissfully 
 unconscious of impending danger, and wrapped up 
 in thoughts of his sweetheart, was a gigantic black 
 hog — a hog of about the size and general appearance 
 of a rhinoceros. Suddenly, while I looked — with- 
 out a visible movement on the part of the cow — 
 with never a perceptible tremor of her frame, nor a 
 lapse in the placid regularity of her chewing — that 
 hog had gone away from there — had utterly taken 
 his leave. But away toward the pale horizon a 
 minute black speck was traversing the empyrean 
 with the speed of a meteor, and in a moment had 
 disappeared, without audible report, beyond the 
 distant hills. That is the kind of cow she was. 
 
 Curr)-ing cows is not, I think, a common practice, 
 even in Michigan ; but as this one had never needed 
 milking, of course she had to be subjected to some 
 equivalent form of persecution ; and irritating her 
 skin with a currycomb was thought as disagreeable 
 an attention as a thoughtful affection could devise. 
 At least she thought it so ; though I suspect her 
 mistress really meant it for the good creature's tem- 
 poral advantage. Anyhow my aunt always made 
 it a condition to the employment of a farm-servant 
 that he should curry the cow every morning ; but 
 after just enough trials to convince himself that it 
 was not a sudden spasm, nor a mere local disturb- 
 ance, the man would always give notice of an inten- 
 tion to cjuit, by pounding the beast half-dead with 
 some foreign body, and then limping home to his 
 couch. I don't know how many men the creature 
 removed from my aunt's employ in this way, but 
 judging from the quantity of lame persons in that 
 part of the country, I should say a good many ; 
 though some of the lameness may have been taken 
 at second-hand from the original sufferers by their 
 descendants, and some may have come by con- 
 tagion. 
 
 1 think my aunt's was a faulty system of agricul- 
 ture. It is true her farm labour cost her nothing, 
 for the labourers all left her service before any 
 salary had accrued ; but as the cow's fame spread 
 
 abroad through the several States and Territories, it 
 became increasingly difficult to obtain hands ; and, 
 after all, the favourite was but imperfectly curried. 
 It was currently remarked that that cow had kicked 
 the farm to pieces — a rude metaphor, implying that 
 the land was not properly cultivated, nor the build- 
 ings and fences kept in adequate repair. It was 
 useless to remonstrate with my aunt : she would 
 concede everything, amending nothing. Her late 
 husband had attempted to reform the abuse in this 
 manner, and had had the argument all his own way 
 until he had remonstrated himself into an early 
 grave ; and the funeral was delayed more than an 
 hour, until a fresh undertaker could be procured, 
 the one originally engaged having confidingly un- 
 dertaken to curry the cow at the request of the 
 widow. 
 
 Since that time my Aunt Patience had not been 
 in the matrimonial market ; the love of that cow 
 had usurped in her heart the place of a more natural 
 and profitable affection. But when she saw her 
 seeds unsown, her harvests ungarnered, her fences 
 overtopped with rank brambles, and her meadows 
 gorgeous with the towering Canada thistle, she 
 thought it best to take a partner. 
 
 When it transpired that my Aunt Patience in- 
 tended wedlock, there was intense popular excite- 
 ment. Every adult single male became at once a 
 marrying man. The criminal statistics of Badger 
 County show that in that single year more mar- 
 riages occurred than in any decade before or since. 
 But none of them were my aunt's. Men married 
 their cooks, their laundresses, their deceased wives' 
 mothers, their sisters — married whomsoever would 
 wed ; and any man who, by fair ineans or court- 
 ship, could not obtain a wife, went before a justice 
 of the peace, and made an affidavit that he had 
 some wives in Indiana. Such is the force of ex- 
 ample in Badger County. 
 
 Now, where my Aunt Patience's affection was con- 
 cerned she was, as the reader will have already 
 surmised, a rather determined woman ; and the 
 extraordinary marrying epidemic having left but one 
 eligible male in all that county, she set her heart 
 upon that one eligible male, then went and carted 
 him to her home. He turned out to be a long
 
 CURRIED COW. 
 
 29 
 
 Methodist parson, named Huggins I believe, 
 though I have had a multitude of uncles in my time, 
 and never a discriminating memory. Aside from 
 his unconscionable length, the Rev. Berosus Hug- 
 gins was not so bad a fellow, and was nobody's fool. 
 He was, I suppose, the most ill-favoured mortal, 
 however, in the whole northern half of America — 
 thin, angular, cadaverous of visage, and solemn 
 out of all reason. He commonly wore a low- 
 crowned black hat, set so far down upon his head 
 as to partially eclipse his eyes and wholly obscure 
 the ample glory of his ears. The only other visible 
 article of his attire (except a brace of wrinkled cow- 
 skin boots, by which the word "polish" would have 
 been considered the meaningless fragment of a lost 
 language) was a tight-fitting black frock-coat, pre- 
 ternaturally long in the waist, and the skirts of 
 which fell about his heels, sopping up the dew. 
 This he always wore snugly buttoned from the 
 throat downward. In this attire he cut a tolerably 
 spectral figure. His aspect was so conspicuously 
 unnatural and inhuman that whenever he went into 
 a corn-field, the predatory crows would temporarily 
 forsake their business to settle upon him in swarms, 
 fighting for the best seats about his person, by way 
 of testifying their contempt for the shallow devices 
 of the husbandman. 
 
 The day after the wedding my Aunt Patience 
 summoned the Rev. Berosus to the council-chamber, 
 and uttered her mind to the following intent : 
 
 " Now, Huggy, dear, I '11 tell you what there is to 
 do about the place. First, you must repair all the 
 fences, clearing out the weeds and repressing the 
 brambles with a strong hand. Then you will have to 
 exterminate the Canada thistles, mend the waggon, 
 rig up a plough or two, and get things into ship- 
 shape generally. This will keep you out of mischief 
 for the better part of two years ; of course you will 
 have to give up preaching, for the present. As 
 
 soon as you have Oh ! I forgot poor Phoebe. 
 
 She" 
 
 " Mrs. Huggins," interrupted her solemn spouse, 
 " I shall hope to be the means, under Providence, 
 of effecting all needful reforms in the husbandry of 
 this farm. But the sister you mention (I trust she 
 is not of the world's people) — have I the pleasure of 
 
 knowing her ? The name, indeed, sounds familiar, 
 but " 
 
 "Not know Phoebe!" cried my aunt, with un- 
 feigned astonishment ; " I thought everybody in 
 Badger knew Phoebe. Why, you will have to 
 scratch her legs every blessed morning of your 
 natural life ! " 
 
 " I assure you, madam," rejoined the Rev. Be- 
 rosus, with dignity, " it would afford me a sacred 
 pleasure to administer to the spiritual needs of sister 
 Phcebe, to the extent of my feeble and unworthy 
 ability ; but, really, I fear the merely secular ministra- 
 tion of which you speak must be entrusted to abler, 
 and, I would respectfully suggest, feminine hands." 
 
 " Why)y, youuu, ooold, foooool ! " replied my 
 aunt, spreading her eyes with unbounded amaze- 
 ment, " Phoebe is a cow !" 
 
 " In that case," said the husband, with unruffled 
 composure, " it will, of course, devolve upon me to 
 see that her carnal welfare is properly attended to ; 
 and I shall be happy to bestow upon her legs such 
 time as I may, without sin, snatch from my strife 
 with Satan and the Canada thistles." 
 
 With that the Rev. Mr. Huggins crowded his hat 
 upon his shoulders, pronounced a brief benediction 
 upon his bride, and betook himself to the barn-yard. 
 
 Now, it is necessary to explain that he had known 
 perfectly well, from the first, who Phoebe was, and 
 was familiar, from hearsay, with all her sinful traits. 
 Moreover, he had already done himself the honour of 
 paying her a visit, remaining in the vicinity of her 
 person, just out of range, for more than an hour, and 
 permitting her to survey him at her leisure from 
 every point of the compass. In short, he and Phoebe 
 had mutually reconnoitered and prepared for action. 
 
 Amongst the articles of comfort and luxury which 
 went to make up the good parson's do^, and which 
 his wife had already caused to be conveyed to his 
 new home, was a patent cast-iron pump, about seven 
 feet high. This had been deposited near the barn- 
 yard, preparatory to being set up on the planks 
 above the barn-yard well. Mr. Huggins now sought 
 out this invention, and, conveying it to its destina- 
 tion, put it into position, screwing it firmly to the 
 planks. He next divested himself of his long gaber- 
 dine and his hat, buttoning the former loosely about
 
 CURRIED COW. 
 
 the pump, which it almost concealed, and hanging 
 the latter upon the summit. The handle of the 
 pump, when depressed, curled outward between the 
 skirts of the coat, singularly like a tail ; but, with 
 this trifling exception, any unprejudiced observer 
 would have pronounced the thing Mr. Huggins, 
 looking uncommonly well. 
 
 These preliminaries completed, the good man 
 carefully closed the gate of the barn-yard, knowing 
 diat as soon as Phoebe, who was campaigning in the 
 kitchen garden, should note the precaution, she 
 would come and jump in to frustrate it — which she 
 erventually did. Her master, meanwhile, had laid 
 himself, coatless and hatless, along the outside of 
 the close board fence, where he put in the time 
 catching his death of cold, and peering through a 
 knot-hole. 
 
 At first, and for some time, the animal affected 
 not to see the figure on the platform. Indeed, she 
 turned her back upon it directly she arrived, heaved 
 up her cud, and pretended to go to sleep over it. 
 Finding that this stratagem did not achieve its 
 usual success, she abandoned it, and stood for some 
 moments irresolute. Then she began nosing along 
 the ground, as if wholly absorbed in a search for 
 something she had lost, backing about hither and 
 thither, but drawing all the time insensibly nearer 
 to the object of her wicked intention. Arrived 
 within speaking distance, she stood a few moments 
 confronting the fraudful figure ; then protruded her 
 nose to be caressed, trying to create the impression 
 that fondling and dalliance were prime necessities 
 to her existence — that she had been accustomed to 
 them all her life, and could not get on without them. 
 Then she approached a little nearer, as if to shake 
 hands, all the while maintaining the most amiable 
 expression of countenance, and executing all manner 
 of seductive nods, and winks, and smiles. Finding 
 these endearments ineffectual, she wheeled suddenly 
 about, and, with the rapidity of lightning, dealt out 
 a terrible kick — a kick that sounded like a stroke of 
 paralysis upon an anvil ! 
 
 The effect was magical ! cows kick, not back- 
 ward, but sidewise, and the impact which was in- 
 tended to project the counterfeit parson into the 
 middle of the next Conference week, reacted upon 
 the animal herself ; and it and the pain together set 
 her spinning like a top. Such was the velocity of 
 her revolution, that she looked like a vague circular 
 cow, surrounded by a continuous ring, like that ot 
 the planet Saturn, which ring was the white tuft at 
 the extremity of her sweeping tail. Presently, as 
 the sustaining centrifugal force was expended, she 
 began to sway and wabble from side to side, and 
 finally toppled over upon her side, rolled convul- 
 sively upon her back, and lay motionless with her 
 feet in the air, honestly believing the world had 
 somehow got atop of her and she was supporting it 
 at a great sacrifice of personal comfort. Then she 
 struggled up, somehow, stood waveringly upon three 
 legs, stared blankly about her, rubbed her eyes, and 
 was quite bewildered as to the points of the compass. 
 Perceiving the iron clergyman standing fast by his 
 faith, she threw upon him a look of grieved reproach, 
 and hobbled heart-broken into her humble shed, a 
 subjugated kine. 
 
 For several weeks Phoebe's right hind-leg was 
 swollen to a monstrous growth, but by a season of 
 judicious nursing, she was "brought round all right," 
 as my aunt phrased it, or " made whole," as the 
 Rev. Mr. Huggins preferred to say. She was now 
 as tractable and inoffensive " in her daily walk and 
 conversation" (Huggins) as a little boy. Her master 
 used to take her leg trustfully into his lap, and might 
 have taken it into his mouth, for that matter. Her 
 whole nature was radically changed— so altered that 
 one day my Aunt Patience, who, fondly as she loved 
 her, had never before so much as ventured to touch 
 the hem of her garment, as it were, went confidently 
 up to her to soothe her with a pan of turnips. Gad ! 
 how thinly she spread out that woman upon the 
 face of a distant stone wall ! You could not have 
 done it so evenly with a trowel. 
 
 DOD Grile.
 
 '' THAT DANGEROUS FELLO IV, SHIMMEM" 
 
 "THAT DANGEROUS FELLOW, SHIMMEN." 
 
 -o — ♦ — o- 
 
 [WELVE years ago, when Mrs. B. 
 
 Was most unmarriedest of women, 
 A deal of pain was given me 
 By that most " dangerous fellow, Shimmen." 
 He was, at picnic, race, or ball, 
 
 Of her admirers most attentive ; 
 I needed — though I hated all — 
 To kill /lim, but a slight incentive. 
 
 His was a genius ne'er at fault : 
 
 At picnics he was apt and handy ; 
 Was always ready with the salt, 
 
 And had a corkscrew for the brandy. 
 He kept the kettle on the boil. 
 
 He made the tea, he played the fiddle. 
 I own, what pleasure in such toil 
 
 He found, to me is still a riddle. 
 
 The mothers looked on him with fear, 
 
 The daughters with a wise affection ; 
 He 'd but a hundred pounds a year. 
 
 And that they felt was their protection. 
 But Mrs. B.— then Julia Hart — 
 
 Had wealth enough for both, and plenty ; 
 And he was handsome, clever, smart, 
 
 And she was young, and slim, and twenty. 
 
 I felt I must be prompt, perforce, 
 
 So underneath a spreading chestnut 
 ('T was of the species known as " horse," 
 
 The Spanish is, I think, the best nut) 
 I told my love, and won her hand ; 
 
 I said I loved her best of women. 
 But added, she must understand 
 
 That this must be the last of Shimmen. 
 ******** 
 
 Old Shimmen dines with us to-day ; 
 
 I think he 's something in the City ; 
 He doesn't draw excessive pay. 
 
 And isn't prudent — more 's the pity. 
 My Charlie, who is nearly ten, 
 
 And Maggie, with her tresses yellow. 
 Combine to vow the best of men 
 
 Is Shimmen, that most " dangerous fellow." 
 
 He shows them romps, he brings them toys ; 
 
 They say he is so kind and clever ; 
 Not women now, but girls and boys. 
 
 Must find him dangerous as ever. 
 We dine and smoke, or sip our port ; 
 
 He 's now, in fact, my greatest crony ; 
 Although he'll cut our talking short 
 
 To chat with Mag about her pony. 
 
 ******** 
 
 And Mrs. B ? Well, I incline 
 
 To think Love's fetters tot'// grow rusty; 
 Her temper shows like good old wine — 
 
 An inclination to get crusty. 
 She isn't young — she's stout and red. 
 
 She says she'd "rather not be thinner! 
 Why will I dine at home, instead 
 
 Of going to the Club to dinner?" 
 * * * * * ■:!:- * * 
 
 Ah, well ! the Club is best, perhaps — 
 
 Its c/ie/and cellar both are pleasant; 
 And one can muse upon the gaps 
 
 That separate the past and present. 
 Give that decanter there a shove. 
 
 But fill your own glass first, old Shimmen ; 
 Who was it spoke about a love — 
 
 A love that passed the love of women ? 
 
 H. T.
 
 '' That dangerous fellow, Shimmen. 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 BY THE RIVER. 
 
 [Scv /'a^^e 31.
 
 HUNTING. 
 
 FROM A NEW POINT OF VIEW.
 
 34 
 
 AfV PROTECTOR JEDEDTAH. 
 
 A HUNTING SONG, 
 
 Jfrom w ITclv) 
 
 UNTING is a gallant sport,— 
 
 Blow the horn ! Blow the horn ! 
 Hither huntsmen all resort, 
 'T is our hunting morn ! 
 
 Rouse the fox from out his lair, 
 Frighten from her form the hare, 
 Give the timid deer a scare, — 
 'T is our hunting morn ! 
 
 Harkaway ! and Tallyho .' 
 
 Sound the horn ! Sound the horn ! 
 Hounds may tire, and horses blow, — 
 
 'T is our hunting morn ! 
 
 fomt iDf l)icto. 
 
 Meaner animals are they, 
 
 But intended to purvey 
 
 Sport for man, who holds the sway,- 
 
 T is our hunting morn ! 
 
 But, suppose the tables turned, — ■ 
 
 Wind the horn ! Wind the horn ! 
 Would the pleasure be discerned, 
 On a hunting morn, 
 
 If the fox the huntsmen chased, 
 If the deer the deerhound traced, 
 If the hare the harriers raced, 
 On a hunting morn ? 
 
 MY PROTECTOR JEDEDIAH. 
 
 T was not in Fr'isco, nor, indeed, anywhere 
 on the Pacific Slope, that I first met 
 Jcdcdiah Jodson. He and I did not 
 collide for the first time in Far Cathay, or among 
 the Ural Mountains. The first time we encountered 
 was not on an uninhabited island in the South 
 Atlantic. We did not come across each other in 
 the beginning of our acquaintaince in the Upas 
 Valley of Java, or on the green ice of Nova Zcmbla. 
 Indeed, we never met at all. 
 
 But Jedediah and I have been very intimate for 
 all that. J. J. has taken spiritual charge of me, as 
 I am informed by those who know more about the 
 matter than I, who am most immediately concerned, 
 ever professed to do. J. J. has devoted himself to 
 my interests, spiritual and material. He sends me 
 messages continually ; he writes to me now and 
 then ; he knows a heap of things about me that I 
 do not know myself, though he is curiously ignorant 
 
 of every single incident of my real life. But still he 
 keeps on concerning himself for me ; and he always 
 communicates to me through Miss Anna Maria 
 Webster Flibberty or Mr. David Cox Jones, who 
 are really very superior people of their kind ; while 
 now and again, when they are both present, and 
 before the gas is lit of an evening, he passes his soft 
 warm hand over my hair, or gently pats my fore- 
 head, or plays a practical joke by sticking a pin into 
 a peculiarly tender portion of my calf, for my friend 
 Jedediah likes his little bit of fun. Why J. J. should 
 take so much interest in me is more than I have 
 ever been able to guess ; but there is some good 
 reason for this and all other inexplicable things, no 
 doubt. When Jedediah was mortal, he carried on 
 the business of bar-tender in the Columbia Hotel, 
 Cinnabar City, in the State of Nevada, U.S.A. I 
 never was in the Columbia Hotel, for I was never 
 in Cinnabar City, and how J. J. came to know of
 
 MY PROTECIOR JEDEDIAH. 
 
 35 
 
 my humble existence is beyond me. It is very mys- 
 terious, Jones says, and Anna Maria says it is more 
 than mysterious, and I ojiine that it is passing 
 strange. But there is the fact, for Jones and Anna 
 Maria say so, and if they don't know, how should I, 
 who am not a medium ? Up till the present moment 
 ]. ]. does not seem to have done much for me. He 
 has never given me the correct tip for the Derby, or 
 told me when Great Northern A Stock is going to 
 rise eight per cent, in a day. He is always going on 
 about what he is going to do for my good, but, upon 
 my word, I wish he would begin to let me know of 
 some good accomplished. Even a dozen of Roe- 
 derer, or a case of Jamison's whisky, would be better 
 than nothing ; but J. J. is a teetotaller now, and 
 thinks I should become a Good Templar, which is 
 the more curious that he departed this life in a fit 
 of D.T., so Anna Maria hints. J. J. does not con- 
 descend to offer any reason for having pitched upon 
 me as a person to be protected, and he does not 
 appear to have been even my maternal aunt's hus- 
 band's second cousin in the flesh, for that might give 
 him some claim to interfere in my affairs, if we may 
 judge by the doings of relatives generally. All the 
 satisfaction I get from Jones and Anna Maria is 
 that it has been so ordained. Very well ; but what 
 for } They say we shall know in time, and I must 
 wait. 
 
 I wait. 
 
 I waited. 
 
 Yes, waited till last Christmas Eve as ever was, 
 and then Jones and Miss Flibberty called upon me, 
 and explained that J. J. was in great form that 
 night, and wanted to talk to me. He wouldn't talk 
 in the gaslight — that must be extinguished. He 
 would not converse until there had been a jug of 
 water poured on the fire, to keep the flames down. 
 Nor would he open his mind until the curtains were 
 drawn aside, and the glimmer of the gas-lamps in 
 the street was allowed to furnish a sort of second- 
 hand illumination of my parlour. Then J. J. be- 
 came communicative, and wc had quite a good time 
 of it for a few minutes. 
 
 Jcdediah opened the ball by knocking on the 
 table, and then by scrawling on a piece of paper 
 that he was very fond of me, and all he wanted was 
 
 to do me good. My banking account Avas in danger. 
 I wondered at this, too, for up till that moment I 
 was not aware I had got one. Yes, when the bank 
 came to make up its books at the beginning of the 
 new year, it would find that it was hopelessly in- 
 volved, and would then stop payment. I thought 
 to myself that I didn't care. J. J. went on to ob- 
 serve that I must find a better investment for my 
 money. I fancied its best investment would be to 
 pay my landlady's little account for ground-floor 
 lodgings, as far as the capital would run to it, and 
 J. J. then informed me that he was instructed to order 
 me to assume the proprietorship of " The Medium's 
 Mentor, and Gazette of the Faithful Few." I had 
 no objection, if it would add anything to my income. 
 It would do that largely, said J. J. Would I con- 
 sent? Certainly I would. Would I mind register- 
 ing my consent on a document which J. J. had 
 directed to be prepared ? Unc|uestionably I would 
 have no objection. J. J. wished that Jones should 
 be the editor of the organ, at a salary of five hun- 
 dred a year, paid quarterly in advance. I knew no 
 one so fit for the post. J. J. stipulated that the 
 leading principle of the thing should be the advo- 
 cacy of Miss Flibberty's claim to be the first of 
 media. Friendship alone and the interests of truth 
 would suffice to ensure attention to Jedcdiah's 
 wishes on that point, I observed. " The Medium's 
 Mentor" was to come out, I must remember, on 
 the 1st of January. I saw no reason why it should 
 not. Very well then. J. J. would look after me 
 more than ever, for he could see I was thankful for 
 the care he had already bestowed on me. And now 
 he had another message to deliver in Cinnabar 
 City, in five minutes' time, and must say good bye 
 for the present. I was nothing loth, and hoped his 
 rapid journey would not fatigue him. Then he 
 passed his hand over my hair, and passed himself 
 into the better and brighter sphere of his activity, 
 and we breathed again. 
 
 More, we lit the gas, and stirred up the fire, and 
 drew close the curtains, and ordered up some tea, 
 and proceeded to discuss the wondrous revelation 
 we had just received through the mouth of Anna 
 Maria. And when she and Jones rose to depart, I 
 said that they seemed to have forgotten the document 
 
 3 — 2
 
 z(> 
 
 THE CORN-CUTTER'S STORY. 
 
 Jedediah had ordered to be prepared. How curious, 
 to be sure, that we should all have forgotten the 
 most remarkable part of all till now, they said. I 
 thought it was. Would I sign it at once, they wanted 
 to know, as it really was so very late, and they were 
 sure J. J. had looked after my interests in the matter. 
 But I insisted on reading it, and then I signed it, 
 and they went. 
 
 What I had bound myself to do was, to draw all 
 the money lying to my credit at the bank of Messrs. 
 Snoozleum & Specklate, and pay it into the Bank of 
 Progress, to the account of the " Medium's Mentor," 
 to be drawn upon for the purposes of the paper 
 equally by Jones and Anna Maria. I further bound 
 myself to do all I could to push the paper among 
 my friends, and I was not to touch any money 
 until the cost of the paper and Jones's salary as 
 editor were paid ; and then all the rest of the 
 profits, anticipated at two thousand pounds per 
 annum, were to be mine — mine own ! 
 
 On the 1st of January the "Medium's Mentor" 
 came out, and the printer's bill came in. In the 
 afternoon Jones came to me in a state of great 
 anxiety. Why had not I paid in the capital, as 
 agreed on ? He had been to the Bank of Progress, 
 and they had no such account. He had been to 
 the old-foshioned house of Messrs. Snoozleum & 
 Specklate, and they had no orders to transfer the 
 amount of my balance. (It would have been strange 
 if they had !) Did I not mean to keep to my con- 
 tract — because the law must . . . ? Certainly I 
 did. Wliy did I not transfer my balance, then, as 
 agreed upon ? You should have seen Jones's face 
 when I replied, 
 
 " Becausk I havf: no balance to transfer ! " 
 
 Would I go, he at length entreated me, to the 
 banking-house of Snoozleum ? With pleasure. 
 There he demanded if they did not keep an account 
 for me. The cashier said they did not. But this 
 was Mr. Barnabas Bloater, was it not ? The clerk 
 thought not, and wanted to know if I was. I 
 answered that I had always believed my name to 
 be thusly. But the cashier averred that, while I 
 was tall and dark, Mr. Barnabas Bloater, who kept 
 the account at Snoozleum's, was podgy and fair. 
 
 "That," said I, "is my cousin." 
 
 " Then there are two Barnabas Bloaters ! " 
 
 " There are," said I. " Perhaps three, or thirty." 
 
 " This shall not end here," he yelled. 
 
 "No," quoth I; "Tom Hood shall have the 
 story for his next ANNUAL." 
 
 " You dare ! " he screeched. 
 
 And I have dared accordingly. 
 
 The second number of the "Medium's Mentor" 
 did not appear. 
 
 Mr. Jones is now instructing the population of 
 Massachusetts in spiritual mysteries, accompanied 
 by a famous female medium, whom he sometimes 
 in his softer moments calls Anna Maria, but who, 
 it is reported in aristocratic village circles in the 
 State, is none other than the Lady Celestina Bra- 
 bazon, of the first families of England, who has, 
 however, been so smitten with Republican principles 
 that she drops the courtesy title, though she is still 
 proud to bear the old family name. 
 
 But Jedediah Jodson has not been near me since 
 Christmas Eve, and I am really afraid that I may 
 have done something to displease him. I hope not, 
 for the man who would hurt the feelings of a spirit 
 like J. J., would be unworthy of the name of Bloater. 
 
 Charles Willl^ms. 
 
 THE CORN-CUTTER'S STORY. 
 
 Y sojourn at Tunbridge Wells liad been a 
 failure, for the town — so far as my pro- 
 fession is concerned — was in the pos- 
 session of a horrible, fluent, vagabond quack of a 
 
 Pole ; and therefore, on a certain lovely June 
 morning, I took a farewell walk through Hurst 
 Wood, faint at heart, but still rejoicing mightily in 
 the sylvan beauty around me.
 
 THE CORN-CUTTER'S STORY. 
 
 37 
 
 Across the brook which is the playfellow of Hurst 
 Wood, there is a little bridge, on which one can rest 
 quite pleasantly, and think deeply about nothing, 
 without any harm to any one. Now, on the morning 
 on which I speak, I had done this for some time, when 
 a fine, intellectual-looking man came up, and seating 
 himself on the bridge, as far from me as its narrow 
 span would allow, uttered a succession of half- 
 smothered groans. 
 
 " Is it the loss of some loved relative?" I said to 
 myself ; " or has he lost all his wealth through some 
 unfortunate speculation?" 
 
 I was really curious to know what was the cause 
 of his grief, and I was not left long in doubt. 
 
 " Oh ! " he exclaimed, in deep sepulchral tones, 
 which nearly made iny limp hair stand on end ; 
 " Oh tliat I could have all the accursed boot- 
 makers and corn-cutters in my grasp at this moment, 
 that I might crush them ! What to me are the 
 millions I possess, if I cannot get a pair of boots 
 made to fit me, or procure some ease from my 
 corns ? " 
 
 And here he gave a species of fiendish yell. 
 
 I am under five feet in height ; I don't measure 
 more than twenty-six inches round the chest, and 
 couldn't carry a quarter of a hundredweight a quar- 
 ter of a mile, to save my life. But I am brave ; oh, yes, 
 I am brave ! So, when I heard the stranger make 
 scurrilous remarks about " corn-cutters," I arose to 
 my full height, and addressed him thus : 
 
 " Sir," I said, " observe yon tree-creeper ! note 
 how the wee bird taps with its bill here and again, 
 seeking food for its young, and then hurries on, 
 passing by places which, to otir eyes, would seem 
 most fruitful of larvE. And why does it do this ? 
 Because it understands its business ! And / under- 
 stand mine, sir ; and according to the pre-ordained 
 nature of all things, I, being a corn-cutter, ain here 
 at the right moment to relieve you of your trouble- 
 some corn. Allow me to take off your boot." 
 
 Without waiting for any reply, I at once seized 
 the right leg of the stranger, and divested it of its 
 boot and sock, feeling pretty sure that he would be 
 grateful, at any rate, for the relief thus temporarily 
 afforded. 
 
 "And taking it for granted," said the great man, 
 
 with a look of amusement and astonishment, " that 
 you are a corn-cutter, what is to persuade me that 
 you will be more successful in my case than all the 
 wretches who have hitherto operated on me ? " 
 
 " I can perceive, sir," I replied, " that you are a 
 man capable of great self-control, and therefore it 
 is that I am certain, if you will permit me, that I 
 can effect a radical cure of your corn, if you will 
 only, for one minute, obey my injunctions." 
 
 "And what am I to do ?" said the great man. 
 
 "Think of something," said I, "that has been 
 extremely painful or intensely pleasurable in vour 
 past life." 
 
 A deadly pallor came over the great man's coun- 
 tenance as I uttered the first words, and I knew 
 that my moment had come. I extracted the corn, 
 and held it forth in triumph. 
 
 Whilst I was reclothing the great man's foot with 
 its stocking and boot, he asked me what theory of 
 corn-cutting I had that could make me so sure I 
 could effect a " radical cure," and I answered him 
 in these words : 
 
 "The corn," said I, " is an entity, and not, as is 
 the common gloss of theologians, the mere result of 
 contact between the human cuticle and a hard 
 leathern surface. It is a ONENESS that ev'er and 
 aye seeks the companionship of nerve-centres. The 
 more the nerves shrink from it, the more the entity 
 {i.e., the corn), clings to them, and therefrom arises 
 the common failure of would-be corn-cutters. They 
 attack it when the nerves in its vicinity are awake, 
 and they consequently fail, because the entity (the 
 corn) as you cut him more and more, throws out 
 more and more filaments wherewith to grasp the 
 nerves it loves to embrace. But now, mark ftiy 
 system. Before attempting to deal with that en- 
 tity, that oneness, the corn, I contrive to concen- 
 trate all the nerve-force in the heart or the brain of 
 the patient. Then the entity, the oneness, the corn, 
 finding the nerves in its vicinity apparently dead, 
 gives itself a kind of holiday, and relinquishes all its 
 tendril grasps. It is at that moment that I seize 
 him, and fling him into that brook, to be conveyed 
 thence into distant seas, wherein he will, peradven- 
 ture, develope into the tormentor of whales and the 
 agonizer of the little toes of icebergs ! "
 
 38 
 
 THE CORN-CUTTER'S STORY. 
 
 " I feel instinctively," said the great man, rising 
 up, "that your tlieon,- is right, and I also feel in- 
 stinctively that a few days' residence at my house 
 would do your own nerve-centres a great deal of 
 good. Come with me. We shall find my carriage 
 at Calverly Park." 
 
 I had been longing all my life for an adventure, 
 and here was a chance of one. I hadn't ten 
 shillings in the world, and here was a proffer of 
 hospitality. Need it be said that I at once ac- 
 cepted my new friend's offer ? 
 
 For reasons which will presently be sufficiently 
 obvious, I shall not describe the splendid mansion 
 to which the stranger took me ; suffice it to say that 
 after a long summer's-day drive, we arrived at what 
 was evidently Mr. Dingle's home (I shall speak of 
 the stranger as Mr. Dingle in future), that I was 
 introduced to the housekeeper as a person who had 
 come down to the Hall for a few days to assist in 
 arranging some old family papers, and was at once 
 treated with the most courteous liberality. 
 
 " Well," said my host, laughing and shaking hands 
 with me as I entered the breakfast-room the next 
 morning, " I hope you have not seen any reason as 
 yet to repent having accepted my eccentric invita- 
 tion ? The fact is, that I am in pressing want of an 
 amanuensis in whom I can place implicit confidence; 
 I am a good judge of character, and saw at once that 
 you would suit me admirably. 1 am convinced that 
 the person who can handle a lancet, or whatever the 
 instrument is you use in your corn-cutting business, 
 can handle a pen eciually well ; and if you can spare 
 a few weeks to copy some manuscripts for me, I 
 think you will have no reason to be dissatisfied." 
 
 I eagerly accepted Mr. Dingle's proposition, and 
 week after week passed away, delightfully for me, in 
 my new occupation. 
 
 It was not altogether a new occupation, however ; 
 for I had been brought up in a law-stationer's office ; 
 and it was fortunate that I had been so, for Mr. 
 Dingle required that his manuscripts should be 
 copied on parchment, and it is irksome to write 
 well on parchment unless you are used to it. But 
 what were the manuscripts which I had to copy 
 like.^ 
 
 There was the most curious part of the whole 
 
 business. Had I been an ordinary copying clerk I 
 should have failed to notice that there was anything 
 curious in it, but I had been from my childhood an 
 eager reader of tlie works of the best contemporary 
 English authors, and easily discovered, therefore, 
 that the manuscripts I had been set to copy were 
 from the pens of some of the best of them. Then, 
 again, it would not have seemed to mc very won- 
 derful that a gentleman so evidently wealthy as my 
 employer should like to have fairly written extracts 
 from the works of his favourite authors ; but I 
 noticed that none of the specimens which I was en- 
 gaged to copy, of the writings of such authors as 
 Tennyson, Froude, Browning, Buclde, &:c., had ever 
 appeared in print. This puzzled me. 
 
 " What can induce her," I exclaimed, as I rose, 
 after completing a copy of an exquisite novelette by 
 a famous authoress, " what can induce her to allow 
 that exquisite piece of workmanship to remain un- 
 published to the world .'' " 
 
 " What has induced," replied my host — who had 
 entered the room unperceived by me — "the pictorial 
 artists of all ages to devote the finest efforts of their 
 pencil or brush to the privacy of the palace or the 
 church ? Money, my friend, money ! And what has 
 induced the authors of all ages to give broadcast to 
 the world the emanations of their brains ? Money, 
 my friend, money ! W^ell, then, if I can purchase a 
 picture or a Cellini cup for my exclusive enjoyment, 
 why not a ballad, an essay, or a philosophical work 1 
 That is what I said to myself long ago. I resolved 
 to upset the old system, and, as far as my personal 
 gratification is concerned, I have done so. There 
 are few English authors of note who have lived 
 during the last forty years, of whom I have not pur- 
 chased, for the exclusive perusal of myself and inti- 
 mate friends, their finest productions. An expensive 
 amusement, you say.'' Of course it is ; but if I can 
 afford to give five thousand for a picture by Millais, 
 why not as much for a song by Barry Cornwall .''" 
 
 " I admire your scheme," 1 replied ; " but, still, it 
 seems unfair to deprive the world of such matchless 
 literary productions as those I have lately been 
 copying for you." 
 
 " If the public only were in question, my dear 
 sir," replied Mr. Dingle, " I would have a million of
 
 THE CORN-CUTTER'S STORY. 
 
 39 
 
 each of those productions published to-morrow, and 
 give them away ; but" 
 
 My host paused, and I feared that he was about 
 to have a fit, for his eyes glared, and his teeth and 
 hands were clenched. After a few moments, how- 
 ever, he said abruptly, 
 
 " Is there any woman in the world that you love?" 
 
 I thought of my own Dora, and answered fer- 
 vently, " Oh, yes ! " 
 
 " Would you not make any sacrifice to save her 
 from the insults of brutal ruffians ? Of course you 
 would ! And it is to save some of the exquisite and 
 magnificent productions of the master-minds of the 
 age from that vilest of all classes, the so-called 
 critics, that I go to vast trouble and expense." 
 
 Having myself once published a small volume of 
 poems (iDy subscription), I could not sufficiently 
 express my admiration of my host's views. 
 
 " Pray forgive me for being so curious," I then 
 said, " but how do you prevent the friends, and 
 especially the amanuenses, to whom you display 
 these priceless treasures, from betraying your con- 
 fidence, and making them known to the world, and 
 therefore the critics ?" 
 
 " As for my friends," replied Mr. Dingle, " I hold 
 them safe, for they all pursue the same plan ; and 
 if one of them were to publish my unique poem by 
 Tupper, I could publish his unique novel by G. P. 
 R. James. We hold each other safe in that way. 
 As for traitorous amanuenses, come into my liljrary, 
 and I will show you how I deal with ihem. Now, 
 then, hold fast to the arms of your chair." 
 
 I have heard and read of bleeding to death in a 
 warm bath — I can imagine that the sensations of 
 the individual subjected to that process were some- 
 Avhat similar to mine as I found myself sinking, 
 immediately after my host had spoken his last 
 words, through a succession of vestibules, which 
 showed they led to saloons of great grandeur. 
 
 Softly down, and still softly down, we went, until 
 we reached a little door, on which was written in 
 rubies, which burnt evidently by their own innate 
 light, words— which 1 must not reveal. 
 
 As the door opened of its own accord, my host 
 and myself entered a small apartment, the simplicity 
 of which somewhat strangely contrasted with the 
 
 sumptuousness to which my host's kindness had 
 lately accustomed me. It resembled, in fact, the 
 room of one of the chief clerks of a merchant's 
 office, being furnished with three or four chairs, a 
 table, and shelves of strongly-bound volumes. 
 
 " Read ! read ! " exclaimed Mr. Dingle, pointing 
 to the ledger-like volumes, " and enjoy such plea- 
 sure as few have known ! " 
 
 I did read ; and never shall I forget the hours 
 which I passed in the perusal of works which had 
 been written by their authors vvitli the certainty that 
 they would never be assailed by malignant criticism. 
 
 I had rapidly glanced through all the volumes but 
 one, when 1 paused, not daring to touch it without 
 special permission ; for it was bound in diamonds. 
 
 " No ! " said Mr. Dingle, in answer to my mute 
 appeal. " I allow no one to look into that volume, 
 for it contains the conclusion of ' Christabel^ as 
 recited to me by Coleridge himself, whilst I was 
 recovering from brain fever. The sole enjoyment 
 of that volume I reserve for myself And now I 
 will show you how 1 deal with traitorous amanuenses. 
 Look there ! " 
 
 As he said " Look there !" Mr. Dingle pointed to 
 a corner of the room, in which two intelligent- 
 looking men were sitting, apparently fast asleep. 
 
 " Go and wake them ! " exclaimed my employer. 
 
 I gently touched the arm of one of them — it was 
 as hard as iron ! I tried to shake him — he was 
 immovable ! I touched his cheek — it was as cold 
 as marble ! I shuddered. 
 
 " Those men," said Mr. Dingle, calmly, " were 
 once my amanuenses. One of them published a 
 poem I had given him to copy as his own ; the other 
 sold to the publishers a philosophical treatise I had 
 entrusted him with. I appeared to take no notice 
 of their misdeeds ; but, possessing, as I do, the 
 power of ossifying persons, by means of certain 
 drugs, I made use of that power in their case." 
 
 Again I shuddered. 
 
 " Be under no alarm," said Mr. Dingle ; " I am 
 sure yo2i will never require to be subjected to the 
 process. Reascend with me. I will give you ten 
 thousand pounds, and have you conveyed back to 
 Hurst Wood." 
 
 And so he did. John Stebbing.
 
 T\A/0 KNIGHTS AND A DEY. A Romance. 
 
 I. The Lady in her bower. i. Her suitors depart for the Holy Land. t,. On their passace they have a Dey in Morocco. 
 
 4. I'hc wicked suitor has an idea, and conveys it in a whisper it to the Dey, accompanied hy a valuable casket.
 
 TV/O KNIGHTS AND A DEY. A Romance. 
 
 5. 'I'hc whisper carried out— the good Knight in chains. 6. The Dey discovers the casket to be empty. 
 
 7. He seeks his prisoner, and liberates him. 8. Accompanies him home to seek revenge. 
 
 9. The wicked one's success. 10. The Oriental's revenge, 11. And the triumph of Love.
 
 42 
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 0!\IE prefer one method and some another ; 
 but for real honest sport-yielding pike- 
 fishing, depend upon it there is nothing 
 like a neat spinning-flight. Come, come ; don't 
 shrug your shoulders ! I know too well how terrible 
 a bore an angler is to an unsympathetic Town man 
 like you, who has not a soul above a brief-bag, and 
 who would not know a gudgeon from a barbel. 
 Bless you ! I should disdain to waste a delicious 
 stor>' of rises, runs, bites, strikes, and gaffings, upon 
 the like of you. My pearls are reserved for non- 
 readers. Still, as you are in my den, and as you 
 have been kind enough to notice my rod-rack, and 
 the rest of my fishing gear, yonder — which you may 
 notice is in apple-pie order, ready for immediate 
 use — I will trouble you to listen to one reason of my 
 partiality for the spinning-flight. 
 
 Let me see, it was — Ah ! never mind when it 
 happened. It was not this year, nor last, nor the 
 year before that. Enough that I begin with a certain 
 fresh autumn morning. The crunch of the dogcart 
 wheels on the gravel beneath my bed-room window 
 reminded me that I had overslept myself, and that 
 there would be some one outside cooling his heels, un- 
 less he was much altered since I had seen him last, in 
 anything but a Christian frame of mind. My over- 
 sleeping was indulged in at the cost of considerable 
 discomfort, inasmuch as when we had sped merrily 
 over a couple of the ten miles before us, I discovered 
 that neither gaff-hook nor landing-net had been 
 packed up. You call that a trifle, do you ? A trifle ! 
 But, of course, it is useless to argue \s\\h you. Out 
 of such trifles great what-is-it's spring, if your favour- 
 ite poet is to be believed. 
 
 Garstangcr Park is one of the most beautiful be- 
 cause one of the best timbered in the country. Had 
 that October day on Viscount Garstanger's lake 
 been a blank as to fish, I should have deemed the 
 seventy-mile trip from town, the early rising on a 
 
 raw morning, and the journey across countr}% more 
 than compensated for by the russet glory of the 
 autumn-tinted woods, the exquisite proportions of 
 the shrubberies, the artistic management of lawn 
 and garden, the wide prospects caught through the 
 beeches on the knolls, the avenues of patriarch 
 trees, the change of landscape at every curve of the 
 path, and the keen clear atmosphere which you 
 gulped rather than breathed.. 
 
 This kind of scenery puts you into good humour, 
 and screws up any slack strings of poetry or senti- 
 ment there may be in you. It never took me so long 
 before to put my rod together, partly because of the 
 beautiful leaf-tints reflected in the lake, but chiefly 
 because, making ready to enter one of the two punts 
 which belonged to the boat-house, I saw a young 
 lady. She might be handsome or she might not ; 
 that I could not determine until she changed her 
 position. It was her compact, flexible figure, and 
 peculiar costume, that first attracted my notice. I 
 was conscious, too, of a freedom of attitude that 
 under any other circumstances would have been 
 displeasing. She stood some distance ofl", her back 
 towards me, with one foot on the stern-board of the 
 punt, and was postured like an athlete, as, turning 
 slightly away from the lake, with rod over her 
 shoulder, she winched up the loosened coils of a 
 fishing-line. 
 
 The boobiest of fellows lay in the bottom of the 
 punt, reading one of Dumas' novels — a shilling edi- 
 tion. He never offered to assist his companion. I 
 would have said "fair" companion, according to the 
 orthodox method, but I had not, so far, discovered 
 whether she were fair or dark. The foot, so firmly 
 planted on the punt, w^as the small trim foot which, 
 as a rule, belongs to dark beauties ; the hair, though 
 dark, was not black, and it was free from any arti- 
 ficial monstrosity. Dress ? I fear you have me 
 there : never was there a worse describer of milli-
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 43 
 
 ncry than your huinljle scrwint. To put it roughly, 
 I should say the chief article of that costume was a 
 well-built shooting-jacket of grey cloth. It was of 
 a perfectly original design, and impressed you wth 
 being fitted up with an infinity of pockets, and of 
 enclosing with sensible tightness a charming, round, 
 lithe figure. I forget the skirts, but they were there. 
 
 It was no use coughing or making a violent noise 
 with the oars strapped to our own punt : she would 
 not look round, or satisfy my curiosity in any degree. 
 The boobicst of fellows lazily looked across, lazily 
 screwed his glass into his eye, and lazily made an 
 observation to his companion, who, to do her justice, 
 appeared not to take the slightest notice of him. 
 
 Who were they ? What were they ? Which was the 
 angler ? I had, in former times, seen ladies fishing 
 for the lively perch, ay, and whipping a dainty little 
 stream with a dainty little fly-rod for dainty little 
 D'out, but the boldest of the lady anglers whom it 
 had been my pleasure to know had certainly drawn 
 a line at the " mighty Luce." 
 
 Doubtless this was a good-natured damsel, en- 
 couraging that boobiest of fellows in his abominable 
 idleness, by arranging his tackle for him. He had 
 kindled a cigar by the time she had finished the 
 winching-up process, but he was in no hurry to move 
 from his lair. He allowed her to deposit the rod in 
 the punt, to step aboard without assistance, and, by 
 all that was unworthy ! to cast off the chain. 
 
 A nut-brown maid she at last proved to be, and a 
 very business-like maid, too, with eyes for nothing 
 but the punt and the fishing materials. Briskly seat- 
 ing herself on the thwart, she took the oars in her 
 gloved hands, and pulled out to the centre of the 
 lake, the strokes regular, strong, and determined. 
 Full well I could appreciate her skill, for a pretty 
 figure my companion cut, in his ignorance of the 
 management of our flat-bottomed craft. 
 
 Staring, and speechlessness, and wondeniient did 
 not aid one, as you may suppose. There happened 
 to I3C no keepers about ; the constant breech-loader 
 reports in the distant plantations indicated their 
 whereabouts with sufficient plainness. So, with 
 curiosity unsatisfied, and much more absorbed and 
 reluctant than is my wont with a sheet of well-pre- 
 served water, ruffled by a westerly breeze, at my 
 
 will, I imitated the nut-brown maid, and pushed off, 
 showing how much I was thinking of her by pro- 
 ceeding in a contrary direction to that she had 
 taken, and inwardly resolving to sneak round about 
 her neighbourhood before the day was over. 
 
 Sport was, for a time, indifferent ; that is to say,, 
 indifferent for Garstanger Park. A few three- 
 pounders were returned to the water, an eight- 
 pounder got away, and as luncheon-time drew nigh, 
 the bag contained only half a dozen fair fish. Tlie 
 fish, you see, so far as I was concerned, were find- 
 ing an unknown friend in the nut-brown maid. 
 
 The time had arrived when the mystery must be 
 cleared up. My companion paddled me slowly to 
 the upper end of the lake, 1 making a pretence of 
 spinning the water as we progressed. A sudden 
 bend of the shore gave us sight of the other punt. 
 The boobiest of fellows still reclined at his eas^ 
 and my nut-brown maid stood confessed a veritable 
 pike-mistress. 
 
 Wliat a figure, too, as she lightly swept the bam- 
 boo spinning-rod over her left shoulder, and brought 
 it back again for the cast ! It was the freest and 
 most graceful I ever witnessed. The bait fell with 
 a minimum of splash into the water, not an inch 
 less than twenty yards the lee side of the punt, and 
 it was spun home at a speed and depth that be- 
 spoke the experienced artist. 
 
 You may laugh, my friend, but do j'ou not speak 
 of a singer, or dancer, or actor as an "artiste"? 
 Therefore, my signification of the term, your ribald 
 jeer notwithstanding, is quite justifiable. The 
 miserable jester who chuckles over the stale old 
 senseless saying, " A fool at one end and a worm at 
 the other," will not, perhaps, understand me, but 
 that large and increasing class of anglers, who are 
 the product of nineteenth centur\^ refinement — 
 yes, I do not withdraw the assertion — these will 
 know how to admire my nymph of the rod. For 
 the space of half an hour she made superb leisurely 
 casts, taking the punt as a centre from which to 
 make the radiations, beginning with a dozen yards, 
 and regularly increasing the distance, until tlie 
 maximum of twenty yards was reached. 
 
 It was some comfort that she just now caught no 
 fish. I felt so much the less ashamed of myself
 
 44. 
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 A very good angler, according to the estimate of 
 my friends, I confess I here found my master — my 
 lady superior. Never an entanglement, never a 
 false throw, never any trouble with rings or reel, 
 never the faintest appearance of exertion was she 
 guilty of A toxophilite, of the feminine gender, in 
 the act of discharging an arrow from the bow, a 
 huntress "lifting" her horse over a stiff fence, a girl 
 bending to the oars on a silver stream, are fit sub- 
 jects for any painter, but not worthy of comparison 
 with my Angling Divinity of Garstanger Park. 
 
 She answered the purpose, as it were, of a whirl- 
 pool to our boat ; it began to draw insensibly into 
 the vortex. We approached nearer and nearer. The 
 boobiest of fellows maintained his masterly inacti- 
 vity, turning over page after page of his buff-covered 
 book, and allowing the nut-brown maid — when, 
 having thoroughly fished her circle, she paddled to 
 new ground — to handle the oars without a scrap of 
 assistance from his long, white, useless fingers. 
 
 Aha ! she had him at last — not the supine novel- 
 reader— but a fish ! For this I had been waiting. 
 A lady who could spin for pike in this most mis- 
 tressly style, I had for the first time beheld ; but 
 what would she do with him when the critical mo- 
 ment arrived? It was, as I might have known, of 
 a piece with the rest. She handled the fresh-water 
 shark with consummate skill : it ought to have 
 been a pleasure to any well-regulated pike to be so 
 scientifically dealt with. I could tell by the quick 
 jerk of the rod that the deluded fish was a good one, 
 and the sharp, prompt little twist of the lady's wrist 
 was proof positive that the triangles had been well 
 struck into him. 
 
 Sensible woman ! Yet it was so like her sex to 
 permit the captive to bolt about wherever he listed, 
 confident that he was secured, and not objecting to 
 enjoy his hopeless struggles before treating him 
 to the coup de grace. The pike seemed particularly 
 uncomfortable, and the lady smiled a smile of calm 
 and virtuous content as he gave evidence of his 
 perturbed state of mind. He kept well down into 
 the deep, describing, as the line indicated, a series 
 of strange mathematical figures. 
 
 The moment the angleress tightened on him, he 
 leaped, shining like gold, a foot out of the water ! — 
 
 bringing another quiet smile into her placid face 
 when he fell back. Her theory was to give her 
 enemy plenty of line — (and let me tell you in an 
 " aside,'' there are worse notions than that for other 
 pursuits than pike-fishing). The line was hauled in 
 and neatly deposited in circles on the floor of the 
 punt ; and when, at length, the broad burnished side 
 of the conquered one appeared on the surface at the 
 exact spot necessary for successful bagging, the lady, 
 with a slight flush of cheek and flash of eye, inserted 
 the gaff under his gaping gill, and lifted him deftly 
 over the gimwale. 
 
 A cheery bell-metal laugh broke the silence. The 
 game — objecting, maybe, to the morality of Mons. 
 Dumas — flapped and floundered at the young gentle- 
 man in the stern, causing him to splutter, to drop 
 " Beau Tancrede," and jump so ludicrously, that the 
 nut-brown maid indulged in several merry peals. 
 The fish could not frighten her : to be sure, petti- 
 coats are a protection to a lady in more ways than 
 one. But she made no effort to get out of his way 
 when he descended against her skirts ; on the con- 
 trary, she waited her opportunity — thrust her fore- 
 finger and thumb into the eye-sockets, and unhook- 
 ing the gimp to which the hooks were attached from 
 the tracing-swivel, dropped his pikeship, with due 
 regard to decency and preservation, into a large rush 
 basket that, I suspect, had often done similar duty 
 aforetime. 
 
 The lady was uncommonly methodical, I noticed. 
 In precisely the proper place for handiness, there 
 was a tin case, stored with spinning tackle already 
 baited, leaving her nothing to do at each capture 
 but attach the loop to the swivel. This saved her 
 the unpleasant necessity of meddling with the small 
 dead fish employed as bait, and the much more 
 unpleasant necessity of gouging the murderous 
 triangles out of the pike's formidable jaws — -labour 
 I fain hoped fell to the share of some male relative 
 at home. 
 
 A complimentary sentence trembled at the tip ot 
 my tongue, but her appearance furnished me no 
 encouragement to utter it. Besides, there was no 
 time, since before resuming operations she gave 
 her punt the benefit of half a dozen vigorous strokes 
 of the oars, by which movement the few paces which
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 45 
 
 had separated us were quadrupled ; and, as you 
 must confess, it would have been simply ridiculous 
 to make a speaking trumpet of your hand, and bawl 
 at the top of your voice, " Allow me, madam," or 
 " dear madam," as the case might be, " to congratu- 
 'ate you upon the clever manner in which you killed 
 that fish." Absurd, would it not ? 
 
 My amateur boatman furthermore began to taunt 
 me upon my idleness, my non-success, my moon- 
 strucky behaviour. To taunt was to rouse. I 
 (metaphorically) girded up my loins, and bade the 
 fish to come on, that I might smite them hip and 
 thigh with great slaughter. I invoked the aid of 
 the late Izaak Walton, Esq., and hummed a bar or 
 two of " Doughty Deeds." I so manoeuvred the 
 punt that the nut-brown unknown should have me 
 in view, to contrast my manly proportions, if haply 
 she looked our way, with the lanky, flax-headed, 
 insipid dawdler, whose general purpose in the 
 econom\- of Nature, and particular business in that 
 punt, were unsolved conundrums to me just then. 
 
 Swish ! whistle ! splash ! spin ! and at it I went. 
 Heigho ! What was this ? A tree-trunk submerged ? 
 Bravo ! It was one of the mighty ones of the lake. 
 Feeling the hooks, he went off, pulling like a barge. 
 Twenty, forty, fifty, a hundred yards of line were 
 run straight off the reel, without so much as a " By 
 your leave." It was that peculiar run by which a 
 substantial prize is always known, be it salmon, 
 trout, or pike ; none of your tug-tugs, dart-darts, 
 here-there-and-everywhere up-and-down move- 
 ment, but a steady, heavy, sullen travelling away 
 from the base of assault. The stricken fish headed 
 straight for the bow of the other punt. My com- 
 panion, taking his commands from me, backed 
 water, and we followed. My lady had paused in 
 her work, and stood, rod in hand, with a dark green 
 belt of firs as a distant background, and the ruddy 
 sun striking slantwise upon her, a model for a 
 statue. She forgot the formal reserve of the lady, 
 in the enthusiasm of the sportswoman. 
 
 " You have a fine fish there !" she ejaculated, quite 
 as delighted as if it were her luck, and not mine. 
 
 " Indeed yes," I replied, beginning to strain upon 
 the object in question ; " but unfortunately I have 
 no gaff." 
 
 " Oh, take mine. Do you think I can help you ?" 
 she said. 
 
 The fish was at that moment making a fresh 
 spurt, and it behoved me to be war}- ; but be the 
 consequences what they might, I was bound to look 
 into her face, and express my thanks with eye as 
 well as lip. Well, never mind. There are obvious 
 reasons why it would be better to say no more upon 
 this part of the proceeding. 
 
 As to the pike, there he is, stuffed and still in the 
 lower case. Judge for yourself the fun we — I ad- 
 visedly deem it a partnership matter — had before 
 we made his personal acquaintance. We brought 
 the punts close together, and before I knew her in- 
 tentions, my newly-made friend had stepped nimbly 
 into my boat and was at my side, quietly biding the 
 time to strike. I wished to transfer the rod to her, 
 and take the gaffing upon myself; she pleaded 
 hard to have the honour, and I vow that if she had 
 pleaded to gaff me, in lieu of the fish, so charmingly 
 did she plead, I would have interposed no objection. 
 
 Half an hour fully were we pri\ileged to stand side 
 by side waiting for the end. To tell you the whole 
 truth, I delayed the consummation till for very shame 
 I had to present the butt of the rod to the fish ; 
 and even that would not have been ventured upon, 
 but for a hint from the lady that the fish's extremity 
 was ni)' opportunity. Thereupon I closed with him, 
 brought him to reaching distance, and enjoyed the 
 felicity of beholding the sharp gaff unerringly em- 
 ployed, and the monster hauled, viciously plunging, 
 out of his native element. 
 
 "Ha! ha! hooked foul!" quoth the nut-brown 
 maid, with a little dance of astonishment. It was 
 even so ; the fish was, as anglers put it, " hooked 
 foul." 
 
 Then up and spake the being in the other boat, 
 who had been, I am well assured, forgotten by the 
 entire company, while a nobler creature, albeit of the 
 finny order, had engaged our attention. Probably 
 he had been watching us out of the corner of his 
 fishy-looking eye, though now he pretended lan- 
 guidly to put aside his book for the first time. 
 
 "Did I underthtand, Tharah, that you thaid 
 ' Hooked foul'?" he drawled. 
 
 She turned a trifle sharply towards him, as if re-
 
 46 
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 called by the question into another and less pleasant 
 state of being ; so at least I flattered myselt 
 
 " I don't know what you understood, Frank, but 
 that is what I said. It may not be grammar, but it 
 fs a perfectly well-known technical phrase. Yes ; I 
 said ' Hooked foul,' " she boldly answered. 
 
 " And will you tell me, Tharah, what ith ' hooked 
 foul'.?" 
 
 * ' Hooked foul,' Frank," she stated, without look- 
 ing at her questioner, " means ' hooked foul.' That 
 IB to say, you are trying to hook something in one 
 way, fail to do so, but hook it in another not quite 
 so straightforward. You don't get it by hook, but 
 by crook." 
 
 This being not a very lucid explanation, I was 
 emboldened to take up the parable. Said I, with an 
 air of nonchalant wisdom, 
 
 " You see, this fish, if caught in the orthodox way, 
 would have snapped at the baited hooks, and enclosed 
 tliem with his jaws. He probably went so far as the 
 snap, and missed the bait, but the revolving hooks 
 caught him on the shoulder, as you observe, and here 
 he is. The great point, after all, is that he is hooked 
 somehow." 
 
 "It's not a pleasant thing to be 'hooked foul,' 
 Frank," observed the young lady who had been 
 addressed as Sarah. 
 
 " P'wapth not, Tharah," he rejoined, with a greenish 
 tinge in his eye ; " but, ath you thay, the great point 
 ith that your fith ith hooked thomehow." 
 
 What possessed me, unless the thing called Fate, 
 to take part in a dialogue which had most evidently 
 assumed a meaning personal to the speakers, 1 know 
 not, but 1 must needs fix my eye upon the young 
 man, and observe, 
 
 " Well, that depends on circumstances, you know. 
 A fish ' hooked foul,' you should remember, has a 
 xtjr}' good chance of shaking itself free." 
 
 This was but a random shot, but, like many an- 
 (Tther bow at a venture, it went home. The lisper 
 changed to the colour of tallow, while the nut-brown 
 maid's face was suddenly warmed from within by a 
 crimson flush. However, the mischief was done, and 
 we separated in constraint. The evening drew on 
 apace, and at dusk we found ourselves together again 
 at the lodge, weighing the prize. It was sunset. The 
 
 woods were crowned with the golden glow of the 
 west; the lady stood in the reflection, its queen. 
 The boobiest of fellows sulked at the garden gate ; 
 we could afford to dispense with his company. It is 
 best to be particular : that fish weighed twenty-nine 
 pounds five ounces and one quarter, by the keeper's 
 steelyard. 
 
 " A very fine fish, sir. Good night," the lady said. 
 
 " Yes, very fine ; good night," I answered, doffing 
 my deerstalker, of course ; tlie lout at the gate scowl- 
 ing covertly the while. 
 
 And was that all ? What more would you wish ? 
 Simply a casual meeting, and an abrupt parting. 
 What more would you have ? 
 
 Let me detain you another inoment. There was 
 something else. The nut-brown maid was a clergy- 
 man's daughter. Miss Graham by name. So much 
 I found out by directly questioning the keeper. I 
 drove out of Garstanger Park, sincerely wishing it 
 had been my fortune to know more of her, debating 
 whether the phase of strong-mindedness I had seen 
 was a desirable symptom for a young lady and a 
 clergyman's daughter, and altogether a little — the 
 smallest bit — in love with her. 
 
 A month or two later came tliat German episode 
 of mine, and the nut-brown maid, though not abso- 
 lutely forgotten, was not a frequent or troublesome 
 visitor at Memory's door. She used to knock at it 
 in the quiet hours sometimes, and I would always 
 open it, and admit and keep her there as long as 
 possible. But I can conscientiously aver she was 
 merely as the refrain of a dreamy melody floating 
 from a distance. I was destined to be somewhat 
 rudely reminded of her and hers on my return to 
 England. 
 
 Dozing in the big easy chair of my sitting-room 
 one twilight, the tableau I described at the keeper's 
 lodge came to me in a vision, in whicli the young 
 man skulking at the gate seemed to change into the 
 pike hanging from the steelyard. It may seem 
 very like a storyteller's trick to say it, but I was 
 awakened by a knocking at my door, and the )oung 
 man himself pushed past the servant, and stalked 
 into the room. 
 
 " Do you thee thith whip?" he said, flourishing a 
 heavy-thonged hunting weapon.
 
 HOOKED FOUL. 
 
 Al 
 
 " Thit down, young man," I answered, mockingly, 
 but mighty wrathful, you maybe certain, at the out- 
 rage, the meaning of which was evident. 
 
 '^ Do you thee thith whip ?" he shrieked, moving 
 towards me, who had not yet risen from my dozing 
 posture. 
 
 It was an unfortunate occurrence. A week within 
 a day elapsed before he could be removed into the 
 csauntry, and it cost me a good deal of money for 
 doctoring, to say nothing of that possible verdict of 
 " manslaughter," which haunted me morning, noon, 
 and night. I must acknowledge, as he did after- 
 wards, that the thrashing did him good ; it made 
 him penitent, and during the penitence a fit of 
 communicativeness supervened. 
 
 It appeared (as learned counsel say to juries) that 
 he was a Graham too, a cousin of the young lady 
 with the nut-brown face, and— but you already guess 
 it — engaged to her almost from childhood, in ac- 
 c»rdance with the fond parents' desires. That they 
 cordially hated each other, both the demands of 
 truth and the requirements of fiction compel me to 
 declare. Only, Harold Graham was not prepared 
 to relinquish the hard cash which was to be his 
 when he married his Cousin Sarah. The day at 
 Garstanger Park was a crisis in their career. Mr. 
 Graham thought fit, after the tableau at the lodge, 
 to remonstrate with his affianced ; first, for using 
 the expression " Hooked foul," and next, for being 
 what he impertinently characterized unwomanly in 
 her amusements. While my friend and I were 
 rattling through the lanes in happy content, that 
 youthful couple were having, in vulgar parlance, 
 quite a respectable row. Somehow I, the unknown 
 stranger, was introduced into the quarrel, and 
 Mademoiselle indiscreetly made comparisons. 
 
 " The fact is," she said, " I don't forget what that 
 jiDung gentleman so sensibly remarked : ' A fish 
 hooked foul has a very good chance of shaking itself 
 freer' 
 
 From that moment Sarah Graham devoted herself 
 to the task of shaking herself free : she considered 
 she was "hooked foul." From that moment Harold 
 Graham gave himself up to revenge. There was one 
 slight difficulty to be overcome, viz., his ignorance 
 of my name, address, and station. It took him 
 months to get over it. He spent a little fortune, 
 they say, in journeys to London, hoping to meet me 
 by accident Finally he sought Lord Garstanger, 
 and pretending I had lent him a flask, or winch, or 
 cigar-case, or something which he wished to return, 
 found out my whereabouts. He had, in some incon- 
 ceivable manner, stumbled upon the notion that I 
 was in communication with his cousin, and that I was 
 supplanting him. She herself rather encouraged 
 the idea to spite him, and by-and-byc his hatred of 
 me became a mania. 
 
 Shall I detain you much longer? No. I have 
 placed the ends of the skein in your hands : it is 
 for you to gather them up. Harold Graham was a 
 poor weak creature ; h,e was never known to display 
 energy before the interval between our day at Gar- 
 stanger Park and the athletic exercise he and I took 
 in my sitting-room, and since then he has subsided 
 into a sort of amateur idiotcy. 
 
 And now you ask me whether I do not consider 
 Sarah Graham a very objectionable young woman ? 
 In confidence, I assure you I do not. I take your 
 vehement affirmation of a contraiy opinion as a sign 
 of profound insight into human character, my young . 
 friend. Don't be angry with me, if I suggest we 
 should agree to differ. 
 
 But here's the good wife with the bairns to say 
 "good night 1" Let us ask her to decide between 
 us. Does she know the story ? Pretty well, I be- 
 lieve ! Between ourselves, old fellow, she is the 
 nut-brown maid ! 
 
 W. Senior. 

 
 DIFFERENCE OF OPINION. 
 
 It i>; a curious fact wliat wid-ly dififtjreiit impressions two men will roc -ive of the same thing : — 
 There was a certain reporter who went forth to report on a certain 3. And I made a sketch of the scene according to the first reporter's 
 
 puhlic occasion, and that reporter was made much of account, ami it was a picture of unbounded happines> ; 
 
 And there was another reporter, who was crowded away in a 4. Wliile the second reporter's view of the proceeding appeared to be 
 
 corner and forgotten. entirely different.
 
 FISHING. An Allegory. 
 
 
 See ^age 50.]
 
 5° 
 
 THE FAMILY CAT. 
 
 FISHING. An Allegory. 
 
 ELL me, I pray, Monsieur Griset, 
 
 What sort of fishers are these, eh ? 
 Tadpole, eft, gudgeon, pike, trout — 
 What are the creatures about ? 
 
 Do fishes bait for each other, 
 Ji^st as man baits for his brother ? 
 And can it be, when they angle, 
 Sometimes their lines will entangle ? 
 
 Well, one unscrupulous man 
 Oft mars another rogue's plan. , 
 
 But do the fish, you suppose, 
 Come for that reason to blows ? 
 
 Rogues, when they quarrel, of course, 
 Must invoice law, and not force. 
 So, with this party of fish. 
 Men to compare if you wish ; 
 
 I can but say, paribus cceteris, 
 
 (Changed order to chime with the metre is) — 
 
 If equal as far as the rest of it, 
 
 In the last clause the fish have the best of it. 
 
 For though sticks deal very hard strokes. 
 The costs a pen draws are no jokes ! 
 
 THE FAMILY CAT. 
 
 T was the morning of all mornings — Christ- 
 mas morning. Johnny had a box of tools 
 with which to cut,bore, saw, and hammer 
 at everything in and about the house, and so damage 
 the estate at the rate of twenty pounds per year. 
 Jimmy had a new bat, a ball, a drum, and a toot- 
 horn, which made his mother sick. Mr. Crab sent 
 Jimmy that toot-horn. Mr. Crab was an old suitor 
 of Jimmy's mother. She refused him. Now he 
 never neglects an opportunity of tormenting that 
 family. Jane had two gold-fish and a canary. 
 Everybody had something, save the family cat. He 
 rubbed and purred around, wishing to show that he 
 took part in the general rejoicing, and wondering 
 why he did not receive his share of attention. He 
 was a fine portly cat, grey streaked with black, large 
 yellow eyes, and splendid whiskers. 
 
 Sunday Christmas. 
 This Christmas happened to come on Sunday ; 
 so the presents were put away. It was not proper 
 that they should be more than shown to the children. 
 Still, Jane's canary-bird and gold-fish were left. The 
 children expended their admiration on the globes 
 and cage. Jimmy did steal out once in a while, and 
 give a blast on that toot-horn which Mr. Crab had 
 sent him. He had managed to secure and hide it 
 under the back steps. At last his mother captured 
 the instrument, and it became silent. The dinner- 
 hour came. There were turkeys, mince pies, and 
 plum puddings. Pa and Ma, Johnny, Jimmy, and 
 Jane, Cousin Sam, and Mr. Smith, sat at the 
 feast. 
 
 Neglect and Deceit. 
 
 All this time the family cat sat silently by the fire,
 
 THE FAMILY CAT. 
 
 St 
 
 growing more and more wrathy. They had even 
 forgotten that morning to give him breakfast. Once, 
 when he had stepped into the kitchen and intimated 
 that he was hungrj-, by a gentle and persuasive 
 " mew," the cook insulted him with a spiteful " Scat !" 
 a word only properly applicable to common street 
 or barn cats. So he sat occasionally stroking his 
 whiskers with his right paw. Yet he looked none 
 of the rage which boiled within. There was an 
 occasional opening of the two yellow slits where 
 were his eyes ; a sort of lazy, self-satisfied, reflective 
 closing and shutting, as if agreeable and soothing 
 thoughts about general matters were passing through 
 his mind. But had you watched him very closely, 
 you would have seen that head ever and anon turn 
 ver>' quickly in the direction of the canary-bird and 
 gold-fish, and the two yellow slits would glare with 
 all the wildness of his race. He was laying plans. 
 
 A Cat in Lamb's Clothing. 
 
 To have thus seen him there, you would have 
 said that no more correct or respectable cat lived 
 in London. Yet it was all outside respectability. 
 There came not a night but that this demure family 
 cat was scrambling over barn and housetop, screech- 
 ing, swearing, cursing, caterwauling, and visiting all 
 sorts of disreputable cats. He was not only vicious, 
 but among vicious and degraded cats he was es- 
 teemed a dangerous and troublesome character. 
 He had ruined the peace of half a score of families. 
 He had clawed an eye from his first wife. Not a 
 mother in London would trust him with her daugh- 
 ters. Yet he was very stylish ; and, at the Royal 
 Back Yard Catalan Opera, stood in his private box 
 and ogled young and blooming kittens just entering 
 cathood, as they came under the protection of their 
 mothers and brothers. 
 
 Soporific Festivitv. 
 
 The turkey, the pie, the Christmas pudding, and 
 the Christmas sermon had their usual effect. Early 
 in the evening Pa and Ma became dull and sleepy. 
 Mr. Smith had given his opinion of the Shah ; 
 Cousin Sam narrated his experiences at the last 
 autumn manccuvres. Both had left — everybody was 
 glad — everybody went to bed. 
 
 When Graveyards Yawn ! 
 The family cat still seemingly dozed by the smoul- 
 dering fire. The house became still. At last, the 
 nibblings of the nightly mice were heard, and the 
 cracklings and settlings which come to all houses at 
 night. Then the family cat aroused himself. He 
 was a different cat His tail stood no longer erect 
 in the air, his back was no longer arched, his head 
 no longer kept half on one side, as when he rubs 
 about your ankles, begging for a caress or a slice 
 of turkey. His tail settled ; his whiskers were 
 pointed at a different angle ; his eyes were wide 
 open : he looked business. 
 
 His Opinions. 
 
 " So," said he, " they think to do me out of my 
 Christmas dinner, do they? We'll see. Do they 
 take me for a fool ? Do they think I 'm a meek and 
 humble purrer and whiner ? I think I '11 get even 
 with them all yet ! " 
 
 Plots. 
 
 The mice were heard nibbling away in the dark 
 comers. 
 
 " Nibble away to-night ! " said the family cat. 
 " They may eat rats and mice who can get nothing 
 else. I 'm after a game supper ! Let 's see — what 
 shall I have first ? — fish or fowl ? Fish, of course ! 
 That 's the way it comes on the bill of fare. There 's 
 the soup, though ! Hum ! I '11 drink my soup from 
 the gold-fish globes. It's weak, but the fish with it 
 wall give it body." 
 
 Foul Purpose. 
 
 The canary and the gold-fish ! It was for them 
 he had laid his plans ! 
 
 Midnight Murder. 
 
 We will not describe the tragedy. It is scarcely 
 fitting for a Christmas story. When all was over, 
 the gold-fish globe lay shivered on the floor ; the 
 bird-cage was there also, upset and empty ! Empty? 
 Oh, no ! not quite. In the bottom lay a little yellow 
 head torn from the body. Not a soul in the house 
 had woke amid the racket — the cries and flutterings 
 c.f Tip — the crash of glass — the fall of the cage ! 
 
 4 — 2
 
 52 
 
 MY PL A Y. 
 
