UN . y v OF 
 
 C 'N1A 
 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 M. 
 
 , BOOKSELLER 
 
 OO POITHTBBNTH BT. 
 OAKLAND, CAt.
 
 ilYUF UALlfUKir.A, iiA 
 ^'i JOLLA. CALIFORNIA
 
 Camelot Series, 
 
 EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS. 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWIND- 
 LING, AND OTHER PAPERS, 
 BY DOUGLAS JERROLD. EDITED, 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION, BY 
 WALTER JERROLD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 WALTER SCOTT, 24 WARWICK LANE. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 A. LOVELL & CO., 3 EAST I4TH STREET.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING . i 
 
 TALE OF A TIGER ...... 72 
 
 THE MOTH WITH THE GOLDEN WINGS . . 84 
 
 FIRESIDE SAINTS ...... 100 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE PARK . . .106 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT "BANKSIDE" . , .112 
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA . . . .118 
 
 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS . .128 
 
 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER . . . .136 
 
 THE DRILL SERGEANT ..... 144 
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER OF BEAUVAIS . 152 
 
 THE WINE CELLAR ..... 160 
 
 THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA . . . 169 
 
 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD . . . . 173 
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS" . 181
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 TOWARDS the close of last century a Mr. Samuel Jerrold, 
 a theatrical manager getting on in years, married, at 
 Wirksworth, in Derbyshire, as his second wife, a lady con- 
 siderably younger than himself, by name Miss Reid. The 
 issue of this marriage was four children first two daughters 
 and then two sons the youngest of whom was the subject 
 of this note. 
 
 " From his mother, who was of Scotch descent on the 
 maternal side, undoubtedly he derived that feverish energy 
 which made him dash at every object he sought ; as, from 
 his father, a weak, pensive, thoughtful, old man, he bor- 
 rowed that tender poetic under-current that flowed through 
 every thought he set upon paper for the world's judgment. 
 But chiefly to my grandmother (Reid), I have always heard, 
 and have always from my own observation thought, he 
 owed the marked elements of his character ; and the 
 strong constitution, and the peculiar cast of countenance 
 that were his." 1 
 
 Douglas William Jerrold was born in London on January 
 3rd, 1803. His name, Douglas, was given him after his 
 
 1 The Life and Remains of Douglas Jen-old, by his son, Blanchard 
 Jerrold. 1858.
 
 viii DOUGLAS fEKROLD. 
 
 grandmother, whose maiden name it had been. While yet 
 an infant in arms he was taken to Wilsby, near Cranbrook, 
 in Kent, where Samuel Jerrold's theatrical company was 
 at the time engaged. It was, however, only Douglas's 
 very early years that were spent in the health-giving 
 climate and quietude of rural Kent, for when he was 
 four years old his father became lessee of the Sheerness 
 Theatre, and, shortly afterwards, of the Southend Theatre 
 also. To Sheerness, then, the family removed, and 
 the quiet pastoral surroundings of Cranbrook were ex- 
 changed for the life and turmoil of a busy seaport, 
 Sheerness being at that time a centre of great naval 
 activity. It was here, amid much that was probably 
 deciding the bent of his genius, that Douglas Jerrold 
 passed the impressionable period of his childhood. The 
 family theatre (on the boards of which, while yet a young 
 child, he was carried by Edmund Kean in the character 
 of Rolla) was mainly supported by the officers and men 
 from the various men-of-war repairing, or waiting orders, 
 at the port. Jerrold early evinced a dislike to the theatre 
 from " behind the scenes," and, being of a keenly imagina- 
 tive temperament, was as early fired, by the stories of naval 
 glory that reached his ears, with an ambition to become a 
 sailor, that he might bear his part in the struggle which 
 was then going on against the dominating influence of the 
 great Napoleon. It was doubtless the air of Jingoism 
 (if the term be permissible in referring to the early part 
 of the century) that surrounded his boyhood which made 
 Jerrold, in after years, give expression to such sentiment as
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. ix 
 
 that in his retort to a friend who was expatiating on the 
 new Treaty between England and France. "Tut, tut!" 
 said Jerrold, " the best thing that I know between England 
 and France is the sea." 
 
 It was at Sheerness that Douglas Jerrold received such 
 scant schooling as he was destined to have. An actor, by 
 name Wilkinson, who in after years was to do his young 
 friend a good service of no insignificant kind, was engaged 
 to teach him reading and writing. After a few months 
 Wilkinson left to join another company, and Douglas was 
 sent to school, where he remained about four years. 
 Gessner's Death of Abel and Roderick Random are named 
 as among his early readings. His ambition seemed in a 
 fairway toward being realised when, on December 22, 1813 
 (he was not quite eleven years of age), he joined the navy, 
 being entered a first-class volunteer on board the NamurJ- 
 the guardship at the Nore. Captain (afterwards Admiral) 
 Austen (brother of the well-known novelist) was a good, 
 kindly-natured man, who allowed the youthful officer many 
 privileges ; he was permitted to keep pigeons on board, and, 
 still more valuable privilege, was given the run of such a 
 library as the captain's cabin contained. Here he came 
 across and eagerly read Bufforis Natural History, the 
 subject being one which always had a peculiar attraction 
 for him, and which, as will be seen at once in his writings, 
 furnished him with many happy or humorous similes and 
 
 1 It may be of interest to mention that the Nainur had been earlier 
 in the command of Captain Boscawen, " Old Dreadnought," as he was 
 affectionately nicknamed by the sailors. 
 
 b
 
 x DO UGLA S JERR OLD. 
 
 allusions. Pet pigeons, Buffon, and a kind captain notwith- 
 standing, Jerrold chafed at the monotony of life on the 
 guardship, and thirsted for a more active role. About a 
 year after joining the Namur he was, at his own request, 
 transferred to the brig Ernest, which vessel was engaged in 
 conveying transports laden with soldiers destined to take 
 part in the Battle of Waterloo, that 
 
 " First and last of fields ! king-making victory ! " 
 
 The Ernest was also employed in bringing home maimed 
 and wounded soldiers from the Continent. None of the 
 wild excitement and exhilaration of action, such as he 
 had dreamed of, fell to Jerrold's lot, while the disgusting 
 sight of torn and gashed humanity in the cockpit of the 
 Ernest burned itself indelibly into his mind, and was 
 vividly recalled in after years whenever war was discussed, 
 and made him always one of the most uncompromising 
 opponents of war. Of war, that is, prosecuted for the sake 
 of glory or aggrandisement ; for he fully recognised, of 
 course, that there are cases in which war is not only 
 defensible but righteous. The following, from one of his 
 "leaders," sums up his position on this matter : -"War is 
 a folly so profound even now that an appeal to the 
 sword, unless it be in defence of life or something dearer 
 still than life honour, liberty, civilisation is little less 
 than an act of insanity." * 
 
 throughout Jerrold's writings.
 
 DO UGLAS JERROLD. xi 
 
 It was in April 1821 that Jerrold was transferred to the 
 Ernest ; in June Waterloo was fought; peace was not long 
 in being arranged, and in October the Ernest was paid off, 
 and Midshipman Jerrold stepped ashore. 
 
 The Jerrold family left Sheerness shortly after the peace, 
 and reached London on the ist of January 1816. The 
 new home was set up in Broad Court, Bow Street, whence 
 Douglas made a fresh start in life as a printer's apprentice. 
 Six years of hard work in connection with the printing 
 office were to be gone through before he could (and he 
 had then but scarce attained his majority) adopt literature 
 as his all-supporting crutch. During this period (1816- 
 1824), by dint of indomitable energy, Jerrold made up for 
 his lack of school learning ; he would rise at daybreak that 
 he might prosecute the various studies he had decided 
 upon, and on returning home in the evening he would 
 continue at his self-imposed task late into the night. Thus 
 was a knowledge gained of Latin, French, and Italian ; and 
 at the same time he got through a vast amount of that 
 " miscellaneous reading " which is so necessary to the 
 would-be man of letters. The novels by the then unknown 
 "Author of 'Waverley'" were delighting the reading 
 world at the time, and Jerrold in after years would tell how 
 he had borrowed the volumes, one by one, from a lending 
 library, and read them aloud to his father. It was shortly 
 after coming up to London, too, that he came across the 
 plays of Shakespeare. He had doubtless seen some of them 
 earlier on the boards of the Sheerness theatre ; he now, 
 however, read them all read them, too, so thoroughly that
 
 xii DO UGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 he was said to be able, on any line from the plays being 
 quo 4 td, to follow on with the next His acquaintance with, 
 and his delight in, the work of the " Sweet Swan of Avon " 
 are exemplified in many ways in papers such as " Shake- 
 speare in China," " Shakespeare at Bankside," " Epitaph on 
 Sir Hugh Evans," and others, in this volume and elsewhere, 
 we have evidence of it. 
 
 While working as a printer, and studying to prepare 
 himself for his life-work, Douglas Jerrold was also 
 occasionally trying his hand at various kinds of writing 
 the inevitable verses in the literary ephemera of the time, 
 short sketches, and, more significant still, he had already 
 written a piece for the stage. This was written when he was 
 but fifteen, in fulfilment of a promise made to Wilkinson, 
 the actor before mentioned. The piece " More Fright- 
 ened than Hurt" met with no uncommon fate; it was 
 sent in to the manager of the English Opera House, and 
 only after much trouble, and the lapse of two years, 
 did the youthful author succeed in getting his MS. back. 
 In 1821, however, Wilkinson was engaged at Sadlers' Wells 
 Theatre, and he made it a condition of his engagement 
 that his young friend's piece should be produced there. It 
 was brought out on April 3oth, and proved highly suc- 
 cessful ; indeed, which must have been very gratifying to its 
 author, it was translated into French, seen in Paris by an 
 English manager, who, knowing nothing of its origin, 
 translated it back, and produced it at the Olympic Theatre. 
 Thus started Douglas Jerrold's career as a dramatic 
 writer. No less interesting is the story of his start as a
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. xiii 
 
 miscellaneous writer. He was engaged as compositor on the 
 Sunday Monitor. Being impressed with a performance of 
 Der Freisehiitz, he wrote a critical paper on it, and dropped 
 it, anonymously, into his editor's letter-box. His delight 
 may easily be imagined when his own criticism was handed 
 to him the next morning to be set up in all the importance 
 of type, along with a line from the editor to the unknown 
 writer asking for further contributions. Not long after- 
 wards, and while he was yet a compositor in the printing 
 office of the paper, the Monitor 's dramatic criticisms were 
 entrusted to him. 
 
 The "composing stick" was, however, before long to 
 give way finally to the pen, for in 1824 Jerrold felt 
 sufficiently confident of his own powers to do two bold 
 things bold, that is, for a youth not yet two-and-twenty 
 he not only determined to trust to his pen for his livelihood, 
 but he added to his responsibilities by marrying, in August 
 of the same year, his wife being Mary Ann Swann, 
 daughter of Thomas Swann, of Wetherby, Yorkshire. 1 It 
 was a bold thing a doubly bold thing thus to tempt 
 fortune ; but 
 
 " Luck attends the downright striker," 
 
 and in the following year the youthful dramatist entered 
 into an engagement with Davidge, of the Coburg Theatre, 
 to write "pieces, dramas, farces, and dramatic squibs," 
 whenever they were wanted (and they were wanted somewhat 
 
 1 Douglas Jerrold left five children, of whom but two, his youngest 
 son Thomas Serle Jerrold and younger daughter, are now living.
 
 xiv DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 frequently in those days), at a weekly salary. For 
 four years this engagement continued, then author and 
 manager quarrelled, and the former took his new piece to 
 Elliston, of the Surrey Theatre, with whom he entered into 
 an agreement similar to the one with Davrdge. The MS. 
 of the new play was handed in to Elliston as an earnest of 
 good faith that play was Black-Eyed Susan, and (pro- 
 duced June 8th, 1829) proved to be one of the most 
 successful dramatic ventures then recorded ; it ran for 
 three hundred nights, was performed first at the trans- 
 pontine house, and then as an after-piece at a West End 
 theatre, T. P. Cooke (the William of the play) doing 
 the double event every night. Such a success nowadays 
 would mean a very considerable sum for the successful 
 dramatist; the management reaped a golden harvest, and 
 Cooke (as Hepworth Dixon put it) " became quite a 
 personage in society. Testimonials were got up for 
 Elliston and Cooke on the glory of its success, but Jerrold's 
 share of the gain was slight, about seventy pounds of the 
 many thousands which it realised for the management." 
 In the following year Jerrold essayed something of a more 
 ambitious nature, when, at the same theatre, he produced 
 Thomas a Beckef. This, too, was highly successful, and 
 the author received congratulations, not from friends alone, 
 but from others who were now beginning to hear of " little 
 Shakespeare in a camlet cloak," as a friend had affectionately 
 named him. A notable letter on this occasion is one from 
 Mary Russell Mitford, who wrote " I was greatly interested 
 by the account of the enthusiastic reception given by the
 
 D O UGLA S JERR OLD. x v 
 
 audience of Black-Eyed Susan to a successor rather above 
 their sphere. It was hearty, genial English much like 
 the cheering which an election mob might have bestowed 
 on some speech of Pitt, or Burke, or Sheridan, which they 
 were sure was fine, although they hardly understood it." 
 It was after the success of this play that some friend 
 warmly congratulated Jerrold, saying, " You'll be the 
 Surrey Shakespeare." " The sorry Shakespeare, you mean," 
 was his quick reply. I have named these two plays 
 especially from among the many which my grandfather 
 wrote during the first decade of his literary activity, 
 because of the marked popularity of the one, and of the 
 marked literary advance of Thomas a Becket over its 
 author's earlier dramatic productions. 
 
 In 1829 Douglas Jerrold became sub-editor of The Ballot, 
 with the work of dramatic critic and reviewer on the same 
 periodical. After 1830 his contributions found their way 
 into the more important magazines Blackivood's, The New 
 Monthly, The Freemason's Quarterly, The Athemzum, etc. 
 It was about this time, too (early in the thirties), the time 
 of the great Reform agitation that Jerrold wrote a some- 
 what violent political pamphlet, which was suppressed by 
 the authorities, and of which I have been unable to ascer- 
 tain even the subject. In 1832 Punch in London was 
 started on his short career of but a few weeks, bearing on 
 his pages many signs of the sharp, incisive style which 
 ten years later was to characterise the " Q." letters in 
 Punch. Sometimes fully signed, sometimes with initials, 
 now with a "].," and now with the pen-name of Henry
 
 xvi DO UGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 Brownrigg, and often entirely unacknowledged (as, for in- 
 stance, the jSy^/hw^contributions), miscellaneous sketches 
 and papers by Douglas Jerrold are scattered all over the 
 periodical literature of the time. 
 
 In 1838 Douglas Jcrrold's Men of Character was pub- 
 lished in three volumes, the work being illustrated by 
 William Makepeace Thackeray, still anxious for an artist's 
 career, and as yet some years removed from his own literary 
 success. The "Men" had been gathered together from the 
 pages of BlackwootTs and The New Monthly. In Black- 
 wood's Magazine, too, I have recently lighted upon a some- 
 what lengthy paper on " The Science of Swindling," a paper 
 which (although unacknowledged) is very evidently from 
 Douglas Jerrold's pen. It is, I think, interesting as being 
 a forerunner of the " Handbook," which is included in 
 this volume, and which (originally published in 1839) has 
 not been before re-issued, though the tiny volume, with 
 its four illustrations by "Phiz," is in much demand among 
 collectors. 
 
 The years from 1830 to 1840, which I have just referred 
 to, were no less busy ones to Douglas Jerrold the dramatist, 
 than they were to Douglas Jerrold the journalist and essay- 
 writer. In 1830 The Devil's Ducat (Jcrrold's only play in 
 blank verse) was produced at the Adelphi ; the following 
 year The Bride of Ludgate was brought out at Drury Lane ; 
 and in 1832, at the same theatre, The Rent Day, one 
 of its author's most successful pieces, perhaps, indeed, 
 the most successful example of that domestic drama which 
 he was wont to call after the manner of Touchstone
 
 D O UGLAS JERR OLD. xvi i 
 
 "a poor thing but, mine own." Each year saw one 
 or two new plays produced; in 1835, indeed, on one day 
 (February iyth), three new plays by Jerrold were brought out, 
 The Hazard of the >ie&\. Drury Lane (with Black-Eyed Susan 
 as an after-piece), The Schoolfellows at the Queen's Theatre, 
 and The Man's an Ass at the Olympic, while, towards the 
 close of the same year, Doves in a Cage appeared at the 
 Adelphi. In 1836, in conjunction with his brother-in-law 
 W. J. Hammond he took the Strand Theatre, and 
 under the nom de plume of Henry Brownrigg, during the 
 few months of the unlucky enterprise, brought out four new 
 plays, in one of which, The Painter of Ghent, the author 
 himself took, the leading character, but after a fortnight 
 wisely gave it up. The speculation was not successful, 
 and Jerrold retired from it, Hammond speaking an address 
 which his brother-in-law had penned for the occasion, 
 and in which he said : " We began with a tragic drama, 
 The Painter of Ghent ; but, as the aspect of the boxes and 
 pit was much more tragic than we could wish, we, in sailor's 
 phrase, 'let go the painter.' We tried something like a 
 ballet, which, after a few nights (but purely out of mercy to 
 the reputation of Taglioni and Perrot), we withdrew. We 
 found that our legs were not very good, and so we resolved 
 to produce comedy of words and character ; in other 
 phrase, mistrusting our legs, we resolved henceforth to stand 
 only upon our head." 
 
 In 1840, under the general editorship of Douglas Jerrold, 
 there appeared Heads of ihe People^ a well-known series of 
 sketches by Thackeray, R. H. Home, Laman Blanchard,
 
 xviii DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 the editor, 1 and others, the heads being illustrated by Kenny 
 Meadows. 
 
 In 1841 (to be exact, it was July lyth) Punch started on 
 his honourable and successful career. At the time that 
 Henry Mayhew and his friends were bringing out the first 
 number Jerrold was in Boulogne, and his earliest contri- 
 bution only arrived in time for the second number, but 
 from that time up to the time of his death, nearly sixteen 
 years later, hardly a week went by without his contributing. 
 Punch was not yet two months old when Douglas Jerrold 
 commenced that series of trenchant, yet fanciful articles on 
 topical, political, and social questions signed "Q.," which 
 gave the paper much of the political weight which it long 
 carried. 2 In Punch Douglas Jerrold undoubtedly found a 
 literary vehicle admirably suited to his genius. In its pages 
 he could be fanciful or severe, playful or satiric, as occasion 
 demanded. Through this medium some of his best work 
 was first placed before the public, The Story of a Feather, 
 Punch's Complete Letter- Writer, Punch 's Letters to his Son, 
 and Mrs. Caudles Curtain Lectures, from among his collected 
 
 1 Douglas Jen-old's contributions to the series are included in his 
 collected works under the title of "Sketches of the English." 
 
 2 In the very first of these " Q." papers (on " I'eel Regularly Called 
 In") there occurs an instance of that happy method of seizing upon 
 unusual illustrations to which I have before made reference, an illus- 
 tration, too, gleaned by Jerrold from his readings in natural history. 
 "The naturalist," says "Q. ," "speaks of a turtle that continued to live 
 after its brain was taken from its skull, and the cavity stuffed with 
 cotton. Is not England, with spinning-jenny Peel at the head of its 
 affairs, in this precise predicament ? "
 
 DO UGLAS JERROLD. xix 
 
 works ; an unrepublished series on Our Honeymoon, the 
 powerful "Q." papers, and shorter pieces innumerable. 
 
 In 1843 The Illuminated Magazine was commenced under 
 Jerrold's editorship, and in its pages appeared those 
 "Chronicles of Cloverwork," which the author always 
 looked upon as of the very best of his work, while of short 
 essays and sketches ("The Folly of the Sword," herein, is 
 one of them) " by the editor " there are many examples. 
 The Illuminated Magazine, however, was not long-lived; still, 
 undeterred by a past failure, Jerrold commenced in January 
 1845 -Douglas Jerrold's Shilling Magazine^ which achieved 
 an instant success; its object was set forth in a prospectus 
 from which I will quote one or two sentences, as they are, I 
 think, indicative not only of his work on this magazine, but 
 because they are applicable to everything which he wrote : 
 
 "It is intended that this work shall be mainly devoted to 
 a consideration of the social wants and rightful claims of 
 the PEOPLE that it shall appeal to the hearts of the masses 
 of England. . . . 
 
 "It is our belief that the present epoch is pregnant with 
 more human interest than any previous era ; as it is also 
 our faith that the present social contest, if carried out on all 
 sides with ' conscience and tender heart,' must end in a 
 more equitable allotment of the good provided for all men. 
 To aid, however humbly, in the righteous and bloodless 
 struggle, is a truer, more grateful glory, than any glory 
 blatant in gazettes. And an aroused spirit begins to feel 
 this. Awaking from a long, vain dream, that showed the 
 many created only to minister to the few, the said spirit
 
 xx DOUGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 believes or says it believes in the universality of the 
 human heart. Hence it vindicates a common right to 
 happiness : hence, in its new tenderness, it even ' babbles 
 o' green fields' for the health and healthful thoughts of the 
 people. So much the better. . . . 
 
 "It will be our chief object to make every essay how- 
 ever brief, and however light and familiar its treatment 
 breathe with a purpose. Experience assures us that, 
 especially at the present day, it is by a defined purpose alone, 
 whether significant in twenty pages or in twenty lines, that 
 the sympathies of the world are to be engaged, and its 
 support insured." 
 
 In the pages of the Shilling Magazine appeared, month 
 by month, instalments of one of Jerrold's chief works, the 
 story, that is, of St. Giles and St. James ', an endeavour "to 
 show, in the person of St. Giles, the victim of an ignorant 
 disregard of the social claims of the poor upon the rich ; 
 of the governed million upon the governing few." The 
 author was charged with trying to set class against class, 
 with writing " bitterly," and in issuing the completed work 
 in volume form he wrote an introductory note, in which he 
 said, "I submit this book to the generous interpretation of 
 the reader. Some of it has been called 'bitter'; indeed, 
 'bitter' has, I think, a little too often been the ready 
 word when certain critics have condescended to bend their 
 eyes upon my page ; so ready that, were my ink redolent 
 of myrrh and frankincense, I well know the sort of ready- 
 rrnde criticism that w^uld cry, with a denouncing shiver, 
 ' Aloes, aloes ! ' "
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. xxi 
 
 Shortly after the Magazine had started, one of the most 
 brilliant of Jerrold's comedies Time Works WonJers was 
 produced at the Haymarket, and, favoured with a most 
 exceptional cast, including Madame Vestris, Mrs. Glover, 
 Mrs. Humby, Messrs. Farren, Charles Mathews, Buckstonc, 
 and Tilbury, all leading actors, had a most successful run. 
 In the summer of 1846 Douglas Jerrold'' s Weekly News- 
 paper was commenced. In its columns appeared "The 
 Barber's Chair," a weekly gossip on topical events by 
 the editor. The paper proved a great success, and pro- 
 mised to become a valuable property, as it was undoubtedly 
 a valuable accession to the Radical literature of the time, 
 for "Douglas Jerrold was enthusiastic on the popular 
 .^ide as Shelley was." Successful though it was, the news- 
 paper after awhile began to flag, and Jerrold (impulsive 
 ever) wearied of it, and after rather more than two years 
 gave it up. The Magazine did not last much longer, 
 though a kind of galvanic life was imparted to its last few 
 numbers by the editor's remarkable papers on " Twiddle- 
 thumb Town." ! 
 
 1851 saw the publication in numbers (the way in which 
 many of Dickens's stories were issued) of The Man made 
 of Money, which was the only story Jerrold ever published 
 originally in separate form. This was the third and last, 
 and by some critics thought to be the best, of Jerrold's long 
 writings. In it occurs the oft-quoted remark regarding 
 
 1 Recently reprinted in the Jerrold volume of Paterson's " Treasure- 
 House of Tales."
 
 xxii DO UGLAS JERROLD. 
 
 Australia " A country so fertile that if you but tickle her 
 with a hoe she laughs with a harvest." 
 
 In 1852 Douglas Jerrold was offered and accepted the 
 editorship of Lloyd's Weekly Newspaper, at a salary of one 
 thousand pounds a year. This work, along with his Punch 
 writings, mainly occupied him for the last few years of his 
 life. In Lloyd's which, as one critic has put it, " he found 
 in the street and annexed to literature" he had a platform 
 whence he could every week address many thousands of 
 readers, and infuse into them some of the passionate feeling 
 which moved him when oppression was to be combatted or 
 shams to be laid bare. Under his editorship the circula- 
 tion of the paper rose by thousands weekly, and proud as he 
 was of its rise, he felt keenly the grave responsibility of his 
 charge. Much of the best of his writing on social and 
 political questions appeared in his Lloyd's leaders, a small 
 volume of which was issued in 1868, but which is now not 
 easily obtainable. 
 
 In 1853 the comedy of St. Cupid was produced, and 
 in the year following, The Heart of Gold, which was the 
 last of Jerrold's many dramatic productions, nearly fifty of 
 which are scattered over the years between 1821 and 1854, 
 and scarce a third of which arc included in his collected 
 works. 
 
 In 1853 Douglas Jerrold started a penny subscription, 
 with the aggregate of which (9,215 pence were subscribed) 
 to present Kossuth 1 with a copy of Shakespeare, the 
 
 1 Louis Kossuth is still living (he is nearly ninety) in retirement at 
 Turin.
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD. xxiii 
 
 Hungarian patriot having (while in Austrian prisons) 
 learned English by means of the works of the great 
 dramatist. The matter was carried to a successful issue, 
 and on the 8th May 1853 Jerrold had the gratification of 
 publicly presenting Kossuth with a casket model of Shake- 
 speare's house, containing the complete works of the poet. 
 This occasion was one of the very few in which Douglas 
 Jerrold spoke in public. He was asked, in the same year, 
 to stand for Finsbury, but he declined, the activity of a 
 member's duties being, he said, incompatible with his own. 
 Douglas Jerrold died on the 8th of June 1857. 
 