 Turkey and plum pudding had done their soporific 
 work. This well the family cat knew : to this he 
 had trusted. 
 
 Domestic Ghastliness. 
 Just as the family had left it was the room : the 
 chairs, irregularly drawn together, inanimately soci- 
 able ; the dinner-table with the fruit dessert not 
 removed — all this was to be seen in the apartment 
 by the dull gleam of the dying coal fire in the grate, 
 and in his accustomed corner sat the family cat 
 cleaning his whiskers, and by him was a pile of 
 feathers and a few fish-bones. 
 
 Vice. 
 " Well," said he, " I feel refreshed. I think I 'II 
 go out and see a little life." 
 
 He went out by a private door in the cellar. All 
 fast and fashionable cats have private doors to their 
 dwellings. 
 
 Black Dick. 
 
 Just as the family cat emerged into the back yard, 
 who should come along but old Black Dick. Black 
 Dick was a vagrant, a pauper cat. He had but one 
 eye, and a stub tail. He eked out a miserable ex- 
 istence, partly by begging and partly by writing 
 lying epitaphs for deceased family cats. 
 
 " Say," said Dick, " got a sixpence about you ? I 
 ain't had anything to eat or drink to-day." 
 
 The family cat was about, as usual, to snub Black 
 Dick. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. 
 
 Covering Tracks. 
 
 " Somebody," said he to himself, " must be hung 
 for this scrape ot mine. It might as well be Black 
 
 Dick as any one else. The family mighi suspect 
 me. It's well to be prepared for all emergencies." 
 
 " Black Dick," said the family cat, " there 's my 
 private door. You 've been in the house before. 
 You know the road to the dining-room : cold leav- 
 ings — turkey, chicken, wine, fresh gold-fish, bloody 
 canary ! — Scat !" 
 
 Black Dick rushed for the door. The family cat 
 sneaked softly after him, and turned an outside bolt. 
 Black Dick was a prisoner, but he knew it not until 
 he had finished his lunch. 
 
 Erring Justice. 
 Next morning there was an execution without 
 trial, judge, or jury. Black Dick's gory limp corpse 
 was flung into a street not far from Euston Square. 
 
 Vice its own Reward. 
 
 About nine o'clock the same morning, the family cat 
 made his appearance — clean, sleek, newly-shaved, 
 and his whiskers curled. He sat as usual demurely 
 by the fireside. Those yellow eye-slits lazily and 
 good-humouredly open and close. Occasionally 
 they glance upward reflectively to an empty bird- 
 cage on the wall. The childi^cn mourn for poor Tip. 
 The family cat draws down the corners of his mouth. 
 
 " My poor gold-fish ! " says Jane. 
 
 The lower jaw of the family cat still further elon- 
 gates. 
 
 " That wicked, wicked Black Dick ! " say they all. 
 
 And the family cat murmurs, 
 
 " Verily, the horn of the wicked shall be put down, 
 and the way of transgressors is hard." 
 
 Prentice Mulford. 
 
 MY PLAY. 
 
 •HE world is very far from fair 
 To people born to ornament it ; 
 It snubs the men who do and dare, 
 But, never mind ! — it will repent it. 
 
 A blighted being, you may say ; 
 
 But no ; for, after great distresses, 
 I 'm proud to say my favourite play 
 
 Turned out the greatest of successes.
 
 MY PL A V. 
 
 53 
 
 I wrote a play some time ago 
 
 (I have premised that it was acted), 
 
 I sent it widely to and fro, 
 
 Till managers became distracted. 
 
 I pestered every one I knew ; 
 
 I tried the most expensive dodges : 
 I gave them dinners up at Kew ; 
 
 I territied masonic lodges ; 
 
 I sonnetized an actress fair, 
 I feasted several leading actors ; 
 
 But found at last they only were 
 Among my very worst detractors. 
 
 I found, as every tyro will 
 
 In this obstructive age of iron, 
 
 My name displayed in any bill 
 
 Could not compare with that of Byron. 
 
 They told me all my chance was «z7, 
 In fact, that I must be a failer, 
 
 Unless I pillaged with a will, 
 And ran abreast with Mr. Taylor. 
 
 This play was tragical at first, 
 Its mechanism most deserving — 
 
 At least I thought so — at the worst 
 It might have suited Mr. Irving. 
 
 A story classical I took, 
 
 I cribbed it at the Brit. Museum ; 
 With blank verse garnished made the book, 
 
 And sent it off to the Lyceum. 
 
 A stern refusal there, and so, 
 To rid myself of such distresses, 
 
 I made my mind up then to go 
 And try it on at the Princess's. 
 
 The manager's behaviour might 
 Have been at all events politer : 
 
 I grieve to say he wished to fight 
 The most accomplished present writer. 
 
 To lawyers of the longest robe, 
 To clergy, and anon to laity, 
 
 The play was read ; then to the Globe 
 I sent it after, and the Gaiety. 
 
 But here I found a sad rebuff, 
 
 Where managers I hoped were plastic : 
 " Your play may be quite good enough, 
 But then, you see, it 's not elastic." 
 
 About my play I then had doubt. 
 And gave it treatment anatomic : 
 
 In fact, I cut the tragic out, 
 And made of it a drama comic. 
 
 But even here persistence fails : 
 
 No matter how much wear and worry, 
 
 It didn't suit the Prince of Wales', 
 They wouldn't have it at the Surrey. 
 
 Scheme after scheme in vain I planned, 
 
 Till, looking at a panorama. 
 It struck me I would try my hand 
 
 Restoring the Romantic Drama. 
 
 The people seemed to like the stuff 
 Descriptive of the pictures faded : 
 " Unless I am a very muff, 
 
 My words must tell as well as they did." 
 
 In this new form the play was cast. 
 Began a new career of sorrow ; 
 
 From playhouse unto playhouse passed, 
 And never stayed beyond the morrow. 
 
 A friend then said, " It is too long, 
 
 Too long," he said, " and too majestic." 
 
 I took two acts, I made them strong, 
 And turned it to a piece domestic — 
 
 With failure dire ; on every hand 
 I enemies had made myself ; I 
 
 Dared not to venture near the Strand, 
 And could not enter the Adelphi. 
 
 I tried the model Gallic stage, 
 And put the play in pure Parisian, 
 
 But Frenchmen turned on me in rage, 
 And sent me back with great derision.
 
 54 
 
 SMOKING FRAGMENTS. 
 
 A one-act farce, a comic scene, 
 
 A ballad for an entertainer, 
 I tried them one by one, I ween. 
 
 But never was one whit the gainer. 
 
 A vulgar cad said, " This won't do ; 
 'T will only bring you to the work 'us ; 
 
 Just alter it, and send it to 
 
 The people down at Astley's Circus." 
 
 My patience, now worn out, you see. 
 Had given place to nought but anger — 
 
 A great success it proved to be. 
 
 Played in the ring by Messrs. Sanger. 
 
 John Thomson. 
 
 SMOKING FRAGMENTS. 
 
 OMETIMES, 
 and I dare 
 say a great 
 deal oftener, 
 in the course 
 of an event- 
 ful life, I have 
 said to my- 
 self— "Why 
 do I smoke ? 
 why does any 
 body smoke ? 
 I have, how- 
 ever — and I 
 freely admit 
 the fault is 
 nobody's but 
 my own — 
 never receiv- 
 ed a satisfac- 
 tory answer to so important a question. A pipe now 
 might assist me in the required solution. . . . 
 
 I have had two pipes and a cigar, and have, by 
 degrees, arrived at the conclusion that I smoke be- 
 cause I like it. I don't think I should have dis- 
 covered this but for the fact that the cigar was bad, 
 and that I threw a great part of it away ; therefore. 
 
 I imagine that I should not smoke if I did not like 
 smoking. But I submit this without prejudice, as I 
 am not at all sure about it. For I know I did not 
 like smoking when I first began — yet I bravely per- 
 severed 
 
 I remarked just now that my life has been event- 
 ful — and so it has. But its events have lain nearly 
 all in one direction, and have been to a considerable 
 extent mixed up with pipes, cigars, and tobacco — 
 sickness, nausea, and repentance. Still, these are 
 all very powerful things in their way ; so why should 
 I repine ? As I have no intention of repining, I will 
 not attempt to answer the question 
 
 I don't suppose I shall ever forget my first smoke, 
 though there is nothing singular about that. I mean 
 my first tobacco smoke — that is, my first cigar, which 
 maybe was not my first tobacco smoke after all. 
 Between the age of two and ten my ambitious soul 
 had been satisfied with cane and brown paper, though 
 when I was about six I hit upon the daring expedient 
 of smoking tea-leaves out of my father's black 
 meerschaum. There must have been something 
 powerful about that pipe, for the first "draw" seemed 
 to reach down to my very toes. I went down a whole 
 flight of stairs in once, and stayed at the bottom — 
 stayed there until assistance came. The outward 
 application I received from the assistance, when it
 
 SMOKING FRAGMENTS. 
 
 55 
 
 arrived, for breaking that pipe, had the singular 
 effect of destroying all sickness ; still, I forswore 
 pipes for a long time, and smoked my cane or brown 
 paper with renewed zest 
 
 I was growing up fast, and had, as I then thought, 
 nearly reached manhood — was, indeed, nearly 
 eleven — when a boy older even than myself, and 
 with almost as daring a spirit, asked me one evening 
 as we were leaving school if I 'd got any money. I 
 told him with conscious pride that I had a halfpenny. 
 Strange to say — I am not joking, for we were the 
 children of poor but honest and industrious parents 
 — he had another, and after considerable consulta- 
 tion we amalgamated our funds, bought a penny 
 " Queen," and had it cut in two. My half was not 
 large, but when I 'd got it well alight, and strutted 
 down Montague Place and round Russell Square, I 
 felt very important indeed. The cigar had a very 
 drying effect, though, and by the time Woburn Place 
 was reached, I fancied a drink from the pump near 
 the corner would do me no harm. So I had one. I 
 don't know much of what happened afterwards, ex- 
 cept that a pale feeling took possession of me, and 
 deprived me of all power over my legs, and that 
 after considerable difficulty in getting home, I had 
 considerable difficulty in getting out again, as my 
 parents were sceptical about the power of chocolate 
 to create such an alarming disturbance of the 
 stomach 
 
 During the first half of my teens, I lived in a 
 chronic state of pipe-purchasing for myself, and 
 pipe-presentation to my friends. When I hadn't got 
 any friends I threw the pipes away, though I never 
 remember doing so — I never in the course of the 
 before-mentioned eventful life knew man or boy to 
 be without friends when he had got anything to give 
 away. As this remark has, however, been, I fancy, 
 made before, and as it has no connection much with 
 smoke, I will pass on. I used, on receipt of my 
 pocket-money on Saturday, to go straight to a to- 
 bacconist's in Tottenham Court Road, and buy a 
 pipe and tobacco. Saturday night and Sunday were 
 
 generally occupied with sickness and sorrow ; and 
 Monday was devoted to the usual pipe-presentation, 
 and to the registration of a vow never to smoke 
 again. But on the next Saturday that same old 
 pipe-man lured me by a fresh arrangement of his 
 stock, and the performance was resumed. I do 
 believe that I bought pipes enough for the whole 
 British army during that portion of my eventful 
 existence 
 
 But perseverance brought me a reward at last. 
 Never shall I forget the sensations of delight I ex- 
 perienced when first I saw the pale colour, due to 
 my exertions alone, show through my cutty. New 
 hope burned within my bosom, and I determined to 
 brown that pipe or die. That night I had a second 
 smoke, and though my inside and all that was in it 
 at the time rebelled fearfully, I was firm ; the colour 
 deepened on the bowl, and ultimately all was lunber 
 and happiness. That one cutty pipe may have pre- 
 served me from the ranks of the Anti-Tobacco 
 Society, for though I am hard as adamant, I don't 
 think human nature or the Bank of England could 
 have continued to stand matters as they were going 
 up to the colouring period. And now see what 
 practice will do. I am open to bet that I smoke two 
 pipes of returns or bird's-eye in succession without 
 being " turned up." Man and money ready any day 
 at 80 Fleet Street. Mind, only ordinary pipes — no 
 cadging bowls 
 
 I could tell you a good deal more about pipes and 
 what I have done with them, but neither space nor 
 the Editor will permit me, and so I must perforce 
 conclude. I may as well, however, remark that my 
 last effort in the colouring line has not been particu- 
 larly successful. I bought a meerschaum pipe— at 
 least, I bought it as a meerschaum pipe — -and I 
 should think it is the one actual hardest old dudheen 
 in the habitable world. I have tried all manner of 
 means to soften it, including boiling and throwing 
 against brick walls, but it is still obdurate. ^ I 've 
 half a mind to give it away. 
 
 H. J. M. S.
 
 VERY FISHY. Communicated by StLbmarine Telegraph. 
 
 A certain scientific gentleman was trying to catch subjects for his aquarium ; And it came to pass that a certam scientific fish was on 
 
 the look-out for a specimen of the genus liomo. " Let 
 
 us, my friend," said he, "sacrifice ourselves in the cause 
 
 of science. Just fasten yourself on the hook, I '11 hang on to your tail, and we'll lug him in." But his friend made him a very rude reply. 
 
 And with complete success. 
 
 Some interesting experiments on a vile body.
 
 VERY FISHY. Communicated by S2ibmarine Telegraph. 
 
 Grand indignation meeting of the widows and orphans of the S. G.'s victims. Mr. Octopus in the chair. The meeting addressed b' a 
 
 well-known professional spouter, who calls aloud for vengeance, — 
 
 And gets it. The S. G. is tried, 
 
 And condemned to be imprisoned and exhibited for life. 
 
 And this is the last we heard of him.
 
 58 
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. 
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. 
 
 EN BLOCK—that is, the Ben Block I 
 knew — was anything but a veteran of 
 naval renown. I dare say he might, if he 
 had liked, or if he had had the opportunity, have 
 been as gallant a sea-dog as his namesake ; but our 
 Ben's lot had been cast on shore, and as he always 
 used to say, whenever any new friend made the ob- 
 vious remark, he knew more about Chelsea and 
 Battersea than about any other portions of the ocean. 
 It is worthy of notice that in time Ben came to re- 
 gard this assertion as peculiarly his own, firmly 
 believing that he was the first to discover its excel- 
 lences as a retort on those amiable people who are 
 always ready to make jokes about other folks' names ; 
 and perhaps it was for this reason that he used to 
 describe himself as a fellow that scorned to imitate 
 any one. " I may not be wonderful brilliant," he 
 would say, as often as he got a chance, " but what 
 ability I 've got is all my own, as the lady said when 
 she paid ready money for her chignon." 
 
 Ben's position in life was not that of a swell : far 
 from it. Next to his powers of repartee, he prided 
 himself on being a son of toil, and never lost an 
 opportunity of impressing that fact upon his listeners. 
 '"' I consider," he would say, " that the humble mut- 
 ton chop earned by the sweat of your brow in your 
 workshop or counting-house, or even as it might be 
 like me, serving, is worth all the teeming basins of 
 mock-turtle soup that form the dinners of the aristo- 
 cracy. Don't tell me ! I don't believe they ever have 
 any appetites, and what's the value of the best grub 
 in the world if you can't eat it?" This generally 
 succeeded in settling the matter ; for, often as the 
 question had been asked, it was still as great a poser 
 as ever, and was regarded by Ben with peculiar com- 
 placency, as another proof of his powers of origi- 
 nality. "It isn't every one who'd have thought of 
 that," he used gleefully to say, when he had brought 
 his query down as a clincher at the end of a long 
 argument upon society in general ; " there ain't many 
 
 as can hold their own with B. B. Let 'em get over 
 me, and there 's only another one for 'em to manage, 
 though I say it myself, and am a modest man." 
 
 Though Ben spoke loudly about his being a son 
 of toil, and never lost an opportunity of impressing 
 the fact and its advantages upon his friends and 
 customers, his w"ork was not of a kind to prevent his 
 becoming fat and sleek. It was indeed anything 
 but arduous, his business being that of — I quote 
 from the shop front— an Italian warehouseman and 
 provision merchant, though the people who dealt 
 with Block, and a great many who didn't, not being 
 of a euphemistic turn of mind, were satisfied to call 
 him a chandler's shopkeeper. This used to annoy 
 our hero much, for, as he said one night when Mrs. 
 Jones called in to get a quarter of an ounce of mixed, 
 half a quartern of fourteenpenny, and a dust of rap- 
 pee and scented Scotch, till Saturday night — Mr. 
 Block was always ready to oblige his neighbours — 
 for, as he said on that occasion, " they think they 
 can vex me by calling this place a chandler's shop, 
 after I 've paid two pun' ten for fresh paint and new 
 canisters, and I do feel it a little at times ; but, as I 
 say, I always do my best in the station in which it 
 has pleased Providence to place me ; and, besides, 
 Mrs. Jones, though I don't suppose you've heard 
 it before, for it never struck me till to-day, a rose, or 
 a chandler's shop for the matter of that, by any other 
 name would smell as sweet. There's nothing else 
 you want to-night — no kippers nor nothing of that 
 sort ? That '11 make two-and-nine, then. Good 
 night." 
 
 Ben's emporium was in Clerkenwell, in one of its 
 narrowest and most crowded thoroughfares, a street 
 which for its size contained as much poverty, sin, 
 and misery as any in London, perhaps in the world ; 
 and here, when Ben was not engaged in studying the 
 waste paper he used to buy at a penny a pound — a 
 favourite amusement of his, by-the-way — he had op- 
 portunities of witnessing scenes of an anything but
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. 
 
 59 
 
 aristocratic description. Still he persevered in his 
 belief that it was better not to be a swell ; for, as he 
 argued, it was much nicer to have only one decent 
 meal a week and to enjoy it, than to have thirty about 
 which you felt worse than indifferent Which was 
 very good on his part, considering that no week 
 passed without his taking his full complement, and 
 with, more often than not, an addendum in the form 
 of a " bit of a snack in between whiles." But then 
 Ben was a son of toil, and enjoyed his food accord- 
 ing!)'. 
 
 I would not willingly have you understand from 
 this — unless you feel inclined to on your own ac- 
 count — that Ben was a mean selfish fellow who 
 thought only of his own gratification : he was 
 quite the reverse. No one was more ready to talk 
 about assistance in what he considered was a good 
 cause ; but he had his crotchets, and was never so 
 delighted as when he was allowed to air them. I 
 verily do believe that at the time he spoke most 
 against swells he admired them most, and no man 
 — certainly no shopkeeper of his class — pitied his 
 poverty-stricken neighbours more, or assisted them 
 in greater degree — with advice. He was a little 
 stout man, about fifty, with a shining bald head, a 
 round red face, and a generally contented air. His 
 wife was very much like him, with the exception, of 
 course, of the bald head, but she balanced this defi- 
 ciency by an excessive belief that her Ben was cer- 
 tainly the cleverest chap in Clerkenwell, if not in 
 the whole universe. And Ben thought it would be 
 bad policy to discourage the idea. 
 
 I have said that the Italian warehouse and pro- 
 vision mart was in Clerkenwell, and in the days of 
 which I write Clerkenwell was in parts even dirtier 
 and more wretched than it is now. The portion with 
 which I have to deal was near Coldbath Fields 
 Prison, and one of Ben Block's principal forms of 
 enjoyment was that afforded by witnessing the pri- 
 soners released. He used to go round almost regu- 
 larly, as nine o'clock struck, leaving the shop in 
 care of the old woman, as he, with a dash of true 
 originality, called her ; and I fancy that he would 
 have given up almost anything — always excepting 
 his cosy supper, and his pipe and glass of grog 
 afterwards — in preference to discontinuing this one 
 
 little enjoyment. For it was to Ben an enjoyment 
 of the keenest possible description, to watch the 
 poor wretches emerging from their prison-house, 
 some to be received by loud and boisterous friends, 
 while others were quite friendless and alone. Ben 
 would notice all who came out, and being of a some- 
 what romantic turn of mind, he used to puff his 
 morning pipe, and invent histories for those who in 
 any way attracted his attention. 
 
 But it was not any of the regular criminals that 
 aroused particular interest in the breast of the chand- 
 ler's shopkeeper. His pet fancy was to watch for what 
 he called novices in crime, and notice the manner 
 in which they were received by sorrowing relatives, 
 who never came boldly up to the gate like those who 
 were used to the ways of the place, but who hovered 
 about in the distance, nervous and frightened, and 
 made flying visits up whenever a new batch issued 
 from the prison, to hurry back again if their man or 
 boy was not among it, or to get away still faster if 
 he was. Many a time Ben felt quite affected when 
 he had watched a meeting between some weeping 
 mother and her erring son, and he would return 
 home and improve the occasion, as he called it, all 
 day long on this same subject to his customers. 
 Sometimes an evident novice would have nobody to 
 meet him, and very often Ben would follow him for 
 the purpose of giving a little good advice, a stra\- 
 tract, and, if he felt particularly benevolent, a few 
 coppers. For Ben was a devout believer in tracts. 
 He used to collect large quantities of them, and if 
 no better opportunity presented itself, would use 
 them to wrap up his groceries ; by which means he 
 did good by stealth and saved outlay. Opposition 
 tradesmen said it was a mean thing to do, and a 
 swindle on the Society from whom he obtained the 
 tracts ; but Ben shook his head, and said they knew 
 nothing of true philanthropy. Perhaps he was right. 
 
 It must not be imagined that I\Ir. Block, shrewd 
 and penetrating as he undoubtedly was, found him- 
 self always in the right about released prisoners. 
 Once he had walked nearly the whole length of 
 Saffron Hill with an apparently ingenuous youth, 
 had given him two tracts and a lot of advice, and 
 was about to supplement this with twopence, when 
 he discovered that all his loose money had been
 
 6o 
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. 
 
 abstracted from his waistcoat pocket, that his silk 
 handkerchief and ready reckoner were gone, and 
 that the boy in whom he had taken such an interest 
 was a hardened young thief, who whistled up his 
 companions, and with their assistance hustled poor 
 Ben, knocked his hat over his eyes, pelted him with 
 the garbage of the locality, which at that time ran 
 rather profusely to dead cats and decayed cabbages, 
 and finally raised the neighbourhood on him as a 
 detective, or, as they more politely expressed it, a 
 " plain-clothes pig." 
 
 On another occasion he was so impressed by the 
 manner in which a young man plaintively referred 
 to his first departure from the paths of virtue, and 
 the way in which he groaned and called himself a 
 backslider, that Ben's twopence was transformed, as 
 though by magic, into a threepenny-bit ; and remem- 
 bering that he had that morning received a bundle 
 of fresh tracts, he invited his new acquaintance 
 round to the shop, to wait while, in the little back 
 parlour, he hunted out two or three applicable to the 
 condition of a repentant sinner. The sinner took 
 them with many expressions of gratitude ; but after 
 he was a few minutes gone, it was found that he had 
 also taken the contents of the till, a bar of soap, a 
 Dutch cheese, and a bladder of lard, all of which 
 he had in a spirit of true delicacy refrained from 
 mentioning. This time Ben consoled himself with 
 the reflection that it was fortunate the till contained 
 nothing but a few halfpence, and that the cheese and 
 lard were both dummies. So, nothing daunted, he 
 still pursued his philanthropic investigations. 
 
 Lest any of my readers may think this taste on 
 the part of Mr. Block, in the face of the foregoing 
 and many other checks, was strangely determined, 
 I may as well inform them that in addition to his 
 natural inclinations, Ben received a slight impetus 
 from a small charitable associaUon in the neighbour- 
 hood. Prejudiced people said he did well out of it, 
 but with slanderers I have nothing to do, and there- 
 fore will not enter on that subject. I may as well, 
 however, remark, that in consideration of his dis- 
 tinguished services as a snatcher of brands from the 
 burning, some old ladies connected with a chapel 
 adjacent purchased all their groceries — that is, the 
 groceries they gave away — from him ; and it seems 
 
 indeed ungrateful that the recipients of this bounty 
 should have grumbled at the quality of the articles 
 — as they most certainly did — for I know the old 
 ladies paid the best prices for them. So Ben waxed 
 fat, and never lost the relish of his tripe and onions 
 or baked jimmies for supper, or the enjoyment of 
 his bacon and eggs, buttered toast, and watercresses 
 for breakfast, in all his misfortunes. But he little 
 knew what was in store for him. 
 
 One day Ben was standing in his accustomed 
 morning position opposite the great iron gate which 
 used then to guard the entrance to the Middlesex 
 House of Correction — as though any one would wish 
 to break into such a place ! — when he noticed a 
 young man of prepossessing appearance, but with 
 pale and dejected face, walk down from the door, 
 scanning the crowd earnestly as he approached, in 
 the evident hope of recognizing some loved face. 
 But no one was there to greet his return to the haunts 
 of busy men, and for some few moments he stood 
 in the open street, as though uncertain which way to 
 turn. As he lingered near, Ben took a good long 
 look at him, and noticed that his appearance was 
 gentlemanly, that his hands looked white and soft, 
 and that his clothes would have been fashionable had 
 it not been for the wrinkles and creases which, owing 
 to the process they had undergone in prison, made 
 them seem strange and uncomfortable. He gazed 
 piteously up and down, and once or twice Ben 
 thought a look of inquiry was cast at him ; but 
 eventually, with a sigh which nearly approached a 
 groan, the released prisoner turned towards Mount 
 Pleasant, and walked slowly and despondently away. 
 
 " That should be something in my line," thought 
 Ben ; " I 'd better follow him and give him a little 
 consolation. Poor fellow ! who knows but what he 
 may be suffering t And though I say it myself, as 
 perhaps oughtn't, I don't know any one more fit for 
 the job than Ben Block. So here goes." 
 
 With that our missionary knocked the ashes out 
 of his pipe and followed the object of his solicitude, 
 who had stopped again before reaching the end of 
 the prison wall, as if more doubtful than before 
 which way he should go. As Ben came up briskly 
 the young man looked over his shoulder, and moved 
 away, as though anxious to be undisturbed by a
 
 A CLERKENIVELL CALAMITY. 
 
 6r 
 
 stranger. But this had little effect on Ben, who had 
 his duty to do, and was determined to go through 
 with it. Somehow or the other, though, he felt that 
 the man to whom he was about to speak was not like 
 the majority of those with whom his business — or 
 pleasure, if you prefer so to call it — brought him 
 in contact, and he was almost about to say " Sir," 
 when a recollection of the relative positions in which 
 they stood with regard to the world at large checked 
 him, and placing his hand upon the stranger's 
 shoulder, he commenced, with a preliminary h'm : 
 
 " My friend, I was standing at the gate of yonder 
 drear)' but necessary institution, when I saw you 
 issue forth, and I feel interested in you. I have here 
 a little composition of my own, which has been found 
 good in similar cases. May I ask if you will read 
 it ? and in due course we may receive you at our hall. 
 We meet every Wednesday night. I shall be glad 
 to welcome you as a frightful example, and may 
 promise you sixpence a night and your tea." 
 
 The young man listened for a moment after Ben 
 had done, as though expecting to hear more, and 
 then shook his head sadly, while a tear trickled 
 down his nose. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " I thank you much for your kind 
 offer, but I am an outcast with whom such as you 
 can have nothing in common. You are a respect- 
 able man, while I — while I, once a gentleman of 
 birth and education, stand here a felon and an out- 
 cast, without a friend in the world or a penny in my 
 pocket." And he covered his face, while his body 
 was convulsed with the sobs which involuntarily 
 escaped him. 
 
 As Ben gazed, he thought, " Now, this is just the 
 sort of fellow I want. If I could only take him up 
 to our hall, and get him to speak, and snivel, and 
 say something about being rescued from continuous 
 crime, it would do me some good, and the old gals 
 would be pleased. I mustn't let him slip. — Come," 
 he continued aloud, " perhaps I can do something 
 for you. At all events, if you '11 tell me what it is 
 you want most, I '11 see. Perhaps you 'd like some 
 breakfast ? " 
 
 " Generous stranger," replied the unknown, " I 
 hardly know how to thank you sufficiently;" then, 
 after another sob or two, he took out his pocket- 
 
 handkerchief, wiped his face, and continued, " Ex- 
 cuse this ebullition of weakness, but true kindness 
 is so unexpected that it quite unnerves me. I am 
 indeed thankful for your offer, and will not only ac- 
 cept it, but will do anything in my power to prove 
 my gratitude. I am only in immediate want, for 
 if I can make some little change in my appearance, 
 and subsist for a day or so, I can command remit- 
 tances from those ingrates who have failed to visit 
 me this morning in the hope that I might do some- 
 thing desperate, and thus rid them of me for ever ; 
 or I may return home. Therefore, sir, any service 
 you may render me will be extremely valuable, and 
 I will do anything I can to repay your kindness." 
 
 There was, despite the man's woebegone appear- 
 ance, such an air of superiority about him as he 
 spoke, that Ben felt quite astonished. " I wonder 
 what he 's been in quod for," thought he ; " some- 
 thing big, I '11 warrant ; and it '11 cause a reg'lar sen- 
 sation if he won't mind admitting that I saved him. 
 It '11 rather put down the opposition to me, anyhow." 
 Then aloud, " What do you wish me to do for you ?" 
 
 "Well, sir, I know it's a great deal to ask of a 
 complete stranger, especially for one in my situation ; 
 but as you have kindly volunteered assistance, I am 
 emboldened. Can you lend me a sovereign for two 
 days ? You shall never have cause to regret it, as 
 I faithfully promise not only to repay you, but to 
 put many and many a pound in your way afterwards, 
 without asking you to do anything but what is right. 
 This is Tuesday morning ; on Friday, at midday, I 
 will surely be wherever you like to appoint, and will 
 return you the coin." 
 
 I must confess that the request considerably stao-- 
 gered Ben, who had bounded the aspirations of his 
 new friend at half-a-crown at the utmost, and had 
 intended to get a good return for even that, and the 
 magnitude of the proposed loan rather nonplussed 
 him. But the earnestness of the intending borrower, 
 to say nothing of his remark that much money would 
 eventually be forthcoming in return for the accom- 
 modation, decided him, after a little consideration 
 and more conversation, which was thickly strewn 
 with promises on the part of the freedman, who 
 used his tongue with a dulcet softness quite bewil- 
 dering. Ben always used to keep one sovereign in
 
 62 
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. 
 
 his purse, for fear of accidents, as he said, and, with 
 a considerable amount of hesitation, he parted with 
 it, reminding the borrower that Friday, at midday, 
 was the time at which the repayment was due, giving 
 at the same time his address, and watching the coin 
 until it was safely deposited in its new owner's waist- 
 coat pocket. 
 
 " Depend upon it, I '11 be sure and be there," said 
 that individual, who seemed to be quite another man 
 as soon as he felt the magic influence of the piece 
 of gold ; and, bowing politely, he moved off, and 
 was soon out of sight. 
 
 Ben gazed after him for some time, feeling that 
 he had done a foolish thing, and almost afraid the 
 "old woman" would rate him about it. He could 
 see her in the distance looking anxiously from the 
 shop door, for he had been absent considerably 
 longer than usual. He at first determined to say 
 nothing about the loan, but his resolution broke 
 down quite suddenly as soon as he got in — most 
 married men will be quite able to understand 
 this — and he told Mrs. Block all about his morn- 
 ing's adventure. At the outset she seemed cross, 
 but brightened up as a thought struck her : 
 
 " Well, if you do lose it, you can tell the old ladies 
 that you did it to oblige them, and you '11 get at least 
 the value of your money in good name, even if they 
 don't give it you back. Besides, I suppose you may 
 get it from the man you lent it to if what you say is 
 right. If he is a gentleman, as you seem to think, 
 he '11 come when he said he would ; so let 's wait 
 and see." 
 
 You will notice by this that Mrs. Block had a 
 better opinion of her husband than that possessed 
 by most wives. She really did not think he could 
 have done wrong. I wish every wife was like this : 
 mine never thinks I can do right. But no matter ; 
 I am writing about Ben Block — not about myself — 
 and scorn to be discursive. 
 
 Friday morning came, and towards noon Ben 
 began to feel anxious — that is, he l^egan to feel 
 a little more anxious than he had done before. It 
 was not so much the value of the sovereign, for — if 
 I have not already told you, I ought to have done 
 so — Ben was pretty comfortably off, and kept a very 
 decent sum, part in an old cash-box and part in a 
 
 stocking, both carefully concealed in his bed-room. 
 He didn't like banks, as they'd got what he called 
 "an uncomfortable habit of breaking their customers 
 as well as theirselves," and though he didn't mind 
 Bank of England notes, he preferred gold. It was 
 not, then, so much for the sake of the pound that he 
 felt anxious, more especially as he had seen the old 
 ladies, whose charitable right hand he was, and they 
 had complimented him, and promised to recoup him 
 in the event of loss ; but he didn't want to look like 
 a man who had made a mistake, more especially as 
 one or two people in the neighbourhood, who re- 
 garded Ben as a time-serving interfering busybody, 
 had got to hear about the transaction, and would be 
 sure to triumph in the event of his coming off 
 second best. So altogether he was rather anxious 
 for the reappearance of the stranger. 
 
 For half an hour before the specified time he went 
 repeatedly to the door, and looked up and down to 
 see if any one like the expected guest was coming, 
 but without success ; and as twelve o'clock struck 
 he walked behind his counter, feeling much annoyed 
 with himself and with every one else, and cursing 
 himself inwardly in a most irreligious manner for 
 having been so easily led away. I must do him the 
 justice, however, to say that he cursed his friend of 
 Tuesday morning with much greater severity. But 
 he had occasion to regret this precipitancy, for the 
 last stroke of noon had hardly died away when a 
 hansom cab dashed up to the door, and the expected 
 one jumped out, discharged his conveyance, and 
 entered the shop. Ben looked at him in surprise, 
 for both his appearance and manners were much 
 changed for the better. " He looked," said our 
 hero, a short time afterwards, " like a real noble- 
 man." And if massive jewellery and fine-cut clothes 
 constitute nobility, he did. All Ben's notions of 
 getting him up to the hall faded away as he gazed, 
 but he felt quite a glow of conscious charity — mean 
 people would have called it pride — to think he had 
 been useful to such a swell. 
 
 " I trust I am not behind time," said the new 
 comer. " I should have been here before, but the 
 cabman mistook the direction. However, permit 
 me to thank you for your kindness the other morn- 
 ing. Here is the sovereign you lent me, and perhaps
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. ' 
 
 63 
 
 you will allow me to add another, as token of my 
 gratitude. You may be glad to hear that through 
 your instrumentality I have quite retrieved my 
 position." Ben was, of course, profuse in his con- 
 gratulations, and reminded the gentleman — for such 
 he evidently was— of his promise to put money in 
 his way. 
 
 " Honestly, mind, honestly," concluded Ben ; " at 
 all events," said he, dropping his voice, and looking 
 round, " without risk." 
 
 " My friend," said the gentleman, " I was about 
 to say that in consideration of your kindness, I 
 could put a good sum — say three or four hundred 
 pounds — in your way without any risk on your part, 
 without indeed any trouble, and in a manner likely 
 to do you 'good in other directions beside. You 
 will, of course, act fairly and truly by me if I do 
 this — keep my secret, and give me my share of the 
 profits?" 
 
 Ben, of course, promised everything that was re- 
 quired, and the stranger then asked what night they 
 could have for a little private conversation, perfectly 
 alone, and free from interruption. After some dis- 
 cussion — they were talking, I may as well inform 
 you, not in the shop, which was being looked after 
 by Mrs. B., but in the back parlour — it was decided 
 that Mr. Edwards — the name Ben's friend had used 
 to introduce himself — should call at nine the fol- 
 lowing night, when the place being all quiet, the 
 matter could be talked over with the assistance of a 
 glass of grog and a pipe. It was also arranged that 
 Mrs. Ben should be out of the way, for, as the in- 
 tending visitor said, " It's as well to keep women at 
 a distance when there is business on hand." 
 
 All that day and all the next Ben was in such a 
 state of flutter that he hardly knew what he was 
 about. " Three or four hundred pounds," said he, " all 
 at once ! Why, here I 've been for thirty years get- 
 ting eight or nine hundred together, after all sorts 
 of dodges and contrivances. Well, it was a bit of 
 luck that led me to speak to Edwards. One thing, 
 I can't lose anything, and I 'm a quid to the good 
 already." He had no difficulty in getting his wife 
 out of the way, as she was only too glad of the 
 chance of a gossip ; and when the appointed time 
 arrived, he was sitting before a bright fire, with a 
 
 steaming kettle on the hob, a couple of bottles of 
 spirits, pipes, tobacco, and lemons on the table, and, 
 when the expected knock came, a hearty welcome. 
 
 Once seated, Edwards mixed himself a steaming 
 jorum of whisky punch, and proceeded direct to 
 business. He said, 
 
 " I dare say, now, you wonder what I am, and all 
 about mc. Well, to cut the matter short, I 'm the 
 only son of a gentleman of property ; but being 
 allowed to roam at large in London, I contracted 
 bad habits and worse debts, fell into the company of 
 billiard sharps and blacklegs, and got into trouble 
 generally. In the height of my misfortunes I was 
 tempted and fell. You remember the great diamond 
 robbery, some months back ? " — here Ben began to 
 gro-w still more interested — " well, though I had no 
 hand in it myself, I drew out some plans for the 
 fellows who were concerned, and took charge of the 
 swag. I have it now carefully secreted where no 
 one would ever think of looking for it. Unfortu- 
 nately, I tried one day to pawn something which one 
 of these fellows had given me, could not account 
 for the way in which I obtained it, and v.-as con- 
 victed, under an assumed name. Luckily the article 
 was not part of the proceeds of the recent robber}'-, 
 and the magistrate dealing with the case summarily, 
 I only got three months for illegal possession. On 
 the morning when I came out, I expected my late 
 companions to meet me, but the cowards came not. 
 Thanks to you, my virtuous resolution succeeded ; I 
 managed to reach home, told my father I had been 
 abroad, begged his forgiveness, though he little 
 knew my offences, obtained it, and intend to sin no 
 more." 
 
 "But about the diamonds?" asked Ben, all 
 anxiety. 
 
 " That 's what I 'm coming to," replied Edwards. 
 " Now, you 're well known as a reputable man, and 
 are credited with having saved many a young 
 fellow from transportation." 
 
 Ben was so pleased at the compliment ihat it 
 never occurred to him to ask his guest how he knew 
 this. Edwards continued. 
 
 " So if I bring the things here and leave them 
 with you, there '11 be no difficulty in your getting the 
 thousand pounds reward," and Edwards placed in
 
 64 
 
 A CLERKENWELL CALAMITY. 
 
 Ben's hands a printed bill, in which that sum was 
 offered to any one who would return the stolen pro- 
 perty to its rightful owners. " There '11 be four 
 hundred each for us, and two hundred for a man 
 who must help me to bring down the box. Now, 
 will you do it ? " 
 
 Of course Ben would do it, and then commenced 
 the deliberations as to where the jewels were to be 
 placed. Block, in a moment of weakness and gra- 
 titude, took his new friend up in his bed-room, and 
 showed him a cunningly contrived little well under 
 the head of his bedstead. 
 
 " There," said he, " there 's where I keep my 
 little store, and there I can keep the box till matters 
 are settled." 
 
 Edwards's eyes twinkled strangely when he saw 
 this spot, but Ben was too busy to notice him. 
 
 " When will you come, then ? " asked he. 
 
 A couple of nights off was the time fixed, and the 
 agreement was again entered into for Ben to be 
 alone, his visitor again expressing distrust of women. 
 
 "You can tell your wife as much as you like 
 when it is all over, but not before, mind," were the 
 concluding words of Edwards. 
 
 " All right," said Ben. And so they parted. 
 
 Once again, dreams of the wildest ambition filled 
 the mind of Ben, for — though I grieve to record it, 
 my duty as an honest chronicler is plain — he had, 
 after due consideration, determined to keep the 
 whole thousand pounds for himself. 
 
 " For," said he, " they won't dare to say a word 
 about it. I can get rid of my business while things 
 are being arranged, and do as I have so often longed 
 to do — take a little house in my native county." 
 
 He beguiled his time with these thoughts, and 
 the occasion being fixed for a meeting-night, he had 
 no trouble in getting rid of Mrs. Block without any 
 explanation beyond that of a desire to stay away 
 from the hall that evening. 
 
 " Mind you say I 'm very poorly," said he, as she 
 passed out. 
 
 How anxiously he listened to every footfall as it 
 came down the street, and how unexpected the 
 knock came at last ! — principally because Edwards 
 and his friend drove up in a light cart. Ben was at 
 the door, though, in a moment, and in very little 
 
 more was busy helping the two men in with a small 
 but heavy case, which was at once deposited on the 
 parlour table. In his haste he was about to take it 
 up in his arms, and convey it to a place of safety, 
 almost before the street door was shut, but " Don't 
 be in such a hurry," said Edwards, and at the same 
 moment a handkerchief was drawn tightly over 
 Ben's mouth, his legs were knocked from under him, 
 his arms were pinioned, and he was tied tightly in 
 his own arm-chair. With the utmost coolness, 
 Edwards poured himself out a glass of whisky, 
 gave his companion one, and then shouldering the 
 box, took it upstairs. In heart-rending agony, Ben 
 heard him busy overhead, and he was hardly sen- 
 sible of the fact that Edwards's companion, after 
 emptying the little round bowl which contained the 
 loose silver in the shop, was lazily pouring the 
 treacle from its can all over him and the arm-chair 
 of which he was the unfortunate occupant. This 
 sticky task was hardly finished when Edwards came 
 downstairs, and telling Ben he had taken the liberty 
 of keeping what he had found under the bed-head 
 in exchange for the box which he had left there, 
 bade him a cordial good night, and the pair departed, 
 the sound of their wheels being anything but music 
 in the ears of the bound and besmeared treacle 
 merchant. 
 
 Mrs. Block was a long time in the cold that night 
 before she obtained admittance to her own house. 
 
 "Well I never!" said the inspector next morning. 
 " To think _)'(?;/ should 'a been taken in by ' Nimble 
 Ned, the King of the Magsmen.' You 've seen the 
 last of your money, Mr. Block, and I don't think 
 the box of flintstone jewels, heavy though they are, 
 will be found of much value. He must 'a spotted 
 you that morning when he came out for his drag, 
 or p'raps his pals put him on to you. Who knows ? 
 You must be very careful now-a-days how you let 
 strangers into your house, and no mistake. Well, 
 now, to think he'd 'a gone on that lay ! But he alius 
 was a cute 'un, was Ned." 
 
 And so ended the greatest calamity that — accord- 
 ing to Ben Block's judgment — ever happened in 
 Clerkenwcll. 
 
 Henry J. M. Sampson.
 
 THE YOUNG ATHLETE. 
 
 
 »^.-^;^C>'^^%- Swear You will never becomTowe of th^se dreadful uneducated 
 
 - AM,in,«r UHIVERSITV PEOPLE, WHO CDMMIT MURDERS" ^HE EXCLAIMED, 
 
 ALLUDING TO MS NWILKIEC0LUM^~'5 l/ODERH CENTLEMEH ATHLETES. 
 
 EViuw V(f r*';;;;^-'- ^^^'t:if:> r«^T/iLLTHE 
 
 ^"*-ENE ARAN IH HIS WAr. y'-"''™^^HLET£3 COTHIMAFTER ALL.
 
 66 
 
 THE SOBER WIT CLUB. 
 
 THE POET'S MISSION. 
 
 OES the poet's lucubration 
 Bring conviction unto men- 
 Unreserved corroboration 
 Waiting humbly on his pen ? 
 Do they think his scintillation 
 Evidences inspiration ? 
 
 Could I cherish this opinion 
 Of poetical dominion, 
 'T would engender satisfaction 
 
 In my unpretending soul, 
 And proportionate attraction 
 To existence, as a whole. 
 
 While believing in creation 
 Steeped in melancholy hue, 
 
 Can they bear its contemplation 
 From a comic point of view ? 
 
 Do they grasp each poet's meaning, 
 
 Simultaneously gleaning 
 
 (Spite of Reason's mild restrictions) 
 Wholly opposite convictions ? 
 
 Or do chronic alternations 
 Their opinions undergo. 
 
 Like the weathercock's gyrations. 
 Keep them swinging to and fro ? 
 
 Fancy swaying man's emotion — 
 Ruling joy's and sorrow's tide ! 
 
 Fancy — why the very notion 
 
 Swells the comic bard with pride ! 
 
 Such a thought, too oft repeated, 
 
 Makes a modest bard conceited ; 
 Makes him feel he 's much sublimer 
 Than a humble comic rhymer ! 
 
 Viewing thus the situation. 
 Surely he is bound to say 
 
 He's a most sublime creation — 
 Wonderful in ev'ry way ! 
 
 So, if jubilation truly 
 
 Be a boon that man desires. 
 Let him give the poet duly 
 
 Ev'iything that sage requires ; 
 If he wouldn't suffer blindly 
 Let him treat the poet kindly. 
 
 Or, by way of mild correction, 
 . He (the bard) will spread dejection. 
 Finishing his exhortation 
 
 Thus, the bard, with gleaming eye, 
 Pauses in anticipation 
 
 Of a suitable reply. 
 
 James F. Sullivan. 
 
 THE SOBERWIT CLUB. 
 
 HERE was nothing remarkable about our 
 little Club. It had grown up of itself out 
 of a natural liking among a few old men 
 
 for each other's company. And as we all lived in 
 the City, and had done so the greater part of our 
 lives, it was pleasant to find our way of an evening
 
 THE SOBER WIT CL UB. 
 
 6^ 
 
 to the quiet little room, in the rear of the quiet little 
 inn, right under the walls of St. Aloysius the Less, 
 for an hour or two's enjoyment 
 
 The room had a pleasant old-fashioned air, which 
 was in itself a charm. The wainscoting on the 
 walls was almost as dark with age as were the tables, 
 which, in their high polish, had quite a liquid 
 aspect, suggestive of old rum. The mantelpiece 
 rose to within a foot of the low ceiling — with the 
 great beam across it — and the oaken floor inclined 
 downwards to the hearth, which thus became the 
 natural point round which we circled in summer, 
 when it was garnished with green boughs, as well 
 as in winter, when a fire roared up the ample chim- 
 ney. The cumbrous straight-backed chairs, which 
 could only be pushed, not lifted, might have been 
 uncomfortable to others, but were not so to the 
 white-haired old men who had sat in them so many 
 years, each in his own, and the carved one on the 
 right of the fire for Mr. Josias. 
 
 It was but right that he, as President, should 
 enjoy that distinction, especially as the Club had 
 been named after him. The tablet now set up to 
 his memory in the church which, from overshadow- 
 ing it, kept the club-room in perpetual gloom — is 
 silent on the point ; but in bearing witness to the 
 virtues of Josias Soberwit, it might, we felt at the 
 time it was raised, and still feel, have included 
 among them the fact that he had founded the 
 Sobei'wit Club. 
 
 Our beloved founder was alive at the time of 
 which I speak, and indeed participated in and 
 derived no little satisfaction from the incident it is 
 my purpose to relate. He was a good kindly soul, 
 with many virtues — as his tablet truly testifies — but 
 with two Club failings : he had a poor head for 
 drinking, and the smoking of a pipe would make 
 him ill. But neither of these failings did he, in his 
 kindliness and consideration for others, permit to 
 interfere with good fellowship. It was his profound 
 secret — which of course we all knew — that he was 
 in league with the house to serve him with weakened 
 liquors in the disguise of stiff grogs and potent 
 wines, and eveiy night he would go through the 
 form of filling and smoking his own pipe, marked 
 with his own name, and assigned its place of honour 
 
 at the top of the Club pipe-rack, and it was a point 
 of etiquette that no one should appear to notice that 
 he never lit it. 
 
 In their quiet retreat, which, though in the heart 
 of the City, partook, with St. Aloysius the Less, of 
 infinite repose, the Soberwits spent long, dreamy, 
 uneventful hours. Their white heads wagged over 
 the topics of the day, or they listened with inex- 
 haustible patience to the narration of personal inci- 
 dents with which they had long grown familiar. 
 
 When little happens, the ordinary incidents of 
 life assume a preposterous magnitude. Thus it was 
 that one occurrence, far back in the history of the 
 Soberwits, had never ceased to have an interest for 
 them, or to exercise an influence over their gather- 
 ings. 
 
 Allusion to it usually came about in this way : 
 
 The Club wants Avere attended to by a tall, thin 
 old man, with a stoop in his shoulders, the knots in 
 whose back could be distinctly counted through his 
 coat as he bent to hand a glass or remove a bottle. 
 His face was long and pallid, with deep lines in it ; 
 his eyes inflamed, and his general aspect melan- 
 choly. In entering and on leaving the room he was 
 wont to heave deep sighs, and in truth the presence 
 of Thaxter — for so they called him — was a disturb- 
 ing element to the enjoyment of the Soberwits. 
 
 That this was distinctly recognized, there was and 
 could be no doubt ; but it was a point of courtesy, 
 strictly observed, that no allusion to it should ever 
 be made in the presence of Thaxter. 
 
 It would, however, sometimes happen that the 
 lugubrious Thaxter would quit the room, after the 
 discharge of his functions, with a sigh of unwonted 
 fervour — a sigh with all the concentrated signihcance 
 of a groan. This occurring, Mr. Josias would raise 
 his head, and after taking several deliberate whiffs 
 from his empty pipe, with peculiar gusto, so as to 
 permit of Thaxter 's being well out of hearing, 
 would remark : 
 
 "Bad! Bad to-night, eh?" 
 
 There would be a nod of assent. 
 
 " Getting on for the time, perhaps, eh?" 
 
 The white heads would concur. 
 
 Then, in all probability, Mr. Josias, after a preli- 
 minary whiff or two, would proceed : 
 
 5—2
 
 68 
 
 THE SOBER WIT CLUB. 
 
 " Let me see. It was well on into the year, wasn't 
 it? Christmas would be round again, we were 
 remarking, before we knew where we were — eh, 
 Gordle?" 
 
 " That 's so, sir," Gordle, the member appealed to, 
 would respond. 
 
 " And some of us, maybe, were thinking how often 
 it had come round to us, and under what different 
 circumstances, when all of a sudden that door opens, 
 and in staggers John Thaxter, as white as a ghost, 
 hardly knowing where he was coming, or what he 
 was doing. Ah, Knivett ! he was that lost that he 
 dropped into your chair — into your chair, sir ! — for 
 all the world as if it had been his own. Such was 
 the lost state of that man." 
 
 Knivett remembered the incident. They all re- 
 membered the incident. It was so remarkable that 
 Mr. Josias took a good long whiff, and blew out a 
 fierce imaginary cloud, watching in fancy its gradual 
 dispersion, before he resumed. 
 
 " It was sitting in that chair that he leant his arms 
 on the table and buried his face, and groaned out, 
 ' Ruined ! I 'm a ruined man ! ' And then, bit by 
 bit, we got out of him the story. How that his 
 partner in the business, the son of the old friend to 
 whom he trusted so much, had proved a scoundrel — ■ 
 how he had speculated with the money of the firm — 
 how his speculations had turned out failures — how, 
 finding this, he had gathered up the wreck of all, 
 and fled. Worst of all, how he had made John 
 Thaxter's daughter Rosy — the apple of his eye — the 
 companion of his flight : so leaving him alone in 
 his beggary and despair." 
 
 "A sad tale — a sad, sad tale, sir !" Gordle would 
 chime in. 
 
 " We know what happened then," the President 
 would continue, in spite of their knowing it, and 
 just as they were in the habit of telling one another 
 other long stories, in spite of their knowing them. 
 " John Thaxter had not overstated it. He was a 
 ruined man. He would have ended his days in a 
 prison but for the friends who helped him, and 
 sheltered him, and did what they could to smooth 
 the path he had to tread." 
 
 Mr. Josias keeps to himself the part he played in 
 all this ; but they know his generous heart and his 
 
 open hand, and never question but what John 
 Thaxter has reason to know it too. 
 
 " It 's hard," he goes on, " to find just the opening 
 one would like for a man suddenly down in the 
 world. I 'm not sure that it isn't about the hardest 
 thing you can have to do. Besides, John Thaxter 
 was stunned by his fall. It left him unlike him- 
 self. But for this, you understand, he might have 
 picked himself up, righted himself, and perhaps got 
 back into the old groove — who knows ? " 
 
 " Ha ! who, indeed ?" Knivett would exclaim. 
 
 " My opinion is," Mr. Josias would continue, with 
 the air of a man struck with a discovery of some 
 magnitude, " that it was all owing to the girl, gen- 
 tlemen : it was Ros/s going broke his heart. Why, 
 bless you, she was the sunshine of that man's life. 
 I don't suppose he ever took a step in the business 
 that he didn't put it to himself in this way, ' It'll be 
 the better for Little Rosy, God bless her ! ' And she 
 was always Little Rosy to him. He couldn't see 
 that she was any more than the child of his heart, 
 just the same as ever; and there she goes, and 
 flings herself away on the man that's ruined him. 
 and poor old John 's left in his misery and his lone- 
 liness. Is it to be wondered at that he breaks up, 
 and is never any more the man he was ? " 
 
 They agree that it is not to be wondered at : quite 
 the contrary. 
 
 " For all that," says Mr. Josias, " I did not expect 
 that he would have come down quite so low, or 
 been quite so humbled. I declare to you it gave me 
 a turn I shall never forget, when, that night we all 
 remember, he came into this room, and stood there 
 — close behind you, Snowder — with his poor shaky 
 fingers nervous about his throat, trying to help clear 
 it of the choky feeling that would not let him speak. 
 ' Sit down, John,' says I, ' there 's the old seat, man : 
 sit down.' * No, never no more,' he answered, the 
 tears gathering in his eyes. ' I 'm not fit to mix with 
 the like of you. I 'm no companion for well-to-do 
 men with brains in their heads. I 'm the fool that 
 trusted — his friend — and — his own child ! A fool 's 
 
 not fit' ' Nonsense, John,' we said ; 'you'll be 
 
 one among us all the same.' ' Yes,' he cried out 
 eagerly, ' one among you, if you '11 let me be ; one 
 to serve and wait upon you, and so help to eke out
 
 THE SOBER WIT CL UB. 
 
 69 
 
 a living while 1 've the need of it.' Well, we know 
 how we wouldn't hear of this, and told him so, and 
 how he urged his point, and thought more and 
 more of it, until at last it came about that John 
 Thaxter was waiter to his own Club, and content to 
 serve those with whom he had associated. No 
 wonder he's low at times, when the thought of it 
 comes over him." 
 
 Little wonder, truly ; and perhaps as little that 
 lowness of spirits was not the only point about John 
 Thaxter in his serving capacity, which was a little 
 trying to the Soberwits. It was doubtless in the 
 nature of things — at least in Mr. Josias' mind- — 
 that during the twenty years which had passed 
 since his calamity, their ancient servitor should 
 have developed a steady tendency to acerbity. It 
 was natural that he should have become gruff and 
 short in speech, querulous in temper, jealous over 
 trifles, and with an abnormally developed tendency 
 to irritation. 
 
 That the Soberwits should have been other than 
 conscious of this was impossible, but they were too 
 loyal to their old friend, and sympathized too deeply 
 %vith him in his misfortunes, ever to allude to it even 
 among themselves. 
 
 It was especially not pleasant when intended ten- 
 dernesses were resented as insults. 
 
 "John," the President would say, "a little hot 
 water, when you are coming up : no hurry." 
 
 John would shuffle off, white with resentment. 
 
 " No hurry ? I 'm too old to be hurried, am I ?" 
 he would look. " A younger man 's waiting for my 
 place, I s'pose. He's welcome to it, I 'm sure ; but 
 why can't they say it in so many words ? " 
 
 And the hot water would be brought with start- 
 ling and emphatic promptness. 
 
 Or again, some article required by a member 
 would occasionally be forgotten. 
 
 " No matter ; 't is not of the slightest conse- 
 quence," he would say. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," John would retort, " it was of 
 consequence when I was a member, and it 's of con- 
 sequence now. I know the ways of the Club, and 
 ■what the members have a right to expect. I know 
 my duty, and I hope I shall always try to do it." 
 
 In this way courteous considerations for him be- 
 
 came as barbed arrows to John's morbid sensitive- 
 ness, while, of course, a Soberwit would no more 
 have ventured to find fault with anything than to 
 have openly insulted Mr. Josias himself. 
 
 In the arrangements between the Club and their 
 poor serving brother there was one special article or 
 condition. It had been imposed by the Club, as- 
 sented to with reluctance, but always sternly enforced. 
 Every year, for twenty years, when Christmas Eve 
 came round, it found John Thaxter restored to his 
 old position as member of the Club. On Christmas 
 Eve he occupied his own seat, ordered his own grog 
 — paying for it out of a sovereign presented to him 
 for the express purpose — smoked his own long pipe 
 with his name on it, as written by himself twenty 
 years before, and had absolute right and title to help 
 himself out of the Club silver snuff-box as often as 
 the enjoyment of that luxury was agreeable to him- 
 self. In brief, for this one evening of the year, every 
 privilege pertaining to a Soberwit reverted to poor 
 John, including that of addressing his fellow-mem- 
 bers familiarly by name and omitting the respectful 
 " Sir," except in reference to the President — an 
 arrangement which long habit made it exceedingly 
 difficult for him to avail himself of. 
 
 The twentieth of these Christmas Eves had come 
 round, and the Club had assembled in its customary- 
 strength. Mr. Josias occupied his seat at the head 
 of the long table, and every seat round it was filled, 
 including that of poor John Thaxter, who looked 
 thinner and more wan than usual, yet bore himself 
 bravely, with a due sense of the honour he had lived 
 to enjoy once more. As marking the special nature 
 of the evening, the President had undertaken the 
 brewing of a bowl of punch. The Club bowl was 
 before him, the Grand High Lemon-Peeler had per- 
 formed his functions to a nicety ; the Custodian of 
 the Copper Kettle had attended with a due sense 
 of its importance to the boiling of the water ; His 
 Excellency the Steward of the Sugar-Bowl had not 
 been found wanting, while the Worshipful the Club 
 Butler had been in due readiness with a bottle of 
 his noblest spirits. Under these favouring circum- 
 stances a bowl of punch had been obtained, hot, 
 strong, and insinuating, the aroma of which fairly 
 pervaded the room as Mr. Josias stirred it round
 
 70 
 
 THE SOBER WIT CL UB. 
 
 and round with the massive ladle, in the bottom of 
 which glittered a two-guinea piece of the reign of 
 his Majesty George II. 
 
 The filling of the glasses, arranged in glittering 
 phalanx beside the bowl, was the next business ; and 
 as he performed it with scrupulous care, so that no 
 drop of the precious liquid should be wasted, Mr. 
 Josias revolved in what terms he should propose the 
 one toast of the evening — " The Sober wit Club." 
 
 It was a critical moment, and all eyes were fixed 
 upon the bowl. 
 
 It was an absorbing moment, and the little Club, 
 quiet and contained within itself, had momentarily 
 lost sight of the outer world, its turmoil and its 
 trouble, when a sound of voices broke the stillness, 
 — a sound of voices in stormy altercation. 
 
 " Bless me ! " cried the President, " I fancy 
 that" 
 
 Before he could describe the impression on his 
 fancy, the door of the room burst open, and several 
 members rose from their seats, gazing out into the 
 gloom of the passage beyond. 
 
 " I tell you," cried a voice outside, " that it is a 
 private club " 
 
 Some half-articulate, half-hysterical reply was 
 given, and there burst from the gloom into the light 
 the figure of a young girl — a slight, almost childish 
 figure, with long tangled hair swathing about a fair 
 and wildly excited face. 
 
 As this apparition burst into the room, John 
 Thaxter rose, gave one shrill cry, and clasped his 
 hands before his eyes, as if to shut out some horrible 
 object. 
 
 " Take her away ! " he gasped, " take her away ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " cried the young girl, making towards 
 him. 
 
 " Away with her, I say : I will not see her. She 
 married him ! She was my ruin ! " 
 
 By this time hands were laid on the girl's arm to 
 remove her ; but she shook them off. 
 
 " Oh ! hear me," she pleaded, throwing herself at 
 John's knees, and grasping his hands. " Hear me, 
 if only for a minute ! It is Rosy, little Rosy — oh ! 
 you will not turn mc away ! " 
 
 He tore his hands from his eyes, and raised one 
 as if to strike her. 
 
 " How dare you come here ? How dare you " 
 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 The sentence was not finished, and the uplifted 
 hand was drawn back with a start. The eyes that 
 looked into the face of the young girl suddenly 
 widened with amazement, and an incredulous ex- 
 pression came into the man's thin face. 
 
 " You are not — not my child ? " he gasped. 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Not Rosy ! — ah, no ; I had forgot. 'T is twenty 
 years ago. You are " 
 
 " Your grandchild — Little Rosy ! " 
 
 With a sudden impulse of affection he threw his 
 arms about her : then as suddenly withdrew them, 
 and rose up defiantly. 
 
 " Her child — his child ! Never !" he burst out. 
 " What are you to me ? Why do you come whining 
 here, slavering here ? I see it. 'T is a trick of theirs 
 to make their peace with me. Never ! Never ! " 
 
 Fiercely impetuous, he thrust back his chair, and 
 made to go, with loathing in his very movements, 
 and as if animated only by a desire to escape from 
 the sobbing child. 
 
 " Let me speak, grandfather : only let me speak," 
 her sweet lips pleaded. " I have no one in the 
 world but you. No one in the wide world." 
 
 The pleading voice was touching beyond expres- 
 sion, but it derived added effect from the simple 
 action which accompanied it. As she knelt, the 
 child spread out her palms, and tears dropped 
 glistening upon her dress. It was black. The mute 
 confirmation of her words it aftbrded touched the 
 old man's heart. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Your — your mother ? " he faltered. 
 
 " Dear, dear mother is dead." 
 
 "And— /zdf?" 
 
 She rose from her knees and moved toward him^ 
 
 " Dead ! " 
 
 As the word broke in a gasp from her lips, she 
 threw herself upon the old man's breast, and was 
 clasped to it in a long embrace. 
 
 Never had scene so striking and so incredible 
 been enacted in the Soberwit Club. The members 
 looked on in blank amazement. The punch cooled. 
 No one gave a thought to anything save the long
 
 Ml PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 71 
 
 streaming gold of the fair young head, over which 
 the white head of the old man bent in a passionate 
 outburst of affection. For some moments there 
 was a dead silence in the room. Then John Thax- 
 ter rose, and in broken accents apologized for the 
 interruption he had so unwittingly caused. 
 
 " But you know my story," he said, " and I — I 
 haven't heard a word of love for twenty years ; and 
 I 'd got hard and peevish — vicious, maybe — and I 
 didn't believe I could have shed a tear for forty 
 pound. But I loved her so, my Rosy, my poor lost 
 Rosy ! and now that she 's come to life again, and 
 without the fault that made me trj- to hate her, why, 
 I— I " 
 
 But here he fairly broke down again, and it was 
 only some whispered suggestion from the child — 
 though for that matter she was almost a woman — 
 that they should leave the company, that brought 
 him to himself. 
 
 " Yes, Rosy," he said — " yes, I can leave, for — 
 thanks to these good friends here— I am a gentle- 
 man to-night. I 'm one of them : just as in the old 
 time. One of them. Rosy." 
 
 The exulting glance was reflected in the girl's 
 bright laughing eyes. 
 
 " And shall be, in time to come, grandpa dear," 
 she whispered. "You are no longer poor. Your 
 long years of privation are over. The fortune made 
 out of the ruin of your means is mine — and yours. 
 Whose should it be but yours ? " 
 
 The amazing prospect thus suddenly unfolded to 
 him of the sudden realization of a future repeating 
 the past in love and affluence^ had almost proved 
 
 too much for poor John Thaxter. His happiness 
 was too great. He could not speak. Only tears 
 trickled silently over his worn cheeks, and his lips 
 moved inarticulately. They began to fear the effects, 
 of this too sudden joy ; but Rosy soothed and 
 calmed him, and in time he rose, and clinging to. 
 her hand as if in his hold upon that depended, his 
 hold on everything that was precious in life, tottered 
 from the room, too much overcome to say oneword 
 of all that there was in his heart to utter. 
 
 And it was some time before the wonder of all 
 this had subsided enough for those left behind to 
 give heed to the stern duties of the anniversary. 
 But when at length Mr. Josias did give " The Sober- 
 wit Club : success to it and to its members, not for- 
 getting poor John Thaxter ! " a cheer burst forth, 
 such as had never yet rung through that ancient 
 chamber. And from that night forth there was 
 seldom a vacant place at the board, but a beaming,, 
 courteous, affable old man nightly occupied the 
 chair which was his own twenty years before ; 
 punctual in coming, and punctual in leaving, under 
 the pleasantest of all pleasant pretexts, namely, that 
 he was the slave of a hard and inexorable tyrant^ 
 who made his life a burden, and was embittering the 
 remnant of his days. To affect a mighty awe of 
 this tyrant : to feign constant alarm, lest by over- 
 staying his appointed time a second, or compro- 
 mising himself in any way, would expose him to 
 dire pains and penalties, was his special delight. 
 Over this pretext he would chuckle till the tears 
 gathered in his eyes ; and well might he do so. 
 The tyrant's name was Rosy. 
 
 William Sawyer. 
 
 MY PILGRIMAGE. 
 
 OME — if life's troubles wring your breast. 
 My pilgrimage will bring you balm ! 
 Exchange for Fleet Street's loud unrest. 
 The Temple's calm. 
 
 Here is a'spot of hallowed ground : 
 
 No violets the air perfume. 
 But what sweet^emories surround 
 Our Goldsmith's tomb ! 
 
 You scarcely hear the stir of life 
 Here by the poet's lowly bed. 
 And seem as far removed from strife, 
 As is the dead ! 
 
 See ! there before you is the stone : 
 
 " Here lies," one from the legend gleans, 
 " Oliver Goldsmith." — That alone — 
 
 How much it means ! T. 
 
 H,
 
 RAISING THE WIND 
 
 A Co7nedy of several Acts. 
 2 l^ h jm.^Acsc^ _ 
 
 Harry and Tommy gaze wistfully upon the gorgeous advertise- 
 ment of a Christmas pantomime. 
 
 A trifling obstacle to their enjoyment of a front stall in the gal- 
 lery, however, is an empty pocket. 
 
 An idea ! Harry's father is a chemist ; they surreptitiously pur- 
 loin a bottle or two, empty out the contents 
 
 4. And after'carefiilly washing the same, 
 
 5. Armed with a dozen or two, 
 
 6. They wait upon Mr. Grub, the bone, rag, and bottle merchant, 
 
 with a view to financial transactions. 
 
 7. Horror! rage! despair! grief! Result of before-mentioned 
 
 financial'transaction — yi. !
 
 RAISING THE WIND : A Comedy of several Acts. 
 
 8. Happy thought again. Away! 12. " There ! how much for that lot?" 
 
 9. Tommy's father is an artist. Painting rags might possibly be dis- 13. H. and T. 's proceedings with regard to the hot moist rags, how- 
 
 covered, ever, do not seem calculated to raise those gentlemen in Mr. G. 's 
 
 10. White rags, however, being of greater value, gigantic cleansinr esteam. 
 
 operations are resorted to. Rut, by-the-bye, how to dry them ? 14. Uhiraate satisfaction. Haiissez le tidcau. 
 
 11. Brilliant suggestion — the oven!
 
 74 
 
 POLLY'S WLNGS. 
 
 POLLY'S WINGS. 
 
 ND how finds you youselfs to-day, chere 
 petite?'' 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Jarvis, I 'm so glad you 're 
 come ! I 'm drefful tired out of being alone ; and 
 Madam Eraser, she's a-gone, oh, ever so far! as 
 she 'ad a bit of work to carry 'ome. Oh, my ! Mr. 
 Jarvis, wot stunnin' flowers ! Wherever did you 
 git 'em ? and wot d' ye call 'em ? " 
 
 " Dey is charmarite — is dey not, Marie ? — bee-eu- 
 teeful I Tiens! dis \t^\\& flciir wis de coiileur like de 
 sky — not de Eenglish sky, but dat of la belie F7'a7ice 
 — dis is vot you calls ' don't-forgets.' And dis is 
 ^ sojtcis' — dat is more Eenglish; we have not so 
 moche cares in my contrey. And dese — vat you 
 calls dem ? " 
 
 " Oh, them's daisies. I knows them, as is more 
 common. I 've seen 'em on the graves in some of 
 the churchyards." 
 
 '* Dey is Marguerites — dejleiirs of the childs — as 
 dey grow every, everywheres ! But voila, tna chere ! 
 here is one, two orange for you leetle mouf — so diy 
 and tursty." 
 
 The child clutched at the fruit with all the avidity 
 of fever, and buried her parched lips in the cool 
 juice, as a gasping bird that had been deprived of 
 water might plunge its quivering beak into a ripe 
 grape. M. Gervais spread the mottled blue cotton 
 handkerchief which had held the fruit carefully over 
 his knees, and watched the child's rapturous enjoy- 
 ment with great satisfaction. 
 
 M. Gervais — or, as Polly translated and Anglicised 
 his name, Mr. Jarvis— was a little old man who had 
 evidently never been a very large specimen of 
 humanity, and, like most Frenchmen of his type, 
 he had withered up into a kind of little dry stick, till 
 the vcry-carcfully-prcserved clothes he wore, which 
 evidently dated back to some long, long-past season 
 of prosperity, sat very easily, even though still some- 
 what jauntily, on his spare small frame. Poverty, 
 no doubt, had been his inheritance for many a long 
 
 day ; but that gaunt wolf, which not onl)- devours 
 the health and strength, but the very spirit and mind 
 of our English poor, had been as yet kept gallantly 
 at bay by our little Frenchman. Half starved he 
 might be, in spite of his most ingenious broths and 
 stew of odds, ends, and refuse, which our poor folks 
 would have called not fit for a dog ; but quelled in 
 spirit he had never been. He brushed, and rubbed, 
 and darned, and patched his threadbare garments, 
 and polished and cleaned his worn shoes, with an 
 indomitable energy, and warbled his little chansons 
 merrily all the time. He had, like many others be- 
 sides, his own compatriots, come over to '■^ perfide 
 Albion'''' as to an endless El Dorado, which it was 
 lawful for the Egyptians to spoil. But he had been 
 disenchanted like every one else, and had long 
 accepted his fate with philosophy, hoping still that 
 some day the fickle goddess would send him the 
 means to go back to his beloved France, and mean- 
 while ekeing out as well as he could the scanty 
 means he earned so hardly. After trying several 
 ways of gaining a livelihood, he had finally settled 
 down as " Professor of Dancing " in London, where 
 his few — very few — pupils consisted of about three 
 children of very poor but ambitious small trades- 
 people, and a few still poorer girls who were aspiring 
 to become " supers " at the Christmas pantomimes. 
 It was dreary work, and nothing but an unquench- 
 able spirit of hope, and an unlimited patience, could 
 have reconciled him to the bare though aiiy garret 
 which constituted his "apartment, dancing salon,. 
 and all," and to his still more trying pupils. The 
 poor girls who were training for the stage were his 
 favourite and most promising e'leves; although, I am 
 sure, if we could have peeped into his skinny port- 
 tnojinaie, we should have discovered that at least 
 half paid nothing, and the moiety but little. In fact, 
 if one could call anything " paying " in such a mere 
 pittance, the three most troublesome of all were 
 alone even slightly remunerative.
 
 POLLY'S WLNGS. 
 
 75 
 
 But what " Mr. Jarvis" endured to earn this scanty- 
 mite was only known to himself. Miss Baggs, the 
 eldest hope of the landlord of the gin palace at the 
 corner of the street, at first utterly rebelled at being 
 taught " along of them rift'-raff," and only continued 
 a pupil on condition that she had a private lesson 
 first on the same terms, and " assisted " afterwards 
 with the mob in order to learn the figures. 'Tilda 
 Smith sniffed contemptuously, and dragged away 
 the ragged loose flounces of her tawdry dyed silk, 
 whenever " them bailey gals " came near her, and 
 was majestically deaf to their whisper of " coals and 
 greens." The third votary^ of Terpsichore was a 
 mysterious girl of elephantine proportions, who re- 
 joiced in a perpetual cold, and who turned sulky as 
 soon as the business began. She always wore a 
 dress of very shiny crackly black silk, and black 
 gloves three sizes too big for her ; and being popu- 
 larly supposed to be the daughter of a cheap under- 
 taker, was unanimously christened " Coffins." 
 