 WALTER JERROLD. 
 
 NATIONAL LIBERAL CLUB, 
 LONDON, S.W.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF 
 SWINDLING. 
 
 900
 
 The 
 Handbook of Swindling, 
 
 By the late 
 
 Captain Barabbas Whitefeather. 
 Late of the body-guard of his Majesty, 
 King Carlos; Treasurer of the British 
 Wine and Vinegar Company ; 
 Trustee for the protection of the 
 River Thames from incendiaries; 
 principal inventor of Poyais 
 stock; Ranger of St. George's 
 Fields; original Patentee 
 of the Parachute Con- 
 veyance Associa- 
 tion; Knight of 
 every order of 
 the fleece; 
 Scamp 
 and 
 Cu 
 
 " A man he was to all the country dear" GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Edited by John Jackdaw,
 
 PREFACE OF THE EDITOR. 
 
 THE editor has disciplined himself to receive with becoming 
 moderation the tremendous expression of national gratitude 
 consequent on the publication of this valuable work the 
 production of the late estimable Captain Barabbas White- 
 feather. It was discovered among many other papers 
 accidentally left at the lodgings of the deceased, and placed 
 in the hands of the editor by the executors of the lamented 
 and if a novel epithet may be applied to him -talented 
 author. 
 
 When "handbooks" devoted to the lighter elegancies, 
 nay, to the frivolities, of life are every day poured down 
 upon a thankful generation, it would indeed be to incur the 
 charge of poltroonery to doubt the brilliant success of the 
 present essay. 
 
 The philosophical observer who has witnessed the fervent 
 welcome accorded by a British public to "The Handbook 
 of Skittles," "The Handbook of Cheese-Toasting," "The 
 Handbook of Eel-Skinning," "The Handbook of Nutmeg- 
 Grating," "The Handbook of Corn-Cutting," "The Hand- 
 book of Kitten-Drowning," and other productions of lesser 
 pith and purpose, the philosophic observer cannot but 
 glow with the sweetest and liveliest feelings of anticipated
 
 6 PREFACE. 
 
 pleasure at the outburst of national gratitude acknowledging 
 and rejoicing in the publication of 
 
 "Tun HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING." 
 
 Let us for a moment consider the comprehensiveness of 
 the subject. Other handbooks have their merits and their 
 uses : far be it from the editor to detract one iota from their 
 claims upon a thoughtful people ; yet it must be conceded 
 that their different subjects apply rather to the wants of 
 sections of the public than to the public in its integrity. 
 For instance, how few rejoice in the masculine exercise of 
 skittles ! Toasted cheese, albeit the favourite diet of many 
 of Cyclopean digestion, is sedulously shunned by dyspeptic 
 hundreds of thousands. The class of the eel-skinning 
 public is indeed most limited ; nutmeg is never dreamt of 
 by at least a million of our fellow-subjects ; a million more, 
 it is our cheerful hope, know not the visitation of corns ; 
 whilst, could a census be taken of the number of kittens 
 annually sacrificed by drowning, it would possibly be 
 discovered that not one British subject out of five hundred 
 is ever called upon to perform that painful, yet necessary 
 and most domestic operation. It must then be acknow- 
 ledged that all handbooks hitherto published are more or 
 less limited in their application; but for "The Handbook 
 of Swindling," why, it is a national work ; a vade mecum 
 for a whole people ! 
 
 It was the intention of the editor to dedicate this work to 
 some illustrious individual worthy of the distinction. But 
 so many candidates all equally deserving of the honour
 
 PREFACE. 7 
 
 with claims so nicely balanced, rose before him, that the 
 editor, considering it would be invidious to many to select 
 one alone, dedicates the book to the nation at large. Yes, 
 he gives it to his country; but too well repaid if he shall 
 be the means of calling from the working day road of life 
 one simple traveller to the pleasant "primrose path " made 
 easier and laid more open to him by this golden volume, 
 
 BREAKNECK STEPS, 
 
 OLD BAILEY.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The reader is introditced to Captain Whitefeatlier' s 
 relations. 
 
 IT was a favourite conviction of my late respected uncle 
 and godfather, Barabbas Whitefeather, he fell in the very 
 flower of his age, at only forty-five, a premature victim to 
 the insalubrity of Bermuda, where he was stationed in a 
 very public capacity by the British Government, it was, 
 I say, a pet belief of the sagacious Barabbas that every 
 man had within him what I think heathen philosophers 
 have called a particle of divine gold ; but which my uncle, 
 in the fine simplicity of his nature, and at the same time 
 humanely accommodating his language to the lowest 
 understanding of his species, denominated "a bit of the 
 swindler." 
 
 Discriminating reader, Barabbas Whitefeather was a man 
 of homespun wit, who chewed not his words until they had 
 lost all their original form and vigour ; no, he flung them 
 from him with the air of a man who knows he is laying 
 down a guinea of the best mint gold, and not timidly and 
 sneakingly, like a passer of gilt copper. 
 
 " Every man has within him a bit of the swindler ! " 
 The sentence fell upon me in the days of my earliest
 
 10 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 childhood; yes, it was in that ductile, happy, and suscept- 
 ible season of life that the words of my uncle Barabbas 
 precious seed ! dropped into my infant heart, where but 
 let me not boast, let me rather indulge in the luxury of 
 memory yes, suffer me, complying reader, to carry you 
 into the presence of my sainted uncle : bear with me whilst 
 with affectionate reverence I call up from the abyss of time 
 the interesting shadow of Barabbas Whitefeather. 
 
 It was my birthday- I was six years old. I had been 
 promised that that day should be distinguished by a cir- 
 cumstance which, as we advance in life and become 
 involved in the meshes of the world, is apt to be forgotten, 
 albeit of the first importance at the time I was to be 
 breeched. J was not. I can only remember that a cloud 
 seemed suddenly to have lallen upon our house that my 
 father would come home long after the lamb had lain down 
 to rest, and would still leave the domestic roof before the 
 rising of the lark , that his temper, generally rough, became 
 much rougher ; and that, only a few days before my 
 birthday, on expressing my infantine delights at the 
 trumpets blown before the newly-arrived judges, he rebuked 
 me with unwonted emphasis, at the same time wishing the 
 trumpets and the judges, as 1 then conceived, very oddly 
 incorporated with one another. I was then within a few 
 days of six years old I was a fine, tall, plump child, and 
 on my birthday was to have been breeched. The neigh- 
 bourhood called for it. I repeat it, my birthday came and 
 passed, and found and left me still in coats. 
 
 That clay, however, was ordained to be the most event- 
 ful of my life. It is that clay which, if the world shall 
 continue to remember the deeds of Captain Barubbas 
 Whitefeather, must be held by posterity in especial respect. 
 It is to that day that I owe everything; and what I owe, it
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. n 
 
 would be the worst of affectation in the world to deny or 
 to forget. To proceed with my history. 
 
 " Brab," it was thus my father was wont to tamper with 
 the euphony of Barabbas, " Brab, nunkey wants to see 
 you; so you must toddle with me." 
 
 Some weeks had elapsed since I had seen uncle 
 Barabbas ; and at his name visions of cakes and apples, 
 peg-tops and whipping-tops, rose before me. Like 
 Agesilaus, Socrates, Yorick, and other men whom I do not 
 hesitate to call of his kidney, my uncle would chequer and 
 ameliorate the labour of public life by sporting with little 
 children. " He hath borne me on his back a thousand 
 times." I was of course delighted at the prospect of 
 visiting my uncle ; but was at the same time made to 
 wonder at the preparation of my father, who carefully 
 bound up one of his eyes, glued large whiskers on his 
 cheeks, and otherwise so disguised himself that, although I 
 saw him do it, I could scarcely believe it was he. How- 
 ever, I thought it was all to have some game with uncle 
 Barabbas and in my childishness crowed with laughter at 
 anticipation of the sport. 
 
 I walked with my father, and in about half-an-hour came 
 to a very large house, a place I had never seen before : for 
 my dear mother, always fuming about fevers and measles, 
 kept me close at home. My father, suddenly walking very 
 lame, knocked at the door, and through a cold that had 
 come on him all in a minute, asked hoarsely enough for 
 my uncle. The man let us in, and then another man went 
 before us; and then I knew I was in a place where there 
 were heaps of gold and diamonds, for the man unlocked 
 and locked again at least a dozen doors. I give my childish 
 impressions, which I entreat the reader not to smile at, but 
 to remember the simplicity and ingenuousness of my age.
 
 12 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 Well, after a time, we were led into an open court, where 
 some gentlemen were throwing up halfpence, and two on a 
 bench were pushing straws ; and there was one dancing, 
 and one or two singing, and all as happy as birds. 
 
 I looked round the place and saw uncle Barabbas smoking 
 in a corner. I was about to call him when my father gave 
 my arm such a pull I thought it was broken ; and so I 
 resolved to say nothing, but to wait and see the fun that 
 father would play off upon uncle. Sure enough Barabbas 
 never knew him ; and though my uncle patted me upon the 
 head, he had, I thought, forgotten me, for he gave me 
 nothing. My father and my uncle talked together for a 
 long time ; when I see my uncle now Barabbas suddenly 
 brought himself up, and raising his head, and extending his 
 right arm, the palm open, he said in a solemn voice 
 
 " Depend upon it, every man has within him a bit of the 
 swindler." 
 
 My father shook his head ; whereupon my uncle, for he 
 was very scholarly, and could talk for an hour without 
 stopping, proceeded as follows : I am perfectly certain as 
 to the words, having subsequently found the whole written 
 speech among other of my uncle's papers ; Barabbas, like 
 some other wits and orators, carefully putting in pen and 
 ink any brilliant thought that struck him any argument 
 that was a hobby with him, that he might at proper season 
 extemporaneously bring it forth to the delight and astonish- 
 ment of his hearers. My father shook his head at the 
 dogma of my uncle, who, without stop, continued : 
 
 " Are you so ignorant as to believe in the deficiency of 
 mankind in general to imagine that nature is so partial a 
 mother as to dower with her best gifts only a few of her 
 children, leaving the multitude defenceless, unarmed ? My 
 dear sir,"- here my uncle lowered his voice, "amend your
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 13 
 
 ignorance be just to nature. Do you see tigers whelped 
 without claws elephants calved that never have tusks 
 rattlesnakes hatched with no stings ? Is nature so niggard 
 so partial so unjust? No philosophers and conquerors 
 have made their marks, and signed their names to the fact 
 to swindle is to exhibit the peculiar attribute of the human 
 animal; it is at once the triumph and distinguishing faculty 
 of the race. But you will say, do all men swindle ? and I 
 ask, do all snakes sting all elephants gore ? There is, 
 however, an unanswerable argument which proves that men, 
 when gregarious, are inevitably swindlers ; at least if they 
 are not, let not the failing be placed to their account ; they 
 would be, if they might. Let me put a case. You 
 recollect Gloss, the retired merchant ? What an excellent 
 man was Gloss ! A pattern man to make a whole genera- 
 tion by ! Nobody could surpass him in what is called 
 honesty, rectitude, moral propriety, and other gibberish. 
 Well, Gloss joins a ' Board ' ; he becomes one of a com- 
 munity ; and, immediately, the latent feeling asserts itself: 
 he is a backbone man with the rest of his brotherhood; 
 and though as simple Glo.ss, and not a member of the 
 'board,' he is the same as ever, yet when acting with his 
 fellows, when one of the body corporate, when he merges 
 the man Gloss in the board member, the inherent faculty 
 becomes active, and he gratifies the instinct, or the refined 
 reason, or whatever men agree to call it and complacently 
 swindles with the rest. He cannot do otherwise : human 
 nature is tested by the occasion ; and if, under the circum- 
 stances, he refuse to swindle, he ceases to be a man. 
 Swindling, my dear sir " and here my uncle spoke in a 
 tremulous voice, and my father seemed touched by the emotion 
 " Swindling, my dear sir, has indeed a far more comprehen- 
 sive meaning than that superficially awarded to it by, possibly,
 
 1 4 THE II A NDB OOK OF S WIND LING. 
 
 very respectable people. Good soldiers may fight, pillage, 
 and violate under a banner, and yet, in truth, shall not be 
 able to read and interpret the legend emblazoned on it." 
 
 I could perceive that my father did not perfectly under- 
 stand this. He, therefore, nodded assentingly, and my uncle, 
 with new animation, proceeded : 
 
 " When I reflect on the extensive and subtle operation of 
 the faculty when I perceive that, in this our best possible 
 social state, it is, so to speak, the cement that keeps society 
 together ; the bond of union ; the very salt of human 
 government it does, I confess it, irk me to find men 
 ungraciously deny its existence, putting off its triumphs 
 upon other motives, and depriving swindling of the glory 
 of its deeds. Strange perversion of human intellect 
 laughable contradiction of moral purposes ! Thus, the 
 politician flutters at the very breath of swindler ; thus, the 
 stockbroker struts and swells, and lays his hand upon his 
 waistcoat with a blank look of wondering innocence at the 
 slightest allusion to the faculty that makes a man of him 
 to which he owes his carriage and country house, his 
 conservatories and his pineries; and above all, the flatter- 
 ing hope of calling Lord Giggleton son-in-law ; his lordship 
 being over head, and, what is more, over cars in love with 
 Arabella's guineas. And yet. such is the base, the black 
 ingratitude of human nature, that this man, this most 
 adroit and lucky stockbroker, starts even at the name of 
 swindler ! He indignantly denies the slightest obligation 
 to the higher faculty the uiens divinior of the cabinet, 
 the mart, and the counting-house. Look at Sir Godfrey 
 Measles, the illustrious pork contractor, in whom our brave 
 and magnanimous sailors confide for dinners. Did he not 
 in the most handsome way forfeit a fine to his king and 
 country for having failed to supply swine's flesh at so
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 15 
 
 much per stone ? And then, having paid his fine like a 
 patriot and a man, did he not, having before bought up all 
 the pork to be had did he not, with the gushing feelings 
 of a philanthropist, offer it at three times the contract 
 price ? Now what was this ? Men who veil their meaning 
 in allegory may say that Sir Godfrey Measles ' drove his 
 pigs to a fine market.' For myself, I elevate the homely 
 phrase of pig-driver into the more ennobling name of 
 swindler. Others may say that Sir Godfrey only traded I 
 stick to my belief ; I say he swindled. More : I reverence 
 him for the act ; my only deep regret is, that he should 
 have failed in an ingenuous gratitude, and denied the 
 action of the higher principle. I have long looked upon 
 the world, and, with sorrow I say it, in nothing do the gener- 
 ations of successful men show so much cold and callous 
 ingratitude as in their treatment of their guardian genius, 
 that prettiest of Pucks, that best of Robin Goodfellows, 
 that deftest of household fairies, hight Swindling ! " 
 
 My father cast his one eye towards his eloquent brother 
 with a look of speaking admiration; and, although there 
 was a pause, did not presume to make any rejoinder. My 
 uncle proceeded : 
 
 "But why number examples? Why attempt to prove 
 that which every man, if he would but consult the recesses 
 of his own bosom, must truly know ? Ask all the pro- 
 fessions; demand of the lawyer, with yellow, studious cheek, 
 wherefore he should coin gold out of little strips of paper, 
 written over by youthful scribes at two or three shillings 
 per diem. Request him to give you the philosophy of 
 costs the exquisite meaning of appearance and declaration, 
 and reply and rejoinder, and all the thousand terms in- 
 vented by the most cunning class of labourers, the over- 
 lookers at the building of Babel. Ask the sleek practitioner
 
 1 6 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 to what he owes his fortune. To common- sense 
 to justice to the fair and rational barter of labour for 
 shillings? If he be a hypocrite if he be resolved to clap in 
 with the world, and carry on a profitable duplicity, he will 
 swell like a bull-frog at the query, and, forgetful of his 
 knuckles, will strike his heart, answering with the big- 
 mouthed ' Yes ! ' But if at the end of a long practice there 
 should by miracle remain in that attorney's bosom a throb 
 of truth, he will blandly, yet significantly smile at the 
 words the counters men play with common-sense and 
 justice, and magnanimously and unblushingly declare his 
 debt to swindling ! 
 
 " Is it otherwise with the physician, who sells his guesses 
 for truth, and doubts and doubts a patient into the grave, 
 whilst his medicinal palm is open for the guinea ? When 
 the apothecary vends cinnamon and peppermint water for 
 elixir vita, doth he practise a noble art ? Yea ; for, safely 
 and successfully, he swindles. 
 
 " When the tradesman his housemaid at the time per- 
 haps in Bridewell for petty larceny committed on the grease- 
 pot when he, smiling across the counter at his victim, puts 
 off knowingly the poorest commodity at the highest price, 
 how stands he in relation to his captive handmaid ? Why, 
 Rebecca has robbed, but the tradesman has only driven 
 his trade : the slut has for ever and for ever lost her 
 character, with it seven pounds per annum, and, it may be, 
 tea and sugar included but for Mr. Jackson, her master, he 
 has turned the profit penny ; he has but all in the way Oi f 
 busm.-ss swindled." 
 
 " It is very true," exclaimed my father with an oath, " it 
 is very true. When what is swindling isn't swindling 
 according to law, it's a fortune to a man ; but when it's 
 agin law, and found out
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING 17 
 
 "The result I know," cried my uncle, a slight tint of red 
 suffusing his manly cheek. " All mankind may be divided 
 into two classes: the swindlers according to custom and 
 to law, and the swindlers according to the bent of their 
 natural genius." 
 
 "True agin," cried my father, slapping his thigh. 
 
 "Still, the propensity," said my uncle, "is universal: 
 men only want temptation. It is extraordinary how, like a 
 chain, the feeling runs from breast to breast. Jack Smasher 
 was one of the prettiest hands at coining; and more, he was 
 blessed with a wife born, I should say, with a genius for 
 passing bad money. She took a crown one of her 
 husband's base-begotten offspring purchased with it three 
 pennyworth of rhubarb from a Quaker chemist, who 
 undone man! handed over four-and-ninepence change. 
 Aminadab Straightback was, even among his brethren, 
 the brightest child of truth. In due season Aminadab 
 detected the guileful crown, and in his own clear breast 
 resolved to destroy it. However, it remained by the 
 strangest accident in his till, and by an accident still 
 more extraordinary, was given in part of change for a 
 guinea to a gentleman a little the worse for liquor, who 
 on his way home to bed took the precaution of dropping 
 into Straightback's for a box of his own patent anti- 
 bacchic pills. In the morning the vinous gentleman dis- 
 covered the pocket-piece, but as he had changed more 
 than one guinea, could not with certainty detect the giver 
 of the counterfeit. No matter. It remained loose with 
 other money in his pocket, and one day, to his own 
 surprise, he found he had passed it. He had taken a 
 journey, and it was very dark when, in the handsomest 
 manner, he fee'd the coachman. The poor man who 
 drove the Tally-ho did not realise more than ,400 per 
 
 901
 
 1 8 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 annum, and could not afford to lose five shillings ; hence 
 Smasher's crown became at a fitting opportunity the 
 property of a sand-blind old gentlewoman, who, her loss 
 discovered, lifted up her hands at the iniquity of the 
 world, and put aside the brassy wickedness. The good 
 old soul never missed a charity sermon. The Reverend 
 Mr. Sulphurtongue made a sweet discourse in favour of 
 the conversion of the Jews, and the churchwardens con- 
 descended to hold each a plate. To the great disgust 
 of the discoverers, a bad crown was detected amongst 
 the subscribed half-crowns and shillings. The beadle 
 was directed to destroy it. He intended to do so, but, 
 in pure forgetfulness, passed it one day for purl ; the 
 landlady of the ' George ' having, as she said, ' taken it, 
 was resolved not to lose it,' and by some accident it was 
 given to a pedlar, who, after a walk of twenty miles, entered 
 an ale-house, took his supper of bread and cheese, went 
 to bed, rose, and proffered for his account Jack Smasher's 
 pocket-piece. The pedlar was immediately given into the 
 hands of a constable, taken before a magistrate, and 
 ordered to be imprisoned and whipped as a passer of 
 counterfeit coin." 
 
 " See what luck is ! " cried my father ; " it's the Quaker 
 what should have lost the dollar." 
 
 " He couldn't do it; for though he was a most respect- 
 able person, and lived and died with that character, he was 
 but a man. He had been swindled the link of the chain 
 was touched, and it vibrated you perceive, it vibrated ? " 
 
 Again my father nodded. 
 
 "Yes," exclaimed Harabbas Whitefeather, "I repeal it 
 the sympathy is universal. All men can, do, or might, swindle. 
 Though with many the propensity be latent, it surely exists, 
 and needs but the happy moment to be awakened into lite.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 19 
 
 The proof is easy : take ten, twenty, thirty men creatures 
 of light ; admirable, estimable, conscientious persons ; by- 
 words of excellence, proverbs of truth in their individual 
 dealings; and yet, make of them a 'board' a 'committee' 
 a 'council' a 'company' no matter what may be the 
 collective name by which they may be known and imme- 
 diately every member will acknowledge the quickening of a 
 feeling a sudden growth of an indomitable lust to 
 swindle. What is this but a proof of the faculty as I 
 have said dormant, but requiring only the necessary agent 
 to awaken it ? Oh ! let no man perk himself up in the 
 pride of his innocence strut and pout, big with the pre- 
 judice of respectability ! He knows not the mystery of his 
 own nature ; for though to his own eyes he shall be a saint, 
 he will, when time and purpose shall see fit to call his better 
 feelings into life, he will, he must, he cannot do otherwise 
 than swindle." 
 
 My father, though a strong man, was much affected. 
 
 "As for you, my dear child," said my uncle, taking me 
 by the hand, kissing me, and looking benevolently upon 
 me, "as for you, remember the words of Barabbas White- 
 feather. At present you know not their worth, but a time 
 will come when better than pearls or gold will be this my 
 parting counsel to you. Throughout your life do nought 
 but swindle. If you can, swindle on the right side of the 
 statute, but at all events, my dear child," even now I feel 
 the pressure of that wise man's lip, the warm tear trickling 
 down my cheeks, "at all events, Barabbas, swindle!" 
 
 I am now in my nine-and-thirtieth year; and from 
 my first day of discretion until this, the season of ripest 
 manhood, I can, laying my hand upon my heart, most 
 conscientiously declare that never for a moment have I 
 forgotten the last injunction of the best of uncles. But
 
 20 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 why should I speak on this head ? The world will do me 
 justice. 
 
 My uncle shook my parent by the hand. "Good-bye," 
 he said ; "we may never meet again, for I am now two-and- 
 forty, and you know" this I could not understand "you 
 know it's fourteen penriorth." 
 
 My father, choking with emotion, cried, " D n 'em ! " 
 We quitted my uncle ; and I trust I shall not be accused 
 of adopting the language of hyperbole, when I state that we 
 quitted him with feelings far more easy of conception than 
 description. 
 
 Only a twelvemonth after this, I lost my excellent father. 
 It may prove to the giddy and the vain the uncertainty of 
 life, when I state that my worthy parent was in robust 
 health one minute and dead the next. It may also prove 
 that he had held some place in the world, when I assure 
 the reader that crowds of people flocked to our house to 
 pay honour to his cold remains; which, for the benefit of 
 his wid'nv and son, were exhibited at sixpence a head to 
 grown persons, and half-price for children. I should be 
 unjust to my parent's memory were I to withhold another 
 circumstance illustrative of the consequence of my father to 
 the world at large : the night-cap in which he died was 
 purchased by a gentleman, a lover of the fine arts, after a 
 severe contest with other bidders, for two guineas. 
 
 And so much for my uncle and my father, both worthy 
 of the name of Whitefeather.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Captain Whifefeather takes an enlarged view of Swindling. 
 Social evils and their remedy. 
 
 No the theme is too pregnant with circumstance ; too 
 vast too voluminous. Let me then subdue the vain, 
 though laudable, ambition let me repress the fond, the 
 wild desire of such distinction. Is it for a single pen to 
 write the History of Swindling? Is it for one man to 
 chronicle, with scrupulous fidelity, the rise and progress of 
 the exquisite art (for I must call it so)? Is it for one 
 curious pair of eyes one toilsome hand to pore over and 
 put down the many million facts to be registered in a com- 
 plete body of the Science ? Could the life of a patriarch, 
 even though he worked the hours of a cotton-spinner, 
 suffice for the labour? Consider, Barabbas, what running 
 to and fro what fetching and carrying of truths what 
 sifting and winnowing of chaff and husk what gold- 
 washing what pearl-diving ! Now picking up stray matter 
 for your work in Egypt now, with a thought, among the 
 sages in India now off, it may be, upon a wild-goose 
 chase to Arabia Petraea now among the Scandinavians 
 and now, cold as a snowball, to be called away to the 
 opium-sellers at the walls of the Tartars ! Is it possible for 
 one man, though with ribs of brass and soles of adamant, 
 to go through the toil and travel ? And this, be it remarked, 
 will only take in the first thousand years or so of the 
 age of our dear, ill-used mother earth. How much remains 
 to be done what crooked ways to thread what dirt and 
 rust to scratch away what inscriptions to guess at what 
 monuments to measure even before you come to Semiramis!
 
 22 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 And when, reeling like a porter under a thousand-weight of 
 facts for a very few facts make a pound you arrive at 
 Semiramis, have you disciplined yourself to bear the 
 indifference of a superficial generation to be asked 
 by listless ignorance, " Who the devil is Semiramis ? " 
 Dear Barabbas, your yearnings are indeed most noble ; 
 but there is a limit to human action there is a point 
 where man must stop. The task is not earthly; or, if 
 indeed it be a mortal labour, it is only to be achieved by the 
 united heads and hands of many. A band of hard-working 
 encyclopaedists temperate labourers living upon bread and 
 water and figs might possibly, in the course of a few 
 lustres, produce some hundred volumes of the work; but a 
 complete body of swindling from the birth of time to its 
 present lustihood, it is a thing only to be dreamed of 
 a glorious phantasm a magnificent but most deceitful 
 vision ! 
 
 But grant it done. Say that the last proof the ten 
 millionth sheet lies before you, the smooth-faced devil 
 waiting at your garret door to carry off the corrected matter 
 for the press. Say that it is printed, published, and the 
 whole five hundred volumes folio scrupulously conned, as 
 they doubtless would be, by the critics alack ! alack ! 
 what a melancholy book hath the press groaned with 
 what a ghastly chronicle, what a blood-dyed, tear-stained 
 record ! 
 
 " A complete body of swindling ! " Let us turn a few of 
 the leaves. They creak like dungeon hinges ! Are not 
 the pictures terrible ? Whole generations of men, thin- 
 chapped, hollow-eyed, scourged and in bonds ; fainting in 
 midday; stark with the dews of night. Tens of thousands, 
 living carcasses, in mines thousands and thousands writh- 
 ing in blood and agony upon the field with the vassals of
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 23 
 
 glory, a cloud of vultures, hovering to pick their bones. 
 Next let us peep through prison bars, and no; close the 
 book it is too shocking one's marrow freezes, and the 
 brain reels at it. 
 
 " Methinks," says the reader, " the Captain takes a too 
 comprehensive view of his subject." 
 
 Right, sagacious reader ; and yet, were the history of 
 swindling in all its ramifications to be duly chronicled, the 
 work would be no less voluminous, no jot less tragical. 
 The present is, after all, not an auspicious age for folios; 
 neither is it the best of all possible eras for the publication 
 of disagreeable truths. Lazarus himself, to touch worldly 
 sympathy, should in these days be a Lazarus in superfine 
 cloth the best cambric and the glossiest beaver ; nay, he 
 would be something the gainer by a waistcoat of gold- 
 smeared velvet, and, at least, a chain of silver. To make 
 iniquity or sorrow bearable, it is highly necessary that it 
 should be properly dressed. Hence, reader, I, Barabbas 
 Whitefeather, instructed by the better spirit of the age, 
 forego my first Utopian purpose, and leaving the full history 
 of swindling to be written by a future college of sages, shall 
 confine myself more immediately to the existing wants of 
 the world shall attend to the crying necessities of the 
 present generation. Controlled by my better genius, I 
 renounce folios. 
 
 After all, the world has not, as I at first superficially 
 believed, so keen a want of a complete history of swind- 
 ling : for how many books have been written which, 
 although not professedly treating of the theme, are, by their 
 very subject, works of reference and authority in the matter! 
 What, for instance, is much of Ancient History t What 
 The Lives of the Roman Emperors? What The History of 
 Conquests ? What The History of Discovery from the
 
 24 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 first finding of Mesopotamia to the last providential flight 
 upon New Zealand ? If men will read not with their eyes 
 alone, but with understanding hearts, how much is there in 
 all these works, in all these narratives, that is indeed no 
 other than materials for a complete body of swindling? 
 Loose pearls that need stringing scattered lights to be 
 brought to one point? Indeed, to a contemplative mind, 
 to a reader properly prepared for the perusal of history 
 and biography, it is almost impossible for him to open a 
 volume from which lie should not gather knowledge of a 
 swindling kind. It is often the very staple of a book, 
 though to the shame of many writers, I grieve to say it, 
 the subject is most ungenerously disguised under foreign 
 trappings passed off under a false name. Hence, reflect- 
 ing that if men will look round them, they are not wholly 
 destitute of works containing the philosophy of swindling on 
 a grand historical scale on an enlarged and transcendental 
 plan -I shall endeavour to prevail upon myself to become 
 merely useful, leaving it to the poorly ambitious to glitter 
 and to soar. Let other men make pedestals to themselves 
 of unopened folios ; they have their veneration they are 
 talked of, never read. I I will descend among the crowd 
 will mix with my fellow-creatures will right and left 
 scatter among the children of innocence a " Handbook "- 
 a veritable tome to be carried between the thumbs and 
 fingers of men in their paths by day, and like a guardian 
 and protecting genius to nestle in their bosoms at night. 
 Yes, it shall be no large carcass of a book ; no literary 
 mammoth of a bygone time; a load for a shelf; but a light 
 and dainty fairy for the palm. A "Handbook!" Yes, 
 there is a freshness, a beauty, a truthfulness in the 
 name; it shall be "THK HANDBOOK OF SWINMH.ING!" Uncut 
 folios, avaunt ! and, thick as hummingbirds in tropic
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 25 
 
 groves, "Handbooks," in green and gold, trim your glowing 
 winglets and flutter among men. 1 
 
 Having resolved upon the mode in which I shall benefit 
 humanity, having come to the determination to contract 
 myself into the smallest possible size, that I may the more 
 deftly make my way among the crowd, it is but due to my- 
 self it is but just to my readers to make known in a few 
 words the extent and range of my purpose. That purpose 
 is, I am proud to feel it, of the best wisdom, of the noblest 
 benevolence ; it is to make every man at least every 
 thinking, reasonable man, for I write not to blockheads a 
 SWINDLER. Yes ; it is my aim to render him, at all points, 
 armed for the contest of life to prepare him for the cutting 
 and thrusting and picking and stealing of this eventful 
 passage. It is my purpose to make known a few golden 
 rules the result of along and various experience by which 
 the attentive and quick-witted student may learn to play 
 with men as he would play with pieces of chess, by which 
 every move on the board of life may be his own, to the 
 utter discomfiture of a plodding and merely painstaking 
 opponent. And in all this there shall be nothing legally 
 forbidden; nothing that shall suddenly shock your delicate 
 nostrils, reader, with the smell of hemp : no, no ; though 
 turnkeys and the hangman walk about you, if you are an 
 
 1 The reader will perceive from the self-complacency with which the 
 author talks of " Handbook," that he would pass the compound as 
 purely one of his own invention. The editor, however, conceives it 
 to be a part of his stern duty to state that a book printed at Baden- 
 Baden, where the Captain was wont to retire in autumn for the benefit 
 of the waters, and other benefits a book entitled (we give the English) 
 "The Handbook of Cogging," was found among the Captain's other 
 literary effects. He had, doubtless, forgotten that Handbook was from 
 Handlntch. [JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
 
 26 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 apt scholar, you shall snap your fingers at them, and 
 swindle securely. 
 
 "And now," thinks the reader, for I know his thoughts 
 as well as I know my own whiskers, "now the book begins 
 to open ; now the work warms up." Be not impatient. 
 
 Impressed as I am with the purpose of this inestimable 
 little work, it befits the dignity of that purpose that there 
 should be no unseemly haste, no helter-skelter in the 
 communication of ideas. Were I writing the "HANDBOOK 
 OF EGG-SUCKING," or any such domestic treatise, I might 
 jump into my subject; but "SWINDLING" is not to be 
 approached irreverently. 
 
 Its influence on the happiness of society is to be duly 
 considered, that the maxims by which it is t'.ie hope of the 
 author to recommend it may have their due weight upon 
 the disciple; who, when he shall learn that swindling is, 
 indeed, synonymous with self-preservation, will brush up his 
 hair, take breath, and then, unless he have no more sen- 
 sibility than a stock or stone, lapse into a state of the 
 profoundest and most admiring attention. Yes; I was right 
 the pupil is now all ears. 
 
 Philanthropists and philosophers have come to the com- 
 fortable conclusion that there are in England too many 
 Englishmen. John Hull has played the Sultan, and has 
 an alarmingly numerous family. Unhappily, however, he 
 has not the Sultan's wealth neither has he the Sultan's 
 prerogative : he cannot feed all his sons and daughters ; he 
 must not choke or drown them. The bowstring and the 
 Bosphorus arc not for John. What then is to become of 
 the family of Hull ? Shall they tear each other piecemeal ? 
 Eorgetful of their origin, shall they destroy one another in 
 civil fight? Amor patriie. humanity all the finer and 
 nobler feelings of the human heart, revolt at the very
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 27 
 
 thought. " What," the philanthropist will inquire with tears 
 in his eyes "what, then, is to be done with a super- 
 abundant population ? " My reply is as brief as, I flatter 
 myself, it is conclusive they must swindle. We have been 
 gradually adopting what I believe to be the only remedy 
 for the national disease ; we have for some years in many 
 instances applied what I conceive to be the only cure for 
 the social malady; but it is only when it shall be applied 
 upon a grand scale, when, in fact, a curative science shall be 
 professed and practised by men cognisant of all its subtle 
 and most bountiful capabilities for it is yet in its infancy 
 that the greatness of its social value will be thoroughly 
 manifested and acknowledged. 
 
 It is allowed that all the professions are full to running 
 over. The Church is crammed to suffocation with appli- 
 cants for deaneries, prebends, vicarages ; to say nothing of 
 the thousands with their hearts fixed upon mitres. There 
 is hardly standing room among the candidates for lawn 
 and silk aprons. 
 
 In the Courts of Law there are wigs as thick as cauli- 
 flowers in Battersea Gardens. Besides, the sneaking spirit 
 of the times has so enervated the British character, that 
 Englishmen lack somewhat of that generous pugnacity 
 which, in the days of our fathers, would precipitate them 
 into the arena of the law to feed with their own flesh the 
 lions therein prowling. And when it happens that a 
 gentleman with the true English blood in him shall resolve 
 upon such noble sacrifice, why, so numerous are the 
 animals awaiting him, that many a term shall pass, and 
 not one of the carnivora shall have so much as a mouthful 
 of the honest gentleman's flesh shall not even make their 
 mark in him. Consider it well, reader ; count, if you can, 
 the hundreds of excellent, watchful, well-disposed persons
 
 28 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 who, every morning during term, come down to the Courts to 
 prey ; and who, nevertheless, return to their homes all 
 innocent of strife. Is not this a discouraging prospect for 
 thousands of young men, most of them very willing to 
 become Chancellor? But so it is ; the profession has a 
 greater supply than demand. In fifty years it will be 
 thought great luck in a man to die Lord Chief Justice or 
 Attorney-General. 
 
 In the Army, a profession that I have followed with 
 an ardour peculiarly my own, can anything be more 
 barren ? Here am I, at the age of nine-and-thirty I, who 
 have but no, the dignity of my subject, the national 
 importance of this treatise, shall not be lessened or 
 neglected by aught personal. Hence, I disdain to speak 
 of a deep bayonet wound inflicted in the most dastardly 
 manner in the small of my back, during my first campaign 
 in Biscay of a gash across my nose, from an enemy's 
 sickle, when bivouacking in a hen-roost of an imaginary 
 fracture of the os but no ; I have said it, I will not 
 mingle my private griefs, were I chicken-hearted enough 
 to think them so, with matters of national interest. Be- 
 sides, every man's country is proverbially ungrateful to 
 him. Hence, I should despise myself did I more than 
 allude, in the most evanescent way, to my heavy pecuniary 
 losses in the service of Mexico, Chili, Peru, and other 
 places too numerous to mention. But so it is ; and what, 
 I ask what cares the commandcr-in-chief, sitting in his 
 pride of place at the Horse Guards what cares he for my 
 superb plum-pudding spotted charger, shot whilst grazing 
 it was only the day before I had been on him by an 
 enemy's vidctte ? What cares he for the loss of my three 
 saddles, generously given up to be converted into highlows 
 for my barefooted comrades? Yes, what I must, I will
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 29 
 
 ask it cares the said commander-in-chief for the subse- 
 quent ignominy endured in consequence of that gallant 
 steed that by me devoted leather? Would it affect him, 
 even for half-an-hour, to know that on my return to Eng- 
 land my beloved land! after three years' absence, I was, 
 at half-past six on a December morning, summoned by my 
 landlady to see a Mr. Jones, the said Mr. Jones and a 
 friend at the same time entering my apartment to remind 
 me of my lost barb, my long-forgotten saddles ? On that 
 morning the commander-in-chief was, I doubt it not, snoring 
 ingloriously in bed; little dreaming it may be, little caring 
 that at that hour a brother soldier, placed between two 
 big men in a small gig, was being conveyed at the rate of 
 three miles an hour through fog and frost to Chancery 
 Lane. I remember the Tyburn-like pace ; for, let me do 
 his benevolence justice, Mr. Levi in the handsomest way 
 apologised for not having had the horse roughed; adding 
 that, as he had no other call to make that morning, " he 
 was not in no 'urry." 
 
 Friendly reader, as an officer and a gentleman, I protest 
 to you that I would not have even thus casually alluded to 
 personal adventures did they not in the most striking, and 
 I may add in the most pathetic manner illustrate the con- 
 dition of a man who, with a military flame burning in his 
 breast, generously offers his fire in the cause of nations. I 
 might proceed ; but the same modesty that has hitherto 
 confined me to the rank of Captain and I may here allude 
 to an infamous conspiracy on the part of the publisher and 
 printers of the Army Lisf, my name, as I have been in- 
 formed, having been maliciously omitted from that miscel- 
 lany the same modesty ties up my tongue on my own 
 sufferings, my own deserts; or at most but lets it move in 
 fitful murmurings. I have done ! To proceed.
 
 30 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 In the Army what are the hopes for superabundant young 
 gentlemen, too spirited to starve, and too nice to dig? 
 What, I ask, can be their hopes when a hypocritical senti- 
 mentality is gaining ground amongst those who are pleased 
 to call themselves thinking men a whining, sneaking 
 abuse of glory and all its mighty purposes ? There is a 
 whimpering, white-faced cowardice that would extract all the 
 stern immortal beauty from the battlefield, showing it to be 
 no other than a place of butchery; that would display the 
 valiant soldier with his throat cut, his bowels gloriously pro- 
 truding, as a horrible sight a piece of sacrilege done by man 
 upon his fellow. And more than this, the same cant lifts up 
 its face of turnip pallor, and pointing to where ten or twelve 
 thousand stalwart fellows lie magnificently dead in blood 
 and mire, has the effrontery to ask cui bono^ as my old school- 
 master used to say to put the impudent "What's the good 
 of ii?" I should abuse the ingenuousness of the young 
 martial spirit were I to be silent on the innovation of this 
 wicked principle ; a principle which, with the infamous 
 invention of the steam gun and the unhallowed introduction 
 of the rocket brigade, will go far, or Captain Whitefeather 
 is no prophet, to utterly destroy what I was once proud to 
 think the instinct for war in the "paragon of animals." 
 There is something inconceivably cowardly in the steam 
 gun. Possessed of such engines, neither party will fight ; 
 and thus, nations always prepared for war, will hold con- 
 tinual peace. They will, so to speak, treat and deliberate 
 at "full cock"; and being always ready, will never fire. Is 
 not this, I ask, a lamentable state of the world for a man to 
 be born in? Tx-t us, however, unflinchingly look truth in 
 the face ; by so doing we shall be the better prepared for 
 the evil days at hand, which to enable men to meet with 
 some serenity of mind is the high purpose of this essay.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 31 
 
 Such days are nearer, much nearer, than those who have 
 capital in powder mills like to dream of. We shall, of course, 
 continue to keep a small standing army ; but blank cart- 
 ridges for birthdays will be the only order from the Horse 
 Guards : bullets will become as rare as brilliants ; whole 
 tons of the death-dealing lead being sold to the type- 
 founders. Laurel, " the meed of mighty conquerors" why 
 a whole grove of it will in the coming time be held of no 
 more account, nay, of not so much, as a handful of dried mar- 
 joram. Have I dreamt it, or did I at a late philosophical 
 meeting see a grave, pragmatic man rise from his seat, and 
 when up, did I or did I not hear him seriously put it as a 
 motion that the planet Mars should be no longer called 
 Mars, but be known to all future generations as JAMES \VATT? 
 The Army, then, affords no refuge for the tens of thou- 
 sands up to within these few years begotten, christened, 
 suckled, nursed, fondled, schooled, petted, sported with, 
 wept over by fathers and mothers, uncles and aunts, grand- 
 fathers and grandmothers, for the glorious purposes of war. 
 In such case is it not, I ask, the highest purpose of the 
 philanthropist to find employment for men, who in happier 
 times might have been usefully employed in burning the 
 cottages of our enemies, lessening the numbers of our 
 enemies' children (thus nipping a foe in the bud) on lances 
 and bayonets, tearing up olive groves, carrying away the 
 vanity of plate and pictures from enemies' churches, and in 
 fire, and blood, and terror, planting the immortal bay? Since 
 the British lion is no longer to be fed upon Frenchmen's 
 flesh, since he is henceforth to have a regimen of bread 
 and milk and dates, it behoves us to see that he be gradually 
 and duly prepared for the change in his diet, lest consump- 
 tion fall upon him ; or, a still greater point, lest he break 
 all bonds and spread dismay around.
 
 32 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 I have now, I trust, convincingly proved that the many 
 asylums hitherto open to the pious, the wise, and the brave, 
 are most inconveniently crammed ; and that with less room 
 for an increasing generation, the crowds will consequently 
 become more dense, more clamorous, and in a word, more 
 revolutionary. What is the remedy in this great natural 
 crisis? 
 
 In one word make I answer " Swindling !" 
 
 The philosophy of the present time is remarkable for its 
 contempt nay, for its wholesome abhorrence of poverty. 
 A want of the luxuries of life is not merely inconvenient, it 
 is positively ignominious. Hence what wrigglings, and 
 smugglings, and heartburnings are every day acted and 
 endured, to stand well with the world; that is, to stand with- 
 out a hole in our hat or a damning rent in our small clothes! 
 The modern man is wonderfully spiritualised by this philo- 
 sophy ; so much so that if he can secure to himself a 
 display of the collar he is almost wholly unconscious of the 
 absence of the shirt. Indeed so deep and so widely spread 
 is this sentiment that the present time might be denomi- 
 nated the Age of Collars. 
 
 This spirit is on the advance ; and it is the conscious- 
 ness of this truth that impresses upon me the necessity of 
 publishing a system by the adoption of which the country 
 may be saved from a desolating revolution, and tens of 
 thousands of future generations be secured those benefits 
 and enjoyments which, as the sons of Adam, they are 
 justified in expecting from the fulness of time. 
 
 I have proved, at least to my own satisfaction a great 
 sustaining point with an author proved that by the natural 
 course of things multitudes of generous spirits, before 
 devoted to the professions, will be thrown upon their own 
 resources a dreadful condition for most men. What is
 
 THE HA NDB O OK OF S WIND LING. 3 3 
 
 to become of them ? They cannot sink down into petty 
 hucksters; railroads have destroyed the race of pedlars; 
 they must not, even if they had sufficient moral courage, 
 hold forth their white hands as mendicants ; and if, stung 
 by the injustice of society, they should in a moment of 
 exasperation take to the road, why, highwaymen, save 
 and except the highwaymen of fifty years ago, cease to be 
 picturesque ; and there is another heavy discouragement 
 the barbarous institution of a rural police. These fiery souls 
 the unemployed, superabundant young gentlemen must, 
 then, become knight-errants ; that is, they must institute an 
 order of chivalry peculiar to the age, and the best calculated 
 to meet the wants of the sufferers. Let us take a single knight. 
 Here is Peter Muddleton, son of Jonah Muddleton, 
 greengrocer, Houndsditch. Jonah Muddleton dies, leaving 
 Peter heir to the goodwill of his shop, with seven hundred 
 pounds in the three per cents. Well, had Peter fallen upon 
 a less ambitious age, he would have tied his apron around 
 him, walked behind the counter, and, saving a new coat 
 of red and yellow paint bestowed upon the outside of the 
 shop, and the substitution of "Peter" for "Jonah," things 
 would have gone on even as when Muddleton senior was 
 in the flesh. Peter, however, has a spirit above ha'porths 
 of starch and pen'orths of pepper ; and having, as he most 
 potently believes, a gentlemanly taste, resolves to do any- 
 thing that may become a gentleman, but certainly not 
 keep to a shop. The seven hundred pounds, to Peter's real 
 astonishment, become in a brief time about eight hundred 
 shillings. A little month and Peter is penniless. What 
 is to be done ? Is Peter to be blamed for the spirit of the 
 age ? Could he, the hapless son of a vulgar sire, stultify 
 himself to the fascinating and exalting appeals of an 
 advancing era ? No ; he is, in the first instance, the victim 
 
 902
 
 34 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 of over-refinement, and his moral perceptions having been 
 rendered painfully acute to the degradation of a shop, and 
 his physical man far too thin-skinned for the labour of 
 Adam and, moreover, having not a sixpence, and seeing 
 no gentlemanly mode of obtaining that much-abused yet 
 most necessary little coin he magnanimously resolves to 
 eat and drink the best, and to wear the costliest, and all 
 without it. This is the determination of a genius : but 
 even the most consummate wit may be assisted by the 
 experience of others, and it would be a sorry affectation in 
 me it would be worse, it would be a gross injustice to my 
 fellow-creatures to deny that from my own observation of 
 life I am incapable of the dearest services to young gentle- 
 men so curiously placed as Peter Muddleton. 
 
 I have taken a single case ; I have adduced one of the 
 humblest examples ; I already see a hundred thousand, 
 many varying in their original rank in life ; but all, at 
 length, compelled by the spirit of the age to take their 
 stand upon the broad ground of SWINDLING. 
 
 All commercial operations of the present, and certainly 
 of the future age, do and will tend to place the whole wealth 
 of the country in a few hands. I am not vain enough to 
 suppose that this book will enjoy a large daily sale for more 
 than a hundred years ; with all the partiality of an author, I 
 cannot bring myself to expect that the state of society 
 whose wants the work is to meet will endure above another 
 century. However, I shall have done my duty, and I may 
 safely leave the year 2000 to the active philanthropy of 
 other WIIITKFEATIIERS. For more than the next hundred 
 years there must, if my previous hypotheses are allowed, be 
 an enormous amount of intelligence unemployed by the 
 professions ; the tangible fat of the land becoming every 
 year engrossed by a smaller number. Now, to prevent any
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF S WIND LING. 35 
 
 violent partition of property, it is I can lay my hand on 
 my heart and vow it it is my purpose to make the few 
 contribute in the easiest and pleasantest way to the wants 
 of the many. Briefly, it is my object to show to the elegant 
 unemployed how they may successfully and safely swindle 
 the shopkeeping minority. The whole system is reduced 
 into a trial of wit; and if the swindler be a man of real 
 genius, and the man swindled have a touch of generous 
 feeling in him, he will forget what might be vulgarly called 
 a loss in admiration of his conqueror. I have seen much 
 of shopkeeping nature; and I am convinced that a man 
 properly, wholly, and withal delicately swindled where there 
 have been no rubs or hitches in the work that a man who, 
 with all his eyes and ears about him, has nevertheless, 
 without his knowing it, been turned, " like a chevril glove," 
 inside out by the professor that such a man, after the first 
 burst of disappointment, feels but little of the bitterness of 
 resentment ; the small drop of gall in his heart is speedily 
 taken up, and by a process delightful for the benevolent mind 
 to consider, is assimilated to the milk of human kindness 
 still running in the ventricles of the swindled ; who I 
 have known such an instance after a moody, savage look, 
 will burst into a laugh, slap his leg, and with a confident, 
 yea, with an exulting voice, declare that " no less a swindler 
 could ever have swindled him." Here is a homage an 
 irresistible token of admiration paid to one man ; and if 
 we consider, in proportion to the possessions of the others, 
 how small, how trivial has been the tribute levied upon 
 him, a positive enjoyment afforded to another ! Believe it, 
 reader, the swindled, if well swindled, is not without his joy. 
 This maxim is never to be lost sight of by the pupil. If 
 he would disarm a man of the natural ferocity of the animal 
 when fobbed, he must fob him blandly, graciously, com-
 
 3 6 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 pletely. Humanity a consideration of the feelings of 
 others demands this. How often have we seen a worthy 
 man in a very tempest of passion his face like copper 
 his eyes starting his tongue stammering his wrongs : " The 
 the the infamous scoundrel ! the barefaced villain ! 
 Did he think I was to be done in that way ? Did he think 
 me a fool ? " 
 
 There it is, take the good man's goods ; but, in the 
 taking, see you never wound his self-love. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Of the face necessary to a swindler (an incidental specula- 
 tion on the "division of property" ) and of the use and 
 abuse of mustachios, 
 
 IT is a homely expression, often used in reply to a sarcasm 
 on a personal deformity, " that we did not make our- 
 selves." Not even a Professor of Political Economy can 
 argue away this conviction, rooted as it is in the depths 
 of the human heart. Much, however, can be done with the 
 rude lump if indeed it be rude whereof man finds him- 
 self the ill-starred possessor. Hence, let no one moderately 
 deformed despair of his fitness to join our brother- 
 hood. Hump backs, club feet, and bow shins have, it must 
 be owned, their disadvantages for the service notwith- 
 standing, the genius of their owners may triumph over such 
 outward obstacles. A fine face tastefully set in hair may 
 be considered a blessing for the profession yet it would be 
 to inflict a great injustice on the higher uses of the science 
 to suppose a mere face so framed all-sufficient. No ; " we 
 work by wit and not by whiskers." The outward man goes
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 37 
 
 far, but he must depend upon the ethereal spark upon the 
 inward intelligence for self-distinction. 
 