 And over these varied and unruly subjects M. 
 Gervais ruled not untroubled, but very successfully 
 on the whole, by the help of his invincible good 
 humour and hope of better days. But after his daily 
 struggle with his disorderly troop was over, his steps 
 generally towards evening bent to the little dull 
 room at the top of a tall house, where lay the little 
 girl beside whose couch he is now sitting. 
 
 And her story is as commonplace as his, though 
 very sad, and it touches the tender heart of the 
 little Frenchman with an infinite pity and sorrow. 
 Her father had been a stage carpenter at one of the 
 theatres, and being a very ingenious handy man, 
 had, in earlier days, earned very good wages ; and 
 Polly had been as lively and happy a little soul as 
 any poor child, born in the very heart of London, 
 and having streets for green fields, and chimney- 
 pots for trees, can be. But the thrifty mother had 
 died young, and Polly, left to her own devices, had 
 sat on cold door-steps and in damp places, till her 
 more carefully reared little body fell a victim to a 
 violent chill, that rendered one leg entirely useless 
 for life. 
 
 Then, just when good living and care were most 
 needed, came an awful time, when the poor car- 
 penter was suddenly stricken down with English 
 
 cholera, and died, leaving the helpless little one to 
 the chance care of strangers. 
 
 But, fortunately for poor little Polly Blake, two or 
 three kind hearts were touched with pity for her for- 
 lorn state, and with that real brotherly love which 
 is not in our world the same as that termed 
 " Christianity," but which is, nevertheless, if we 
 may Germanically coin a word, " Christlikeness," 
 her neighboiirs took her to their hearts and homes, 
 which, if literally small and narrow, were, in a clearer 
 light than ours, palaces and mansions. 
 
 Madam Eraser — i.e.^ Madame Brasseur — the 
 little Frenchwoman, whose tiny garret was only 
 enough for her own wants, managed to screen off a 
 corner and improvise abed for the " pauvre petite" 
 giving up the sole pillow, the only luxury of her 
 modest home, to the little weary head, and during 
 the scanty spaces of her leisure tending and nursing 
 the feeble little one with almost a mothers love, and 
 quite maternal skill. And the other neighbours were 
 all truly neighbours in the divine sense, which shall 
 one day rank them all — poor, shiftless, thoughtless, 
 untaught Bohemians as they might be — as true 
 pupils in the great school which had a poor Man as 
 the greatest Teacher the world ever saw. And these 
 all shortened their daily wants, lessened their scanty 
 necessaries (it would be insulting to call them com- 
 forts), for the sake of the crippled little life, that 
 could not be a long one. And when little Bohm, the 
 
 bassoon at the , sent up his favourite festive 
 
 supper of mussels to the "klezne kind" who was so 
 '■'■kranke" it was accepted with as much joy as it was 
 freely given. For poor little Polly had never knowni 
 enough food to have been able to be dainty : drj- 
 bread had been such ambrosia that even the least 
 "relish," as she called it, added the nectar that 
 roused the rapidly failing appetite. But the little 
 feeble form was now condemned from physical weak- 
 ness to entire rest on the small, carefully-made couch, 
 which was no longer soft to the aching limbs that 
 at first found such rest there. 
 
 " But, my child," said good M. Gervais, " where 
 is chere Madame Brasseur?" 
 
 " She's gone to see some lady as has promised to 
 'elp her," replied Polly, feebly sucking the last drops 
 out of her Hesperidian fruit. " She says she wants
 
 76 
 
 POLLY'S WLNGS. 
 
 to go back to her own country, as is more cheerful 
 by 'arf nor this. And it must be better if they don't 
 'ave no fogs there." 
 
 " But, my Httle one, she will not leafs you behind .?" 
 inquired M. Gervais, anxiously, laying his little 
 brown hard hand on the skeleton arm of the child. 
 " PYaps she mayn't go till I 've got my wings," 
 said Polly, smiling, " and then I shall fly arter her." 
 " Bah ! you foolishe petite" replied M. Gervais, 
 smiling also, but shrugging his shoulders. "Veengs ! 
 vat cood you vith veengs ?" 
 
 " I could fly over the great big sea!" answered the 
 child, eagerly — " fly over the sea ! Oh ! if I had 
 only wings, I know as I could manage 'em. I 've lay 
 'ere and watched the flies in the winder so often." 
 
 " But you not fly above the big sea, ma petite; your 
 leetle veengs vill grow, ah, so fatigu^ comme de 
 leetle birds of passage, and you vill fall." 
 
 " No, I shan't," replied Polly, winking. " I shall 
 flap 'em so, and keep on a-flyin'!" And, suiting the 
 action to the words, she waved her thin weak arms, 
 and then dropped them wearily on the bed again. 
 
 " Pa always said I should fly," she resumed, after 
 awhile, as if talking to herself. " Pa was so clever 
 — and he made all the fairies fly in the pantomime, 
 and he always promised I should, too. Milly Baker 
 used to say she were so sleepy she alius dozed off 
 when she were on the cloud, and then waked up 
 suddent, and thort she were a-fallin' — but then she 's 
 so silly. Pa'd soon 'ave made me fly, / know. I 
 heard Mossir Bracer a-tellin' Madam t' other day 
 about some man as could fly up in the air. I know 
 / could, if Pa could only ha' helped me, for I 'm 
 very light." 
 
 " Me voila, chcre atige" cried a little high-toned 
 voice at the door, " you haves miss your Armando. 
 N'importe. I have com to last, and we goes nex 
 week. Cher M. Gervaise, we returns to iios pays. 
 Ciel — 't is so good to goes back to our sun's shines, 
 our campagne, our joie, from this triste serieitse 
 AnglcterreP 
 
 M. Gervais congratulated the little woman heartily, 
 and then inquired in a low voice if she really could 
 manage to take the little one with her. 
 
 "Mais, Old" cried Madame Brasseur, eagerly. 
 " Thinks you I liefs xhQpativre petite -wnowi care or 
 
 food ? I am not so English as zat, dough I live here 
 tree, four years." 
 
 She then explained to the little Frenchman, in 
 their own expressive tongue, that she and Adolph — 
 " for Adolph has the tender good heart — ah, mo?i 
 Dieu ! so good, so kind ! and Adolph is so che- 
 rished by his master" — but Adolph said, " See, my 
 angel, we have been in this dreary Albion three, 
 four years, and we are poor — more poor than in 
 France ; and they are so cold, the people, and the 
 weather not sympathiqiie — ah, ciel .' — not sympa- 
 thique at all. Let us return, ma petite — let us go to 
 our dear France, and be happy." 
 
 So Adolph, who is so cherished by his master at 
 the restaurant, and so admired, mais, so admired, 
 has made friends, and his friends have given him a 
 small douceur to help him back to la belle France, 
 for they see Adolph is pining for his country ; and 
 a good lady, for whom Adolph has sometimes waited 
 to her tabic, has sent for Madame, and gave her 
 money enough to take back her and the child too. 
 And with the skies and the balmy airs of la belle 
 France, the mignonne will soon be better. And 
 Armande leaves off to have a hearty cry, and then 
 goes to put on the soup-pot, while M. Gervais takes 
 his leave, never sighing or looking downcast till after 
 he has closed the door. 
 
 "And shall I fly there arter all, madam ?" asks 
 Polly, dreamily watching Madame at her occupation. 
 " Pa always said I should fly, you know, and I was 
 to have a white gownd with gold spangles, and such 
 splendacious coloured wings, with gold stars — like 
 a real fairy, you know." 
 
 " No, my little one," replies Madame, still busy 
 over her cookery, " you will not need to tire your 
 dear little self. The ship will spread out its strong 
 white wings, and carry you safe over the sea to 
 where the sun always shines. And it is so gay there, 
 so cheerful. We may have so small a room as this, 
 but we shall take our chair and sit on the pave in 
 the street, and see all the people go by, all the car- 
 riages and the fine-dressed people. Such toilettes, 
 ah, mais, c'cst magnifiqite ! And we will have our 
 coffee, and we will be so happy ! " 
 
 And so she rattles gaily on, while the little girl 
 lies back, trying to realize all her descriptions, but
 
 POLLY'S WINGS. 
 
 11 
 
 falling back on the old dreamy longing, the vision 
 of that blighted fading life, which has been so tied 
 down to the wearj' couch of helplessness and pain. 
 
 The kindly Frenchwoman brings her a cup of 
 bouillofi, but the sickly appetite cannot take more 
 than a spoonful ; and turning away, the little one 
 lays her heavy head down, saying she is not hungry. 
 
 " Nay, then, my little one," says Madame, gently 
 lifting her up, " here is some stuff the good doctor 
 has sent to rub in your chest, to ease your sad, sad 
 cough ; and then, if you will be good, and let me 
 rub it in, you shall have some tisane — oh ! so nice, 
 — made from the sweet lime-flowers." 
 
 " I am so tired, I want to go to sleep," murmured 
 Polly. " Don't rub it in to-night" 
 
 " But the doctor said it must be done," said 
 Madame. " Tenez, chlre petite ange, it will make 
 the wings grow !" 
 
 " Will it 1" said Polly, eagerly, rousing herself and 
 feebly tr>'ing to sit up. " Oh ! rub away, then, and 
 give us a double dose : perhaps us can feel 'em by 
 
 mornmg.' 
 
 The kind little woman quietly and tenderly rubbed 
 the skinny shoulders and frail che^t, and then laid 
 down the little feeble form again w;th a kiss. 
 
 " Sleep, ma cherie" said she, " and in the morning 
 we will look to find the feathers." 
 
 And the dim eyes closed with that pleasant 
 thought, and sleep came down like the blessed angel 
 of comfort that it is, and gathered the little one to 
 its downy breast like a half-fledged bird in the nest. 
 
 Next morning the alert little Frenchwoman was 
 up and busy with her humble manage, although her 
 sleep had been incessantly broken by the feverish 
 restlessness of the sick child. Towards morning-, 
 however, the little one had wakened and began to 
 fidget about in her bed. 
 
 " What is it, petite .?" asked Madame. " Are you 
 thirsty ? Will you have some tisane .?" 
 
 " No," replied Polly, " 't ain't that ; but I were 
 feelin' for my wings, but they ain't growed yet." 
 
 " Never mind, my child," replied Madame, sooth- 
 ingly, as the little weak voice ended in a disappointed 
 sob ; " the feathers will not grow in one day, even for 
 the little birds. Courage ! perhaps they will be here 
 to-morrow." 
 
 In the evening, after his toilsome day's work was 
 over, M. Gervais came in to ask after " la petiteP 
 But as she was then dozing more quietly than she 
 had been all day, he drew his chair to the fireside, 
 and held a low conversation with Madame in their 
 native language, which we render in English for 
 convenience sake. 
 
 " You say you have money, my good madame, to 
 take the little one with you. But there will be many 
 small expenses, which, as an old friend of the child's, 
 I hope you will permit me to pay. I have a little 
 sum here — it is but little — but in Madame's careful 
 hands it will be double." 
 
 The generous old man did not coniess it, but, in 
 order to obtain it, he had accepted an engagement 
 he had till now utterly refused. For in taking the 
 disagreeable, troublesome, small brother and sister 
 of Miss Baggs at a quarter of the small pittance 
 their grasping father allowed for that august damsel, 
 he had literally sold himself to three months' slavery, 
 that the little stranger orphan might have better 
 food. 
 
 " And see," said Madame, almost tearfully, " how 
 good is ever)' one even in this cold country ! So 
 many, so many have given me old dresses, old 
 cloaks, old hats, for the chere ange, that she will 
 have a trousseau — a veritable trousseau ! Pauvre 
 petite I if she can only live to get to France — our 
 France— she will not want her wings that she is 
 always dreaming of" 
 
 And so they sat and planned kind things, these 
 two good souls ; and by-and-bye Adolph came in to 
 arrange ways and means with his happy, busy wife. 
 The little sleeper still lies in such hushed repose 
 that the two men are as noiseless as the woman. 
 
 They sit whispering over the frugal handful of 
 fire, while Madame silently places the humble supper 
 on the table. Presently, a low moan and a restless 
 movement in the little bed call her attention, and 
 she steals up quietly, shading the candle in her hand. 
 Polly's eyes are wide open, and she smiles, as she 
 says in her little weak voice : 
 
 " Madam, the feathers are come — oh, so white ! 
 
 and I can feel my wings getting, oh, so much bigger!" 
 
 There is that in the little grey pinched face that 
 
 makes Madame silently raise the drooping head. A
 
 78 
 
 A YANKEE STORY. 
 
 few moments, a little sigh, and then, as she lays back 
 the quiet head on the pillow, M. Gervais says re- 
 verently. 
 
 'The wings are full-grown now, and our little 
 
 bird is gone home ! " 
 
 Frances Freeling Broderip. 
 
 A YANKEE STORY. 
 
 KNEW by the sympathetic glow upon his 
 bald head ; I knew by the thoughtful 
 look upon his face ; I knew by the emo- 
 tional flush upon the strawberry on the end of the 
 old free-liver's nose, that Simon Bean's memory was 
 busy with the olden time. And so I prepared to 
 leave, because all these were symptoms of a remini- 
 scence — signs that he was going to be delivered of 
 another of his tiresome personal experiences. But I 
 was too slow ; he got the start of ine. As nearly as 
 I can recollect, the infliction was couched in the fol- 
 lowing language : 
 
 "We were all boys then, and didn't have no 
 troubles, and didn't worry about nothing, only how 
 to shirk school and keep up a revivin' state of devil- 
 ment all the time. Thish yar Jim Wolf I was talk- 
 ing about was the 'prentice, and he was the best- 
 hearted feller, he was, and the most forgivin' and 
 onselfish I ever see — well, there couldn't be a bullier 
 boy than what he was, take him how you would, and 
 sorry enough I was when I see him for the last time. 
 
 " Me and Harry was always pestering him, and 
 plastering hoss-bills on his back,and putting bumble- 
 bees in his bed, and so on ; and sometimes we 'd 
 crowd in and bunk with him, not'thstanding his 
 growling, and then we 'd let on to get mad and fight 
 acrost him, so as to keep him stirred up like. He 
 was nineteen, he was, and long and lank and bashful, 
 and we was fifteen and sixteen, and tolerably lazy 
 and worthless. 
 
 " So that night, you know, that my sister Mary gave 
 the candy-pullin', they started us off to bed early, so 
 as the comp'ny could have full swing, and we run in 
 on Jim to have some fun. 
 
 " Our winder looked out on to the roof of the 
 kitchen, and about ten o'clock a couple of old tom- 
 cats got to rarin' and chargin' around on it, and 
 carryin' on like sin. There was four inches of snow 
 on the roof, and it was frozen so that there was a 
 right smart crust of ice on it, and the moon was shin- 
 ing bright, and we could see them cats like daylight. 
 First, they'd stand off and e-yow-yow-yow, just 
 as if they was a-cussin' one another, you know, and 
 bow up their backs and push up their tails, and swell 
 around and spit ; and then, all of a sudden, the grey 
 cat he'd snatch a handful of fur out of the yaller 
 cat's ham, and spin him around like the button on a 
 barn-door. But the yaller cat was game, and he 'd 
 come and clinch, and the way they'd gouge, and 
 bite, and howl, and the way they 'd make their fur 
 fly, was powerful. 
 
 " Well, Jim, he got disgusted with the row, and 
 'lowed he'd climb out there and snake 'em off'n 
 that roof. He hadn't reely no notion of doin' it 
 likely, but we everlastin'ly dogged him, and bully- 
 ragged him, and 'lowed he 'd always bragged how 
 he wouldn't take a dare, and so on, till bimeby, he 
 highsted up the winder, and lo and behold you ! he 
 went — went exactly as he was — nothin' on but a 
 shirt, and it was short ! But you ought to a' seen 
 him ! You ought to see him cer-ee-pin' over that 
 ice, and diggin' his toe-nails and his finger-nails in 
 for to keep from slippin' ; and, 'bove all, you ought 
 to seen that shirt a-flappin' in the wind, and them 
 long ridick'lous shanks of his'n a-glistenin' in the 
 moonlight ! 
 
 " Them comp'ny folks was down there under the 
 eaves — the whole squad of 'em under that ornery
 
 THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 
 
 79 
 
 shed of old dead Washin'ton Bower vines — all sett'n 
 round about two dozen sassers of hot candy, which 
 they'd sot in the snow to cool. And they was 
 laughin' and talkin' lively ; but, bless you ! they 
 didn't know nothin' 'bout the panorama that was 
 goin' on over their heads. Well, Jim, he went a- 
 sne-akin' and a-sne-akin' up unbeknown to them 
 Tom cats — they was a-swishin' their tails and yow- 
 yowin' and threatenin' to clinch, you know, and not 
 payin' any attention — he went a-sne-akin' right up 
 the comb of the roof till he was in a foot 'n a half 
 of 'em, and then all of a sudden he made a grab 
 for the yellow cat ! Thunder ! he missed fire and 
 slipped his holt, and his heels flew Up and he flopped 
 on his back, and shot off'n that roof like a dart ! — 
 went a-smashin' and a-crashin' down through them 
 old rusty vines, and landed right in the dead centre 
 of all of them comp'ny people ! — sot down like a 
 
 yearthquake in them two dozen sassers of red-hot 
 candy, and let off a howl that you might have heard 
 a mile off ! Them girls — well, they felt, you know. 
 They see he wasn't dressed for company, and so 
 they left — all done in a second ! It was just one 
 little war-hoop and a whish ! of their dresses, and, 
 blame the wench of 'em was in sight anywheres ! 
 
 " Jim he were a sight. He was gormed with that 
 bilin' hot molasses candy clean down to his heels, 
 and had more busted sassers hangin' to him than 
 if he was an Injun princess — and he came a-prancin' 
 upstairs just a-whoopin' and a-cussin', and every 
 jump he made he shed some china, and every squirm 
 he fetched he dripped some candy ! 
 
 " And blistered ! Why bless your soul, that pore 
 cretur couldn't reely set down comfortable for as 
 much as four weeks." 
 
 G. R. Wadleigh. 
 
 THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 
 
 HE hare had many friends of old. 
 By Gay, the fabulist, we 're told. 
 But when misfortune overtook him, 
 And he was hunted, they forsook him. 
 
 Escaped, and safe, said he with sorrow, 
 " I from ancestral ass must borrow 
 The length of ear which thus I lent 
 To their professions of intent. 
 
 " Yet them with me I 'd fain ally 
 Against mankind. I mean to try. 
 And sure the way to touch them best 
 Will be through their self-interest." 
 
 So he at last resolved to plan 
 A shooting party to kill Man : 
 And, to allure the selfish bunch on, 
 To promise a luxurious luncheon. 
 
 He pictured to himself the mole, 
 The weasel, rat, and water-vole. 
 Fox, partridge, rabbit, grouse, and snipe 
 For shooting — eating — mischief— ripe ! 
 
 He thought how, followed by the crew 
 Across the stubble he 'd pursue 
 His enemy, remorseless Man, 
 And shoot the creature as he ran ; 
 
 And how they would adjourn at noon 
 To take their luncheon opportune. 
 And then he 'd take a pipe — the rabbit 
 He knew had learnt the baneful habit. 
 
 (Anti-tobacconists will storm 
 And say to smoke 's in hares " bad form "- 
 But note the picture, where you '11 see 
 A rabbit tippling eau de vie.) 
 
 And in his mind the fancy lurked 
 That, if the scheme he wisely worked, 
 And put his friends well forward, they 
 For failures penalty would pay. 
 
 So forth he sped to ask his friends — 
 Here moral-less my fable ends ! 
 He ran his neck into a snare ; 
 A squeak — two kicks — and exit Hare !
 
 THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 
 
 Set ^a^e 79. ]
 
 MODERN THEMES IN ANCIENT GUISE. 
 
 AXIX-CENTdv- AUTHC
 
 82 
 
 MY DOUBLE AND I. 
 
 MY DOUBLE AND L 
 
 Y godfather and godmother were good 
 enough to bestow upon me the name of 
 Alexander, and from my father I inherited 
 the patronymic of Small, in addition to several good 
 things of this earth. In fact, to use a vulgar ex- 
 pression, I might be said to have been born with 
 that useful article, a silver spoon, in my mouth. My 
 father was a plain, matter-of-fact Lancashire man, 
 the architect of his own fortune. He had com- 
 menced life as a lad in a Manchester cotton ware- 
 house, and by diligent attention, combined with 
 great natural shrewdness and aptitude for business, 
 had gradually worked himself up to the position of 
 chief salesman, and in the end as a partner in the 
 f'.rm. A self-taught man himself, he knew the value 
 of education, and had sent me when young to the 
 grammar school of his native town, Hawkshead. 
 Here, amidst the lovely scenery of Coniston, Win- 
 dermere, and Esthwaite, several of the happiest 
 years of my life were passed. To my schooldays 
 at Hawkshead, doubtless, may be attributed that 
 attachment for the Lake District, which has caused 
 me to revisit it whenever opportunity served. 
 
 Several years after leaving school were spent in 
 comparative idleness. It was my father's wish that 
 I should enter a Manchester warehouse, but as I 
 showed a great distaste for it, he did not press me 
 on the subject. I was an only son, and was allowed 
 to do pretty much as I liked. In one thing only my 
 father would not yield. I panted for a military life. 
 Like my famous namesake, I would achieve great- 
 ness and conquer nations. My mother listened to 
 me, and believed I was born to be a great com- 
 mander, but her better half only laughed at me and 
 called me a fool. My aspirations were doomed to 
 receive a sudden check. The volunteer fever was 
 at its height, and I was allowed to join one of the 
 corps raised in my native city. Never shall I forget 
 the moment when I first donned the uniform of the 
 corps. How I strutted up and down my bed-room, 
 
 and admired myself in the mirror ! Night after 
 night I fell in with the awkward squad, and did my 
 best to learn the rudiments of a profession of which 
 I believed myself born to be so distinguished an 
 ornament ; but, alas that I should have to tell it ! 
 I was utterly incompetent. My goose-step was 
 a failure, drill an incomprehensible mystery ; and 
 from first to last, as the sergeant more than once 
 politely told me, I was one of the Queen's hard bar- 
 gains. I felt that I had mistaken my vocation. I 
 gave up the army in disgust, and took to fishing. 
 
 My father's death, and my inheritance of a mode- 
 rate fortune, enabled me to follow my favourite 
 sport uncontrolled. My mother and I retired to a 
 small estate which had been purchased by my late 
 father in the neighbourhood of Sheffield, and here, 
 in her society and in fishing excursions, most of 
 my time was passed. The lakes of Cumberland 
 and Westmoreland were my constant haunts. On 
 Esthwaite Water how many score of jack have 
 fallen victim to my spoon — not the before-mentioned 
 silver one, but a plated article. Day after day have 
 I been pulled slowly round the lake by old Watty 
 Tyson, and listened to the yarns of that celebrated 
 fisherman. I have fished all day in the " Priest 
 Pot," when the rain has fallen in torrents, yet never 
 tired of following the " gentle craft." 
 
 At last I had found an art in which I could excel. 
 I was a successful fisherman, but hitherto I had con- 
 fined myself to trolling and bottom-fishing. Why 
 should I not contend against the lordly salmon ? I 
 would have a week on one of our English rivers, and 
 next year a trip to Norway ! 
 
 A lovely morning in August found me at Work- 
 ington, ready to try my luck on the Derwent. I took 
 up my quarters at a homely but comfortable inn ; 
 and after breakfast I sallied forth, accompanied by 
 a lad to carry the spoil. My tackle was the most 
 perfect that money could buy — landing-net, gaff, 
 and one of Bowness's best rods, and flies the most
 
 MY DOUBLE AND I. 
 
 83 
 
 gorgeous and killing. I had permission to fish in 
 a part of the river strictly preserved, and was soon 
 at work, whipping the stream as if for my very life. 
 For weeks I had been studying in theory the art of 
 fly-fishing, and I knew exactly how the turn of the 
 wrist should be made and the fly be allowed to drop 
 softly on the water ; but try as I would, it would 
 never fall where I wished it : now it went flying 
 round my head and within an inch of my attendant's 
 ear ; now it was fast in a thistle, and then it went 
 flop into the water like a penny-piece. For a whole 
 week did I persevere at that blessed stream, until 
 every bone in my poor body ached, and 1 must have 
 frightened the life out of half the fish. Like my 
 military aspirations, my attempt at salmon-fishing 
 was a dead letter ; and as I had given up the former, 
 so I gave up the latter, in sheer disgust. 
 
 The next day was Saturday, and a coach left 
 Cockermouth for Keswick early in the morning. My 
 traps were speedily packed, and the train carried 
 me the few miles between Workington and Cocker- 
 mouth, giving me an hour to spare in that ancient 
 Cumberland borough, which, familiar as I was with 
 most parts of the lake district, I had not before visited. 
 The castle has, with its historical associations, an 
 interest for every Englishman. Here Piers Gave- 
 ston ruled in the olden time, and Mary of Scotland 
 came after her escape from Dunbar ; whilst in later 
 years, the Cumberland royalists and Cromwell's 
 troops contended for its possession. In the castle- 
 yard, however, there was something to me more 
 attractive than its crumbling old walls. A fair 
 English girl, with dark brown eyes and nut-brown 
 hair. She was accompanied by an elderly lady, ap- 
 parently her mother, a somewhat fussy dame, but 
 looking good-natured and kindly. 
 
 When I took my seat on the outside of the coach, 
 I found the two ladies whom I had seen at the castle 
 were to be my fellow-passengers sitting just in front 
 of me ; the other passengers were two men evidently 
 farmers, a tall military-looking gentleman whom the 
 coachman addressed as Colonel, and another gentle- 
 man, so much resembling me in every respect that 
 he might have been taken for my twin brother. Not 
 only in personal appearance, but in dress, was there 
 this similarity — from the grey tweed suit and deer- 
 
 stalker hat, down to the colour of his gloves. I 
 looked at my double until 1 could scarcely believe 
 my eyes ; and but for the fresh morning air blowing 
 on to my face, I might have thought it was all a 
 dream. Though so much like me externally, there 
 the resemblance ceased. I am quiet and reserved, 
 scarcely ever speaking to strangers. He was full 
 of animation, chatting with all on the coach, in- 
 cluding the two ladies, and on the best terms with 
 himself and everybody else. I confess I began to 
 dislike him — the feeling, perhaps, having in it a little 
 of envy at the attention he paid to the young lady, 
 whose pretty face had so attracted me. If my sur- 
 prise had been great on first seeing my double at 
 Cockermouth, it was to be surpassed at Keswick. 
 He was off the coach in an instant, and after assist- 
 ing the ladies to alight, gallantly escorted them into 
 the hotel. I felt that I hated him, and would not 
 stay in the same house, though it was one of the 
 best in the town. Seizing my valise and fishing- 
 basket, I was quickly moving away, when a voice 
 stopped me : 
 
 " Stay, my friend ! I will trouble you for my lug- 
 gage." 
 
 I turned round, and there was my double again. 
 
 " Sir," I replied, " you are mistaken. This is my 
 valise." 
 
 " And I tell you, my friend, that it is mine," 
 
 "How dare you, sir?" I said. "Here are my 
 initials marked upon it — 'A. S. S.'" 
 
 "And what may your name be?" inquired my 
 interrogator. 
 
 " I don't know that I am bound to tell my name 
 to a stranger, but, to show you that this is my pro- 
 perty, I am Alexander Small, of Sheffield, — A. S. S." 
 
 " Well, I confess that is somewhat strange, for 
 I'm also an A. S. S. — Andrew Smith, of South- 
 ampton." 
 
 When I looked at the valise in my hand, I saw I 
 was in error. Though exactly resembling mine, it 
 was not quite so new, and my own was found 
 afterwards amongst the other luggage. I commenced 
 an apology for my mistake. 
 
 " My dear fellow, say no more. We are so much 
 alike in every respect, that we ought to be friends. 
 Stay and dine with me." 
 
 6—2
 
 84 
 
 MV DOUBLE AND I. 
 
 As I have said before, I am rather shy with 
 strangers, but his manner was so frank that I could 
 not refuse him. 
 
 My new friend soon made himself at home in the 
 hotel. Rooms were given to us adjoining each other. 
 The night was a wet one, and he proposed billiards 
 to while away the time. There was no table in the 
 house, but one at the hotel opposite, and, as I had 
 got on my slippers, he carried me over the dark dirty 
 road. In return for his kindness, I had to pay two 
 sovereigns, which I lost to him at billiards, and the 
 price of the games, and sundry brandies. He talked 
 much about the ladies we had met on the coach ; 
 had learnt their names and residence. As I had at 
 first surmised, they were mother and daughter. 
 
 " I tell you what it is. Small," said he, " that girl is 
 a deuced pretty Uttle thing, and has got a tidy fortune, 
 though it's all settled on her. I believe I should 
 marry her if it was not for the dowager. I don't 
 think I could manage with a mother-in-law. No, 
 Small, a mother-in-law would be too much for me." 
 
 Next morning Mr. Smith proposed that we should 
 have a carriage and pair and drive over to Butter- 
 mere. The journey was delightful, and we had an 
 excellent dinner there, for which, by-the-way, I had 
 to pay, my double having left his purse in the pocket 
 of the coat which he had worn the day before. 
 
 " It 's all right, my boy," said he ; " you pay for the 
 dinner, and I '11 settle for the carriage." 
 
 By daylight on the Monday I was on Derwent- 
 water at my favourite sport. The fish were on the 
 feed, and I caught a couple of dozen nice perch. I 
 had been so taken up with the fish that I was sur- 
 prised when I found it was eleven o'clock. I returned 
 to the hotel, very hungry, but thoroughly satisfied 
 with my morning's enjoyment. I did not see any- 
 thing of Mr. Smith for the rest of the day. When 
 the chambermaid brought my slippers into the coffee 
 room, where I was the only guest, I inquired after 
 the gentleman who had come to the hotel with me. 
 
 " Your brother, sir ? Oh, he went over to Amble- 
 side this morning." 
 
 I assured her he was no relation of mine. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you are such a funny gentleman, and 
 likes to have your jokes," — and out of the room she 
 went. 
 
 " What the deuce does she mean? I must inquire 
 further in the morning." 
 
 The next morning I determined to make my way 
 to my old quarters at Esthwaite, and have a little 
 more fishing before my return to Sheffield ; I rung 
 for my bill, and told them I was going to leave by 
 the coach for Ambleside. When my bill came, I 
 saw at once there was some mistake : I had never 
 consumed all those expensive articles : — brandy and 
 soda, ditto, ditto, devilled kidneys and champagne, 
 soda and brandy, carriage to Buttermere, boots 
 soling, and sodas and brandies again, for at least a 
 dozen times. When I looked again at the account 
 I saw it was for Rooms 19 and 20 — those occupied 
 by myself and Mr. Smith. I rung for the landlady, 
 and asked for an explanation. 
 
 " Your brother, the quiet gentleman, told me, sir, 
 when he went away yesterday, that I was to charge 
 both bills to you." 
 
 " My brother, the quiet gentleman ! Why, good- 
 ness, madam, he is no brother of mine ! " 
 
 " Don't madam me, sir, and how can you deny 
 your own flesh and blood ? Any one could tell he 
 was your brother, though a very different person, I 
 will say, from you. You 've turned my house upside 
 down since you were here. Cook tells me that you 
 had the impudence to kiss her on Sunday, when 
 she was making the pudding. And all the girls in 
 the place are complaining of your tricks. How dare 
 you go into my kitchen ! But I need not ask, for 
 you've impudence stamped on your face. Pay your 
 bill, if you please, sir, and go ! ' — and the landlady 
 disappeared in a high state of insulted dignity, 
 
 I thought the best thing I could do was to fol- 
 low the landlady's advice, pay the bill, and leave at 
 once. I was so disgusted that I returned direct to 
 Sheffield, heartily sick of my last fishing excursion. 
 
 A few days after my arrival at home, I noticed in 
 a Cumberland paper, which was sent to me weekly, 
 the following paragraph : 
 
 "Accident on Windermere — Gallant Rescue 
 by a Gentlcmafi. — On Monday, an accident which 
 might, but for the bravery of a gentleman, have 
 terminated fatally, happened to Miss Mary Sweet- 
 briar, of The Retreat, Kendal. The young lady, 
 with her mother, wais amongst the passengers on
 
 THE FAITH OF THE CHILDREN. 
 
 ss 
 
 board the steam gondola on Windermere. Miss 
 Sweetbriar by some means overbalanced herself and 
 fell into the lake, and must have been drowned but 
 for the gallantry displayed by Alexander Small, Esq., 
 of Sheffield, who instantly plunged into the water, 
 and supported her until assistance was at hand." 
 
 Here was mystery upon mystery. Could I be 
 awake or dreaming? On Monday I was at Keswick, 
 and yet on the same day I was rescuing distressed 
 damsels from Windermere ! 
 
 Six months after I received a letter from Mrs. 
 Sweetbriar, reproaching me for my heartless con- 
 duct to her daughter, whom I had, she said, treated 
 in the most shameful manner, making an offer of 
 my hand, and then leaving suddenly, and without 
 assigning a cause. 
 
 I replied as courteously as possible to the lady, 
 assuring her that she was labouring under a great 
 mistake, as I had not the pleasure of her acquain- 
 tance, and was not aware that I had ever seen Miss 
 Sweetbriar. 
 
 Three days later I received a letter from a firm of 
 solicitors at Lancaster, of which the following is a 
 copy. 
 
 " Sweetbriar versus Yourself. 
 " Sir, — We are instructed by our client, Mr. James 
 
 Sweetbriar, of Kendal, as next male friend of Miss 
 Sweetbriar, to commence an action against you for 
 breach of promise to marry, and shall feel obligeti 
 by your favouring us with the name of your solicitors 
 forthwith. 
 " To Alexander Small, Esq." 
 
 I consulted with my dear mother, and she advised 
 that I should at once go over to Kendal, and offered 
 to accompany me. I found, as I had almost ex- 
 pected, that Miss Sweetbriar was the lady I had 
 seen in Cockermouth Castle, and who had been my 
 fellow-passenger on the coach to Keswick. I had 
 but little difficulty in proving to Mrs. Sweetbriar 
 that the impudent rascal Smith, or whoever he might 
 be, had made use of my name on more than one 
 occasion. He had, however, shown great bravery 
 in rescuing Miss Sweetbriar, though abusing after- 
 wards the advantage it had given him, to trifle with 
 her feelings. 
 
 From this interview we all became great friends, 
 and within twelve months Mary Sweetbriar was my 
 dear little wife ; and we have neither of us ever had 
 cause to regret the adventure between my double 
 and me. 
 
 W. D. L'ESTRANGE, 
 
 THE FAITH OF THE CHILDREN. 
 
 I. 
 
 OME, let us now take heart of grace. 
 And venture on a commonplace ; 
 A thought that hath been put in rhymes, 
 Or words of prose, a thousand times. 
 
 Unluckily, there is a ring 
 Of sentiment about the thing ; 
 Besides, it really opens out 
 Some difficulty and some doubt. 
 
 Surgit amari — ah, you know 
 As well as 1 ! But let that go : 
 I swear by Age, I swear by Youth, 
 That I beheve the thought is truth. 
 
 And, what is more, if space were lent, 
 We might pursue the argument 
 Until we found that bitter flavour 
 Lost in a more celestial savour.
 
 86 
 
 THE FAITH OF THE CHILDREN. 
 
 Pray, take my word ! I have pursued 
 
 This thought through many a tangled wood 
 
 Of doubt and pain, and found at last 
 
 The thought, the truth, stand staunch and fast. 
 
 Well, life is short and art is long, 
 But I will put it in a song, 
 And should you find that we agree. 
 How very jolly that will be I 
 
 II. 
 
 The air is chill, the paths are damp. 
 The children, round the parlour fire. 
 
 Are talking of Aladdin's lamp 
 And genies that from jars aspire. 
 
 And, pointing to a chamber light, 
 
 One says, " That lamp I mean to take. 
 
 And rub it up with all my might — 
 Perhaps a genie forth will break ! " 
 
 And one, " I only wish I knew — 
 Papa, I have asked this before — 
 
 Are fairy stories really true .'"' 
 
 And then they look towards the door. 
 
 With thoughts of fairy godmothers. 
 And wands of might, and goblins dim ; 
 
 I knew a boy (boys might do worse) 
 Who said that fairies spoke to him, — 
 
 He heard them in his bed by night; 
 
 And William Blake, you know, he said 
 He saw a fairy's funeral, quite 
 
 Distinctly, by a garden bed. 
 
 Now, when your little girl or boy 
 Asks, " Oh ! are fairy stories true ?" 
 
 Or talks of some magician's toy 
 As in its power — what do you do ? 
 
 My practice has been simply this : 
 To say, " Judge for yourself, my dear ; 
 
 You will find out " — and here a kiss — 
 
 " Some day, though not perhaps this year." 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah, they will know some day ; but when ? 
 Will they when they have grown to men ? 
 I swear by Youth, I swear by Age, 
 That I have not yet grown so sage. 
 
 For if you solemnly began, 
 " Do you believe in Fairies, man ?" 
 I should be posed. A waking dream 
 Of leaving out the bowl of cream 
 
 To feast the goblin in the night, 
 Who makes the kitchen clean and tight, 
 Often comes to me. I defy, 
 When under a soft summer sky. 
 
 Filled with white moonshine, you are 'wai'e 
 
 Of distant jasmine in the air. 
 
 Yes, I defy you to escape. 
 
 Though tied with stiff wiseacre tape. 
 
 Soft shudders, such as might be caught 
 From roses rustling to a thought, 
 Or faintly trembling foxglove spires. 
 With music bells of quaint desires. 
 
 Then snaps like tow your wisdom-band ! 
 Then you believe in Fairy Land ! 
 You cannot quote a fairy's size ; 
 But, then, the fault is in your eyes ! 
 
 I tell you, while I write this verse, 
 I feci quite creepy — my hair stirs ! 
 I scarce could touch my lamp, for fear 
 Some dreadful genie should appear ! 
 
 " Ah, I burn gas," you say, — " Dear me ! 
 What an odd person you must be \ 
 I dare say, if you durst but tell, 
 You quite believe in Zadkiel \ "
 
 THE FAITH OF 
 
 THE CHILDREN. 87 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sir, I am sure the sky's above, 
 The solid earth 's beneath us all ; 
 
 Nor hope nor fear, nor hate nor love, 
 Can change the laws that rule the ball. 
 
 The children in the garrets grope — 
 
 How close to heaven the gables stand !— 
 
 And some day they will find, I hope. 
 The missing scroll of Fairy Land ! 
 
 V. 
 
 They say so. Bless you, I have read 
 Of gravitation in my time ; 
 
 Phosphates, I think, are in my bread ; 
 A Point produced will make a Line. 
 
 " Suppose they do," you say again, 
 " What sort of life would ours be then ; 
 Goblins occult in street and square, 
 And fairy grandames in the air, 
 
 I have had telegrams. I know 
 The wonders of the penny post ; 
 
 I know how fast a train can go ; 
 
 I laugh, sir, at the Cock Lane Ghost. 
 
 Turning with wands this into that ? 
 Why, what could you or I be at ? 
 The days, the nights, would all be vext 
 With wonder what was coming next ! " 
 
 But when you tell me, to my face. 
 That all the fairy lore of men 
 
 In scientific works and ways 
 
 Is being made real, I laugh again ! 
 
 I answer. Not more then than now : 
 Surprises do come ; and the ]io'w. 
 We think we know, but really don't : 
 It all depends on use and wont. 
 
 Something there is, beyond all that, 
 Of old-world wont and old-world wit — • 
 
 When the great globe was deemed a flat. 
 And dusky gods on clouds would sit. 
 
 Surprises, ex vi ierviini, 
 Must be occasional. But the die. 
 For common things as well as strange, 
 Drops in the dark, beyond our range. 
 
 Something — some meaning in the faith 
 Of which the children keep such hold, 
 
 Which flits about us like a wraith 
 When we have passed the age of gold. 
 
 And if the children find that scroll — 
 I trust they may, upon my soul ! — 
 Why, if the fairy characters 
 Should even prove legible to curs. 
 
 Something — a hint of arts laid by 
 In garrets of the human brain. 
 
 For making runes, for finding joy. 
 Despoiling churls, and losing pain. 
 
 Such lore, if used in naughty ways, 
 Will slap the user in the face. 
 And only the predestined wit 
 Will know the proper use of it. 
 
 Oh, joyful lore ! When it transmutes 
 Your tabby to a Puss-in-Boots, 
 May I be there to see the show. 
 And to exclaim, " I told you so ! " 
 
 The Author of "Lilliput Levee." 
 
 «-<^-<^^^^^^-^'
 
 ECCENTRIC CONCENTRIC CIRCLES.
 
 HOW I LOS I MY INTENDED. 
 
 89 
 
 HOW I LOST MY INTENDED, 
 
 AM not a rich man — I never was, and 
 very much fear I never shall be ; for, 
 notwithstanding my having courted and 
 woed Fortune, that fickle goddess has persistently 
 turned her back upon me. I have often asked my- 
 self the question — " What have I done to deserve 
 this treatment ? " and have always come to the con- 
 clusion that I am the innocent victim of circum- 
 stances — still, I am a victim, and find but little 
 consolation in being an innocent one. In proof of 
 this assertion, I will relate how I lost my intended. 
 
 Some few years back, it was my chance to be in- 
 vited to a large croquet party. Of course I went, and 
 being a first-rate player, soon became an object of in- 
 terest to the fairplayers,andoneof envy to those of the 
 sterner sex. Amongst the former was a Miss Sophia 
 Wrenton — a fine handsome girl of about eighteen. 
 She played croquet admirably — almost as well as I 
 did — and was dressed exquisitely. It was a perfect 
 sight to see her walk across the lawn : her golden 
 hair, glittering in the sunshine, escaped in heavy 
 masses from beneath her pretty little hat ; her blue 
 satin dress, looped up just high enough to show an 
 exquisite ankle and tiny foot, incased in the daintiest 
 of shoes, that drove one nearly wild, and made me 
 envy the ball she placed it on — (we did not play 
 loose croquet then, but did the old-fashioned way of 
 holding one ball tight with the foot). I played so 
 that she might croquet me each time ; therefore, I 
 need not say that I lost the game — but I was re- 
 warded with a glance that was worth all the games 
 ever known. I led her to a seat— I procured refresh- 
 ments — I strolled with her round the garden — I 
 made love to her. She listened, and at last informed 
 me that she always took a walk in Hyde Park at 
 1 1 a.m. Soon after this the party broke up, and we 
 bade farewell to each other with a gentle pressure 
 of the hand, and a glance that said as plainly as 
 could be — " We part to meet again." 
 
 Every morning at eleven o'clock, a tall handsome 
 
 man, with an extremely loftg moustache and an 
 aristocratic air, might be seen wending his way 
 beneath the branches of the noble trees that, ver- 
 dant with foliage, shed their shadows over that most 
 celebrated equestrian way, ycleped Rotten Row. 
 
 Gentle reader, / was that man. 
 
 At the same hour, approaching from the opposite 
 direction, a tall handsome girl of about eighteen 
 summers could be observed. Her step had that 
 peculiar elasticity which shows anxiety to reach the 
 beloved object of her search. A gentle flush spread 
 over her peach-like cheeks as she drew near the 
 gentleman before mentioned. That sweet girl was 
 Sophia. We meet, and But no ; I cannot de- 
 scribe the rapture of our meeting ! 
 
 Things went on in this way for a couple of months. 
 I found Sophia all that I could wish, and I was all 
 that she desired. She scorned wealth : I was poor, 
 and therefore escaped her scorn. She doted on 
 mysteries : I was a complete one — therefore she 
 doted on me. She loved romance : I had a parti- 
 cular reason for romancing. What two people in 
 the world could be more suited to each other ? 
 
 During our walks I discovered that Sophia hated 
 anything commonplace or low. Thus she would 
 have had no objection to my poverty forcing me to 
 abstain from dinners for a week or a fortnight ; but 
 she would have hated me had I dared to mention 
 that I was unromantically hungry, or expressed Mr. 
 Pickwick's desire for " chops and tomato sauce." I 
 also found that I had a rival, but, luckily, a rich one 
 — therefore Sophia scorned him, but at the same 
 time used him to make me jealous and our situation 
 more romantic. I muttered his name — (which, by- 
 the-way, was Jenkins) — in deep sepulchral tones 
 that made Sophia tremble. I allowed my hair to 
 grow, loosened my necktie, pulled down the ends 
 of my moustache, and sighed like an American 
 goat-sucker. 
 
 Sophia had, on her part, learned my address —
 
 90 
 
 HO W 1 LOST MY INTENDED. 
 
 indeed, I had made no secret of that, for it was a 
 good one — being Bernard Street, Russell Square. 
 She thought I had the drawing-rooms : I k7ie'w I 
 had the back attic, but felt it would not be kind to 
 undeceive her. 
 
 It so happened that I had to go to Reading on a 
 small matter of business during the week the races 
 were held at that to\vn. Let not the gentle reader 
 of this sad history imagine that I am a betting man. 
 Banish the thought ! And yet if I do indulge a little 
 in matters connected with the turf, noble lords and 
 dukes have done the same, therefore I need not be 
 ashamed, and well, no matter — let it pass. 
 
 My journey to Reading had proved unfortunate, 
 and I returned home to my apartments — (I always 
 put the " s " in : it sounds better) — a sad, if not a 
 wiser, man': my heart full of care — my pockets void 
 of money. Lighting a candle, which I found placed 
 ready for me on the umbrella-stand, I crept slowly 
 upstairs to bed, hoping to forget my troubles in 
 sleep. Placing the candle on a chest of drawers 
 which served as a toilet-table, I gazed in the glass 
 at my haggard face. The sight was teo much for 
 me, and I turned away to find consolation in a flask 
 of spirits that I always kept concealed in a hat-box. 
 In doing so my eyes fell upon a pretty pink note 
 that had been placed on my table during my ab- 
 sence. I seized it instantly, and tearing it open, 
 found that it was from Sophia, inviting me to dine 
 at her father's. Yes ! the dear girl had persuaded 
 her father to allow her to ask me to a dinner party. 
 I have no doubt it cost her some little violation of 
 the truth ; but she had succeeded, and I should see 
 her surrounded with that wealth and luxury that 
 I)elonged to her, and which I devoutly hoped would 
 soon belong to me. Overcome with pleasure, I blew 
 out the candle, sprang into bed, and dreamed of 
 white favours, carriages and horses, a balance at my 
 banker's, and Sophia ! 
 
 The next morning I arose and dressed at the same 
 time, indulging in a light breakfast, composed of 
 weak coffee and one of those small fish for which 
 Yarmouth is so famous, and ruminating over the 
 state of my affairs. They stood thus : I was without 
 money. Sophia's dinner party came off on that verj- 
 evening, and my necessity had compelled me to lend 
 
 my dress suit to a supposititious uncle. What was 
 I to do ? It was true I had a gold watch and chain, 
 but Sophia had admired them, and I did not like to 
 appear before her without them. I sat down and 
 pondered over the situation, and came to the con- 
 clusion that there was but one way, and that was to 
 take out my dress suit, leaving my repeater in its 
 place. I would wear the chain, and no one need 
 know I was minus a. watch. 
 
 The evening arrived ; I had completed my toilet, 
 and stood before the glass admiring the fit of my 
 coat, and giving a few final touches to my white 
 cravat. Taking my latch-key, I fastened it to the 
 end of my chain, instead of my watch, and fixed it 
 in my waistcoat pocket ; I then gathered up the few 
 miscellaneous articles which I had removed from 
 the pockets of my walking suit, and distributed them 
 about my person, taking care that no pocket should 
 bulge out to spoil the perfect set of my clothes, and 
 in a few moments was driving rapidly towards the 
 home of my dear Sophia. 
 
 I cannot describe the luxury of old Wrenton's 
 mansion — it was tremendous. The very street-door 
 had a rich appearance about it, having two brass 
 knockers on it ; the hall was completely furnished ; 
 the stair-carpets were so thick that I felt as if I were 
 walking on a hatbrush. The drawing-room was all 
 glass and gold, the curtains of lace, the chairs and 
 sofas covered with blue silk. I was nearly over- 
 powered with the wealth displayed ; but plucking up 
 courage, I entered the room with a graceful bow and 
 a firm eye, that already looked upon this magnificence 
 as partly mine. I did all in my power to ingratiate 
 myself with Sophia's father — a short, fat, pimply, 
 purple man, who breathed heavily through a brilliant 
 nose — and flatter myself that I succeeded, for when 
 the servant announced that dinner was served, Mr. 
 Wrenton desired me to take Sophia downstairs. I 
 saw my rival's look of envy, for he was handed over 
 to a fat old dowager ; nevertheless, the wretch 
 managed to be seated next to Sophia, and persisted 
 in joining in our conversation. 
 
 The party was a large one, the dinner excellent, 
 and the wines superb. The conversation was general, 
 and turned on travelling ; and I was loud in con- 
 demning the English railways, comparing them to
 
 THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 
 
 9B 
 
 those of the continent, of which I had a large ex- 
 perience, having had at different times to seek in 
 foreign lands that protection denied me by my own 
 country. 
 
 " It may be as you say," said my rival, the horrid 
 Jenkins, " but for my part I prefer the English lines. 
 You get more attention and civility from the officials." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I do not agree with you," 
 I replied, " and I am sure you would own I am right 
 liad you been with me when I was going to Mar- 
 seilles ; or even more so had you travelled with me 
 to Baden-Baden." 
 
 As I spoke I saw Sophia glance at me with pride. 
 
 " Things may have altered," said Jenkins, " but I 
 travelled both France and Germany for ten years, 
 when I was junior partner to Print, Calicoe & Co., 
 but I never had any civility that I had not to pay 
 heavily for." 
 
 I placed my eyeglass in my eye, and surveyed 
 Mr. Jenkins with a look of contempt, at the same 
 time observing that / travelled for pleasure, not 
 business. 
 
 " I didn't," replied Jenkins ; " I travelled for the 
 firm, and very well -it paid me. One thing you must 
 own : our men are quicker and more correct." 
 
 " Not at all," said I, triumphantly. " Only last 
 week I had to go to Reading, and on leaving the 
 train I entered the refreshment-room and had a cup 
 of coffee ; after which I left the station, forgetting 
 to give up my ticket, as no one asked me for it." 
 
 " You must excuse my scarcely crediting that, sir,"' 
 said Mr. Jenkins. " Are you sure you did not give 
 up the ticket before entering the refreshment- room ?"■ 
 
 " I am positive of that," I replied, " and to prove 
 what I said is correct I will show you the ticket, 
 which by chance I have with me." 
 
 As I spoke I cast a glance of scorn at Jenkins -^ 
 then turning disdainfully from him, I took the ticket 
 from my pocket, and gave it to Sophia to pass to- 
 him. 
 
 Sophia glanced at it and screamed, and that brute 
 Jenkins at once snatched it from her hand ! 
 
 " What 's this ? " he exclaimed. " This is not a 
 railway ticket, but a pawnbroker's one for a gold 
 watch, ^3 IDS., Ernest de Vere, 30 Bernard Street, 
 Russell Square, dated to-day ! " 
 
 A titter ran round the room, and I felt sinking 
 through the floor ! It was but too true. In mistake 
 I had given him that horrid ticket in memory of my 
 repeater, instead of the railway one ! I tried to- 
 laugh it off, but it would not do. My disguise was- 
 seen through, and I was undone ! 
 
 A week afterwards I read in the newspapers that 
 Sophia had become Mrs. Jenkins — sic tra7isit gloria 
 inmidi. 
 
 N.B. — I still have that fatal ticket, but will wil- 
 lingly part with it for a trifle. 
 
 Alfred R. Phillips,. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 HERE was once a man of great wealth. 
 He had gold and silver clothing when- 
 ever he liked to wear it, and he had 
 diamond rings for his fingers, and diamond buckles 
 to his shoes. There were rumours that he used to 
 wear jewels on his toes, like Sardanapalus, or 
 
 Prester John, or the Nawab of Surat (1 forget whicb 
 of them it was) ; and that his pillow and bolster 
 were stuffed with sovereigns. He had also landed 
 property and house property ; arable land, pasture 
 land, garden land, and moor-land. He was the 
 owner of mansions and cottages, which he let at 
 most exorbitant rents. Perhaps it may seem sur-
 
 92 
 
 THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 
 
 prising that persons should have been wiUing to 
 pay so dear for houses that were no better than 
 others which were to be had much cheaper ; but it 
 ^vas considered a great honour to live in a house let 
 by a man who had rings on his toes, and pillows 
 stuffed with gold ; so there was always a great run 
 "upon these houses, when there were any of them to 
 l)e let, and the agent who had the letting of them 
 ■always described them as most eligible and de- 
 ■sirable mansions, or cottages, as the case might be. 
 Both the rich and the poor who became tenants of 
 these houses thought it a highly respectable thing ; 
 and, besides, some of them'fancied they might stand 
 a chance of getting hold of a little of the landlord's 
 money. 
 
 11. 
 
 As this man was so very wealthy, he did ever>-- 
 thing proper that other people did, and went to 
 church as regularly as possible. One day when he 
 was at church, he heard the clergyman read about 
 the four rivers of Eden, one of which, as we all 
 know, was the Pison, which, the account says, flows 
 round the whole of a land where there is gold. 
 And the account goes on to say that the gold of 
 that land is good, and that there is bdellium and 
 the onyx-stone. This struck our wealthy friend's 
 mind very much indeed, and he was vexed with 
 himself for never having noticed it before, during 
 all the years he had been to church. 
 
 Now, he had immense libraries of his own, as well 
 as immense lands, and yet he never studied in those 
 libraries. He had bought them because he liked to 
 have things all to himself, and not at all because he 
 Avas fond of poetry, or science, or philosophy, or 
 history, or algebra, or even such simple things as 
 geography or spelling ; for he was not. It is true 
 he was often heard to say " I should like to know 
 everything," but that was just as he wanted to have 
 everything ; for such was his ignorance or stupidity 
 that he did not reflect that a great many people 
 might know the same thing, and he actually thought 
 that if he could get all the knowledge nobody else 
 would have any. When wise men found that he kept 
 his libraries under lock and key, and never lent a 
 book of any kind, or allowed others to visit his 
 
 libraries and consult them, he found, to his great 
 surprise, that sometimes he could not get hold of a 
 book, let him offer what price he would for it. This 
 confirmed him in his curious notion that he could 
 own knowledge just as he could own land, and keep 
 other people out of it. One time, a young philo- 
 sopher, who had just married a beautiful girl, and 
 felt exceedingly merry, sent to this wealthy man and 
 asked him if he had in his library such a thing as a 
 Grammar, because several philosophers were desirous 
 of consulting one. Now, this wealthy man had 
 bought up hundreds of Grammars and hid them 
 away, thinking that if he did this nobody would 
 know grammar any more than he did ; so he sent 
 back a message to say that he had plenty of Gram- 
 mars in his library, but should not allow them to 
 be seen by anybody but himself, as he required them 
 all for his own private studies. When our young 
 philosopher, who was just married, told his beautifiil 
 wife of this, she advised him to consult with his 
 friends, and come to an arrangement for sending 
 some one every hour of the day to ask for the loan 
 or sight of a Grammar. This was done, and at last 
 the wealthy man got into such a state of mind that 
 he went to the expense of having iron rooms made 
 on purpose to hold his Grammars, besides putting 
 up placards all round his library, warning the public 
 that any person applying for leave to consult a 
 Grammar would be given into custody for annoying 
 the proprietor. 
 
 It may seem a digression, but the fact is, his 
 feelings about geography were just the same as his 
 feelings about grammar; and he had not the least 
 idea of what learned men have written about the 
 Garden of Eden ; but he was very sharp in his way, 
 owing to the study of clauses in leases and things 
 of that sort, and he noticed when the clergyman read 
 those words at church, that the words were " where 
 there is gold," and again, " the gold of that country 
 is good," and again, "there is bdellium and the onyx- 
 stone." And so he said to himself, 
 
 " Now, this is in the Bible, mind you, and so it is 
 true ; and if I can just get to that country, I shall be 
 able to carry off the gold, mind you (for nobody 
 else seems to notice it or to go there) ; and I shall 
 be able to gather onyx-stones, and I shall make large
 
 THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 
 
 93 
 
 imports of bdellium, and put it in bonded ware- 
 houses, and stand out for a high figure." 
 
 Not that he had the least idea of the nature of 
 bdellium, only he thought it probable there would 
 be a customs duty upon it. Also, he said to him- 
 self, 
 
 " I had better not let people know I am off to the 
 country where there is gold of good quality, with 
 bdellium and onyx, for then others will be on the 
 scent, and I shall lose my profit perhaps ; besides, 
 it will sound more religious if I say I want to find 
 the Garden of Eden." 
 
 III. 
 
 It would be tedious to relate all the adventures of 
 this wealthy man in his search after the Garden of 
 Eden, as he called it, though what he really meant 
 was, as we have seen, the gold country ; and, indeed, 
 nobody knows all his adventures, for he was very 
 fond of keeping things close, and, besides, a man 
 who gets an idea of that sort into his head will be 
 sure to go through a great deal that he hardly knows 
 of his own self, and will certainly never remember. 
 But being, as has been said, a very stupid man in 
 some respects, he came to think that if he went as 
 often as he could to a place of public entertainment 
 the sign of which was the "Adam and Eve," he might 
 come to pick up something about the Garden of 
 Eden. One time, while he was at the "Adam and 
 Eve," he heard a man singing a song about the Four- 
 leaved Shamrock, and this gave him a new idea. If 
 he could only find a four-leaved shamrock, it would 
 be like a wishing-cap, or Aladdin's lamp, and he 
 could then get hold of everything, and keep it to 
 himself And where should a four-leaved shamrock 
 grow, if not in the Garden of Eden, where it was 
 probable that all manner of curious plants, herbs, 
 and flowers were to be found? — for, after all, he 
 could reason a little,and had managed to think things 
 over just so far. But then came what puzzled him. 
 If he could find a four-leaved shamrock, which was 
 the same as a wishing-cap, he could get to the Gar- 
 den of Eden whenever he pleased ; and then, again, 
 if he could get to the Garden of Eden, he felt sure 
 he would be able to find a four-leaved shamrock. In 
 fact, he could not make up his mind whether he 
 
 should first look for the Garden of Eden, or try first 
 to find a four-leaved shamrock. This conflict of 
 ideas very much disturbed his mind ; and so did the 
 studies in which he engaged with a view to find out 
 what bdellium was. I say studies, but the fact is, 
 he had not the least idea of the proper use of books, 
 and could only go rummaging about among his 
 bookshelves, like a lunatic, after the word bdellium. 
 This, as may be supposed, never came to anything ; 
 for a regiment of soldiers might go on reading in 
 the British Museum Library all their lives, and never 
 find out what bdellium was, unless they knew more 
 than our hero ; and he was afraid to ask anybody,, 
 because he thought it might put people in mind of." 
 importing it, as he himself purposed doing. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This wealthy man was one of those persons whc» 
 can never attend to several things at a time, and the- 
 consequence of these studies of his, and the difficul- 
 ties he felt with respect to the Garden of Eden and. 
 the four -leaved shamrock was, that he neglected 
 his other affairs, and at last came to poverty. All 
 he now had in the world, beside what was necessarj- 
 to support life, was a flower-pot, in which he was 
 for ever trying to see if a four-leaved shamrock 
 would come up. All the seeds he could possibly 
 beg or gather, he sowed in his flower-pot ; but no- 
 thing that he could possibly take for a four-leaved 
 shamrock came up above the mould. One time it 
 was grass, another time chickweed, another time a 
 scarlet runner, and then perhaps a dandelion. One 
 day, however, when the sun was unusually bright, 
 he fancied, looking out of his garret window into 
 his flower-pot, that he saw just four leaves on one 
 stem peeping above the mould. 
 
 " This," said he to himself, trembling with hope, 
 " must be a four-leaved shamrock ! " And he lifted 
 the flower-pot closer to his eyes ; but as he did so, 
 his hand shook, his hold slipped, and down fell the 
 flower-pot into the street below. The noise it 
 made was very little, but to him it sounded like the 
 crash of a thousand thunders. He tore down the 
 stairs, and, plunging furiously into the street, knelt 
 down, fumbling and grubbing at the remains of his 
 flower-pot and his mould, screeching, in his mad-
 
 •94 
 
 THE GARDEN OF EDEN. 
 
 Tiess, " My four-leaved shamrock ! my four-leaved 
 shamrock ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 Now, nobody takes much notice of a broken 
 flower-pot in a gutter, but who is there that would 
 not be glad to find a four-leaved shamrock ? Thus, 
 crowds of people gathered in a moment around the 
 poor broken thing, clutching at the bits of mould ; 
 and one carried off one piece and one another, till 
 not a fragment was left. Two little children stood 
 by making large eyes, as the man fell down in a 
 faint, crying, " My four-leaved shamrock ! my four- 
 leaved shamrock ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 When he came to himself he was on a sick-bed 
 in an Infirmary — I really believe it was the In- 
 firmary of a Workhouse. The Infirmary opened 
 upon the garden of the building. It was a most 
 lexquisite day in summer. He heard some children 
 singing in another part of the building, and raised 
 ihimself to look out upon the garden. 
 
 Just at that moment two children, the very same 
 children he had seen in the street on the day of his 
 misfortune, entered the room, and walked softly up 
 to his bed-side, bearing between them a flower-pot. 
 He strained his eyes and panted for breath, and 
 stretched out his arms to take it. Before they could 
 speak he caught sight of four green leaves peeping 
 above the mould. 
 
 " Do you think this is it, sir ? " said the little boy ; 
 the little girl smiled. 
 
 " It is my four-leaved shamrock ! " cried he, seizing 
 the flower-pot, and half feeling at the leaves. " I 
 will go to the Garden of Eden this minute, and I 
 will own everything myself ! " 
 
 So saying, he closed his eyes, grasping the flower- 
 pot ; and the children whispered in terror, 
 
 " Where did he say he was going to ?" 
 
 VII. 
 
 But by this time he was there. The gates were 
 closed, but the garden before him was the Garden 
 of Eden. And he saw that Garden ; the red red 
 
 roses and the white, white lilies, and the orange- 
 trees and the myrtle-trees ; and the breath of the 
 roses and lilies and myrtles came to him on the 
 air, and he saw the blue-black shade under the 
 cedar-trees, and the great sycamores and limes, and 
 all the infinite ordered wilderness of the gold-green 
 Garden of the Lord. In the soft luminous distance 
 an Angel would glide from out the boscage, glitter 
 down the winding way for a space, and then fade 
 into the embracing bowers. This man wondered 
 at their great silent wings of lustrous purple, and 
 the unutterable white of their garments ; but as 
 he had never seen an angel before, he was only 
 puzzled, and looked upon them as strange beings. 
 
 Hovering above the gates without, was the Angel 
 with the fire-red brand, far-spread along the sky 
 like the crimson of a stormy sunset But when this 
 man caught sight within the gates of two children 
 near at hand stooping over a four-leaved plant, he 
 called to them eagerly, in spite of the Angel, 
 
 " Let me in, let me in ! " 
 
 Then the two children came to the gate, and 
 touched it ; and though the crimson sword wavered 
 lower and lower, the gates really moved. It seemed 
 as if the children could open them, heavy as they 
 were. This drove the man wild with desire, and he 
 went on saying, 
 
 " Let me in ! open the gates ! I want the four- 
 leaved shamrock that grows here ! I want every- 
 thing for myself ! " 
 
 " I think, sir," said one of the Innocents, " you 
 have made a mistake. The flower is not for those 
 who want everything for themselves. Do you not 
 want the land where there is the good gold, and the 
 bdellium, and the onyx-stone?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! that is it ! I want the river Pison ! 
 Let me in, let me in ! " 
 
 But now, looking as far as his eyes could reach, 
 and straining them both through the green-gold 
 mist of the Garden, he fancied he caught sight of 
 a river reaching well into the Garden and wavering 
 in the sunshine, fold after fold, like a silver-white 
 banner far-floated on the grass ; and there was a 
 boat on the stream, and two were stepping into the 
 boat, and one of the two was an Angel, and the 
 wind was blowing the sail into a crescent ; and, in
 
 NELL Y'S NECKLACE. 
 
 95 
 
 his madness, he thought he caught sight of golden 
 sand on the sides of the river. 
 
 "That's the river Pison, which flows round the 
 land of the good gold, the bdellium, and the onyx ! " 
 he cried. " I will enter the Garden ! " 
 
 And he stretched violent hands towards the Gates of 
 Eden. But he started back at the descending sword 
 of the Angel, which was like a whole horizon of 
 crimson sunset over a stormy sea ; and he saw the 
 Garden no more, but there came a great earthquake, 
 and the land of the good gold was plain before him. 
 And he gathered a great deal of that gold, and wore 
 onyx rings on his toes, and imported bdellium, and 
 lived wealthy and prosperous ever afterwards. At 
 least, that is one version of the story. Another is 
 
 that he had been dreaming, and that he shortly died 
 on his bed in that Infirmary. The one thing to 
 be hoped is that he did not get into the Garden 
 of Eden. For simple as the garden paths looked to 
 him then, there is within the Paradise of the Lord 
 an infinite Maze, in which he would have wandered 
 for ever, lost, though the Innocents can follow 
 every turn of it without a map and without thinking. 
 And what would he have done in that place, when 
 he had never in his life before seen an angel of joy, 
 and did not, until the sword visibly descended, fear 
 the sentinel of God at the gate — although the dread- 
 ful brand was like a stretch of crimson sunset over 
 a stormy sea ? 
 
 Matthew Browne. 
 
 NELLY'S NECKLACE. 
 
 HAVE brought the string of pearls 
 For my prettiest of girls : 
 
 Let your merry laughter ring ! 
 Do not reck 
 The wild ripple of your hair 
 On your dimpled shoulders bare. 
 As I clasp the sheeny string 
 Round your neck ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Here are sixteen snowy pearls, 
 Glad to nestle in your curls ; 
 
 Round your neck they closely cling 
 With delight- 
 Fitting emblem of your years. 
 Free from sorrow, care, and tears ; 
 Sixteen summers softly sing. 
 Pure and bright ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Though your sweetest sunny smiles. 
 And your winsome girlish wiles, 
 Right and left you gaily fling, 
 Merry miss ! 
 From your lips I claim reward — 
 If you'll graciously accord — 
 
 I will clasp the snowy string .... 
 With a kiss. 
 
 J- Ashby-Sterry.
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE MAY. 
 
 LITERALLY ILLUSTRATED, FROM A REALISTIC POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 " There 's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as 
 mine : 
 There 's Margaret, and Mary ; there's Kate and Caroline ; 
 
 But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say, 
 So I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen ol the 
 May!" 
 
 ' I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake 
 If you do not call me loud, when the day begins to break 
 
 As 1 came up the valley, wliom think ye should I see, 
 Uut Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree ?
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE MAY. 
 
 LITERALLY ILLUSTRATED, FROM A REALISTIC POINT OF VIEW. 
 
 " He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white ; 
 And I ran by him, without speaking, like a flash of light. 
 
 There 's many a bolder lad '11 woo me any summer day. 
 And I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Quetn of the 
 May." 
 
 ' Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, 
 And you '11 be there too, mother, to see me made the Queen 
 
 For the shepherd lads from every side '11 come from far away ; 
 And I 'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I 'm to be Queen of the 
 May '•
 
 98 
 
 7 HE STORY OF A MAN WITH A ''CAST'' IN HIS EYE, 
 
 THE STORY OF A MAN WITH A "CAST" IN HIS EYE. 
 
 HAVE often thought that, had I a son, and 
 did he show anything hke a disposition 
 towards Art, I would make a sculptor 
 of him. Understand me clearly. It is, of course, 
 humanly speaking that I use the term "make." 
 Substantially, we have no power to "make" any- 
 thing, save love to other people, and fools of our- 
 selves. At all events, I should strive to train the 
 capacity of my potentially gifted son in the direction 
 of sculpture ; since I hold that in artistic culture 
 the old saw ascribing the inclination of the tree to 
 the bending of the twig, holds thoroughly good. 
 Nay, more. If you only tie so much as a bit of pack- 
 thread, in the way of evil example, to the tender 
 shoot, you may find, by the time the twig has be- 
 come a robust bough, that your ficelle has deve- 
 loped into a full-grown halter. Now, the child who 
 manifests a taste for art has before him three roads 
 'twixt which he may determine on his especial future 
 career : the purely Graphic — if he take that, he will 
 ripen into an engraver or a draughtsman on wood ; 
 the Pictorial — if he pursue that path, he will become 
 a painter in oils or water-colours ; the Plastic — if 
 that be his chosen road, he will model beautiful 
 little statuettes in wax or terra-cotta, carve majestic 
 busts of brewers or soapboilers who have got into 
 Parliament, or execute in bronze or marble colossal 
 effigies of governors, generals, or great and good 
 princes. There are some children so exceptionally 
 endowed with the art-power and the art-love, that 
 — being additionally favoured, I suppose, with the 
 Three Legs of Man — they are able to follow all the 
 roads simultaneously, and arrive a little out of breath, 
 but still triumphant, at a common goal — (I had 
 nearly written "a common gaol," and the lapsus 
 calami might not have mattered much, perhaps, in 
 the long run) — of P'ame and Fortune. Such, you 
 will remember, was the case with Michael Angelo 
 and with Edwin Landseer, who alike excelled in 
 drawing, in painting, and in modcUing. On the 
 
 other hand, we often find distinguished painters who 
 cannot sketch the rampant lion in the Royal Arms 
 without a set model, and who could not squeeze a 
 bit of clay into the semblance of a human face, to 
 save their lives. The illustrious Canova, again, 
 once tried his hand at a picture in oils, and a pretty 
 mess he made of it. The thing was called, I think, 
 " La Carita," and resembled nothing half so much 
 as a very feebly coloured bas-relief. 
 
 Yes ; I would make my son — an I had one — a 
 sculptor. I would take him to Sir Joseph Durham 
 — (who isn't " Sir" Joseph yet, more's the pity !) — 
 and I would say, " Kind sir, here are a thousand 
 guineas ; be pleased to make a sculptor of my son, 
 ere the gay and festive bed-post can twinkle, or the 
 mystic name of Jack Robinson can be pronounced. 
 He has plenty of genius, poetic insight, virtue — tliat 
 he inherited from his papa^and all the rest of the 
 requisites for a sculptor. He only wants application. 
 Teach him to apply ; and if he won't learn, larrup 
 him with a mallet, or a chisel, or a pair of compasses, 
 or anything else which you may find in your well- 
 appointed studio convenient to the purpose." 
 
 And do you know why above all things I should 
 be desirous for my son — assuming him to exist — to 
 choose the sculptor's craft, in preference to the 
 painter's or the draughtsman's ? That he should 
 emulate the renown of Flaxman, or Chantrey, or of 
 Wcstmacott? Not at all. That he should amass 
 a fortune as large as that of old Joe NoUekens? 
 Scarcely. That he should become a Royal Acade- 
 mician ? Pas le nioins du nioiidc. Anybody in the 
 artistic line can become an R.A. in time, if he pays 
 his rent, wears clean linen, toadies the President, 
 and makes money. I would make a sculptor of my 
 son mainly with the intent that he should get into 
 the best society ; and, unless I am very much mis- 
 taken, it was in the most exalted, the most refined, 
 and the most exclusive circles— in the very best 
 society, in fine, that my poor old friend John Car-
 
 THE STORY OF A MAN WITH A "CAST'' IN HIS EYE. 
 
 99 
 
 rara Phibbs once — alas ! that I should say " once " 
 — moved. 
 