 And first for the FACE OF A SWINDLER. Men who set 
 themselves up as judges of character I have heard the 
 sciolists sometimes marvel that the sons of commerce 
 should so frequently fall victims to some individual swindler; 
 when he, the party swindling, is one of the most ingenuous 
 creatures breathing; looking, in fact, the swindler that he 
 is, when from his eyebrows to the corners of his lips there 
 is painted in the largest human capitals the calling of the 
 professor. The truth is, the unsuspecting men accustomed 
 to pore over day-books and ledgers have not had sufficient 
 time to learn to read human faces. They can on the 
 instant, if put to the test, tell a good guinea from a bad 
 one ; but though they shall stare in the features of a 
 human counterfeit for an hour or more, they cannot, one in 
 a hundred, discover the washed brass from the true gold. 
 More ; though they shall hear the counterfeit though the 
 ring of its voice shall be the truest Brummagem the 
 trading man shall complacently rub his hands, satisfied that 
 he is hearing the sweetest sound of the mint. " 
 
 I confess it, to the honour of the trading community of 
 this commercial country, I confess it ; the success of some 
 faces of my brotherhood upon men behind counters has 
 been to me startling evidence of the unsophisticated 
 character of the tradesman. For instance ; there is 
 Nobrowns, Scarceamag, Fleeceington, and others I could 
 name shall I own it? I have sometimes felt myself 
 humiliated by their prosperity. I have felt the science 
 lowered by the facility with which they have ingratiated 
 themselves into the favour of the jeweller, the coachmaker, 
 the tailor. Had / kept shop, I have thought I should 
 have shown Nobrowns to the door at the first glance of his
 
 38 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 eye; and without looking at Scarceamag, but simply hearing 
 his base-metal voice, I should have told him I had nothing 
 in his way, and straightway ordered him across the thres- 
 hold. And yet these men have flourished for a score of 
 years; and, at this moment, are prosperous swindlers. How 
 is the enigma to be explained how the more than Arcadian 
 innocency of the dwellers in Bond Street and Regent 
 Street to be philosophically accounted for? Is it, that 
 men immersed in the profound abstraction of s. d. 
 lose somewhat of the sagacity inherited and often improved 
 by poorer souls ; that, too much rapt by the splendid 
 visions of the future profits, they are less vigilant as to 
 the danger of present credit? Providence, however, hath 
 wisely partitioned its benefits. If it be given to Scarce- 
 amag, with his face, to swindle and be poor it is also 
 allotted to Puddingtete, the tradesman, to be swindled 
 and grow rich. Take this, then, my dear pupil, for an 
 axiom : you may since you cannot help it look the 
 greatest swindler in life; but if you shall hold your own 
 counsel, your face shall, at least to the acute men behind 
 counters, never reveal it. Tradesmen can read anything 
 but customers' faces. 1 This truth is every day borne out 
 by the success of fellows whose features have gone far to 
 vulgarise the science. Ragamuffins who ought never to have 
 aspired beyond the pea-and-thimble board at a country fair 
 
 1 I can scarcely believe that Captain YVhitefe.Uher \vasa reader of the 
 Essays of David Hume; and yet a similar opinion a friend of mine, a 
 poor curate to whom I showed the Captain's MS., pointed it out to me 
 is expressed by the sceptic philosopher, who, in his Essay on 
 "Delicacy of Taste," says: "You will seldom find that mere men of 
 the world, whatever strong sense they may be endowed with, are very 
 nice in distinguishing characters, or in marking those insensible diller- 
 ences and gradations which make one man preferable to another. "- 
 UUH.N JACKDAW, Ed.]
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 39 
 
 knaves marked and impressed by the truthful hand of 
 nature for the lowest offices of legerdemain have, trusting to 
 the simplicity, the unsuspecting ingenuousness of a money- 
 getting generation, to the marvellous innocency of the com- 
 mercial body, made for themselves a reputation of the 
 first class, or of very nearly the first class of the highest 
 profession. Ultimately, in the advancement of society, these 
 vulgar upstarts will be met by a greater number of compe- 
 titors, elevated and accomplished with the graces of life, 
 and the term swindler will be, as it ought to be, synonymous 
 with gentleman. The commercial faculty will, on the other 
 hand, be rendered more acute in its observation of human 
 character; hence it will require a greater delicacy of style 
 more imposing and a more winning manner to arrive at 
 any distinction indeed, even to make a clear paltry five 
 hundred a year as a swindler, than in these times will suffice 
 to ensure to a tolerably industrious man an income of a 
 thousand. This is inevitable. When the tens of thousands 
 of noble spirits, heretofore absorbed by the professions, are 
 left to trade upon their wits when all society is more 
 strongly marked, more arbitrarily divided into two classes, 
 the swindlers and the swindled when, instead of a violent 
 and ruthless division of property, as infamously as ignorantly 
 insisted upon by certain firebrands there is a graceful 
 exchange of elegant patronage on the one side, and a pro- 
 found expression of thanksgiving respect on the other, the 
 character of the successful swindler will rise to its ordained 
 and natural elevation, and a Whitefeather (pardon the 
 honest vanity) take his place with many illustrious names 
 sufficiently obvious to the philosophical reader. The time 
 is happily passing away when brute violence is to achieve 
 national good when the price of bread is to be beaten 
 down by a bludgeon, or wages raised upon a pike. It is
 
 40 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 therefore a matter of deep regret to the contemplative man, 
 and such I am not ashamed to confess myself, to perceive 
 how many gifted persons are, by a premature nativity, ill- 
 placed. How many men at the present day breathing 
 national arson and patriotic pillage men who have so 
 profoundly studied the meum, that they are entirely ignorant 
 of that of tuum would, born a few years hence, have shed a 
 lustre, have conferred a dignity upon even an illustrious and 
 dignified profession. Let me not be asked to enumerate 
 examples I eschew the personal for the general. It is 
 enough that the eye of the philosopher can perceive in 
 many a sulphureous patriot the indefatigable swindler ; that 
 the sage, pondering on the inevitable changes of society, 
 can detect in a present Bull-ring Brutus all the misapplied 
 qualities of a future Isaac Solomons ! 
 
 Blissful time glorious return of the golden age when 
 rapine and fire, and cutting and maiming shall no longer be 
 the evils adopted by comprehensive minds to work out, as 
 they conceive, a great good ; but when one half of the people 
 shall live peaceably upon the other; when the whole aim and 
 end of every two men out of four shall be to possess them- 
 selves of their daily bread (philosophers will receive the 
 phrase in its more enlarged meaning) by an art demanding 
 in its exercise the highest and most chastened faculties of the 
 moral creature. The two halves of society will then be fairly 
 arrayed against each other; and for ruthless weapons for 
 sword, dagger, and pistol on one side, and bayonet, sabre, 
 and carbine on the other we shall have the more peaceful 
 and courteous instruments, silvery words, blandest smiles, 
 and the happiest self-possession, opposed by cautious inter- 
 rogation, wary looks and silent heavy doublings. Mere 
 Ihen is a contest worthy of intellectual beings ! This is 
 indeed a duello of the immortal principle! How poor,
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 41 
 
 how savage, how unworthy of a rational creature to break 
 into the peaceful dwelling of an honest silversmith to fire 
 his bed-curtains to bruise and batter his ornate cream-jugs, 
 his chased candlesticks, and embossed tankards. or, the 
 spoil carried off amidst the exulting howl of barbarians, to 
 fling it into the hospitable melting-pot how loathsome, 
 how degrading this brutal mode of a division of property, to 
 that refined and gracious system, the cunning birth of better 
 times the fruit of a loftier and truer consideration of man's 
 dignity towards his fellow ! 
 
 Let us consider the two pictures ; let us contemplate the 
 working of the different principles. How revolting the 
 scene of violence ! How debasing to our common nature 
 to witness a mob of denaturalised creatures bursting in the 
 good man's door ! How they scamper upstairs ! Like 
 festal savages they wave firebrands and torches about 
 their heads as they rush into the sacred bedroom. The 
 worthy man says a short prayer, and thinks of his stock- 
 his wife and daughters, trembling for their lives, are horrified 
 at being seen in nightcaps with their hair in paper ! All 
 the house is in consternation ; and, a touch of humanity 
 softening the mob, they benevolently suffer the silversmith 
 and his family to escape, in their night-clothes, over the 
 roof, and descend, like cats, into the gutter of their neigh- 
 bour. The shop is ransacked of everything ; and now a 
 sanguinary fight is going on behind the counter between two 
 of the ruffians for the plated top of a pepper-castor. This 
 this is one principle of a division of property; as if property 
 was only to be divided by the blaze of torches and the 
 crackling of rafters ! Turn we to the ennobling contrast. 
 
 Mark the swindler! How graciously lie descends from his 
 chariot for the swindler of first-rate genius rarely marauds 
 on foot and with what a composed elegance, with what a
 
 42 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 perfect self-possession he enters the shop ! There is some- 
 thing inexpressibly taking in his manner. Surveying him 
 from head to foot, we cannot repress the opinion that the 
 " age of chivalry " is not past. He is the knight of later 
 times the Chevalier Bayard in a round hat. Sans peur 
 glows in his eyeball, and the whiteness of his kid gloves is 
 sans reproche! Two or three centuries ago he had, with 
 mailed hand, " shaken the bags of hoarding abbots," and 
 now comes he, with a condescending smile at his mouth, to 
 deal with a silversmith. See ! he crosses the threshold 
 treads the shop. It is impossible to resist the fascination 
 of his lofty courtesy. The tradesman, wary as he is 
 suspicious as loss after loss has made him despite of him- 
 self, confesses the supremacy of the stranger, and, with a 
 smiling lip, a twinkling eye, folded palms, and inclined back, 
 politely receives his destroyer. A conversation ensues; and 
 the swindler I am of course putting the case of a man of 
 genius fastens upon the tradesman, who every moment 
 becomes more deeply impressed with the consequence of 
 his patron ; and therefore, having flung to the winds all low 
 suspicion, is the most obsequious, the most humble servant 
 of the swindler. There is nothing too costly for him 
 nothing too curious ; no order too difficult to be met no 
 time too short for the accomplishment of his wishes. The 
 swindler is evidently a man of the very highest consequence ; 
 and the silversmith, if I may adopt a homely expression, is 
 inevitably done, ay, done 
 
 " as brown as a berry." 1 
 
 The swindler whirls away from the tradesman, who has 
 attended him, bareheaded, to the kerbstone, and then the 
 
 of Chaucer.
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 43 
 
 man of precious metals returns to his shop in that delight- 
 ful serenity of mind, apt, I am told, to possess people with 
 profits ranging from fifty to seventy-five in the hundred. 
 
 What it will be asked what, does Mr. Giltspur, the 
 silversmith, without further questions put, trust his service of 
 plate, besides a magnificent suite of amethysts (for which 
 the honourable Mr. Thug expressed a sudden liking), to the 
 honour of his customer ? To be sure he does ; and his 
 blood simmering with a sense of profit, he orders them to be 
 
 delivered at " Hotel," where Mr. Thug is staying; but 
 
 which delightful and convenient hostelry he, shortly after- 
 wards, suddenly leaves on the most imperative business. A 
 thousand instances bear out the probability of Thug's success 
 and Giltspur's discomfiture. People may talk about the 
 innocence of a pastoral age : I am, from long experience, 
 convinced of it, that the most innocent, the most unsuspect- 
 ing, the most easily-taken biped on the face of the earth is 
 your London shopkeeper. Armed with proper weapons, it 
 is almost impossible that he can escape you. The poor 
 creature is weakness, imbecility itself; "Wear your eye 
 thus," and as surely as the fluttering bird drops into the 
 mouth of the snake, as surely fall the tribe of Giltspurs into 
 the folds of the Thugs. 
 
 Well, and is it not delightful that it should be so ? Here 
 is Giltspur, for a certain number of days at least, made 
 very happy ; he has delivered his goods, and has already 
 calculated to the odd sevenpence-halfpenny the amount of 
 profit. Thug has conferred upon him a great pleasure 
 passing, it must be owned but sweet, very sweet, whilst it 
 endures. 
 
 Does the reader still remember the picture of violence 
 drawn in a former page ? Does he still behold the pallid 
 silversmith his fainting wife and blushing daughters?
 
 44 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING, 
 
 Does he yet hear the roar of the flames, as they come up 
 the staircase the fury of pillage in the shop below ? 
 
 The same effect is produced by the swindler, but how 
 different the cause! The " division of property" is just as 
 complete the fine, deep philosophy that preaches it equally 
 well honoured ; and yet, what grace on one side what 
 civility on the other ; and, to one party at least, what 
 tangible, enduring satisfaction ! Who, then, with the 
 smallest spark of human dignity within him would stoop 
 to violence when he may " divide " with ease ? The 
 "multiplication" of the human animal is, indeed, according to 
 the modern school-men, "vexation"; but the "division "of 
 property unless divided on the bland principles of swindling 
 would be infinitely worse. In the progress of society, 
 then, it is by swindling, and by swindling only, that we shall 
 escape the most grievous revolution. 
 
 To proceed with the personal qualifications necessary to 
 a Swindler. He must have a face of purest brass. If 
 handsome, all the better ; yet, perhaps, expression is of 
 greater importance than the mere proportion of feature. 
 If, however, he look a Swindler if to the contemplative 
 men who peruse human lines, printed in the blackest ink on 
 some human faces, he look his profession -his success with 
 the sages of trade is certain. It is, however, of the first 
 importance that there should be no alloy in the face. It 
 should, for instance, be as incapable of emotion as the bull 
 hide on the shield of Ajax. 1 This, youthful Swindler, is the 
 besetting danger ; hence, bend all your energies to obtain a 
 stony look of self-possession. Though a constable should put 
 his "dead hand " upon your shoulder, and your very marrow 
 
 J I may, by the way, observe that the Captain, whose education was 
 not equal to his parts, is indebted for a lew oi his classical allusions to 
 another pen. [JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.]
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 45 
 
 should thrill at the touch your face must remain motionless 
 as the face of the Apollo Belviderc your eye unquenched 
 your voice with not a crack in it. I will not disguise the 
 difficulties of arriving at this superhuman placidity. Talk 
 of the self-possession of a Crcsar the coolness of a Napoleon 
 quackery all ! What is there in the composure of a man 
 who takes snuff whilst hundreds of other men's limbs are 
 being blown into the air (to be wept over by the spirits of 
 glory), with at the most a sauve qui peut for it ; whilst, in the 
 scale of advantage, there is a laurel wreath and a triumphant 
 entryand civic addresses, what is all this to the quiet dignity 
 demanded of a swindler in a perilous situation his splendid 
 cabriolet, perhaps, waiting at the shop whilst, sneaked out at 
 the back door, Bob the apprentice has run for Police Officer 
 Snatchem, F. No. 20, to attend immediately to our hero, who 
 at his approach beholds a no dim vision of the very hand- 
 some police omnibus the prison barber with his ignominious 
 shears and hears, or thinks he hears, the pathetic, admoni- 
 tory address of Common Sergeant or Recorder? It may, 
 according to a worn metaphor, take nerves of iron to direct 
 an army ; but they must be brass, and of the finest brass 
 too, to swindle. Fighting is, indeed, a mechanic trade ; 
 millions can fight, but how few can gracefully swindle ! 
 We know that the result of both operations is often the 
 same, but how inferior one to the other ! Buonaparte 
 brought a few pictures from Italy, which the world Heaven 
 knows ! made noise enough about. In warlike phrase, he 
 "took them" from a vanquished people: a poor, shabby 
 act to brag of; but had he, unassisted by squadrons 
 and battalions, and parks of artillery- had he, by the 
 unassisted efforts of his own mind, with no other 
 masked battery, no other weapon than his own 
 hand and his own tongue, had he robbed one dealer
 
 46 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 of a Correggio another of a Raphael a third of a Titian 
 a fourth of a Murillo and so on, it had indeed been 
 an achievement to boast of; but to crack of the incident 
 as one of the trophies of the army of Italy was the sub- 
 lime of gasconading ! My late friend Featherfinger he 
 died, poor fellow, having burst a blood-vessel from intense 
 study at Macquarrie Harbour had a magnificent bronze 
 clock ; a superb thing ! a thing to make a man value time. 
 Had I not pledged my honour to secrecy, I could write a 
 history touching his possession of that clock, which, of itself, is 
 enough to immortalise any one man. My honour, however, 
 is sacred ; and my lips are hushed. This much, probably, I 
 may be permitted to observe : The industry nay, that is a 
 poor, unworthy term the genius manifested by the indefati- 
 gable Featherfinger to possess that clock methinks I see 
 him now; poor fellow ! seated with his Greek cap, his black 
 satin morning gown figured with pink poppies an Indian 
 shawl (the gage d' amour of an Italian countess) about his 
 waist his feet in bead-embroidered slippers, the work, as he 
 protested, of some heart-devoted heiress his meerschaum 
 in his mouth in his hand a book, Satan or the Lives of 
 Highwaymen (for he was passionately fond of light litera- 
 ture) his tiger page, only three feet high, and warranted to 
 grow no taller, in green and gold, with a breast-plate of best 
 double gilt buttons, standing at a reverential distance 
 whilst the bronze clock on the mantelpiece vibrated with its 
 monitory, moralising yes, moralising tick, tick! Methinks 
 I see him as I enter raise one eye from the page, nod, smile 
 and such a smile ! there was only one shopkeeper, and 
 he was a philosophical member of the Society of Friends 
 and dealer in n't-tn, that ever stood against it smile, and 
 then cast the other eye towards the clock itself with a look 
 of touching reproach at my delay, or with a glance of
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 47 
 
 approving pleasure at my punctuality. Methinks I see him- 
 Gracious powers! That such a man should die at Macquarrie 
 Harbour, taxed beyond his strength of study, a victim to but 
 no ; loyalty to the Ministry was ever a virtue of the White- 
 feathers, and I breathe no word against the Whigs ! To 
 hurry from the theme. Much has been said about the bold- 
 ness, the fine contempt of public opinion shown by Napoleon 
 when he took the horsesof St. Mark from Venice to place them 
 on his own palace gate in Paris. Well, the act was not with- 
 out its merit, but did I dare towritethestoryof Featherfinger's 
 clock, the theft of Napoleon would, in comparison to the 
 genius manifested by my friend, sink to the petty larceny 
 committed by schoolboys upon apple stalls. But so it is; 
 the finest history remains, and ever will remain, unwritten. 
 The Venice horses have been celebrated by poets and his- 
 torians, but posterity is left to bewilder itself with guesses on 
 Featherfinger's clock. Yet and I am prepared to meet the 
 consequences of such an assertion I am convinced that 
 great as the conqueror was in all the varieties of the science, 
 Buonaparte's horses must pass from the recollection of the 
 earth ; whereas Featherfinger's clock, duly chronicled, was 
 a thing for time ! It may be cited as an illustration of the 
 injustice of Fortune of the tricks she plays with the noble 
 and the man when the reader is informed that the 
 tiger page of my dear friend of him whose bones are 
 mouldering (for he was buried) in a foreign earth of him 
 born, as the poet says 
 
 " To steal a grace beyond the reach of art" 
 
 that that little cab-page that tiger-moth fluttering as I 
 have seen him with billet-doux about the carriage-lamps 
 and round the torches of an opera night, that he has at 
 this moment a country-seat and grounds at Hackney,
 
 48 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 purchased and supported by the precarious profits of a 
 night-house that is, of a mansion hospitably open in the 
 vicinity of Drury Lane, for the refreshment of travellers 
 with beer, beef, and oysters, from eleven at night until six 
 in the morning. But so it is ; a genius, like my departed 
 friend, dies beggared at the last ; whilst mere industry at 
 forty-five grows his own pine apples ! 
 
 I have, I trust, been sufficiently minute in my description 
 of the face requisite to be put upon Swindling. In conclu- 
 sion, I have only to enforce the necessity of the most rigid 
 self-discipline to prevent even the most evanescent exhibition 
 of what is conventionally called modesty; for the swindler 
 who can blush is lost. His must be a brow whereon 
 
 " Shame is ashamed to sit." 
 
 A money-lender, a courtier, steeped to the lips in broken 
 promises a pick-pocket caught in the act, all of these may, 
 if they can, blush and not be ruined; but woe to the 
 swindler whose cheek admits the self-accusing tint ! His 
 face, like the face of the man in the moon, must look 
 down upon all sorts of acted abominations, yet blench not. 
 
 MUSTACIIIOS. -These were pretty things for the pro- 
 fession ; but I grieve to say it, lawyers' clerks, linen-drapers' 
 apprentices, players out of place, and even pedestrian 
 vendors of lucifer matches, have detracted from their 
 exclusive importance ; hence, I would counsel the youthful, 
 sanguine swindler to eschew what indeed vulgar usage has 
 rendered a very questionable advantage, and to swindle 
 with clean lips. It is enough to break the heart of a rabbi 
 to see how one of " Heaven's best gifts," the human beard, 
 is in these hirsute days cut and notched according to the 
 impudence or ignorance of the wearer. It is said of the 
 French that they have a thousand ways of rooking an
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 49 
 
 egg : let it be our boast thai we have as many modes of 
 dressing the chin. I have, 1 hope, a love of the picturesque, 
 as the world will one day know from a work of mine still, 
 unhappily, in manuscript. 1 I, therefore, am a passionate 
 admirer of the beard of patriarchal growth ; but for your 
 nasty, stunted, straggly, ragged, edgy things now like the 
 skin of a dog with the mange, now like the end of a skein 
 of whiley-brown thread, now as if culled from chopped 
 hay, and now as if cut from a singed blanket pah ! were 
 I caliph for a day but no matter, let me not wander to 
 legislation, but stick to my higher subject Swindling. I 
 say, then, to my disciple, eschew mustachios. At best they 
 are a doubtful good. If ; however, you are determined to 
 wear them, let me hope that their hue is black as death. 
 If, on the contrary, Heaven has awarded you a pair of pale 
 gold or deep carrot colour, tamper not with them, but 
 shave. Never, like Richard, think to stand "the hazard 
 of the die;" if so, your case is desperate. I knew three 
 promising young fellows, all of whom laid their ruin at the 
 door of Mr. Rowland. But for I like to anticipate it 
 may be asked, Do you always, Captain Whitefeather, walk 
 abroad with unrazored lips ? To this I boldly answer that 
 for I was justified in the vanity I did wear an adorned 
 mouth ; more, that a lady, who shall be nameless, was in 
 hysterics (of course at intervals) for three days, when my 
 mustachios fell ; but no, I could not condescend to wear 
 them when I saw yes, I confess it even a better pair 
 than my own upon the face of a fellow in the Surrey gallery, 
 selling play-bills, Spanish nuts, and ginger beer. What the 
 revolution of society may in time produce it would of 
 course be impudence in me, who am not a Paternoster Row 
 
 1 The Handbook oj Ratcliffe Hi^/nuay, an inestimable work (when 
 printed) for the stranger in London. UOHN JACKDAW, Ed.] 
 
 93
 
 50 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 astrologer, to declare ; but, for the next five-and-tvventy 
 years, mustachios will, I think, be a dangerous decoration 
 for the swindler. So much business has been done with 
 them that suspicion will have scarcely subsided under at 
 least another quarter of a century. The horse-tails of Ibrahim 
 Pacha have not been more triumphant; but victory will not 
 always perch upon the same banner. 
 
 The swindler should not at the present day hope to take 
 the Philistines by the strength of his hair. No ; let him 
 shave, and put the barest face upon the dignity of his 
 profession it cannot be too bare. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Of the parentage and name of a Swindler of his 
 equipage of Jus moral philosophy. 
 
 THE professor of our distinguished art has, it must be 
 conceded, this peculiar and most grateful advantage he 
 may choose his ancestors. With the Peerage or the Red 
 Book open before him, it lies within his own breast to decide 
 whether he shall have come from the loins of a Norman 
 baron of one of the boldest of that invincible band of 
 marauders and thieves who jumped on Hastings beach or 
 whether he shall be the last of a collateral branch of the 
 Strozzi, or Frangepani, or of any other Italian house whose 
 beginning, in the opinion of divers heralds, dates from 
 beyond Numa. Here is a glorious prerogative ! The 
 swindler may make his own coat-of-arms, although his 
 immediate father walked the earth without a shirt. Show
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 51 
 
 me any other man possessing so delicious a privilege. With 
 long rolls of knights and barons, and earls and princes 
 before him, how the swindler may play the epicure with the 
 mighty dead ! How loftily, yet how serenely, may he 
 contemplate the titled dust of bygone generations ! Even as 
 your dainty snuff-taker coquets with a dozen samples of the 
 odoriferous tobacco, so may the swindler, pondering on a 
 choice of father and mother, taste with his moral sense the 
 various claims of buried greatness. Now, he likes this 
 Prince's mixture and now this. He is puzzled, perplexed 
 by the hundred appeals to his filial affection. He is one 
 minute determined to have come from the Montmorencys 
 the next, he feels a yearning towards the Talbots and in a 
 few seconds, lo ! he will make a kindred to himself from 
 the golden line of D'Este. If the reader possess imagina- 
 tion and if he do not I tremble for my book he must 
 sympathise with the delightful tumult in the swindler's 
 brain and breast, or rather brain alone (for with your 
 true swindler the brain must have played the Aaron's rod 
 with the heart, swallowing it whole ; a miracle very often 
 performed in the anatomy of great public men) he must 
 feel more than commonly interested in the contest which is 
 to decide the parentage of our hero. With this allusion to 
 the delicacy of the juncture, we leave the swindler at his 
 books, merely impressing upon him the necessity of choosing 
 a long way back of electing an ancestor from some by- 
 way catacomb some seldom visited cemetery some 
 "untrod on corner i' the earth." Nor let him despair; 
 there are at least a round thousand or two of dukes and 
 princes sufficiently obscure in their winding-sheets, albeit 
 possibly brave and blatant enough when in the flesh, from 
 whom the swindler may scratch out a great progenitor. All 
 that is necessary is that the beginner of the family shall
 
 52 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 have lived in the dim twilight of civilisation that he shall 
 be so far away that all the Heralds' Colleges, with all their 
 spectacles upon their collective noses, shall not be able to 
 perceive whether the disentombed thing be flesh or phantom. 
 Very satisfactory progenitors have been found, with arms to 
 match, of thew and sinew just as questionable. If, however, 
 the swindler will have a mighty ancestor, let him, I repeat, 
 go far enough for him : when a man wants a marquis, or an 
 earl, or a count, for his great-grandfather, he should not 
 grudge a long walk even though he walk blindfold and 
 backwards for the commodity. So much for the ambitious 
 swindler. 
 
 The swindler, however, who trusts to his unassisted genius, 
 and disdains the lustre of any specious trophies from the 
 churchyard, may with a very laudable pride refuse to make 
 to himself a grandfather, being possibly contented with the 
 grandsirc selected by his grandmother for him. Some men 
 and let me do all homage to their simplicity turn up 
 their noses at the genealogical tree, even though its roots 
 were struck at Tyburn : the swindler of sanguine spirit may 
 be of this proud kidney; and all the better : I augur more 
 of his ultimate triumph. However, though he shall refuse a 
 herald-begotten progenitor, it may be highly necessary for 
 him that he shall choose a name. His own may have become 
 celebrated for family achievements wide away of his purpose; 
 and therefore, whilst with filial affection he sticks to his 
 own father and mother, disdaining the blood of Norman, 
 Guelph, or Ghibelline it may be imperative upon him to 
 assume a nominal device not hitherto borne by any of his 
 kin. The swindler wants a name. Here, then, we approach 
 a delicate, yes, a difficult point. Let me, however, set out 
 with a solemn injunction to the swindler, that in the choice 
 of a name " he throw away ambition." Considerable nicety
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 53 
 
 is required in the selection of a good title for swindling ; a 
 number of fine young fellows having if I may lighten the 
 solemnity of this essay with a familiar phrase "let the cat 
 out of the bag " by the incautious assumption of a high- 
 sounding, flowery, no-meaning patronymic. The truth is, 
 the detestable rage for novels has so familiarised the world 
 with a set of sugar-and-water heroes of exquisite gentle- 
 men, all of them worthy of a glass case lest the flies should 
 soil them that their very excess of virtue lias put them on 
 the hue and cry of suspicion. Hence "Delacour" "Erping- 
 ham" "Rosenthorp" "Millefleur" and a thousand others 
 of the courtly and sweet-smelling class, all in their time 
 excellent names for swindling (that is, for swindling in the 
 higher sense of the term, for in "fine wire wove" they swindle 
 still), are now no other than brands, stigmata^ by which the 
 calling of the professor is instantly suspected. Hence, my 
 dear pupil, take no sweet, pastry-cook name from a novel ; 
 cull no flower from a play-bill ; but look, as either a poet or 
 a member of Parliament says, I forget which, "look abroad 
 into universality " for the thing desired. As you walk the 
 street cast your eyes above the door of the worthy shop- 
 keeper. A thousand to one that in a day's saunter you will 
 possess yourself, and from such a source, of a name in 
 every respect unexceptionable. Yes, from the board of 
 the thriving, honest, painstaking, till-respecting tradesman. 
 And if so, how ingenious, how pleasant withal, to obtain 
 one of your best weapons from, so to speak, the armoury of 
 the enemy, to be fleshed immediately upon him ! It is 
 perhaps unnecessary to warn the young swindler that he 
 must not be too homely in his choice. There is a class of 
 names which, from their very abundance, makes it a matter 
 of constructive ignominy to swindle under them. And some 
 of these are Jones, Walsh, Welsh, Thomson, Johnson,
 
 54 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 Dobson, White, Brown, Williams, Simpson, Smithson, and 
 that multitudinous monosyllable, Smith ! If, in a moment 
 of hilarity you break a lamp, wrench off a knocker, or snap 
 a bell wire, why any one of these names may be, as of course 
 every gentleman well knows, confidently given in to the night 
 constable ; but to attempt to swindle under them betrays a 
 petty larceny spirit in the professor, from which my experi- 
 ence looks for little present gain or future reputation. No; 
 the name of a swindler should be like the wardrobe of the 
 true gentleman a thing not challenging vulgar attention ; 
 but, if examined, found to be of the very best material and 
 of the choicest workmanship. Hence let the swindler choose 
 between a clinquant (I do believe this is almost the first 
 bit of French appearing in the essay, for the which I 
 confess myself deficient in the graces of modern literature 1 ), 
 between the clinquant of novel heroes and the homeliness 
 of " base mechanics " let his name be a solid, substantial, 
 downright English name. 
 
 I say English, for I think we have had too long a peace to 
 render the assumption of a foreign title and a foreign accent 
 worth the trouble, the incessant watchfulness, the continual 
 stretch of a man's intellects: the call upon his faculties to 
 keep up the character should be well rewarded, for the hazard 
 of self-discovery is very great. I know a remarkable instance 
 of the danger. There was Thaddeus Ballynamuck he once, 
 with merely a backward touch of his hand, broke the jaw of 
 the manager of a minor theatre who dared to offer him terms 
 to bring him out as a Patagonian giant there was Thaddeus, 
 who had made a splendid six weeks' campaign at the West- 
 end as an Italian count ; how admirably did he with the 
 
 1 The Captain is in error. Though his essay is, assuredly, barren 
 of " the tongues," the author knows more of bookmaking than lie 
 apparently chooses to confess. [JOHN JACKDAW, Eel.]
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 55 
 
 lingua Toscana flavour his native Connaught ! The Duke 
 of Tuscany was his dear friend ; and not without reason ; 
 for Thaddeus at a boar hunt had stood between the boar 
 and the duke, receiving the tusks of the beast in his hunting 
 jacket, for the which he had obtained a great many Italian 
 orders, and on the strength of which he gave a great many 
 English ones. Well, Thaddeus, though considered as true an 
 Italian as the poet Asso, 1 was one morning driven to the 
 necessity of shaving himself, changing his southern name, 
 and retiring for a few weeks to the privacy of Southend. 
 He was betrayed into self-discovery by an excess of bene- 
 volence the more was the pity. Thus it was. He always 
 carried in his cab a beautiful dove-coloured Italian grey- 
 hound, its legs not much thicker than goose quills, and its 
 tail like bent wire the gift of the Marchesa di Lungabarba. 
 The dog had leaped from the cab and followed its master 
 into the office of Finings, the wine merchant. Thaddeus 
 had before very considerably patronised Fining?, and was 
 about to give him a splendid order for some choice port to 
 be shipped to his friend the duke and how the eyes of 
 Finings twinkled at the title of his highness ! when the 
 cellarman, a brawny, heavy fellow from Somerset, shambled 
 into the office and trod, with all his fourteen stone, upon the 
 delicate toes of Angelo the greyhound : the dog howled with 
 agony piercing enough to crack the parchment heart of an 
 old maid, when the Captain he was, at the moment, with 
 the greatest difficulty endeavouring to make himself under- 
 stood to the wine merchant turned round, and, to the 
 astonishment of Finings, fulminating a string of oaths in 
 the very purest Connaught, dealt a blow on the breast of 
 the cellarman that sent him prostrate on three dozen of 
 choice brandy picked samples for the dowager Lady 
 1 The Captain doubtless means Tasso. QOIIN JACKDAW, Ed.]
 
 56 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 Drinkwater to their utter destruction, and to the exceed- 
 ing surprise of the wine merchant, who had never in all his 
 life heard an Italian count vituperate such beautiful, such 
 unadulterate Irish. I will not continue the story : Thaddeus 
 Ballynamuck, though an admirable artist, fell a victim to 
 the exuberance of his feelings ; as a swindler he was 
 professionally killed by Angelo, the late Marchesa cli 
 Lungabarba's greyhound. 
 
 I have narrated this little history that it may serve as an 
 illustration of the perils besetting an honest, simple, guileless 
 Englishman who might wish to swindle as an exotic. There 
 is, it must be allowed, unnecessary peril in the experiment; 
 besides I question if it be not unpatriotic. Why defraud 
 our mother country of the advantage of our reputation ? 
 Why, with ungrateful, with unfilial hand add a leaf to the 
 laurel of Germany of France of Italy of Russia ? No ; 
 for a true born Briton to swindle as a noble from the Hartz 
 mountains as a count from Paris a Roman count or a 
 prince from St. Petersburg is poor, shuffling, shabby, or, 
 if I may use a term which I am proud to find of late very 
 current among politicians and political writers (for the classes 
 are more distinct than people are prone to imagine) it is 
 Un-English. 
 
 America, however, has her claims upon us. The swindler 
 may, and with profit, prove his recollection of the tics that 
 once bound Columbia to Britain may gratefully acknow- 
 ledge a sense of the relationship between the mother and the 
 daughter country, by swindling as a gentleman with enormous 
 possessions in New York, or, what is still better, in Virginia. 
 Here the many-sided philosopher cannot fail to recog- 
 nise a new advantage in a community of language. The 
 soi-disant (hem! French again!), the soi-disant American 
 swindler may avenge the injuries of a greyhound on the
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 57 
 
 person of a cellarman. yet run no risk of discovery. He 
 may still run up and clown the gamut of execration and not 
 betray himself. Think of this, youthful swindler. Besides, 
 there is another great temptation to offer this passing honour 
 to America. Her unsettled currency affords the swindler a 
 hundred plausible excuses if for such improprieties do occur 
 at the London Hotel, Grillon's, the Clarendon, all the very 
 best of houses if rudely pressed to show those credentials of 
 gentility which even the rudest and the most illiterate never 
 fail to acknowledge. Thus the swindler may for a time 
 throw himself upon the banks : and this the more safely if 
 he have displayed a handful of letters of introduction (a 
 few to the royal household), all easily manufactured, and 
 all, for the time, as good as letters of credit. There is 
 another very practicable deceit. He may, on the night of his 
 arrival in London, have his pocket picked of certain Govern- 
 ment securities, and, having made the keeper of the hotel 
 the depository of his secret, straightway advertise the 
 loss in all the papers. This, I confess, is a ticklish experi- 
 ment, demanding the finest self-possession, the greatest 
 delicacy to carry it into successful operation ; and if the 
 youthful swindler have any doubts of himself, I charge him 
 by his hopes of future profit and reputation not to think of 
 hazarding it. Should he, however, succeed, and the land- 
 lord advance liberally, he may condescend to express his 
 best wishes for the prosperity of his host, and more, may 
 invite himself to dine with him. Great caution, however, 
 is to be used before there be any advance to such familiarity; 
 and yet I once knew a gentleman from Natchez who ob- 
 tained unlimited credit from his host the pot-house keeper 
 was musical by insisting upon it that he made Dibdin's 
 "Lovely Nan" by the very force of expression remarkably 
 like Rossini. So far, all was well ; but, forgetful of what
 
 58 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 was due to himself as a swindler, in the genial atmosphere 
 of a domestic hearth letting himself down to the level of 
 his host the foolish fellow suffered himself to play at crib- 
 bage with his landlord ; a man who had spent at least half of 
 his long and useful life, pegging. Game after game the 
 landlord's doubts increased: and at length he rose from the 
 table with a blank in his face, and all the swindler's bill in 
 his heart. " I'm done I know I'm done !" cried the host 
 with a groan. " I must be done, for no true gentleman could 
 ever beat me at cribbage." At least one month's board and 
 lodging, besides the greatest of all advantages, the first- 
 rate reference to shopkeepers, did my friend from Natchez 
 lose by his skill at cribbage. It is true when hard pressed 
 he talked a great deal about the last failure of the cotton 
 crop an excellent theme, by the way but in this case he 
 talked to the winds, or, what was much worse, to a man 
 obstinate upon his bill. My friend had to make an 
 ignominious retreat, leaving behind him all his goods gener- 
 ously subscribed for him by the ingenuous West-end 
 shopkeepers. 
 
 Notwithstanding this, the swindler may for a time take 
 America for his country. The trick is by no means over- 
 done. If, however, the swindler make the election if he 
 resolve upon becoming a gentleman of enormous fortune 
 from the United States he had better choose the South, 
 and, above all things, he must not forget the cotton crop. 
 As it once happened at New Orleans, much execution may, 
 even in London, be done upon the enemy from behind 
 cotton bags. As for his rank, the swindler should not 
 venture beyond that of colonel yes, a colonel and a great 
 grower of cotton. 
 
 We next come to a most important subject- the dress of 
 the swindler. The present age judges of the condition of
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 59 
 
 men as we judge of the condition of cats by the sleekness, 
 the gloss of their coats. Hence, in even what is called a 
 respectable walk of life, with men of shallow pockets and 
 deep principles, it is of the first importance to their success 
 that, if they would obtain three hundred per annum, they 
 must at least look as if they were in receipt of seven. Very 
 many stoical privations are endured for this great purpose. 
 How many a fine hungry fellow carries his dinner upon his 
 back his breakfast in his beaver his supper in his boots ! 
 The Hottentot is not the only human animal that clothes 
 itself with the cost of bowels. The swindler, however, is 
 not fate forbid that it should be so ! called upon to make 
 the same sacrifice required every day in London of the poor, 
 friendless student of the miserable, unknown artist the 
 juvenile surgeon, panting for a practice the barrister, without 
 a fee the curate, with lips hungering for even locusts and 
 wild honey the thousands of God's most helpless crealures, 
 gentlemen, born with a silver spoon, but left by fortune at 
 their maturity without any employment for knife and fork 
 no, no, it is the purpose, the triumph of swindling to put 
 its professors in purple and fine linen, and to make "their 
 eyes red with wine and their teeth white with milk." They 
 have to dress well, not to keep up the barren name of 
 gentleman, but to flourish as swindlers. Poor Dactyl, the 
 poet astonishing truth ! is too proud to take credit for a 
 hat too poor to buy one and too high-spirited to nod to 
 his old college friends in a rusty beaver. Will the reader 
 listen to a fact ? What does Dactyl ? Why, he makes a 
 compromise with his magnanimity he over-persuades 
 himself that his beaver is as yet tolerably jetty, since all 
 the summer he has once a day sponged it with a damp 
 sponge, and kept religiously upon the shady side of the 
 pavement. I mention this wretched shift of a pusillanimous
 
 60 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 spirit to show to the young swindler what might be his 
 fate if, with a pertinacity only found in simpletons of 
 the very first class, he would resolve to live the gentleman 
 upon the revenue of the chameleon ; and, with not a sixpence 
 in his pocket, would be sufficiently mad to rave about 
 honour in his bosom. What is the reward of such obstinacy 
 what the goal of men so honourably idle so perversely 
 pure? What the end? Go, ask it of the Thames! Put 
 the question to the Serpentine the New River the 
 canals ! Mutter the query as you pause at the gun- 
 smith's as you linger at the chemist's ! Ask, as you see 
 whisk by you the chariot of the coroner ! 
 
 I had not touched upon this mean-spirited class of 
 bipeds of the species, many of whom die off in honourable 
 poverty, and many in a dishonourable horse-pond did not 
 swindling save a third portion of the body from a life of 
 starvation and an end of vulgar misery. The good, 
 indulgent parents who, in submission, as they conceive, 
 to the high civilisation of the day, will rather let their 
 sons be nothing if they cannot put them in a fair way to 
 become archbishops, chancellors, and commanders-in-chief, 
 owe much to swindling, for urbane goddess ! how often 
 does she take the pet of the fireside the darling of the 
 chimney corner the pretty prodigal, when plucked of 
 every feather by the jackdaws 1 of the town, and make of 
 him again a bird of finest plumage. Yes, thousands and 
 thousands of young gentlemen, shamefully deserted by 
 their parents when they had not a farthing more to leave 
 them, and wanting a calling with nothing to do, have 
 been received with open arms by the tenderest of foster- 
 mothers ; and not only once more set upon their legs, but, 
 
 1 I persuade myself (hat Captain Whitcfeather here meant nothing 
 personal. [JoiiN JACKDAW, ]>!.]
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 61 
 
 perhaps, for the first time in their lives, put into their 
 own cabriolets ! Little thinks the plodding tradesman, 
 determined upon making Tom a gentleman, that his dear 
 boy may o\vc all the external appearances of that character 
 to nought but swindling. But I have wandered. 
 
 The swindler must dress well very well ; nay, he must 
 be rather over-dressed than under-dressed. If his means be 
 scanty, he must on the outset, if I may use the phrase of a 
 celebrated bill discounter, late of the New Cut he must 
 "spend his money superficially"; that is, as the before- 
 named fiscal authority condescended to explain, he must 
 expend a little in such a way that the outlay may appear 
 very considerable. He must, however, continually bear this 
 in mind, that in this our beloved country in England the 
 empress of nations the queen of reason the genius of 
 toleration and the benefactress of the oppressed nearly 
 everything depends upon a man's coat. Great and rich 
 is he indeed who can afford to confront the midday sun in 
 threadbare cloth. It matters not what may be your genius 
 what your worth ; you must make the success of that 
 genius apparent you must publish the reward of that 
 worth ; you must assure men's eyes that you are a fine 
 gentleman, or you will, with all your glorious aspiration, be 
 passed, confounded with the mob. The triumphs of mind 
 are to the trading million too subtle, too abstract, to 
 be easily grasped ; but the quality of a man's coat the 
 gorgeousness of his vest the chain of finest carat the ring 
 of brightest sparkle all of these arc so many indisputable 
 evidences of worldly success, and are, therefore, to be con- 
 tinually carried about by a man as universal vouchers for 
 his character. John Bull has certainly the largest eyes of 
 any of the nations. Hence, if it be imperative upon men 
 with even a known calling to exhibit an outward sign of the
 
 62 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 prosperity of that craft, how much more is it incumbent on 
 us the minions of Mercury, with nothing but the vivacity 
 of our wits " to feed and clothe " us to put a splendid out- 
 side upon swindling, and since the world ducks to appear- 
 ance, to assure ourselves of its very, very lowest stooping ! I 
 have never yet known an instance of a successful swindler 
 in a shabby coat. Who, indeed, would trust a man with a 
 hole in his hat? Read the Police Reports those "short 
 and simple annals " how, nineteen times out of twenty, do 
 they commence ? Why, thus "Algernon Mountedgecomb, a 
 young man dressed in the highest style of fashion," etc. , etc. 
 Such is always the strain; for can the reader point out any case 
 with any verbal similarity to the following :" Yesterday, 
 John Snooks, a wretchedly attired fellow, was brought up 
 charged with obtaining under false pretences a diamond 
 ring, a gold repeater, and a suit of pearls from the house 
 
 of ?" Has ever such a case been chronicled? Certainly 
 
 not : hence, the tailor is indispensable to the swindler, who is 
 on no account to spare him. The swindler may, in the weak- 
 ness of his nature, have some qualms towards any one except a 
 tailor; but the swindler who deals mercifully with a tailor had 
 better seek another profession such chicken-heartedness is 
 not for our art. The benevolence is so much goodness lost 
 wasted flung to the winds ; for you are to bear with you 
 this recollection : it is an axiom in his trade, that the tailor 
 never loses. " Them as does pay " such was the confession 
 of an eminent coatmaker after his second bottle of Burgundy 
 drank at Button Park, his country seat " them as does 
 pay," said the good man, " pays for them as doesn't." Can 
 there be a finer provision for the protection of trade, and 
 the satisfaction of the non-paying ? Hence, if possible, flay 
 your tailor. Should he discount for there are such philan- 
 thropists let him have a few bills by all means. In his
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 63 
 
 vast profits what are two or three thousands more or less in 
 a twelvemonth's balance ? J/, however, he will not discount 
 the paper of your friends "accommodate" is a good word 
 he cannot refuse your own bill. Great is the satisfaction 
 of a bill ! What serenity comes upon a man's soul when he 
 hath writ "accepted " ! What a load he feels lifted from his 
 lightened heart ! How airily, how joyously he looks 
 around him, elevated with a sense of duty done to his neigh- 
 bour and to himself! Sweet, most sweet, the satisfaction! 
 Such I am sure was the feeling of my late lamented 
 friend, Captain Judas Gammon ; for that excellent fellow 
 never accepted a bill that he did not clasp his hands and, 
 raising his eyes with a devout look of thanksgiving, exclaim, 
 " There now thank heaven ! that's paid ! " 
 
 There is, however, one objection to a bill it puts another 
 pair of wings to the back of Time. Hence, get a long 
 day. He was a philosopher and knew human nature, and 
 more than all, those profound workings of the human 
 heart set going by the machinery of bills, he was a 
 sage who, at the Old Bailey bar, what men of wit and 
 genius have made that nook all classic ground ! having 
 received sentence of seven years' retirement from the bust- 
 ling world, thus, with smiling face, addressed the judge : 
 " I beg your pardon, my lord, but have you a stamp about 
 you ? if so, permit me to accept a bill at seven years, for 
 then they'll pass like one." 
 
 Next for equipage. A swindler, like a physician, can 
 scarcely hope to prosper on foot. He must ride to fame 
 and fortune : hence a cab is of the first consequence to 
 him. This, however, is too obvious to call for further 
 disquisition. The effect of a magnificent cab a grey blood 
 and a diminutive fancy tiger upon the sensibilities of the 
 shopkeeping world are every day made manifest by the Police
 
 64 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 Reports. Jonathan Wild, Richard Turpin, and other worthies 
 laboured on horseback civilisation adds to their less blood- 
 thirsty descendants the comforts and the graces of a cab. 
 
 And now, come we to the moral bearing of the swindler. 
 Destiny has marked him to play a very various character. 
 He is, I will not attempt to disguise it, beset by difficulties. 
 There are men, assuredly, born with a genius for the profes- 
 sion ; who, as it would seem, instinctively adapt themselves 
 to all its peculiarities ; men who would have been lost, 
 sacrificed, utterly unknown in any other calling. I do 
 not address myself to them this luminous work is not 
 written for their instruction ; but to the thousands of the 
 rising generation, induced, tempted, by the spirit of the 
 times a spirit of the most tyrannic gentility to live with- 
 out means ; to eat the fat of the land without once greasing 
 their delicate fingers in search of it. Let these, however, 
 not conclude that our path lies over flowers : by no means; 
 there are very many rubs to be endured on the way 
 rubs calling for at once the greatest self-possession and the 
 most admired meekness. Indeed, I should not discharge a 
 great public duty did I not state it as my conviction that 
 very far less powers of mind, and ingenuity of a much 
 lower scale, are found sufficient to make a fortune in any 
 of the low mechanic arts of life than are required by even 
 the humblest swindler. However, the ardour of youth is 
 not to be withstood ; hence our best choice is to instruct 
 and fortify it. 
 
 And now, neophyte swindler, let me put a few questions 
 to you. And ere you answer, submit to a most rigorous 
 self-examination search every hole and corner of your 
 heart ; and then hold up your head and reply unblushingly. 
 
 Can you bear what is called public contempt ? Are you 
 clothed with a moral armour, more impenetrable than the
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 65 
 
 scales of the dragon from which the glances or reproach, 
 the scoffs, the sneers, the hard abuse of vulgar minds the 
 mere pity of those prigs who call themselves philanthropists 
 shall fall aside unfelt and unremembered ? 
 
 Can you school yourself to look in all human faces for 
 this trial will come and find them blank? 
 
 Have you sufficient fortitude to witness unrepiningly the 
 good fortune of some early companion a dullard, yet 
 plodding, and what the world calls honest surrounded 
 with all the luxuries of life, the fruits of lowly huckstering, 
 when, possibly, you yourself are yearning for a tester? 
 
 Can you bear with the nerves of a martyr the visitation 
 of a horse-whip for I will not shirk any of the probabilities 
 that wait upon the profession or the vindictive and un- 
 Christianlike application of a pointed boot to the os sacnunl^ 
 
 Can you, at proper time and season, bear your nose pulled? 
 1 am aware that this is perhaps the most difficult, the most 
 trying ordeal for the weakness of human nature to with- 
 stand ; and theieforc, I repeat the question Can you bear 
 your nose pulled ? 
 
 Can you, with no qtia'ms at your throat, behold in rags 
 or in a gaol the simple gull who has trusted you, or who 
 more exquisitely simple still has become your surely? 
 
 Can you, when old age approaches, and your place in the 
 world is filled up by more active, more youthful professors- 
 can you, with your hand upon yo'ir heart, retire like a 
 
 1 '' It is very strange," remarks Captain \\hitefcathcr in one of his 
 unpublished assays, "On Personal Satisfaction," " how very few men 
 know \\hat is due to themselves and to the second party, in inflicting what 
 they call personal chastisement. I have. ' continues the Captain, with 
 that delightful ingenuousness which made him the soul of his circle, " I 
 have been kicked, horse-whipped, cudgelled, tossed in .1 blanket, pumped 
 upon and flun<; into a horse-pond, yet I never, but in one instance, met 
 with a mnp who thnshed me ,'ike a ?sn!>,-in>i." [fon\ JACKPAW, Kd.] 
 
 9 I
 
 66 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 philosopher to a corner, and with not an eye to look com- 
 fort to you, not a lip to breathe hope to you, not a hand to 
 grasp your hand can you breathe your last breath with the 
 conviction that you have done no injury to the dead, will 
 leave no wounds in the living and that having passed a 
 life in heroic defiance of human prejudices, you meet 
 death with the magnanimous indifference of a roasted 
 Indian ? 
 
 Consider, my dear pupil, whether you are so happily 
 organised that you can support these trials too often 
 attendant on our chivalrous profession and answer. 
 
 The pupil laughs at the impossibility of such evils, and, 
 chuckling at the fun, says I can. 
 
 And Swindling takes him to her arms and makes him all 
 her own ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 A Brief Summary oj the Advantages of Swindling. 
 