 The very name of "John Carrara Phibbs " sounds 
 sculpturally, does it not? whereas plain "John 
 Phibbs " might seem to designate a chandler's shop- 
 keeper, or a tide-waiter in the Custom House, or some 
 other mechanical person. But Phibbs's father knew 
 what he was about, and exercised with regard to his 
 son an amount of prevision almost equalling that 
 of the elder Mr. Shandy. His first and infant son 
 was taken (performing the usual Shakspearian 
 vagaries in the nurse's arms) to St. James's Chapel, 
 in the Hampstead Road, and christened as afore- 
 mentioned, John Carrara. I think the old gentle- 
 man fancied that Carrara was the name of a statuary, 
 and not of a place whence statuary marble comes. 
 It is on record that as he quitted the vestry after the 
 christening, he remarked to the clerk — an old chum 
 of his, and many a jorum of punch they had swigged 
 in company at the " Sol's Arms," in the Hampstead 
 Road — that he intended to make a sculptor of his 
 son. The clerk, who was of a practical turn of 
 mind, remembering that St. James's, Hampstead 
 Road, was a succursal of a great West-End parish 
 church, that had been fain to move its burial-ground 
 extra iniiros, rejoined that the sculpturing notion 
 wasn't such a bad one after all, as there was a power 
 of tombstones wanted every year, with death's heads 
 and winged cherubs upon them. 
 
 But Phibbs p}re flew at higher, at much higher 
 game. His ambition was akin to the yearning 
 which, in a shadowy and impracticable form, pos- 
 sesses me at this moment. He was anxious that 
 liis son should get into "the very best society." 
 Phibbs senior — the truth must be told in Gath — was 
 an actor, a play-actor. It is noteworthy, as prov- 
 ing his upward aspirations, that he always signed 
 liimself "John Phibbs, Comedian," and that having 
 been engaged for full five-and-thirty years at the 
 Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, he seldom omitted 
 to remind you, ere you had been ten minutes in 
 his company, that he was one of His Majesty's 
 servants. If you mentioned people who played at 
 the Haymarket or at Sadler's Wells, he was apt 
 to cry "Oh! ah!" in a disparaging tone, and to 
 inurmur something about rogues and vagabonds, 
 
 in connection with stocks and the whipping-post. 
 Those were the days (I speak of the commence- 
 ment of the present century) when male and female 
 respectability reigned pre-eminent on the boards, 
 and Phibbs pere — "Ancient" Phibbs as he was 
 usually known among his confreres, from the cir- 
 cumstance of his having once played Pistol, on a 
 benefit night, to Stephen Kemble's "Falstaff" — was 
 a highly respectable man. So respectable as to 
 have been many times during his quarter of a cen- 
 tury's occupation of an eight-roomed house at 
 Kentish Town — a little beetle-browed place, half 
 smothered in ivy, and with a bust of Garrick in gilt 
 cork over the door, behind the fanlight — ale-conner, 
 member of the leet-jury, select vestryman, tithing 
 man, parish constable, overseer, and churchwarden. 
 People don't seem to be so respectable now-a-days, 
 and many of the dignities I have glanced at have 
 become obsolete. I am afraid that Phibbs, the 
 benefit-night performance of Ancient Pistol notwith- 
 standing, never rose much higher in his profession 
 than third low comedy, second old men's parts, or 
 " general utility." I think he once played Dawson 
 — or was it Bates ? — in " The Gamester." He was 
 once cast for Adam in " As you Like it," but some- 
 body else came up from the York circuit, strongly 
 recommended by Mr. Tate Wilkinson, and poor 
 Phibbs's dream of advancement was rudely dis- 
 pelled. He continued, not the less, to enjoy the 
 esteem, and, to a certain extent, to command the 
 admiration of his superiors. " He is a credit to the 
 House : he is an honour to the Patent Theatres," the 
 sublime John Kemble was w^ont, with lofty con- 
 descension, to remark. "When that man," the 
 illustrious tragedian would continue, "comes on at 
 the second entrance, and says, 'My Lord, the Coach 
 is at the Door,' you might imagine that he was My 
 Lord himself, just stepped out of his chariot. If 
 Phibbs had been a candle-snutter, he would have 
 treated tallow dips as though they had been pure 
 wax, at three and sixpence a pound." 
 
 Phibbs, subsequent to the birth of the predestined 
 John Carrara, had four children: Tom, whose ten- 
 dencies were musical ; who passed from an early 
 apprenticeship to the big drum in the Covent Garden 
 orchestra to the band of the Royal Horse Guards
 
 TOO 
 
 THE STORY OF A MAN WITH A " CAST'' IN HIS EYE. 
 
 Blue (he was a sight on Royal Birthdays, in his 
 golden coat and jack-boots, and with his silver 
 kettledrums slung at the saddle-bows of his milk- 
 white charger with the streaming tail), and who 
 afterwards made a highly respectable end of it as 
 a professor of music to schools and families in 
 the city of Bath. Then there was Bill, who went 
 to sea as cabin-boy to Mr. Slops, purser to H.M. 
 ten-gun brig "Nipcheese," rose himself to be pur- 
 ser, and died, not long ago, very wealthy, in the 
 ships' provision line at Portsea; Emily, who mar- 
 ried a highly respectable purveyor of lamp-oil to the 
 Theatres Royal (he was not made bankrupt by the 
 introduction of gas, but, on the contrary, acquired a 
 large fortune by the manufacture offish-tail burners); 
 and Sarah Ann, who, like Tennyson's Dora, " died 
 immarried," but who was highly respected as the 
 principal of Brunswick House Seminary for Young 
 Ladies, Sophia Dorothea Terrace, Camden Town. 
 
 I can't exactly make out what first led old Phibbs 
 to conceive that his eldest son would be a sculptor, 
 yet his forecast in the matter was curiously justified 
 by the event. There was a colour-grinder and white- 
 washer in the painting-room of the theatre, who in 
 his youth had been an assistant to M. Roubiliac, 
 the famous statuary of St. Martin's Lane; and it 
 may be that the stories, &c., " Blocky," as he was 
 termed, used to tell to all who would listen to him, 
 of the dukes and marquises, with their stars and 
 garters, and the lords and baronets, with their 
 swords by their sides, who were wont to come to his 
 patron's studio ; of the flasks of burgundy they 
 would quaff with him, and the drums, routs, and 
 ridottos to which their high-born dames would invite 
 him, had fired the brain of Phipps senior, and led 
 him to infer that the highway to the very best society 
 was through modelling-clay and statuary-marble. 
 As things turned out, John Carrara — or Jack, as he 
 came to be called— did really manifest from the ear- 
 liest age of frills and petticoats a surprising aptitude 
 for the art plastic. One of the first instances of his 
 taste in this direction was manifested on the occa- 
 sion of the funeral of the immortal Nelson, when 
 Jack could not have been more than seven years 
 old. His father was going to see the procession to 
 St, Paul's, and the child begged very earnestly that 
 
 he would bring him back one of the medals which 
 were to be thrown on the solemn occasion to the 
 populace. Phibbs senior was not fortunate enough 
 to pick up one of the gilt discs representing Britannia, 
 the British lion, and the Three Graces, weeping over 
 the prostrate hero in the moment of victory ; but, on 
 the way home, he happened to pick up, in Hanway 
 Yard, Oxford Street, a plated button bearing the 
 impress of a horse and jockey ; and not wishing 
 wholly to disappoint his little boy, who was then in 
 a very delicate and precarious state of health, he 
 ventured to practise an innocent deception upon 
 him, and gave him the button. The young virtuoso 
 received it very thankfully : young as he was, he was 
 fond of examining the seals and trinkets of every 
 watch he saw, and he kept a bit of soft wax, ready 
 to take an impression of any device which specially 
 interested him. You may be sure that he did not 
 omit to obtain an imprint of the Brummagem button 
 with the horse and jockey.* 
 
 While still a child, young Jack distinguished him- 
 self by modelling figures of cats and dogs in clay 
 and wax, and in a composition, the nature of which 
 he kept to himself, but which was afterwards dis- 
 covered to be a mixture of putty and sand, and 
 which, hardening, attained almost the durability of 
 stone. He was always carving comical heads, too, 
 out of cherry-stones and bits of slate pencil ; and 
 for three successive Christmas pantomimes at the 
 Theatre Royal, Covent Garden (^tmg^XxW sub ferula 
 in Archbishop Tenison's School in St. Martin's 
 parish), did he model all the masks of giants, dwarfs, 
 imps, and Kobbolds of the Enchanted Gold Mine, 
 required by the ingenious Mr. Farley, or by that 
 gentleman's immediate predecessor in the pantomi- 
 mic line of business. Next did he take to attending 
 the night classes for modelling and drawing from 
 " the round," superintended by old Mr. Pentelicus, 
 in Upper St. Martin's Lane, close to Slaughter's 
 Coffee House. Mr. Pentelicus had been a famous 
 maker of " bustos " in his time. Lord Chancellor 
 Swingscales,in his awful wig and robes, in the Hall of 
 
 * This .-inecdote, I beg leave to state, for the benefit of the chari- 
 table souls who lie in wait to detect Mr. Charles Reade's" plagiarisms," 
 has been transposed from a story in the life of John Flaxman, sculptor.
 
 THE STORY OF A MAN WITH A "CAST" IN HIS EYE. 
 
 lOI 
 
 the Inner Carphanaum, is from P.'s pencil ; and it was 
 he hkevvise who designed the colossal monument to 
 Rear-Admiral Brumby in Westminster Abbey, al- 
 though he was jockeyed out of the commission and 
 its attendant profits by little Monsieur Ragaboche, 
 a French emigre sculptor, who had been taken up 
 by the British aristocracy, and, without much merit 
 of his own, had always his hands full of work. " De 
 Anglish he take de French ship," Ragaboche was 
 accustomed, candidly, to say, " but I get de monish. 
 Oest egal. Trafalgar est venge" 
 
 In his fifteenth year what did the lad do but gain 
 the silver palette offered by the Society for the 
 Encouragement of Arts for the best model of Peace 
 —(or was it War? — I 'm sure I forget) — strangling 
 the hydra-headed serpent of Corsican usurpation. 
 It was shortly after this that the consistent patron 
 of Phibbs Senior, the lofty manager, John Kemble, 
 .introduced young John to the notice of the Right 
 Honourable the Earl of Backstairs, a nobleman pos- 
 sessing enormous wealth and, as times went then, a 
 considerable knowledge and appreciation of art. By 
 this great prince the youthful sculptor was at once 
 taken up, and by the Phibbs family, its friends and 
 acquaintances, it was gleefully assumed that young 
 John's fortune was from that moment definitively 
 made and assured. 
 
 It might have been so, indeed, for the Right Hon. 
 the Earl of Backstairs was the kindest and the most 
 munificent of patrons. He sent young John to Rome, 
 where he remained four whole years, enjoying during 
 a portion of that time the inestimable advantage of 
 tuition in the studio of the great Thorwaldsen. The 
 even mightier master, Signor Canova, Marchese 
 d'Ischia, was then too old to take pupils, but he fre- 
 quently complimented the young Englishman on 
 his dexterity in handling not only his modelling 
 tools, but the more onerous mallet and chisel, and 
 was good enough to predict that the very brightest 
 career was in store for him. 
 
 It might have been so, indeed, when, about the 
 time of the coronation of George the Fourth, Jack 
 Phibbs returned to England, a bright handsome 
 fellow of three or four-and-twenty. It was in that 
 year's Exhibition of the Royal Academy that his 
 marble group of Venus and Cupid — (Lord Back- 
 
 stairs paid for the marble, which came straight from 
 the quarries of Carrara) — gained golden opinions 
 from all sorts of people, and extorted a tribute of 
 admiration even from the difficult Mr. Hazlitt, the 
 great art-critic of those days. In the following year 
 his alto-relievo — " Sleep escaping from the wrath of 
 Jupiter" — took the place of honour in the coal-cellar 
 — ('twas there the sculpture used to be shown)— at 
 Somerset House. The work had been bought and 
 paid for long since by his generous patron, but his 
 lordship was only too glad to surrender his purchase 
 to the Russian Prince Shindykoff, who had taken a. 
 fancy to it, and to allow young Phibbs to receive 
 the cheque for three hundred guineas drawn in his 
 favour by the Muscovite Boyard, who sadly wanted 
 Jack to come with him to St. Petersburg, pro.mising 
 him introductions to the Imperial family, estates in 
 the Caucasus, the Cross of the Third Class of St. 
 Alexander Nobbski, and what not. 
 
 It might have been so indeed if, unhappily, by 
 the time he was thirty years of age. Jack Phibbs 
 had not turned out to be a desperate and irreclaim- 
 able scamp. He broke his father and mother's 
 heart to begin with, by bringing home riotous com- 
 panions at four in the morning, drawing bills upon his 
 fond parents, and inciting them to raise money on 
 their furniture under bills of sale. He borrowed 
 money of his brother Tom, the bandmaster, and 
 would have paid the same compliment to his brother 
 Bill had not that discreet person been, in the first in- 
 stance, cruising in the Indian Archipelago, and in 
 the next, inexorable in his determination never to 
 lend twopence-halfpenny to anybody. Of the scan- 
 dal and disorders caused by the "carryings on" of 
 Jack Phibbs, under pretence of teaching drawing 
 and modelling, at the seminary conducted by his 
 sister at Sophia Dorothea Terrace, Camden Town, 
 I will say nothing. In short, there was no end to 
 the wickedness of this abandoned young man. He 
 drank, he smoked (it was considered wicked to 
 smoke in 182 — ), he had boxed with Tom Cribb, 
 and drunk brandy and water with Jack ThurtcU (who 
 was hanged), and for getting into debt and getting 
 out of people's good books he was unequalled. I 
 think that he married a wife : a poor pale little thing, 
 whom he ill treated, and who had a baby and died.
 
 I02 
 
 THE STOR Y OF A MAN WITH A " CAST" IN HIS E YE. 
 
 I know that he ran away with Mrs. Lightfoot, of 
 the Surrey Theatre, who had aheady a husband 
 (paralytic) and five children, and danced on the 
 tight-rope. I know that he was many times insol- 
 vent, and once at least bankrupt (only traders could 
 avail themselves of the benefit of the Statutes of 
 Bankruptcy in those days) as a wharfinger, a de- 
 scription he borrowed from the fact that he had 
 once hired a shed on the Horseferry Road, Mil- 
 bank, as a warehouse for some marble. As to the 
 debtors' prisons of the day, he had been in them 
 all. At the lodge-gates of the Bench, the Fleet, 
 Horsemonger Lane, the Marshalsea, and White- 
 cross Street, the turnkeys were all familiar with the 
 person of Captain Phibbs — I have never been able 
 to account for the gravitation of gentlemen in diffi- 
 culties towards the brevet rank of captain — and he 
 was equally well known to the Jewish myrmidons of 
 the spunging houses about Cursitor Street and 
 Blackfriars Road. 
 
 Most of these particulars, I do not scruple to 
 admit, I have gathered from hearsay ; nevertheless, 
 a good many years ago I did know Jack Phibbs in 
 the flesh. He must at that period have been verging 
 on three-score years — a shabby, shameful, grog- 
 soddened old man, with irreverend white hair, red- 
 lidded eyes, and a moist lip, who would do almost 
 anything that was mean and flagitious for a glass 
 of cold rum and water. He had almost entirely 
 abandoned the practice of his art ; and, indeed, 
 his half-palsied hands had rarely sufficient nerve to 
 handle clay, much less marble : so he lived mainly 
 on borrowing loose silver, and promising to execute 
 " your bust." In this last regard, I am fain to admit 
 that his promise occasionally went to the extent of 
 performance ; still, the performance was of a very 
 unsatisfactory nature to the patron (usually picked 
 lip in the parlour of a tavern) who had been weak- 
 minded enough to commission an effigy of himself; 
 for when Jack PhJbbs (generally by the kindly and 
 secret assistance of some old artistic friends) had 
 scrambled through his work, and "your bust" was 
 linishcd, the unscrupulous sculptor was accustomed 
 to deposit it at the nearest pawnbroker's ; and the 
 patron's ai/!o:i?-prflprr sometimes, but not always, led 
 him to redeem the unjustifiable j)ledge. Yet I some- 
 
 times fancy that there must be a bust of myself in 
 the keeping of the esteemed Rattleborough family, 
 of Lombard's Alley, to this day. 
 
 When I knew the fallen Professor of Plastic Art, he 
 was accustomed to go by a variety of sobriquets. 
 Some people called him "Jamaica" Phibbs, in conse- 
 quence of his partiality for rum and water cold. By 
 another section of his associates he was known aS' 
 " Bonaparte" Phibbs : thelegend being that one day 
 in the autumn of the year 1821 — the precise day, in 
 fact, when the news of the death, at St. Helena, of 
 the great Napoleon arrived in London — a friend 
 of Phibbs met that immoral person at the south- 
 eastern corner of King Street, Covent Garden, and 
 sought to touch his callous heart by telling him that 
 Bonaparte was dead. " Bonaparte be bio wed !" (he 
 used a wickeder expletive, I fear) replied the hard- 
 ened man ; " Can yoii. lend me ciglitcenpence ?" I 
 cannot believe, however, that this anecdote really 
 refers to Phibbs, since you will recollect that it was 
 in 1 82 1 that his Highness Prince Shindykoff pur- 
 chased his bas-relief of " Sleep flying from the wrath 
 of Jupiter." Yet have I been told of persons with 
 very large incomes indeed who were in occasional 
 wantof eighteenpence,and exhibited not the slightest 
 scruple in borrowing that sum. 
 
 On the whole — passing by his nicknames of 
 "Liar," "Buffy," and "Mouldy"— I am inchned to 
 think that it was as " Gallows " Phibbs that the de- 
 graded artist was best known. And this name he 
 seems to have owed to a very curious adventure, 
 which befell him sometime between 1825 and 1829, 
 when he was still young, but had commenced his 
 downhill career of profligacy and idleness. He had 
 been driven by necessity to accept the derogatory 
 position of modeller in ordinary to the proprietor of 
 a large travelling waxwork show. This was long 
 before the time when a "chamber of horrors" was 
 added, as a special attraction, to Madame Tussaud's 
 exhibition; nevertheless the effigies of notorious 
 criminals as they lived (and murdered) were very 
 common adjuncts to travelling galleries of waxwork, 
 and it was part of Jack Phibbs's functions (for a 
 salary of three pounds a week and his expenses) to 
 travel about the country in the wake of the Judges 
 of Assize, and take casts in plaster of the counte-
 
 THE STORY OF A MAi\ WITH A ''CAST" IN HIS EYE. 
 
 lO' 
 
 nances of conspicuous malefactors, which had been 
 prepared for plastic treatment by another artist — an 
 artist not in clay, not in wax, not in marble, but in 
 hemp, and whose name was Cheshire, commonly 
 bight '"Jack." He was a very perfect Hangman, and 
 the immediate predecessor of the present accom- 
 plished wearer of the Ketchian laurels, Mr. Calcraft. 
 Oddly enough, although Jack Phibbs had, in the 
 course of his practice, taken casts from the faces of 
 scores of murderers, highwaymen, and forgers (he 
 executed, by the way, a charming portrait figure of 
 his old acquaintance, Mr. Thurtell), he had never 
 seen a man hanged, and he had never yet set eyes 
 on the public executioner. For it was the custom of 
 Mr. Cheshire, when his morning's work had been 
 executed in a skilful and workmanlike manner, to 
 withdraw himself from the public gaze, and, in the 
 interior of the prison, and in the company of his 
 assistant and a turnkey or two, to comfort himself 
 with brandy and tobacco, to the smoothing of his 
 spirits, which had been sometimes ruffled by a hoot- 
 ing populace addicted to throwing dead cats and 
 other objectionable objects at the head of the zealous 
 and devoted official who, at so much personal risk 
 and self-sacrifice, came forward to fulfil the last dread 
 behests of the law. Jack Phibbs would never go 
 near the gaol until the full hour prescribed by law 
 had expired ; and then, provided with his order from 
 the High Sheriff, and his necessary tools and plaster, 
 he would perform his spiriting as gently as might be. 
 A nice thing it was for the pupil of Thorwaldsen and 
 the protege of the Right Honourable the Earl of 
 Backstairs — for a man who had exhibited at the 
 Royal Academy, and moved in the very best society, 
 to come down to. But needs must when the devil 
 — that is to say, Idleness and Profligacy : I don't 
 know of any other fiends — drives. 
 
 When Mr. Crookfinger, the celebrated will-forger 
 — he was quite the gentleman, rode to hounds, mar- 
 ried the daughter of a rural dean, and had some of 
 the best Curaqao in England — was hanged, in the 
 year 182 — , at Winchester, Jack Cheshire, you may 
 rest assured, was there; and Jack Phibbs, with his 
 spatulae and his plaster of Paris was not far behind 
 him. It was rather a busy time with both artists, 
 for just three days after the finishing of Mr. Crook- 
 
 finger, the completing touch was to be put to the 
 career of the renowned Mr. Hydrag, who had poi- 
 soned his stepmother, two of his aunts, and his 
 mother-in-law down in Devonshire, He was con- 
 victed, but, strangely enough, the jury omitted to 
 recommend him to mercy; and Mr. Hydrag (his 
 waxen effigy, after the punishment of death for for- 
 gery was abolished, and with the addition of a sallow 
 complexion and a beard and moustaches, did duty 
 as Fieschi, the assassin of the Infernal Machine) 
 was, by the presiding Judge at the Exeter Assizes, left 
 for death. Thus it came about that on a certain 
 Sunday evening Jack Phibbs, having just been drop- 
 ped from the roof of the Great Western mail-coach, 
 found himself in the ancient and venerable city of 
 Exeter, in quest of supper and a bed, and with a 
 lively remembrance that he had an appointment with 
 the countenance of Mr. Hydrag at nine o'clock on 
 the following Monday morning, the rendezvous of 
 the criminal with Mr. Cheshire being fixed for eight 
 a.m. 
 
 The Western Assizes having just been brought to a 
 satisfactory consummation, by several culprits (Mr. 
 Hydrag, the poisoner, among the number) being 
 comfortably " left for death," it happened that the 
 picturesque and venerable city of Exeter was very 
 full ; for although the Judges and the leading counsel 
 had taken their departure to hold more Assizes down 
 in Cornwall, with the benevolent intent of ascertain- 
 ing whether there was anybody in the remote regions 
 of the Land's End to whom a little hanging would 
 do any good, a considerable number of the junior 
 members of the Bar had lingered behind for the 
 laudable purpose of improving their acquaintance 
 with the county families, to whose feminine and 
 beauteous scions they had been presented at the 
 assize ball. What ill-conditioned curmudgeon was 
 it, I wonder, who put a stop to those pleasurable 
 reunions ? That a ball should wind up a commis- 
 sion of Oyer and Terminer, and that a general gaol 
 delivery should be followed by Sir Roger de Coverley, 
 could surely do no harm to the luckless individual 
 in the condemned hold against whose name there 
 was written in the calendar the lamentable epitaph 
 of " Siis. pel' colir Nayj hanging has itself been 
 qualified as " dancing upon nothing;" thus the con-
 
 I04 
 
 THE STORy OF A MAN WITH A ''CAST'' IN HIS EYE. 
 
 nection between the gavotte and the gallows may- 
 be closer than at the first blush might be imagined. 
 At any rate, Exeter was very full on the precise 
 Sunday evening in the year 182 — of which I speak. 
 The country people had flocked into the city in 
 great numbers for the purpose of seeing Mr. Hydrag 
 hanged, and Jack Phibbs had the very greatest 
 difficulty in obtaining a bed. A small carpet bag 
 held all his needments in the way of plaster of Paris 
 and modelling tools ; and for this reason, perchance, 
 or it may be because they did not approve of his 
 personal appearance — -which, it must be owned, had 
 grown somewhat shabby and dissipated-looking of 
 late — the landladies of the big hotels would have 
 nothing to say to him. For well-to-do landladies 
 have an unconquerable aversion to travellers who 
 have very little luggage with them ; whence it fol- 
 lows, as a rule, that the bigger the swindler who 
 goes about the country bilking innkeepers, the more 
 voluminous are the trunks and portmanteaus — full 
 of bricks and back numbers of the penny papers, 
 mainly — he carries with him. 
 
 At length the belated sculptor stumbled on a 
 humble little hostelry, half inn, half beershop, 
 situated in a narrow passage behind the cathedral 
 close, by the sign, let us say, of the " Bold Dragoon." 
 The landlady, a civil personage enough, and seem- 
 ingly not unaccustomed to guests who carried their 
 belongings in a hand-bag, or even in the humbler 
 form of a bundle, told Jack that she would do what 
 she could for him, but that the maximum of sleep- 
 ing accommodation she could place at his disposal 
 did not extend beyond the moiety of a double-bedded 
 room, the room in question being the back attic. 
 The rest of her house, she added, using a profes- 
 sional phrase, was " full to the bung." She explained, 
 however, that the attic was a very nice one — the 
 nicest, perhaps, in the house, barring the best bed- 
 room, which was that night occupied by one of the 
 largest pig-jobbers in the county of Devon; that the 
 bed she was enabled to offer Jack was as clean as a 
 new pin, and " as soft as a pocket of new-picked 
 'ops;" and, finally, that the other bed would be 
 " slep' in " by a gentleman " as was a puffick gentle- 
 man, and as quiet as a lamb, which she had known 
 him years and years, and was no more given to 
 
 snorin' nor chokin' hisself in his sleep than a new- 
 born infant." What more could she say? What, 
 indeed! The man who could have objected to 
 accept the half of a double-bedded room after such 
 a recommendation must indeed have been difficult 
 to please; although Jack, as he struck a bargain for 
 the tenancy of the highly-lauded couch, could not 
 help remembering that infants of tender years, if 
 indeed they rarely snored, were not unfrequently 
 given to choking themselves in their sleep in a 
 manner not wholly pleasant to the ears of those 
 unfortunate enough to be their bedfellows. Jack 
 Phibbs, however, was a philosopher, albeit a scamp- 
 ish one. He paid the landlady five shillings in 
 advance to begin with — a step which did not fail to 
 propitiate the good woman ; and then he ordered his 
 supper, and, after partaking of a substantial repast 
 of cold roast beef and pickles, washed down by a 
 pint or two of ale (people were not afraid of supping 
 in 182 — ), he took his usual allowance of grog and 
 tobacco — that is to say, a good deal more than was 
 good for him, — and about midnight announced his 
 intention of retiring to the peerless bed in the back 
 attic, which was as clean as a new pin, and as soft 
 as a pocket of hops. He asked the grimy maiden 
 with excoriated elbows who officiated as boots, 
 waitress, and chambermaid, all in one, to the " Bold 
 Dragoon," if the gentleman who was to be his fellow- 
 lodger had returned. 
 
 " Yer means the old 'un," responded the grimy 
 maiden. " No, he ain't. He 's ginerally late." 
 
 " Ah ! he 's an old gentleman, is he ? Farmer, 
 perhaps. Sits late over his pipe," the sculptor men- 
 tally remarked. "Never mind, Judy"— the grimy 
 maiden looked as though her name could only have 
 been Judy — he continued aloud ; " I 'm very sleepy, 
 and I dare say the old 'un won't wake me up when 
 he docs turn in." H e hesitated for a moment whether 
 he should chuck the assumed Judy under the chin, 
 his custom always of an evening with chambermaids, 
 but confessing that she was a little too grimy even 
 for that modified form of caress, concluded to let 
 her alone, and limited himself to bidding her be sure 
 to call him not later than half-past seven the next 
 morning, promising her, in case of punctuality, the 
 magnificent sum of sixpence as a recompense. So
 
 THE STORY OF A MAN WITH A ''CAST'' IN HIS EYE. 
 
 105 
 
 Judy grinned a grimy grin, and duly promised, and 
 Jack Phibbs walked — I am afraid that he staggered 
 a Httle — up to bed. 
 
 The famous double-bedded chamber was a pokey 
 little attic, with a shelving roof and a dormer win- 
 dow with lattice-panes in the centre. On each side 
 of the casement was a truckle bed, and by the side 
 of each pallet a bare deal table and a rush-bottomed 
 chair. Everything was clean enough ; and Jack's 
 bed, although it bore no very great resemblance to a 
 pocket of new-picked hops, was furnished with sheets 
 scented not unpleasantly with lavender. Before, 
 however, he retired to his couch, the sculptor un- 
 packed hib bag, principally for the purpose of getting 
 at his comb and brush, which articles lay at the 
 bottom of his sac de unit, and by the time he had 
 fished them out, he felt too tired to replace the 
 remaining contents of the bag, which lay scattered 
 about the table. There, for example, was a bag full 
 of plaster of Paris in powder ; there, a large sponge ; 
 there, a bundle of brushes and modelling tools ; and 
 there, wrapped up in a crimson silk pocket-handker- 
 chief, was the cast of the head of the man who had 
 been hanged at Winchester three days before. 
 
 Oddly enough — (although, I dare say, the same 
 odd thing has happened to most of us when over- 
 fatigued, lying in a strange bed and with the uneasy 
 consciousness of having something disagreeable to 
 do the next morning)— when Jack had extinguished 
 the rushlight and ensconced himself between the 
 lavender-scented sheets, he found that he could not 
 sleep a wink. In vain he turned from side to side, 
 rearranged the bed-clothes, and pounded the pillow 
 over and over again — in vain he tried to count to 
 eleven hundred and eighty, to repeat " Mesopota- 
 mia's merchandise is not manufactured," with other 
 devices too numerous to specify, prescribed as in- 
 fallible remedies against insomnia. At length, he 
 remembered that he had a pipe and a small quantity 
 of tobacco in his bag, and that there was a box of 
 matches on the table ; but just as he had made up 
 his mind to jump out of bed and try the efficacy of 
 a final smoke, he heard a heavy footstep on the 
 stairs. Then the door creaked on its hinges, and 
 somebody bearing a light entered the attic. 
 
 " This must be the old 'un," murmured Jack to 
 
 himself. " Let 's lie quiet, and see what kind of a 
 bird he is. Halloa ! I think he 's been in the same 
 boat with me. He's had enough grog to-night, 
 that's certain." 
 
 To judge from the desperate but impotent efforts 
 made by the stranger, when he had staggered to 
 the bed and sate down thereupon, to pull off his 
 boots, he had apparently consumed that evening not 
 merely a sufficiency, but a decided superabundance, 
 of alcoholic fluids. Yet are there certainly cases in 
 which a gentleman of perfectly sober habits may be 
 suffering under the affliction of tight boots, and may 
 be consequently impelled to pant, to groan, to per- 
 spire, and at length to utter maledictions not only 
 loud but deep. It was only after a series of the most 
 furious muscular struggles that Jack's fellow-lodger 
 succeeded in ridding himself from the integumental 
 impediments ; and yet, when he had taken them off, 
 the sculptor could not help thinking that he had 
 rarely seen such very wide and roomy boots — heavy, 
 square-toed, and with the tops of the configuration 
 and hue known as " mahoganies " or " pickle-jars." 
 
 "A farmer evidently," the sculptor inwardly 
 opined, as his room-mate proceeded more or less 
 unsteadily to divest himself of a blue frock coat, 
 with brass buttons, and a striped grogram waistcoat 
 — " a farmer, and as drunk as David's sow." 
 
 The "old 'un" — he was a stout man of about 
 sixty years of age, with a hard, weather-beaten 
 countenance, bushy grey eyebrows, scanty tufts ot 
 grey whiskers on either cheek-bone, and a ring of 
 grey hair, almost resembling that worn by monks, 
 round his otherwise bald scalp — had obviously an 
 additional garment of which to divest himself ere 
 he retired to repose; but I am absolved from the 
 painful necessity of mentioning the nature of that 
 article in question, since the Fates so willed it that 
 he undressed himself no more in Jack's presence 
 that night. For the " old 'un " suddenly took it into 
 his head to creep in his stocking-feet to the foot of 
 Jack's bed, and, shading the candle, which he held in 
 one hand, with the palm of the other, to look intently 
 on his fellow-lodger's face. Jack, willing to humour 
 the eccentric old gentleman, remained perfectly still, 
 counterfeiting deep slumber. By-and-bye, the " old 
 'un " turned his candle to the table where lay the
 
 ic6 
 
 MISS MILES, THE TELEGRAPH GIRL. 
 
 contents of Jack's bag, and he began to fumble at 
 the crimson silk pocket-handkerchief in which was 
 wrapped 
 
 You know what was wrapped in that kerchief. So 
 soon as ever the eyes of the old gentleman — who 
 was such a perfect gentleman — lighted on that which 
 was beneath the silken envelope, he uttered a most 
 hideous and appalling yell, and rushed, all bootless, 
 vestless, and coatless as he was, from the room and 
 downstairs, roaring "murder !" the whole way. 
 
 And this was the way in which the dissolute 
 sculptor, who ought to have got into such very good 
 society, but who, on the contrary, contrived to mingle 
 with such very disreputable associates, acquired the 
 .v^i5;7^/^^/ of " Gallows " Phibbs. No explanation, 
 lie was wont to say, could be obtained respecting 
 the mysterious lodger from Judy, when she came up 
 to fetch the mahogany tops and the remaining gar- 
 ments abandoned by the stranger ; but the landlady 
 confessed the next morning, not without many ex- 
 
 pressions of repentance, the entire truth. She had 
 made bold, she said, to put the sculptor in the same 
 room with a gentleman who was a very old custo- 
 mer of hers, and who never failed to patronize her 
 when business matters brought him down to that 
 part of the country. That gentleman's name was 
 Cheshire. He was ordinarily known as Jack Che- 
 shire, and he was the public hangman. 
 
 Jack Phibbs's cast of the head of the gentleman 
 who had been hanged at Winchester must have been 
 a very life-like — or, rather a very death-like — one ; 
 since the bare sight of it had led the executioner to 
 imagine that he recognized an old acquaintance — 
 an old acquaintance of three days previously — an 
 old acquaintance of the scaffold, the gibbet, and the 
 drop. Jack Ketch, I suppose, is not exempt from 
 the accident of seeing ghosts sometimes, or, at least, 
 of being half frightened out of his senses when he 
 fancies that he sees them. 
 
 George Augustus Sala. 
 
 MISS MILES, THE TELEGRAPH GIRL. 
 
 Thy heart is like some icy lake, 
 On whose cold brink I stand ; 
 
 Oh, buckle on my spirit's skate. 
 And take me by the hand ! 
 
 INCE Soul first basked in Passion's 
 sun, 
 I always ran to seed 
 In seeking One who'd gone and done 
 
 Some great heroic deed ; 
 And deemed I 'd found Life's Earnest Truth 
 
 In Gloriana Green, 
 Who engineered a bonnet shop. 
 And bossed a sewing machine. 
 
 But as the rose of morning fades 
 
 Before the fire of noon. 
 Or sparrows yield in sylvan glades 
 
 To mocking-birds in June, 
 My Gloriana's stock went down — ■ 
 
 its wheat all turned to chaff — 
 When I got in with Mary Miles, 
 
 Who ran the telegraph. 
 
 And lead, thou living saint, the way 
 
 To where the ice is thin, 
 That it may break beneath my feet, 
 
 And let a lover in. 
 
 Spiritualistic Poetry. 
 
 Her brow betokened serious life ; 
 
 I knew my final queen ; 
 A soul divine in gaiter-boots, 
 
 A Dream in crinoline. 
 Her parasol a glory seemed 
 
 Around a vivid saint, 
 The whole one spirit-photograph 
 
 Illumed with heavenly paint. 
 
 And thus she lifted up her voice. 
 
 That mission-mantled maid ; 
 And thus she spoke with golden grace, 
 
 And sacredly she said — 
 A-pointing at me all the time 
 
 With that same parasol. 
 The light which gleams from silent lands 
 
 Around her seemed to fall —
 
 MISS MILES, THE TELEGRAPH GIRL. 
 
 107 
 
 " You 've told of great and holy deeds — 
 
 I s'pose they all are true — 
 But in our telegraphic line 
 
 We 've some adventures, too ; 
 And though I do not like to boast 
 
 Of what I ever done, 
 One thing my Moral Consciousness 
 
 Declares was Number One. 
 
 " Last Fall I was in Tennessee 
 
 A-travelling might and main, 
 When all at once the engine broke — 
 
 They couldn't run the train ; 
 And if another train should come 
 
 'T would rather make us scream." 
 List to the glorious deed she did, 
 
 This angel of my dream. 
 
 " I saw a telegraphic line 
 Was running by our j-oicf, 
 Though not a house or a machine 
 
 Was anywhere about. 
 And the conductor said, said he, 
 
 With his wild eyes of light : 
 * Miss Miles, if we'd a battery, 
 I 'd fix this scrape all right. 
 
 '•' I 'd send 'em down a telegram 
 
 Some twenty miles below, 
 And ask for help.' I looked at him — 
 
 ' I '11 fix the business, Joe. 
 Is there a pair of nippers here? 
 
 If so, those nippers bring ; 
 And if you can't, a sharp-edged file 
 
 Would be a heaven-sent thing.' " 
 
 " Unshadowed girl ! I see the dodge," 
 
 I cried in rapturous joy ; 
 "And didst thou climb the post thyself?" 
 Said she, " I did, my boy. 
 A higher law of moral truth 
 Gave courage to my soul ; 
 I did not show my garters once 
 In going up the pole. 
 
 " No poet ever felt such thrills 
 
 In touching of his lyre 
 As I did when I found there came 
 
 A message through the wire. 
 That wire I cut, and 'tween my teeth 
 
 I held it — ay, with pride, — 
 And with my tongue the current clicked 
 
 To the wire on t' other side. 
 
 " On one side came the message in 
 
 From some man in New York: 
 ^ Buy if you can, at ninety-five. 
 
 Five thonsand sides of pork! 
 And this same electricity 
 
 I changed as in a flash : 
 ' Send down an engine right a%uay, 
 
 Or lue shall go to smash.' 
 
 " The engine came, and all were saved — 
 
 Yet Life is but a Dream. 
 I live — thou livest in a cloud : 
 
 We are not what we seem. 
 Still craving for the Infinite 
 
 In Time's ideal lodge, 
 I grasped a Truth — yet after all 
 
 'T was but an earthly dodge." 
 
 I gazed upon that spirit grand, 
 
 Upon my knees I sank. 
 And from mine eyes the burning sand 
 
 The scalding tear-drops drank. 
 Then soft she smiled : " If deeds hke this 
 
 Can yield such victory, 
 And 1 am in your line, my love, 
 
 Then, love, I yield to thee." 
 
 Ho, maidens of Vienna's show ! 
 
 Ho, matrons of Lucerne ! 
 Look out for us next summer, when 
 
 We give your shop a turn. 
 I have won my soul's ideal, 
 
 I have booked her for a wife ; 
 And the Fancy and the Real 
 
 Are united in my life. 
 
 Charles G. Leland.
 
 TYMKYNS AND HIS HATS : A True Story of Club Life- 
 
 If there was one thing Tymkyns prided him- 
 self on, it was his hat — thoughit wasanoosance, 
 don't you know, that girls would follow him to 
 see themselves in it. 
 
 It was most flattering that the members of the Thingummy Club should so earnestly solicit him to join. 
 
 DOWN WITH TyMK-VN^ 
 
 Great was the excitement among the black balls when they knew Tymkyns was "up." 
 
 Tymkyns was elected, however. Hooray ! 
 
 Now, it was ra:her curious th.it, whenever he droppedj 
 in, this saould happen.
 
 TYMKYNS AND HIS HATS : A True Story of Club Life. 
 
 And when the commitlee expostulated, he wrote them a httle note. 
 
 And vvas promptly expelled. But he 
 had his revenge — ha, ha ! And the 
 members of the Thingummy Chil) 
 gnashed their teeth, and caught colds 
 in their heads exceedingly !
 
 no 
 
 TURKE V IN FRANCE. 
 
 TURKEY IN FRANCE. 
 
 E must have a turkey — that was certain — 
 in order to maintain some semblance of 
 Christmas in our temporary home at 
 , on the coast of Normandy. We knew that 
 rosbif would not serve our turn, and that pliim- 
 boiiding was only a batter pudding made in a basin 
 with some raisins in the bottom ; but about a turkey 
 we felt there should be no difficulty, for on any 
 market-day you could see helpless gobblers reposing 
 at the feet of the stall-women among small mobs of 
 chickens, geese, and ducks, all similarly hobbled — 
 so a turkey we determined it should be. 
 
 We placed ourselves in communication with Mon- 
 sieur who supplied us with our milk and butter, and 
 who had an unmistakeable country air about him, 
 though at times his milk was not entirely beyond a 
 suspicion of water, with which, as we happened to 
 reside outside the octroi, he could safely supplement 
 our supplies. He was all bows and smiles when we 
 consulted and laid our plans before him. " A turkey 
 — yes, certainly ! — yes, without doubt ! " — and away 
 he went, leaving us in the full belief that we had 
 done all that was necessary for our Christmas feast. 
 
 This delusive state of contentment was not fated 
 to last long, however ! One day, about a fortnight 
 before Christmas, on our return from shopping, 
 Madame, our French bonne, led us with much 
 ceremony to the coal-cellar. There, seated on the 
 edge of the coal-bin, in gloomy and ruffled grandeur 
 sat — the turkey! A live turkey is not a preposses- 
 sing bird at the best of times. I have often thought 
 that he was selected as one of the dishes for Christ- 
 mas, because his wattles gave him the gorged and 
 bottle-nosed appearance of a bon vizfaiit, whose fate 
 might be a warning against the excesses of that 
 essentially gormandizing season. 
 
 Madame explained that Monsieur the milkman 
 had brought the turkey thus early because about 
 Christmas-time the captains of the English boats 
 bought up all the gobblers in the vicinity. It was 
 
 rather like an implied admission that we had better 
 have the bird at once, because, if any one came by 
 and offered Monsieur a few sous more than we had 
 bargained for, his honesty would have been shaken, 
 and our claims sacrificed. With a great regard for 
 French people, I cannot conceal from myself the 
 knowledge that a bargain made with them is only a 
 bargain so long as nobody else makes a higher bid. 
 Par exevtplc, a carriage especially ordered three 
 days before, to take us to see a grand wedding, did 
 not turn up at the appointed hour ; and it was only 
 on sending down to hasten it that we learnt it was 
 not coming at all, because the proprietor had hired 
 it out to somebody else ! 
 
 However, to our turkey. There sat the solemn 
 bird on the edge of the coal-bin. To any blandish- 
 ments addressed to it in English it responded with 
 that superb contempt which dogs, cats, birds, and 
 horses on the Continent display towards the bar- 
 barous tongue. Before long we discovered that our 
 new acquisition declined to eat. Perhaps he wished 
 to starve himself, rather than become a meal for the 
 despised foreigner. We tried all sorts of things, but 
 he still sat in solemn dignity on the edge of the coal- 
 bin, and refused to take any notice of the tid-bits. 
 
 The coal-cellar certainly smacked somewhat of 
 the " lowest dungeon beneath the castle moat ; " so 
 we determined to try if he would be more agreeable 
 in the open air. Accordingly, he was led forth — 
 still attached to a cord round his leg — to the pump. 
 It did not induce him to eat, but it somewhat inter- 
 fered with our facilities for drinking ; for he showed 
 a manifest dislike to any one drawing water, which 
 we could only attribute to his disapproval of the way 
 in which his late owner had been in the habit of 
 adulterating the milk. 
 
 After some time, our captive so far relented as to 
 take a frugal but refreshing repast of apple-parings. 
 He next condescended to oats, and after that, his 
 reserve or pride having bedn once broken down, be-
 
 TURKEY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 came fairly omnivorous. At night the pump used to 
 be released, and the turkey was led to his roost on 
 the edge of the coal-bin. 
 
 Our house was built at the foot of an abrupt slope, 
 up which the garden had to climb, holding on with 
 teeth and nails. After a heavy shower of rain, it was 
 not altogether unusual to find that some of the 
 plants from the top bed had come down to make 
 acquaintance with the back door. The only things 
 that held on were the snails ; and they held on in 
 considerable numbers. We used to collect them in 
 baskets, to give to the poor ; but the poor somehow 
 never seemed to care to come and fetch them. We 
 kept a few fowls, which had the freedom of this pre- 
 cipice, and used to toil up it tediously, and come 
 down with a flop, by merely letting go when they 
 were at the summit. It was a family belief that if 
 any of them ever laid, the egg used to roll down the 
 declivitv and across the road into the front gate of 
 the opposite house ; but the conjecture was never 
 established as a fact, the fowls being of French 
 extraction, and therefore declining to converse with 
 us English. 
 
 I have described the garden thus lengthily, be- 
 cause it was the scene of an escapade, in which 
 the turkey was the central figure. One morning, 
 "squauks" were heard issuing from the garden. 
 A glance from the window told the reason. Some- 
 body had left the coal-cellar door open, and the 
 turkey had marched forth to survey the premises. 
 Whether he recognized the fowls as fellow-creatures, 
 and desired companionship, or was pursuing them 
 with murderous purpose, it is impossible to say. At 
 any rate, they did not like the look of him, and were 
 rushing about in dire alarm, and with much cack- 
 ling. It was raining pretty heavily at the time ; and 
 the next moment I saw Madame, with a green um- 
 brella, toiling up the steep like a verdant mushroom. 
 Madame's sabots completed the picture. Whenever 
 I read in the Tichborne case that Arthur Orton 
 " threw his feet about," there rises to my misd's eye 
 the figure of Madame shedding a j-^^is/ at every other 
 step. If you don't believe this, dear reader, buy, beg, 
 borrow, or steal a pair of sabots, and then try and 
 climb a perpendicular wall in them. Please invite 
 me to be present at the experiment. — But I am 
 
 wandering, like the turkey. Fate, the green umbrella, 
 and the sabots closed in upon him, the truant was 
 recaptured, and once again bound apprentice to the 
 pump. 
 
 There was one consolation ! It was about time 
 that the career of this singular bird should be brought 
 to a close. But the consolation only concealed a 
 difficulty. A domestic council was held, the mem- 
 bers of which singly and severally pleaded — with as 
 much shame as if it was an admission of murder — 
 that they had never killed a turkey, and did not 
 know how it should be done. And all the time 
 there sat the bird on the pump-trough, gazing in 
 upon us with an almost triumphant air. It irritated 
 all of us ; but when it was hinted that he was a sort 
 of invader who had got the upper hand of us, and 
 had " like a Prussian " seized on the Alsace of our 
 pump, and the Lorraine of our coal-bin, Madame 
 made up her mind to be the death of him somehow. 
 As I said just now, I do not know how to kill a 
 turkey, but cutting his throat with a pair of scissors 
 does not strike me as likely to be the usual way. 
 
 But I will not reveal how he was eventually 
 slaughtered. If you can in any dim way guess at 
 it from some remark I may have dropped, you arc 
 welcome to do so. I drop a curtain over the final 
 tragedy, in accordance with the proper dramatic 
 rules : 
 
 Xe pueros coram populo Medea trucidet. 
 
 Half an hour later, what showmen call " a decapi- 
 tated head" lay on a table in the kitchen. It was 
 not an optical illusion, but that head, still retaining 
 its resemblance to a rosy-gilled bottle-nosed old 
 roisterer, winked its eye at me as I gazed upon it. 
 
 We arrived, on Christmas Day, at the conclusion 
 that pumps and apple-parings were not the most 
 nutritious diet for turkeys. He was thin. ^Nlore 
 than that, he was tough. Furthermore, his flesh was 
 not white — I believe he used to eat the coals, because 
 he knew they were fifty francs a ton. 
 
 And Monsieur the milkman still comes and bows, 
 and is so pleasant. But the shadow of that turkey 
 lies between us, and, as somebody said of another 
 bird quite as unfitted for human consumption — 
 
 And my soul from out that shadow .... 
 
 Shall be lifted nevermore. 
 
 T. Hood.
 
 V/ALNUTS FOR WISDOM TEETH. 
 
 PICTORIAL PERSIAN DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 %* The chief words are in the centre picture, the steps on either side. 
 
 GIVE-'EM-UPS. 
 
 Why is a waggon with the owner's name on the tilt like an American 
 humourist? — Because it is a Markt Wain. 
 
 When is a clock hke an idea? — When it suddenly strikes one. 
 
 If a raven were going to prey on a dead sow, why would he travel 
 by the Walworth Road ? — Because it would take him to Peck- 
 ham. 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 My First is a sort of a shell, 
 
 You have but your nose to pursue ; 
 
 My Second the waves as they swell. 
 To the reefs and headlands do. 
 
 My Whole 's an assembly, whereat 
 
 Kings, bishops, and nobles have sat. 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 My First part ran, 
 My Second 's Dan, 
 My Whole 's a kind of rowing plan. 
 
 DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 If winter is chilly, 
 'T will drive us half .silly. 
 To see how the prices go up, willy-nilly. 
 
 1. She cost twelve pound a year 
 All found except beer. 
 
 2. A ha'p'orth of news. 
 And rather odd views. 
 
 3. A land where they make 
 A chief a great sheik. 
 
 4. That impudent man 
 
 Who courts your Mary Ann. 
 
 RIDDLES. 
 
 1. Why is the present price of coal like Republicanism? 
 
 2. Why should you always take apartments in a timber-built house 
 ^. When is a briefless counsel like an overladen ship 
 
 PICTORIAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 "4,* The chief words will be found one at each end, the intervening pictures'giving the steps. 
 
 Notice. — The Solutions of the Puzzles will be given in the Christmas Number of Fun. No Answers will be received after 15th December. 
 
 Printed by Dalziel Bkotheks, Camden Press, London, N.W.
 
 FUN 
 
 EVERY WEDNESDAY. 
 ONE PENNY.
 
 HOW TO GET MARRIED. 
 
 To Many an A rtist.—\\&ir carrotty hair and faded brocade, and 
 gush freely. , 
 
 To Marry a Government C/<fr/-.— Read the Times, yawn, and look 
 as fooHsh as you conveniently can. 
 
 7o Marry a High Church Curate.— Confess your sins and the fact 
 of your having a snug little sum in the Three per Cents. 
 
 To Marry an Ante-Teetotaller.— Qosinme. .^ 
 
 To Marry iVf>/w/j'.- Dress violently, talk slang, and flirt heavi.y. 
 To Marry a 'J'emficratice Letri;7ter.—C<^^tume, Ike. 
 To Marry a I.orit Mayor or Alderjnan.—Coilumc, drop your 
 
 " H," and wink your " I." 
 To Mai-ry anybody you filease. — Have money.
 
 
 """^'^ 
 
 How to get Married 
 
 The Baron Bold of the Days of Old 
 
 A Pretty Kettle of Fish . 
 
 Lovers' Consolations 
 
 Two Dinners . 
 
 Diner a la Rnsse, Diner a la Ruse 
 
 A Styelish Story 
 
 In the Brighton Express 
 
 The Man who Hesitated — and was Los 
 
 Lottie's Carp . 
 
 Social Adnlteration 
 
 The Flower of the Flock 
 
 A Photographic Courtship 
 
 An Alphabetical "-First Night" 
 
 How I decante a Highlander 
 
 A Forcible Remembrance 
 
 '' Bilzvord Jistis" . 
 
 A Legend of Parson^ s Green 
 
 O. B. C. T's Sighs . 
 
 The Sabots of Mere Trinette 
 
 A Painter's Vengeance . 
 
 A Sketch for an Operetta 
 
 Pride Punished 
 
 The Students and the Shimberer 
 
 Autumn Primrose . 
 
 The Zoo by Night . 
 
 The Casting Vote . 
 
 J I Penseroso .... 
 
 Long, long ago 
 
 The Phantom Fishing-Boat . 
 
 A Hutigry Boy 
 
 A Pig's Tale .... 
 
 A Slight Mistake . 
 
 Saint or Sinner 
 
 Mysterious Disappearence of 'Jyiii/cyns . 
 
 A Nautical Novelty 
 
 The Classical Musicianer 
 
 A Continuous Story 
 
 The Exquisite and the Entoinologi 
 
 A Life's Hatred . 
 
 Songs of Trees 
 
 Queen Sigrid the Haughty 
 
 Two Pictures from my Gallery of Girls 
 
 Concerning Pigs 
 
 A Row in the Butter Market 
 
 Walnuts for Wisdom Teeth 
 
 Startling 
 
 Discovery 
 
 }■ 
 
 Gordon Thomson . Frontispiece. 
 
 T. Hood . 
 
 R. L. . 
 
 T. 
 
 H. 
 
 F. A. Fraser 
 
 George R. Sims 
 
 Charles Williams 
 
 Harry Tuck . 
 
 W. Senior 
 
 J. F. Sullivan . 
 
 Author of "'Lilliput Levee 
 
 L. G. Adey 
 
 T. F. Dillon Croker 
 
 H. Sandercock 
 
 Joseph Manton 
 
 Edward Capern 
 
 J. MovR Smith 
 
 O. B. C. T. 
 
 F. F. Broderip 
 J. F. Sullivan . 
 Matthew Walker 
 
 fT. Hood 
 (_E. Grasset 
 CH. . .' •) 
 
 \]. Movr Smith j 
 
 Matthew Browne . 
 fT. E. H. G. .7 
 ^Ernest Griset j 
 
 William Sawyer 
 
 J. Goldsmith . 
 
 Gordon Thomson . 
 
 T. Hood . 
 
 Geo. Manville Fenn 
 (T. H. . . .\ 
 (.W. J. Wiegand 3 • 
 
 Alfred K Phillips 
 
 Ignotus . 
 
 Gordon Thomson . 
 
 Dod Grile 
 
 G. .... 
 M. Labais . 
 H. Tuck . 
 Henry Sampson 
 
 C F. A. Eraser 7 
 IT. H. . . i 
 5 E. G. Dalziel . 
 I A. Shortfellow 
 
 J. Ashby-Sterry 
 
 J. A. O'Shea . 
 
 H. . . . 
 CT. H. . . ■) 
 (, Harry Tuck ) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 }•
 
 MR. STREETER, 
 
 T)IAMOND 
 
 •^ MERCHANT, 
 
 JEWELLER, 
 
 ]_3 NEW BOND ST., 
 LONDON. 
 
 Q.OLDSMITH, 
 ■yy-ATOHMAEEE, 
 
 "RUELINQTON 
 
 •*-' STEAM WORKS, W., 
 
 gAVILE EOW, 
 
 QATALOaUE FEEE FOE TWO STAMPS. 
 
 18 New Bond St, London. 
 
 The New Zodiac Jewellery. Eegistered.
 
 THE BARON BOLD OF THE DAYS OF OLD. 
 
 % ^toxn inxilpxxi mx\y iipp'itrcnt lUjnmc ox §[e<iS0it. 
 
 LONG 
 
 time ago 
 I'd the 
 honour 
 to know 
 
 A baron 
 bold of 
 the days 
 of old. 
 
 And he 
 came to 
 me, and 
 he said, 
 said he, 
 
 "What 
 I 'm go- 
 ing to 
 declare 
 perhaps you're aware — 
 That a baron bold of the days of old 
 In his high degree is supposed to be 
 
 The blackest black of a ver}^ black pack — 
 To take people's lives, run off with their wives, 
 Make forays and raids, and bolt with fair maids 
 To lift sheep and kine, and drink too much wine ! " 
 And I said, said I, that I couldn't see why. 
 And he said, said he, " Now, cannot you see. 
 All writers say so — and aU writers must know ! " 
 So I said, said I, " H'm !" a safe-ish reply. 
 " Well, I am," on he ran, " a domestical man, 
 And I don't care for slaughter, or any one's daughter, 
 Much less for his wife, or his cows, or his life ; 
 I prefer my small beer, for wine makes me queer. 
 Don't you shrink to review the things I 've to do ? " 
 So I said, said I, that I failed to espy 
 Any reason that made him drive such a trade. 
 And he said, said he, " As it is, it must be ; 
 For if I should shirk my regular work 
 The writers would say, in a soul-searing way, 
 ' Our nobility jogs pretty fast to the dogs ! ' 
 So what I must do, I have to go through — 
 Though I freely admit I don't like it a bit.
 
 12 
 
 A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH. 
 
 And would take tea at home much rather than roam 
 To murder and plunder. I would, sir, by thunder ! " 
 Then I answered him, " Sir, did it never occur 
 To yourself, now, that you were, before you were due 
 By some centuries, hurled on this terrible world ? 
 Why not wait a few years and be one of our peers, 
 Who give away tracts, and talk solid facts, 
 Social science, and such grave topics and touch 
 On wages and drainage, as pleases a plain age." 
 
 He replied with a curse, "Hang it! that would be 
 
 worse ; 
 I 'd rather by far take things as they are — 
 Rather murder and rob, do any vile job, 
 Slit weasand, crack noddle, than deal in such 
 
 twaddle!" 
 Said this baron bold of the days of old. 
 
 T. Hood. 
 
 A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH. 
 
 OOR old Jack! he's gone now, but he was 
 a good fellow. And didn't he love a 
 joke — a harmless joke, mind you ! No- 
 thing mischievous — only a bit of practical fun that 
 the victim would laugh at, too, unless his bump of 
 self-esteem was unnaturally thin-skinned. I ought to 
 know, for I was the victim sometimes, and so were 
 two or three others I could name, who were, like 
 me, terribly cut-up when they learnt that never 
 again would they be made subject to his pranks. 
 
 It was Jack who proposed the httle excursion 
 whose history I am about to relate to you. He 
 came to me at my office in the City one day, and 
 suggested a day's fishing in the Docks. I knew 
 something about some of the Docks, and I knew 
 something of Jack, I need hardly say ; so I only 
 laid my pen knowingly on the side of my nose, and 
 winked. 
 
 " You didn't catch him, though I" said Jack, with 
 an air of interest. 
 
 " Catch what?" said I, taken off my guard. 
 
 " That fly !" replied Jack, gravely. 
 
 " No flies ! " was my answer. 
 
 "Ah 1 when I saw you put your pen to your pro- 
 boscis, I thought it was a fly tickling you," he said, 
 without the shadow of a smile. 
 
 " If there was a fly," said I, " it was one ihdXyou 
 threw, and I didn't rise at it." For we were fisher- 
 men, and I knew he would understand me. Jack 
 took up the inkstand and smelt it, put it down, and 
 murmured half to himself, " No ! real ink — not 
 whisky ! " 
 
 " Look here, Jack," I observed, " this is mail day, 
 and I 'm busy. What are you driving at ? " 
 
 " What are yoii driving at ? I ask you to come 
 and have a day's fishing, and you conduct yourself 
 like a lunatic in charge of a steel pen, and not quite 
 sure what to do with it." 
 
 "A day's fishing in the Docks !" I roared out in 
 a burst of laughter. "Have you taken a contraci 
 for verdigris, or dead bodies, or what .-* " 
 
 " This," observed Jack in a confidential manner 
 to the date- indicator on the mantelpiece — "this 
 shows the narrowing effect of commerce on the 
 human mind ! Because Dick's business lies among 
 ships that import rum, molasses, cockroaches, anu 
 other — other inflammables, he can't think of any 
 Docks except those where his craft — the only craii 
 he possesses, the snnple child — lie, poisoning the 
 water, until they can find some one silly enough to 
 send a return cargo to the barbarians — should say 
 Barbadoes — where the natives exist on the sugar,
 
 A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH. 
 
 13 
 
 and are kept alive by the cane ! — Richard, did you 
 ever hear of timber? And if so, did you ever hear 
 fif it in connection Avith Docks on the other side of 
 the water?" 
 
 I admitted I had heard of the Docks he alluded 
 to. 
 
 " Then perhaps you are not aware that there is 
 very ;^^ good fishing there — fifteen-pound bream ! 
 
 ".Well !" he added, seeing my pen hovering in the 
 neighbourhood of the nasal cartilage again, " say 
 ten ! And if ten, why not fifteen ?" 
 
 Having got so far, we settled down to talk the 
 question over seriously, and to arrange the party. 
 We were to be four in number, and Jack and I sup- 
 plied half. Jem Bridges was unanimously elected 
 number three, but we hesitated about the fourth, 
 possibly because it was the last vacancy, and that 
 gave it undue importance. There was a choice of 
 friends, but that only complicated the matter. 
 
 "Let's ask Doddington!" said Jack suddenly. 
 
 I was astonished a little, for Doddington was not, 
 as far as I could see, as eligible as half a dozen other 
 fellows I was thinking of But somehow one had a 
 way of acquiescing in Jack's opinions, so I only asked 
 feebly "why?" 
 
 Dick snatched up a paper-knife, and extending it 
 towards me, said in a tragical voice, " Swear on my 
 sword that you will not divulge ! " I believe I swore, 
 but it was not in proper tragedy form, I fear, for I 
 saw the clock-hands hastening onward, and thought 
 of the mail. 
 
 "Seriously, then, Dick!" said Jack, "we three 
 shall get on all right, but Doddy will be a convenient 
 party if the fish don't bite and it begins to get slow. 
 Twig? All right! I'll see to getting Jem and 
 Doddy, and I '11 arrange for a C[uiet little snack at a 
 handy tavern, which shall be enough even without 
 the fish we shall catch." 
 
 Jack departed ; I finished my letter ; time flew ; 
 and, in due course, the appointed day arrived. 
 
 Doddy was first at the rendezvous. Trust Doddy 
 
 for that ! He was an exemplary but there ! any 
 
 monumental sculptor can supply you, out of his 
 epitaph commonplace-book, a list of all the virtues 
 Doddy possessed, as a father, husband, friend, &c. ; 
 but Doddy had one special idol, and that idol was 
 
 Doddy ! He was first, in order to secure what he 
 thought the best post — a mooring-post, by-the-way 
 — on which he could sit while he cast his float upon 
 the waters (to return to him with many bream, as 
 he hoped), where there was a space less encum- 
 bered Avith timber than any other pitch. He had 
 put his rod there as a sort of tacit proof of occupa- 
 tion. I could see Jack smile when he observed our 
 friend's characteristic bit of prudence. But he said 
 nothing, and in a short time we had put our rods 
 together, and were presently watching our floats, as 
 they pricked up almost motionless on the scarcely- 
 rippled surface of the water. 
 
 With the patience of true Waltonians — assisted, 
 it is true, by the soothing influence of tobacco — we 
 sat watching our quills, while hour after hour chimed 
 from the neighbouring steeples with such variations 
 of punctuality as pleased their respective clocks. 
 
 Jack had planted himself exactly opposite to 
 Doddy, and having filled his pocket with pebbles 
 from a ballast-waggon at the station, amused him- 
 self by throwing a stone now and then in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Doddy's float, whenever that worthy's 
 eyes happened to stray from it. This was partly 
 to frighten away the fish and partly to make Doddy 
 think that they were feeding close by his pitch. 
 
 " That must have been a fish leaping ! " shouted 
 Doddy after one loud splash. " Did you see him. 
 Jack?" 
 
 "Yes !" said Jack "he was a proper big 'un !" 
 It was true, — with the mental reservation that "a 
 big 'un " is equally applicable to a stone and a fish. 
 
 All of a sudden, Jem Bridges was seen to be in 
 an excited state. He had hooked a fish ! Of course 
 we all forgot our own rods in the excitement, and 
 might have caught a shark apiece without noticing 
 it. In due time the catch was landed — and a good 
 catch it was, a seven-pound bream. Loud were our 
 congratulations, and hearty the cheer we indulged 
 in, when Jem popped him into the basket. 
 
 " I think," said Doddy presently, " I shall come 
 and fish near you, Jem ! " And without scruple he 
 shifted his quarters, invading Jem's swim so effect- 
 ually that Jem with a grimace drew out his line at 
 last, and took up a pitch nearer Jack. As they 
 were not far distant now, Jack went and examined
 
 14 
 
 A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH. 
 
 Jem's lish, and then returned to his own post. A 
 minute or so afterwards he was gazing very intently 
 into space over Doddy's head. 
 
 " Looks like a sea-gull ! " he shouted. " Doddy ! 
 what's that bird just behind you.?" 
 
 Doddy turned to look. 
 
 " I don't see him," said he. 
 
 " Gone behind that warehouse," said Jack, " I 
 think it was" — 
 
 But here he began to be seized in the same way 
 that Jem had been, and presently brought to shore 
 another big bream, quite half a pound heavier than 
 Jem's he assured, us. We were all delighted, except 
 Doddy, who began to fidget again. 
 
 " Jack," he said at last, " any room there beyond 
 you ? I don't think there are any fish about here." 
 
 " All right ! " replied Jack. " You take my place, 
 and I "11 go over to your old pitch. I saw them 
 jumping there, and it's rum if I don't get one.' 
 
 So Doddy took Jack's place, and Jack went round 
 to the pitch exactly opposite. As Jack passed me, 
 he adroitly changed baskets. 
 
 "Look here, Dick! it's Jem's fish I have just 
 caught. You put him quietly on your hook, and 
 while I take off Doddy's attention, drop him in and 
 catch him. Doddy will be round here in the 
 twinkling of a bedpost, and you can return the fish 
 to Jem, who will hook him again. It's odd if we 
 don't have a fine catch ! " 
 
 I saw it in a minute ; so when Jack had left me, 
 I made an excuse to hght my pipe, and quietly fixed 
 the hook in the bream's jaws. Meantime, Jack 
 took the opportunity while Doddy's eye was wander- 
 ing to throw a big stone into the Dock, 
 
 "Hi ! you young scamp !" he shouted, shaking 
 his fist at nobody behind Doddy's back. "What 
 do you mean by shying stones ? Look out, Doddy ! 
 he's going to heave again ! " 
 
 Doddy instinctively turned to see the aggressor, 
 and of course saw no one. 
 
 " There's no boy there," he shouted to Jack, 
 
 " Young scamp bolted when I hollaed," answered 
 Jack. 
 
 In the meantime I had quietly dropped the fish 
 into the water, and the next instant was in all the 
 agonies of catching him. 
 
 As Jack had predicted, Doddy soon found an 
 excuse for ousting me, and as I passed Jem, I 
 managed to hand him the fish. 
 
 It is needless to explain the devices by which 
 Doddy's attention was distracted. We caught that 
 same fish twice apiece, and by that time were be- 
 ginning to get near the hour appointed for dinner. 
 Of course we all commiserated with Doddy on his 
 want of success, until he was half mad with dis- 
 appointment and envy. 
 
 About an hour before dinner-time I was a little 
 surprised to hear Jack suggest that we should pull 
 out, pack up, and go to the inn. But Jack knew 
 best ! He was right in his estimate of human nature. 
 It took at least an hour to persuade Doddy to re- 
 linquish his rod. He pleaded for half an hour — 
 then another quarter — then ten minutes — then five 
 more ; and he exceeded each concession, so that we 
 were really late before we set out for dinner. Jack 
 had packed up some time before Doddy was ready, 
 and had disappeared for awhile with his basket. 
 On his return, and while Doddy was reluctantly 
 taking his rod to pieces, he went through the farce 
 of collecting all the fish in one 'basket. 
 
 When he had duly performed this important cere- 
 mony, he let us all feel what a heavy basket we had 
 made among us. It 7uas heavy, too ! 
 
 Doddy took it in hand ruefully — opened the lid 
 and peeped in, and there saw the topmost fish calmly 
 reclining on the bed of grass which Jack had con- 
 siderately gathered to pack our catch in. Doddy 
 did not seem disposed to deliver up possession. 
 But Jack was prepared for that. 
 
 " Look here, Doddy ! " said he, " I 've told the 
 landlord to be ready to cook what we bring ; I 'm 
 sorry you 've had such bad luck, but I '11 tell you 
 what we'll do — I'm sure Jem and Dick won't 
 mind, because they can spare a little glory out of 
 such a catch : you shall carry the fish, and so you 
 are sure to be supposed to have caught some of it 
 at least, and you won't be asked any questions, and 
 therefore won't be called upon to tell any fibs. 
 What do you say ? " 
 
 Doddy was only too delighted. He stuck to the 
 basket, and we took the road to the inn. It was a 
 hot day, and Doddy wasn't over-thin, and Jack
 
 LO VER'S CONSOLA TIONS. 
 
 gave the pace at a pretty quick step ; so that, I 
 think, by the time we had finished our walk, Doddy 
 had begun to tire of "the burden of the honour" we 
 had bestowed upon him. 
 
 We entered the parlour, and were duly welcomed 
 by the landlord, to whom Jack was well known. 
 
 " Good sport, gentlemen, I hope ? " said he, 
 
 "Splendid!" broke in Doddy, before we could 
 say a word. " Never had such sport in my life — 
 never ! " 
 
 " Oh, we've had sport enough ! " said Jack, with 
 a significant grin, as he lifted the fish out, and lay- 
 ing him on the table, said to the landlord, "That's 
 a specimen of the take. Big 'un, isn't he ? — Turn 
 out the rest, Doddy." 
 
 Doddy did not wait to lift the others out. He 
 eagerly tilted the basket and emptied the contents 
 on the table. The contents were two half bricks, a 
 
 large flint, two stones (discharged ballast), and a 
 dozen or so of oyster-shells. 
 
 It would have done you good to see Dodd/s face, 
 and to hear our roar of laughter ! 
 
 An explanation followed, of course, which at first 
 made Doddy very savage; but presently he got a 
 little pacified by the reflection that, after all. Jack 
 and I had not been more successful than he. By 
 the time dinner was over he had recovered his 
 temper, and we were all as jolly as possible. 
 
 I haven't seen Doddy for a long time, and, as I 
 said, poor Jack is gone ! But I often fall in with 
 Jem, and I have only to allude to the Timber Dock 
 and our catch of bream to make him laugh as 
 heartily as he dare on this side of apoplexy. For 
 Jem and I are both older than we were, but it 
 makes us lads again when we think of that pretty 
 kettle of fish. R. L. 
 
 LOVERS' CONSOLATIONS. 
 
 -o ♦- 
 
 REY Time, you deceiver, you wandered 
 beside us ; 
 li We heard not your footstep : 't was hushed 
 in the grass 
 Where we gathered the flow'rs — thought no ills 
 could betide us, 
 And saw not the ebb of the sands in your glass ! 
 
 Came clouds, and came showers, to darken the 
 flowers ; 
 We only crept closer for mutual cheer. 
 And simply felt grateful for trials, whose powers 
 But made each to each still more near and more 
 dear ! 
 
 Years flew — I admit we got weary of stooping 
 For flow'rs, when rheumatics affected our backs ; 
 
 When you've picked them, besides, there's arranging 
 and grouping, 
 And that, after all, is a sort of a tax. 
 
 Besides, there's the chance of a thorn or a prickle. 
 
 To fester a finger or poison a hand ; 
 And now when I 'm bald how a garland would 
 tickle ! 
 
 And Julia's false front has a neat velvet band.
 
 i6 
 
 TIVO DINNERS. 
 
 TWO DINNERS. 
 
 A LA RUSSE. 
 
 LIKE your notion much, mine host, 
 An oyster first, or else, for relish. 
 Just one square inch of crisp dry toast 
 Olive or caviare embellish. 
 Your soup is turtle — not the mock — 
 
 The true original and real. 
 That calf s-head broth is apt to shock 
 Your thorough epicure's ideal. 
 
 Red mullet, salmon — there's a choice : 
 
 In fish a choice is proper — very. 
 In wine, too, you allow a voice : 
 
 Hock, or a glass of golden sherry. 
 Entrees— a lobster patty, now, 
 
 I always think, is deu trovatoj 
 And one small cutlet, I allow. 
 
 Provided it has sauce Tomato. 
 
 A joint, of course, or maybe two, 
 
 At top and bottom of the table: 
 A dinner, from the English view. 
 
 Must rest on a foundation stable. 
 A brace of birds — as you prefer, 
 
 Or grouse, or woodcock ; or a pheasant ; 
 A host can never greatly err 
 
 In what 's in season just at present. 
 
 A choice of sweets, but not too much : 
 
 They are what framing is to pictures ; 
 They 're things I very seldom touch ; 
 
 But I '11 exempt them from all strictures. 
 Dessert ! A grape or two can't cloy ; 
 
 A peach, perhaps ; but, to ;;// thinking, 
 Dessert's a thing wherewith to toy. 
 
 While chatting o'er the wine you 're drinking. 
 
 And, finally, I think a whiff — 
 
 Half a Cabana's full employment ; 
 But easily dispensed with, if 
 
 It mars another guest's enjoyment 
 There you 've my programme. I can s^v- - 
 
 The well-known sentiment to borrow — 
 " The gods be praised, I 've dined to-day, 
 
 Let come whatever comes to-morrow ! " 
 
 A LA RUSE. 
 
 It's raining — or hailing — or snowing, 
 
 As the drops fall it's hard to say which they are: 
 It truly is scarcely worth knowing 
 
 To people, provided that rich they are ! 
 But to those who are not in that flow'ry way, 
 
 It 's important to know while they 're pelting them 
 If they take their drops neat in a show'ry way, 
 
 Or must waste their caloric in melting them. 
 