 I HAVE, I hope, made it sufficiently plain to the plainest 
 understanding that the faculty, the desire to swindle, is born 
 with us, and that it is entirely owing to the force of circum- 
 stance whether we swindle or not; and that, however nice, and 
 moral, and exemplary, we may be in our individual capacity, 
 swindle we must and do, when we congregate together, even 
 with what are termed and considered the very best intentions. 
 This being granted, let every man with all possible speed 
 enroll himself as one of a body corporate. He may be a 
 most rigid member of a Temperance Society, considering 
 the parish pump the only source of all human enjoyment ; 
 and yet, as one of a body, he may drive a very pretty trade
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 67 
 
 in opium. He may, to his great self-exaltation, hold a plate 
 in aid of the funds for the dissemination of the true faith ; 
 and yet the diamond on his finger may have been purchased 
 with an odd balance of the profits which, as one of a com- 
 pany, he receives from a Hindoo idol. What the superficial 
 world denominates and brands as swindling in the individual 
 it applauds as spirited speculation, wisdom, foresight, a 
 fine knowledge of business in a number. Hence, if a man 
 would swindle safely, steadily, and above all, respectably, 
 let him become one of a public company, and his dearest 
 wish is straight fulfilled. What a profound liar he may be 
 on the Stock Exchange, and yet what an oracle of truth 
 at his own fireside ! How he is permitted to rob his 
 neighbour by means of false intelligence, and what a roar- 
 ing he is justified in setting up should some famishing, 
 unprincipled scoundrel lessen by one the numerous tenants 
 of the good man's hen-roost ! Reader, if you are not 
 already enrolled, become one of a body. Though you may 
 be only able to edge yourself into a vestry, it shall be some- 
 thing. And what a relief it is for the individual man, com- 
 pelled to walk half his time through the world in tight moral 
 lacing, to be allowed to sit at his ease at the Board ! If 
 morality sigh for leisure, where can it be enjoyed if not in 
 a company ! Once in a company, how many Catos become 
 Antonys ! 
 
 To the rising generation the advantages of swindling are 
 incalculable. The term swindling is, at present, an ugly one; 
 but with the advancement of the world it will be considered as 
 another and a better system of ethics. To obtain all things 
 needful for the refined man, by the exercise of the moral 
 faculties, is, doubtless, the greatest triumph of human 
 intellect, and this is inevitably achieved by the successful 
 practice of swindling.
 
 68 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 There is another advantage another consolation that 
 I have purposely left for consideration in this place. 
 
 When the plodding, sober, thrifty man quits this noisy 
 world made noisy by the incessant rattling of pounds, 
 shillings, and pence it is ten to one that he makes what is 
 generally called an irreparable gap in a large circle of the 
 most affectionate of friends. He leaves a widow broken- 
 hearted daughters inconsolable sons in the deepest 
 affliction- nieces and nephews very much concerned 
 and innumerable acquaintances all ready, with very little 
 further excitement, to burst into tears. Now here is a 
 woe inflicted upon fifty people by the decease of one man 
 yes, here are fifty people made more or less miserable by 
 a very natural event, the decease of a worthy soul, who 
 would not willingly inflict a moment's pain upon any 
 living thing. 
 
 How different the death of the swindler ! He makes no 
 irreparable gap in society not he ! he agonises neither 
 man, nor woman, nor child ; not a tear is dropped at his 
 grave not a sigh rises at the earth rattling on his coffin ! 
 Must not the conviction of tin's be the sweetest consolation 
 to the dying swindler? Think of his end, and 
 
 [It may be thought that the work ends abruptly. It does 
 so : the author had not leisure to finish it. The following 
 letter will, perhaps, throw some light upon the matter. It 
 was addressed by the Captain to an intimate friend : 
 
 "II.M. Transport, Harrington. 
 
 " DEAR TOM, We are oft for blue water. Sonic papers of mine 
 are in a deal box in the two-pair back of the Kag-o-Nails. If you love 
 me, see I'm in print. I learn from a fellow shipmate whose only mis- 
 fortune is that his handwriting was very -imilar to another gentleman's
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 69 
 
 that the papers will make a very pretty book, there being a great call 
 nowadays for the greatest information in the smallest compass. You 
 can pay in for me what you get through the Home Office. Be wide 
 awake, and believe me, under all convictions, 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " BAKABBAS WHITEFEATHER. 
 
 " P.S. You know I never liked shaving; the chin's bad enough 
 but when it conies to the head, it's ' regular cruelty to animals.' " 
 
 The above is ("errors excepted ") a true copy of the 
 Captain's letter. He died in I regret to say I cannot 
 give the exact latitude : suffice it to say he died ; but left 
 behind him what, I trust, will prove an imperishable 
 monument of his social worth and his exalted genius. 
 JOHN JACKDAW, Ed.] 
 
 THE EDITOR'S CHAPTER TO THE READER. 
 
 THE reader has, probably, marked a variety of style in the 
 foregoing pages. The Editor feels it to be due as much to 
 the lamented Captain Whitefeather as to himself to state 
 that he, John Jackdaw, is solely responsible for the manner 
 in which this work is presented to all the eyes of the British 
 public. 
 
 Nature had been very prodigal to the Captain ; but 
 whether from the extreme vivacity of his genius, or whether 
 from a more hidden cause, it is vain to search, the Captain, 
 with all his debts, owed nothing to art. Even his ortho- 
 graphy was of the happiest originality. 
 
 The Editor, therefore, felt the peculiar delicacy of his 
 task. Had he printed the MS. as it came, with the bloom 
 upon it, from the Captain's hand, it was to be feared that in 
 this age of light reading which reading, like pills, is made
 
 70 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 
 
 to be bolted, not, like bread, to be carefully chewed -not one 
 out of a hundred would have had the necessary patience to 
 go through with it. To suppress the work for any defect of 
 style would have been to sacrifice, as the Editor considered, 
 a great national good. After much deliberation there 
 appeared to him a golden mean. It struck the Editor that 
 he might, in very many instances, give the style of White- 
 feather, whilst in very many more he might heighten, and 
 adorn, and vary it from his own poor resources. Still, be it 
 understood, all the Jacts are Whitefeather's ; the Editor only 
 lays claim to certain tropes, and metaphors, and inimitable 
 felicities of expression, to which, probably, it might be con- 
 sidered indelicate were he more emphatically to allude. 
 Indeed, he has only touched upon the theme in the way of 
 business ; as there may be, even at this moment, many noble 
 and distinguished authors who, " wanting the accomplish- 
 ment " of grammar, are yet desirous of appearing in print. 
 (To these, in parenthesis, the author addresses himself; 
 assuring the tadpole literati that he finishes tales, histories, 
 biographies, poems, etc., with all despatch, and with the 
 most inviolable secrecy. His address is in a former page, 
 and Breakneck Steps is too well known to all who would 
 mount Parnassus.) 
 
 To the publishers of the remains of Captain Whitefeather 
 the Editor has to express his warmest gratitude. The 
 Editor blushes for the intelligence of the trade, when he 
 states that this national work, like the hitherto inimitable 
 Robinson Crusoe, was offered in the humblest manner to 
 twenty houses, and, sometimes coldly, sometimes sulkily, 
 sometimes indignantly refused. 
 
 One was tickled by the title, but looked blank when he 
 understood that there was no murderer no highwayman in 
 it. He declared that the only way to keep a reader awake
 
 THE HANDBOOK OF SWINDLING. 71 
 
 was to commit at least one murder in every page ; that the 
 gallows was now the only bay tree, and that even the youth- 
 ful generation sucked intelligence and morals from tales of 
 the gibbet, with the same eagerness and the same advantage 
 that they sucked liquorice root ! "Season it, sir season it," 
 said one bland gentleman, " with a handful of murders a 
 terrific storm on the New River and a miraculous escape 
 from Marylebone watchhouse, and there may be some hopes 
 of it." A second asked me to change the title into " The 
 Handbook of the Money Markets," adding, to my astonish- 
 ment, that he had no doubt the staple of the matter would 
 serve equally well. A third but why should I enumerate 
 the rebuffs endured ? No; let me rather, in the name of an 
 obliged generation, register a gratitude to the enlightened 
 spirit under whose auspices the book appears a work 
 destined, as the Editor with all diffidence declares, to work 
 a good as incalculable as, perhaps, unknown !
 
 72 TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 CAT-AND-FIDDLE MORALITIES. 
 
 THE TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 FOR fifteen years had the large wooden arm-chair of the 
 Cat-and-Fiddle been consecrated to the use of Captain 
 Bam. He would sit in it as it were a throne ; and the 
 customary guests of the hostelry paid him affectionate 
 loyalty. He had won all hearts by his odd, kind ways ; 
 he had become the familiar oracle of all by his strange, 
 yet wise sayings. He had, too, the rare and happy knack 
 of so mixing his wisdom with his drollery, that when men 
 laughed and swallowed his jest, they also, like children 
 cheated with sweetened physic, swallowed something thai 
 in proper season would do them hearty good. And then 
 there was a mystery about Captain Bam ; and, at limes, 
 mystery is a sort of sauce to human character. It will now 
 and then give a strange relish to what without it would be 
 insipid commonplace. Not that it was so with Captain Bam. 
 Certainly not : but the mystery was this. Fifteen years before 
 on a sharp, wintry afternoon he crossed the threshold 
 of the Cat-and-Fiddle. He carried a small leathern pack, 
 and appeared otherwise appointed for a long pilgrimage. It 
 was, we say, sharp, blighting weather, and Captain Bam 
 called hastily for a mug of ale. "A mug of ale, and 
 directly," said Captain 13am, "for I can't stop a minute." 
 The ale was brought, and the Captain hastily took a long 
 draught thereof. He then drew his breath, and a smile as
 
 TALE OF A TIGER. 73 
 
 from the very roots of his heart broke over his face, and 
 his eye strangely glimmered and twinkled upon the land- 
 lord. "Eureka!" said Captain Bam, and the host looked. 
 "Eureka /" again exclaimed the Captain. "Take my pack," 
 he said, in a voice trembling with the fulness of satisfaction, 
 "take my pack -I will rest here." 
 
 And Captain Bam--his pack removed sank in the large 
 arm-chair. It seemed that his travels were ended ; that, in 
 a happy moment, he had accomplished the purpose of his 
 life ; that all his future existence would be an appointed 
 state of rest. There was a little wooden nook a sort of 
 summer-house, at the end of a long garden which, after 
 few words, he hired of the host ; whence every night he 
 came to bestow his talk upon the guests of the Cat-and- 
 Fiddle. "And how he would talk! Ha! better than a 
 printed book." Such was the oft avowed opinion of his 
 gladdened hearers. And now the Captain is dead. His 
 body lies in the churchyard of the market town, but two 
 miles distant from the Cat-and-Fiddle. He had himself 
 written his epitaph. It is a model of brief simplicity 
 enough to bring a blush into the cheek of many a stone- 
 faced cherub. The epitaph has only one word : it is this : 
 " BAM." 
 
 The Captain died, but not his stories. No ; there sat 
 every night in the fireside corner of the Cat-and-Fiddle an 
 ardent, passionate lover of the mind of Bam. He was a 
 silent Pylades a mute Pythias. He would sit and store 
 himself with the syllables of Bam ; then, like the bee, 
 would he fly rejoicing home, and ere he slept hive the 
 wisdom in enduring ink. That wisdom is now before us. 
 The little vellum-bound book, its pages finely written as 
 with the point of a needle, lies upon our desk. Upon the 
 forehead of its title-page there are these words, "CAT- AND-
 
 74 TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 FIDDLE MORALITIES;" touchingly recollectful of the genial 
 haunt where their fine wisdom was audible. 
 
 There are no, we will not tell the number of stories 
 enshrined in this little book. But from time to time we 
 will lay one before the reader, in what we believe to be the 
 very words of Bam. 
 
 Yes : we will begin with the first. Here it is the title 
 beautifully engrossed, from which we guess the legal 
 yearnings of the chronicler here it is. 
 
 THE TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 Perhaps, my friends, you have never heard of a place 
 called Singapore. Well, it's no matter if you haven't. It's 
 a long, long way east, where all sorts of shipping trade, and 
 where all sorts of people live Chinamen, Malays, Javanese, 
 Bengalees, English, Dutch, and what not. Well, there was 
 at Singapore a certain Dutch family in the pepper trade. 
 They were named Vandervermin. They were all rich, 
 cautious, heavy people ; all save Jacob Vandervermin, who 
 when a mere youth was left a poor orphan ; left, as it might 
 have seemed, on purpose to exercise the loving benevolence 
 of prosperous uncles and aunts, and flourishing cousins. 
 Alas ! the whole body of the Vandervermins considered the 
 poverty of Jacob as a blight a family reproach ; a nuisance 
 that every one sought to put off upon the other. Jacob 
 was the little toe of clay that disgraced the Vandervermin 
 body of brass. And what made him worse, he was, for 
 one with Dutch blood in his veins, a sprightly, frolicsome 
 fellow. He was a beggar, and yet, with a stony hardness of 
 heart as Peter Vandervermin, the head of the family, 
 declared he would laugh and make offensive jokes upon 
 his wretchedness. There are men who cannot understand
 
 TALE OF A TIGER. 75 
 
 a joke, simply because it is a thing that carries no worth 
 with '- in a ledger. Now Peter Vandervermin received a 
 joke especially the joke of a poor man as an offence to 
 his judgment and a sidelong sneer at his pocket. His wife, 
 Drusilla Vandervermin, was of the same belief; and in this 
 goodly creed man and wife had reared a numerous family. 
 Jacob Vandervermin was the only outcast of the name who 
 had ever disgraced it by a jest. It was plain he would 
 come to no good; plain that he would die the death of 
 a sinner. When one day his body was found mortally 
 mangled by a tiger, not one of the Vandervermins was 
 shocked or surprised. No : they had always said that 
 something dreadful would happen to him, and it had come 
 about. Jacob was buried handsomely buried. Not one 
 of the Vandervermins would have given him when alive the 
 value of a coffin nail ; but, being dead, the case was altered. 
 The pride of the family was concerned in the funeral ; 
 hence, they respected themselves in their treatment of the 
 deceased. Doubtless the ghost of a despised, ill-used 
 relation is propitiated by a costly burial; and thus many a 
 cousin or half-brother who has glided through life in a 
 cobweb coat has superfine cloth upon his coffin. 
 
 I had this history of Jacob Vandervermin from a China- 
 man. He repeated it to me with the eloquence and fervour 
 of a believer. The Chinamen at least the sort that live at 
 Singapore believe that when the tiger kills its first man, 
 his ghost becomes its very slave ; bound, ordered by fate to 
 be a sort of jackal to the tiger ; compelled by destiny to 
 find the beast its dinners, even among his kith and kin. 
 Hence, a tiger having carried off one of a family, not one of 
 the survivors is from that moment safe. My Chinaman 
 he passed for a very learned fellow among his tribe had 
 the most intimate knowledge of the Vandervermin tragedy,
 
 76 TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 which, after his own lofty fashion painting his story as 
 thougli he was painting his native porcelain he related to 
 me. I shall give it you in plain, cold English ; for, my 
 good friends all, be it known to you, I scorn the flourish 
 of a traveller. 
 
 At the age of eighteen Jacob Vandervermin having 
 been knocked from uncle to uncle, the poor, passive family 
 shuttlecock fell at length into the counting-house of his 
 richest, and oldest uncle, Peter. For two years did Jacob 
 cat the bread of dependence ; for with that bitter word 
 was his bread always buttered when he awakened the 
 inextinguishable ire of his rich and orderly relative. Jacob 
 had been guilty of a gross wickedness ; in fact, of a crime, 
 in the eyes of Peter Vandervermin, of the deepest dye. He 
 had, in a moment of culpable neglect, let fall a large, 
 unsightly blot of ink upon his uncle's ledger. To the mind 
 of Peter Vandervermin, his graceless nephew had thrown 
 an indelible stain upon the white reputation of the family ; 
 at least Peter so avenged the fault, for without a word he 
 seized a ruler that lay upon the desk, and with it smote the 
 skull of the blotting offender. Jacob uttered no syllable ; 
 but instantly closing the ledger, and raising it with both 
 his hands, he brought down the book of figures with such 
 precise vehemence upon the head of his uncle, that the 
 principal of the house of Vandervermin & Co. lay stunned 
 and prostrate on the floor of his own temple that is, of 
 his own counting-house. 
 
 Now Jacob was not a man to give unnecessary trouble. 
 He knew that if he remained it would only cause his uncle 
 the pain and the perplexity of thrusting him from the house, 
 and therefore, with scarcely a penny in his purse, did Jacob 
 don his hat and cross his uncle's threshold. 
 
 Vain was it for him to beg the aid of any of the name of
 
 TALE OF A TIGER. 77 
 
 Vandervermin. What, he a poor creature, too, a pauper, 
 a beggar, a no, there was no worse word for him he smite 
 so good, so tender an uncle ! No, he might starve, perish ; 
 it would be to share his wickedness to relieve him. It was 
 a secret comfort to the Vandervermins that Jacob, in a 
 momentary forgetfulness, had knocked down his uncle. That 
 sacrilegious blow had for ever and for ever snapped the thou- 
 sand fine ties that despite of his previous errors still held 
 him to the family heart. Now he might perish ; and the 
 sooner the better. The only hope was that he would be 
 drowned, or decently starved to death ; that, for the sake 
 of the family, he would not come to be hanged, however 
 richly he deserved it. 
 
 For some weeks Jacob continued to live without money. 
 Nothing, perhaps, so eminently shows the superiority, 
 the crowning greatness of the human animal a fact so 
 well attested in many cases as the power of man to 
 subsist for a time without cash. He is a self-wonder while 
 he does it ; nevertheless, the miracle is performed. Tear a 
 plant up by the roots --fling it aside and it perishes. Shut 
 a cat up in an empty, mouseless garret, and one by one her 
 nine lives will go out. Bui take money from man money, 
 which is the root of evil, a root upon which man best 
 flourishes, thereby proving the wickedness of his nature 
 and still, still he lives. Perhaps, somehow, the carnivorous, 
 omnivorous animal becomes an air-plant, and so feeds upon 
 the atmosphere about him. I have met with many air-plants 
 of the sort. There is not a city, a town, without them. Such 
 men get over days, and weeks, and months, and wonder 
 how they have so successfully travelled thus far to the grave. 
 They must rub their hands, that they have cheated what 
 seemed to them a vital principle of nature. 
 
 And in this way Jacob Vandervermin lived. Every day
 
 78 TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 seemed to him a difficult stepping-stone to get over, and yet 
 the night saw him on the other side of it. But it is hard, 
 miserable work, this keeping check against time by meals in 
 the bowels : this incessant looking for butcher and baker 
 as the allies against death, and wondering and trembling 
 from day to day, lest they should not come to the 
 rescue. My friends, this is hard, debasing work I have 
 known it. 
 
 One day, with thoughts heavy as lead upon his brain, 
 did Jacob Vandervermin wander forth. He wandered and 
 wandered, until, weary and spent, he sank upon the stump 
 of a tree in a desolate place. " How how," cried Jacob, 
 " shall I live another day !" 
 
 What a mole-eyed thing is man ! How he crucifies him- 
 self with vain thoughts how he stands upon tiptoe, straining 
 his cyestrings, trying to look into the future, when at that 
 moment the play is over the show is done. 
 
 Jacob had scarcely uttered "How shall I live another 
 day !" when a tiger, a roy.tl tiger wherefore a cruel, treach- 
 erous, bloodthirsty beast should be railed royal, I know 
 not when a royal tiger fell like a thunderbolt upon him. 
 
 As a very large tom-cat snaps in its mouth a very small 
 mouse, and looking statelily around seems to say the mouse 
 kicking all the while " Pooh, pooh ; why this is nothing!" 
 so did the royal tiger look and speak, with Jacob Vander- 
 vermin writhing and screaming in its jaws. Well, tigers 
 moke short work of men. Almost as short as man himself 
 sometimes makes of his fellow biped. Jacob Vander- 
 vermin it was his luck to meet with a benevolent tiger; 
 he was not played with before he was finally crunched 
 Jacob Vandervermin was soon dead. 
 
 And now, my friends, prepare for a wonder ! Long before 
 the tiger had picked the bones of Jacob, Jacob's ghost
 
 TALE OF A TIGER. 79 
 
 stood, like a waiting footman, meekly behind the dining 
 animal. There was Jacob in his wide, parasol-like hat of 
 straw his white jacket and trousers, in all things the same 
 as when he lived, save that he was so transparent the eye 
 could see through him : and then his look was so serene 
 and passionless ! It was odd to see how meekly the ghost 
 looked on the while the tiger gnawed and crunched, and 
 then with its rasping tongue cleaned the bones of the 
 ghost's late body. It was plain that the ghost cared no 
 more for what he once thought the most valuable thing 
 under heaven, than if it were an old threadbare coat, put 
 aside for a glorious garment. Thus, after a few minutes, 
 the ghost seated itselt upon the stump of the tree where, 
 a short time before, it had sat in the flesh and twiddling 
 its thumbs, looked composedly about it. And when the 
 tiger had finished Jacob for the poor animal had not for a 
 week before tasted so much as a field mouse it stalked 
 away to its den, the ghost of Jacob following it. 
 
 Gorged to the whiskers, almost for two whole days did 
 the tiger sleep. And then rising and stretching itself- like 
 a Mogul after a debauch the tiger said, "Jacob !" 
 
 " What wills my lord?' 1 answered Jacob's ghost. 
 
 "Jacob, I must sup: something nice, now something 
 delicate. I don't like to say it to your face, Jacob, but 
 you haven't quite agreed with me. I could fancy some- 
 thing mild and tender to-night." 
 
 For a moment the ghost was thoughtful ; then observed, 
 " What says my lord to a nice sugar-cane salad ? " 
 
 The tiger leered somewhat pityingly at the ghost ; then 
 saying "Look here!" opened its jaws. Even the ghost of 
 Jacob shivered like moonlight upon water at the dreadful 
 array of teelh. "Think you," said the tiger, " such teeth 
 were made for salads ?"
 
 8o TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 " Tigers, I have heard, were not always flesh-eaters," said 
 the ghost, a little boldly. 
 
 " Why, there is a story among tigers," answered the in- 
 genuous brute, " that at one time but it's a long time ago 
 we used to crop clover and trefoil and wild thyme, for all 
 the world like foolish little lambs. And then suddenly 
 but how it came about I never heard we took to eating 
 the kids and lambkins that before we played with. How 
 the change began, and who took to killing first, I know 
 not : I have only heard it wasn't tigers ; and now, I only 
 know that I must sup : that this very night I must have 
 another Vandcrvermin. Have you any babies in the 
 house? " 
 
 " None : I assure you, my lord, not one," answered the 
 ghost. 
 
 "That's a pity," said the tiger, "for I feel it, my stomach 
 needs something tender and succulent. However, lead on : 
 air and exercise may tone my vitals a little. Why do you 
 tarry, sirrah ?" and the tiger growled like a stage tyrant 
 "you know your destiny; lead on." 
 
 The ghost seemed to feel the truthful force of the rebuke, 
 and immediately led the way. As they walked on. the 
 ghost espied a remarkably fine ox, strayed from a neigh- 
 bouring farm. " See, my lord, see ! " cried the shadow. 
 
 " No, no," said the tiger, a little contemptuously. " I 
 can't do that sort of thing now : having once tasted the 
 goodness of man, I must go on with him. No, no ; 1 thank 
 my luck I now know what good living really is." And then 
 the tiger paused, and twisting its tail gracefully about its 
 legs, as sometimes an ingenuous maid will twist about a 
 gown flounce, the brute observed " What a lovely night ! 
 How the air freshens one's spirits ! What a beautiful 
 moon and how the stars shine and the air's whisper
 
 TALE OF A TIGER. 81 
 
 among the tamarind trees, like unseen fairies making love ! 
 You are sure, Jacob, there is not a baby in the house ?" 
 
 " Nothing like it, my lord," answered Jacob. 
 
 " What is the best you can promise me?" asked the tiger. 
 
 "To-night, I'm afraid nothing belter than Drusilla, my 
 aunt," said the ghost. The tiger growled dubiously ; and 
 then said, " Well, we can but look at her. You know the 
 safest way, so mind what you're about." 
 
 Cautiously, stealthily, goaded by fate, did the ghost of 
 Jacob lead the tiger to the mansion of Peter Vandervermin. 
 Leaping a low wall, they gained a garden, and proceeded 
 along a winding walk, until they came to a pretty little 
 summer pavilion, wherein sat aunt Drusilla, as was her 
 wont, knitting, with a large Dutch pug at her feet. 
 
 "There's your supper," said Jacob, pointing to the 
 withered old gentlewoman. 
 
 "Humph!" growled the tiger, and angrily twitched its 
 tail "humph ! It's against my stomach ; I can't do it." 
 
 "What think you," urged the ghost, "of the pug just 
 for a snack ? " 
 
 The tiger curled its whiskers with a look of disgust, and 
 growling "dropsical," turned supperless away. And all the 
 next night did the tiger fast. But sweet is the sauce of 
 hunger; for on the third evening the tiger rose and 
 stretched itself, and its eyes glared with brightening flame 
 as it said "Come along, Jacob: I don't know that the 
 old woman will eat badly after all." 
 
 Jacob again conducted the destroyer to the house. 
 Again showed Drusilla, unconscious of her fate, knitting, 
 knitting. There was a slight growl a spring an old 
 woman's scream a yap, yap from the pug- -and then the 
 wall was leapt -and Peter Vandervermin was a widower. 
 
 I will not follow the tiger to its banquet. Suffice it to 
 
 95
 
 82 TALE OF A TIGER. 
 
 say, the tiger ate and slept. However, very ill and feverish 
 did the tiger awake in the morning. "Jacob," cried the 
 tiger, "what's the matter with me? Phew! I can hardly 
 move." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Jacob, "my lord has just a stitch in his 
 side. 1 ' 
 
 "No, no," said the tiger, "I feel 'cm now; it's that 
 abominable old woman's knitting needles." 
 
 "Every rose has its thorn, my lord," said the ghost, 
 joking as a ghost may be supposed to joke. "You never 
 find a woman without pins and needles." 
 
 " Jacob," cried the tiger, "either you come of a very bad 
 family, or, after all, man-eating is by no means so whole- 
 some however pleasant it may be as a hearty, simple 
 meal off a buffalo, a deer, or anything of that sort." 
 
 "Then why, my lord,"' urged the ghost, "why not return 
 to the humbler diet?" 
 