 Wind, roaring without, sounds quite pleasant, 
 
 Warms the wine, as you 're taking a pull of it : 
 But outside, to excess it is present, 
 
 When already you 're rather too full of it. 
 And your meat — how you grumble at carving, 
 
 And growl at the terrible price of it : 
 There are people, you know, who are starving, 
 
 Would cut you it up — for a slice of it ! 
 
 Yes ! they starve — out of mere contrariety. 
 
 Yet there is, it strikes me, a disparity 
 'Twixt their starving — and our grand Society 
 
 For the Organisation of Charity. 
 It 's needful, you say, more 's the pity, 
 
 The poor have such cheating and lies in them; 
 But meanwhile in the streets of our city 
 
 Why, there 's some one just falls down and dies 
 in them. 
 
 This or That you have given your guinea, 
 
 'T is of alms an experienced measurer : — 
 You're assisting to keep, you poor ninny, 
 
 A couple of clerks and a treasurer. 
 And you give, because giving is easy. 
 
 On your path to the next world to lighten you ; 
 You're but making the roadway more greasy 
 
 To there, I 'm not anxious to frighten you ! 
 
 I can't hope your conscience to waken-up, 
 
 Only don't in your Pharisee snobbery — 
 When a poor starving beggar is taken-up 
 
 For stealing a loaf — call it robbery. 
 You pay — yes, of course — for your dinner. 
 
 As for theft, you are certainly pure of it. 
 Is the money you spend, brother sinner, 
 
 All honestly gained ? Are you sure of it ?
 
 TWO DINNERS. 
 
 DINER A LA RUSSE. 
 
 DINER A LA RUSE.
 
 i8 
 
 A STYELISH STORY. 
 
 A STYELISH STORY. 
 
 Y story is a sad one, and yet it may fail to 
 gain your sympathy. In your heartless- 
 ness, it is possible the recital of my woes 
 may excite your hilarity. For this I am prepared. 
 
 All my life my sufferings have been the cause of 
 unutterable anguish of body and mind to myself : 
 to my friends and fellow-creatures, the subject of a 
 jest. The aches, pains, and eruptions to which my 
 unfortunate system is liable, together make up a 
 sum of discomfort which is becoming intolerable ; 
 and never do I timidly venture to mention my trou- 
 bles in society, without bringing upon my unhappy 
 and often-aching head an avalanche of unmerciful 
 badinage, 
 
 I am a martyr to rheumatism, and Providence 
 has blessed me with a liver which is " a thing of 
 beauty and a joy for ever" to my medical adviser. 
 When I knew that worthy man first, he was a che- 
 mist's assistant. I went to him with some trifling 
 complaint, liked him, and soon called upon him 
 with another : I became his constant visitor. The 
 range of my afflictions was so immense, that through 
 me he soon obtained an insight into most of the ills 
 that beset our poor humanity. Skill followed insight ; 
 practice trod closely on the heels of skill. To-day 
 he is a popular doctor, and charges me four times 
 his original fee. 
 
 There are men, calling themselves my friends, who 
 have been mean enough to assert that half of my 
 diseases owe their existence to my weekly perusal 
 of that excellent journal, the " Lancet." I have 
 always repelled the accusation with scorn. So far 
 from my ailments existing only in my imagination, 
 they too often, alas ! give outward and visible signs 
 of their presence, I have a brave indomitable spirit, 
 and for years I have borne my pains with heroism, 
 and worn an outward smile while the most horrible 
 
 tortures have been inwardly transacting themselves ; 
 but I pine for sympathy. Could I but gain the 
 smallest scrap of pity for my wretched lot, I should 
 be happy in spite of twinge, ache, and throb. Alas ! 
 my cheeks are roseate with the bloom of youth, my 
 proportions are stout, my carriage erect : even my 
 appearance mocks me. 
 
 Without a murmur hitherto I have borne the 
 callous and unfeeling jokes of my friends and ac- 
 quaintances, I will bear them no longer, 
 
 I will relate an incident of my life that will once 
 and for ever silence the idiots who consider my tribu- 
 lations as trifles — the heartless monsters to whom 
 my periodical inflictions are a source of merriment. 
 When these lines shall fall beneath their eyes, may 
 the tears of sorrow which shall drop upon the page 
 cleanse their souls from the iniquity of their injus- 
 tice towards the most miserable of men. 
 
 Like all delicate persons, I am excessively sensi- 
 tive. A pimple — a little pimple — would be, perhaps, 
 to ordinary men a trifling inconvenience. To me it 
 is not only an ever-present disfigurement — it is a 
 bitter memory — a sharp biting reminder of my sad 
 life's blackest sorrow. 
 
 Hear my story, and judge me by it. 
 
 In the summer of 1870 I was staying at a friend's 
 house in the country. My health had been delicate, 
 and I gladly availed myself of his offer that I should 
 make my home with him during the summer months. 
 My host was Brown by name, and a gentleman 
 farmer by profession. To his many good qualities 
 he added that of being the father of two lovely 
 daughters, both of a marriageable age. With the 
 younger, Clementina, I soon fell madly in love. How 
 shall I describe the charms of her whose features 
 are for ever photographed upon my heart ? The ink
 
 A STYELISH STORY. 
 
 19 
 
 recedes from my pen, appalled at the task I would 
 set it. Bring back to your memory the most beauti- 
 ful creature you ever beheld : imagine one ten times 
 more lovely, and you have Clementina Brown — my 
 Clementina — she whom I pictured in my dreams the 
 gentle partner of my future life. My days beneath 
 her father's roof passed in calm unruffled peace. 
 Through the green lanes at times we walked to- 
 gether, she talking and I listening. I rarely inter- 
 rupted her : I drank in the sweet music of her voice ; 
 my whole soul revelled in the soft glory of her pre- 
 sence. Bah ! what is this to you ! I am a poet ; 
 you may not be, and you will not appreciate my 
 feelings. I have set myself a task : let me hasten 
 to the bitter end. 
 
 The days went on, and my stay was drawing to a 
 close. Madly as I loved Clementina, I had never 
 told her so — in words. My every look, my every 
 action, spoke the secret of my heart ; but my tongue 
 had never uttered it. I think she liked me — I had 
 almost written loved— yts, I will write it, " loved ! " 
 Why should I rob myself now of the idea which has 
 been my only solace through four weary years ? 
 
 One day we had been together for a longer ramble 
 than usual. My darling was tired, and leaned upon 
 my arm. I spoke of my approaching departure. I 
 felt her arm tremble. I looked eagerly into her face. 
 The colour had receded from her cheeks. Looking 
 up, she caught my earnest gaze, and a vivid blush 
 spread itself over her face and rushed downward to 
 her neck. 
 
 " Let us walk quickly ; we shall be late for dinner." 
 
 That was all she said. 
 
 That night old Brown and I sat late over our eve- 
 ning pipes. Just as he was rising to ring for his 
 candle and retire, the words that had been on my 
 lips for hours fell from them : 
 
 " Brown, old friend, I have something to say to 
 you." 
 
 "Well, lad?" 
 
 " I — I love Clementina." 
 
 " I 've seen it long ago." 
 
 "And you give your consent?" 
 
 "To what?" 
 
 " To our marriage." 
 
 " Steady, my lad, steady ! What does she say ? " 
 
 " I — that is — to tell you the truth, I haven't asked 
 her." 
 
 "Ask her, my boy, to-morrow ; and if she says yes 
 I '11 " 
 
 " Say ' yes,' too ? " 
 
 " I '11 think about it." 
 
 " God bless you, sir ! Good night ! " 
 
 " Good night." 
 
 That night I lay awake and dreamed — dreafhed 
 of a soft white hand clasped close in mine — dreamed 
 of a village church, of great white clouds of muslin 
 and lace, of fragrant clusters of roses and orange- 
 blossom, and everywhere a fair girlish face. I 
 stretched my arms towards the vision, and whis- 
 pered " Clementina !" I fell asleep with that name 
 upon my lips — Clementina. 
 
 When I awoke the sun was glaring in through the 
 window. I opened my eyes, and suddenly a sharp 
 pain seemed to shoot across the right lid. I raised 
 my hand and touched it : the touch pained me. I 
 sprang from the bed, and rushed across the room to 
 the mirror. My right eyelid was swollen and red — 
 my eye was partially closed. I had a stye ! 
 
 I have previously stated that I am a man pain- 
 fully sensitive to the slightest personal disfigure- 
 ment. To those who are constituted like myself, the 
 horror of my situation will be instantly apparent. 
 To present myself before Clementina in my present 
 condition was impossible. How could any woman 
 give the first kiss of love to a man whose right eye 
 was closed by an enormous stye ? 
 
 Again and again I gazed in the mirror, and each 
 time the face reflected therein seemed more ridicu- 
 lous. No ! never would I be associated in her mind 
 with the pitiful, squinting object that I felt certain 
 I must appear. Anything rather than that. 
 
 Cursing my cruel fate, I hurriedly finished my 
 toilet. Flight, immediate and secret, was the only 
 plan that presented itself to my tortured mind. I 
 packed my portmanteau, and then looked cautiously 
 out of the window. 
 
 No one was about. Taking my portmanteau in 
 my hand, I slipped noiselessly down the stairs, un- 
 did the front door, and rushed rapidly across the 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 
 
 A STYELISH STORY. 
 
 fields to the railway station. A beautiful Aldemey 
 cow, with which Brown intended to take the first 
 prize at the next Cattle Show, followed me through 
 the farm gate. I waved the animal back, but still 
 it followed me. I had no time to turn back — the 
 London express was in sight. Panting and puffing, 
 I gained the station just as the train came to a 
 standstill. At nine o'clock I was in town. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 My eye grew gradually worse. In spite of warm 
 applications, rubbings with wedding-rings, and 
 medical advice, the swelling obstinately refused to 
 decrease. I wrote a long rambling letter to Brown, 
 endeavouring to explain my sudden flight. The 
 real cause I dared not tell him : to me it was pain- 
 ful—to him it would have appeared ridiculous. 
 
 Two days afterwards I received his answer. It 
 ran thus : 
 
 " I have to acknowledge receipt of yours dated 
 the 4th inst. I am utterly at a loss to imagine what 
 motive can have induced you to quit my house in 
 so sudden and, I must say, so rude a manner. Your 
 letter throws no light upon the subject. After the 
 secret you had confided to me the night before your 
 departure, I cannot but imagine you had a sudden 
 revulsion of feeling, and ran away to avoid meeting 
 my daughter. Until I receive a proper explanation 
 of your extraordinary conduct, I shall cease to con- 
 sider you my friend, and refuse to recognize you as 
 an acquaintance. You have killed my " 
 
 I lifted my eyes from the page. I knew what was 
 coming. My sudden flight had broken Clementina's 
 heart ! She was dangerously ill. Courage ! let me 
 read on : 
 
 " You have killed my cow." — Thank heaven ! — 
 " You left the great gate open, and the poor thing 
 strayed on to the railway, and was killed. You 
 have lost me the first prize, and / will never forgive 
 you!" 
 
 Poor Brown ! Poor Clementina! Poor cow ! All 
 of this misery, and wretchedness, and misfortune, 
 and death was the result of the painful pimple that 
 throbbed, and shot, and ached, and drove me nearly 
 mad. 
 
 A fortnight of mingled pain, despair, and rage 
 
 passed by, and the cause of my misfortunes began to 
 get better. Ten days, and my face had resumed its 
 pristine appearance. I determined at once to return 
 to Brown, explain my conduct, console him for the 
 loss of his cow, and propose to his daughter. My 
 portmanteau was packed and a hansom stood at the 
 door, when a telegram was placed in my hands. My 
 father was dangerously ill at Portsmouth. I must 
 go to him at once. 
 
 It was two months before my father's health al- 
 lowed me to leave his bed-side. The moment he was 
 out of danger I returned to town. All this time the 
 face of my Clementina had been present in my 
 dreams, her name for ever upon my lips. At last I 
 was free to behold her again, to tell her how madly, 
 how devotedly I loved her. 
 
 The first night of my return I telegraphed Brown 
 that I would be with him on the morrow. I retired 
 early to rest, and my thoughts flew rapidly to the 
 sweet country Eden where dwelt my Eve — my 
 Clementina. She loved me : I was sure of that. I 
 would explain everything, buy Brown another cow, 
 get his consent, and all would be well. 
 
 Suddenly I woke with a start from the half-doze 
 into Avhich I had fallen. No ! Yes ! Even at this 
 distance of time I can scarcely write with compo- 
 sure the history of that awful moment. My right 
 eye was smarting ! I sprang from the bed, and 
 hurriedly struck a light. I rushed wildly across the 
 room to the dressing-glass. One glance was sufifi- 
 cient. I gave a wild howl of despair and staggered 
 backwards to the bed. The stye had come again! 
 
 While yet beneath warm fomentations that evil 
 eye of mine was being reduced, came a letter from 
 Brown, which closed for ever one page of my sad 
 life's history. Clementina had accepted a young 
 clergyman who did duty in the neighbourhood, and 
 was lost to me for ever. 
 
 Brown never forgave the murderer of his cow. I 
 lost my friend ; I lost her who should have been my 
 wife ; I lost health, happiness, home, all that would 
 have made life sweet to me. But I have never lost
 
 IN THE BRIGHTON EXPRESS. 
 
 21 
 
 that stye. Now and again, sometimes twice, some- 
 times thrice a year, it comes to remind me of the 
 past. Only a " httle worry" ! only a little stye ! No- 
 thing to make a fuss about, is it, my great, strong, 
 thick-skinned, and sound friends ? You laugh when 
 I groan beneath my paltry afflictions. But that 
 
 which excites your mirth brings to me a painful 
 memory. Before me rises the image of the first, last 
 woman that I ever loved — the blue-eyed angel lost 
 to me for ever, my Clementina Brown. 
 
 George R. Sims. 
 
 •«™^)-7>^ 
 
 J>^-<§CC=a. 
 
 IN THE BRIGHTON EXPRESS. 
 
 ES, sir, you may smile, sir, but I pride 
 myself that I am the most regular and 
 frequent traveller in England, Ireland, 
 or Scotland. I travel four times every day of my 
 life, except Sundays, and twice then, from London 
 or Croydon to Brighton, and from Brighton to 
 Croydon or London. It does not cost much — not 
 more than two good clubs. The annual ticket is 
 only thirty pounds. It costs about fivepence-half- 
 penny for two journeys, and I have a continual 
 change of society: business men morning and even- 
 ing, young swells in the middle of the day and at 
 night. I am as well known on the line as Mr. 
 Knight himself. The porters all know me, and tell 
 one another that I am mad ; the regular passengers 
 know me, and think that I am one of the company's 
 travelling detectives — ha ! ha ! I 'm an idle man, 
 sir, and if I choose to amuse myself in this way, 
 what business is it of anybody's? It puts thirty 
 pounds a year into the pockets of the shareholders, 
 and it does not take a penny out of them — yet ! — for 
 they run no special train for me, don't even put on 
 another carriage because I 'm travelling. So they 
 can't complain — can they?" 
 
 And my fellow-traveller quite glared at me, as if 
 he fancied I were about to contradict him. But I 
 
 did nothing of the kind ; indeed, we were by this 
 time running into the Brighton Station, and I was 
 by no means sorry to get out of the compartment 
 which had contained for an hour and a quarter my- 
 self and one whom I could not but consider as an 
 escaped lunatic. 
 
 It was my fortune that winter to have on my hands 
 at Brighton an invalid relative, so that I ran up and 
 down four or five times a week, and a strange fate 
 threw me almost daily into the company of the per- 
 petual passenger, whom I found a man of immense 
 reading, of great attainments, of perfectly sound 
 judgment on all the great questions of the day — in a 
 word, mad only on the question of railway travelling. 
 
 It was Christmas Eve, and we were again occu- 
 pants of the same compartment. A gust of wind 
 had blown out the lamp almost as soon as we moved 
 out of London Bridge Terminus. There was nothing 
 for it but either to sleep or to talk ; and sleep is not 
 possible in a railway carriage if a fellow-passenger 
 insists on talking. 
 
 " I '11 tell you," he said, " the real reason why I 
 travel continually on this line, until people think of 
 me as a sort of railway Flying Dutchman : I want to 
 be present at a big railway collision or fearful acci- 
 dent of some sort. There has not been one on this
 
 IN THE BRIGHTON EXPRESS. 
 
 line for years ; but that is all the more reason why- 
 there must be one soon : the law of averages makes 
 that quite certain. The Board of Trade Returns 
 show that there must in the nature of things be 
 so many accidents every year. Sometimes they 
 are on one railway, sometimes on another. The 
 turn of the Brighton line must come soon, and I 
 should not like to be absent. A strange taste, you 
 think?" 
 
 I intimated that there did appear to be something 
 peculiar in the fancy. 
 
 " Yes." he proceeded, "most people would think so. 
 My wife thinks so ; my daughter thinks so ; I think 
 so myself. But the singular thing is that the more I 
 try to get into railway accidents, the more remote 
 they seem to be. Do you know," he went on, " that 
 I think this company should give me an annual 
 ticket fre«e? I am a regular insurance against acci- 
 dents for them. If I stopped travelling for one day 
 I do believe a big accident would happen that day 
 just to spite me. Fortune favours the persistent, 
 they say, but on this point my reward has yet to 
 come. It is the one passion of my life to see, at 
 whatever risk, a big railway accident ; and it is the 
 one thing that Fate denies me. I have seen a great 
 many horrible things ; and, by -the -way, it was, I 
 think, just this day twenty years that I was lucky 
 enough to have a horrible sight all to myself. Shall 
 I tell you the story?" 
 
 " By all means," I replied, glad to change the sub- 
 ject from railway accidents, which are not the plea- 
 santest matters of conversation in an express train 
 flying through the darkness at about forty-five miles 
 an hour. 
 
 " Well, you must know that I was very fond of 
 travelling in my youth — I don't mean this sort of 
 safe, too safe, journeying — but real travelling. By 
 the time I was six and twenty, there was nothing in 
 Europe worth seeing that I hadn't seen, and travel- 
 ling then was not what travelling is now, when you 
 are whisked from one end of Europe to the other in 
 a night and a morning. There were railways here 
 and there, of course ; but there was something like 
 pleasure in the entire uncertainty, when you started 
 on a journey, whether you would get to your desti- 
 nation at the time you supposed or not. However, 
 
 I got tired of Europe, and then I did America, North 
 and South. 
 
 " It was after a trip on the Amazon that I found 
 myself at Para, whence communication with Eng- 
 land was then infrequent and delightfully uncertain. 
 There was but one vessel in port bound for Britain. 
 She was a barque of some seven hundred tons, of 
 American build, but sailing under the red flag of 
 England ; and she had brought out a lot of calicoes 
 on speculation, and had done very well with them. 
 The skipper did not want to go home light ; and, as 
 Indian corn, or maize, was very cheap just then and 
 there, he determined to take a cargo home, and he 
 half filled up his vessel with this grain. The English 
 Consul then thought he might as well try to make 
 a little money in the same way — (they were not so 
 strict at ' F.O.' about commerce then as they are 
 now) — and he put as much more on board on his 
 own account, filling the good ship 'Arabella' up to 
 the hatches. Everything promised a profit of fifty 
 or sixty per cent, at least on the transaction, and 
 the 'Arabella' was to sail at once. So I took my 
 passage in her, and all went on well until we were 
 about half-way across the Atlantic — never mind the 
 latitude and longitude, but we were enpleine mer — 
 with no land within a thousand miles or so, when 
 the delightful weather broke, and a tornado came 
 on, which lasted for three days. The ship laboured 
 heavily, and strained her upper timbers very much ; 
 but still there was no water in the pumps, and the 
 captain was quite confident that all was going on 
 well. 
 
 " On the fourth day it fell a dead calm, and there 
 was nothing to keep the ship steady in the fearful 
 sea. She rolled about, her yard-arms at each roll 
 dipping two or three feet into the waves, and a great 
 green sea dashing over us every now and then. It 
 was at this juncture that an alarm of fire was given. 
 Some of the corn in the hold had heated, and was 
 flaming ! The skipper had the forehatch uncovered, 
 and, as he expected, one of the next waves that 
 dashed inboard effectually put out the fire, damag- 
 ing but slightly, as we thought at the time, a small 
 quantity only of the corn. 
 
 " Three or four days more passed, with a dead 
 calm during the day and a very slight breeze at
 
 IN THE BRIGHTON EXPRESS. 
 
 night. We were not making twenty knots a day, 
 and the ocean was as smooth as the sea at Brighton 
 when the wind is off the shore. The crew were all 
 below ; the captain was in his cabin asleep ; the 
 mate had gone to his bunk to brush his clothes ; 
 even the man in charge of the wheel had lashed the 
 rudder amidships, and gone to attend to something 
 else than his duty, I was alone on deck, lying in 
 
 the long-boat, when 
 
 "Why, he were are at Brighton, and safe again ! 
 Isn't it too bad ? Come round to my house in an 
 hour, and I '11 finish the story, if you care about it. 
 As this is Christmas Eve, I think I will not do an- 
 other journey to-day, and you may be sure you '11 
 hear of a terrible collision in the morning. 'T was 
 ever thus ; but if you really are interested in the 
 story, I '11 give up my chance of the accident — there 
 now ! " 
 
 " Let me see," he said, sitting in his comfortable 
 arm-chair. " Let me see, I was in the long-boat, I 
 think. All at once I felt an earthquake and a report 
 as of a battery of great guns — the 'Arabella' sank 
 under me in pieces. I was in the long-boat, float- 
 ing on the unrippled ocean among a pile of wreckage 
 and maize, that lay scattered manyarood. Neither 
 captain nor crew were ever seen again, even for a 
 moment ; and after knocking about the calm ocean 
 for two days, I was picked up by an American ship 
 and landed safe, but penniless, in Boston. That was 
 something like an adventure — wasn't it? And it 
 took place just this Christmas Eve twenty years. 
 Ah ! we don't have such adventures now-a-days ; at 
 least, I don't — more 's the pity," 
 
 " But," said I, "how do you account for the ship 
 breaking up so suddenly ? " 
 
 "Don't you see?" he rephed : "that green sea 
 which put out the fire in the hold made the maize 
 swell, and when it had swollen to a certain point it 
 filled all the hold with a compact mass. As soon 
 as it passed that point it burst all the timbers of the 
 ship asunder with an irresistible force. It would 
 
 have burst her even if she had been a heavy iron 
 boiler." 
 
 " No doubt," said I ; " this is one of the most 
 astonishing things I ever heard of." 
 
 " So I thought," he added ; " when I dreamt it 
 last night after eating a mince pie." 
 
 " Dreamt it ? " I exclaimed ; " why, I took it all 
 for fact." 
 
 " I thought you would," he said, with a chuckle. 
 " I made sure of it. Why, I was never out of Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " Then all that about your early travelling and so 
 on was also a dream ? " 
 
 " Yes," he laughed, " or a lie." 
 
 "And I suppose this fancy of yours for travelling 
 is all a mistake too ?" 
 
 His face darkened as he said earnestly and with 
 a loud voice, "Mistake? Have I then not made 
 you understand me yet ? People say I am mad, I 
 am. I want to kill myself. I read in the papers 
 that the surest way to kill myself is to travel on a 
 railway. Some day I shall be killed, and then my 
 family will sue the company, and will recover all the 
 cost of my season tickets and ten times more. 
 Meanwhile I have the pleasure of making myself a 
 wonder to people on the line, and of studying such 
 characters as you." 
 
 " Complimentary ! " said I, 
 
 " Ah," he said, " make your miserable life happy ! 
 — Have a cigar ? No ? Then let us stroll down to 
 the Aquarium, and see your relatives," 
 
 " My relatives ! " I demanded. 
 
 " Yes," said he, " your relatives — the gobies and 
 the flat-fish ! " 
 
 I saw him yesterday. 
 
 " I 'm not killed yet," he said, quite cheerily, " but 
 I don't intend to give up. According to all mathe- 
 matical estimates, I must be killed in the next four 
 months ; so I have only renewed my season ticket 
 for six months instead of a year. It is right to be 
 
 economical. Bye, bye ! " 
 
 Charles Williams. 
 
 -^'^^sm:^.i2jmw^
 
 THE MAN WHO HESITATED
 
 —AND WAS LOST
 
 26 
 
 LOTTIE'S CARP. 
 
 LOTTIE'S CARP. 
 
 INCENT GODFREY at one time thought 
 his love for Lottie Fairchild about the 
 most undying thing that could be said 
 or sung. I should not make him the subject of this 
 story were it not that he went to India, and now lies, 
 beyond the reach of Comic Annuals, under the shade 
 of a mango-tree, not far from the pretty station of 
 D urbharcomlee, 
 
 Vincent Godfrey, Cyril Fairchild, and myself were 
 of the same mess in Hall, and no man at that period 
 entered, or before, or since to my knowledge, ate his 
 way to the Bar with greater regularity and voracity 
 than did the poor but honest Vincent Godfrey, stu- 
 dent-at-law, of the Inner Temple, Esq. The sixth 
 son of a west country curate with the usual pitiable 
 stipend and traditional enormous family, Vincent 
 Godfrey could boast of most things but money; 
 hence, when Fairchild, the son of a wealthy cotton- 
 spinner, invited him down to Barlow's Gate for a 
 holiday, promising him saddle-horses and i\xs\ galore, 
 he did not require a second asking — stood not on the 
 order of his going, but went. 
 
 Perhaps Cyril would not have been so free with his 
 invitation had he been aware precisely how things 
 were going on at Barlow's Gate. The cotton famine 
 had just begun to grip Lancashire in its terrible 
 throttle, and the mills were everywhere either closing 
 or running at half-time. 
 
 Barlow's Gate was not exactly the place you would 
 choose for a holiday in the hot months, when the 
 whole duty of man is to lie under trees and think of 
 nothing. The house inhabited by the Fairchilds was 
 luxuriously appointed, and there were some useful 
 horses in the stable. But the look-out was the 
 reverse of romantic. There were forests to be seen, 
 but they were of tall chimneys ; there v/ere hills and 
 valleys also, but the hills were mounds of coal or 
 mine refuse, and the valleys were sacred to inky 
 canals. To a fastidious man, used to breezy moor- 
 
 lands and fragrant meads, it was something that 
 the normal fall of smoke did not hang over the 
 land ; but as the clear air at this time was evidence 
 of present distress and an ominous future, the gain 
 was not absolute. There being no other visitors in 
 the house, the young men had that neat problem 
 before them, which others have experienced not a 
 little difficulty in solving — the problem known as 
 " killing time." Now it will be seen how important 
 a personage in the matter was Lottie, only daughter 
 of Adam Fairchild, the rich cotton-spinner, of Bar- 
 low's Gate. No man is such an idiot as to prefer 
 the society of the best friend that breathes to that of 
 a pretty sister. This is a shocking reflection ; but it 
 is true. Vincent Godfrey recognized it ; Lottie Fair- 
 child, nothing loth, accepted it. Within one brief 
 week, the curate's son and the cotton lord's daughter 
 were vowing eternal constancy. They rode out into 
 the country, barely tolerating the necessary com- 
 panionship of Cyril, and taking a mean advantage 
 of that gentleman's timid horsemanship, to gallop 
 recklessly over road and field, with the view of 
 out-distancing him. This manoeuvre gave them 
 numerous uninterrupted half-hours, every moment 
 of which was turned to full account ; and, as every- 
 body knows, when a young lady's face is flushed with 
 the healthy vigour of a smart spin across country, 
 and her cavalier's blood is roused by the same 
 means, more love-making can be done in five minutes 
 than in five hours under ordinary conditions. 
 
 Sometimes the young folks read poetry — or, rather, 
 armed themselves with poetic material — on the lawn. 
 Poor Cyril was a plain hard-headed fellow — one of 
 the best conveyancers known in the present day — 
 who yawned consumedly over this part of the day's 
 programme, smoked until his thorax was as dry as 
 gutta-percha, and wondered what the deuce Godfrey 
 and Lottie could have to talk about in undertones, 
 with their confounded heads so close together over
 
 LOTTIE'S CARP. 
 
 27 
 
 a book. There were theatres and concerts in Man- 
 chester to fill up a few evenings ; and somehow it was 
 always arranged that Cyril outside should take the 
 reins on the return journey — a clear hour's delicious 
 spooning for the lovers. 
 
 By-and-bye, the young people grew tired of the 
 deadly stillness and idle machinery so strange to 
 them all, and spent a month at Blackpool ; then 
 Cyril took Godfrey to Scotland before Michaelmas 
 Term ; and the year was completed by a frosty 
 Christmas spent at Barlow's Gate. 
 
 Too poor, and too uncertain of his prospects, to 
 positively propose to Adam Fairchild for his daugh- 
 ter, Vincent Godfrey was proud to make it appear 
 that he was the young lady's accepted lover ; but by 
 Christmas, Lottie was less fervent in her demon- 
 strations. The winter which hardened the puddles 
 seemed also to have cooled — if not frozen — her affec- 
 tions. Godfrey was saddened and surprised at her 
 behaviour at the few balls and parties which came 
 with the festive season. She was too gushing with 
 her partners, and clung to them with unnecessary 
 clinginess in the mazy movements of the waltz. Once 
 the swain ventured to plead for a trifle more favour, 
 and she laughed at him, for a " jealous old Coke- 
 upon-Lyttelton." 
 
 " I have your promise not to forget me," he mur- 
 mured, when the moment of parting arrived. 
 
 "Don't be silly," she said. "Of course I shall 
 not forget you." 
 
 Altogether it was a dull journey back to town. 
 
 If the subsequent love-making of our young turtle- 
 doves had ever been taken out of a brief-bag in 
 Westminster Hall, Mr. Clay Ment, Q.C., might have 
 added to his far-spread fame by the letters which 
 passed between Lancashire and London. He might 
 have pointed out to the enlightened gentlemen, who 
 were executing the palladium business with so much 
 neatness and dispatch, that Miss Fairchild's letters 
 — now hot, now cold ; now long, now short ; now 
 elaborate, now hasty — showed, if a wayward vvild- 
 ness, yet, on the whole, undoubted protestation of 
 affection. Had he put Mr. Godfrey into the box, 
 he might have led the witness on to describe how, 
 while the document marked No. i acted upon him 
 like an iced shower-bath, No. 2 had warmed his 
 
 soul with the power of a patent cooking -stove. 
 Cross-examined with that adroitness through which 
 Claretto, Q.C., has become the pet of a common 
 jury and the idol of his (successful) clients, the wit- 
 ness might have distinctly proved serious interrup- 
 tion to his studies, interference with his appetite 
 and consequent chaff from his fellow-students, and 
 periodical harrowing of the emotions known under 
 the generic title of " feelings." But none of this in- 
 teresting evidence is to be found upon the judge's 
 note-book for an obvious reason. ( Vide comic his- 
 tory of Spanish Fleet.) 
 
 The ups and down of the Lottie and Vincent cor- 
 respondence did not check the advance of spring, or 
 seriously interfere with the supervention of summer. 
 In the dog-days— a month either way makes no 
 difference — the two law-students, seizing an oppor- 
 tunity when their miscellaneous bills had reached a 
 preposterous number, locked their chambers, pinned 
 "Gone into the country" under the door-knocker, 
 and caught the express from Euston to the north. 
 
 Lottie looked charming on appearing at the break- 
 fast-table next morning. She was a fair lady ; her 
 hair was not only all her own, but its golden colour 
 was genuine also. Then she was of clear white 
 complexion — a point to be borne in mind, because 
 golden hair (poets and Romancists notwithstanding) 
 sometimes crowns a face that, if not florid, always 
 impresses you with the notion that it will become so 
 on the slightest provocation. Her eyes, when bright, 
 were terribly witching, and then nobody appeared 
 to agree upon their colour ; but when they did not 
 laugh, they were a grey-blue. But why pursue the 
 description ? It is not fair to deal with a lady as if 
 she were a sale, and you an auctioneer's catalogue. 
 At the same time, Godfrey did once say Lottie's 
 mouth was a trifle spoilt by the too thin lips, and 
 that her hands and feet, " like the hands and feet of 
 most fair women," the impudent fellow added, might 
 have been smaller without endangering their utility. 
 This, however, was after the events which will now^ 
 without any more ado, be described. 
 
 " Let us go and fish for an hour," Cyril said to 
 Godfrey, during their first breakfast at Barlow's 
 Gate. 
 
 Godfrey was troubled in spirit. Lottie had care-
 
 28 
 
 LOTTIE'S CARP. 
 
 fully avoided him, intriguing as much now to keep 
 out of his way as she once did to secure limitless 
 tete-a-tetes. She stared at him when he tried to 
 touch her foot with his Levant leather shoe, and 
 dodged it. A sly pressure of the hand under the 
 damask table-cloth, gallantly attempted, ignomini- 
 ously failed. 
 
 " Will you go, Lottie ? " he dismally asked. 
 
 " Thanks, Mr. Godfrey, but I 'm busy this morn- 
 ing," she answered, cool and polite. 
 
 The young men procured rods and tackle, and 
 walked out to the " lodges." Perhaps the reader re- 
 quires enlightenment as to this term. A lodge in 
 Lancashire is not the lodge in a garden of cucumbers 
 you read of in the old Book ; it is a reservoir used 
 for mill purposes, and varies in size according to the 
 magnitude of the manufactory. At Barlow's Gate 
 there were two lodges, each perhaps fifty yards long, 
 by twenty wide, and of a uniform depth of four feet. 
 
 " Good heavens ! you don't mean to say this is 
 where we have to fish ? " Vincent exclaimed. " Why, 
 it's as muddy and stagnant as a horse-pond !" 
 
 Laughing at his companion's expression of horror, 
 Cyril said, 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we may smoke our pipe here as well 
 as elsewhere ; and there are quantities of tench and 
 bream to be had for the catching." 
 
 So, enclosed within stone walls pierced by a 
 •doorway leading to the kitchen garden, and within 
 sight of the deserted works where, but for the cotton- 
 famine, hundreds of men and women would have 
 been merrily ranged before the bright and noisy 
 machines, the gentlemen who twenty hours before 
 had sauntered arm-in-arm through Temple Bar, sat 
 down to their extraordinary angling. They smoked 
 and watched their floats. 
 
 " I can't make out Lottie," Godfrey said ; " she 
 avoids me." 
 
 " She doth," quoth Cyril, sententiously. 
 
 " She treats me ill." 
 
 ^ She do." 
 
 ■" It is painful and puzzling to me." 
 
 ''It are." 
 
 *' Don't mock me, Fairchild," Godfrey said, sadly. 
 ■"You know how fond I was — how fond I am of 
 her ! " 
 
 "Vincent, I ought to have warned you of this 
 before. Lottie is the most arrant flirt in Lancashire. 
 I knew last year that she was simply flirting with 
 you, because there was nothing else to do, and no 
 one else to flirt with," Cyril seriously observed. 
 
 " Fairchild, I don't want to quarrel with you, but 
 you are the first man I ever met who slandered his 
 own sister, and such a sister as Lottie!" 
 
 "Good! Go your own gait, as they say here- 
 abouts. I tell you, I am ashamed to say, the truth. 
 If I thought at first that you had been in earnest, I 
 would have warned you." 
 
 " I must see Lottie, and hear her own explana- 
 tion," Godfrey said. 
 
 " That 's the best way," the other answered. 
 " Egad ! you have a bite. See, the float is gone." 
 
 " If such things had life, I should say that it was 
 a bale of cotton," Godfrey remarked, as, with a heavy, 
 dead pull, something made a slow travelment to the 
 end of the lodge, returned, crossed, and re-crossed. 
 
 "No, it's a big fish, sure enough," Fairchild ex- 
 citedly shouted. " Give him line while I run for 
 something." 
 
 He brought a bucket, and eager to see the sight 
 ran Lottie, the cook, the housemaids, and the page 
 boy. The brute, whatever it was, was in no hurry 
 to leave his home. Mr. Godfrey humoured his tardi- 
 ness, and at length the rude vessel received him. 
 
 " Hang it!" said Fairchild: "it's Lottie's carp." 
 
 " Oh ! it 's Miss Lottie's carp," chorused the do- 
 mestics. 
 
 " My poor, dear, pet carp !" cried Lottie. " I hate 
 you, Mr. Godfrey ! I hate you ! You caught it on 
 purpose." 
 
 It was useless to deny it or apologize; the carp 
 was completely done for. It was a nasty, slimy, fat 
 beast, of immense size and some age, and the greedy 
 way in which he had taken the hook into his roomy 
 gullet rendered it impossible to return him alive to 
 the water. If Vincent Godfrey had robbed a church 
 he could not have looked more guilty, and he never 
 found an opportunity that day, nor the next, of 
 coming to an explanation with Miss Fairchild. 
 Before leaving Barlow's Gate, however, though she 
 would admit of no explanation of her coolness, and 
 permit none of the endearments to which the sup-
 
 LOTTIE'S CARP. 
 
 29 
 
 plicant thought he had a right, some sort of friend- 
 liness was restored. For days he suffered from a 
 tedious malady. Congestions and indigestions are 
 to be shunned ; water on the brain, it is said, is a 
 sad affliction ; but what is the remedy for carp on 
 the mind ? The offended beauty must be conciliated, 
 and the peace offering must be in kind. 
 
 Mr. Vincent Godfrey, therefore, studied the natural 
 history of the carp, and carried out a brilliant design 
 which had flashed like a ray of genius into his soul. 
 In one of his researches in the British Museum he 
 found the following words : 
 
 " The age to which carp attain is very great, and 
 several well-authenticated instances are adduced of 
 its considerably exceeding a century at least. Many 
 of those which were introduced into the ponds at 
 Versailles, &c., in the reign of Louis the Fourteenth 
 (say 1690), are either still living, or at least were so 
 a very short time before the French Revolution 
 (of 1830)." 
 
 This afforded him consolation. Rummaging fur- 
 ther, he alighted upon another crumb of comfort, 
 thus: 
 
 " I will close up this chapter with a relation of 
 Gesner's, in his epistle to the Emperor Ferdinand, 
 prefixed before his booke ' De Piscibus,' touching 
 the long life oi a pike, which was cast into a pond 
 or poole, near Hailebrune, in Suabia, with this in- 
 scription, ingraven upon a collar of brass, fastened 
 about his necke: ''Ego stun ille -piscis hinc stagno 
 07nniiim pritmcs impositits per viiindi Rectoris Fre- 
 derici Seciindi, inanits 5 Octobris, antio 1230.' He 
 was again taken up in the year 1497, and by the 
 inscription it appeared he had then lived there 267 
 yeares." 
 
 These whiffs of ancient and fishlike lore now min- 
 gled with the smoke of many a pipe in Godfrey's 
 chamber. A carp not less than twenty-four inches 
 long was advertised for, and the housekeeper was 
 worried to the verge of the grave by the slouching 
 vagabonds who presented themselves at the door 
 '• about this 'ere corpe, mum." 
 
 Vincent secured his fish at last, and that night 
 a solemn conclave sat in Vincent's chamber. An 
 iron bucket stood in the centre of the group, with a 
 splashing, blue-brown, sheepy-eyed fish writhing 
 
 within. Libations were poured down the throats of 
 the learned assembly, pipes were kindled, and there 
 then followed a great carp debate. Godfrey pro- 
 duced a neat broad-hooped ring of pure gold. It 
 bore the inscription — 
 
 ILcttic's Carp. 
 
 Sam Sargent, escaped from hospital for a few 
 hours, produced his surgical instruments, and Ben- 
 son's obliging young artificer, who had been sum- 
 moned for the purpose, stood by to lend his aid in 
 the touching ceremony. 
 
 First came the catching of the carp : done after a 
 terrific struggle between it and Godfrey. Two of the 
 most delicately -fingered of the company then held 
 the fish down upon a newspaper on the floor ; the 
 surgeon operated ; the goldsmith knelt low, and bent 
 over the victim ; and behold, loud hurrahs pro- 
 claimed the deed worthily performed. The ring had 
 been firmly and artistically affixed at the root of the 
 carp's tail without wounding the creature's body. It 
 was then formally returned to the bucket, the water 
 was changed every hour, and the fish seemed proud 
 of his new appendage. This was the general suppo- 
 sition, for it thereafter manifested a desire to hoist 
 its broad tail out of the water, although it was com- 
 pelled to stand on its head, with snout touching the 
 bottom of the bucket, in order to maintain its proud 
 position with becoming grace. 
 
 How was this highly-honoured Cyprimis carpio to 
 be conveyed from London to Lancashire ? Fairchild,. 
 eventually, was elected a deputation by the meeting, 
 and insti'ucted to deposit the fish in the lodge at 
 Barlow's Gate at the dead of night, or, at all costs^ 
 unknown to the world ; the means of transit and 
 other details being left entirely to himself. A learned 
 angler had recommended that the fish should be kept 
 wrapped up in wet moss, in which luxurious state^ 
 he pledged his piscatorial honour, it would, though 
 in a lingering kind of fashion, live several days. 
 This advice, it was understood, was followed, and^ 
 it had better be at once assumed, successfully. 
 
 How many months flew by it matters not. The 
 cotton famine was still sore in the land. The opera- 
 tives, generally the quietest of men, broke out here 
 and there into commotion ; ugly alarms of riot were
 
 LOTTIES CARP. 
 
 rife. " Our own Correspondent, ' " Our special Cor- 
 respondent," " Our own Commissioner," " Our special 
 Reporter," and all the other journalistic specialities 
 of this age of big type, went down to the scene of 
 trouble. Amongst them went down " Our special 
 Artist " — none other than Mr. Vincent Godfrey, who 
 used to add to his modest income by his pencil. 
 He was a very deft sketcher, and could throw in the 
 details of a passing scene with singular speed ; was, 
 in fact, quite a short-hand special artist. 
 
 Our special Artist, p'o tern., arrived at Chow- 
 chump on the evening before a disturbance, which 
 threatened, at one time of the day, to assume the 
 proportions of a sanguinary riot. An angry and ex- 
 cited mob in the forenoon filled the market-place. 
 In a street at the back of the Town Hall a troop of 
 dragoons was drawn up ready for action ; inside the 
 Town Hall, and at the station, the police were 
 equipped with cutlasses. The mob glared at these 
 warlike preparations ; and Godfrey, from the window 
 of the Bobbin Arms, with the large carpenter's 
 pencil which he affected, reproduced the scene. 
 
 The operatives and their wives were irritated and 
 — poor wretches! — hungry ; but they meant no harm, 
 nor would have done any if a stupid police-sergeant 
 had not marched a ragged, hatless, shoeless prisoner 
 across the square towards the Town Hall. The man 
 had been slashed across the forehead with a police 
 cutlass, and his face was seamed with ruddy streaks. 
 This the mob saw : stones were handy : in a few 
 moments a shower of missiles was flying across at 
 the line of police. 
 
 The Mayor, a brave little fellow, with a few brother 
 magistrates behind him, walked towards the mob in 
 the face of the volley, imploring the people to dis- 
 perse. Failing in this sensible attempt, he read the 
 Riot Act, and the cavalry were brought round under 
 strict orders not to act till the last extremity. The 
 mob hooted, the stones fell. The officer of dragoons, 
 a handsome young fellow, received a brickbat, well 
 jagged at the edge, upon his cheek, and the blood 
 streamed down upon the facings of his uniform. 
 The cavalry were on the point of charging ; but the 
 mob at the first glimmer of drawn swords beat a 
 precipitate retreat. 
 
 At the moment when the officer received the brick- 
 
 bat on his manly face, a piercing shriek arose from 
 the upper windows of the Town Hall, the shriek of 
 a woman — of a woman in distress. From his hostelry, 
 Godfrey, ever sympathetic to female sorrows, looked 
 across just in time to see his sweet Lottie throwing 
 up her arms, and falling back in the regulation way 
 into the arms of the usual friend who is ready to 
 assist at the customary fainting-fit. 
 
 It was not easy for him to fight his way out of the 
 Bobbin Arms, through the throng, by the dragoons 
 and police, up the Town Hall steps, and into the 
 building; but the passionate Vincent, with patience 
 and push, carried the position, and rushed headlong 
 into the Mayor's private apartments. In the very 
 first room he saw something which brought him up 
 sharply, with a round turn, as it were. The hand- 
 some officer of dragoons reclined gracefully in an 
 easy-chair, and fair Lottie hung over him, saying, 
 
 " Dear, dear Charlie ! are you sure you are not 
 hurt 1 " 
 
 " No, darling ! only a scratch," the warrior gasped, 
 sensible enough, however, to clutch Lottie's hand by 
 way of enforcing the assurance. 
 
 If Mr. Vincent Godfrey had been a man of ordinary 
 mould, he would have wept, or swore, or rent his 
 garments, or lapsed into tragedy. He would have 
 seized his hair with the left hand pretending to 
 root a few parcels out, and uplifting the right, he 
 would, in sepulchral tones, have declaimed pro- 
 bably thus : " Perfidious maiden ! is it thus my 
 honest love is requited ? Ah me ! my bleeding 
 heart ! But no ! a time will come ! " Then, smit- 
 ing his eyes with the palm of his hand, as if to dam 
 up torrents of tears, he would have bolted blindly 
 from the room. 
 
 But Godfrey cared for none of these things. No 
 whining, no appeals, no reproaches for him. His 
 heart ceased to beat, it must be confessed, when the 
 interesting spectacle burst upon him ; but it soon 
 thumped on again as before. The special artist 
 triumphed over the man. He took out his sketch- 
 book, and quietly edging under the lee of a screen, 
 made a picture of the tableau, finding, as he after- 
 wards remarked, inexpressible consolation in every 
 stroke of the pencil. His rapid drawing here did 
 him good service : it enabled him to step out of the
 
 LOTTIE'S CARP. 
 
 room, in the prevailing commotion, unseen, or, if 
 not unseen, unnoticed. 
 
 " Who 's your Mayor ? " he inquired of the land- 
 lady, on returning to the hotel. 
 
 "Jonathan Fairchild," she said. 
 
 " Fairchild ! Any connection of the Fairchilds of 
 Barlow's Gate?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. Mr. Adam Fairchild is the Mayor's 
 brother, and Miss Charlotte is staying yon' now." 
 
 " Indeed ? " said Godfrey. 
 
 "Ay," added the landlady, "I shouldn't be sur- 
 prised if she weds that cavalry officer. He 's been 
 quartered here a month, and Miss Lottie, as they 
 call her, and him are always together." 
 
 " So, so ! Such things will happen, you know," 
 was the young man's laughing reply. 
 
 The same evening Lottie received the following 
 note : 
 
 "Lottie, — Permit me to ask what is your relation 
 to the dragoon whom you were fondling this after- 
 noon at the Town Hall? I accidentally saw you. 
 You called him ' Dear, dear Charley.' He called 
 you his darling. Pardon my inquisitiveness : who 
 is he, and what is he to you ?— Vincent Godfrey." 
 
 In the envelope was enclosed the finished drawing 
 of the scene. 
 
 Next day a messenger sought out the writer of the 
 above and handed him a note, in which these words 
 were dashed boldly on the paper with a furious pen : 
 
 " Sir, — My relation to the gentleman you saw me, 
 as you coarsely say, fondling, is simply explained. 
 I am engaged to him, and I am his darling. It is 
 nothing to you, and you are nothing to ME." 
 
 " So be it," Godfrey wrote back : " only there is 
 no necessity for quarrelling over the matter. I for- 
 give you, and shall always be glad to meet you, and 
 wish you well as your friend, "V. G." 
 
 And so it was. 
 
 Captain Carstairs and Lottie, nevertheless, were 
 
 never married ; and her brother begged not to be 
 questioned on the subject. Once, off his guard, he 
 referred to the captain as " a mercenary cad," and to 
 Lottie as "a fickle flirting fool;" whereupon his 
 friend rebuked him for unbrotherly language. 
 
 Before sailing for India, Vincent Godfrey paid a 
 final visit to Barlow's Gate, and found Lottie as 
 pretty as ever, and as eager for flirtation as in the 
 old days ; but Godfrey, being no longer under her 
 spell, talked to her with almost blunt plainness. 
 
 " Don't look bewitching at me, Lottie : don't put 
 that soft tone into your voice. You cured me in a 
 moment a long time ago, and the cure, I assure you, 
 was magical in its completeness." 
 
 Thus commencing, they strolled into the garden, 
 through the narrow door in the wall, and out by the 
 lodges. The water was unruffled ; the works still 
 deserted and noiseless with the misfortune of years. 
 
 " You told me once, hereabouts," Godfrey ob- 
 served, halting under the wall, "that you hated 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, no, I never hated you," she quickly said ; 
 " but I was peevish." 
 
 " Perhaps," continued Godfrey — " perhaps that 
 was so. No, I do not believe you hated me, for — 
 don't be angry, Lottie — -for you haven't heart enough 
 to love or hate worthy of the name." 
 
 Then, after a pause : 
 
 " Look ! " she said ; " what is that ? " 
 
 A heavy dark object, on the opposite side of the 
 lodge, was slowly circling on the surface of the water. 
 It began to splash and revolve with increasing vi- 
 gour ; it shot across the lodge ; circled feebly again ; 
 turned over on its side, and floated loglike. 
 
 Lottie and her companion walked round until they 
 could reach it ; and Vincent, seizing it by the shoul- 
 ders, landed a great dying fish. He removed a bit 
 of aquatic weed from its tail, and Miss Fairchild 
 turned pale when he tore out and presented to her 
 a tarnished ring, upon which black mud had filled 
 up and made very conspicuous the letters 
 
 5Lotti'£'3 (Carp. 
 
 W. Senior,
 
 SOCIAL ADULTERATION. 
 
 1. The Hon. Maurice Fitz-Maiirice de Vera was anxious to purchase a 3. So the Hon. Maurice went to his particular friend, Lady Saubbuni 
 
 wife, but lie required one of bhie blood and unadulterated descent. 4. Who retired to her laboratory, 
 
 2. Now the question came up, was Amaryllis Whillks an Adulterated 5. And appointed a committee. , 
 
 Article ?
 
 SOCIAL ADULTERATION. 
 
 
 Having carefully analysed their subject, the Committee were enabled to report the following adulterations :- 
 
 6. An uncle who had had the audacity to make his own way in the world. 
 
 7. Another, who hadn't. 
 
 8. Worse : a first cousin who was positively a comic artist 
 o. Several distant cousins who dropped their H's. 
 
 10. And :. number of remote relatives connected with commerce. 
 
 11. After this, Miss W. was of course out of the question, but the 
 Committee found the Hon. Maurice a really pure article of the 
 most unimpeachable ancestry; 
 
 12. While the Adulterated Article was palmed oft upon the Hon. 
 Maurice's uncle, who was eccentric ani not particubr.
 
 34 
 
 THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCK. 
 
 THE FLOWER OF THE FLOCI 
 
 V. 
 
 HIS, I am sure, is the flower of the flock ! 
 
 She stands like a rock in her lilac frock ; 
 
 She speaks as clear as a cuckoo clock ; 
 The little dear is sweet to hear 
 And sweet to see — the flower is she — 
 The flower of the flock in her dear little shoes ! " 
 
 Now, then, hearken to Heavenly Muse ! 
 First, the metaphor we excuse, 
 Wishing it better. For what you say— 
 (Thank Heaven ! the children are all away) — 
 That may be rather more hard to fit. 
 And Heavenly Muse objects to it. 
 You are not sage ; your patronage 
 
 Vexes the tender household heart. 
 And ruffles depths you cannot gauge. 
 
 Why do you place this child apart .'' — 
 They all are flowers for different hours : 
 
 Pray, mould your praise with a kindlier art. 
 
 Ah, what a garden, in need of pardon. 
 
 From all but parents whose hearts are warrants, — 
 
 Ah, what a garden — pitying powers ! — 
 
 Is many a garden of parents' flowers ! 
 
 One of the flowers has a sad club-foot, 
 
 And one is blind, and one is mute ; 
 
 One poor flower has a broken spine ; 
 
 One is as wicked as Devil's wine ; 
 
 One was born with but half his wits, 
 
 And one is scarred, and one has fits ! — 
 
 Why, these are pretty flowers indeed 
 
 For so much love and gardening heed — 
 
 A jest ? Yet if you try to laugh. 
 
 You find you cannot do it half ! 
 
 No : all through the long human years 
 Such gardens are, and it appears 
 As if the flowers were bright with tears. 
 That catch the sunshine, and diffuse 
 A thousand iridescent hues. 
 
 No: do not smile at Heavenly Muse, 
 
 But mind her. Who are you to choose 
 
 This child or that for the flower of the flock ? 
 
 (The metaphor we do excuse.) 
 
 It is not a step, or a voice, or a frock. 
 
 Or a sash, or even a pair of shoes 
 
 (Not to speak of wit or beauty, 
 
 Gentleness, or zeal in duty) 
 
 That makes the choice flower in the garden, 
 
 (Which seems to stand in need of pardon) — 
 
 The flower that fairest, sweetest blows. 
 
 What is the secret, then .'' God knows ; 
 
 And when Love smiles, and says, " My rose !" 
 
 To what might else go derelict, 
 
 Who has the heart to contradict ? 
 
 God makes the love the need to suit; 
 
 But, for the secret, Love is mute : 
 
 She cherishes the thing forlorn- 
 She says, " This mortal is but night !" 
 
 She weeps, " Would God that it were morn, — 
 My flower will blooni when it is light !" 
 
 The tempered wind around them blows 
 
 The secret that God only knows, 
 
 And still Love whispers, " Ah, my rose ! " 
 
 The Author of " Lh.liput Levee."
 
 A PHOTOGRAPHIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 35 
 
 A PHOTOGRAPHIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 HY, ^lurrray, what a swell you are to-day ! 
 You look as if you had been to a wed- 
 
 " Not a bad hit, Jack : I have been to a wedding. 
 Willy Daly married your old sweetheart Nelly Guy 
 this morning." 
 
 " That 's a take-in, Murray ; but it won't do : you 
 needn't think you can humbug me." 
 
 " I shouldn't dream of iryiiig, my boy. It's a fact ; 
 Nellie is married, and I gave her away." 
 
 " The deuce you did ! horrid want of considera- 
 tion for my feelings on your part, I must say. But 
 I didn't know that Daly knew the Guys. I 'm broken- 
 hearted, of course ; but still I should like to know 
 how it came about ? " 
 
 "/ brought it about, my dear fellow," replied 
 Murray, coolly ; " that is to say, I and a certain 
 photographic artist. He began the affair, I carried 
 it on, and have finished it, as already intimated : 
 given the happy pair my blessing, and started them 
 off to Paris on their wedding tour." 
 
 " Now, Murray, do be serious for a moment," said 
 Jack, a little testily, " and tell me, like a good fellow, 
 what you mean by your nonsense." 
 
 " Nonsense indeed ! I assure you, my lad, I am 
 telling you the simple truth," answered his friend. 
 Why should I mislead youth and innocence?" 
 
 " Now, are you going to leave off chaffing, and 
 tell me what I want to know, or are you not ? be- 
 cause I 'm not going to waste my afternoon stand- 
 ing here while you amuse yourself at my expense," 
 said poor Jack. 
 
 "Talking is dry work, my son," said Murray) 
 slapping his sulky friend on the shoulder ; " if you 
 will stand a bottle of champagne, I '11 tell you my 
 stor>' while we drink it. Is that a bargain ? " 
 
 "All right, INIurray: let us turn in here at the 
 Wig and Maypole, and you shall have the cham- 
 pagne and tell your news." 
 
 " Not bad stuff considering," said Murray, after 
 letting the wine bubble against his palate like a 
 connoisseur, " But now, Jack, I won't tantalize you 
 any more. Nelly and Daly really are married, and 
 a photograph really had a great deal to do with it. 
 The two met for the first time on board the Dieppe 
 steamboat last summer. Pretty little Nellie was 
 going home after her finishing term at Madame de 
 Follet's, and Daly was returning from his holiday 
 trip in time to spend the last week with me at 
 Brighton. I had strolled down from the station to 
 the wharf to meet Willie Daly, and was just in time 
 to see the boat come in : he was one of the first to 
 land, and we had only exchanged a word or two, 
 when I turned round and saw poor Nellie struggling 
 along the gangway, with a bag in one hand and a 
 bandbox in the other ; so of course I sprang forward 
 to help her. I brought her and her packages safe 
 on shore, and asked her where she was going. To 
 the hotel, she told me. Her aunt, Mrs. Cookson, 
 was there to meet her and a cousin who was cominsr 
 over by the next boat. The following day they were 
 going to Brighton — the aunt lives there, you know, 
 Jack. As it happened, Daly and I were also going 
 to stay that night, so I offered her my arm, and we 
 walked up the road (only two hundred yards, you 
 know) together. Daly strode by my side as mute 
 as a fish ; but Nellie talked and laughed and squeezed 
 my arm in such an unaccountable way, growing red 
 and pale alternately, that I found myself speculating 
 as to whether my income would keep a girl in com- 
 fort, and thinking that Nellie Murray had not an 
 unpleasant sound." 
 
 "Puppy!" muttered his listener, 
 
 Murray grinned. "Well," continued he, "when 
 we reached the hotel door, Daly stopped for a mo- 
 ment to speak to the porter, who was bringing up 
 the luggage, and as soon as his back was turned, 
 Nellie gave my arm another squeeze, and said in a 
 
 3 — 2
 
 36 
 
 A PHOTOGRAPHIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 frightened whisper, * Is the mad gentleman going to 
 stay in this hotel too?' Sheer astonishment at this 
 singular question prevented me from answering for 
 a moment, and then Daly returning, sent Miss Nellie, 
 with a hurried 'Good night!' flying upstairs after 
 the waiter, who was leading the way to her aunt's 
 rooms, 
 
 " ' Good night at nine o'clock in the morning ! ' 
 said I to myself, ' and ' the mad gentleman ! ' What 
 the dickens does the girl mean ?' I was just going 
 to ask Willie what it was all about, but he looked so 
 uncommonly glum that I concluded to wait a bit, 
 and not ask any questions till he had been com- 
 forted with liquor and soothed with a pipe. I was 
 wise !" 
 
 " Solomon ! " growled Jack. 
 
 Murray bowed as to a well-deserved compliment, 
 and drank another glass of champagne. 
 
 *' It was not till Daly was in the middle of his 
 second pipe," continued he, " that his tongue was 
 fairly loosened, and then he suddenly asked me, 
 ' Who is that girl ?' ' What girl ?' said I, cautiously. 
 
 * You know, you brought her up here from the boat.' 
 
 * Don't you know ? Why, that was Miss Guy — little 
 Nellie Guy : you must have heard me speak of her.' 
 
 * H'm ! And what made her bolt in such a hurry ?' 
 asked Daly. ' My dear fellow,' said I ; ' you ought 
 to be able to answer that question better than I can. 
 What had you been saying or doing to frighten her?' 
 
 Frighten her ! ' cried Willie, indignantly ; ' I am 
 not in the habit of frightening women. What 
 makes you think she was frightened?' Well, well,' 
 said I, soothingly, the words 'the mad gentleman' 
 stirring up unpleasant ideas, ' tell me what passed 
 between the two of you, and then, perhaps, I can 
 explain matters.' ' Nothing particular passed,' said 
 Willie, half smiling, and reddening a little. ' I helped 
 her on board, and she thanked me very prettily ; 
 then I found her a snug seat sheltered from the wind, 
 and sat down beside her, of course. We got into 
 conversation, talked about Dieppe, and her school, 
 and so on, and we passed the time very pleasantly 
 till the steamer began to roll a little, when she said 
 she would go to the cabin, and lie down for an hour. 
 I asked her to come on deck again soon, and Miss 
 Guy, as you call her, showed her pretty white teeth, 
 
 with a charming smile, and nodded her curly head 
 with perfect good humour ; so I had not frightened 
 her then. Well, of course I was on the look-out, 
 and went to meet her as soon as she reappeared. 
 We took up our quarters in the old sheltered place 
 near the funnel : I got her some coffee and a roll, 
 and did all I could to make the little girl comfort- 
 able and keep her amused, and I certainly thought 
 we were getting on famously.' 
 
 " Well, Jack, I won't bore you with a repetition of 
 the chatter of a merry little schoolgirl and a young 
 fellow, who, by his own account, was getting more 
 spooney every minute. You know the style of thing 
 — who better ? Nellie made fun of her schoolmis- 
 tress, and entertained Willie with an account of the 
 tricks she and ' the other girls ' used to play. Willie 
 laughed at the sea-sick Frenchmen, quizzed the old 
 ladies with their maids and lap-dogs, and related 
 his blunders and mishaps in Paris. Daly's know- 
 ledge of French is vague — to put it mildly ; but he 
 makes up for that by daring invention, and his ex- 
 traordinary shots at words and expressions make 
 his conversation like a series of riddles ; so I have 
 no doubt he kept little Nellie very well amused. It 
 appears that, at last, Daly got confidential, and 
 showed her a photograph of himself taken at Paris. 
 So far all seemed to have gone on well enough ; but 
 from the moment he put the photograph-case into 
 her hand, Daly said the girl seemed transformed — 
 she closed the case in a great hurry, and gave it 
 back, as if she thought it would bite. Her face 
 turned so white that Willie thought she was sea- 
 sick, and wanted to fetch her some brandy ; but 
 she shook her head. Just at that moment a man- 
 servant came up to get a carpet-bag from behind 
 the box on which Daly was seated. He moved off, 
 and went round at the back of the funnel, intending 
 to come out the other side of Nellie ; but. Hey, 
 presto ! like a trick in a pantomime, the girl had 
 disappeared ! The sea or the ladies' cabin had 
 swallowed her, and Daly saw her no more till all 
 the passengers landed at Newhaven ; and then 
 Nellie wouldn't even look at him. This was very 
 odd, certainly. ' Were you getting too sentimental ? ' 
 asked I. ' Are you sure you didn't squeeze her 
 fingers as you gave her the photograph-case?* ' No,
 
 A PHOTOGRAPHIC COURTSHIP. 
 
 37 
 
 indeed, on my honour ! I did nothing of the sort. 
 I am certain I did nothing whatever to give the 
 young lady the sUghtest ground for offence.' ' Well, 
 it is very strange,' said I : 'there must be some 
 mistake in the matter, Daly ; and if you wish it set 
 right — as, of course, you do — the best plan will be 
 for me to go after dinner, and ask little Nellie for 
 an explanation.' The fact was, I was not a little 
 curious to know what had made Nellie think that 
 poor Willie was out of his mind. 
 
 " Daly jumped at my offer, and proposed we 
 should fill up the time till dinner by a stroll on the 
 shore. We had only taken one or two turns, and 
 Daly, after inflicting on me various poetical rhap- 
 sodies on the subject of Nellie's charms, and bewil- 
 dering us both with absurd surmises as to the cause 
 of the change in her manner, was beginning to be 
 more himself again, when we met Mrs. Cookson and 
 Nellie, who had also come out to enjoy the breeze 
 and get up an appetite for dinner. Nellie looked 
 pale, and I was about to stop and ask how she felt, 
 when, with a look of alarm, that was unmistakeably 
 reflected in her aunt's face, she hurried past us with 
 Mrs. Cookson, barely acknowledging our salute. 
 
 "Willie Daly pulled up short and turned round 
 to me with a wonderfully puzzled and disturbed 
 countenance. ' Murray,' cried he, ' you are quite 
 right : the girl is frightened of me. I saw it in her 
 eyes. For the love of Heaven, take a good look at 
 me, and tell me what's the matter. I don't look 
 drunk or mad, do I ? I have not put on my grand- 
 mother's gown, or her coachman's wig, in a fit of 
 absence of mind ? For pity's sake, man ! tell me if 
 there is anything queer about me? Or, stop — Miss 
 Guy is not out of her mind, is she ? Upon my word, 
 there was an awfully odd look in her eyes just now !' 
 ' Hold on, Willie,' said I ; " don't shout so loud : you 
 will frighten half the parade. Come and sit down 
 on this bench, and I '11 inspect you properly.' Daly 
 meekly did as I bid him, and I can tell you. Master 
 Jack, when 1 looked critically at the fellow's stalwart 
 figure, sunburnt face, laughing blue eyes, and sunny 
 curly hair, I thought him as little calculated to 
 frighten a girl away as any man I ever knew, and in 
 sober terms 1 conveyed as much to him. ' What the 
 deuce is the matter, then ? Miss Guy looked as if 
 
 she had seen a whole family of ghosts,' said he. 
 Talking brought no solution of the mystery, so we 
 fell back on our former resolution — that I should go 
 after dinner, and ask an explanation. 
 
 "About five o'clock, my curiosity being by that 
 time hot and strong, I left Willie in my rooms, and 
 went to Mrs. Cookson's. I tapped at the door, and 
 hearing a faint ' come in,' I entered. Nellie started 
 up from the sofa with a half-strangled shriek, and 
 was evidently about to fly into the next room, when, 
 perceiving I was alone, she dropped back into her 
 seat, a trembling heap of muslin and ribbons, and 
 said, with a gasp, ' Oh, Mr. Murray ! I was so terri- 
 fied. I thought the mad gentleman was with you. 
 ' No, Miss Guy,' said I, quietly seating myself beside 
 her, 'I am quite alone.' And then I was silent, 
 knowing by long experience that the less you ask 
 a woman the more she tells you. ' What a terrible 
 pity ! Such a fine young fellow ! ' began Mrs. Cook- 
 son. 'Yes, aunt; and so good-looking, too,' says 
 Nellie. ' So gentleman-like.' 'And such nice man- 
 ners.' ' Such frank-looking blue eyes. And he has 
 a clever face too. I should never have suspected 
 he was mad, if Nellie had not told me.' ' And he 
 can talk as well as most sane people, if not better. 
 Yes, it 's a dreadful pity ! ' Then turning to me, 
 Nelly said, with a sigh, ' Has he been long so, 
 Mr. Murray?' ' How did you find out he was so. 
 Miss Guy ? ' said I, fencing. ' Oh ! ' said Nelly, 
 shaking her curls, ' I should not have found it out 
 at all, perhaps, if the stewardess had not told me 
 there was a mad gentleman on board the steamer 
 with his servant. The poor fellow talked so plea- 
 santly, and was so merry and amusing, that I quite 
 looked forward to meeting him again. When I 
 went down to the cabin, and the stewardess began 
 to tell us about the mad gentleman, and pointed 
 out the servant who had charge of him, I did not 
 think for a moment that she referred to my nice 
 new friend. When I went on deck again, of course 
 I felt just a little nervous, and I looked about for 
 the madman. It certainly did cross my mind that 
 the poor fellow I had been talking to looked just a 
 little wild : his hair was blown about so, and he 
 seemed so very pleased I had come on deck.' ' A 
 striking proof of sanity, I should say, Miss Guy,'
 
 38 
 
 A PHOTOGRAPHIC COTRTSHIP. 
 
 interrupted I. ' Ah,' said she, with another shake 
 of the pretty head, ' the worst is to come. We had 
 coffee so comfortably together — I shudder to think 
 of it ! We talked a long while, and he made me 
 laugh a great deal, and I had quite forgotten my 
 fears — when, all of a sudden, he said, " I have had 
 my portrait taken as a present for my sister. Isn't 
 it a good likeness?" and, with such an odd laugh, 
 he put a photograph-case into my hands. Of course 
 I opened it, and there, to my intense horror, was a 
 coloured photo of a fat, rosy, podgy old woman, 
 with a horrible squint and a big frilled cap on ! I 
 nearly gave a scream, and our mad friend came a 
 little closer, and asked if the portrait wasn't like 
 him ? So I shut it up as quickly as I could, and 
 gave it him back, and was just thinking whether I 
 hadn't better run over to some ladies for protection, 
 when he asked me if I wouldn't like some brandy. 
 I was horribly frightened ; but, fortunately, his ser- 
 vant came at that moment and took him away. I 
 jumped up directly and ran down to the ladies' 
 cabin, and there I stayed till we arrived. Oh, dear 
 me ! I haven't got over the fright yet. But tell me, 
 Mr. Murray — has he been long mad, poor young 
 fellov/ ? ' 'It cannot be very long. Miss Guy,' said 
 I, as gravely as I could, ' for he was quite sane when 
 I saw him about six months ago.' ' It must have 
 been rather sudden, then,' said Nellie, plaintively: 
 'what drove him mad, I wonder?' Then, with a 
 slight accession of uneasiness — ' Is he g.oing to stay 
 with you, Mr. Murray?' ' My friend, WiUie Daly, 
 is going to stay with me at Brighton for a week,' 
 said I ; 'but if he is mad, Miss Guy, there must 
 have been two madmen on board, for I saw carried 
 down the hotel stairs this afternoon, a poor lunatic, 
 whose mania consisted in imagining himself a 
 corpse ; and I heard the people say that he crossed 
 from Dieppe last night in your boat.' ' Then Mr. 
 Daly is not mad '.'cried Mrs. Cookson. ' It is Miss 
 Nellie's doing if he is,' said I. ' But the servant ! ' 
 gasped poor Nellie. ' Belonged to the corpse.' ' But 
 he took him away ! ' 'To get at his master's travel- 
 ling bag.' ' But the photograph ? ' ' Ah ! that does 
 require a little explanation. Suppose I bring Mr. 
 Daly here to clear up the matter ? ' ' Pray do,' said 
 Mrs. Cookson. Nellie did not second the invitation, 
 
 she only hung down her head and blushed. 'All 
 right,' said I, ' I 'II fetch him.' And I bowed myself 
 out of the room, highly amused at the absurdity of 
 the whole affair. When I went back to Daly, I 
 found him just sealing up a parcel. ' What are you 
 doing?' said I. ' Sending off that blessed photo,' 
 said Willie. ' Stop a bit, old fellow ! ' I said. ' I 
 must have a look at it first. It was shabby of you 
 to think of sending it off without showing it to me.' 
 ' Oh, bother ! ' returned he ; ' haven't you got the 
 charming original before your eyes ?' ' I 'm not quite 
 sure that I have,' said I, quietly, taking the packet 
 from his hand as I spoke, and deliberately breaking 
 the seals. ' Not quite sure that I 'm charming ? or not 
 quite sure I 'm original ? Which do you mean ? ' 
 asked Willie, laughing. ' I mean, I 'm not quite 
 sure that you are the original of this portrait,' an- 
 swered I, opening the case, now free from its wrap- 
 pings. And, as my eyes fell on the likeness of the 
 portly old bonne, with her squint and her cap, I 
 roared with laughter, even though Nellie's account 
 had prepared me for what I should see. Daly came 
 and looked over my shoulder. His horrified face, 
 with the jaw dropped fifteen degrees, set me off 
 again, and I stamped about the room shouting and 
 laughing like a maniac. ' By Jove ! ' cried Daly, 
 ' I 've taken the wrong case from the studio table ! ' 
 —and he, too, set off laughing, as he remembered 
 how he had offered the old lady in her frilled cap as 
 an excellent portrait of himself for poor Nellie's in- 
 spection ! The laughing duet in our room became 
 a regular chorus in Mrs. Cookson's, when we took 
 the photograph there and explained the mistake. 
 Nellie did not quite get over her shyness of Willie 
 that night. She blushed a great deal, thinking, no 
 doubt, of her lavish praises when she thought poor 
 Daly anything but 'an eligible.' However, we all 
 went in the same carriage to Brighton next day ; 
 and Nellie and Daly were such fast friends before 
 the end of the week, that I foresaw what the result 
 would be. 
 
 " We all four met again two months later. Nellie 
 was on a long visit to her aunt, so I knew I should 
 meet her when that Aquarium business took me 
 down to Brighton, and I meant to quiz the little girl 
 famously about her steamboat adventure. The
 
 AN ALPHABETICAL "FIRST NIGHT" 
 
 39 
 
 matter, however, was already beyond a jest ; for, on 
 the night of my arrival, I overtook the pair walking 
 arm-in-arm by moonlight on the parade. Willie 
 had not lost much time, had he ? As I came up 
 behind them, I heard Nellie say, with a sly laugh, 
 
 ' Well, then, perhaps ^yes, if you are quite sure 
 
 you are not mad.' ' I am neither mad nor an old 
 woman, Nellie, m.y darling," answered he. " You 
 will find me sane enough to know your value, and 
 man enough to take proper care of you,' and then 
 I could see that Nellie gave his arm a little squeeze. 
 'Of course you'll invite me to the wedding.^' said 
 I, laying my hand on Daly's shoulder. He turned 
 
 round with a scowl, and Nellie gave her favourite 
 little shriek. It was all right, however, when they 
 saw who it was, and the invitation I had chaffingly 
 asked for was heartily given. To-day, as I have 
 already told you, Jack, was the happy day, and Miss 
 Nellie Guy is now Mrs. Nellie Daly. My story is 
 finished, and so is the Roederer. What next ? Why, 
 hallo ! old man, where are you off to ? " 
 
 " To the to \)Q photographed ! " said Jack, as 
 
 he flung out of the place without turning his head. 
 