 "That's all very well, Jacob. Why don't men --with red 
 noses and no insides turn from arrack and new rum, and 
 drink only at the diamond spring? I begin to feel myself 
 no better than a drunkard : yes, I fear I'm a lost tiger. It's 
 very nice very delicious to eat a man at night but it's 
 like what I've heard of drink -what a headache it leaves in 
 the morning! Pla ! " cried the beast, "I'm afraid I'm 
 making quite a man of myself. Look at my tongue, 
 Jacob ; it's as hard and as dry, you might grind an 
 axe upon it. Oh, that dreadful old woman ! " and the 
 tiger closed its heavy, bloodshot eyes, and tried to sleep. 
 
 Only three days past, and then the tiger leapt up, anc' 
 licking itself all over as though it was going out to an 
 evening party, and wished to put the very best gloss upon 
 its coat the creature cried " Come away, Jacob; 1 must 
 have another Vandervermin."
 
 TALE OF A TIGER, 83 
 
 "Oh, my lord," cried the ghost, "think what you'll suffer 
 in the morning." 
 
 " That for the morning," cried the tiger, whisking its 
 tail " I tell you, Jacob, I intend to make a night of it. 
 Slave, lead on." 
 
 And thus for three months, conducted by the fate- 
 enforced ghost, did the tiger continue to sup off Vander- 
 vermins. Uncles and aunts, cousins male and female, in 
 all eight, had the tiger devoured, when one night the brute 
 carried off the ninth and last victim in the person of Justus 
 Vandervermin, lawyer and usurer. The tiger strange to 
 say devoured every bit of him ; but it was the brute's last 
 morsel; it never could digest him. Justus Vandervermin 
 remained, like so much india-rubber, in the vitals of the 
 tiger. Nothing could stir the lawyer. 
 
 " Jacob," cried the brute, feeling its last hour approach, 
 "I shall die, and your ghost will be at rest. I forgive 
 you but why why didn't you tell me that Justus was a 
 lawyer ? " 
 
 And with these words the tiger died, and the ghost of 
 Jacob Vandervermin was instantly at peace. 
 
 " And if all this story isn't true, Captain," asked one of 
 the Cat-and-Fiddle company, " what do you get out of it ? " 
 
 "Why, true or not, this much," answered Captain Bam; 
 " never to neglect and ill-use a poor relation. For however 
 low and helpless he may seem, the day may come when he 
 shall have about him the strength of a tiger."
 
 84 THE MOTH. 
 
 THE MOTH WITH THE GOLDEN WINGS. 
 
 HONEST Beber was a poor, merry-hearted denizen of the 
 ancient city of Bassora ; and if goodness of heart were 
 querulous as to its habitation of flesh, it would have had 
 just grounds to complain of being lodged in so dilapidated 
 a tenement as the body of Beber. To hear him speak to 
 see him laugh was to hear the voice of the nightingale 
 from the throat of an alligator ; and his smiles, as they lit 
 up the lines of his shrivelled, bark-like countenance, were as 
 the flashings of inestimable jewels through the ruins of a 
 leathern casket. It had, moreover, pleased Allah to place 
 the seal of darkness upon one of Beber's eyes ; and, probably 
 fearing his temper under such a calamity, he had most wisely 
 deprived his servant of his teeth : he had, furthermore, 
 looped up a few inconsiderable lines in one of Beber's legs ; 
 and that pride on this should not seek refuge in his servant's 
 hands, Allah had graciously paralysed one of his believer's 
 arms. Was pride expelled the body of Beber? In such 
 a ruined hovel of human clay did pride still find a peg 
 whereon to hang her looking-glass ? Alas ! yes, Beber was 
 proud. He would say, "There is happiness sufficient unto 
 all men, praised be Allah ! If all have not a bale of cloth, 
 there is also none but hath a thread. It is true if I am 
 stricken upon the right cheek, I must turn me round to look 
 for the hand ; and if he who buffets me can run with the 
 gazelle, my legs keep me from the crime of slaying; if two 
 hands be needful for a thief, glory to Allah, who hath 
 ordained his servant honest ; if honey-cakes mala- war upon
 
 THE MOTH. 85 
 
 the teeth, I may indulge with safety. I am half blind, lame, 
 toothless, and have hut live serviceable fingers : but there 
 is but one God, and he is great -I have not an ugly nose." 
 Hereupon would Bcber send forth a laugh and such a 
 laugh : His joy would issue from his throat, as though it 
 had to troll over so many pebbles, placed by some evil 
 genius in his larynx. His laugh was composed of several 
 sounds of a distinct, chinking sharpness every note pro- 
 ceeding, as it were, from the movement of the before-named 
 impediments. Pride in most cases arises from the possession, 
 or the fancied possession, of some valuable quality : Beber was 
 ingenious he could only pamper his spirit upon the absence 
 of ill. " We are never wholly destitute," he would say ; 
 " Where Allah denies the waters of the fountain, he gives 
 the sands of the desert." ] 
 
 Beber was in the employ of an old Persian in the city, 
 who had for forty years been prying into the profound secrets 
 of nature. Sefy, it was said, would for nights search for the 
 heart of a fire-fly, and would for a week thumb over a 
 mineral or a stone. He was old, ugly, and choleric. His 
 face was the colour of sunburnt marble ; his greedy, deep- 
 sunk eyes, overshadowed by their long wiry brows, were 
 likened, in the language of his slaves, to two ravenous and 
 crouching jackals watching from sepulchres. His beard 
 was stained a dead black, which, shaken by the palsy in his 
 head, gave him the appearance of a merciless and devouring 
 goule. "The neighbours say," thus Beber would sometimes 
 soliloquise, " that my master Sefy looks into matters deeper 
 than those of insects and of stones ; that he has visits from 
 the genii upon which occasions his house shoots up and 
 
 1 " Le douzieme a/.oare du Koran present de se laver le visage, la tete 
 les bras et les jambes avant de prier. A defaut d'eau, de la poussiere 
 peut souffire." BEAUVOISINS.
 
 86 THE MOTH. 
 
 spreads out like a sunflower, and branches forth into kiosks 
 and pavilions ; all of which, however, melt away with the 
 mists of the morning, leaving nothing hut his old studying 
 place." One morning Beber was so strongly possessed with 
 the belief of his master's dispositions towards magic, that, 
 instead of pursuing his task with his fellow-labourers of 
 searching among the surrounding fields of Bassora for flies 
 and pebbles, he entered a burial-place, and seating himself 
 beneath a cypress tree, spent the whole of the day in 
 intense but unprofitable cogitations. At length evening 
 arrived, and Beber then became awakened to the folly of 
 his conduct, and rallying the little philosophy he possessed, 
 he determined to betake him, although empty-handed, and 
 fearful of the bastinado, to his master. " Let me," said 
 Beber, "but pass through the night with an uncracked 
 skin, and master Sefy may give coffee to and wash the feet 
 of Zatania himself, ere I again set going the machinery of 
 my wit to the danger of my soles." With this resolution 
 Beber arrived at the mansion of his master, who cast an 
 evil eye upon the tardy servant, whilst anger seemed to aid 
 the effect of palsy. " Slave ! show me an excuse for this 
 delay : come, produce your stores." Now it so happened 
 that all Beber's fellows had been more than usually fortu- 
 nate, and had presented their master with some of the rarest 
 specimens of the insect and mineral kind ; therefore the 
 fault of Beber, when he informed his master of his want of 
 success, appeared most iniquitous. " Slave ! " exclaimed 
 Sefy, and the foam of passion streaked his black beard, 
 "go to my museum, and there await me." -"There is but 
 one God, and he is great," softly murmured the unfortu- 
 nate Beber ; and he stepped with as much caution to the 
 appointed place, as though he was treading the hair-breadth 
 bridge of Al Sirat.
 
 THE MOTH. 87 
 
 When Beber entered the museum, whether his precarious 
 situation more awakened him to the peculiarity of the 
 place is not recorded, but it is certain, on this occasion, 
 he was more impressed with its appearance than heretofore. 
 "There is but one (lod, and he is great," exclaimed 
 Bebcr ; "then why should men thus triumph over the 
 lesser creatures ?" This benevolent question was evidently 
 excited by the peculiarity of the apartment, of which every 
 atom was studded with living insects, impaled on wire. 
 There were some thousands of wings beating convulsively : 
 the whole room seemed instinct with life ; Beber felt as if 
 he were enclosed by four breathing walls. "lie who for 
 pastime runs pins through the bowels of beautiful and 
 harmless flies, will feel but little for the flesh of man," 
 thought Bebcr, and the sweat trickled to his knees, and 
 his very bones were cold. " Wretch that I am !" continued 
 he: "I have been the guilty partner of these crimes: I 
 have torn these lovely creatures from the sun, the dews, 
 and the flowers, to have their soft velvet bodies pierced 
 with iron ! Surely he who wantonly crushes a fly, would, 
 had he the power, blacken the rainbow, or strike out the 
 stars.'' Beber's heart was newly opened by the scene of 
 suffering which surrounded him ; and not knowing how long 
 he might remain without being himself impaled in the 
 middle of the room, as the grand central ornament of the 
 museum, he resolved to do all the good that as yet was in 
 his power. The eye of Beber was suddenly attracted by a 
 large and beautiful Moth, fixed at the east side of the 
 museum : it was beating its wings, and the acuteness of 
 its agony tarnished at intervals their golden beauty ; the 
 perspiration, like fine diamond dust, started from it in every 
 part : its horns were as polished steel, bearing two little 
 beads like pearls ; its body as crystal streaked with veins
 
 88 THE MOTH. 
 
 of ruby ; its legs were as amber ; and upon each wing there 
 was a bright emerald-coloured spot, which reflected the eye 
 of the beholder. Beber had never in his long practice 
 beheld any insect half so beautiful ; and, as it was so pre- 
 eminently lovely, the slave, true to the weakness of human 
 nature, though: that insect, before any other, should have 
 its liberty whereupon he carefully drew the tormenting 
 pin from its body. The moth fell motionless to the ground, 
 and Bcber feared his mercy was come too late ; when, 
 being about to stoop towards it, the moth suddenly sprang 
 into the air, and flew gently and steadily around the head 
 of the slave. As the insect moved, a soft entrancing 
 melody was created by the undulations of its wings, which 
 fixed Heber with upraised head, open mouth, and out- 
 stretched finger-, the scarcely-breathing figure of astonish- 
 ment. By degrees the insect comes more closely to him ; 
 now it just brushes his turban ; it strikes with its golden 
 wings the closed lid of the one-eyed Beber, springs through 
 the casement, and vanishes. 
 
 The slave utters a shout of astonishment- -covers by turns 
 each eye with his hand the lately withered ball is ngain 
 awakened to light Beber is no longer a one-eyed man ! 
 For some moments he chuckles with an inward delight; he 
 then sinks into a state of dreaminess, from which the appear- 
 ance of Sefy, his vindictive master, alone arouses him. The 
 old Persian starts on beholding in his museum a man in 
 every respect like his servant Beber, save in the possession 
 of two eyes. Without waiting for any explanation from 
 the supposed intruder, Sefy orders his servants to take the 
 slave to a distance, there to chastise him for his presump- 
 tion, and then to search for the offending Beber. The 
 menials, sharing in the surprise of their master, are puxzled 
 with the person of their prisoner: he is like Beber lame,
 
 TIJF. MOTH 89 
 
 toothless, has hut one good arm, but then his two eyes ! 
 It is not for them to ponder on the question ; they bear 
 their charge into the fields, and dutifully chastise him. 
 
 And now behold the unfortunate Beber, left bleeding 
 and exhausted at the outskirts of the city. The bastinado 
 had clone its work. "There is but one God, and Mahomet 
 is his prophet," sighed forth the unhappy man, as he 
 gradually revived to a sense of his miserable condition. 
 
 "Softly, friend Beber! you have unaccountably gained 
 an eye ; although, I am afraid, against such profit yon may 
 put the loss of your other leg." Here the wounds in his 
 feet again began so to throb and smart that the poor fellow 
 swooned under the agony. When he recovered, he saw, 
 hovering over him, the very Moth with the Golden Wings to 
 whom he had that day given liberty. The Moth gave every 
 possible sign that it recognised its former deliverer ; and, 
 having fluttered round Beber for some time, it gradually 
 sank to the soles of his feet, where Bcber felt the insect 
 fanning with its little wings his smarting wounds : a grateful 
 coolness pervades the lacerated parts --the flesh closes no 
 scars remain and Beber, rising from the earth, discovers 
 that he is not only cured of his hurts, but of his lameness. 
 " There is but one God ! " he shouts, and throws himself 
 round like a dervise. The Moth, although it carefully 
 avoids the outstretched and eager hand of Beber, still 
 flies around him, and seems by its movements as if it 
 wished to guide the footsteps of its preserver. " Moth of 
 Mahomet ! for you can be no other I will follow you !" 
 exclaimed Beber, and he marched forward. 
 
 The Moth flew to the city of Bassora ; and, after guiding 
 the astonished and delighted Beber through many turnings 
 and bye-ways, at length brought him into a. most beautiful 
 garden. Here the Moth began to revel among the flowers,
 
 90 THE MOTH. 
 
 which seemed sensible of its caresses, and in a manner 
 returned them. Now the Moth would alight upon a rose- 
 bud, which would instantly burst into a full-blown flower; 
 and then again slightly collapse its leaves, as though 
 wishing to confine the insect in its fragrant prison. Alter 
 the Moth had thus dallied with many of the beauties of the 
 place, it boldly Hew into the hand of Beber, which it 
 quickly left to visit a flower, and then as speedily returned. 
 After the Moth had continued these movements for some 
 time, Beber thought he would pluck a flower : scarcely 
 does he pull a damask rose from its stalk, when the leaves 
 curl together as though scorched by fire, their colour flashes 
 with an added brilliancy, and that which, but a moment before, 
 was a flower on the tree, becomes in the hand of Beber an 
 inestimable ruby. Delight succeeds astonishment : Beber 
 now plucks flowers of every hue, touched by the wings of 
 the Moth ; and in a few minutes he has jewels of every 
 colour and description from pearls transformed from lilies 
 to amber from sunflowers. Whilst Beber was thinking 
 where he should hide away his riches, he accidentally 
 touched a spider's web depending from one of the trees, 
 and it instantly burst forth into innumerable colours, and 
 became, as it were, a rainbow of silk, which Beber instantly 
 took, and deposited therein his newly-found riches. 
 
 Day was now fast approaching to a close ; and Beber, on 
 looking round for his good genius the Moth with the Golden 
 Wings, found it had fled he knew not whither. Hereupon 
 was Beber puzzled ; for he knew not how to depart from 
 a place into which he had been introduced he knew not 
 how. Whilst Bcber was engaged arranging the little wit 
 sudden good fortune had left him, in order to deliver him- 
 self from his present perplexity, he perceived a long pro- 
 cession of attendants coming down the garden ; and in an
 
 TJ1E MOTH. 91 
 
 instant Bcber, surrendering his soul and body into the 
 keeping of Allah, disposed himself into a very b;ill, and 
 rolled under the friendly boughs of a neighbouring tree. 
 Now, although Eeber had degraded himself as much as 
 possible from the upright bodily dignity of man, he had, 
 nevertheless, like a wise politician, so disposed his eyes as 
 not to be confounded by darkness in the general lump. 
 He beheld a numerous body of attendants halt just oppo- 
 site his hiding-place, where they commenced preparations 
 for a splendid feast. They brought with them vessels of 
 gold and silver, with the most delicate cates ; they spread 
 the carpets, arranged the cushions ; the grand carver was at 
 his post, and nothing was wanting but the master of the 
 feast to commence the banquet. In a few minutes the 
 great man himself appeared, and Beber shuddered as he 
 beheld his savage aspect. Giaffar (for that was his name) 
 was indeed a cruel and relentless man : the bones of many 
 of his once beautiful Circassian slaves, if rumour might be 
 trusted, had long whitened beneath the surge ; and even the 
 bowels of the earth enclosed his victims. The feast began 
 and ended in silence ; the coffee went its round, and the 
 dancing-girls had performed their voluptuous measure. 
 Giafi'ar questioned the slave respecting some trifling for- 
 mality which had been unobserved in the economy of his 
 chiboque, when the menial ventured a reply : Giaffar, 
 starting from his cushion, threw his ataghan at the offender, 
 who, however, by an adroit movement, escaped the blow, 
 and the weapon went whizzing onward, and, falling at a 
 distance, sheathed itself in the calf of the unhappy Beber's 
 leg, who instantly sent forth a shriek which immediately drew 
 the attendants about the sufferer. Beber is directly pro- 
 duced before the vengeful Giaffar, who in two words 
 gives out the culprit's fate. The sound of the syllables,
 
 92 THE MOTH. 
 
 "bow-string," still tingled in Beber's ears n> he threw himself 
 before Giaffar, imploring his most gracious consideration. 
 The appeal was in vain, and Bcber was being hurried away 
 from the presence of Giaffar to the first convenient corner 
 for execution, when in the struggle for Beber, albeit 
 supple and obliging, dared to struggle for his neck- -the huge 
 silken bag of jewels fell from the captive, and was speedily 
 exposed to the rejoicing eyes of Giaffar. " How is this, 
 slave?" said he, evidently pleased, as though his inward 
 man had been tickled by a libation of the pearls dissolved ; 
 "how is this, and wherefore these inestimable riches?" 
 Beber, feeling that his windpipe was as yet unobstructed by 
 a cord, thought it behoved him, if possible, to work its 
 everlasting liberty; and therefore rallying the little valour 
 which had retreated he scarcely knew where, he determined 
 upon acting the great man, and endeavouring to put death 
 aside with a big word. " Glory to the Prophet ! " com- 
 menced Beber ; " his ways are wonderful ; and no man 
 knows but a narrow and a winding lane, with foul serpents 
 in the path and thorns at the side, may lead to a field of 
 melons. Surely, good sir, if merchants trading to Bassora 
 are to have their necks fitted with bow-strings, the winds 
 and waters will soon bring you nothing but grass-seed and 
 sponge. When I quitted my good father, who, Allah rest him, 
 is now beholding his beard in the black eyes of immortal 
 houris ; when he gave into my keeping these jewels where- 
 with I was to trade, and to make me lift up my head with 
 any merchant in the Bazaar, little did I think I should have 
 to plead for the holding of my patrimony, like a felon against 
 the bastinado. But there is but one God," added Beber, 
 and he placed his hands across his breast. " Indeed ! is 
 this so?" replied Giaffar, who began to think he had 
 gone too far ; whereupon, motioning to his slaves, they
 
 THE MOTH. 93 
 
 respectfully seated Beber upon a cushion, and served him 
 with coffee. After a short pause Giaffar recommenced 
 his interrogatories. " How is it, my friend, that a man 
 possessing the immense wealth contained in these jewels 
 should make so bad an appearance ? By my beard, I 
 took you for some runaway slave! How is this, I say?" 
 "Most wise brother," replied Beber, gaining courage 
 as he proceeded, " you must know the vanity of em- 
 broidered garments : gravity of dress delights the wise. 
 He who hath not sense sufficient to prefer the sweet 
 sobriety of the cinnamon bark to the nauseating odour of 
 its flowers, deserves not the fragrance of the wood, but the 
 effluvia of the blossom." " Brother," replied Giaffar for 
 he had now an artful game to play " it is a wise defence 
 of a worthy custom. You will pardon the choleric recep- 
 tion I gave you ; and so, now for business. You, it seems, 
 are a jewel merchant. I can tell you good fortune has 
 directed your steps hither. There is not one, in the whole 
 city of Bassora, who can do you so good a turn as myself. 
 I am, at the present time, commissioned to buy some 
 valuable gems : these appear of extraordinary beauty ; 
 although perhaps I am wrong to say as much for a good 
 trader will not praise the foot of a camel he is bargaining 
 for. However, this night we will give to harmless pleasure, 
 and to-morrow we will talk of trade." By these fair words 
 did Giaffar wholly gain over to his confidence the un- 
 suspecting Beber. " Bacroc ! " said Giaffar and an ugly, 
 foul-visaged slave approached him " bring hither that 
 peculiar drink with which I treat the fortunate few whom 
 I condescend to receive in love and friendship.'"' The slave 
 quickly brings the desired liquor, which Giaffar presents in 
 a golden vessel to his easy guest. '' Honour to the Prophet ! 
 this is surely not wine.''' "Wine!'' replied Giaffar, in
 
 94 THE MOTH. 
 
 seeming anger; "but you are a stranger, and know not 
 that I have thrice travelled to Mecca's holy shrine. Wine 
 in the dwelling-place of the faithful ! " 
 
 Beber, not wishing again to excite violence, the character 
 of which he so well remembered (for his leg, though it had 
 been attended to by the slaves, still at intervals pained him 
 grievously), drank off the potion, to the evident satisfaction 
 of Giaffar. Beber, in his agitation, had not discovered the 
 Moth with the Golden Wings, which fluttered around him 
 whilst he held the vessel in his hand, but vanished on the 
 instant he emptied it. "There is but one God!" stammered 
 Beber, as he took the cup from his lips, and, trembling in 
 every part, he fell senseless to the earth. Giaffar on this 
 exclaimed to Bacroc and his fellows, "Dispose of the fool !" 
 and, carrying with him Beber's bag of jewels, he re-entered 
 the house. The slaves, with whom we shall for a time leave 
 Beber, bear him insensible from the garden. 
 
 Now it so happened that Giaffar was a great favourite 
 of the Sultan, who had entrusted him with a vast sum of 
 money to purchase jewels, which his highness intended to 
 present his daughter on her approaching marriage. Early 
 in the morning the chief of the Sultan's eunuchs, with a 
 suitable train, waited upon Giaffar, to demand of him the 
 success of his mission. Giaffar received the messenger 
 with all possible dignity, and ceremoniously placed in his 
 hand, enveloped in a rich cloth of gold, the silken bag and 
 jewels of the luckless Beber. "Thrice fortunate am I, the 
 slave of the Sultan, in having been so quickly and so 
 admirably suited with that desired by my master. You hold, 
 my good Mesrour, jewels of the most astonishing beauty ; 
 they shine even as lumps of the sun." Upon hearing this 
 the eunuch was about to indulge his eyesight with a peep 
 at his splendid charge, when he was prevented by Giaffar:
 
 THE MOTH. 95 
 
 " Pardon me, good Mesrour ; but Mahomet forbid that I 
 should permit any one to look upon the jewels before his 
 greatness the Sultan himself." Mesrour, being a subtle 
 courtier, felt the full force of such an objection, and, 
 saluting Giaffar, quitted him for the presence of the 
 Sultan. 
 
 Arrived at the palace, Mesrour found the Sultan and his 
 court assembled in full state. The eunuch, prostrating 
 himself before the throne, delivered into the hands of the 
 Sultan the purchase of Giaffar. " He is a good and a 
 faithful servant," said the Sultan, as he directed the golden 
 napkin to be taken from the jewels. " Know," he con- 
 tinued, "it pleaseth us to inform the faithful, that we intend 
 to bestow one of our daughters in marriage, and therefore 
 have entrusted our good servant Giaffar to purchase the 
 bridal present." On this a murmur of applause ran through 
 the court, which was, however, speedily turned into astonish- 
 ment, when, on the Sultan's snatching from his officer the 
 contents of the golden cloth, he displayed to the court a 
 heap of withered buds of flowers, entangled in a large 
 cobweb ! 
 
 "Mesrour!" exclaimed the Sultan, "how is this? I send 
 you for jewels, and you dare to bring me shrivelled flowers 
 in the web of a spider." 
 
 All the court stood aghast as Mesrour, prostrating him- 
 self before the throne, briefly, yet tremblingly, uttered : 
 "Commander of the Faithful, such as I received such have 
 I given to you ! " 
 
 " Ah ! Giaffar mocks our tenderness and clemency! By 
 the beard of my father, he dies ! bring me his head!" It 
 takes but a short time for Mesrour to depart from the court, 
 to seize the person of Giaffar, and to bring the astonished 
 culprit before the vengeful front of his master.
 
 96 THE MOTH. 
 
 "How is this, slave?" questioned the Sultan. "Are 
 these your jewels?" and he showed to the perturbed 
 favourite the worthless fragments he had sent. It was in 
 vain for Giaffar to protest that he must have dealt with a 
 magician ; that they were, on the last night, the most beauti- 
 ful jewels : the Sultan orders the execution of Giaffar, and 
 the court-crier proclaims through the principal streets of 
 Bassora that, in two hours, Giaffar, the late favourite of the 
 Sultan, is to be beheaded in the presence of the court. 
 
 Let us now return to Beber, whom the slaves of Giaffar 
 left in an unfrequented part of Bassora, insensible and almost 
 naked. Twice did Bacroc think of despatching him, when 
 his fellows, touched with some little compassion, dissuaded 
 him from the deed by assuring him that Beber, being a 
 stranger in Bassora and unacquainted with either the man- 
 sion or the name of Giaffar, could not, even if he survived 
 the effects of the soporific potion, be in any way dangerous. 
 Beber, however, triumphed over the terrors of the night ; 
 and, waking in the morning, found himself hungry, penniless, 
 and almost naked. The recollection of the events of the 
 preceding evening came over him, and he was about to 
 inveigh bitterly against his destiny, when his good spirits 
 came to his aid, and he took from a neighbouring reservoir 
 a handful of water, saying, before he drank, " I put the 
 sweetmeat of resignation into the stream, and, lo ! I am 
 nourished." He no sooner had swallowed the water than 
 he found his mouth filled with an admirable set of teeth ! 
 Beber was overcome with wonders ; he was lately become 
 intimate with miracles, therefore he neither shouted nor 
 danced, but meekly said, "There is but one God, and he 
 is great ! '' Now Beber, as he strolled through the streets 
 of Bassora, heard by chance the proclamation of the in- 
 tended execution of Giaffar, and, suffering himself to be
 
 THE MOTH. 97 
 
 mingled in the crowd, he entered the large court, where the 
 Sultan and his officers were assembled. When the order 
 was given for the appearance of the culprit, what was the 
 surprise of Beber to see in the person of the malefactor the 
 knavish jewel merchant. 
 