 " A — h ! " said Murray, looking after him ; " I 'm 
 afraid he was rather fond of Nellie ! " 
 
 L. G. Adey. 
 
 ■tir-j^* 
 
 AN ALPHABETICAL ''FIRST NIGHT." 
 
 A were the Actors, I saw in the Play ; 
 
 B was the " Bosh," that I heard them all say ; 
 
 C was the Cue, they did not learn by heart ; 
 
 D was the Dickens, each played with his part ; 
 
 B was the End — I rejoiced when it came ! 
 
 P was the French, which suggested its frame ; 
 
 G were the " Gods," who were loud in their wit ; 
 
 H was the Hiss, that I heard from the pit ; 
 
 I was the Int'rest, which did not increase ; 
 
 J were the Judges, who dozed through the piece : 
 
 K were the Knaves, who applauded for hire ; 
 
 L was the Little, I found to admire ; 
 
 M was the Mess, they were in at the end ; 
 
 N was the Noodle, who called for his friend. 
 
 O was the Order, I brought in my hand ; 
 
 P was the Plot, I could not understand ; 
 
 Q was the Quaff, I indulged in, of stout ; 
 
 R was the Rubbish, I had to sit out ; 
 
 S was the Scent, Rimmel put on the bill ; 
 
 T was the Time, which the Play would not kill ; 
 
 U was the Uproar, I heard at the close ; 
 
 V was the Voice, that was first to oppose ; 
 "Wthe Wit, which grew less by degrees ; 
 X were the Xtras, extorted as fees ; 
 
 Y were the Yawns, which on all sides extended ; 
 Z was my Zest, when the curtain descended. 
 
 T. F. Dillon Croker.
 
 HOV\^ I BECAME A HIGHLANDER. 
 
 I. Being very fond of trout-fishing, and knowing a fellow who owns 
 some water, I propitiate the '"riparian proprietor," get the re- 
 quisite permission. 
 
 2 And proceed to the stream with anticipations ecstatic. 
 
 3. After various ineffectual casts, 
 
 4. I at length succeed in comfortably placing my avourite " Palmer" 
 
 in a plaguy alder opposite. 
 
 5. There's nobody coming and the water is not very deep hereabouts, 
 
 — I '11 rescue my fly. I divest myself of my l well, nether 
 
 integuments, and 
 
 6. Wade across to unhitch.
 
 HOW I BECAME A HIGHLANDER. 
 
 7. Heavell•^ and earth ! What am I to do now? Here come Mrs. 
 
 Creamy Tartar and her daughter ! 
 
 8. Concealment somehow! There's nothing for it but to duck, — 
 
 duck I do ; 
 
 9. Whilst they, not discovering me, examine my well "things." 
 
 10. Mrs. C. 1'., remarking how nicely they will come to " make up" 
 
 for some of "her poor" (she is afflicted with the popular district- 
 visiting craze), folds them under her arm and exit. 
 
 11. I emerge, 
 
 12. Wring myself out, and sneak home a la Highlander, 
 
 13. Amid the sort of sympathy a fellow receives in a ridiculous disaster. 
 
 14. Finale.
 
 42 
 
 A FORCIBLE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 A FORCIBLE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 HEN first I knew Tom Wilson, the landlord 
 of the White Horse and Warmingpan, a 
 well-known sporting house, few people 
 would have thought he had ever been one of the 
 fastest pedestrians of his or any time. Fat, jolly, 
 and possessed of a fair share of this world's goods, 
 it was hard to imagine him getting his living in the 
 hand-to-mouth manner peculiar to the journeymen 
 of the sporting world ; but, as he himself expressed 
 it, he had served his time, nevertheless. Strange 
 stories jvere told of his former career : how he had 
 been in the "barneys" and "doubles" with which 
 athletics are associated, and had participated in the 
 " ropings" and " milkings" peculiar to the turf world. 
 Some kind friends, particularly those whom he had 
 assisted in days gone by, told strange stories about 
 him, and roundly asserted that he had, upon emer- 
 gency, played the part of professional pugilist. This 
 latter I doubt, for Wilson was superior to any other 
 man I ever met in even his station of licensed vic- 
 tualler, and there were few topics upon which he 
 could not converse both sensibly and well. He rarely 
 spoke of his pedestrian career ; but one night, in a 
 burst of confidence, and in his cozy bar-parlour as 
 well, he told me how it was he first became connected 
 with sporting, many years back. As well as I can 
 remember it, the story ran thus : 
 
 The manner in which I drifted into the sporting 
 world was somewhat peculiar. I had no inore idea 
 when I made my first running match of becoming 
 a professional than you have now ; but I won so 
 easily, and was so immensely vain, that I accepted 
 challenges as fast as they were given ; and, in less 
 than twelve months from the day of my first race, 
 was regarded as the fastest sprint runner in London. 
 There were no amateurs then, and men who wanted 
 to run had to contend against a mixed lot. 
 
 My earliest conquest was over an old schoolfellow, 
 who, having won three or fou/ races, thought it great 
 fun to enter into an engagement with me, and brought 
 
 down all his friends and relations to lay odds on him 
 and see him win. They were, however, sadly dis- 
 appointed ; for though they accomplished the first 
 part of their task easily, the second portion of the 
 programme was not nearly so satisfactory, inasmuch 
 as there proved to be a difference of nearly ten yards 
 between us in two hundred, which difference was all 
 in favour of myself. 
 
 After this, I made many what were at the time 
 called bad matches ; but as improvement came ra- 
 pidly with practice, I pulled through them all — often 
 to no one's surprise more than my own — after having 
 been informed on authority that I had not the ghost 
 of a chance of winning. 
 
 You will, of course, understand by this, that I was 
 not in the hands of any regular backer or trainer of 
 pedestrians, otherwise my capabilities would have 
 been easily discovered, and a good deal of money 
 made out of them. My occupation did not allow of 
 a regular course of training, my acquaintance with 
 sporting men was of the most limited kind, and the 
 money for my matches used to be found between 
 half a dozen of us, chief among whom was a publican, 
 at whose house we used to meet, and who was re- 
 garded by us as the incarnation of turf wisdom. I 
 have since had occasion to considerably modify my 
 opinion of his ability. 
 
 Early in the morning, and late in the evening, we 
 used to start on our training expeditions : one, proud 
 to carry the champion's shoes ; another rejoicing in 
 possession of the trunks ; and all armed with short 
 sticks, provided with thick boots, and protected by 
 still thicker mufflers. On a piece of road in the 
 neighbourhood of Hornsey, I galloped to my heart's 
 content and the admiration of my friends ; and I 
 can assure you that we used to return home after 
 these displays impressed with the idea we were the 
 artfullest lot of young dogs in the metropolis. 
 
 I have before referred to my occupation. I was 
 at the time holding a fairly responsible position in 
 a City house, receiving good remuneration, and with
 
 A FORCIBLE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 43 
 
 a decent prospect of advancement. Therefore, you 
 may guess, it was with feelings of horror and disgust 
 that one Saturday I received a pohte note from the 
 head of the house, informing me that I should not 
 be required any more, and enclosing a month's salary 
 in lieu of notice : " We are very sorry to part with 
 you ; but our attention has been repeatedly called 
 to the fact of your being professionally engaged in 
 the sporting world." 
 
 I went home stupefied. I had never thought of 
 choosing a notn de circonstance, and my matches had 
 always been noticed in the papers ; but I had never 
 dreamt of this result— almost a death-blow to a man 
 with a wife and two little children. 
 
 However, I believed too strongly in my abilities 
 as a foot-racer to be much cast down. I had also a 
 vague, uncertain, and foolish idea of fame in con- 
 nection with my new pursuit, and was extremely 
 proud of being pointed out and admired whenever I 
 visited a running-ground. The probability of losing 
 never entered into my calculations, and I had for- 
 gotten to reckon that the money, which formed an 
 agreeable addendum to a comfortable salary, would 
 be found barely sufficient to pay rent and provide us 
 with bread and butter. 
 
 Misfortunes never come alone. Alen who had a 
 month before offered to run me level now asked for 
 starts, and the future began to look extremely dreary. 
 My relatives, persons of a genteel and therefore 
 narrow-minded class, had long before voted me an 
 outcast ; and dim visions of hungry youngsters, 
 pawnshops, and parish relief began to haunt me. 
 
 At last I entered into an engagement with Bob 
 Stevens, a runner who had, before my advent, been 
 regarded as the best Londoner, and agreed to give 
 him two yards in six-score for a stake of ^50. Then 
 commenced the task of raising the coin. Difficulties 
 beset me from the outset. One man had an account 
 to pay, another had just settled one, the third had 
 resolved to give up the game, and a fourth told me 
 flatly that he thought I was sure to lose, and that he 
 should stand my opponent. I had, therefore, but 
 one resource left, which was to apply to a profes- 
 sional backer, and obtain his advice and assistance. 
 
 I have before stated that I knew little or nothing 
 of these gentry ; but I had several times seen, and 
 
 much oftener heard about, a Mr. Thomas Cost, who 
 managed a running-ground in the suburban east of 
 London. Cost^or Old Tom, as he was generally 
 called — had himself been a performer of some note, 
 but had of late years been content to superintend 
 the movements of his younger brethren ; to find 
 them their stake-money, run them their trials, pocket 
 the larger share of the profits when his men won, 
 and arrange matters so as to lose as little as possible 
 when defeat overtook them. So successful had he 
 been in his endeavours, that the mere fact of his 
 taking a man in hand was of immense benefit to 
 the latter; and I knew that if I could say Tom Cost 
 was standing a fiver or tenner with me, I should 
 very easily raise the remainder of the money. 
 
 To Cost then I accordingly went, and explained 
 to him exactly how I was situated. He used to live 
 jn a little house standing in the midst of the running- 
 ground, and residing with him were several noted 
 " peds," who regarded themselves as very full-sized 
 apples indeed, and who, guessing I had come down 
 to interfere with some of their special prerogatives, 
 submitted me to a half-pitying, half-contemptuous 
 cross-examination, before I was allowed to see their 
 master. The reason for this treatment was, that 
 there is no class for which bond fide professional 
 athletes have so thorough a contempt as the body 
 to which I then belonged — the half-amateur class, 
 which is neither gentleman nor professional, but a 
 mixture of the two, possessing the worst features of 
 both schools. In justice to Cost's stable, as they 
 collectively called themselves, I must say that I re- 
 ceived many kindnesses at their hands when they 
 came to know me better, and when I was admitted 
 among them as one of their kind. 
 
 Cost listened to me very patiently, and then ex- 
 pressed his opinions. He said he had seen me run 
 on several occasions, and that he thought I might, 
 by judicious training, be made to travel much faster 
 than I had ever done before. 
 
 " I think you can win easily if I take you in hand ; 
 and if you like to come down here and train under 
 our system, I '11 find as much money as you want." 
 
 I told my adviser that I should have no difficulty 
 in getting money if I only had his promise of sup- 
 port, to which he rephed,
 
 44 
 
 A FORCIBLE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 " Very well, say I 'm going a tenner with you ; 
 but you may as well collect all the pieces you can, 
 and then on the day you can back yourself, or hedge 
 with the overplus." 
 
 This seemed at the time rather strange advice, as 
 I had never dreamed of drawing more than sufficient 
 for the usual deposits ; but I kept my thoughts to my- 
 self, and agreeing to return in a week, for the purpose 
 of getting fit, went back to my own neighbourhood. 
 
 I lost no time in informing everybody I knew that 
 Tom Cost was finding me by far the largest share in 
 my " pony," and those who had been most loud in 
 their remarks as to my folly in making the present 
 match at once recanted. Offers of assistance came 
 from all quarters, and on calculating the amount 
 guaranteed, I found that no less than three ^25 
 matches could have been made by me. Of course, 
 the news soon travelled far and wide that Tom Cost 
 had taken Tom Wilson into his charge, and the few 
 evenings which elapsed before my departure were 
 passed in lionizing at various small publics, and in 
 looking with scorn and contempt upon any less for- 
 tunate member of the profession across whom I 
 happened to fall. 
 
 My friend Biggins, the publican, upon whose 
 shrewdness I have remarked, was, in company with 
 the rest of his party, extremely jubilant, and he lost 
 mo opportunity of publicly remarking that he had 
 ■from the first observed my extraordinary speed. So 
 •said all the others. But they were perfectly oblivious 
 of their refusal to back me until Tom Cost took up 
 •my cause. 
 
 Well, in due time, I arrived at the S 
 
 Grounds, and commenced my preparations. These 
 were not very difficult, as previous engagements had 
 placed me in very good form, and I carried no more 
 superfluous flesh than I could conveniently get off 
 by dint of walking exercise and continual practice 
 at my distance. Blessed with a good constitution, 
 and spurred by emulation and love of footracing, 
 I took rather too much exercise at the outset, and 
 though I felt wonderfully well, ran a decidedly bad 
 •trial at the end of my first week's sojourn. 
 
 My experienced Mentor, far from feeling dis- 
 <;ouraged at this — as my clever tutors of olden days 
 would have been — saw in it signs of advantage. He 
 
 made me totally abstain from running for two days, 
 during which I took nothing but sufficient gentle 
 exercise to prevent my increasing in weight, and 
 then he once more put me " through the mill," the 
 result making him very much surprised, my time 
 being better than either of us had expected it to be. 
 
 Regularly my promised remittances arrived, and 
 I soon had a considerable balance in hand. This 
 rather troubled me, and on the first opportunity I 
 asked Cost what was to be done with it. He 
 answered, " Have you made any arrangements for 
 the support of your missus and youngsters whilst 
 you 're training ? No? I thought not. Then you'd 
 better send a tenner home at once, and I '11 mind 
 the remainder." 
 
 " But how am I to account for it after the race ? I 
 shan't have enough to pay my backers out." 
 
 " Well, in the first place you haven't won yet " 
 
 " Haven't won ! Why, you said it was a hundred 
 to one on me!" 
 
 " Well, so it is — but, there, cut away : you '11 find 
 it'll be all right." 
 
 The following Saturday was a handicap day at the 
 grounds, and my name was duly entered as scratch 
 man in the race. As I was training for a match, I 
 did not expect to have to run ; but at breakfast in 
 the morning Old Tom told me not to do any work till 
 the afternoon, and then to take my practice in the 
 handicap. "And," concluded he, "don't eat too 
 much dinner, for I dare say you '11 have to run two 
 or three times." 
 
 "What ! do you think I can win my first heat?" 
 
 " I do, and, what 's more, I 've backed you to win 
 right out ; beside which, I 'm making a book, and 
 you '11 have to run for me." 
 
 Of course, I felt very flattered at this mark of con- 
 fidence, and anxiously longed for the afternoon. I 
 knew I should be sure of getting away well in each 
 heat, as Old Tom, or a nominee of his, would fire the 
 pistol. But, looking at the list of good names down, 
 to all of which I had to concede more or less start, 
 I could not understand why I was allowed to try, 
 as winning would be sure to expose my best form, 
 and make the match with Stevens a foregone conclu- 
 sion. And the more I studied the question, the more 
 puzzled I became ; but I was very glad to show off,
 
 A FORCIBLE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 45 
 
 and strutted about the ground with conscious dignity. 
 Among the visitors were many men of my acquaint- 
 ance and when I told them I was going to run and 
 tr}', they thought it was sheer madness. " Because," 
 said they, " in the first place, you can't win, and if 
 you do, you won't get a bet on in your race with 
 Bob. Look at the starts you've got to give Soandso 
 and Whatshisname." And so they sang in concert. 
 
 Well, I won my first heat rather easily, although 
 six to four was laid on one man, evens on another, 
 two to one against me, and any price outsiders. This 
 showed I was running well, but still few were found 
 to support me when I was drawn against the favourite 
 in the second round. This man had a long start — 
 eight yards in a hundred and thirty — and the heat 
 seemed to be at his mercy ; in fact, he would have 
 taken four yards of me in a match. But I had my 
 orders, and getting away well, gradually overhauled 
 him, got level ten yards from the tape, and won 
 comfortably, to the intense chagrin of the layers of 
 long odds, and the delight of a few who had stood by 
 me. The most dangerous man was now beaten, and 
 the final heat was almost a walk-over. When I had 
 won right out, I was carried round the ground by a 
 band chiefly composed of the old training gang, 
 which I must, for convenience sake, designate 
 Biggins's lot, and they then went away, leaving me 
 to my dreams of future greatness, and more than 
 ever convinced that I was the best man in England. 
 
 This was a week before the day set for the race, 
 and during the interval the most extravagant stories 
 were set afloat as to my powers. Those who had 
 been the last to believe in my exceptional ability 
 now magnified it, as if to compensate for previous 
 shortcomings ; and betting, from evens taken on 
 Stevens, rose with alarming rapidity to six to one 
 offered on Wilson, without a response. Clever peo- 
 ple spoke of the coming contest as " a walk-over," 
 "an exhibition," "a good thing," etc., and nobody 
 ever dreamed that Bob Stevens had got the ghost 
 of a chance. 
 
 At last the day arrived, and early in the morning 
 Old Tom came to my bed-side and, having woke me, 
 said, without any introduction, 
 
 "You'll have to lose this race, Tom Wilson." 
 
 I thought he was joking, and laughed ; but he 
 
 assured me that he meant what he said, and then 
 speechless indignation seized me for its own. Dur- 
 ing my silence he continued, * 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that you didn't under- 
 stand the game I was playing ? What do you think 
 I let you win that paltry five-pound handicap for ? 
 Why, here 's a fortune to be got all at once, so don't 
 be a fool. Everybody will be mad to lay five to one 
 on you. If you win you '11 have fifty pounds to draw, 
 and more than a hundred to pay, for you mustn't 
 forget the over money will have to be paid as though 
 it was in the stakes, whereas, I '11 give you two hun- 
 dred pounds now to stop behind, and another two 
 hundred when the race is over, besides the money 
 I 've got of yours (thirty pounds). You can then 
 come and live here altogether, and, running with 
 judgment, will in a couple of years get a lot of 
 money. In the meantime, your wife can go into a 
 little business with some of what we get to-day. So 
 don't be stupid. Here's the two hundred and thirty 
 'jemmy,' and there '11 be another hundred to-night." 
 
 Great as was the temptation, I was honest — or 
 idiotic — enough to resist, and read him a severe les- 
 son on his perfidy. After a stormy scene, we parted, 
 but I shall never forget his final remark : 
 
 " Well, have your own way ; but you 're sure to be 
 licked on your merits some day, and then see how 
 your pals will serve you — them as you 're too proud 
 to do now." 
 
 In the afternoon my friends began to arrive rapid- 
 ly : Old Tom had recovered his serenity, and I felt 
 very happy. I had never been beaten, and the idea 
 of loss never disturbed my serenity. Still, I was 
 half inclined to assent to Tom's proposition ; but I 
 shook off the fancy, and went out and watched the 
 arrival of Stevens and his friends. I was rather 
 interested in the movements of a strange individual, 
 who, mounted on a stool, was excitedly expressing 
 his intention of taking odds, and who having ac- 
 cepted all the fives he could get, was now satisfied 
 with fours. Little I thought who placed him there, 
 and just as little guessed that I was to be the vic- 
 tim of as cruel a swindle as ever was perpetrated. 
 
 The time arrived at which we were to be on the 
 scratch, and having ascertained that Stevens was- 
 ready, I was soon out of my clothes. Our articles
 
 46 
 
 A FORCIBLE REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 of agreement stipulated that we were to start by- 
 mutual consent, but that if we failed to get off in 
 fifteen minutes the pistol was to be brought into 
 requisition. Just as I was about to leave the room 
 in which we usually stripped, Tom said, 
 
 "I shall attend upon you myself; but one thing I 
 must impress upon you : don't go by mutual consent. 
 There seems to be a disposition to back Stevens, 
 based upon a supposition which has got wind that you 
 have listened to reason ! If you stand on the mark 
 as if you don't know what to do, and run off when 
 there's no chance of his going, suspicion will be 
 aroused, because you could let him go and catch 
 him easily ; the betting will come to evens, and I 
 have sent out your thirty pounds to be put on. We 
 shall then get very nearly as much as if you had 
 done what I asked you." 
 
 I readily agreed, glad to please Tom in any way I 
 could with a due regard to honour, and stood on the 
 mark for a quarter of an hour, to the surprise of my 
 friends, who, however, backed me with all their 
 money. Just as the starter walked up the course 
 pistol in hand, I heard the strange man sing out, 
 " Six to four on Stanford." Feeling astonished, I 
 turned to Tom, who said, 
 
 " It 's all right ; they think they know something. 
 You'll mow him down easily. Here, take a swig." 
 
 JMy mouth was parched with the excitement of the 
 moment, I took the bottle and drank unthinkingly. 
 As I threw off my rug and got on the mark, a hor- 
 rible sickening sensation seized me. I felt blind 
 and confused, and reeled as I stood ; but long before 
 I could analyse my feelings I heard the pistol crack, 
 and started instinctively after my opponent. I can 
 remember struggling madly, and feeling as though 
 my feet were made of lead — I never shall forget it ! 
 Still, in spite of the strong dose I had just taken, I 
 got quite close to Bob ; but the effort settled me, 
 and I was just beaten on the post. As the tape was 
 passed I fell down in a dead faint. 
 
 When I came to I was almost alone — my quondam 
 friends had departed, swearing bitterly that I had 
 sold them — and Old Tom was holding a glass of 
 something to my lips. I staggered off the couch (I 
 had been carried indoors) and expressed my deter- 
 mination to depart forthwith. No objection was 
 
 made to this, and I, the conqueror in twenty 
 matches, staggered home alone, with temples throb- 
 bing and heart bursting, weary, footsore, and pen- 
 niless. 
 
 Biggins and Co. turned their backs upon me, of 
 course ; Old Tom laughed contemptuously, and it was 
 a very long time before I got another start, during 
 which I suffered greatly. When the story became 
 public, which to a certain extent it soon did, I re- 
 ceived no pity: the very persons I had striven to 
 serve said I was a fool to refuse so good a chance, 
 and when I asked them to make me up a stake (for 
 I could now get on lots of easy matches, being a 
 beaten man), scoffingly refused, and I had to wait 
 my turn and climb up again the best way I could. 
 
 But this bit of training — for training in the strictest 
 meaning of the word it was above all other kinds, 
 and to it I owe my present position, as well as many 
 a success in days gone by — eventually did me a great 
 deal of good. It showed me how Quixotic it is for 
 for one man to attempt upsetting a recognized in- 
 stitution, and how certain the effort is to result in 
 failure. When my opportunity came, I availed my- 
 self of it : played the game I had formerly scorned, 
 turned the tables on Old Tom, paid out Biggins's lot, 
 and am a living instance of the adage that "there is 
 no sharp like a converted flat." 
 
 Still, it was a long time before I did get set up 
 again, and during the time of my defeat by Bob and 
 my fresh start I was pretty familiar with poverty. I 
 often shiver now when I wake up suddenly and am 
 not sure if I am as I am now, or as I was once. But 
 the day came at last, and though I had many ups 
 and downs before I found the balance permanently 
 inclining to the comfortable side of things, I never 
 suffered again through trying too hard to benefit 
 other people. Believe me, the man who makes most 
 enemies and has most trouble in this world is the 
 one who is always in a hurry to oblige people. And 
 I have had some hard experiences at many things 
 besides pedestrianism. Yet although the story I have 
 just told you is comparatively unimportant, my mind 
 always dwells on it, and if I were to live for a million 
 years, I should never forget my first hard lesson in 
 the ways of the sporting world. 
 
 Joseph Manton.
 
 ''BILZVORD JISTISr 
 
 47 
 
 ''BILZVORD JISTIS." 
 
 W massy, zoce ! gude lawks, how b' ee ? 
 
 Est yurd tha nuze tu-day ? " 
 " No, Gracey, no ! Hot ez et, cheel ?" 
 "About owld Jerry Gay." 
 ''Jest mak a putch, an lit es yer 
 Hot tez— tha hozebird — wuU, 
 Ez allez zed he 'd niver kuin 
 
 Tu eny gude, rnazel.| 
 Od, drat 'n ! he 'th bin pawchin, Grace, 
 
 Or zummat, I '11 be bound ! 
 Tha lops — he 's zartin tu ba hung : 
 His lik wur niver vownd." 
 " No, Mally, et ez wez than thet." 
 
 " 'Nan ? " " Zumthin wez, I zay ! " 
 " Hot wez than pawchin, Gracey ? " " Ees, 
 A gurt dale wez ees vay. 
 I '11 tul tha al abowt et, dame. 
 
 Yu naw tha narra drang 1 
 Wull, es ed jist bin up, d'ye zee ? 
 Tu spayk way Hurchy Crang ; 
 An wen es kum hout. Mall, agen, 
 Tha hair wur lik a vilm. 
 ' Hot iver be min bowt?' zez I ; 
 ' Tha rawd ez vule o' pilm ! ' 
 'T wor zetch a sture ; es niver zeed 
 
 Tha hoi rawd zo avor — 
 Tha zame ez ef owld Coddon Hill 
 
 Wur tor up mule an mor. 
 An hot de theenk 'twor al abowt ? — 
 
 Tez tru, ez I 'm alive ! — 
 Thay wur a-shakin Jerry, Mall, 
 
 Vor batin ov ez wive. 
 Tu du tha theeng al viddevide, 
 
 Thay gort a blanket, dame. 
 An in thay shuv'd 'n, nek an crop. 
 
 An mad 'en ot ez vlame ! 
 Ees, there wos Jenny h.ashall vust ; 
 
 Nex Zuke an Nanny M-xy ; 
 Then Honor Brooks an Dollv Prist, 
 An strappin Becky Day — 
 
 An Varmer Zluman, he wur thare ! " 
 " An taylor Jans, I wadge ! " 
 " An Kit tha cobler, and tha dark, 
 Tha smith tu, Josha Madge. 
 Pore Jerry ! es shel scat ma zides 
 
 Tu tel ee al tha vun ! — 
 Thare he wur, tumlin upzedown — 
 
 Tha yowlin zen-ov-a-gun. 
 ' Aw, du ee stap, an let ma go ! ' 
 Ha kald hout, wen a bump ; 
 An up a went agen sky-hoi, 
 
 Wance more tu kum down vhnnp ! 
 ' Yu meslin ov a brute ! dest yur 
 Weth tha hang-galluz lukes ? — 
 West iver zarve er zo agen ?— 
 
 Spayk hout ! ' zezs Honor Brooks ; 
 ' Quick, in a minnet,' Honor zeth, 
 ' Or up yu go agen ! ' 
 
 'No, NIVER, NIVER, NIVER MORE !' 
 
 Zeys Jerry, zore with pain. 
 An zo thay let 'n hout, when lor. 
 
 Mall, zitch a zite wur zeed ! — 
 Ha lik a dug a tail-pipe'd urnd. 
 
 Or vox et vule-kry speed. 
 Es laff'd tu zee Bet Zlitterpuche, 
 
 An thet gurt slammik, Zal, 
 Gie chace, an by tha scruf o' th' nek, 
 
 Jist shake tha skarecraw. Mall. 
 An lor ! ee shude a zeed tha pegs 
 
 A por go wildago ! 
 An Kitty Cole's owld dunkey Jack, 
 ^Way divil-glintin Joe. 
 On went the skerdmouch beheend 
 
 Down Ruckaburrow Hill, 
 Till Jerry went tu hid-a'-peep 
 
 Zumwhare ba Matha's Mill ! 
 I '11 wadge a hunderd ginneys, dame, 
 
 He'll net vorgit th' day ! — 
 Now, es mus wish ee wull ; tez time 
 
 Thet es wur on ma way." 
 
 Edward Capern.
 
 A LEGEND OF PARSON'S GREEN. 
 
 In the year 1603 Gloriana Sweetchin was the pride of the parish. 2. When Guido de.Vaiix saw her and loved her to disterraction! 
 3. So he wrote her a valentine so lofty in style, 4. That Gloriana. set it down to the eloquent young parson. 5. She accordingly 
 smdcd on him till he felt very uncomfortable. 6. And then she set on her pa to remonstrate on the way the parson was trifling 
 
 with her best allections. 7. And some time after, this green young parson mightjbe seen wheeling Gloriana's perambulator, and 
 
 the place where this happened is called Parson's Green to this day. 8. As for Guido de Vau.v, overcome by remorse at his being 
 the unconscious instrument of driving an innocent girl into holy matrimony, he joined the Gunpowder Plot, and was ^canonized 
 under the title of Guy Kawkes. His festival takes place in November.
 
 o. B. c. t:s. sighs. 
 
 49 
 
 O. B. C. T.'S SIGHS. 
 
 I °^WA3-/iDQ HED°QNt£ -TOO' »| 
 
 
 O you 're to marry Marianne — 
 
 The " soft impeachment " own ! 
 In choosing such a sHm young man 
 
 Her wit she has not shown, 
 Since if a husband's good at all, 
 
 And not a simple fetter, 
 She should take one that 's fat, not small, — 
 " The more of good the better !" 
 
 I see the twinkle in your eyes, 
 As my huge bulk you view ; 
 Well, ere my size provoked my sighs 
 / was adored once, too ! 
 
 Yet will I not, though vast as vat, 
 
 Be to a butt disgraced ! 
 A sad fatality is fat, 
 
 Through which I ran to waste — 
 That is, the " waist " that meets the " i," 
 
 And rather loses " ease " — 
 " E " in the plural you espy, — 
 So giggle, if you please ! 
 
 " Laugh and grow fat !" as proverbs tell, 
 And truly, Slender, _>'^« 
 Must somewhat swell ere you're a swell,- 
 
 Adored as I was, too ! 
 
 Though Double X-tra stout just now, 
 
 I 'm 'ale beyond debate — 
 I should say "hale," would fat allow 
 
 A man to aspirate. 
 You caper — you are fond of hops, — 
 
 Ah, well ! you 're pale and bitter 
 Yet as a pole, the bine that props, 
 Were your vocation fitter. 
 
 You laugh, and answer Cooper might 
 
 For my requirements do ; 
 Or Hoop-de-doo ! Go on ! All right ! 
 / was adored once, too ! 
 
 Yoii fill a woman's heart ? Absurd ! 
 
 If she says that, she wheedles. 
 In that red flannel leaf you 're third^ 
 
 Perhaps, of twenty needles ! 
 You 're one in all the needle-case, 
 
 Though pointed, bright, and nimble;; 
 But I must have one special place, 
 Rotund as any thimble. 
 
 Ah, well ! it 's needless thus to pant: 
 
 To such bright dreams adieu; 
 Into a dew resolve I can't. 
 Although adored once, too ! 
 
 O. B. C. T.
 
 50 
 
 THE SABOTS OF MERE TRINETTE. 
 
 THE SABOTS OF MERE TRINETTE. 
 
 HE was one of those people who are born 
 before their time, was Mere Trinette — 
 one of those large aspiring souls who 
 can't fit their great aspirations into their small space ; 
 in short, who cannot cram their quart into a pint. 
 She had developed her large mind into a very large 
 body. She was a Norman, and these Norman men 
 and women generally bear the likeness of the great 
 greedy man commonly called the " Conqueror," who, 
 having munched up all the sour bread he could in 
 his own country, came over here and gobbled up 
 our great sweet English loaf at one mouthful. French 
 men and women are generally short, thin, and bright, 
 and when provoked can be as fierce and dangerous 
 as the slender, keen flashes of lightning ; while 
 their northerly brethren are as the heavy thunder- 
 roll that succeeds — slow, ponderous, and harmless. 
 
 The ancient wilful temperament has survived the 
 fall of many a castle and tower, and that royal old 
 lady, Anne of Brittany, has left her self-willed motto 
 not alone carved on her castle at St. Malo, " Qui 
 gu'eti grogue, ainsi sera, c'est mon plaisir ! " or in 
 the many streets called "Rue qtii qic^en grognd" in 
 little French towns, but in the stubborn self-wills 
 and obstinate minds of her countrymen and, more 
 notably still, of her countrywomen. Don't they all 
 love their own country, their own cttisinc, their own 
 fetes, and, alas ! more feebly, their own costumes, 
 always their own ^^plaisir" in everything? 
 
 And now to return to Mere Trinette. She lived 
 in a little fishing town on the northern coast of 
 France, called Bellecote — a pretty, primitive place. 
 In that happy little Arcadia the fortunate inhabi- 
 tants have neither the educated eyes, noses, or ears 
 that belong to the refined disease called civilization. 
 So the "seventy-seven smells" were ignored, the 
 heaps of every abomination under the sun before 
 every one's door, and the cracking of whips and 
 ingling of bells unnoticed. 
 
 In this little Paradise had lived all her life Mere 
 Trinette — a true follower of Duchess Anne, although 
 she had known a good deal of sorrow, this poor old 
 woman. She was the only child of the old man who 
 owned the shop where wooden shoes or sabots were 
 made and sold. Her parents were comfortably off, 
 according to their meek ideas, and were dreadfully 
 put out when Trinette — then a blooming young 
 woman of twenty — asserted her right to '''■mon 
 plaisir" and would marry a very handsome young 
 fisherman. Her father and mother loved dry land 
 best, and said she would reap a sorry harvest from 
 the sea, as poor Trinette did, for one day a Tcrre 
 Neuvier went off cod-fishing to St. Pierre de Mi- 
 quelon, and carried off, with her other freight of 
 precious human lives, poor Trinette's Jacques. She 
 had taken leave of him, as others had done, at the 
 foot of the great crucifix on \}i\<tjctee, and there she 
 knelt, with her babe in her arms, many a time and 
 oft, praying for his safe return. But it was a bad 
 season, and rough weather had prevailed, and that 
 boat at least never returned. After the first great 
 wave of sorrow had rushed over her and left her 
 desolate, Trinette plucked up her courage, and cen- 
 tred all her hopes on her son. Her old parents died 
 within a short time of each other, and when their 
 possessions were sold, she found herself with a bare 
 subsistence. But she had never feared work, and 
 took everything tha!t came to hand, and brought up 
 her boy very well. But when the lad grew up, to 
 her grief (for Trinette was wiser now, and hated 
 everything connected with the sea), Etienne declared 
 he would be a sailor like his father. In spite of all 
 her arguments and warnings, he had his '"' plaisir" 
 and got on very well, till he, too, like his father, 
 married early. To his mother's disgust, he chose 
 a young dressmaker — a delicate little woman, who 
 had no portion, and was not able to work hard to 
 gain any ; and before long the old sorrow repeated
 
 THE SABOTS OF MERE TRINETTE. 
 
 51 
 
 itself — a stormy night, and a wrecked fishing-boat, 
 and Trinette had nothing left of her son but the 
 drooping widow and her frail little girl-baby. But 
 Trinette's brave spirit was not easily quenched, 
 and so she devoted herself in her old age to these 
 last relics of her dear one. The young widow did 
 not long trouble any one, for within the year she had 
 faded out of existence altogether. Then Mere Tri- 
 nette turned to, and took up the vocation which is 
 the best fulfilled of all by Frenchwomen — the grand- 
 mother's. She devoted herself tenderly to the forlorn 
 little babe, and nursed it up so carefully that at last 
 it developed into a fine blooming child of twelve. 
 And now Mere Trinette was about to reap the reward 
 of her labours, for little Marie Angelique was pre- 
 paring for her first Communion, and had acquitted 
 herself well, and won honour and praise, not only 
 from the good Sceurs, but from M. le Cure himself. 
 On the day of the Fete Dieie, there was to be the 
 usual procession to the great crucifix on the jetce, 
 and the little white-robed maidens, with their friends, 
 were to form part of it. ]Many a weary journey had 
 Mere Trinette taken to the foot of that cross — many 
 a sorrowful prayer uttered there for the dear ones 
 who had been taken from her ; but this time was to 
 be a more happy visit. Now that Marie Angelique 
 had proved herself to be the most modest and best 
 conducted little damsel in Bellecote, her proud old 
 grandmother could find no room in her heart for 
 anything but rejoicing. 
 
 Now, among Mere Trinette's little peculiarities — 
 her " plaisirs" — one was very strongly marked, and 
 had formed the subject of endless controversies be- 
 tween her and her neighbours. She had a verj' large 
 foot naturally, and nothing would satisfy her but to 
 adorn it always with the largest and heaviest sabots 
 she could find. Now, even the smallest and neatest 
 kinds of wooden foot-gear are but heavy and clumsy 
 affairs at best, and therefore in exaggerated propor- 
 tions they are truly inconvenient. It has always 
 appeared to me from my childhood, that a relative 
 of mine discovered the best use for them when he 
 purloined one belonging to our old bon?ie, and 
 adding a wooden skewer for mast and a sheet of 
 paper for sail, launched it in the family wash-tub ! 
 
 This opinion, however, I should not have dared 
 
 to express to Mere Trinette, for she would have 
 considered it a downright sacrilege. 
 
 No, she would not wear the very best leather that 
 ever was tanned : wood she had worn all her life, 
 and wood she would wear to her death. In vain her 
 friends told her that it was all very well to use her 
 sabots on ordinary occasions, but that she ought to 
 had have a pair of proper shoes for ihefete. No ! she 
 bought Marie Angdlique a charming little pair of 
 white boots, and with her white muslin dress and 
 veil she would look like the little angel she was. 
 But for herself — was she not going that very hour 
 to Clement Bruat, who had bought the stock and 
 goodwill of her dear old father? True he had 
 wished for her as well as the sabots. Mais ! what 
 would you have ? She had preferred her Jacques, 
 and had not Clement married Veuve Labb^.'' and 
 a very good wife she had made him. And Clement 
 was a good workman in his way. 
 
 However, a new pair of sabots she must have for 
 the_/tVt', and off she went to her old home to choose 
 the required shoes. But IMonsieur Clement, who took 
 a spiteful pleasure in tormenting his old flame, as 
 usual, raised difficulties. He had not a pair big 
 enough in all his shop. People did not wear such 
 clumsy old things as they used to do. But he had 
 some excellent articles in leather with wooden soles 
 — much neater, and not so heavy. Would Madame 
 try a pair? 
 
 No ! Madame would not : sabots she wanted, and 
 sabots she must have, and he must make her a pair 
 on purpose, and in time for the fete. But it was 
 impossible ! He could not get such a pair done 
 for Madame before the end of ten days. Madame 
 should have bespoken them before. 
 
 Poor Mere Trinette was in dreadful trouble, but 
 those leather abominations she could not endure. 
 So she employed all her arts of persuasion, and at 
 4ast departed, a happy woman, with Monsieur Cle- 
 ment's solemn promise that she should have her 
 sabots on the eve of Xho. fete. 
 
 Relieved in her mind on this important subject, 
 and having already carefully arranged little Marie's 
 toilette, she took stock of her own wardrobe. Yes, 
 there was her best blue skirt, almost as good as new, 
 which would go nicely with her brown serge jacket, 
 
 4—2
 
 52 
 
 THE SABOTS OF MERE TRINETTE. 
 
 and, with her new orange handkerchief and clean 
 cap, she would be quite comme il fant ! 
 
 The day dawned bright and beautiful, and Belle- 
 cote was busy all the morning, getting ready for 
 the procession. The fishing-boats decked them- 
 selves in their new flags ; the altar was raised in 
 the market-place, and decorated by the combined 
 efforts of the inhabitants : Monsieur Hautot, the 
 ironmonger, brought a couple of smart candlesticks, 
 and Madame Blot, the milliner, carried out the 
 pretty rustic jardiniere that filled the middle of her 
 window between the bonnets, and Mademoiselle 
 Clairette filled it with the pots of flowers from the 
 window of her little cafe. And now from every 
 street came thronging to the grey old church the 
 little white-robed maidens, who, with the long veils 
 falling to their feet, looked like fairy brides. By- 
 and-bye out came the priests and the placid, kind 
 Soeurs, and began to marshal the procession, with 
 its banners and garlands. First came a detachment 
 of the soldiers from the garrison, each man carrying 
 a little nosegay of flowers in the top of his rifle (ah, 
 if they never bore more dangerous missiles, the 
 world would be a great deal better and wiser !) and 
 the captain with a huge bouquet in his hand, with 
 which he did not seem quite to know what to do. 
 After them came the rows of little white damsels, 
 then the priests in their robes, and the chorister boys 
 in scarlet and white lace. 
 
 Before they came to the crucifix the chant of praise 
 broke out, and Mere Trinette, with her big heart full 
 of thanksgiving, and her head high in triumph, 
 marched along, singing out lustily. For once her 
 big feet were out of her mind, and, left to their own 
 devices, they betrayed her; for an unlucky big pebble 
 lay exactly in her path, and caught in the clumsy 
 heel of her huge new sabot! Down went Mere 
 Trinette flat on her nose ; and oli, horror ! thanks 
 to a curve in the path, down over her went half a 
 dozen little white girls ; over them half the singing 
 children of the choir. It was just like a pack of 
 cards : down went the first, the second, and so on, 
 winding up with the bearer of the big banner, who 
 slipped, scrambled, vainly attempted to maintain 
 his dignity, but finally fell atop of the pile ! To de- 
 scribe the general consternation would be impos- 
 
 sible ; however, with some difficulty all were safely 
 picked up, and order restored to the scattered ranks, 
 while all joined in denouncing the unfortunate cause 
 of the disaster. Poor Mere Trinette, bruised and 
 dusty, endured all the railings patiently enough ; 
 until M. the Cure himself came up and said in his 
 hard dry voice, 
 
 " Mere Trinette, I am shocked at you — quite scan- 
 dalized. You must take more heed to your ways : 
 remember the example to the young people. M^re 
 Trinette, take more care of your steps !" 
 
 Poor M^re Trinette ! she was actually crying bit- 
 terly now ; for shocked as she had been at being the 
 cause of such an upset, and vexed as she felt at the 
 reproaches of her neighbours, the rebuke — open and 
 public— of M. the Cure, cut her to the heart. She 
 shrank back from the procession, taking refuge 
 among the mob behind. 
 
 " I told you. Mere Trinette, you would suffer for 
 your big sabots" said one. " Ciel f to think of up- 
 setting the procession," said another. "And throw- 
 ing St. Andre's banner in the dust," added a third. 
 
 Mere Trinette could stand it no longer, so she 
 made her way on, and ensconced herself behind 
 some tall shrubs that were close to the crucifix. 
 The service over, the procession re-formed to return, 
 when, by a curious fatality, in descending the wide 
 stone steps which led to the crucifix, M. le Curd 
 stumbled, and down he went on his knees, fortunately 
 involving no one else in his fall. 
 
 I shame to narrate it, and I blush for her — but 
 that irrepressible Mere Trinette rushed from her 
 ambush, and carefully picking up M. le Cure, who 
 was a short thin man, set him on his legs again ; 
 and before he got over his discomfiture, exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, M. le Cure, to think of your following my 
 example ! but it's all owing to these miserable peb- 
 bles—but you must mind your steps, M. le Curd — 
 mind your steps!" 
 
 M^rc Trinette went home a happy woman once 
 more ; it is true, M le Cure laid a long and heavy 
 penance upon her for her manifold offences, but she 
 did not mind. She considered she had got much 
 the best of it, and she was never twitted any more, 
 and wore her big sabots in peace to the end of her 
 days. F. F. Broderip.
 
 A PAINTER'S VENGEANCE. 
 
 '^I painting, by the curling brook, 
 A cottage, with vermilion bricks : 
 It's not a bad production — look! 
 A ninety-nine by sixty-six. 
 
 My firmament is brightly blue ; 
 The foliage is dazzling too. 
 
 Another artist works below, 
 
 But he is very cross and grim ; 
 
 I think he snubs me, don't you know? 
 
 And so I never speak to him. 
 
 He's dotted all the landscape down 
 
 In hideously dirty brown. 
 
 / paint as brightly as I can, 
 My heart and dress alike are gay ; 
 But he's a dismal sort of man. 
 And wears a coat of dingy grey 
 
 This doleful picture may be fine, 
 
 But is it half as green as mine ? 
 
 The peasants love my lively scenes. 
 And nod, and smile, and scratch their heads ; 
 And some of them admire the greens. 
 While some of them prefer the reds. 
 They eye his subject, brown and grey, 
 And grin, and wink, and walk away. 
 
 And then he 's always painting me, 
 
 Behind a cart, or in a boat. 
 
 Or on a gate, or up a tree. 
 
 Because I wear a scarlet coat. 
 
 Although, of course, it may not be, 
 I 'm somehow sure it 's meant for me. 
 
 He puts me, as a scarlet spot. 
 
 Against a field of dingy drab ; 
 
 But, big or little, I 'm a blot — 
 
 A stupid, shapeless, scarlet dab ! 
 No studied shapelessness prevents 
 My knowing whom it represents ! 
 
 But I 've a method, which combines 
 Both profit and revenge's feast ; 
 I 've painted him on twenty signs 
 For twenty roadside inns, at least. 
 
 I know his features now by rote — 
 
 I put him in a scarlet coat. 
 
 The fairy scenes I touch and trim, 
 
 The rosy skies and azure springs. 
 
 Are merely backgrounds meant for hitn — 
 
 Entirely secondary things. 
 The last was meant for Doctor Watts, 
 And this for Mary Queen o' Scots. 
 
 He's George the Fourth, and Charles the First 
 
 And lately, to its inmost roots. 
 
 My very system 's been athirst 
 
 To paint him as the "Goat in Boots." 
 But there I fear my aim would fail — 
 They wouldn't know him with a tail. 
 
 He '11 hang me, if he has a mind, 
 
 On ev'ry exhibition wall. 
 
 And I shall leave his face behind 
 
 At ev'ry hostel where we call : 
 
 And when again he comes this way 
 He '11 be astonished, I should say ! 
 
 James S. Sullivan,
 
 54 
 
 A SKETCH FOR AN OPERETTA. 
 
 A SKETCH FOR AN OPERETTA. 
 
 * 
 
 HE other 
 day my 
 esteemed 
 friend, 
 Wuffl es, 
 the com- 
 poser of 
 several 
 comic 
 songs that 
 have im- 
 mortalized 
 many a 
 
 music-hall star, \vas seized with a desire to write an 
 operetta. None of your opa-a bo7i_ffe, or even opera 
 cojinque, for him. He wanted a genuine piece of 
 sentiment. It was vain to point out that there was 
 no theatre playing operetta. He would create one! 
 It was useless to urge that comic music had been 
 his forte, and he had never written anything senti- 
 mental. He possessed the genuine art ! There was 
 nothing for it but to consent ; and, accordingly, I 
 sat down and cudgelled my brains for a plot, and 
 the way to carry it out. 
 
 Insensibly I fell in with Wuffles's spirit — in other 
 words, with his quaint face ever before me, I so far 
 identified myself with him, that I unconsciously 
 blended the comic with the serious in the most 
 ludicrous — but, as it appeared to me at the time, 
 quite reasonable — manner. Here is the result : 
 
 2l!jc Ecpufalic ot fHuticloticumdania. 
 
 Dramatis Persotue. 
 
 Don Jones 
 
 GlI.ESINI 
 
 Don Scroggs 
 
 A Traveller. 
 
 ... A Ploiighboy. 
 
 A Malcontent. 
 
 Grandee Grumth A ivealthy Farmer. 
 
 Senorina Peggy Grumph's Daughter. 
 
 Senora Potts Z««£/&^ o/ " The Chequers." 
 
 Donna Scroggs A Malcontentess. 
 
 ^a Polizia, Dons Grimes, Smugger, Hodgini, &c., and 
 Donnas Grimes, Patty, Sooky, Madge, &c. 
 
 The scene was to open on the village green at 
 fair-time. (Dance.) In spite of an outward show of 
 jollity, there was to be hidden discontent. (Chorus 
 of Conspirators.) Enter Jones, who, beholding the 
 festivities, sang a song about — "These peaceful 
 glades, so calm and still, 'Mid low of kine and chant 
 of lark, Where he who 'd chance to rob a till. Would 
 find it easy to keep dark." He would then proceed 
 to make mad love to Peggy, much to the disgust of 
 Gilesini. Then would come Scroggs, who is threat- 
 ened by Grumph with a prosecution for poaching. 
 Finding this complaint does not rouse the people — 
 (Note : three or four would do) — he assures them 
 Grumph means to lower wages and raise rents. An 
 outbreak. (Chorus of indignant peasantry.) Jones 
 fosters a rebellion, and advises the issuing of the 
 Proclamation of a Republic ! As he is the only 
 person who can write, he is chosen Dictator, and 
 makes the reluctant Peggy the Dictatress. Gilesini 
 declares (aside, in a loud song) his intention of con- 
 cealing Grumph in the pigsty e, and departs to do so, 
 while Jones writes the Proclamation, which is duly 
 posted. Gilesini returns, and discovers that Repub- 
 lic is spelt with two "p's." Jones makes him Minister 
 of Education, and Senora Potts Chancelloress of the 
 'Chequer. In the meantime Grumph has observed 
 La Polizia— (this sounds better than Rural Constable 
 Wallop) — making love to Donna Patty, and calls 
 him. They proceed to the scene of the insurrection, 
 where the exultant labourers have raised a triumphal 
 Arch. (March.) The Dictatress strongly objects to 
 the proposal of her marriage to the Dictator. Senora 
 Potts protests against the announced throwing-open 
 of the Chequers, free to all who give in their adhe- 
 ence. (Duet and trio.) The Dictator, in considera- 
 tion of the supply of ale, is supported by the people
 
 PRIDE PUNISHED. 
 
 55 
 
 — (Bacchanal chorus. Query : Why not introduce 
 a hiccup chorus ? It 's new) — and prepare garlands 
 for the wedding. (A pastoral song.) At this moment 
 Grumph and La Polizia come on the scene. (The 
 latter, of course, has an Aria to himself.) The Dic- 
 tator turns pale, as Wallop, after sternly regarding 
 him, takes out a large poster and reads from it^ 
 (recitative) — a description of an absconding shop- 
 man, who has robbed his employer. The constable 
 
 slips on thehandcu— manacles. Grumph bestows his 
 daughter on Gilesini, and denounces Don Scroggs 
 as a poacher and " huomo di etiquetti di levi," who 
 has invented the grossest falsehoods. — Universal 
 satisfaction. (Chorus. Wedding March. Dance.) 
 Will you believe it ? Wuffles declares I was 
 making fun of him, and has never spoken to me 
 since. This comes of being sympathetic ! 
 
 Matthew Walker. 
 
 -^-/^xaesMsJ;©:^/^ 
 
 PRIDE PUNISHED. 
 
 GRIGENTUM's a city in Sicily's isle, 
 And there a philosopher dwelt ; 
 But we'll make the philosopher wait 
 for awhile, 
 Till the name of the city is spelt. 
 
 With an A, G, 
 
 ag," for Ag- 
 Agr/V— 
 
 -and an R, I, G, for 
 
 E, N, T, U, M, for Ag- rig -en -turn, as any good boy 
 would twig. 
 
 Now, Empedocles, that was the name of the sage. 
 
 Who lived in that city, they tell ; 
 He flourished of course in a far-remote age. 
 And his name in this manner we spell : 
 With an E, M, "em," for Em — p, E, D, o, Empecft? — 
 C, L, E, S, for Em-ped-o-cles, as every good boy will 
 know. 
 
 In a school as a learned professor he taught ; 
 
 As chiropodist practised as well, 
 Which, meaning a corn-cutter, surely we ought 
 To teach you in Greek how to spell. 
 With a c, H, I, for a chi — with an R, o, P, for z\\vop — 
 O, D, I, s, T, for chi-rop-o-dist, as a good boy knows, 
 first chop ! 
 
 But this sage was immensely conceited beside, 
 
 And that was the way that he fell : 
 A prey to Superbia, Goddess of Pride, 
 Whose name, please, permit me to spell. 
 With an S, U, " su," for a Su — and a P, E, R, for Su/^r — 
 And a B, I, A, for Su-per-bi-a, abqut that no boy 
 will err. 
 
 [suit 
 In the County Court he had been pressed by the 
 
 Of one, who did crepidas sell. 
 Now, crepida 's Latin for slipper or boot. 
 And the word in this way we should spell : 
 
 With a C, R, E, for a ere — and a P, i, " pi," for ere// — 
 And a D, A, " da," for a cre-pi-da, as a good boy 
 would reply. 
 
 So, full of despairing, this silly old elf, 
 
 To appear an immortalized swell. 
 Into yEtna Mons went and projected himself; 
 And the mountain we'll properly spell. 
 With A, E, (diphthong) T, for ^t — and an N, A, 
 
 " na," for J^\.na — 
 And M, o, N, s, for /Et-na-Mons, as any good boy 
 would say. 
 
 Now, by Jove was the Titan, Enceladus, thrown 
 
 In that mountain's hot sulphurous cell, 
 And the name of the giant, to ancients as known. 
 We ought in this manner to spell : 
 With an E, N, " en," for En — and a C, E, L, for Y.XiC£l — 
 A,D,u,S, for En-cel-a-dus, as every good boy can tell. 
 
 The giant's digestion was greatly displeased 
 
 With the boots, and began to rebel. 
 And so of dyspepsia quickly was eased — ■ 
 A word which 't is proper to spell. 
 With a D, Y, S, for a dys — and a P, E, P, for dyspep — 
 And an S, I, A, for dys- pep-si-a, and a good boy '11 take 
 that step. 
 
 So no more to the sage, when his ragged old boot 
 
 Shot out of the mount like a shell, 
 Immortality Sicily wished to impute — 
 So the name of the isle we will spell. 
 Which s, I, "si," and c, I, S'lci, and L, Y, SicUy — 
 And it sounds like "silly lie," 
 Which, for one, most surely I 
 Call the proper way to spell the dodge that that 
 vain sage did try. 
 
 T. Hood.
 
 PRIDE PUNISHED, 
 
 .=^//^?i^.
 
 THE STUDENTS AND THE SLUMBERER. 
 
 ■' Ills tycs were closed, 
 Ar.d, gently siiorniJ;, deep he dozed." 
 
 " Bound ihat most unhappy man 
 To i?ate and eke to bell." 
 
 " Come on, you ruffian, come I 
 I 'm Justice of the Peace ! '
 
 58 
 
 THE STUDENTS AND THE S LUMBERER. 
 
 THE STUDENTS AND THE SLUMBERER. 
 
 WAS in the days when gilded youth 
 
 (The good times long ago) 
 Remarked " I'fackins !" or " In sooth!" 
 " Ay, marry !" or " Gadso !" 
 About, in short, the period when 
 Men would remark, on meeting men, 
 Not "Well, how are you?" but " Good den!" 
 With other curious speeches 
 The novel writer teaches. 
 
 'T was at this period, I repeat, 
 
 Three students learned in law. 
 At midnight coming down the street, 
 
 A drowsy watchman saw ; 
 Beside a doorway he reposed. 
 His mouth was ope, his eyes were closed. 
 And, gently snoring, deep he dozed. 
 
 Nor did on child or man turn 
 
 The lustre of his lantern. 
 
 These youths, although they studied law, 
 
 I deeply grieve to add. 
 For it small reverence and awe, 
 
 In practice, ever had. 
 Sir Gypes McWhiskey ate his dinner, 
 A member of the Temple (Inner). 
 Lord Tom O'Gynne, the second sinner. 
 
 Made Lincoln's Inn a blaze in; 
 
 Jack Rhumm was bound at Gray's Inn. 
 
 " rfackins ! " cried the gay Jack Rhurnm, 
 
 And added also " Zooks ! 
 Behold a watchman, springalds ! Come 
 
 And let's improve his looks. 
 To yonder bell let 's tie his hood — 
 His buttons to the gateway." " Good ! ' 
 Exclaimed his friends, who understood 
 
 The plan he meant to settle, 
 
 Like gallant lads of mettle. 
 
 So these fair sirs at once began 
 With rope and hood as well, 
 
 And bound that most unhappy man 
 
 To gate, and eke to bell. 
 Meanwhile doth bold Sir Gypes chi-hike 
 His favourite dog, yclepen Tyke 
 (The brute did watchmen much mislike), 
 
 Upon his prey to hurry, 
 
 And harry him and worry ! 
 
 So when the laughing Lord O'Gynne 
 
 Had tied him to the rail. 
 And Jack had to the tirling-pin 
 
 Attached his hood's long tail. 
 Sir Giles did of his dog let go. 
 And cried, " The hunt 's up ! " and " Toho ! " 
 With other terms the sportive know, 
 
 To cheer the yelping pack on. 
 
 And hasten their attack on ! 
 
 The dog upon his victim flew, 
 
 And bit him in the calf; 
 The watchman woke with loud to-do, 
 
 The youths began to laugh ; 
 For lo ! the hood tore down the bell ; 
 The man sprang forward with a yell ; 
 Caught by the rope, he tripped and fell ; 
 
 And while the bell loud jangled, 
 
 The dog at coat-tail dangled ! 
 
 Meantime the ready-witted Rhumm, 
 
 Their laughter to increase. 
 Cried out, " Come on, you rufhan, come ! 
 
 I 'm Justice of the Peace, 
 Which me to punish you compels. 
 For hanging at the gates of swells. 
 And breaking down their front-door bells ! 
 
 Come oil, for you won't find you 
 
 Will get ojf, varlet, mind you ! " 
 
 INIORAL. 
 In ancient or in modern day. 
 Youth will be youth, and have its play. 
 
 H.
 
 AUTUMN PRIMROSE. 
 
 59 
 
 AUTUMN PRIMROSE. 
 
 I. 
 
 HERE was once a poet who studied poli- 
 tics, and read the police and criminal 
 reports in the newspapers, till he went 
 stark staring mad, which did not take long. The 
 consequence was that he went out by the train for 
 a day's holiday, in the excursion season. It was a 
 rather out-of-the-way place that he went to, because 
 he liked to be quiet; and when he asked for his 
 ticket at the railway station, none of the clerks knew 
 the fare, and a ticket had to be written out for him 
 special. This took so long that he nearly lost his 
 train, but he did catch it, and got to the end of his 
 journey without meeting any accident, or seeing or 
 hearing of any. All the people in the train thought 
 he must be mad to get out at such a station as that, 
 and several passengers in the first, second, and third 
 class carriages, said, all in a breath, 
 
 "What can a respectable-looking man like that 
 want with a hole like this ? He must be stark, 
 staring mad ! " 
 
 This remark was, as we know, quite correct ; but 
 they little knew what it was that had driven him out 
 of his senses. 
 
 The rest of the passengers all went on to a town 
 at the sea-side, which was as full of people as the 
 bottom of a sieve is of air-holes, and they enjoyed 
 themselves very much. The mad poet was soon lost 
 to the eyes of the travellers in the train, for he 
 plunged into a thicket as soon as ever he could, and 
 went burrowing about among the trees like a guinea- 
 pig. All of a sudden he came upon a sight which, 
 as it was the end of September, very much surprised 
 him, for he was not a learned poet, though he knew 
 the meaning of such words as chlorophyl, mono- 
 cotyledonous, endogenous, exogenous, and all that. 
 What he saw in a place which was both shady and 
 sunny was neither more nor less than an ordinary 
 yellow primrose in full flower. There they were, the 
 dear little yellow stars, just as if it was April, though 
 
 now the leaves of the trees were turning red and 
 yellow, instead of being of the sweet young misty 
 green of April weather. He took out his clasp-knife 
 • — for he never went into the woods without a clasp- 
 khife as well as a hooked stick — and dug up the 
 primrose, and put it in his pocket. As he did so, 
 he thought he felt something alive that was much 
 too big and too strong for an insect; but having 
 often been told that he was mad (because he did 
 not enjoy reading the police reports and the debates 
 as other people did) he thought he must be mistaken, 
 and went on his way. This led him along a bye-path 
 to the beach, where, on a sudden turn of a beauti- 
 fully-wooded lane, he came in full sight of the sea, 
 with one sail — there was only one upon the whole 
 horizon. He gave a great jump, like a rabbit, and 
 called out very loud, though there was not a soul in 
 sight to hear what he said. He was pretty sure 
 there would not be, and that was the reason he had 
 gone to this very place of all places in the world. 
 Then he sat down in the bottom of a clump of hardy 
 fir-trees, and took some wine and sandwiches out 
 of his pocket. But he fancied as he sat down that 
 he heard a child's voice say, " Oh, don^t, please ; 
 you hurt ! " This was very remarkable. " Never 
 mind," says he, " I am only mad ;" and he went on 
 with his wine and sandwiches. 
 
 II. 
 
 When it was evening, he caught the train for his 
 homeward journey ; but all the people in it seemed 
 very vexed at having to stop at a little station like 
 that, and those who, like himself, were making the 
 return journey, said, "Here is that mad-looking man 
 again : he has been eating blackberries, and there 
 is something green sticking out of his pocket." As 
 he bumped down upon his seat in the carriage, he 
 fancied he again heard the little voice saying, " Oh, 
 don't^ please ; you hurt ! " This certainly puzzled 
 him a good deal ; but on looking round he saw that
 
 6o 
 
 AUTUMN PRIMROSE. 
 
 a lady passenger at the farther end of the seat had 
 a baby at her breast. He scarcely knew what to 
 do, being so much puzzled, as I said before ; but, 
 being a very polite man, he said, 
 ^ " I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I hope 1 didn't 
 hurt your baby ? " 
 
 " My baby, sir ? " says the lady, very much aston- 
 ished ; " you did not touch it : there are three people 
 between us." 
 
 " Exactly, thank you ; I beg your pardon. All 
 right, captain." This was his way. Whenever he 
 said "all right," he put "captain" to it; but the lady 
 was rather surprised at his behaviour. However, 
 after a few minutes, feeling quite certain that some- 
 body had spoken, and some child too, he plucked 
 up a courage and said to the lady, 
 
 " That seems a very fine child of yours, ma'am ; 
 how old is it?" 
 
 " Four months and a week to-day, sir," said the 
 lady. 
 
 This rather staggered him, so he said over again, 
 
 "It seems a very fine child." 
 
 This was repetition, but the mother was pleased, 
 and smiled, and joggled the baby up and down so 
 much in order to exhibit it, that at last it began to 
 cry. 
 
 The mad poet thought to himself — " Babies of 
 four months old do not talk, I think ; but a week 
 might make a difference, perhaps." 
 
 Then, turning to the lady again, he asked, 
 
 " Can your baby talk yet, ma'am ? " 
 
 At this the mother felt more flattered than ever. 
 It was certainly a remarkable question, but she said 
 to herself, " Oh, poor fellow, he is an old bachelor ! " 
 — and then, aloud, " Not much, sir." 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said the poet, in a loud voice, for 
 he was getting angry at not being able to account 
 for the little voice he had heard — " well, ma'am, look 
 here ! " says he. " Could your baby say, ' Oh, please 
 don't! You hurt'?" 
 
 " No, sir, not yet, I think," replied the mother, 
 looking rather frightened, and clutching the baby, 
 because she thought the poet might be a Govern- 
 ment Inspector, who was trying to see if her child 
 was up to the proper standard of the New Code of 
 the Committee of Council on Education. " You see. 
 
 sir, he hasn't cut a single tooth yet," added she ; 
 " but I teach him all I can." 
 
 " Much obliged — I beg pardon," said the poet, 
 and gave it up. 
 
 But one of the gentlemen in the carriage whis- 
 pered to another, 
 
 " This is a madman ! Our lives are in danger. 
 Had we not better pull the string, alarm the guard, 
 stop the train, and get him put out ? " 
 
 " Wait till we get to the next station," said the 
 other gentleman. "He looks very harmless, and I 
 dare say he is only an eccentric character." 
 
 III. 
 
 But the fact is they never reached the next sta- 
 tion at all. Owing to some confusion between the 
 staff system and the interlocking system, a mis- 
 understanding with the Board of Trade, and some 
 oversights on the part of two or three officials, who 
 had been very much underworked and overpaid, the 
 train in which the poet sat was run into by an express 
 in front and a luggage behind, and a good deal of 
 damage ensued. Fifteen hundred passengers were 
 killed and two thousand severely wounded — for this 
 was a large train. And among the slain were the 
 poet himself, the poor baby, and the unfeeling pas- 
 senger who wanted to stop the train and get the poor 
 poet turned out into the open country fifty miles from 
 his home. Although the baby of four months old 
 was killed, its mother was not touched. The mad 
 poet was, you may say, pounded to a jelly; but his 
 autumn-flowering primrose survived the general 
 wreck, and something besides the primrose. 
 
 IV. 
 
 This was no other than a fairy girl, who had been 
 hiding under the primrose all the while. Now, 
 although the poor mother was not damaged in her 
 body, she was in her mind, for the shock sent her 
 out of her senses, and when, in coming to after a 
 swoon, she saw this fairy girl peering from under a 
 primrose-leaf, she took it to be her own baby, and 
 carried it home with her. Of course, in her condi- 
 tion no one liked to undeceive her ; so she nursed 
 the fairy as well as she could, and it got bigger and 
 plumper, and more like a human child every day.
 
 AUTUMN PRIMROSE. 
 
 6z 
 
 By-and-bye the poor mother got her wits back, 
 and was very much surprised to find her child, as 
 she called it, so backward in some things and so 
 forward in others ; but she attributed it all to the 
 shock, and things went on pretty much as they do 
 between other parents and their children, except that 
 at a very early age indeed Autumn Primrose — for 
 that was the name she went by — used to tell fairy 
 tales out of her own head. 
 
 V. 
 
 One day, when she was about eight years old, a 
 School Board visitor called, and said he had found 
 out that there was a child there who was not on 
 the register of any public elementary school, and 
 he wished to ascertain if it was receiving efficient 
 elementary instruction. 
 
 " I am sure, sir," said the mother, colouring up 
 very much, " I know my duty to my child ; and I 
 take it very unkindly that you ask me if we send 
 her to school. Of course we do ! You might as well 
 come and ask if we stai /e her ! " 
 
 " ^ly good woman," said the visitor, "you do not 
 know the law," — and he then read to her the whole 
 of the 74th Clause of the Elementary Education 
 Act, 1870, the 24th Clause of the Elementary Edu- 
 cation Amendment Act, 1873, — Form No. i of the 
 Bye-Laws of the School Board, and the Regulations 
 of the School Board for enforcing compulsory at- 
 tendance. 
 
 This made the mother cry, and she said she still 
 thought it very hard upon good parents to have 
 people coming to the house to stand between them 
 and their children ; but Primrose, though she too 
 seemed angry, laughed and jumped about the visitor, 
 and several times ran pins into his legs. 
 
 At this moment the father came in, and the visitor 
 explained it all to him likewise. 
 
 " We are doing a great and good work, sir," said 
 the visitor. 
 
 " You may be doing some good," says the father, 
 keeping down his rage ; " but you are also doing a 
 great deal of harm by interfering between good 
 parents and their children." 
 
 But the visitor proceeded to examine Primrose, 
 as well as she would let him — which did not come 
 
 to much, for at every question she stuck a pin into 
 his leg, and he soon got tired of it. At last he said, 
 
 " I must report this child to the Divisional Com- 
 mittee as not receiving efficient instruction. She 
 does not even know that one times one is one !" 
 
 " I don't believe it is," said Primrose. 
 
 " I never saw such depths of ignorance," said the 
 School Board man. 
 
 But just then Primrose began telling him a fairy 
 tale. 
 
 " I cannot stop and listen to this," said he. " Fairy 
 literature is not among the Discretionary Subjects 
 recognized by the New Code. There is no grant 
 for results under that head." 
 
 But by this time, in spite of the pins in his legs, 
 he was getting interested against his will, and he 
 actually sat and listened to the fairy tale Primrose 
 told, until it was too late to proceed with his duties 
 for the day. The consequence was that he was all 
 behind with his register for the week, and was 
 severely reprimanded by the Divisional Committee 
 of the district. 
 
 " Never mind," said he to himself, " I shall have 
 my revenge." 
 
 He had found his legs all over marks from pins, 
 and as he had every reason to believe they were not 
 so when he got up that morning, and had felt prick- 
 ing sensations while in the house where Primrose 
 resided, he naturally attributed the marks on his 
 legs to that particular visit. For the beautiful fairy 
 tale he had been entertained with he felt not the 
 least gratitude, as the New Code does not recognize 
 fairy tale^. He had found out that the parents of 
 Primrose were Dissenters. — I //imk they went habi- 
 tually to the services of the Primitive Bible-Christian 
 Anti- Schismatic New Brotherhood, which were held 
 in a loft over a stable. Now, the greater number of 
 the members of the Divisional Committee were 
 rather high Churchmen, and, in a quiet way each 
 member endeavoured to work the Act as to increase 
 his own religious party. So, when the visitor said 
 — incidentally, as if he did not mean it — that the pa- 
 rents of Primrose were Dissenters, the Committee im- 
 mediately sent them Notice A, calling upon them to 
 appear before the Board and explain how it was that 
 the child was neither attending a public elementary
 
 62 
 
 AUTUMN PRIMROSE. 
 
 school within the meaning of the Act, nor receiving 
 efficient instruction in some other manner. Unfor- 
 tunately, Primrose went with them before the Com- 
 mittee, and, almost before they knew where they 
 vere, had them all tight in another fairy tale, so 
 that the Divisional Committee sat very late that 
 night, and broke up at last in an undecided manner. 
 It certainly seemed verj' strange that a child who, 
 though it had been to school, either could not or 
 would not say the multiplication -table as far as 
 twice one, and did not appear to know where 
 London was, should be able to tell such beautiful 
 fairy tales. However, at the next meeting the Divi- 
 sional Committee pulled themselves together, and 
 had Notice B, threatening a summons before a 
 magistrate, served upon the parents of Primrose. 
 This the parents took no notice of, because if Prim- 
 rose had not learnt her multiplication-table in a very 
 small school, where she had the twentieth part of a 
 teacher all to herself, they did not see why she 
 should learn it any better in a school where she 
 would have only the three-hundredth part of a 
 teacher. At last they were summoned before the 
 magistrate, and though they told him of the railway 
 accident, which, they thought, might have affected 
 the girl's head, the magistrate, having examined her 
 in arithmetic, grammar, and geography (with the 
 help of some books, for he understood neither of 
 them himself), said she must go to a Board School 
 at once. Immediately the worthy magistrate had 
 pronounced this decision. Primrose began telling a 
 fairy tale, which was so interesting that he listened 
 and listened till it was nearly time to shut up the 
 court, upon which he stated that for the present he 
 would not fine the parents, but would give them 
 fourteen days' grace in which to put the child into 
 a public elementaiy school within the meaning of 
 the Act. 
 
 VI. 
 The school to which Primrose now went was a 
 handsome place, with handsome school furniture, 
 certificated teachers, and everything nice. This 
 accommodation was paid for out of the means of 
 other people, who did not get near such good 
 accommodation for their own children at schools 
 where they paid dear. In spite, however, of the 
 
 certificated teachers — who, of course, gave efficient 
 instruction — Primrose never appeared to learn any- 
 thing that was recognized by the New Code. Besides 
 that, she used to find ways and means of telling all 
 the other children fairy tales ; the effect of which 
 was that they all went back terribly in their learn- 
 ing, because the certificated teachers could not 
 make them attend. It was banders ! banders ! from 
 morning to afternoon in that school, and yet the 
 children remained ignorant. What was the conse- 
 quence? Why, when H.M. Inspector visited that 
 school in due course for the annual examination, he 
 found things in such a state, that he had to report 
 to my Lords at the Privy Council that the teaching 
 was inefficient. There was no payment on results 
 that year. The only thing in which the children 
 had learnt anything was drawing, and that they 
 had done because Primrose had encouraged them 
 to make caricatures of the head master and mistress, 
 the assistant master and mistress, and all the pupil 
 teachers ; and, in fact, the walls and doors in the 
 neighbourhood for a mile round were covered with 
 such caricatures. 
 
 VIL 
 
 Of course, all this was very mortifying to the 
 educational authorities of the district and at White- 
 hall. They were, indeed, at their wits' end. All the 
 subjects recognized by the New Code had been 
 taught in this school by a full staff of certificated 
 teachers and assistants, and yet none of the scholars 
 knew anything. Within a short distance there were 
 other public elementary schools, where numbers of 
 boys were up to the sixth standard, and could do 
 any sum yOu pleased under the metric system, in 
 grammes, decimetres, and all that ; but here not a 
 child knew its multiplication -table, or could go 
 through an ordinary object lesson — much less give 
 the meaning and definition of the word " cainoeoic," 
 or explain, in his oiun language, as other sixth- 
 standard boys could, the interaction of the remoter 
 causes which are supposed to have led to the pri- 
 meval divarications of form between the Brachyce- 
 phalic and Dolichocephalic tribes of the Turanian 
 races shortly after the commencement of the Glacial 
 Epoch.
 
 AUTUMN PRIMROSE. 
 
 63 
 
 All the neighbouring private schools were, of 
 course, very glad ; for they said, " These people 
 have been building on our previous labours, and yet 
 they have taken away our scholars, though we have 
 paid the cost of what they have been doing." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Of course there was, after all this, a grand in- 
 vestigation by a Special Committee of the Privy 
 Council, with numerous and various assessors ; and 
 at last it struck somebody that the decadence of the 
 school dated from the enrolment of Autumn Prim- 
 rose as a scholar. They immediately had her up to 
 Whitehall, and subjected her to a most searching 
 cross-examination, but entirely failed to shake her 
 testimony, which consisted exclusively of fairy tales. 
 Mr. Lingen, Mr. Buckmaster, Mr. Theodore Wal- 
 rond, Mr. Iselin, Mr. Scudayiore, Mr. Robert Lowe, 
 three thousand seven hundred and thirty-six ordi- 
 nary Government inspectors — a small portion of the 
 number which it had now become necessary for the 
 taxpayers to support — and all the great competitive 
 examination guns were present, but they could make 
 nothing of Autumn Primrose, who, when they asked 
 her a question founded on one of the standards of 
 the New Code, always answered by telling a fairy 
 tale, or something of that kind. When she was asked 
 by Mr. Lingen what the alphabet was, she replied, 
 singing and dancing, 
 
 " Great A, little A, bouncing B — 
 The cat 's in the cupboard, and she can't see ! " 
 
 "What," said Mr. Scudamore, who, as a great 
 financier, had been brought down special — " what is 
 simple addition ?" 
 
 To this Primrose answered, " Jack and his eleven 
 brothers." 
 
 " Let me try," said Mr. Buckmaster ; " I will 
 show her how to make an omelette, and then ex- 
 amine her upon the process." 
 
 So saying, he made a snatch at Air. Lowe's hat. 
 
 "That is the only hat I have got in the world," 
 said Mr. Lowe: "A human being has only one 
 head : why, then, should he have two hats ? " 
 
 But his appeal came too late. Mr. Buckmaster 
 had already made the omelette, and turned it out, 
 sizzling, upon one of the departmental portfolios. 
 
 Then, looking round with an air of triumph, Mr. 
 Buckmaster said to the child, 
 
 " Now, there is only one thing wanting to make 
 this omelette perfect, and it is an herb. I have left 
 it out in order to test your knowledge and intelli- 
 gence. Is that it ?" says Mr. Buckmaster, producing 
 a sprig of knotted marjoram from his pocket. For 
 Mr. Buckmaster always carries everything about 
 with him, except when he drops it ; which I on 
 mention because the last time I saw him in the 
 street a packet of meat-bones and butcher's pieces 
 fell out of his pocket, wrapped up in a cook's paper 
 cap, which appeared to be made of a chromo-litho- 
 graph of a Raphael. " Is that it ? " says IMr. Buck- 
 master, laying down the marjoram. 
 
 " No, it isn't," said the child, and appeared to 
 dive under the table, right between Mr. Walrond's 
 legs. Stranger than all, instead of the marjoram, 
 there was a primrose on the table in full flower. 
 
 There was a minute's pause, and a sense of savage 
 disappointment ran through the majority of the 
 assembly. That aU the expensive and magnificent 
 machinery provided by the State at the public ex- 
 pense for educating the masses should be stultified 
 by a child was too much. At last, after drawng a 
 deep breath, all the persons present exclaimed, with 
 one voice, " Spiritualism !" — for they had been read- 
 ing Mr. A. R. Wallace's account of the sudden pro- 
 duction of dewy ferns and hyacinths bythe Spirits out 
 of nothing underneath the table. Mr. Lowe, indeed, 
 had not joined in this exclamation ; and the Duke 
 of Richmond, who had from the first been much 
 scandalized by the unbusiness-like character of the 
 proceedings, simply remarked, with dignity, 
 
 " The girl must go to an industrial school." 
 
 " When you can catch her," says Mr. Lowe. 
 
 And, indeed, there was reason in this clause, for 
 Autumn Primrose could nowhere be found, though 
 all H.M. inspectors joined in the chase. At last Mr. 
 Lowe, disgusted at the unpractical nature of the 
 whole business, put the omelette into his hat for his 
 supper, and made off. The mysterious flower was 
 sent to the South Kensington Museum ; and at that 
 point we must, for the present, leave the fortunes of 
 Autumn Primrose. 
 
 Matthew Browne.
 
 THE ZOO BY NIGHT. 
 
 Eiiicsl" CrnsGh
 
 THE ZOO BY NIGHT. 
 
 6
 
 66 
 
 THE ZOO BY NIGHT. 
 
 THE ZOO BY NIGHT. 
 
 HEN the Zoo they close, 
 And the world repose 
 Has sought in one universal doze, 
 
 Then the time must be, 
 It appears to me, 
 When the animals all indulge in a spree. 
 
 Then the walrus and seal. 
 O'er a fried-fish meal. 
 Little facts of their former life reveal. 
 
 And the lion wakes 
 The keeper, and takes 
 To the family den a supper of steaks. 
 
 A.nd the otters take sights 
 At the party who writes 
 On a board, " Beware ! for the otter bites." 
 
 And the lanky giraffe 
 
 Will the camel chaff, 
 
 Because his neck 's not so long by half ! 
 
 Then the monkeys display 
 The treasures that they 
 Have managed to pilfer, through the day — 
 
 The watches and " wipes," 
 Umbrellas and pipes, 
 That you don't get back when they 're in their gripes. 
 
 And hippo' deplores 
 That his missus snores, 
 Till the baby hippo' wakes up and I'oars. 
 
 The rhinoceros blows 
 The horn on his nose. 
 And his musical talent loudly shows. 
 
 And the elephant slow. 
 Who can trumpet so. 
 Gets jealous, and packs up his trunk to go, 
 
 And treat the baboon 
 To a lively tune 
 In his natural bass on his own bassoon. 
 
 And the snakes all swear 
 They are not aware 
 " Who swallowed the blanket ! " as folks declare. 
 
 And the wolf and his wife, 
 The pride of his life. 
 Clean up the bones without ever a knife. 
 
 And the greedy bears 
 Bolt buns, cakes, and pears. 
 That have tumbled into that pit of theirs. 
 
 Then the buffalo 
 And the quagga show 
 That " the time of day " they very well know, 
 
 And kick and prance, 
 In a midnight dance. 
 And do not the ease of the cats enhance. 
 
 But the stork and crane 
 Quite quiet remain : 
 They have put on their night-caps, it is plain. 
 
 And the flamin-^(?^j-, 
 On the slender toes. 
 Curl round their tortuous necks and doze. 
 
 But one night, they'd a fright 
 When a barge took light. 
 And nearly blew them all up outright ! 
 
 T. E. H. G.
 
 THE CASTING VOTE. 
 
 67 
 
 THE CASTING VOTE. 
 
 [j;i;rom tbc §.rtbib.cs 0f lljc Sobcrtoit Club.] 
 
 S we are all old men, our conversation, as 
 we sit round the fire in our quaint little 
 club-room, is apt to partake largely of 
 personal reminiscences and memories of our younger 
 days. With these we beguile many a long winter 
 night, patient listeners even to familiar tales which, 
 having lost the charm of novelty, yet interest us 
 from our regard for those who tell them. 
 
 For all that we are so staid and quiet now, we 
 have lived through stirring times. IMany of us have 
 taken active parts in the business of life, and Mr. 
 Josias, our beloved founder, can more especially look 
 back upon a chequered and eventful career. He can 
 recall the time when, as a child, he cowered beneath 
 the bed-clothes of a night, in mortal fear of the ad- 
 vent of " Boney." To his youthful eyes the slender 
 figure of Pitt and the rotund proportions of Fox were 
 as familiar as are those of the rival leaders of to-day. 
 As a young man he had mingled with the exquisites 
 in St. James's Street, in a coat with the waist between 
 his shoulder-blades, and a cocked hat ; and it was 
 in his mature life that the cry for Reform first broke 
 forth, and the country was wild with apprehension 
 at the prospect of the ruin, which, as we all know, 
 has in consequence overtaken it. 
 
 " Those were the days ! " he is wont to say, in 
 special allusion to early Reform agitation. "We talk 
 of our politics. Pshaw ! there are no politics now. 
 They have been as effectually ' confounded ' as ever 
 those of our enemies can be, though we bring an 
 illimitable national-anthem-power to bear upon them. 
 It isn't the same thing." 
 
 "All public spirit has died out ! " some one in our 
 little circle will remark. 
 
 " Spirit, sir !" is the inevitable rejoinder. " What 
 ■can be expected in a country where a candidate dare 
 not do as he likes with his own ? where a knot of 
 
 ribbon is constructive bribery ? where the scrape of 
 a fiddle is rank corruption, and inviting a friend or 
 two to take pot-luck with him means absolute un- 
 seating ? " 
 
 Fierce words : but a merry twinkle of the eyes 
 robs them of half their ferocity. Josias Soberwit is 
 of the old school, but he can appreciate the new. He 
 is not the least bit offended that his fulminations 
 provoke a smile ; a puckering tendency about the 
 corners of his own mouth may be even faintly per- 
 ceptible. 
 
 Yet with all seeming gravity, he will, when the 
 humour is in him, proceed somewhat after this 
 fashion : 
 
 Elections ! ah, I have taken part at many a one, 
 when elections were elections. And what merry 
 times we had ! It was only then that the country woke 
 up ; the drowsy old towns threw off their lethargy, 
 and the counties flared and sputtered with life, like 
 the log on the hearth there, that seemed a dead thing 
 half an hour ago. The small towns were especially 
 lively — they were strongholds, and felt their import- 
 ance. .Places with a handful of freemen lorded it 
 over populous cities, and were so' proud of being 
 bought and sold — twice over sometimes, and then 
 prouder than ever, — that the riot and excess in them 
 ran to the verge of madness, so that at times a dose 
 of cold steel had to be prescribed for the people, 
 and the military were called out to " exhibit " it. 
 
 And that reminds me, we were near upon it, at 
 the little town of Lewes, in the year — what was the 
 year ? No matter ; it was when the Duke of New- 
 castle contested the borough, and in a way that 
 showed he meant to have it, let who would oppose 
 him. A clean, quiet, cozy httle town is Lewes ; nest- 
 ling snugly round the base of the old castle, and with 
 
 5 — 2
 
 68 
 
 THE CASTING VOTE. 
 
 only the barren downs spreading like a sea around 
 it. The long straggling High Street might be given 
 up to rifle practice by the local corps any day almost, 
 and no harm to any living soul. It is a fiery little 
 place, for all that : party spirit has, time out of mind, 
 been rampant in it. Every Lewes man is born with 
 a legacy of political acrimony, dating from Heaven 
 knows when — from far beyond the old Jacobite days, 
 if we may judge by the spirit the "bonfire boys" 
 contrive to infuse even into Fifth of November ob- 
 servances. 
 
 Party spirit never ran higher than at this contest 
 of which I speak, and the parties were never more 
 nearly matched. Even the lawyers engaged to con- 
 duct the contest were puzzled ; they could count 
 their strength on either side pretty nearly, but neither 
 knew to a nicety what the result would be. It was 
 believed that a single vote might turn the scale. 
 
 Of course the more obvious this became, the more 
 confidence the Duke's men assumed. They put on 
 a lofty air, swaggered up and down the High Street, 
 and veiled contempt for the other side — Blandford's 
 side — under the guise of pity for their infatuation, 
 whi'ch might have had its effect, only Blandford's 
 men did the same. Their bearing was equally lofty, 
 their swagger quite as imposing, and their pity for 
 the " Duke's lot" as undisguised. In the midst of 
 the noise and turmoil, riot and dissipation, lynx eyes 
 were kept upon the electors. In those days contests 
 lasted a fortnight, and in a fortnight much might 
 happen. It was quite on the cards that somebody 
 might drink himself to death, which fortuitous oc- 
 currence would in itself have sufficed to change the 
 colour of the political representation of the borough. 
 Such things had happened as freemen being induced 
 to set out on journeys on the eve of the polling-days, 
 and freemen had, it was whispered, been sent on 
 journeys (dead drunk in the straw in the bottom of 
 carriers' carts) without the formality of inducement 
 being gone through. 
 
 That the " Duke's lot " were capable of anything 
 was well known. That there was nothing which 
 " Blandy's boys " were incapable of, was asserted with 
 equal confidence. The lawyers — who, the best of 
 friends at all other times, never spoke from the 
 coming down of the writ till all was over — shook 
 
 their heads dubiously. There was nothing for it but 
 to feed the flame of excitement, and keep a sharp 
 look-out. 
 
 As time went on things took a curious turn. Both 
 sides began to manifest particular interest in a 
 townsman, for whom at all other times every man 
 among them had the utmost contempt. This man 
 was Noll Tumper by name : his ostensible occupa- 
 tion that of a tailor — his real occupation that of 
 drinking himself into his grave. Incidentally he 
 had drunk himself into a huge mass of unwhole- 
 some flesh — into a round fiery face and bulbous 
 nose, and into a greasy and begrimed condition, not 
 improved by a course of sleeping in tap-rooms and 
 stables all the election-time, during which he had 
 never gone through the formality of taking off his 
 clothes or washing his face. 
 
 All of a sudden, as I have said, Noll Tumper 
 found himself the hero of the hour. One morning 
 the Duke was seen walking down High Street with 
 him, arm-in-arm, to the committee-rooms at the 
 Star. That afternoon Blandford gave him a seat in 
 his carriage down to his committee-rooms at the 
 White Hart. The Duke was pained beyond expres- 
 sion at a slight cough from which Noll appeared to 
 suffer, recommended old port, and sent twelve dozen 
 of the best to his house that very night. Blandford 
 was concerned to hear that Mrs. Tumper was indis- 
 posed : was afraid she did not wrap up enough (it 
 was in the middle of August), and prevailed on Noll 
 to permit him to offer her, with his compliments, 
 three new silk dresses, each of a different colour, 
 and a sable tippet. 
 
 Tumper was not ungrateful ; but Tumper was so 
 stupid. He didn't understand politics, and that was 
 the fact. The Dook was a nice gen'elman, and not 
 at all 'igh and mighty ; and Mister Blandford was 
 that kind, he 'd talked to him more like a brother 
 than anythink else. But as to which was best for 
 the country, that was beyond him. He just shouldn't 
 vote, and that was a fact — then he shouldn't offend 
 neither. 
 
 Offend them ! That seemed impossible. They 
 had both got so fond of him by this time that they 
 were never happy out of his society. His company 
 was so capital, they protested ; his humour so rich
 
 THE CASTING VOTE. 
 
 69 
 
 and racy ; and as for telling a tale, never was there 
 man like him ! The ladies must see him— that was 
 certain ; and the ladies did see him. They flocked 
 about him like so many doves — cooing and flutter- 
 ing, and all so anxious to adorn him with their re- 
 spective colours. 
 
 " Buff and blue was," the Duke's lady supporters 
 declared, " the most becoming mixture." 
 
 "Red and green," Mrs. Blandford assured him, 
 " set him off like a flower in his button-hole." 
 
 Noll took the favours— he took everything, for 
 that matter ; but went on up to within an hour of 
 the close of the poll protesting that it was all too 
 much for his muddle-brain, and that he shouldn't 
 vote. There was, however, one hopeful sign : he 
 kept quite sober on polling-day. It seemed as if 
 his patriotic instincts were struggling with his igno- 
 rance ; and people winked at one another, and 
 pursed up their lips, and confidently affirmed that 
 " Noll was safe enough." 
 
 Still he allowed the day— the last day— to pass 
 until only an hour remained — until, in fact, the 
 numbers were equal, and the issue of the election 
 depended on a single vote. Then he disappeared ; 
 vanished from the scene ; was not to be found ! 
 The utmost consternation prevailed. Lewes was in 
 an uproar. Its fate hung on Noll's lips, and Noll 
 was gone ! Half an hour passed ; the town grew 
 frantic. Suddenly Mrs. Blandford and her lady 
 friends, filling the carriage, dashed up to the polling- 
 place. She hastily whispered her husband. He 
 turned ghastly pale and trembled. 
 
 " Lost him ! " he gasped. 
 
 " Yes ; we were too late." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 The word was drowned by the roar ol the multi- 
 tude announcing the return of the wanderer. There 
 he was, coming swaggering along, radiant, trium- 
 phant, and a moving wonder of blue and buff — 
 cockade in his hat, cockade on his breast, scarf 
 round his waist, and a banneret in his hand. 
 
 He had been found. 
 
 Curiously enough, the Duke himself had found 
 him : had met him in the street near the Judge's 
 chambers — which his Grace occupied for the elec- 
 tion-time — quite accidentally : met him tramping 
 
 along, all excitement, and bitterly denouncing " Foxy 
 Blandford " and all his works. 
 
 The Duke was equal to the occasion. 
 
 Going up to him, with unaffected frankness he 
 held out both hands. 
 
 " What ! " cried he : " my jolly friend, you here ! 
 Been down to vote ? " 
 
 " No," was the answer, " I haven't and " 
 
 The Duke burst in with a laugh, and lifting his 
 hands, cried in his playful way, 
 
 " Oh, Tumper ! Tumper ! haste and give a plum- 
 per ! " 
 
 Tickled with the jest, Noll echoed his Grace's 
 laugh. 
 
 " Capital ! capital ! " he burst out. " I must re- 
 member that. It 's sure to go out of my stupid head, 
 though. Wait a minute; I '11 write it down. Sure 
 to forget it. Where's a scrap of paper?" 
 
 He began fumbling in his pockets, but the Duke 
 anticipated his wishes. Taking out a morocco 
 pocket-book, he drew from thence a crisp, crack- 
 ling, new-looking piece of paper, oblong in shape, 
 and turning the printed side down, offered it for the 
 purpose. Nolly eagerly caught at the paper, held it 
 up to the light so as to see through it, as if curious 
 about the water-mark, nodded his head in token of 
 satisfaction, and then, strangely enough, instead of 
 writing on the paper, thrust it into his pocket. Then 
 he snatched the favour from the Duke's breast and 
 attached it to his own, muttering as he did so, 
 " Tumper, Tumper, haste to give a plumper !" 
 
 And the plumper was given. 
 
 Noll emerged from the polling-booth triumphant, 
 with the air of a man who haji sacrificed himself on 
 the altar of his country, and when a mighty shout 
 of "Newcastle for ever!" rose from the crowd, he 
 bowed low, and dodged a brickbat aimed at his 
 head by an enraged Blandfordite with infinite grace. 
 A proposition to chair him through the town was 
 met by a counter-proposition to duck him in the 
 river, and as the parties in the crowd were about 
 equally matched, his fate for the moment seemed 
 trembling in the balance ; but the Duke's agents 
 were good tacticians, and had a dozen or so of 
 brawny ruffians ready at their beck to circle round 
 Noll and secure his safety. Moreover, a judicious.
 
 70 
 
 THE CASTING VOTE. 
 
 reference to the possible arrival of the military from 
 Brighton in the event of a riot was not without effect. 
 
 The safety of the Duke also had to be looked to. 
 But his Grace manifested no alarm. Exuberant in 
 the fact of having won the day, he seemed to have 
 no immediate thought beyond that of expressing his 
 gratitude to Noll. 
 
 "You have done me good service, Noll," said he, 
 " and I 'm grateful to you." 
 
 " I 've a hundred good reasons for believing in 
 your Grace's sincerity," replied Noll, with a grin. 
 
 He was, you see, developing quite a courtly style 
 from mixing with the grand folks during election- 
 time. 
 
 "You're a fine fellow, Noll," rejoined the Duke, 
 slapping him on the shoulder, " and you won't find 
 that you've m.ade a mistake in serving me. I shall be 
 only too happy to serve you in return. Tell me now, 
 what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " May it please your Grace," replied Noll, " there 
 is an exciseman of this town, Tim Pebbles by name, 
 who's very old and very ill. Now, if he should 
 die" 
 
 " You would like to jump into his place ? Good. 
 You are a fitting man." 
 
 " Yes, your Grace, if a knowledge of liquor may 
 make one so," responded Noll, modestly. 
 
 " Exactly, and you shall have the place with all 
 my heart. I wish he were dead and buried already, 
 for your sake ; the instant he is, come to me. You 
 shall be admitted at any hour and under any cir- 
 cumstances. Yes, my honest Noll, I would see you 
 though I should leave the King himself sitting 
 mumchance in the Cabinet, waiting my return." 
 
 Another slap on the back, and the Duke retired 
 amidst his adherents to enjoy his triumph and for- 
 get the cause of it, while the latter hugged himself 
 on the gracious promise, and betook himself to fresh 
 potations by way of solace, while he awaited the 
 death of the exciseman. 
 
 The course of events was less rapid in those days 
 than in these ; still, fresh excitements were constantly 
 springing up. Thus, in a very short time the general 
 election had become worn threadbare as a topic, 
 and other matters formed the staple of public con- 
 versation. Among other points it came to be an- 
 
 nounced that the King of Spain was in a precarious 
 condition, suffering from a disorder which he could 
 not possibly survive. Among those who betrayed 
 the utmost anxiety on this question was the Duke 
 of Newcastle. He had his own reasons for desiring 
 the very earliest news of the expected demise of his 
 Catholic Majesty, and even went so far as to dispatch 
 couriers to Madrid with instructions that they 
 should return with all speed the instant the an- 
 nouncement of the expected event should be made. 
 Ignorant of the hour at which any of them might 
 arrive, yet burning with impatience, his Grace re- 
 mained at his town mansion, and gave the strictest 
 orders to his attendants to admit instantly any one 
 who should arrive on business of moment at any 
 hour of the day or night. 
 
 Knowing his Grace's anxiety, they were scrupu- 
 lous to obey the orders with literal exactness, and 
 before long the opportunity for doing so offered it- 
 self. About two o'clock one morning, the Duke, 
 who had been in bed about an hour, was roused 
 from his slumbers, and informed that a messenger 
 had arrived in hot haste. 
 
 " Admit him ! " cried the Duke, with ecstacy. 
 
 It was hardly necessary to go through the for- 
 mality. The man was already at the door, and 
 rushing into the room in a transport of joy, cried 
 out, 
 
 " Dead, my lord ! he 's dead ! " 
 
 " That 's well, my dear friend," rejoined the Duke, 
 " I 'm glad of it, with all my soul. When did he 
 die?" 
 
 " The night before last, please your Grace." 
 
 "What, so lately? Why, my good fellow, you 
 must have flown ! This is inaeed zeal in my in- 
 terests. Tell me, how can I reward you ? " 
 
 " All that I wish for in the world," replied the 
 other, eagerly, " is that your Grace would please to 
 remember your kind promise and appoint me to 
 succeed him." 
 
 The Duke sprang up in bed. 
 
 " What ! ■' he screamed. " Make you King of 
 Spain ! Are you demented ? Let 's look at you." 
 
 Throwing aside the curtains, he found himself 
 face to face with Noll Tumper, his electioneering 
 friend, whose bloodshot eyes seemed starting from
 
 IL PENSEROSO. 
 
 71 
 
 his head like those of a lobster, while his mouth was 
 fairly agape with astonishment at words which he 
 failed utterly to comprehend. 
 
 '* King ! Spain ! no — Tim Pebbles !" he gasped. 
 
 But the Duke, wild with rage, had already shrieked 
 to those about him to expel the ruffian, and rid him 
 of his detestable presence. Nor were rage and dis- 
 appointment unnatural. To be routed up out of sleep 
 was bad enough ; but to have his hopes apparently 
 gratified, and then rudely dashed with disappoint- 
 ment, was beyond patient endurance. Noll Tumper 
 was wont to say that he never left a house with such 
 celerity as he did the Duke's mansion in Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields. 
 
 It was not, however, in his Grace's nature to bear 
 resentment, and when the irritation occasioned by 
 his disappointment had passed away, he began to 
 be diverted, and even to divert his friends with the 
 humour of the incident. He admitted that he had 
 brought the thing upon himself by his own exube- 
 rant protestations of gratitude to a man whom he 
 ought to have despised, and who was forgotten as 
 soon as his electioneering service was rendered. 
 And in the end he kept his word to Noll. Unable 
 to raise him to the throne of Spain, he made him — 
 an exciseman ! 
 
 William SA^VYER. 
 
 t^s^-gS^JS^-^^S^ssa 
 
 IL PENSEROSO. 
 
 " Seu ratio dederit seu fors objecerit." 
 
 HoR. : Sat. I. 2. 
 
 N the days long since, heigho ! 
 When we used to undergo 
 All the irksomeness of school, 
 No one thought himself a fool; 
 And yet the truth one can't disguise. 
 Very few could win a prize. 
 And though the binding of each book, 
 Which e'en the lucky winners took, 
 With rich emblazonments might glow. 
 Still the contents were often slow ; 
 Perhaps a " Life of Ham and Shem," 
 Or " Treatise on Jerusalem ;" 
 And when we now the world survey, 
 Just the same it seems to-day. 
 
 Some people set their hearts on cash, 
 While others think that money 's trash ; 
 Some wish to earn a fleeting fame, 
 And some to win a glorious name ; 
 And some there are who think that love 
 Is every other thing above. 
 There 's many another strong desire, 
 Which to set down would only tire. 
 
 Now, though some few may get the prize, 
 Which none but they themselves despise, 
 Yet nearly all leave off by finding-r- 
 The Book is not quite worth the Binding ! 
 
 J. Goldsmith.
 
 LONG, LONG AGO. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a young and lorely Princess, who thought herself younger and lovelier than all the other Princesses. 
 
 And there was also a young and lorely Prince, who endeavoured to promote harmony among the young and lovely Princesses but 
 
 the y. and 1. Princesses declined respectfully to listen to him. 
 
 So he went and requested the assistance of a certain magician. Now, the magician was an ancestor of our fri'-nd Tympkvns, and 
 he said, " Where, O Prince, is the talisman?" And when he had received the talisman, he proceeded to business ;
 
 LONG, LONG AGIO. 
 
 Also to the palace. And looked in in a friendly way on the y. and 1. Princesses ; 
 
 Refusing to^o till they had settled their little difierences by agreeing to toss for precedence. 
 
 Then the Spirit of Peace descended, and the Princesses lived happily ever after. As for the magician Tvmpkyns, the Prince Tery 
 
 properly provided for him. So he got his talisman back again.
 
 74 
 
 THE PHANTOM FISHING-BOAT. 
 
 THE PHANTOM FISHING-BOAT. 
 
 T is the night of All Souls. The sea is sombre and grey; 
 
 And the wind comes in with a wailing sound as of voices far away — 
 Far away in the distance. There are hearts know well, how far 
 From the little pier, on the sea-coast here, those well-loved voices are. 
 
 Yes ! along the pier in the driving fog the fisherwomen wait, 
 
 For the boats are due from Newfound-land, and the little fleet is late. 
 
 Oh, the season has been a wild one, and all the length of the coast 
 
 Each wave that broke, of the tempest spoke, and the white foam flew like a ghost. 
 
 Out of the narrow harbour to the icebound ocean wide 
 
 The little fleet had borne away all Pollet's boast and pride, — 
 
 The old men with their wisdom, the young men with their strength, 
 
 And the little lads whose turn must come to take their place at length. 
 
 They sailed — sailed out of the harbour. They sailed — sailed into the bay, 
 Till the pier-head light and the spectral cliffs in the night-gloom sank away. 
 Now the fishing-season is over, and the mothers and wives are here, 
 Watching — waiting — to see the fleet of the flshing-boats appear. 
 
 The sea-mist is dank and heavy, and the lights burn wan and dim. 
 At the foot of the great tall crucifix there kneel to pray to Him — 
 Who can bring the distant dear one o'er the ocean strong and wild — 
 Full many a wife and mother, and many a trusting child. 
 
 " A boat !" A boat in the offing ! Her tawny canvas was spread. 
 As out of the mist she plunged o'er the foam, and neared the old pier-head, 
 And under the Ice she glided, sheet loosened, with flapping sail ; 
 While over the hull one great grey gull did wail — and wail — and wail ! 
 
 Then the rope is flung — but never a tongue is heard from the vessel's deck ; 
 And the rope is fast ; but with fear o'ercast their cheer the watchers check. 
 But here arc Elise, and Mere Louise, and here is La Veuve Toinette, 
 To join one and all the ship to haul to the quai, with her canvas set. 
 
 And little Jean must tug at the rope, though his hmbs are not yet strong. 
 And Nanette's wee babe stretches down a hand, as she hauls the ship along. 
 And so on its way to the fisher's quai they tow the silent bark. 
 That into the harbour sailed from the sea, so sombre and grey and dark. 
 
 But when, by the great tall crucifix, whence the suffering Lord looks down, 
 And the blue-robed Virgin blesses the boats that sail from the little town, 
 
 That vessel slid, in the mist half-hid, she vanished like mist away, 
 
 And the idle rope in the toilers' hands like a severed cable lay ! 
 
 And every hand, that touched a strand of the phantom vessel's rope. 
 Clasped never again, from over the main, the hand that had been its hope. 
 The fleet returned ! But many a boat that had sailed from the pier so gay, 
 With her luckless crew, slept under the blue of the waters far away. 
 
 And still on the night of All Souls, when they 're due from Newfound-land, 
 
 Does that phantom come, by the spirits dumb of the year's drowned fishers manned ; 
 
 And still the wives, and the mothers, and the children haul on the rope, 
 
 Till the ship is towed to the crucifix, where they've breathed such prayers of hope. 
 
 And those who must do it do it ! for they know that this thing must be 
 
 For the peace of the souls of the loved ones who have lost their lives at sea. 
 
 Can you smile at the quaint old legend of the sunken vessel's wraith. 
 
 At the tears in the eyes of the children, or the weeping women's faith .^ T. HoOD.
 
 A HUNGRY BOY. 
 
 75 
 
 A HUNGRY BOY. 
 
 jT was no fault of mine that I was a very 
 small boy with a very large appetite ; that 
 almost as soon as I could toddle and talk, 
 I used to circumnavigate the table on a pair of very 
 unseaworthy legs, and keep on saying, " I 'm so 
 'unglv, what shall I eat ? " If blame is to be attached 
 to any one, that one is Dame Nature, who blessed 
 me with the means to attain the great end of five 
 feet ten and a pair of broad shoulders. 
 
 From my own recollections though — I acknow- 
 ledge the fact — I was a great — well, perhaps not 
 " great," but constant — eater. At home I was nick- 
 named "Alderman Gobble ;" at school, " The Wolf," 
 " Lean-and-Hungry," " Old Voracity," " Silkworm," 
 &c., &c. 
 
 The constancy of my eating, the incessant desire 
 for food, I have looked upon in mature life from a 
 scientific point of view "Darwinism !" I said to 
 myself, triumphantly ; "here in my own person is a 
 proof of the truth of that great man's theory." 
 
 What proof? Why, behold it ! Has not nature 
 left in me the same constant desire for food that 
 exists in the herbivora, which eat from the time of 
 waking in the morning till they sleep at night ? 
 
 But my object here is not to discuss science, only 
 to relate fragments — should I not rather say, to piece 
 together fragments ? — of my early life. I confess it 
 at once — the devouring element fii'ed the whole of 
 my youthful days ; I lived to eat ; my amusements 
 took the form of preparing food, and my excursions 
 always resolved themselTes into a hunt for food. 
 
 One of my earliest recollections is that of being 
 petted by a gentleman friend who kept late hours, 
 and, after partaking of my breakfast, going up to his 
 room to get into bed with him, stay till he dressed, 
 and then joining him at breakfast, where the staple 
 was invariably fine York ham. 
 
 In the course of the morning I used to be supplied 
 with surreptitious slices of bread and butter, till the 
 keenness of my scent betrayed the fact of meat 
 
 roasting in the kitchen, to which I descended from 
 the nursery, like a young vulture from on high, to be 
 regaled on sop -in -the -pan — there were no patent 
 kitcheners in those days — to grease my white diaper 
 pinafore, and get into trouble and a clean one on 
 re-ascending to my eyrie perch. 
 
 I dined at one precisely ; after which, if it would 
 only turn wet, and prevent my being marched like 
 a prisoner into the enclosure at St. James's Park, I 
 was safe for sundry other snacks in the kitchen. If 
 it proved dry, the walk had to be taken, with the 
 slight solace that I was allowed either a slice of 
 bread, or a penny for a bun, to feed the ducks in the 
 ornamental water. Ah ! what a waste that seemed to 
 me to be — throwing so much good bread upon the 
 waters without a chance of its coming back to me 
 in the shape of duck ! The ducks did not get it all. 
 
 But to return to the wet days, when I could sneak 
 down to the kitchen where the regular six o'clock 
 dinner was being prepared. Apicius, great devourer 
 of old ! what treats I had given me by that grand 
 woman, our cook ! She used to kiss my four-year- 
 old cheeks, and call me a cherub ; hug me against 
 the creaking busk of her stays until she hurt me ; 
 and in her lavish love cause me to partake of James's 
 powder, and that delightful morning drink called 
 c/icz nous " prune tea," composed of a French plum, 
 boiled in an infusion of salts and senna — medica- 
 ments prescribed by my mother on account of the 
 fevered symptoms I so often evinced. 
 
 But what of the physic, when I had such treats ? — 
 the scrap of currant and raspberry tart left from yes- 
 terday ; the corner of jam open tart, with its cross- 
 ings of pastry; the basin to scrape out in which cup 
 custards had been made, with all that Judy had left 
 behind ; pieces of raw paste, which stuck to my 
 pudgy fingers ; bits of candied peel ; currants and 
 raisins ; raw scraps of rhubarb ; green gooseberries, 
 plums, and greengages. Heavens ! what a glorious 
 digestion I must have had !
 
 76 
 
 A HUNGRY BOY. 
 
 My greatest treat, though, was to be allowed to 
 cook. The roasted snowball did not turn out a suc- 
 cess, and I remember bellowing loudly — I had good 
 lungs — because it was taken away from the fire in 
 its basin when half done, and I perfectly well recol- 
 lect what a quantity of dripping had run down its 
 sides. Other feats of cooking on my part, though, 
 were successes, notably the little puffs made with 
 scraps of paste pinched off by Judy, in which would 
 be enclosed half a dozen currants or a slice of apple ; 
 baked, too, in the oven — half baked, I should say, 
 for my patience never, that I can remember, lasted 
 to the proper pitch. 
 
 It might be supposed that I shou-ld have had no 
 appetite for tea at five o'clock, but this would be an 
 error. I used to partake most heartily of that meal, 
 and be prepared then for a general touch up as to 
 hands, face, and hair, ready for a descent to the 
 dining-room, where, at dessert, my plate, knife and 
 fork, purple and scarlet d'Oyley, and liqueur wine- 
 glass were always placed. 
 
 Apples, pears, oranges, peaches, nectarines, grapes, 
 apricots, crystallized fruits, prunes, figs, almonds and 
 raisins, and nuts, as they were in season, used to fall 
 to my share along with my tiny glass of Madeira. 
 What delights ! what delicious Olympian food, with 
 but one drawback — that I was not allowed to help 
 myself ! And now, how is it that one sits at table 
 and leaves these delicacies untouched ? What has 
 become of childhood's zest in a fig? Gone for ever. 
 
 I may add here that bed was the next performance 
 in those early days, for I was allowed no supper. 
 
 As I grew older, my experiments in cooking and 
 eating were enlarged, and I can chronicle some of 
 great success. I signally failed with the great baking 
 pear, till taught to slice and bake it in ajar; but 
 that codling apple, that was too sour to eat, was a 
 wonderful thing when suspended from a nail in the 
 nursery chimneypiece by a piece of twine tied to 
 its stalk, and roasted before the fire. How it bub- 
 bled, and burst, and fizzed, and emitted jets of odor- 
 ous steam, and oozings of soft apple, which were 
 carefully scraped off with a spoon and eaten as they 
 appeared— a trifle acid, but delicious in the extreme! 
 
 But the success here was not perfect ; in fact, the 
 whole of my cooking was marred by the same draw- 
 
 back — a want of patience to enable me to await the 
 thorough cooking of my food. 
 
 As years passed on I experimented largely, and 
 ate everything that came to hand : gi-ass seed when 
 green and growing ; the young shoots of the haw- 
 thorn ; the seed capsule of the mallow ; the leaves 
 of the barberry as well as its fruit when it appeared ; 
 all ordinary fruit in an unripe state as a matter of 
 course, the more acid and wooden the better — in 
 fact, gooseberries, when very green, are about the 
 most convenient form of fruit I know for provender 
 to stow in your trousers' pockets to eat at church. 
 The only sound they give is a mild scraunch, where 
 an apple would betray ; cherries encumber you with 
 stones ; and currants or strawberries melt into mash. 
 
 But to continue my list. Hips from the dog-rose, 
 haws from the hedges, and sloes from the black- 
 thorn. In nuts I was a hero. I believe I am the only 
 living being who can say that he ate a whole six- 
 penny cocoa-nut at one sitting without feeling a bit 
 the worse for it. Barcelonas and filberts I never 
 measured. Cashew-nuts I was not so partial to ; but 
 Brazils ! How many times have I been corrected 
 at home and abroad for cracking Brazils — " Braz- 
 zeels" we called them — in the hinges of the door! 
 
 I come now to more festive and experimental 
 times. Did you ever eat roast sparrow ? Perhaps 
 so ; but not cooked as I did cook. That sparrow 
 was captured one very snowy day in a brick trap, 
 which I had been watching till half frozen. I was 
 spared the part of butcher by the little fellow being 
 killed by the brick ; but I plucked and dressed that 
 bird most carefully. I singed him as I had seen 
 fowls singed ; I stuffed him with bread-crumbs, 
 pepper, and a bit of butter ; I sewed him up, skew- 
 ered him with two stocking-needles and a bodkin 
 (stolen from Judy's workbox), and I roasted him 
 before the fire. 
 
 Reader, I have dined since then at many a grand 
 " feed," but never with such an appetite, with such 
 appreciation as of the delicious flavour of that ex- 
 quisite bird ! It was beyond description. 
 
 I will pass over my feats in this way at school, 
 and the banquets we boys prepared and ate, at which 
 I was chef, and furnished such delicacies as a couple 
 of thrushes, a lark, and a blackbird. On one occa-
 
 A HUNGRY BOY. 
 
 77 
 
 sion, I own it with grief, one of the two sparrows I 
 roasted was a robin. Then there was the moor-hen 
 that would not be plucked, but had to be skinned ; 
 the pigeon caught in a rat-trap ; the great treat of 
 all — the partridge with a broken wing, which we 
 hunted down and killed in a ditch. I, reader, was 
 the chef -who cooked all these, and we boys ate them 
 darkly at dead of night, with halfpenny stale buns, 
 and washed them down with Spanish liquorice- 
 water, which we fondly compared to stout. I will 
 not dwell on the potatoes I roasted, nor upon the 
 failure I made with Samuel Lunn's little white rab- 
 bit with pink eyes, which died, although I lavished 
 upon it all the resources of my art ; but tell of how 
 from that time I grew secretive, and being badly 
 fed at school, launched into strange experiments to 
 quell the demon that so often gnawed within. 
 
 Our school was in Essex, "pleasantly situated 
 upon the borders of Epping Forest," so the adver- 
 tisements said, and we boys had ample time on our 
 hands for running wild in the wood. I availed my- 
 self of this to construct what I called my cavern, 
 which was, however, only a hole in the side of a 
 gravel-pit, just hidden from sight by a thick over- 
 growth of brambles. Robinson Crusoe never en- 
 joyed himself one-half so well as did I in that hole, 
 where, by degrees, I smuggled a few bricks, an old 
 pail, a tinder-box and matches, a piece of iron hoop 
 for a poker, and armsful of dried wood, and pockets- 
 full of bits of coal. 
 
 I spent every hour I could get, away in that de- 
 lightful solitude, fair weather or foul ; and here I 
 devised traps and caught the birds. Twice over I 
 trapped a little rabbit, cooked him, and ate him — 
 bah ! ate does not express the banquet — feast — 
 supreme delight — even though there was a good deal 
 of wood-ash with the gravy. No boy shared my 
 secret, for fear it should be betrayed ; and here, when 
 other game ran short, I tried my experiments. The 
 first was upon a squirrel, which I knocked down 
 with a stick as he was running from tree to tree, and 
 the result was a delicious roast. 
 
 My next -was upon a hedgehog, which took so large 
 a fire that I was fearful of being betrayed, for I 
 cooked him i\ la zingaroj that is, wrapped him, 
 spines and all, in clay, and baked him in the ashes 
 
 of the wood fire piled over him till done. Then you 
 smash the clay, and out comes the luxurious little pig. 
 
 One day I caught a snake, and here I hesitated, 
 contenting myself with hanging him up in the cavern; 
 but though I had left the long lithe creature there, 
 I had it with me in bed all night in dreams, and I 
 awoke the next morning, determined to do as do the 
 Indians. As soon as I could slip away, I ran off to my 
 cavern, skinned the game like an eel, rolled him up, 
 and skewered him whiting fashion, or rather like a 
 fleshy Catherine wheel, and roasted him before a 
 bonny blaze. I ate that fellow up, and picked the 
 bones quite clean ; and all I can say is, that he was 
 not bad nor yet good. 
 
 I did not search for snakes, and the next I killed 
 I threw away. 
 
 Snails next took my attention, for after a damp 
 day they came out there in large numbers, and of so 
 large a size, that I think I am right in saying that 
 they were the large edible snail said to have been 
 introduced by the Romans. I knew nothing then, 
 only that I was hungry, and I used to feel vexed at 
 seeing so many snails about, so easy to obtain, and 
 yet not like the idea of eating them. 
 
 It took me a week to eat my first snail. First I 
 studied their food, and found that it was always 
 pleasant green leaves. Then I had to get over the 
 thoughts of their sliminess, which I did by recalling 
 that they were not so slimy as eels. Next day I 
 compared them to oysters, to whelks, to mussels, to 
 cockles, to periwinkles, and the result was always 
 favourable ; but still I hung back, even after telling 
 myself that it must be better than snake ; and in 
 the interim I cooked and ate a rat, and the next day 
 four mice, which I had smuggled away in my jacket 
 pocket from Old Baldy's barn, where there had been 
 a rat hunt — a regular battue amongst the rodents. 
 
 Rat is not bad, neither is mouse ; they eat like 
 squirrel sprinkled with musk, and I often used to 
 trap them afterwards, and skin, roast, and eat them 
 in my cave. 
 
 At last, one hungry half-holiday, when we had 
 dined off suet dumplings, so called — but in which 
 the suet was invisible — I ran off to the wood. It 
 was a damp day, and I kicked over several snails as 
 I went to light my fire, which was soon humming.
 
 78 
 
 A HUNGRY BOY. 
 
 merrily, having been lit with an old Mavor's spelling, 
 and being assisted by a piece of broken form. Then 
 I looked at all my traps, and found that one had 
 contained a little rabbit ; but I was too late, for a 
 polecat had been before me, and left nothing but a 
 few scraps of blood-stained fur. 
 
 What was to be done ? I was half famished, and 
 began to chew bits of hazel twig, and — well, I may 
 as well own it — cry, and think about running away 
 from school and going to sea, when — Scrunch ! 
 
 I had trodden upon a snail. 
 
 In a few minutes I had a dozen fine ones in my 
 cap, with which I ran to the cave, and rattled them 
 into an old fire-shovel. The fire had burnt down in- 
 to one bright glow, without a vestige of smoke, and 
 in a sort of desperate fit I held the shovel over, 
 frying-pan fashion. 
 
 Cizzle — fizz — spit — sputter — crack ! They soon 
 began to cook, the wet sliminess disappeared in 
 steam, and before long they seemed to have half 
 dried up in their shells, and to be done. 
 
 At this stage I emptied them on to the piece of 
 
 tin which served me as a plate, took out my pocket 
 
 knife, and the wooden lemon which held my salt. 
 
 Next came the crust of bread which I had smuggled 
 
 rom the dinner-table, and began to eat. 
 
 — The bread, not the snails. 
 
 In fact, I went on nibble, nibble, nibble, at the 
 hard dry crust, until it was nearly all gone. 
 
 Still I did not touch the snails ! 
 
 " Why don't they take me away from this horrible 
 school 1 " 1 thought ; and then I recalled how they 
 said I always looked so rosy and well. " Ah ! they 
 should see the other boys ! " I said, and I thought of 
 the sallow, miserable-looking little fellows, ill taught, 
 badly fed, and dejected. 
 
 Just then I took up a snail, and tried it with the 
 point of my knife, put it down again, and finished 
 my bread. Then, not feeling so hungry, I sat and 
 looked at the repast which I had cooked, till stung 
 up to desperation, as I had been often enough over 
 that filthy jalap at school, I made a wry face, pulled 
 out my snail easily enough, sprinkled him with salt, 
 and ate him ! 
 
 In a moment I had eaten the second ; before a 
 minute had expired I had eaten the lot, and was out 
 
 in the forest paths seeking for more ; and from that 
 day to this I have eaten snails, which, let the reader 
 bear in mind, are looked upon as a delicacy in Paris, 
 even as are the next dish I tried, namely, frogs. 
 
 Somehow, frogs were a failure. I never could get 
 them in sufficient quantity to be of use, but what 
 there is of them is no bad food. The worst of them 
 is that they are mere hollow shams ; for, saving the 
 legs and thighs, the eater finds but little for his 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Mushrooms, though, were one of my great delights, 
 but only in the autumn ; and these had their draw- 
 backs; for when I say mushrooms, I mean those 
 which grow abundantly in Epping Forest, and are 
 known as toadstools. The drawbacks were that 
 I suffered for my experiments, and three times made 
 myself dangerously ill by eating poisonous kinds; 
 but experience taught me what to avoid, and in Sep- 
 tember and October I could always pick a dish and 
 prepare a savoury fry, that made my nostrils exult. 
 In November, too, there was a pale leathery-coloured 
 fellow that grew plentifully amongst the fallen leaves, 
 with the under part covered with tiny spikes. I 
 used to call it the currycomb mushroom, and saving 
 that it was rather tough, I found it delicious and 
 wholesome. That and a golden orange fellow, which 
 I found in the green moss amongst the hazels earlier 
 in the year, made me many a fry, and I have since 
 found that my boy's discrimination had led me to 
 choose the Hydmim and the Chantarellc, kinds in 
 capital odour amongst the fungus-eaters of our land. 
 
 Strange times those were, when school inspectors 
 had not been dreamed of, and there was more than 
 one Wackford Squeers in the land; but, in spite 
 of my strange foods, does it occur to the reader that, 
 after all, that which we eat and drink is to a great 
 extent a matter of custom .? Let them be unknown 
 in our list of edibles, and then let some one introduce 
 to notice, as good for food, the hare, the eel, the 
 oyster, the periwinkle, the crab, the turtle, and the 
 pig,— what would be the verdict of the many ? 
 
 Perhaps the reader will not be surprised to hear 
 that I favour the proceedings of the Acclimatization 
 Society, and that quite lately I have eaten eland and 
 l;)elieve in kangaroo ! 
 
 Geo. Manville Fenn.
 
 A PIG'S TALE. 
 
 79 
 
 A PIG'S TALE. 
 
 ATHER JAMES was an excellent monk. 
 He was never suspected of getting drunk ; 
 And at girls he decidedly never wunk, 
 As some of the monks at times did. 
 He was one of the very best of cooks, 
 And read in the inmost Refectory nooks 
 Dame Glasse's and Demoiselle Acton's books, 
 
 And all their receipts into rhymes did. 
 
 But though not given to flirt or swig, 
 
 He had one little weakness — or, rather, big !— 
 
 He doated — he downright doated on pig — 
 
 From chitterling right to crackling ; 
 And at times when matins he had to say, 
 His thoughts were a little apt to stray 
 In search of the best and most succulent way 
 
 Of some pigly portion tackling. 
 
 One day while his path he chanced to pick, 
 
 Where the mast was lying deep and thick. 
 
 His heart (or stomach) was touched to the quick 
 
 At sight of a luscious porker. 
 A pig with a cheek that was fat and wide, 
 A pig with a mighty expanse of side, 
 A pig that would crackling largely provide — 
 
 In short, a regular corker ! 
 
 Poor Father James could not help but sigh, 
 As the swine he eyed with a loving eye. 
 Nor knew there was hid in a bush hard by 
 
 The King of the Elves and Fairies, 
 Who nightly danced the turf into rings, 
 And knotted the cobwebs into swines. 
 Those funny, freakish, fanciful things. 
 
 That with mortals play vagaries. 
 
 Now, the pig whereon Father James had set 
 His gluttonous heart was the royal pet, 
 Which made the Fairydom monarch get 
 
 In a furious towering passion ; 
 
 And he swore by The Acorn and Nightingale — 
 (An oath which to keep he dared not fail) — 
 That this greedy monk he would assail, 
 
 And punish in fearful fashion. 
 
 So he summoned his fays of all degrees. 
 
 And on Father James he bade them seize,' 
 
 And — as monarchs always have what they please — 
 
 They quickly brought him the Father. 
 And soon the unfortunate friar's head 
 From his fat old shoulders was sharply shred, 
 And they clapped on him that of a pig instead, 
 
 Which was inconvenient, rather. 
 
 And when Father James recovered the brunt, 
 He tried to protest against the affront. 
 But all he could utter was just a grunt, — 
 
 Not a pleasant way of speaking. 
 He felt inclined at the change to cry, 
 A tear rolled out of his little round eye. 
 And he strove — he struggled to heave a sigh, 
 
 But it only sounded like squeaking. 
 
 And when to the convent he took his way, 
 He filled his brother monks with dismay — 
 " Can this be good Father James V cried they. 
 
 But he didn't answer the question ; 
 For just at that moment he groaned, and woke 
 From a dream, that was not at all a joke. 
 But such as surfeits of pork can provoke — 
 
 The anguish of indigestion. 
 
 Father James took a hermit's cell near Cork, 
 And gave up plying his knife and fork 
 Upon ribs and chines and quarters of pork. 
 
 And all such savour}^ messes. 
 Instead of unwholesome dishes like these, 
 He took to beans and to grey split peas. 
 With a frugal repast (when it didn't freeze) 
 
 Of plain cold water and cresses. 
 
 T. H.
 
 Jl IPIG'S TA-IlilB
 
 Jl. :PIC3-'S T^XjIB
 
 82 
 
 A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 
 
 A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 
 
 Y brother and I are twins. There can be 
 no mistake about that, for our likeness to 
 each other is so great that it is positively 
 unpleasant to our friends and ourselves. The cele- 
 brated Corsican Brothers were not more alike than 
 we are : that is, as far as personal appearance goes ; 
 beyond that Jim and I are utterly dissimilar. For 
 instance: I am fond of trade, Jim hates it; I have 
 a great dislike to horse-racing, Jim dotes upon what 
 he pleases to call " the Turf ; " I avoid danger to such 
 an extent that I have heard some uncharitable people 
 call my caution cowardice ; now, nothing pleases my 
 brother better than running risks; I am quiet and 
 peaceable to a fault, while Jim is always up to mis- 
 chief and constantly in hot water ; in a word, two 
 creatures more alike in features and unlilce in cha- 
 racter never existed. 
 
 Of course this likeness caused us no end of 
 trouble. Many and many a time I have had to 
 answer for Jim's faults. If he robbed the orchard, 
 I was sure to be beaten for it, although I detested 
 unripe fruit, and therefore could not share in the 
 plunder for which I had to pay the penalty. 
 
 For all that, we were the best of friends, and 
 always ready to assist each other in any way we 
 could, and, in spite of all the annoyances, never 
 quarrelled. 
 
 At the age of fourteen Jim and I were apprenticed 
 to a butterman, who resided at Acton. Of course 
 I was the masters favourite, for I stuck well to busi- 
 ness, whilst Jim spent all his leisure time with the 
 men from the training stables, and took more inte- 
 rest in making up a betting-book than in serving the 
 customers. When we had served our time I deter- 
 mined to start in business, and asked my brother to 
 join me, but he would not listen to my proposal. 
 
 " No, no, Dick," he said; " I 've done with butter 
 and bacon for ever — that is, except for breakfast or 
 tea. I intend going in for horse-racing. I have 
 
 already put a few pounds on the Derby, and am now 
 busy making up a book for Ascot." 
 
 In vain I tried to persuade him to give up the 
 idea; he was determined, and when Jim had made 
 up his mind, nothing could make him alter it. I was 
 very sorry, for I looked upon Jim as entirely lost; 
 for, in my opinion, betting meant bankruptcy, both 
 in cash and honour. However, I trusted that Jun 
 would soon see the folly of his ways, and would be 
 glad to join me in my shop. I pictured to myself the 
 happiness I should feel when that moment arrived 
 (for that my shop would fail never entered my 
 thoughts, more than it did that Jim would ever make 
 a fortune by betting, as he has since done), and be- 
 came almost anxious for the news that my brother 
 had lost his money. 
 
 It was a proud day for me when I first opened my 
 shop in High Street, Whitechapel ; my bosom 
 heaved with delight at the sight of my first customer, 
 who, by the way, only bought an ounce of butter; but 
 it was the commencement of the gigantic trade I 
 intended to do, and therefore I was happy. As the 
 day advanced my trade increased, and at night when 
 I counted the contents of my till, I found that I had 
 every reason to congratulate myself, and, therefore, 
 in a luckless hour determined to smoke a pipe and 
 have a glass in the parlour of a neighbouring public 
 house. Accordingly, I put on my hat and started 
 off, and in a icv! minutes I was comfortably seated 
 in the snug parlour, puffing my tobacco and quaffing 
 my ale. 
 
 The company was neither numerous nor select, 
 being mostly composed of butchers, a set of men of 
 whom. I have rather a horror— I don't know why. 
 They are a highly useful and, I have no doubt, 
 honest set of men ; but all people have their anti- 
 pathies, and butchers are one of mine. However, 
 I disguised my feelings, and joined in the conver- 
 sation, hoping thereby to make myself agreeable
 
 A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 
 
 83 
 
 to the company, amongst whom were many of my 
 neighbours. 
 
 How I did it I cannot tell, but, by some means, 
 I managed to offend a big, hulking fellow, who I 
 recognized as the owner of a butcher's shop exactly 
 facing my establishment. I tried all I could to 
 soothe the monster, but he glared at me like an 
 ogre, and made such very strong remarks that I 
 thought it better to keep silent, hoping thereby to 
 let the storm blow over. Vain hope ! the butcher 
 being unable to speak ia me, in consequence of my 
 silence, vented his malice by speaking at me. He 
 complained about tradesmen opening new shops in 
 opposition to the old ones ; declared that he had 
 been made quite sick by some bad butter he had 
 seen that day ; and hoped, when the inspector of 
 weights and measures visited the neighbourhood, 
 that he would look after some shopkeepers in par- 
 ticular, for he, Mr. Grote, had watched one fellow 
 tampering with his weights and scales all day. 
 
 I knew he meant me, for I certainly had amused 
 myself in the intervals of serving my customers by 
 polishing up my scales and weights, and as I saw by 
 their looks that the company knew that the wretch 
 intended me, I had no help for it but to reply. 
 
 "Sir," said I, in the most conciliatory manner pos- 
 sible, " I am exceedingly sorry that I should have 
 unwittingly offended you, as it appears I have done ; 
 but I cannot fail to see that your observations are 
 evidently intended for me." 
 
 "If the cap lits, you may wear it," grinned the 
 brute. " I shan't mention names, to give any one 
 the opportunity of getting the law of me : I ain't so 
 green." 
 
 "The cap does not fit," I replied, "for I beg to say 
 that my butter is excellent, my scales just, and that 
 all your accusations are entirely false." 
 
 With a howl of rage, the brute sprang from his 
 seat and dashed his pipe in my face. Luckily, two 
 of his companions seized him, so that I was able to 
 make my escape from the room ; but as I fled I could 
 hear him vociferating, " Come on, you coward — let 
 me go— yah ! you cur!" and so on, until I had left 
 the house. 
 
 Fi'om that moment my life was one of misery. 
 That horrid wretch Grote would not let me alone : 
 
 he teazed me morning, noon, and night, until I be- 
 came the laughingstock of the neighbourhood, and 
 consequently my trade fell off until ruin seemed to 
 stare me in the face. My neighbours avoided me 
 as if I had the plague, and some even went so far 
 as to join the butcher in annoying me, so that at last 
 I became frightened to go out, and passed my even- 
 ings in the little parlour behind my shop, making up 
 my books. 
 
 One night whilst I was so engaged a ring came 
 at the bell. I opened the door, and a man clad in a 
 long cloak, the collar of which was turned up so as 
 to conceal his face, rushed into the passage, a pro- 
 ceeding I no sooner remarked than I immediately 
 prepared to rush out into the street, for I cannot 
 bear burglars ; but before I could execute my pur- 
 pose the fellow caught me by the shoulder, and, in 
 tones that froze my very blood, whispered in my ear, 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Dick : come in and shut the 
 door, or I shall be seized." 
 
 "Jim !" I stammered. "Why, what is the matter?" 
 
 " Shut the door and come into the parlour ; then 
 I will tell you." 
 
 I did as he commanded, and then waited impa- 
 tiently for the explanation of this sudden and mys- 
 terious visit. 
 
 "Phew!" said Jim, as he threw off his cloak; 
 " I 've had a narrow escape." 
 
 " But how have you had an escape .-' and from 
 what have you escaped .'' " 
 
 " Dick, I am ruined !" cried my brother, throwing 
 himself into a chair. " I backed the wrong horse 
 for the St. Leger, and have lost all my money." 
 
 "I knew you would, Jim," I said; "I knew you 
 would. But it 's no use crying over spilt milk, as 
 the proverb says : you must come and share with 
 me, though Heaven knows that I have not much to 
 offer you, for that horrid butcher has nearly ruined 
 mc." 
 
 "You 're a good fellow, Dick; but I have worse 
 news still. You must know that I had a thousand 
 pounds placed in my hands to buy horses for a gen- 
 tleman. So convinced was I that Vanderdecken 
 would win this race, that I not only put /ny money 
 on him, but also that which I had in trust. I have 
 lost all, and have had to fly to avoid the police." 
 
 6 — 2
 
 84 
 
 A SLIGHT MISTAKE. 
 
 This frightful news so overcame me that I could 
 only wring my hands and exclaim, " Oh, what is to 
 be done ? what is to be done? " 
 
 " This is what must be done," said Jim, in a hur- 
 ried whisper : " you must take my clothes and my 
 name, and I will take yours in exchange ; you must 
 go down to Acton to my rooms, and I will carry on 
 your business here. Do you see?" 
 
 " Yes, I see; but the police may arrest me by mis- 
 take." 
 
 "Of course they will; that's the beauty of the 
 thing. I expect to make a hatful of money over the 
 next race, and when I have done that I shall show 
 up, declare that the whole affair has been a mistake, 
 either pay the thousand pounds or buy the horses; 
 you will be released, and can bring an action for 
 damages for false imprisonment." 
 
 "Yes, that's all very well, Jim; but suppose you 
 should not win all this money ? 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear fellow; I 7iiust win it. It's 
 as safe as the bank." 
 
 "Yes, but so was Vanderdecken." 
 
 " Oh, bother Vanderdecken ! I tell you I must 
 win; besides, should I fail, I bolt over to France; 
 then you prove your identity, they must release you, 
 and /here you are." 
 
 " Yes ; but in the meantime I shall be in prison." 
 
 " Not necessarily : you must keep close, and then 
 perhaps they may not find you. I will give you a 
 letter to my friend. Bob Kirby — you are sure to find 
 him at the ' Bit and Bridle' — and he will tell you 
 what to do. You must not write to me here. Bob 
 will do all the writing, and let you know how things 
 are going. Now, come and let us change clothes; 
 there is not a moment to lose, or you will be too 
 late for the train." 
 
 "But my business?" I gasped, for I did not like 
 the job at all. 
 
 " Oh ! I can take care of that : you know I under- 
 stand the trade." 
 
 " But the butcher ?" 
 
 " I must put up with him, I suppose," said Jim, 
 looking rather blue. " Of course it is not plea- 
 sant, but nothing is in this world, and as you have 
 stood his insults for so long a time, I suppose I 
 shall be able to bear it for a little while. There is 
 
 the letter; now off with your clothes and put on 
 mine." 
 
 How Jim did it I can't say, but in less than a 
 quarter of an hour I was dressed in his clothes and 
 turned out of my own house. 
 
 I crept along the road trembling at the sight of 
 a policeman, and wondering at the little notice they 
 took of me. I reached the train in safety, and arrived 
 in Acton without being arrested. 
 
 I found the " Bit and Bridle " and Bob Kirby, to 
 whom I delivered the letter. He read it, and at once 
 took me to Jim's rooms, advising me not to move 
 therefrom if I valued my liberty. Need I say that I 
 felt very uncomfortable, and obeyed his orders to 
 to the letter? 
 
 On the second night after my arrival in Acton, 
 Mr. Kirby came to my rooms and told me I must 
 prepare to start for London at once. 
 
 " You must take care you are not seen," he con- 
 tinued ; " for if you were caught now, things would 
 be very awkward. Tell Jim he must come down 
 here at once : he had better walk down, for the 
 trains may be watched. If he can get down with- 
 out being seen, all will be well ; but if not, I fear 
 they will try to make it a case of conspiracy." 
 
 Oh, how bitterly I repented having consented to 
 leave my butter-shop ! for, all things considered, 
 the police were to me worse than the butcher. By 
 keeping myself a strict prisoner in my own house, I 
 could avoid the butcher ; but there was no safety 
 from the police. 
 
 With a beating heart I crept up to my own shop, 
 and knocked gently at the door, which was opened 
 directly by Jim, to whom I delivered my dreadful 
 message. 
 
 " I must be off at once, Dick," he said : " we must 
 change clothes directly ! You will be all right, for I 
 have made every one believe I was you. I make a 
 capital tradesman after all. I 've sent your business 
 up wonderfully ! " 
 
 " I 'm very glad to hear it, Jim ; I 'm sure it needed 
 it. But how about the butcher?" 
 
 " Oh, he has been a great nuisance, certainly ; 
 but look here, Dick : don't you be half so easy with 
 him. I don't believe he has half the pluck he pre- 
 tends to have."
 
 SAINT OR SINNER? 
 
 58 
 
 " I do — I know it ! " was my rueful answer ; " but 
 if the business is improving, I shall try to put up 
 with the annoyance." 
 
 " That 's right, Dick ! And, now, good bye ! I 'm 
 much obliged to you for what you have done. If 
 any of the girls say you made love to them, you will 
 know that I am the culprit — only don't you say so, 
 but keep the fun up. It's not disagreeable work, I 
 can assure you. Ha ! ha ! ha ! nobody would believe 
 you if you were to swear it was me ! So good bye, 
 and take care of yourself ! " 
 
 With a hearty laugh Jim went on his road ; and I, 
 with a sad heart, sought my bed. 
 
 I arose very early the next morning and took 
 down the shutters, so as to avoid meeting that 
 horrid butcher. A few minutes afterwards a very 
 pretty girl came fluttering into the shop, and, with 
 many a pretty smile and simper, purchased half a 
 pound of best fresh butter. 
 
 " Why, how dull you are this morning, Mr. Per- 
 kins ! " she exclaimed, with a pretty sly glance. 
 " Dull ? " I replied, in a dreamy manner. 
 " Oh, nonsense !" she cried, "it is no good put- 
 ting on that modest air, after the way you behaved 
 yesterday. Do you know, when you first came here, 
 we all thought you such a sneak — at least, most of 
 us did ; but I always said that you were not so 
 demure as you wished to make out — and the way 
 you snatched that kiss from me yesterday proves it !" 
 "So," thought I, "that is the way Master Jim 
 has been improving my business, is it ? " 
 
 I looked at the little rosy mouth, and could not 
 blame him — nay, I ventured to follow his example, 
 and did so with the greatest success. 
 
 " Do you know," said the young lady, putting her 
 arms on the counter — " do you know I have liked 
 you ever since you thrashed that big bully, Grote 
 the butcher ? " 
 
 "What !" I exclaimed, in amazement, "thrashed 
 Grote?" 
 
 " Of course you did, when he came over here 
 swearing he would pull your nose ! Oh, I did like 
 the cool way in which you went to meet him, and 
 knocked him down. It was splendid/" 
 
 Could it be possible .'' Had my twin brother 
 thrashed the butcher, and left me to reap the glory? 
 As if to confirm my suspicions, at that very instant 
 Grote appeared in his shop — and, oh, his face ! ! It 
 was one mass of bruises ! I stepped out on to the 
 pavement to have a look at him closer. On seeing 
 me he bowed politely, but I merely shook my fist 
 at him, and he retreated rapidly. 
 
 I cannot describe how my business increased from 
 that day, and all through Jim's boldness and light- 
 heartedness. During the day I received a letter 
 from my dear brother, in which he informed me that 
 he had not lost his money ; but having heard of my 
 misery, he invented this little plot to save me. 
 
 I have now several large shops. Jim has never 
 joined me, he having retired from the turf, and be- 
 come a gentleman farmer. I am married, and have 
 a large family. My eldest boy is about to marry 
 Miss Grote, Grote having become very good friends 
 with me, and, what is better, very rich. But, good 
 friends as we are, I have never thought it worth my 
 while to inform him of his siighi mistake. 
 
 Alfred R. Phillips. 
 
 SAINT OR SINNER? 
 
 N CE the painter strove ior ever upward — 
 Spurned earth's failure, aimed at hea- 
 ven's completeness, 
 Soaring skyward as on seraph's pinions — 
 Aimed not just to reproduce a landscape. 
 
 Peasant figures filling-in the foreground, 
 Wax-and-honey women picking posies, 
 Sailors drinking on the roofs of taverns. 
 Models grouped for scenes in play or story | 
 Painting now is far too photographic,
 
 86 
 
 SAINT OR SINNER? 
 
 And the brush allows the lens is rival ! 
 Those old painters saw the heavens opened — 
 Saw the new Jerusalem, and saw there 
 Saints in phalanx fading into distance, 
 Over-hovered by unnumbered cherubs. 
 Could the camera compete with those men — 
 Fra Angelico — Andrea even — 
 Or that king of men, my prince of painters, 
 'Tolomdo Esteban Murillo?" 
 
 So discoursed our hero Dick Chevalley, 
 
 By the fireside of his splendid studio, 
 
 In his velvet jacket broadly braided 
 
 Up the seams with mystic convolutions, 
 
 Gordian knots from wristband up to elbow, 
 
 Velvet slippers richly silk-embroidered, 
 
 Fez of scarlet on his locks of raven. 
 
 So he spoke, inhaling and outbreathing 
 
 In the interv-als blue rings of vapour 
 
 From the bowl, with perfumed stem of cherr}'-, 
 
 Wherein glowed the rarest Latakia, 
 
 With a pinch of Cavendish besprinkled. 
 
 To combine a flavour with a fragrance. 
 
 We in semicircle sat around him, 
 
 His, disciples, puffing cigaritos. 
 
 Though a pipe apiece lurked in our pockets ! 
 
 But to smoke our mere returns or bird'seye 
 
 Seemed to us a sort of desecration 
 
 In his presence, 'mid his studio's grandeur. 
 
 Grand it was in glory mediaeval 
 
 Touched in parts with the luxurious modern ; — 
 
 True ! on silver dogs the fire was buildcn, 
 
 But before it lay a Turkish hearth-rug 
 
 Much more cosy than a strew of rushes. 
 
 Dimly lit it was, with tall wax tapers, 
 
 Slightly reminiscent of an altar. 
 
 Gas was none — the eye, that on the canvas 
 
 Daylong wearies, cannot bear the flicker. 
 
 But within the studio's dim recesses 
 
 Every taper had his special star-beam. 
 
 Glinting back from some old suit of armour, 
 
 Glass of \'cnice, glaze of earthen vessel, 
 
 Or of metal casket deftly hammered. 
 
 He was great, our hero, Dick Chevalley — 
 
 Always on the line on those May Mondays, 
 
 Visitor of nobles, and receiving 
 
 Calls from dealers — men "who had their prices," 
 
 Which were never shorter than three figures. 
 
 '"Tolomdo Estebdn Murillo," 
 
 Dick continued, rolling o'er his palate 
 
 Every syllabic, as would a Spaniard 
 
 Roll the olla that smacks well of garlick. 
 
 " 'Tolomdo Estcbdn Murillo — 
 
 Ah, dear boys, he was indeed a painter ! 
 
 'Twas with 'blood and milk' they said he painted, 
 
 Not meguilp or any other modern medium ! 
 Blood and milk ! The milk for neck and forehead, 
 And the blood for lips and cheeks so tender, 
 Where it blushed beneath the finer tissues. 
 Ah, his Virgins with the Holy Infant, 
 His St. Johns — how exquisitely painted ! 
 There 's the painter — winging ever upward, 
 With a soul in rapture of devotion, 
 Day and night in a divine communion 
 With the company of saints and angels — 
 Even, mind you, at his frugal meal-time. 
 For his masterpiece, in my opinion. 
 Is that Virgin with the Holy infant 
 Painted on a common dinner-napkin 
 While he was residing at the convent 
 Of the Capuchins, to paint them frescoes 
 For their chapel, in his birthplace, Seville. 
 Cannot you imagine how the painter, 
 Rising hastily from simple viands. 
 With his soul possessed of inspiration, 
 Hurried to the homely cell allotted 
 For his studio — seized the brush and palette- 
 Would not lose his thought to find a canvas — 
 Nailed up on the rough-hewn door the napkin 
 He had brought, unthinking, from the table — 
 Fixed thereon the image of his vision. 
 Turned the vision into a creation. 
 Still it lives — the Virgin, thoughtful, tender, 
 With her maiden innocence for halo, 
 And the Babe, with earnest eyes, who struggles — 
 So it seems — from out the frame, as knowing 
 He must do the Father's work, and struggled 
 To accomplish it, and crown the mercy. 
 Ah, he was indeed a sacred painter, 
 'Tolomco Estebiin Murillo ! " 
 
 Thus Chevalley, while we awestruck listened, 
 Rather proud to smoke the cigaritos. 
 Making us seem kindred to that Spaniard, 
 'Tolomeo Estebdn Murillo, 
 Though in truth these selfsame cigaritos 
 Were imported — or they lied — from Russia! 
 
 Only — finishing the semicircle, 
 
 Sitting opposite to Dick Chevalley, — 
 
 Libriverm, the gaunt and cynic student. 
 
 Smoked his pipe, and sneered at cigaritos. 
 
 London straws, he said, and navvy's baccy — 
 
 Give him those ! — the children might smoke paper. 
 
 So he sat there puffing like a furnace. 
 
 As his custom was when he dissented. 
 
 And — for he dissented nearly always — 
 
 He, like Jove, lived in a cloud for ever. 
 
 Thence, when Dick was silent, forth a voice came : 
 
 '"Tolomdo Estebdn Murillo 
 
 Was not quite so gracious as you paint him :
 
 SAINT OR SINNER? 
 
 87 
 
 Just your ordinary sort of painter, 
 
 Working honestly to get him money, 
 
 Painting Saints because it was the market — 
 
 Would as soon have painted you Bacchantes 
 
 If he felt quite sure of the commission ; 
 
 Lived about two centuries ago, too : 
 
 Sort of painter you can praise with safety. 
 
 If they skied your picture to admit him, 
 
 ' Blood and milk ' would change to ' blood and 
 
 thunder ! ' — 
 ' Blood and milk ! ' You 've been to Spain ? ' No ! ' 
 
 Bless me ! — 
 Well, you've seen his portrait? Not that either !— 
 He's a forehead, grant you ; but refinement, 
 Such as communes with your saints and angels, 
 Lacks completely. Full lips, ripe and ruddy ; 
 And that fatty bag beneath the eyebrow — • 
 You knovy what I mean — your 'blood and milk,' now, 
 Is the thing in which to paint his portrait : 
 Blood — the animality that warmed him ; 
 Milk — the luxury he took delight in. 
 Milk's a luxury in countries, mind you, 
 Where, for want of better, that thin goat's whey, 
 Innocent of cream, is milk reputed ! 
 Then his Saints, and Virgin with the Infant, 
 Brother Lawrence, or the Convent Barber, 
 And Pepita with»the little Jose. 
 John the Baptist one of those same street-boys : 
 Ragged beggars hunting for— musquitos. 
 Playing knuckle-bone ; the boys he painted 
 Better far than Virgins, saints, or angels. 
 Not in New Jerusalem he found them ! 
 As for humble fare and lenten victual — 
 Never fear ! he dined as any prince might ; 
 Some lay brother, told off for the service. 
 Brought his viands to his own apartment. 
 He Vv'as born in Seville — you 've not seen it ! 
 Then, as the saw says, have missed a marvel ; 
 Which, as I interpret — seeing Seville 
 Famous is for oranges and women — 
 Is the marvel that the women's faces 
 And the oranges are like in colour. 
 Never been in Spain, and you a painter ! 
 Whence then came this mandolin, old fellow t " 
 
 So he spoke : and, lazily up-reaching. 
 Took the mandolin and screwed the pegs up. 
 Touched with skilful thumb the chords, and chanted 
 To a strain irregular but tuneful : 
 
 " The painter, in his chair reclined. 
 
 Pushed back his plate, and sighed contented ; 
 And, having gloriously dined. 
 
 Lay-brother Thomas complirnented. 
 
 " We little knew of banquet-joys. 
 Old fellow, when we two were boys 
 
 About the streets here. 
 I never dreamt my brush would gain 
 Me riches and repute in Spain, 
 Or you would to such skill attain 
 
 As prove these meats here. 
 
 "And yet the times were jolly too — 
 We had our pleasures, I and you ! 
 Your eye still twinkles 
 At thought of that ! come, take a drink — 
 ' Here's wine and woman' — yes, I think 
 I 've seen you at Paquita wink. 
 
 Despite your wrinkles ! 
 
 "Yes — yes ! and Nita down the town, 
 A lissome damsel, olive-brown, 
 
 I 've seen you eye her. 
 She 'd like a pair of ear-rings, eh .'' 
 A brooch — some trinket in that way : — 
 Suppose you could, old fellow, — say. 
 
 Would you supply her ? 
 
 " Give me that napkin — in a trice 
 I '11 paint you something shall suffice 
 
 To buy her twenty ! 
 A Virgin and a child, eh ? Well, 
 It's just the sort of thing to sell — 
 You 'II quickly have, as I can tell, 
 
 Good bidders plenty. 
 
 " See there ! it's done — go, have your wish; 
 To-night I want an extra dish — 
 
 Of course I sup here ; 
 Some dainty dish, where you excel — 
 And if — come closer while I tell — 
 If some one — in your ear, friend ! — well. 
 You '11 send her up here ! " 
 
 Libriverm broke off — a silence took us. 
 
 And in silence before long departed. 
 
 What 's the fact ? Where find the truth, I wonder ? 
 
 In the rhapsodies of Dick Chevalley 
 
 Or in Libriverm's grim explanation? 
 
 Not in one, I think, nor in the other — 
 
 Somewhere intermediate, I fancy. 
 
 Man that 's gifted with a golden genius 
 
 Is not wholly saint or wholly sinner — 
 
 Just a man. At least that's my conclusion. 
 
 IGNOTUS.
 
 MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF TYMKYNS. 
 
 LfST. STCl.EN.OR STRAVEO. 
 
 It 
 
 K (IT YMKVM 
 
 All the world and his wife have been asking what has become of Tymkyns. The last 
 
 time we saw him he borrowed money 
 of us— the scoundrel. 
 
 We looked everywhere or him 
 
 One day -hHo should we see pass but
 
 A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 
 
 No longer Tymkyns,i you please. Fitzdiddlum & Co., Promoters and Public 
 Benefactors. Clever fellow, Tymkyns. 
 
 This great and good man had even presented 
 statue to his country'. 
 
 ' Be a Joint Stock Company (Limited), 
 o'd boy," said he. 
 
 ' Not if \vc know it," said we. We have not seen him since, and have heard nothing about 
 
 the five shillings we lent him.
 
 90 
 
 A NAUTICAL NOVELTY. 
 
 A NAUTICAL NOVELTY. 
 
 HIS ship was named the Camel. In some 
 respects she was an extraordinary vessel. 
 She measured six hundred tons ; but when 
 she had taken in enough ballast to keep her from 
 upsetting like a shot duck, and was provisioned for 
 a three months' voyage, her crew had to come aboard 
 without anything in their pockets : a moderately- 
 heavy jack-knife, or a screw of tobacco, would have 
 sunk her in a minute. On one of her voyages, just 
 as she was about to leave port, a boat rowed along- 
 side with two passengers, a man and his wife. They 
 had booked the day before, but had remained ashore 
 to get one more decent meal before committing 
 themselves to the " briny cheap," as the man called 
 the ship's fare. The woman came aboard, and the 
 man was preparing to follow, when the captain leaned 
 over the side and saw him. 
 
 " Well," said the captain, " what diO yoii want?" 
 
 "What do /want?" said the man, laying hold of 
 the ladder. " I 'm a-going to New York in this here 
 ship — that 's what I want." 
 
 " Not with all that fat on you," roared the captain. 
 " You don't weigh an ounce less than eighteen stone, 
 and I 've got to have in my anchor yet. You wouldn't 
 have me leave the anchor, I suppose ?" 
 
 The man said he did not care about the anchor — 
 never did like anchors anyhow; but if the ship 
 would wait a bit, he would drink a cruet of vinegar, 
 and reduce his llesh. One of the sailors finally 
 threw him a cork jacket, and when he had put it on, 
 the captain let him come aboard, but warned him 
 that if he was caught eating anything during the 
 voyage he would be handed over to the butcher. 
 
 This was Captain Abcrsouth, formerly of the 
 Mudlark — as good a seaman as ever sat at the 
 masthead reading a three-volume novel. Nothing 
 could equal this man's passion for literature. For 
 every voyage he laid in so many bales of novels that 
 there was no stowage for the cargo. There were 
 novels in the hold, and novels betweendecks, and 
 novels in the saloon, and in the passengers' beds. 
 
 The Camel had been designed and built by her 
 owner, an architect in the City, and she looked about 
 as much like a ship as Noah's Ark did. She had bay 
 windows and a verandah ; a cornice and doors at 
 the water-line. These doors had knockers and ser- 
 vants' bells. There had been a futile attempt at an 
 area. The passenger saloon was on the upper deck, 
 and had a tile roof. To this humplike structure the 
 ship owed her name. Her designer had erected 
 several churches — that of St. Ignotus is still used 
 as a brewery in Hotbath Meadows — and, possessed 
 of the ecclesiastic idea, had given the Camel a tran- 
 sept ; but, finding this impeded her passage through 
 the water, he had it removed. This weakened the 
 vessel amidships. The mainmast was something 
 like a steeple. It had a weathercock. From this 
 spire the eye commanded one of the finest views in 
 England. 
 
 Such was the Camel when I joind her in 1864 
 for a voyage of discovery to the South Pole. The 
 expedition was under the auspices of the Royal 
 Society for the Promotion of Fair Play. At a meet- 
 ing of this excellent association, it had been "re- 
 solved" that the partiality of science for the North 
 Pole was an invidious distinction between two 
 objects equally meritorious ; that Nature had marked 
 her disapproval of it in the case of Sir John Franklin 
 and many of his imitators ; that it served them very 
 well right ; that this enterprise should be under- 
 taken as a protest against the spirit of undue bias ; 
 and, finally, that no part of the responsibility or 
 expense should devolve upon the society in its cor- 
 porate character, but any individual member might 
 contribute to the fund if he was fool enough. It is 
 only common justice to say that none of them were. 
 The Camel merely parted her cable one day while I 
 happened to be on board — drifted out of the harbour 
 southward, followed by the execrations of all who 
 knew her, and could not get back. In two months 
 she had crossed the equator, and the heat began to 
 grow insupportable.
 
 A NAUTICAL NOVELTY. 
 
 91 
 
 Suddenly we were becalmed. There had been a 
 fine breeze up to three o'clock in the afternoon, and 
 the ship had made as much as two knots an hour, 
 when without a word of warning the sails began to 
 belly the wrong way, owing to the impetus the ship 
 had acquired; and then, as this expired, they hung 
 down as lifeless as the skirts of a clawhammer coat. 
 The Camel not only lay stock-still, but went a little 
 backward. Motion was dead in the water; the winds 
 were watching by the corpse. Old Ben, the boat- 
 swain, said " he 'd never knowed but one deader 
 calm," and that, he explained, was when Preacher 
 Jack, the reformed sailor, had got excited in a sermon 
 and said that " Michael would chuck the dragon in 
 the calaboose, and give him a bit of the rope's end, 
 bless his eyes !" 
 
 We lay in this woful state for the greater part of 
 a year, when, growing impatient, the crew deputed 
 me to look up the captain. I looked up the main- 
 mast : he was not there. In a remote cobwebby 
 corner betweendecks I found him, with a book in 
 his hand. On one side of him, with the cords newly 
 cut, were three bales of Miss Braddon ; on the other 
 Mr. Edmund Yates was lying, confusedly and pro- 
 digiously. The captain had finished off Yates and 
 was tackling Braddon. He was much changed. 
 
 " Captain Abersouth," said I, rising on tiptoe, so 
 as to overlook the summit of Mons Yatii, " will you 
 be good enough, sir, to tell me how long this thing 
 is going on?" 
 
 " Can't say, I 'm sure," he replied, without pulling 
 his eyes off the page : " they '11 probably make it up 
 about the middle of the nex' volume. In the mean- 
 time old Pondronummus will foul his top-hamper 
 and take out his papers for Looney Nairn, and young 
 Silkmop will come in for a plum. Then if Susan- 
 gelica don't slew round across his bows, after pizenin' 
 that lubber Thundermuzzle, I don't know nothin' 
 about the deep soundins o' the human heart, that 's 
 all." 
 
 I could not take so hopeful a view of the situation, 
 and went on deck, feeling very much disheartened. 
 I had no sooner got my head out of the hatchway 
 than I observed that we were moving along at a high 
 rate of speed ! 
 
 We had on board a bullock and a Dutchman. 
 
 The former was chained by the neck to the foremast, 
 the latter was allowed a good deal of liberty, being 
 shut up only at night. There was bad blood between 
 the two — a feud of long standing, having its origin 
 in the Dutchman's love of milk and the bullock's 
 sense of dignity. The particular and special cause 
 of offence it would be tedious to narrate. Taking 
 advantage of the animal's afternoon's siesta, the 
 Dutchman had ventured to creep past his enemy, 
 and had gone out on the bowsprit to fish. When the 
 bullock waked, and saw the other creature on the 
 bowsprit, it straddled its chain, levelled its horns, 
 got its hind feet against something solid, and 
 "pointed" dead for the Dutchman. The chain was 
 strong, the mast held, and the ship, as Byron might 
 have said, " walked the water like a thing of course." 
 After that we kept the Dutchman right where he 
 was, night and day, the old Camel making better 
 time than she ever had done during the most deter- 
 mined gale. We still held due south : with a pilot 
 at one end of the ship and a steersman at the other, 
 we could not have got out of our course if we had 
 tried. 
 
 We had now been nine months without meat. If 
 we had had any bread or vegetables, we could have 
 got on very well ; but these had been exhausted two 
 months before the meat was. We could not spare 
 either the bullock or the Dutchman ; the captain 
 was a mere bag of bones. The fish would neither 
 bite nor be bitten. Most of the ropes about the 
 ship had already been used for maccaroni-soup ; 
 all the leather-work, including our boots and old 
 Ben the bo'sen's, had been devoured in omelettes ; 
 with oakum and tar we had made tolerably good 
 salad. After a brief tentative existence as tripe, the, 
 sails had succumbed to the gastric inevitable. The 
 passengers had been eaten before we left port. But 
 two courses remained between which to choose : we 
 could eat ourselves or the captain's novels. Dreadful 
 alternative ; but a choice ! Famine is relentless, but 
 not mean. At the last one may die with his mouth 
 full of meat if he will. But it is seldom that the 
 starving are offered a shipload of the best authors, 
 bound, and ready roasted by the cooks, who call 
 themselves critics. 
 
 We ate that fiction. The works which the captain
 
 92 
 
 A NAUTICAL NOVELTY. 
 
 had thrown aside lasted six months. After they were 
 gone — of course some had to be given to the bullock 
 and the Dutchman — we stood by the captain, taking 
 the books from his hands as he finished them. Some- 
 times, when we were apparently at our last gasp, he 
 would skip a whole page of moralizing, or a bit of 
 description ; and always, as soon as he clearly fore- 
 saw the denoument — which he generally did at about 
 the middle of the second volume — the work was 
 handed over to us without a word of repining. 
 
 The effect of this diet was not unpleasant but 
 peculiar. Physically, it sustained us ; mentally, it 
 exalted us ; morally, it made us but a trifle worse 
 than we were. We talked as no human beings ever 
 talked before. Our wit was polished but without 
 point. As in a stage broadsword combat, every cut 
 has its parry, so in our conversation every remark 
 suggested the reply, and this necessitated a certain 
 rejoinder. The sequence once interrupted, the whole 
 was bosh ; when the thread was broken the beads 
 were seen to be waxen and hollow. We made love 
 to one another, and plotted darkly in the deepest 
 obscurity of the hold. Each set of conspirators had 
 its proper listener at the hatch. These, leaning too 
 "far over, would bump their heads together and fight. 
 'Occasionally there was confusion amongst them : 
 two or more would assert a right to overhear the 
 same plot. I remember at one time the cook, the 
 ■carpenter, the second assistant-surgeon, and an able 
 seaman contended with handspikes for the honour 
 •of betraying my confidence. Once there were three 
 masked murderers of the second watch bending at 
 'the same instant over the sleeping form of a cabin- 
 boy, who had been heard to mutter, a week pre- 
 viously, that he had " Gold ! gold ! " the accumula- 
 tion of eighty — yes, eighty — years' piracy on the 
 high seas, while sitting as M.P. for the borough of 
 Zaccheus-cum-Down, and attending church regu- 
 larly. I saw the captain of the foretop surrounded 
 by suitors for his hand, while he was himself finger- 
 ing the edge of a packing-case, and singing an 
 amorous ditty to a lady-love shaving at a mirror. 
 Our diction consisted, in about equal parts, of clas- 
 sical allusion, quotation from the stable, simper from 
 the scullery, cant from the clubs, and the technical 
 €lang of heraldry. We boasted much of ancestry, 
 
 and admired the whiteness of our hands whenever 
 the skin was visible through a fault in the grease 
 and tar. Next to love, the vegetable kingdom, 
 murder, arson, adultery, and ritual, we talked most 
 of art. The wooden figure-head of the Camel, re- 
 presenting a Guinea nigger detecting a bad smell, 
 and the monochrome picture of two back-broken 
 dolphins on the stern, acquired a new importance. 
 The Dutchman had destroyed the nose of the one 
 by kicking his toes against it, and the other was 
 nearly obliterated by the slops of the cook ; but each 
 had its daily pilgrimage, and each constantly de- 
 veloped occult beauties of design and subtle excel- 
 lencies of execution. On the whole we were greatly 
 altered ; and if the supply of contemporary fiction 
 had been equal to the demand, the Camel, I fear, 
 would not have been strong enough to contain the 
 moral and ^esthetic forces fired by the maceration 
 of the brains of authors in the gastric juices of 
 sailors. 
 
 Having now got the ship's literature off his mind 
 into ours, the captain went on deck for the first time 
 since leaving port. We were still steering the same 
 course, and, taking his first observation of the sun, 
 the captain discovered that we were in latitude 83* 
 south. The heat was insufferable ; the air was like 
 the breath of a furnace within a furnace. The sea 
 steamed like a boiling cauldron, and in the vapour 
 our bodies were temptingly parboiled — our ultimate 
 meal was preparing. Warped by the sun, the ship 
 held both ends high out of the water ; the deck of 
 the forecastle was an inclined plane, on which the 
 bullock laboured at a disadvantage ; but the bow- 
 sprit was now vertical, and the Dutchman's tenure 
 precarious. A thermometer hung against the main- 
 mast, and we grouped ourselves about it as the 
 captain went up to examine the register. 
 
 "One hundred and ninety degrees Fahrenheit !" 
 he muttered in evident astonishment. "Impossible!" 
 Turning sharply about, he ran his eye over us, and 
 inquired in a peremptory tone, " Who 's been in 
 command while I was runnin' my eye over that 
 book ? " 
 
 "Well, captain," I replied, as respectfully as I 
 knew how, " the fourth day out I had the unhappi- 
 ness to be drawn into a dispute about a game of
 
 THE CLASSICAL MUSICIANER. 
 
 93 
 
 cards with your first and second officers. In the 
 absence of those excellent seamen, sir, I thought it 
 my duty to assume control of the ship." 
 
 " Killed 'em, hey?" 
 
 " Sir, they committed suicide by questioning the 
 fairness of my deal and the efficacy of four kings 
 and an ace." 
 
 " Well, you lubber, what have you to say in de- 
 fence of this extraordinary weather?" 
 
 "Sir, it is no fault of mine. We are far — very 
 ar, south, and it is now the middle of July. The 
 weather is uncomfortable, I admit ; but considering 
 the latitude and season, it is not, I protest, un- 
 seasonable." 
 
 " Latitude and season ! " he shrieked, livid with 
 rage — "latitude and season! Why, you junk- 
 rigged, flat -bottomed, meadow lugger, don't you 
 know any better than that ? Didn't yer little baby- 
 brother ever tell ye that southern latitudes is colder 
 than northern, and that July is the middle o' winter 
 here ? Go below, you son of a scullion, or I '11 
 break your bones ! " 
 
 " Oh ! very well," I replied ; " I 'm not going to 
 stay on deck and listen to such low language as 
 that, I warn you. Have it your own way." 
 
 The words had no sooner left my lips, than a 
 piercing cold wind caused me to cast my eye upon 
 the thermometer. The mercury was descending 
 
 rapidly ; but in a moment the instrument was ob- 
 scured by a blinding fall of snow. Towering ice- 
 bergs rose from the water on every side, hanging 
 their jagged niasses hundreds of feet above the 
 masthead, and shutting us completely in. The ship 
 twisted and writhed ; her decks bulged upward, and 
 every timber groaned and cracked like the report of 
 a pistol. The Cmnel was frozen fast. The jerk of 
 her sudden stopping snapped the bullock's chain, 
 and sent both that animal and the Dutchman over 
 the bows, to accomplish their warfare either on the 
 ice or below it — I cannot say which. 
 
 Elbowing my way forward to go below, as I had 
 threatened, the crew tumbled to the deck on either 
 hand like ten-pins. They were frozen stiff. Passing 
 the captain, I asked him sneeringly how he liked the 
 weather under the new regime. He replied with 
 a vacant stare. The chill had penetrated to the 
 brain, and the wind was wandering. He murmured : 
 
 "In this delightful spot, happy in the world's 
 esteem, and surrounded by all that makes existence 
 dear, they passed the remainder of their lives. The 
 End." 
 
 His jaw dropped. The captain of the Camel vfas 
 dead, unless I thaw him out some day for a new 
 story. I have taken him out of worse places than 
 that. 
 
 DOD Grile. 
 
 '^^m^s^My 
 
 THE CLASSICAL MUSICIANER. 
 
 HE music my sympathies warm to 
 Is foreign, and lofty, and classic ; 
 And when I am asked to perform to 
 The folks, private concerts who swarm to, 
 It's like giving beer-drinkers Massic* 
 
 They think I 'm as mad as a hatter. 
 And just as I 'm reaching the pith of it, 
 
 There 's Brown, who is dying to chatter, 
 
 Recalls some irrevelant matter. 
 And must cross the room to tell Smith of it. 
 
 Most indistinct vocalization 
 
 Is heard 'mid a hush transcendantal— 
 But the thing to promote conversation, 
 In your hostess's keen estimation. 
 
 Is music that's just instrumental. 
 
 And, when gossip one's efforts is drowning, 
 One's fingers get feeble and faltery, 
 
 "With which moral" — to borrow a crowning 
 
 Effect from a poem of Browning — 
 
 I close my unrecognized psaltery. G^ 
 
 I 'ide Horace, Carmina, lib. I. Od. I. line 19.
 
 94 
 
 A CONTINUOUS STORY. 
 
 A CONTINUOUS STORY. 
 
 HE vil- 
 lage of 
 
 Mitran 
 Eglise is 
 one of 
 those 
 happy- 
 little 
 villages, 
 blest with 
 an annual 
 f^fe of its 
 own, at 
 which 
 Colin 
 Maillard, 
 or Blind- 
 man's 
 Buff, and 
 a Mat de 
 Cocagjie, 
 or greasy 
 pole, are 
 the chief 
 
 dissipa- 
 tions, and 
 
 waist- 
 coats and 
 
 cravats 
 the great 
 
 prizes. It was also blest with a good parish priest, 
 whom to know was to love, and whom I never failed 
 to visit when I was in the neighbourhood. It was 
 a genuine treat to dine with him, to listen to his 
 learned and pleasant talk, and partake of his excel- 
 lent fare — for Flore was a cook, and the materials 
 for the feast were home produce : a duck or fowl of 
 
 his own fattening ; a salad, from his own garden, 
 and mixed as only he could do it ; home-baked 
 bread ; and a dessert of pears and fruits, that ac- 
 quired extra zest from his disquisitions on their 
 peculiar flavours. You may be sure I was never 
 within a reasonable distance without paying a visit 
 to the good priest's house. One morning, as I was 
 striding along the road to the village, I met a grey, 
 grave old farmer, riding on his donkey and taking 
 his milk to market at the nearest town. As I ap- 
 proached the beast stopped. 
 
 '■'■Pardon f" said I, after a pause, putting the uni- 
 versal French interrogation, on the supposition that 
 the farmer had pulled up to speak to me. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur ! " said he, shaking his head sadly, 
 "it's that confounded girl \" 
 
 I looked about, but could see no girl, so I repeat- 
 ed my question. 
 
 " That Maturine ! " was the answer. 
 
 But still no girl was in view. So once more I put 
 my interrogation. 
 
 "Yes, Maturine — and Alexandre Dumas!" 
 
 I thought, now, he must be a lunatic. " Is Mon- 
 sieur Dumas in this neighbourhood?" I asked. 
 
 He replied that personally that illustrious writer 
 was not there — but his books were. Then raising 
 an appealing hand to heaven, he continued: "Ah, 
 monsieur, what mischief these distinguished authors 
 can do ! She was an excellent servant until she met 
 with Dumas 1" 
 
 "Maturine?" said I. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, " excellent. For the first five 
 years she was with me, there was not a better ser- 
 vant in the Department. She was up every morning 
 between three and four, and well on her way to town 
 with the milk by five. In an evil hour, monsieur, 
 she was induced to purchase a number of Dumas'"
 
 A CONTINUOUS STORY 
 
 romances, which were being published in a cheap 
 form. It was her ruin. She returned to the farm 
 an hour later than usual that day. She had been 
 devouring that book on the road. Everything con- 
 sequently was an hour later — down to the time of 
 her going to bed. Next day she rose an hour late, 
 and of course was an hour late in starting with the 
 milk, and an hour late in coming back. But pic- 
 ture to yourself, monsieur ! Of course, day after day^ 
 what with that original failure of punctuality and 
 an increasing appetite for Dumas' works, she got 
 worse and worse. She started at ten o'clock instead 
 of five ; at midday instead of ten ; until, believe me, 
 monsieur, by the time she had got to the fifty-fourth 
 book of ' Monte Christo,' she used to be starting 
 with her milk-cans at seven o'clock at night, when 
 every one else was returning home. That was the 
 crown of it, monsieur ! The donkey never went 
 fast enough to overtake any one going to market, 
 and if any one overtook it, the effect was if anything 
 to quicken its pace. But now they met all the 
 people of the village, and with every one that con- 
 founded woman would stop and converse. The 
 donkey has never been the same beast since. As 
 monsieur saw, he halts the moment he meets any 
 one, and nothing can persuade him to stir." 
 
 " Then you have to take the milk yourself now," 
 said I. "What has become of Maturine?" 
 
 " Ah ! I was obliged to send her away, monsieur. 
 I bore with her for seventeen years, but there are 
 limits to the patience of every man. Mine gave out 
 at last!" 
 
 I looked at him with admiration. He was ab- 
 solutely excusing himself for not bearing longer 
 with such an infliction as this woman; — after en- 
 during her vagaries so gently all that time ! 
 
 " Ah ! " he continued, " it was sad. Holy Mother ! 
 she got at last to come home close upon midnight, 
 and then nothing would content her but a supper 
 of fried fish ; and after all, you understand, mon- 
 sieur, the smell of frying fish is not agreeable to be 
 waked up by at night when one has been in bed 
 
 three or four hours. Then I found there was a light 
 burning in her room, and I feared it was a fire. Oh, 
 monsieur, the extravagance ! She had a lighted 
 candle, and was reading the seventy-sixth book of 
 ' Monte Christo.' I spoke to her strongly, and ex- 
 tinguished the candle ; but when I was about to 
 rise at half-past three — oh, Heaven ! — there was the 
 light still, and she was sitting up in bed devouring 
 the eighty-first book. It was terrible, monsieur \ 
 it was ignoble ! I was constantly obliged to break 
 my rest in order to see that that miserable woman 
 was not burning candles and reading ' Monte 
 Christo'!" 
 
 "But she must have got through 'Monte Christo 
 in time," said I. 
 
 " I dare say she may some of these days, but she 
 was only at the hundred and fiftieth book when I 
 was obliged to part with her. But there are other 
 works of Dumas published, monsieur, and, if they 
 are all the same length, I don't know what is to 
 become of that unhappy woman ! When the Day 
 of Judgment arrives" — here he crossed himself 
 devoutly — "she will still be sitting by the fire fry- 
 ing fish, with the seven thousand and ninety-second 
 volume of 'Monte Christo' on her lap, and a candle 
 burning to waste on the table at her elbow ! " 
 
 I suppose the old man was no scholar, and took 
 every son part of Dumas' story for a "book," and 
 as, including illustrations, the parts would be pretty 
 numerous, it was not unreasonable that he should 
 look upon the decidedly voluminous romance as 
 practically interminable, and likely to supply Ma- 
 turine with ample reading till the crack of doom. 
 
 The picture was too much for him ! He made a 
 violent effort, and got the donkey to move, chiefly, 
 I think, because it had tired of standing still, and 
 not at all out of deference to his wishes. 
 
 When I looked round, he was still jogging along 
 quietly, shaking his head mournfully, and, I doubt 
 not, saying to himself "she 7niisi be at the hun- 
 dredth book by this time ! " 
 
 M. Labais.
 
 THE EXQUISITE AND THE ENTOMOLOGIST. 
 
 I. Adoli)h\is the Exquisite takes a mornlncj constitntiona adorned with a maRniliccnt flower in his button-hole, 2. Which attracts 
 
 the attention of several prominent members of the insect world 3. To an iniiilcasant degree. 4. At the same time, lioffyns, the 
 
 eminent entomologibt, sets out in quest of specimens. 5. "Ha! ha! Ho! ho I He! he! A chance for me I What 's this I 
 
 see?" 6. Mr. B. leads the attack' 7. Hut is repulsed by an unexpected umbrella movement. 8. He re.sorts to 
 
 stratagem;
 
 THE EXQUISITE AND THE ENTOMOLOGIST. 
 
 '■ ''"'mosrprompSi"'"^"^ ^i°'P'"n-r'^- ^^'1- -turns the compliment—xa. Wah the 
 
 humanity. ^ -lemhc stniggle takes place ! -M- From which they emerge wiser and very much sadder atoms of 
 
 '7
 
 qS 
 
 A LIFE'S HATRED. 
 
 A LIFE'S HATRED. 
 
 HEN this confession first sees the light of 
 day I shall be no more. I write it calmly 
 and fearlessly, for suspicion has long since 
 passed me by : indeed, the murder of which I am 
 guilty seems to have been quite forgotten by all but 
 myself and the widow of my victim, and even she 
 doesn't know that it was a murder. I often see her 
 now, and as she thanks me for the endeavours I made 
 to discover the body, my blood grows cold, and again 
 I feel my hands twining in my victim's throat, again 
 I see his face turn black, again hear the gurgling 
 sounds of suffocation. But he is dead, and I, for 
 the first time, begin to realize that I must die too. 
 Better, perhaps, the speedy hand of the hangman, 
 than this lingering life of remorse ; for, though I 
 hated my rival with an intensity unknown by those 
 who only kill for pelf, and would kill him again a 
 dozen times if I had but the chance, he is dead, and 
 remorse is bound to follow, unless I and every other 
 writer have been wrong in the whole course of edu- 
 cation, and education is wrong as well. 
 
 ***** 
 Ben Thompson and I were boys at school together. 
 He was a bigger boy than I, and a more powerful. 
 Also he had more money, and a greater power of sar- 
 casm — at least, all the other boys said he had ; but 
 then they would have said anything for a consider- 
 ation. He was rich and powerful ; I was poor and 
 friendless, and like the poor and friendless always do, 
 I went to the wall. Looking back now through the 
 dim vista of years, I fancy that a great deal of Ben's 
 popularity was caused by his father keeping a pastry- 
 cook's shop. I know that if I could have brought each 
 morning such a handkerchief full of "stale," and dis- 
 tributed it around, I should have been as popular as 
 Ben was ; but it was not to be. I had nothing to give, 
 still I felt, as I often have since, that if I had I would 
 have kept it to myself. Neither Ben nor the boys 
 liked me, and after I told the master about the pastrj-, 
 
 and said it was my private impression that his father 
 didn't know he brought it, no more was ever handed 
 round to me. How mean and paltry ! And though 
 his father did call next day and say that the stale 
 and broken tarts were sent with his full permission, 
 I don't believe it to this day. Once before I had 
 hinted to our beloved preceptor that I couldn't 
 understand where Thompson got all his money from, 
 and an inquiry had been set on foot, resulting, I am 
 bound to admit, in the honourable acquittal of the 
 sttspect; and for this endeavour to have everything 
 right and correct among my schoolmates I was, 
 though I -could never tell why, called a sneak, a blab, 
 and a tell-tit. But then I had no pastry with which 
 to bribe my companions ; no money with which to 
 treat them to ginger beer and saveloys, or else, when 
 Thompson punched my head and pulled my ears 
 for " trying to get him in a row," all the other boys 
 wouldn't have shown unequivocal delight. Oh, how 
 I did hate Thompson ! Oh, how I hated everybody ! 
 And in the silence of my chamber that night, amid 
 the snoring of my brothers, and with the dim light 
 of the gas-lamp opposite apparently sanctifying the 
 oath, I swore that some day I would be bitterly 
 avenged. And then 1 ate the two best tarts I had 
 cribbed out of Thompson's satchel^ as it hung next 
 my bag behind the door. 
 
 Time wore on, and neither my opponent nor my- 
 self showed any signs of reconciliation. I always 
 considered it my bounden duty to call the atten- 
 tion of the master to any deed which I considered 
 evil of Thompson's. Also, whenever I could get 
 anything out of the pastry-bag unobserved, I re- 
 garded it as my property by right, as it enabled me 
 to declare more conscientiously when the feed was- 
 going on that I wouldn't have had any if I had been 
 asked. One day, just as I was helping myself to one 
 of the best pieces, when, as I thought, all the boys 
 were out in the play-ground, Thompson returned
 
 A LIFE'S HATRED. 
 
 99 
 
 suddenly. He didnt speak out like a man, and so 
 I thought he didn't see what I was about, and there- 
 fore, instead of putting the tarts back or secreting 
 them, I boldly, and with conscious innocence, car- 
 ried them in my pocket. The result was that, just 
 before lunch-time, I was suddenly taken before the 
 master and searched. In vain I pleaded that I had 
 bought and paid for the articles discovered on me ; 
 the authorities, in a mean and partisan-like spirit, 
 refused to listen, and I was once again in a mise- 
 rable plight through the instrumentality of Thomp- 
 son. I was taken up and done for severely, and I 
 have always looked back upon that castigation as an 
 instance of the unfairness of scholastic punishment 
 as usually administered. How did they know I took 
 the tarts .'' I feel very strongly on this point, for I 
 am sure that I was a victim to the popularity of 
 Thompson. Suppose I had brought a charge of 
 stealing tarts against him, and the tarts were found 
 in his desk, would he have been punished ? 
 
 I can speak feelingly on this point also, for a day 
 or two afterwards I was reading how detectives find 
 things out; and so, guided by what I read, I took 
 two sponge-cakes from my enemy's bag, being sure 
 this time that no one was looking, and with much 
 self-sacrifice, instead of eating them myself, placed 
 them in his desk. When the school was all assem- 
 bled, I suddenly missed my cakes, and going to the 
 chief master's desk, made my loss known. Being 
 asked if I suspected anybody, I said, " Yes; Thomp- 
 son," and requested that he might be searched. The 
 master said he didn't believe that Thompson would 
 steal cakes, as he could always get more than he 
 wanted for himself, and was constantly giving them 
 away. But I insisted, and the cakes were found in 
 his desk. Then mark the result. Instead of being 
 taken at once and publicly horsed, as I was, Thomp- 
 son was asked if he could explain the matter. Of 
 course he said the cakes were his own, and every 
 one believed him — every one but myself, of course ; 
 and when he proceeded to show where they were 
 broken off from two others left in his bag, I was 
 convicted of a gross attempt to destroy a boy's cha- 
 racter, as well as of many other minor offences, and 
 was summarily expelled the school. I was not even 
 allowed to say anything in my own defence; and 
 
 what was still more annoying, the master said that 
 if it had not been for the sake of exposing his school, 
 he would have expelled me long ago. Who can 
 wonder, then, that I had a desperate and fast-grow- 
 ing hatred of Mr. Thompson, and of all the paltry 
 ways he had taken to secure popularity at my ex- 
 pense ? 
 
 The reception I met -with at home did not tend to 
 cheer my spirits. My mother said I was a disgrace 
 to the family, and sobbed aloud. When my father 
 came home, he didn't say a word — he was not an 
 emotional man, — but he took me upstairs, and with 
 a stout leather strap, kept for emergencies, he — as 
 he himself described the operation — "gave me toko." 
 
 Toko (I speak from experience) must be received 
 to be properly understood and appreciated. 
 
 Either the world is very small, or fate must have 
 intended Thompson and me to be mixed up together 
 through life ; but, however it was, before many years 
 had passed over our heads we were both clerks in 
 the same office. He being much the elder, and, as 
 he thought, much the cleverer, w^as my superior, and 
 the manner in which he took advantage of his posi- 
 tion renewed and strengthened our old animosity. 
 He commenced by patronizing me, and saying he 
 was quite ready to forget what had happened at 
 school if I was, as if ever I could forget the misery 
 he had brought on me ; and, though I shook his ex- 
 tended hand just for form's sake, I made up my 
 mind to serve him out as soon as ever the oppor- 
 tunity arrived. His father had by this time given 
 up the pastrycook's shop, and gone into business 
 as a wine and spirit merchant, so Thompson was 
 now always treating the fellows in the office to 
 glasses of port and sherry, just as in school-days he 
 used to treat the boys to pastry. I always studi- 
 ously refused to take any, because, as I told all the 
 other clerks, I didn't believe he came honestly by 
 the bottles ; but when I got a chance unobserved, 
 I used to take a rare good swig, and fill up with 
 water, soapy for choice ; and by this means served 
 a double purpose : I got my wine without being 
 in any way beholden to Thompson, and I at the 
 same time ruined the reputation of old Thompson 
 as a wine-seller. At last the men were quite shy 
 about the drink, and used to say that they wondered 
 
 7—2
 
 lOO 
 
 A LIFE'S HATRED. 
 
 how any one could deal with such a vile old adul- 
 terator. And so Mr. Thompson didn't for a long 
 time gain much by his mock generosity. 
 
 But, somehow or the other, luck was always on his 
 side, and my plans were disconcerted at last. One 
 day, when there was nobody in the room or about, I 
 took out my duplicate key, and went to Thompson's 
 drawer as usual, just to see what he had got there. 
 He had evidently become tired of bringing wine, for 
 there was a bottle of stuff in the desk I couldn't for 
 a long time make out. It was decidedly a cordial 
 water or liqueur, but it wasn't peppermint or shrub, 
 and yet the smell, which was very strong, seemed 
 familiar to me. At last I hit upon it : it was ani- 
 seed of a strong kind. And now, thought I, he fancies 
 this can't be altered like the wine. I may as well 
 say there was little doubt in my mind that Thomp- 
 son, in his mean way, had begun to suspect me 
 again, and I fancied he had brought this fresh drink 
 thinking I should be afraid to meddle with it ; but 
 he little knew the stuff of which I was composed. I 
 took a little drop, and liked it so well that I poured 
 out nearly a whole tumblerful, and, filling up the 
 bottle with water, I gulped the aniseed down, locked 
 the drawer, and rinsed out the glass. 
 
 I can't exactly say what happened afterwards : 
 everything was dazed to me for three or four days ; 
 but it seems I was the victim of as cruel a conspi- 
 racy as ever was planned. The stuff I drank was 
 not aniseed at all, but absinthe — a vile compound 
 I never see now without shuddering and thinking- 
 of Thompson's perfidy. The beast ! I must in my 
 g^ilelessness have drunk enough to poison half a 
 dozen people ; and it seems that I raved like a 
 maniac, told how I had tricked that fellow Thomp- 
 son, and stated publicly the contempt I had always 
 felt for our employer. I have discovered since that, 
 even if I had not mentioned it, this infernal stuff 
 would have told the tale, for when mixed with water 
 it changes colour, and is a regular Judas of trea- 
 chery, as well as a demon of mischief. 
 
 Of course, as you may pretty well guess, Thomp- 
 son triumphed once more, and I had to seek another 
 situation. I was too big for my father to thrash then, 
 but he told me if I didn't soon get work I might stay 
 away from his house altogether; and, as I knew he 
 
 was not over-fond of me, I had to rough it a bit, and 
 get the best employment that offered to a young man 
 whose last employer had refused to give him a cha- 
 racter, and had said that his refusal was really a 
 kindness. This, of course, I traced to Mr. Thomp- 
 son's influence, and blessed him for it accordingly. 
 Well, in course of time matters righted themselves 
 somewhat, and I got a very comfortable engagement. 
 If I had known before I took it that Thompson had 
 exerted himself for me, I would have refused the 
 situation ; but as I was very cozy by the time I dis- 
 covered his instrumentality, I wasn't going to be fool 
 enough to turn out: would you ? But now comes the 
 cruellest part of T.'s conduct towards me. I hap- 
 pened to meet a young lady out one evening at a 
 friend's, and felt that I was a stricken man. I never 
 knew what love was before, and never shall again. 
 For weeks and months I used to take every oppor- 
 tunity of being near my charmer, and though it went 
 rather against me, I made her up a parcel of nice little 
 presents. It was the first — and last — time I ever gave 
 anything away, and the feeling was quite curious. 
 At first I hoped she wouldn't take them, and then 
 when I felt that her refusal would be a sign of dis- 
 like, or certainly of want of affection, I was afraid 
 she wouldn't. She took them, sure enough, and 
 seemed quite unconcerned, never thinking that since 
 they had been in my possession I had got quite fond 
 of them. Besides, they must have cost me three 
 and sixpence altogether ! 
 
 I was a long while mustering up courage, but at 
 last I proposed to her in due form ; and — well, what 
 do you think? In the coolest manner possible, with 
 her face belying her words, she told me she was very 
 sorry, but that she was already engaged. Heaven and 
 earth ! already engaged ! To whom ? And then 
 came the crusher : of all the people in the world, 
 to Mr. Thompson. I think I rather alarmed her; 
 and though I was afterwards told that she said the 
 manner in which I asked for my presents back was 
 as rough as it was mean, I am not a bit ashamed of 
 what I said or did. It was not at all likely I was 
 going to let her keep the things I had paid for when 
 she was going to be married to another, especially 
 when that other was mine enemy, Thompson. 
 Well, in due course of time they were married,
 
 A LIFE'S HATRED. 
 
 lOI 
 
 and they even had the cheek to send me both cards 
 and cake. I wasn't going to waste the cake, so I 
 ate that; but I burnt the cards, just as I would have 
 burnt those they represented if I could. But by this 
 time I had quite made up my mind that T. and 
 I could not live in the same world together, and 
 I determined to get rid of him at the first possible 
 opportunity. It was a hard matter to discover the 
 best way to do it, but at last I hit upon an expedient. 
 I knew that Thompson always went to Margate, 
 Ramsgate, or some other place, during the summer, 
 and that he was very fond of bathing. So I at 
 once commenced to take lessons in swimming under 
 water. It took some years to make me perfect, but 
 by the end of last spring I had succeeded in being 
 able to stay under water for an indefinite period — 
 say three or four hours, — and during that period I 
 could travel an indefinite distance — say from Lon- 
 don to Gravesend. So, all being perfectly ready, I 
 waited my opportunity. 
 
 Very soon the Thompsons took their annual trip 
 to the sea-side. Just as if to oblige me, they went 
 earlier than usual. The place was Broadstairs, and 
 before they had been there a week, I obtained leave 
 and went down too. I carefully noted what time T. 
 went into the water, and the second morning, oppor- 
 tunity serving, I did the deed I had been so long 
 meditating. I had purposely selected a machine 
 which was a long way from his, and was rejoiced to 
 see that he was in the habit of swimming out for 
 some distance. When he had got quite away from a 
 knot of bathers, I silently went after him; and just 
 as he was enjoying his life to the fullest extent, I, by 
 depriving him of it, paid all the debts I owed him 
 in one fell blow. Down, down, derry derry down, I 
 dragged him, with my hands squeezed tightly round 
 his throat — not that there was much necessity for 
 that — and as the green water bubbled and played 
 around us, I laughed in his face, to note the swollen 
 look which suffocation and surprise were fast putting 
 on it. I really do think he died as much of surprise 
 that I should be able to keep under water without 
 
 drowning, as of anything else ; but, anyhow, he died, 
 and I swam back to my bathing-machine, a mur- 
 derer ! 
 
 We had in the course of the struggle gone a good 
 way out to sea, and I was in no way astonished that 
 the body was not discovered. I made myself very 
 conspicuous in searching for it, and received both 
 thanks and admiration, my diving powers being the 
 theme of universal praise, though I didn't let people 
 see how much I could do, for fear of arousing sus- 
 picion. But he was never found. From Mrs. T. I 
 received so much gratitude, that the remorse which 
 is bound to follow upon murder set in earlier than 
 usual — set in, somewhat strangely, before discovery 
 of the murder — and as since Thompson's death I 
 have had nothing to live for, especially as his widov/ 
 has declined to marry again — declined, at all events, 
 to marry me — I have written this confession, and am 
 going to post it to the nearest police-station, and 
 then set fire to the house and cremate what will not 
 drown. 
 Where are those lucifers ? 
 
 't? "tP 'f^ ^ -^ 
 
 I reopen this to say that Thompson wasn't drowned 
 at all. It happened that an East Indiaman, bound 
 for Australia, was passing Broadstairs just at the 
 time he rose to the surface, hooked him up, and re- 
 stored his suspended animation. As East Indiamen, 
 when on their way to Australia by way of Broad- 
 stairs, never stop anywhere ; and as, even if they 
 did, T. was not in a fit plight to be put ashore, he 
 had to go all the way to the antipodes, where they 
 gave him some clothes and something to eat, and 
 sent him back again. He has just called in to say 
 that he looks on the whole matter as a practical joke, 
 and that as he isn't dead he won't give me in charge 
 for murder. And so I shan't set fire to the place, 
 but shall live, if only for the purpose of hating 
 Thompson worse than ever, and of trying some new 
 plan of being even with him yet. 
 
 How I do hate that man, to be sure ! 
 
 Henry Sampson. 

 
 SONGS OF TREES.
 
 QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. 
 
 103 
 
 SONGS OF TREES. 
 
 JJanuarg — Amid the boughs, in sheltered copse, 
 The chaffinch twitters as he hops. 
 
 JFcbruaro — Where apple-blossoms shelter seek. 
 The titmouse gives his shrilly creak. 
 
 iRarrlj — Where the larch -tassel early blushes, 
 
 The sad song of the greenfinch gushes. 
 
 Sjiril — High in the elm, by moonlight pale, 
 Complains the mournful nightingale. 
 
 iHag — Where hornbeam catkins softly wave, 
 The blackcap chants his mellow stave. 
 
 June — In cherry-trees whose fruit is ripe, 
 
 The blackbirds, well contented, pipe. 
 
 3uly — Upon the lime, in morning's hushes. 
 You hear the fluting of the thrushes. 
 
 August — The cuckoos, in the ashes high. 
 Shout out a last farewell, and lly. 
 
 September — The whitethroat echo now invokes, 
 
 To say " good bye " among the oaks. 
 
 ©ctobcr— The swallows shriek a last "twit-twit," 
 Above the poplars, ere they flit. 
 
 Woijcmbcr— 'Mid hollies, clad in snow-down coat. 
 The robin swells his ruddy throat. 
 
 Sccember — But give to me the Christmas tree 
 Before all other ones that be. 
 To that belong 
 The laugh and song 
 Of children that around it throng ! 
 
 T. H 
 
 QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY. 
 
 (a LONGFELLOW CUT SHORT.) 
 
 UEEN SIGRID the Haughty sat proud 
 and aloft. 
 
 In her ghamber that looked over meadow 
 and croft ; 
 She held in her hand a ring of gold 
 That was brought to her by a henchman old. 
 King Olaf had sent her that wedding gift ; 
 But knowing King Olaf was prone to thrift. 
 She gave the ring to her goldsmiths twain. 
 Who smiled as they handed it back again. 
 Then Sigrid the Oueen, in her haughty way, 
 Asked, "Why do you smile, my goldsmiths, pray?" 
 They answered, " Queen, if the truth be told, 
 The ring is Brummagem — 't isn't gold ! " 
 The colour flushed over forehead and cheek, 
 She simply stamped— but she did not speak. 
 A footstep rang on the outer stair, 
 And in strode Olaf with royal air. 
 
 He kissed her hand, and he whispered love. 
 And (just for the rhyme) he murmured " Dove ! " 
 She smiled with contempt as she said " Oh, King ! 
 Step it — and get five bob on that ring ! " 
 The face of King Olaf was dark with gloom, 
 He swore as he strode about the room. 
 She raised her brows and looked at the King — 
 " To swear before ladies is not the thing ! " 
 " Why should I wed thee," he cried, " old maid ? 
 A faded beauty, a heathen jade ! " 
 He swore a swear, and he stamped a stamp. 
 And he fetched her a whack with his gingham Gamp. 
 They placed the King in a dungeon vault. 
 Because he was guilty of an assault, 
 With Tupper for supper, and hot cross buns 
 They slowly starved him, those savage ones, 
 And his only drink was petrole«;« — 
 And he'd been accustomed to Red Heart Rum ! 
 
 A. Shortfellow.
 
 QUEEN SIGRID THE HAUGHTY.
 
 A LONGFELLOW CUT SHORT.
 
 io6 
 
 CONCERNING PIGS. 
 
 TWO PICTURES FROM MY GALLERY OF GIRLS. 
 
 DRAWN BY LEECH. 
 
 OWN on the sands there strolls a merry- 
 maid, 
 Aglow with ruddyhealthandgladsomeglee; 
 She breasts the breezes of the summer sea, 
 And lets each zephyr trifle with each braid ; 
 
 Laughs gaily as her petticoats evade 
 
 Her girlish grasp and wildly flutter free, 
 As, bending to rude Boreas' decree. 
 
 The neatest foot and ankle are displayed ; 
 
 Displayed the rounded figure full of grace — 
 Half pouting thro' diaphanous disguise — 
 
 Displayed the snowy frillery and lace, 
 
 And dainty bottines none dare criticise. 
 
 See, blushing thro' the torrent of her curls, 
 
 The bonniest of England's bonny girls ! 
 
 II. 
 
 PAINTED BY LESLIE. 
 
 Oh, who can paint the picture of my pet ? — 
 
 As 'mid the grey-green hay she childlike kneels. 
 Who shows a dainty slipper, then conceals, 
 
 'Neath tangled grass, its Celadon rosette. 
 
 A soft white robe, a broidered chemisette 
 
 Scarce veils her rounded bosom, as it steals 
 A subtle charm from that it half reveals — 
 
 As sweet and modest as the violet ! 
 
 A gipsy hat casts shadows of pearl-grey 
 
 Across the petal pinkness of her cheek; 
 
 And sun and shadow alternate, and play. 
 
 With smiles and sorrow, fitful hide-and-seek. 
 
 Oh, who can paint the picture of my pet ? — 
 
 My dainty, dimpled, loveable coquette ! 
 
 J. Ashby-Sterry. 
 
 CONCERNING PIGS. 
 
 HAVE always been under the impression 
 that the deference to which he is entitled, 
 is withheld from that useful and beau- 
 tiful animal, the pig. He is cheated out of his 
 proper position in the social scale. He is treated 
 unjustly, alike by men of letters — that is, such as 
 contribute to this Annual, and by men of capital — 
 that is, other people. Burns wrote lines to a butterfly 
 on a lady's bonnet in church ('t wasn't a butterfly, 
 but no matter : this is intended for family reading) ; 
 Gray achieved a dirge on a favourite cat drowned 
 
 in a tub of gold fishes ; and Coleridge soared *' to 
 elegize an ass;" but who has ever made a hero of 
 a pig? Nobody that I have ever heard of. Even 
 Virgil does not spare him a hexameter in his third 
 " Georgic." The pig is accounted unclean because 
 of mental obliquity of prejudice ; but by whom .'' 
 By the people who know no better, who have never 
 read Charles Lamb, who are insensible to the charms 
 of roast porkei-'s head, boiled cheek, fricasseed ears, 
 appetizing harslets floating in port-wine sauce, the 
 delicious round of brawn, or that most tempting of
 
 CONCERNING PIGS. 
 
 107 
 
 'tid-bits, the oleaginous string of black-puddings. 
 The pig is not squeamish in his tastes, I allow ; he 
 will eat almost anything, but so will other members 
 of the animal creation. At Portumna they usually 
 drown a policeman every two months for the benefit 
 of the Lough Derg eels ; yet I have observed that 
 eminent naturalist, Mr. Henry Lee, mute with admi- 
 ration over a newly-caught specimen of the aiigiiilla 
 constabularis. Ducks are not fastidious. I have seen 
 a duck make an alderman's feast off the offal rejected 
 by my favourite ; and yet the duck is not accounted 
 unclean, and my dear old friend, Hans Christian 
 Andersen, has devoted a charming storiette to the 
 adventures of an ugly duckling. But who has made 
 a hero of an ugly pigling ? Nobody that I have ever 
 heard of. There are legends, but legends without 
 a spark of the true legendary fire, the genial hearth- 
 glow, concerning pigs ; but these mostly relate to 
 .pigs in an insane state of mind, or tend to place the 
 pig before us in an incongruous character. 
 
 The pig, as I have said, is a useful and beautiful 
 animal. The infant pig is useful as an article of 
 diet — to take him in his lowest aspect ; and beauti- 
 ful in his lively eyes, his delicate pink skin, and his 
 frolic playfulness, as he frisks round his mother's 
 hind legs, restive as kitten or lambkin. The aged 
 pig is useful and beautiful — useful as an article 
 of diet — to take him in his lowest aspect again ; 
 and beautiful in his curvilinearity, for is not the 
 curve the line of beauty ? And when the pig falls 
 before the sacrificial knife, is not his hide useful to 
 Melton Mowbray ? and does not his clean white 
 carcase, suspended in front of the butcher's stall, 
 bring water to the palate of the human porcus, 
 Epicnri de grege ? Ah ! that is exactly what I 
 find fault with. Why should such an epithet be 
 used ? What pig ever over-ate himself on acorns ? 
 What pig ever waxed apoplectic if let run wild 
 and nibble turnip-tops at will ? It is only the pig 
 in the artificial state, when "cabin'd, cribbed, and 
 confined" — pampered on greaves and stuffed with 
 linseed cake — that forgets himself, gobbles, and 
 grunts, and snores, as if his sole object in life were 
 to out-rival Daniel Lambert or become President 
 of the American Clam-Bake Society, As if there 
 were not worthier ambitions ! As if the stories of 
 
 pigs that could pick the ace of hearts from a pack 
 of cards ; that could point to the love-sick lassie in 
 a company ; or that careered triumphantly before 
 crowds, w^hisking their greased tails in the very noses 
 of their pursuers, were miserable fables ! But these 
 swinish goicrjnands have one excuse — they have 
 been corrupted by evil communication with man. 
 
 I do not mean to affirm that all pigs are naturally 
 gentle and self-denying. Some are born with vices. 
 On the 4th of June, 1094, a pig was hanged on a gib- 
 bet, near Laon, for devouring the child of a cowherd. 
 But, then, consider the number of cowherds who 
 have regaled on rashers of bacon in their time. 
 Again, on the loth of January, 1457, a sow and 
 her six sucklings were indicted for homicide on the 
 person of one Jehan Lenfant, of Savigny, when the 
 former was found guilty without extenuating circum- 
 cumstances, which showed the aiiiimis of the jury, 
 and sentenced to be hanged by the hind legs from 
 the branch of a tree. The youngsters were let oft", 
 there being no positive proof connecting them with 
 the crime, though there was strong circumstantial 
 evidence, their chaps being sprinkled with a froth of 
 warm gore. But these were exceptional pigs, and we 
 are no more warranted in condemning the porcine 
 race as mui'derers because of these isolated occur- 
 rences than we should be in denouncing English 
 working men as brutal because some of them remon- 
 strate with their wives, when their dinner is not to 
 their liking, with the heels of their clogs. Your 
 ordinary pig of the middle ranks is amiable, an in- 
 defatigable hunter after food when he is hungry, and 
 a passionate lover of the dolce far ttiente when he 
 has satisfied his appetite. You may see him after a 
 meal, basking by the sunny side of a wall, the world 
 forgetting, by the world forgot— a picture of philo- 
 sophic contentment. All he asks is to be let alone, 
 but man will not grant him that negative favour. 
 Mischievous little boys take a pleasure in poking 
 him in the ribs ; malicious cabbies are in ecstacies 
 when they can crack their whip-lash round his ten- 
 der ears ; " active and intelligent " police officers 
 (they are all active and intelligent, are they not ?) 
 arrest him on the Queen's highway and put him in 
 the pound ; his owner even cruelly slits his nostrils 
 and inserts a ring in them. Really, when one comes
 
 io8 
 
 CONCERNING PIGS. 
 
 to think of it, this is no trifling matter : the pig is 
 most barbarously treated, and the attention of the 
 Royal Humane Society should be drawn to the 
 subject. 
 
 It is hard to conceive that this ill-used being is 
 the piggie we affect such hypocritical fondness for 
 in our nursery rhymes when we gently finger babies' 
 toes and sing : 
 
 " This little pig went to market ; 
 
 This little pig stopped at home ; 
 This Httle pig got bread and butter ; 
 
 And this little pig got none ! 
 This liitle pig cried, ' Week ! week ! 
 
 1 'U wait till my mammy comes home ! ' " 
 
 The pig is sagacious, or no truffles would garnish 
 our dinner-tables. More than that, I maintain that 
 the pig is endowed with exquisite sensibility ; and 
 I will relate a story in proof, which came to my 
 knowledge in Paris. I am careless whether the 
 story is credited or not by the mob : some folk are 
 as sceptical as the Tichborne twelve, and will not 
 believe in the sea-serpent, or the enormous goose- 
 berry that grows every autumn ; but the story is 
 true, nevertheless. 
 
 Well, this pig of which I write was an inhabitant 
 of the Quartier Latin — that mirthful, happy rendez- 
 vous of wild, buoyant, improvident studentship, af- 
 fuent in spirits, but limp of purse. 
 
 In one of the narrowest, crookedest, darkest 
 lanes of the network of streets at the back of what 
 is now the Boulevard St. Michel, as one crossed 
 diagonally from the Sorbonne to the Pantheon, 
 stood a small tavern which will be known by men 
 of the present generation as Le Coch'oii Fidcle, "The 
 Faithful Pig." Here flocked the, Bohemians who 
 lived by the code of honour and the Morgue, and co- 
 loured pen-and-ink photographs of duels and suicides 
 with equal glee ; the r<ipin, tall-hatted, long-haired, 
 and cunning in pipes, who paid his shot by scratch- 
 ing caricatures ; the medical student of fifteen years' 
 standing, whose only books were woman's looks ; 
 his listless brother of the law, who had pawned his 
 " Code Napoldon " long since, and had his hair cut a 
 la Robespierre on tick ; dreamy ideologists, skilled 
 billiard-players ; and here, her last asylum, had 
 come the ultimate specimen of that extinct race, 
 ithe Lisette of Bcranger. 
 
 At the Cochon Fidelc the gayest parties for canoe- 
 ing at Asnieres and picnicking at Robinson's Oak 
 were made up, and from its portals twice a week 
 a merry band sallied arm-in-arm to enjoy a saucy 
 revel in the salons of Pere Bullier. It was a sport- 
 ing place when I knew it ; there was no dulness 
 there, no respectability. We cracked jokes always; 
 sometimes cracked bottles — when we had the 
 money ; seldom cracked heads, for we were all firm 
 friends, a joyous sodality. The ceiling and walls of 
 the diminutive tavern were eloquent with grotesque 
 sketches in charcoal, distemper, and oil ; the por- 
 traits of the principal clients of the house were there 
 in side-splitting distortion, but still recognizable ; 
 over an inner door was the most bizarre of repre- 
 sentations of a levee of pig-headed courtiers ; a 
 panel opposite glowed with lifelike portraits, in an 
 oval cluster,of literary worthiesworshipped by Young 
 France — Dumas, de Musset, Murger, Georges Sand, 
 Gautier, Janin, Gerard de Nerval, Bdranger, and 
 Hugo, of course, for Le Cochon Fidele was nothing 
 if not realistic. 
 
 Portly Courbet, with his pleasant face, ruddy as 
 Burgundian wine, came sometimes to smoke an 
 ancient cutty, and Cham and Gill, and others who 
 have since won renown ; and some of the wild daubs 
 around that mocked us were their handiwork. The 
 laugh of Henri Monnierwas familiar with the echoes 
 of the stained rooftrce, and Charles Baudelaire had 
 often strolled into the Le Cochon Fidele to borrow 
 a ream of foolscap from a more fortunate brother. 
 Even some of the dii majores enthroned in the oval 
 cluster had haunted the tavern in these days. At 
 yonder deal table, where Jules and Lolotte are 
 playing dominoes for a lump of sugar, mused Alfred 
 de Musset ; and in that nook by the casement 
 Henri Murger outlined with a stumpy pencil the " Vic 
 de Boheine" heedless of the cup of black coffee that 
 grew cold. There was a tradition that the petit 
 bonhomine, Adolphe Thiers, had run up a score of 
 3 francs 75 cents there when he was dans la dechc 
 (as all of us who are worth our salt are one time or 
 other). 
 
 But the tradition on which the company prided 
 itself most was that which gave its name to the 
 hostelry. Recall the pig of the Latin Quarter whicli
 
 CONCERNING PIGS. 
 
 ro9 
 
 I have mentioned — a careless, happy-go-lucky 
 grunter. He seemed to have drunk-in the free-and- 
 easy spirit of the schools with the atmosphere he 
 breathed. Could he sing he would have been a 
 troubadour. As it was, he was the students' pig, 
 and rubbed his snout against the knees of every 
 roysterer who passed, with the same love that the 
 soldier's dog showed for a red-coat, and the fireman's 
 dog for the Salvage Corps. He roved about the 
 Quartier in the morning, a chartered libertine, and 
 nobody molested him ; but invariably, and with the 
 regularity of clockwork, he sat down, as noontide 
 approached, on his haunches opposite the window 
 of the Bohemian tavern, which was then called Le 
 Coclion delude — " The Guinea Pig." The students 
 never failed to hand him out a platter of slops and 
 to pat his sleek head ; but when the platter was 
 licked clean, he did not stir. There he sat, in the 
 same position, motionless, as if he were cut in stone, 
 with his gaze wistfully fixed on the dame du coDiptoir. 
 She was a bonnie buxom damsel, with laughing grey 
 eyes, and cherry cheeks, and hair that fell on her 
 plump shoulders like thick skeins of soft, shining, 
 golden silk. Not till the shutters were put up could 
 that pig be induced to quit his ground ; and then, 
 with drooping ears and tail, he reluctantly crept 
 off. But how cheerfully he trotted up next morning 
 before midday, by which hour Titine had taken her 
 seat behind the counter of zinc, and was humming 
 a cha7iso7iette, while she showered sprightly banter 
 on the customers, and deftly passed the crochet- 
 hooks through the capeline on which she was ever- 
 lastingly engaged. 
 
 One noontide Titine was not in her accustomed 
 place ; but the pig was in his. Long and earnestly 
 he looked ; at last he boldly entered and put his 
 fore feet on the counter, knocking over a glass of 
 absinthe, and the female, who was Titine's substi- 
 tute—a vixen she — beat him about the head with a 
 crumb-brush, and angrily shouted, '■^Pas de cochon- 
 iierie !" The pig slunk back, mortified at the rebufif, 
 and staggering to the old spot at the other side of the 
 lane, sprawled at full length on the hard pavement. 
 When night fell he sorrowfully departed. Next day 
 he re-appeared, but Titine did not. He did not 
 dare to enter — the vixen was there; but he sank I 
 
 heavily down, groaned and whined in the mos 
 piteous human manner, and big beady tear-drops- 
 gushed from his eyes. The students contributed 
 the customary platter, but he refused his food. 
 Youth is proverbially careless, and with a "Sacr-r-e' 
 cochon /" the sufferer was dismissed. 
 
 For ten days this scene was repeated. Titine was 
 sick in the Hospital of the Piti^, and then she re- 
 turned, paler than when she had left, but still the 
 same bright, joyous Titine. The pig came down as- 
 usual, stepping feebly and wearing a dejected air, 
 for the poor fellow had lost at least fifty-four kilo- 
 grammes ; his ribs were all spare ribs, and the flesh 
 hung on his sides in great idle coUops. Suddenly 
 he saw her: his eyes lit, his nostrils distended, his 
 whole frame quivered with emotion, and he gave 
 one exultant grunt that echoed through the neigh- 
 bourhood. An Anglo-Indian in the Rue St. Jacques 
 thought it was the trumpeting of an elephant. Titine, 
 who was receiving congratulations, turned round 
 at the noise, murmured, " CV cher cochon/" and 
 tickled his ear with her soft hand. The pig was an 
 altered pig that day. He ravenously fell upon half 
 a dozen consecutive platters of slops, and visibly — ■ 
 almost miraculously — improved in appearance. He 
 was himself again. 
 
 Next morning he trotted up brisk and blithe as 
 ever. But no Titine was there. What was the 
 meaning of this ? There was a holiday group at 
 the threshold, and by-and-bye Titine came out, 
 arrayed in virginal lace, white gloves on her hands, 
 and a wreath of orange blossoms on her hair, which 
 gleamed through 'the folds of a gossamer veil. Ah ! 
 then the pig knew, what was meant. The wedding 
 party hied it to the adjoining church of St. Etienne 
 du Mont ; the pig never made a complaint, but fol- 
 lowed it to the Place du Panthe'on, and deliberately 
 putting himself in the way of an omnibus, was run 
 over and killed. 
 
 The double event was known all over the Quartiel^ 
 before night, and the students determined that in. 
 future "The Guinea Pig" should be known as "The 
 Faithful Pig." This is believed to be the first instance 
 on record of a pig having committed suicide through, 
 disappointed affection. May it be the last ! 
 
 J. A. O'Shea.
 
 no 
 
 A ROW IN THE BUTTER MARKET. 
 
 A ROW IN THE BUTTER MARKET. 
 
 % ^u(c oi 6cncb:v. 
 
 -o ♦- 
 
 N Geneva, close beside the lake, 
 
 Whose mere mention sets Swiss hearts 
 a-flutter, 
 In the Place DumoUard, do they take 
 To the market splendid Savoy butter, — 
 For your Savoyards in making this 
 (Spite of Ran:: des Vaches) eclipse the Swiss. 
 
 Butter is so unctuous and smooth, 
 
 You would think its virtues oleaginous 
 
 Those, who deal in it, would calm and soothe, 
 Making all that 's bony cartilaginous : — • 
 
 Such impressions would, alas ! receive a 
 
 Death-blow in that market at Geneva. 
 
 What the chemists label " butyrine," 
 
 Though you might believe it to be placid, 
 
 Stirs the bile, and stimulates the spleen, 
 Acting something like sulphuric acid : — • 
 
 Anyhow, the dames who deal in butter, 
 
 Deal in language, too, I dare not utter ! 
 
 Jenni and Aline set up their stalls 
 
 Opposite, on each side of the path, 
 And— as oft humanity befalls — 
 
 Being rivals, nursed a secret wrath. 
 Jenni at Aline would scowl her best, 
 Who returned the hate with interest. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, the wife of Jones the banker. 
 Sought at times the one — at times the other, 
 
 Which of course could only make the ranker 
 Hatred, always hard enough to smother. 
 
 Mrs. Jones of this was not aware; 
 
 Or at least, if knowing, did not care. 
 
 Mrs. J. was somewhat of a screw. 
 
 Though to see her dress you'd not have thought 
 Found Alinc's pound cheaper by a sou. [it — • 
 
 So went straight from Jenni's stall and bought 
 Took her purchase home with peaceful mind, 
 Knowing not the storm she left behind. 
 
 Jenni felt Aline had undersold her — 
 Got her customer, our Mrs. Jones — 
 
 And in language quite outspoken told her 
 Her opinion, in the loudest tones. 
 
 And Aline in terms not more select 
 
 Met her scolding with return direct. 
 
 I shall not attempt to give the j argot — 
 Here's the recipe: — take (if you've got) 
 
 Equal parts of blasphemy and argot, 
 
 Season — shake up well — and serve it hot. 
 
 That's the sort of dish Aline and Jenni 
 
 Made for something less than half a penny ! 
 
 Fast from bad to worse, till worst of all, 
 Jenni, scolding fast as she could splutter. 
 
 Snatched up in her fury from her stall 
 A pound-pat of her neglected butter. 
 
 And — before another word was said — 
 
 Flung it fiercely at her rival's head. 
 
 Snatching from her stall in turn a pat. 
 Blind with rage. Aline at once retorted. 
 
 Jenni, not to be outdone like that, 
 To another matole swift resorted ; 
 
 And ere friends had time to interfere 
 
 With the waste — behold, their stalls were clear \ 
 
 When with empty pockets home they went. 
 Let us hope they both of them reflected 
 
 How their butter had been vainly spent, 
 And their purpose had not been effected. 
 
 Anyhow, thereafter these two foes 
 
 Far apart their place for market chose. 
 
 Crying o'er spilt milk is quite absurd — 
 Where 's the use when it is in the gutter 1 
 
 But — just listen to a warning word — 
 Don't we often throw away the butter, 
 
 So it seems to me, of life a scholar. 
 
 As they did there in the Place Dumollard ? 
 
 H,
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 My First is very nice, no doubt, 
 But rather apt to give you gout, 
 Which as my Second, you'll agree, 
 Not quite desirable would be. 
 But ask your doctor, and it will be droll 
 To me if he does not that fate — my Whole ! 
 
 SQUARE OF EVERY WORD PUZZLE. 
 
 1. A feature you may follow. 
 
 2. A mount, of old renowned. 
 
 3. What grapes are, you can't swallow. 
 
 4. What help you to a sound. 
 
 CHARADE. 
 
 Old Plutus rolled in gold — 
 
 His pockets nearly burst ; 
 But he said he did not mean to be sold, 
 
 And didn't believe in my First. 
 
 Old Plutus said he spurned 
 
 All paper, for he reckoned 
 He would not be paid if the notes were burned, 
 
 Or happened to get my Second. 
 
 Old Plutus was much concerned 
 
 At his death, the miserly soul ! 
 For he knew the wealth he had hardly earned 
 Would be spent by his relatives when they turned 
 
 His funeral into my Whole. 
 
 A PROVERB IN RHYME. 
 
 The trees no more are green. 
 The swallows haste away, 
 
 The sun less oft is seen, 
 The flow'rs speed to decay. 
 
 A SQUARE-OF-EVERY-WORD PUZZLE. 
 
 METAMGRrHOSED SUBSTANTIVES. 
 
 A riCTORIAL CHARADE.
 
 OUR IMPERIAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 
 
 *,* Tlie chief words are in the centre oval, the sttps on lach side. 
 
 LOGOGRIPHE. 
 
 I AM a word — for letters ten I stickle ; 
 My meaning is " unstable," or say " fickle." 
 
 My 8, 9, 7, 4, r, 2, lo, 
 
 A maiden's "name," admired by men. 
 
 My 9 and 6 and 3 and 4, 
 
 Means " thin ! " a style I don't adore. 
 
 My 3 and 8 and 9 and 6, 
 
 As " competent " at once I fix. 
 
 My 8 and 10, 4, i, and 2, 
 
 A " form " which in a school you view. 
 
 My 2 and 7 and 4 and 5, 
 
 To "execute" one who's alive. 
 
 My 8, 10, 3, 5, 9, and 6, 
 
 A " dog " for hunting, not for tricks. 
 
 My 6 and 9 and 8 and 3, 
 An island in a tideless sea. 
 
 My 8 and 7 and 9 and 6, 
 
 A " bundle " of what 's used for wicks. 
 
 My 8 and 9 and 3 and 4, 
 
 A " vegetable " you can store. 
 
 My 5 and 3 and 9 and 6, 
 
 A " breeze " that breaks a vessel's sticks. 
 
 My I and 9, 6, 3, and 4, 
 
 Is "pure" — not foul or spotted o'er. 
 
 My 10 and 3, 5, 9, and 6. 
 
 A "bird" that steals young lambs and chicks. 
 
 And now into my i, 7, 4 
 A foaming draught, I pray you, pour ; 
 Do not the welcome liquor mix, 
 But let it be my 3, 9, 6 ! 
 
 A DIAMOND PUZZLE. 
 
 A numeral and consonant. 
 
 A liquor, which refuse I can't. 
 
 A useful box, as you will grant. 
 
 A demon mischievous in vice. 
 
 A vegetable very nice. 
 Now find the meaning in a trice. 
 The perpendicular one sees 
 In every little knot of trees. 
 And for the horizontal, ask 
 The elephant to aid your task. 
 
 I. 
 
 2. 
 3. 
 4. 
 
 5 
 
 REBUS. 
 
 I Al\I a monosyllable signifying earthenware. 
 Divide me, and my first half is a near relative. 
 Reverse me, and I am a sharp short detonation. 
 Behead me now, and you will find mc on cloth. 
 Reverse me once more now, and behead me, and 
 at once I become indefinite, and I remain so even 
 if you cut off my tail. Restore me to my original 
 state, reverse me, and pop me in the jaws of a 
 monster, and you 'U very likely burn your fingers. 
 
 NOTICE.- The Solutions of the Puzzles will be given in the Christmas Number of " Fln." No answers wi 
 
 the isth December. 
 
 be received after 
 
 DALZIEL BROTHERS. CAMDEN TRESS, LONDON', N.W.
 
 (.
 
 AA 000 472 983 6 
 
 The Library of 
 DAVID FREEDMAN 
 
 BOOK NO..
 
 
 
 fyPT^TTTCTilfTI 
 
 ^ii^