 " Shall I also accuse him ? " said Beber to himself. " No ; 
 let not the hand strike him already down." As this rejoinder 
 passed through the brain of Beber his blasted arm became 
 whole and sinewy; the last of his infirmities was cured, and 
 now was Beber a healthful and a complete man. Prepara- 
 tions are now made for instant execution ; the Sultan 
 remains obdurate to the prayers of the condemned, who 
 now walks to the fatal spot round the circle made by the 
 spectators. As he is just finishing his circuit, he stops 
 short at Beber, and, pointing him out, shouts aloud, " Com- 
 mander of the Faithful, here is the culprit here is he who 
 sold me the jewels ! " 
 
 The ceremony of death is for a time suspended; and 
 Beber, arraigned at the throne, briefly describes to the 
 Sultan his meeting with Giaffar : how he had been despoiled 
 by him of his jewels, and otherwise ill-used by him. 
 
 "Jewels, dog!" exclaimed Giaffar; "were they not 
 withered flowers?" "Answer, slave!" thunders forth the 
 Sultan. "Commander of the Faithful," replies Beber with 
 good heart, for he sees at this moment the Moth with the 
 Golden Wings hovering over him; "they were jewels 
 when I gave them into the keeping of Giaffar ; albeit his 
 wickedness may have transformed them." "This is inven- 
 tion, slave ; think you we are to be fooled with tales of the 
 genii ; take you the buds and the cobweb, and then own 
 your treachery." These articles are given to Beber, who 
 no sooner touches them than they become, one by one, a 
 jewel, enclosed as before in a bag of silk ! All the court are 
 
 906
 
 98 THE MOTH. 
 
 astounded at the feat. "This, however," said the Sultan, 
 "may be the art of some damnable magician." "Indeed, 
 your highness," replies Beber, "I am none; I know of no 
 powers save those of moral good and evil." "And is it 
 your power of good that transforms flowers into gems ? " 
 "Let it be tried," replies Beber, "by making Giaffar touch 
 a jewel ; we shall then see what arts he made use of with 
 your poor servant's wealth." " It is well ; come hither, 
 slave," says the Sultan to Giaffar; "touch with your finger 
 the diamond in my turban." No sooner is it done than the 
 stone turns into a blighted lily, and the Sultan, frantic at 
 the change, is rushing with his drawn scimitar on Giaffar, 
 when Beber, throwing himself before him, exclaims : " De- 
 fender of the Faithful, let me stand between your greatness 
 and your wrath ; " and Beber touching the withered flower, 
 it again becomes a diamond. 
 
 All the court are paralysed with astonishment ; and the 
 Sultan is about to question Beber, when suddenly a 
 beautiful palm tree rises at the foot of the throne. The 
 Moth with the Golden Wings settles on a large palm leaf, 
 which is instantly plucked, and found to bear the following 
 words, which were read aloud by the order of the Sultan to 
 the assembled people : 
 
 " I speak for my mistress, the fairy Gezert. Ask not, oh 
 Sultan ! the reason of this mystery ; for know, that in the 
 hand of the good and faithful the bud of the rose becometh 
 a ruby, whilst the finger of the wicked maketh a diamond 
 as nought. I was in pain, and a captive, and the poor man 
 gave me freedom ; his tenderness hath been his reward. 
 To try the feeling of man, I put off my form and took that 
 of an insect. I have found evil and cruelty in the great; 
 I have found love and mercy in the lowly. Oh, Sultan ! 
 he who for sport tortureth a fly would, but for the law, tear
 
 7 HE MOTH. 99 
 
 away an arm. Oh, Sultan ! let the merciful be rewarded, 
 the guilty punished ; and let this precept be ever in thy 
 mind, and in the souls of thy people That in the hand of 
 the good and faithful the bud of the rose becometh a ruby, 
 whilst the finger of the ivicked maketh a diamond as nought.'' 
 
 Scarcely has the officer finished reading, when the leaf 
 escapes from his hand in sunlight, the trunk of the palm- 
 tree becomes a pillar of water, spouting off and falling in 
 the shape of branches and leaves. It has ever been 
 approached with veneration by the people of Bassora, and 
 is called by them the Fountain of the Fairy Moth. 
 
 A few words will now close the tale. Giaffar was delivered 
 into the hands of the executioner, and Beber was dignified 
 with riches and honours by the gratitude of the Sultan.
 
 ioo FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 ST. PATTY. 
 
 ST. PATTY was an orphan, and dwelt in a cot with a sour 
 old aunt. It chanced, it being bitter cold, that three hunters 
 came and craved for meat and drink. "Pack!" said 
 the sour aunt, "neither meat nor drink have ye here." 
 "Neither meat nor drink," said Patty; "but something 
 better." And she ran and brought some milk, some eggs, 
 and some flour, and, beating them up, poured the batter 
 in the pan. Then she took the pan and tossed the cake 
 over ; and then a robin alighted at the window, and kept 
 singing these words One good turn deserves another. And 
 Patty tossed and tossed the cakes ; and the hunters ate 
 their fill and departed. And next day the hunter-baron 
 came in state to the cot ; and trumpets were blown, and 
 the heralds cried One good turn deserves another ; in token 
 whereof Patty became the baron's wife, and pancakes were 
 eaten on Shrove Tuesday ever after. 
 
 ST. SALLY. 
 
 St. Sally, from her childhood, was known for her innermost 
 love of truth. It was said of her that her heart was in a 
 crystal shrine, and all the world might see it. Moreover, 
 when other women denied, or strove to hide their age, St. 
 Sally said, " I am five-and-thirty." Whereupon next birth- 
 day St. Sally's husband, at a feast of all their friends, gave
 
 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 101 
 
 her a necklace of six-and-thirty opal beads ; and on every 
 birthday added a bead, until the beads mounted to four- 
 score and one. And the beads seemed to act as a charm ; 
 for St. Sally, wearing the sum of her age about her neck, 
 age never appeared in her face. Such, in the olden time, 
 was the reward of simplicity and truth. 
 
 ST. BETSY. 
 
 St. Betsy was wedded to a knight who sailed with Raleigh 
 and brought home tobacco ; and the knight smoked. But 
 he thought that St. Betsy, like other fine ladies of the 
 court, would fain that he should smoke out of doors, nor 
 taint with 'bacco-smoke the tapestry. Whereupon the 
 knight would seek his garden, his orchard, and in any 
 weather smoke sub Jove. Now it chanced as the knight 
 smoked St. Betsy came to him and said, " My lord, pray 
 ye come into the house." And the knight went with St. 
 Betsy, who took him into a newly-cedared room, and said, 
 " I pray, my lord, henceforth smoke here : for is it not a 
 shame that you, who are the foundation and the prop of 
 your house, should have no place to put your head into and 
 smoke?" And St. Betsy led him to a chair, and with her 
 own fingers filled him a pipe; and from that time the 
 knight sat in the cedar chamber and smoked his weed. 
 
 ST. PHILLIS. 
 
 St, Phillis was a virgin of noble parentage, but withal as 
 simple as any shepherdess of curds and cream. She married 
 a wealthy lord, and had much pin-money. But when 
 other ladies wore diamond and pearls, St. Phillis only wore 
 a red and white rose in her hair. Yet her pin-money 
 brought the best of jewellery in the happy eyes of the poor 
 about her. St. Phillis was rewarded. She lived until
 
 102 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 fourscore, and still carried the red and white rose in her 
 face, and left their fragrance in her memory. 
 
 ST. PHCEBE. 
 
 St. Phcebe was married early to a wilful, but withal a 
 good-hearted husband. He was a merchant, and would 
 come home sour and sullen from 'change. Whereupon, 
 after much pondering, St. Phoebe in her patience set to 
 work and, praying the while, made of dyed lambswool a 
 door-mat. And it chanced from that time, that never 
 did the husband touch that mat that it didn't clean his 
 temper with his shoes, and he sat down by his Phoebe as 
 mild as the lamb whose wool he had trod upon. Thus 
 gentleness may make miraculous door-mats ! 
 
 ST. NORAII. 
 
 St. Norah was a poor girl, and came to England to service. 
 Sweet-tempered and gentle, she seemed to love everything 
 she spoke to ; and she prayed to St. Patrick that he would 
 give her a good gift that would make her not proud, but 
 useful ; and St. Patrick, out of his own head, taught St. 
 Norah how to boil a potato a sad thing, and to be lamented, 
 that the secret has come down to so few. 
 
 ST. BECKY. 
 
 A very good man was St. Becky's husband, but with his 
 heart a little too much in his bottle. Port wine red port 
 wine was his delight, and his constant cry was bee's- 
 wing. Now as he sat tipsy in his arbour, a wasp dropped 
 into his glass, and the wasp was swallowed, stinging the 
 man inwardly. Doctors crowded, and with much ado the 
 man's life was saved. Now St. Becky nursed her husband 
 tenderly to health, and upbraided him not ; but she said
 
 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 103 
 
 these words, and they reformed him : " My dear, take ivine, 
 and bless your heart with it but wine in moderation : else, 
 never forget that the bee's wing of to-day becomes the wasp's 
 sting of to-morrow : ." 
 
 ST. 1,1 LY. 
 
 St. Lily was the wife of a poor man, who tried to support 
 his family and the children were many by writing books. 
 But in those days it was not as easy for a man to find a 
 publisher as to say his paternoster. Many were the books 
 that were written by the husband of St. Lily ; but to every 
 book St. Lily gave at least two babes. However, blithe as 
 the cricket was the spirit that ruled about the hearth of St. 
 Lily. And how she helped her helpmate ! She smiled 
 sunbeams into his ink bottle, and turned his goose pen to 
 the quill of a dove ! She made the paper he wrote on as 
 white as her name, and as fragrant as her soul. And when 
 folks wondered how St. Lily managed so lightly with fortune's 
 troubles, she always answered, that she never heeded them, 
 for troubles were like babies, and only grew the bigger by 
 nursing. 
 
 ST. FANNY. 
 
 St. Fanny was a notable housewife. Her house was a 
 temple of neatness. Kings might have dined upon her 
 staircase ! Now her great delight was to provide all things 
 comfortable for her husband, a hard-working merchant, 
 much abroad, but loving his home. Now one night he 
 returned tired and hungry, and, by some mischance, there 
 was nothing for supper. Shops were shut; and great was 
 the grief of St. Fanny. Taking off a bracelet of seed pearl 
 she said, " I'd give this ten times over for a supper for my 
 husband" And every pearl straightway became an oyster, 
 and St. Fanny opened the husband ate and lo ! in every
 
 io 4 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 
 
 oyster was a pearl as big as a hazel nut ; and so was St. 
 Fanny made rich for life. 
 
 ST. DOLLY. 
 
 At an early age St. Dolly showed the sweetness of her 
 nature by her tender love for her widowed father, a baker, 
 dwelling at Pie Corner, with a large family of little children. 
 It chanced that with bad harvests bread became so dear 
 that, of course, bakers were ruined by high prices. The 
 miller fell upon Dolly's father, and swept the shop with his 
 golden thumb. Not a bed was left for the baker or his 
 little ones. St. Dolly slept upon a flour sack, having prayed 
 that good angels would help her to help her father. Now 
 sleeping, she dreamt that the oven was lighted, and she 
 felt falling in a shower about her raisins, currants, almonds, 
 lemon peel, flour, with heavy drops of brandy. Then in 
 her dreams she saw the fairies gather up the things that fell 
 and knead them into a cake. They put the cake into the 
 oven, and dancing round and round, the fairies vanished, 
 crying, "Draw the cake, Dolly Dolly \ draiv the cake!" 
 And Dolly awoke and drew the cake, and, behold, it was 
 the first twelfth cake, sugared at the top, and bearing the 
 images of Faith, Hope, and Charity. Now this cake, shown 
 in the window, came to the king's ear ; and the king bought 
 the cake, knighted the baker, and married Dolly to his 
 grand falconer, to whom she proved a faithful and loving 
 wife, bearing him a baker's dozen of lovely children. 
 
 ST. FLORENCE OR ST. NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 St. Florence, by her works, had her lips blessed with 
 comforting, and her hands touched with healing; and she 
 crossed the sea, and built hospitals, and solaced, and 
 restored. And so long as English mistletoe gathers
 
 FIRESIDE SAINTS. 105 
 
 beneath it truthful hearts, and English holly brightens 
 happy eyes, so long will Englishmen, at home or abroad, 
 on land or on the wave so long, in memory of that Eastern 
 Christmas, will they cry God bless St. Florence! Bless St. 
 Nightingale! 
 
 ST. JENNY. 
 
 St. Jenny was wedded to a very poor man ; they had 
 scarcely bread to keep them ; but Jenny was of so sweet a 
 temper that even want bore a bright face, and Jenny always 
 smiled. In the worst seasons Jenny would spare crumbs 
 for the birds, and sugar for the bees. Now it so happened 
 that one autumn a storm rent their cot in twenty places 
 apart ; when, behold, between the joists, from the basement 
 to the roof, there was nothing but honeycomb and honey 
 a little fortune for St. Jenny and her husband, in honey. 
 Now some said it was the bees, but more declared it was 
 the sweet temper of St. Jenny that had filled the poor man's 
 house with honey.
 
 io6 SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE PARK. 
 
 Ii was a fine May morning when the bailiff of Sir Thomas 
 Lucy, of Charlecote, attended by some half-dozen serving 
 men, rode quickly through the streets of Stratford, and 
 halted at the abode of his worship the Mayor. The 
 children in the street stood mute, and stared ; gossips 
 ran to door and casement ; Thrums, the tailor, mechanic- 
 ally twitched off his cap, and for a moment forgot the new 
 bridal jerkin of Martin Lapworth, the turner, of Henley 
 Street; John-a-Combe, the thrifty money-scrivener, startled 
 from a sum of arithmetic, watched the horsemen with 
 peering eyes and open mouth ; and every face expressed 
 astonishment and surmise as the horses' hoofs tore up the 
 road, and the arms of the riders rang and clattered ; and 
 their visages, burly and glowing, showed as of men bearing 
 mighty tidings. Had a thunderbolt fallen in the market- 
 place, it could not more suddenly have broken the tran- 
 quillity of Stratford than had the sudden visit of Sir Thomas 
 Lucy's retainers. Every one pressed to the Mayor's house 
 to learn the tidings, and in a brief time one, taking up the 
 fears of his neighbour for the truth, told an inquiring third 
 that the swarthy Spaniard, with a thousand ships, had 
 entered the Thames ; that her gracious highness the Queen 
 was a close prisoner in the Tower, and that the damnable 
 papists had carried the host through the city, and had 
 performed High Mass in the Abbey of Westminster. This
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE. 107 
 
 rumour was opposed by another, averring that the Queen 
 had drunk poison in a quart of sherris (a beverage much 
 loved by her highness) whilst a fourth story told of her 
 private marriage with the Master of the Horse. Great 
 wonderment followed on each tale. Some vowed they 
 would never be brought to speak Spanish, others religiously 
 called for fire upon all Catholics whilst more than one 
 good housewife hoped that in all reasonable time her 
 Majesty would bring forth a prince. Stratford was the 
 very court-place for rumour; old, yellow Avon paused in 
 his course, astonished at the hum and buzz that came with 
 every wind. 
 
 At length the truth became manifest. No Spanish 
 bottom poisoned the Thames ; no Spanish flag blasted 
 the air of England. Elizabeth yet gripped her sceptre 
 yet indulged in undrugged sack and cold virginity. Still 
 it was no mean event that could thrust seven of Sir Thomas 
 Lucy's men into their saddles, and send them galloping, 
 like so many St. Georges, to the Mayor of Stratford. Thus 
 it was then ; the park of Sir Thomas had been entered on 
 the over-night, and one fine head of fallow deer stolen from 
 the pasturage, whilst another was found sorely maimed, 
 sobbing out its life among the underwood. The marauders 
 were known, and Sir Thomas had sent to his worship to 
 apprehend the evil-doers, and despatch them under a safe 
 guard to the hall of Charlecote. This simple story mightily 
 disappointed the worthy denizens of Stratford, and, for the 
 most part, sent them back to their various business. Many, 
 however, lingered about his worship's dwelling to catch a 
 view of the culprits for they were soon in custody and 
 many a head was thrust from the windows to look at the 
 offenders, as, mounted on horseback, and well guarded on 
 all sides by Sir Thomas Lucy's servants and the constables
 
 io8 SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE. 
 
 of Stratford, they took their way through the town, and, 
 crossing the Avon, turned on the left to Charlecote. 
 
 There were four criminals, and all in the first flush of 
 manhood ; they rode as gaily among their guards as though 
 each carried a hawk upon his fist and were ambling to the 
 sound of Milan bells. One of the culprits was specially 
 distinguished from his companions, more by the perfect 
 beauty of his face than by the laughing unconcern that 
 shone in it. He seemed about twenty-two years of age, of 
 somewhat more than ordinary stature, his limbs combining 
 gracefulness of form with manly strength. He sat upon 
 his saddle as though he grew there. His countenance was 
 of extraordinary sweetness. He had an eye, at once so 
 brilliant and so deep, so various in its expression, so keenly 
 piercing, yet so meltingly soft an eye so wonderful and 
 instant in its power as though it could read the whole 
 world at a glance such an eye as hardly ever shone within 
 the face of man ; it was not an eye of flesh it was a living 
 soul. His nose and chin were shaped as with a chisel 
 from the fairest marble; his mouth looked instinct with 
 thought, yet as sweet and gentle in its expression as 
 is an infant's when it dreams and smiles. And as he 
 doffed his hat to a fair head that looked mournfully at 
 him from an upper casement, his broad forehead bared out 
 from his dark curls in surpassing power and amplitude. It 
 seemed a tablet writ with a new world. 
 
 The townspeople gazed at the young man, and some of 
 them said, " Poor Will Shakespeare !" Others said, " 'Twas 
 a sore thing to get a child for the gallows!" and one old 
 crone lifted up her lean hands and cried, "God help poor 
 Anne Hathaway, she had better married the tailor!" 
 Some prophesied a world of trouble for the young man's 
 parents; many railed him as a scapegrace given to loose
 
 SHAKESPEARE A 2" CHARLECO'lE. 109 
 
 companions, a mischievous varlet, a midnight roysterer; 
 but the greater number only cried, " Poor Will Shake- 
 speare!" It was but a short ride to the hall, yet ere the 
 escort had arrived there Sir Thomas Lucy with some choice 
 guests were seated at dinner. 
 
 Hereupon the constables were ordered to take especial 
 care of the culprits, who were forthwith consigned to the 
 darkest and strongest cellar at Charlecote. Here, at least, 
 it was thought that Will Shakespeare would abate some- 
 what of his unseemly hardihood, for all the way to the 
 mansion he had laughed and jested and made riddles on 
 the constables' beards, and sang snatches of profane songs, 
 and kissed his fingers to the damsels on the road, and, indeed, 
 " showed himself," as a discreet, observing nun declared, 
 "little better than a child of Satan." In the cellar he and 
 his co-mates, it was thought, would mend their manners. 
 " As they do not learn to respect God, and worship Sir 
 Thomas, and honour deer's flesh, as good Christians ought 
 and they learn not these things in the dark 'tis to waste 
 God's gifts upon 'em to let 'em see the light of day." Thus 
 spoke Ralph Elder, constable of Stratford, to one of the 
 grooms of Charlecote. " I tell you, John," continued the 
 functionary, " Will Shakespeare's horse didn't stumble 
 for nothing at the field of hemp. God save poor babes 
 
 born to be hanged, for 'tis no constable's affair Hush ! 
 
 mercy on us, they laugh laugh like lords !" 
 
 To the shame of the prisoners be it spoken, the discourse 
 of Ralph was broken by a loud shout from the cellar. To 
 add to the abomination, the captives trolled forth in full 
 concert a song "a scornful thing," as Ralph afterwards 
 declared it, "against the might and authority of Sir Thomas 
 Lucy." The men, the maids all flocked to the cellar door, 
 while the dungeon of the prisoners rang with their shouting
 
 no SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE. 
 
 voices. " It was thus they glorified,'' as Ralph avowed, 
 "in their past iniquities" 
 
 " 'Twas yester morning, as I walked adown by Charlecote Meads, 
 And counting o'er my wicked sins, as friars count their beads ; 
 I halted just beside a deer a deer with speaking face, 
 That seem'd to say, ' In God's name come and take me from this 
 place !' 
 
 And then it 'gan to tell its tale and said its babe forlorn 
 
 Had butcher'd been for Lucy's dish soon after it was born ; 
 
 ' I know 'tis right!' exclaimed the dam, 'my child should form a 
 
 feast, 
 But what I most complain of is, that beast should dine off beast !' 
 
 And still the creature mourn'd its fate, and how it came to pass 
 
 That Lucy here a scarecrow is, in London town an ass ! * 
 
 And ended still its sad complaints with offers of its life, 
 
 And twenty hundred times exclaimed, ' Oh ! haven't you a knife?' 
 
 There's brawny limbs in Stratford town, there's hearts without a fear, 
 There's tender souls who really have compassion on a deer ; 
 And last night was without a moon, a night of nights to give 
 Fit dying consolation to a deer that may nut live. 
 
 The dappled brute lay on the grass, a knife was in its side : 
 Another from its yearning throat let forth its vital tide. 
 It said, as tho' escaping from the worst that could befall, 
 ' Now, thank my stars, I shall not smoke on board at Charlecote 
 Hall!' 
 
 Oh, happy deer ! Above your friends exalted high by fate, 
 You're not condemned like all the herds to Lucy's glutton plate ; 
 But every morsel of your flesh, from shoulder to the haunch, 
 Tho' bred and killed in Charlecute Park, hath lined an honest paunch.'' 
 
 The household were truly scandalised at this bravado. 
 The night came on, and still the prisoners sang and laughed. 
 
 1 "In the country a scarecrow, in London an ass!" Shakespeare s 
 Satire on Sir Thomas Lucy.
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT CHARLECOTE. in 
 
 In the morning Sir Thomas took his chair of state, and 
 ordered the culprits to his presence. The servants hurried 
 to the cellar but the birds were flown. How they effected 
 their escape remaineth to this day a mystery, though it 
 cannot be disguised that heavy suspicion fell upon four of 
 the maids. The story went that Shakespeare was a day or 
 two afterwards passed on the London road. 
 
 This tale was corroborated by John-a-Combes. For, 
 many years afterwards, a townsman of Stratford, who had 
 quitted his native place for the Indies just at the time that 
 Warwickshire rang with the deeds of the deer-stealers, 
 returned home, and amongst other gossip was heard to ask 
 the thrifty money-getter what became of that rare spark, 
 Will Shakespeare ; him who entered Sir Thomas's park at 
 Charlecote? "Marry, sir," replied John; "the worst has 
 become of him, for after that robbery he went to London, 
 where he turned stage actor, and writ plays, King Lear, 
 Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, and such things."
 
 ii2 SHAKESPEARE AT ^BANK-SIDE." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT "BANK-SIDE." 1 
 
 THE bell of St. Mary Overy had struck three ; the flag was 
 just displayed from the Rose play-house; and, rustling in the 
 wind, was like, in the words of the pious Philip Stubbes, 
 " unto a false harlot, flaunting the unwary onward to 
 destruction and to death." Barges and boats, filled with 
 the flower of the court-end and the city, crowded to the 
 bridge. Gallants, in the pride of new cloak and doublet, 
 leaped to the shore, making rich the strand with many a 
 fair gentlewoman lifted all tenderly from the craft ; horses 
 pranced along Bank-side, spurred by their riders to the door 
 of the tiring-room ; nay, there was no man, woman, or 
 child who did not seem beckoned by the Rose flag to the 
 play, whose ears did not drink in the music of the trumpets, 
 as though it was the most ravishing sound of the earth. At 
 length the trumpets ceased, and the play began. 
 
 The Rose was crammed. In the penny gallery was many 
 an apprentice unlawfully dispensing his master's time it 
 might be, his master's penny too. Many a husband, slunk 
 from a shrew's pipe and hands, was there, to list and shake 
 
 1 According to Rowe's story, related to Pope, Shakespeare's first 
 employment in London was to wait at the door of the play-house and 
 hold the horse.s of those that had no servants, that they might be ready 
 after the performance. "Jiut I cannot," says Mr. Steevens, "dismiss 
 this anecdote without observing, that it seems to want every mark of 
 probability."
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT "BANK-SIDE." 113 
 
 the head at the player's tale of wedded love. Nor here and 
 there was wanting, peeping from a nook, with cap pulled 
 over the brow, and ruff huddled about the neck, the sly, 
 happy face of one, who yesterday gave an assenting groan to 
 the charitable wonder of a godly neighbour of one who 
 marvelled that the Rose flag should flout the heavens, yet 
 call not down the penal fire. The yard was thronged ; and 
 on the stage was many a bird of courtly feather, perched on 
 his sixpenny stool ; whilst the late comer lay at length upon 
 the rushes, his thoughts wrested from his hose and points 
 by. the mystery of the play. 
 
 Happy, thrice happy wights, thus fenced and rounded in 
 from the leprous, eating cares of life i Happy ye, who, even 
 with a penny piece, can transport yourselves into a land of 
 fairy can lull the pains of flesh with the music of high 
 thoughts ! The play goes on, with all its influences. Where 
 is the courtier ? Ten thousand miles from the glassy floor of 
 a palace, lying on a bank, listening to a reed piping in Arcady. 
 Where the man of thrift ? He hath shuffled off his trading 
 suit, and dreams himself a shepherd of the golden time. 
 Where the wife-ridden husband, doubtful of a natural right 
 to his own soul ? He is an Indian emperor, flushed with the 
 mastery of ten thousand slaves ! Where is the poor appren- 
 tice he who hath weals upon his back for twopence lost 
 on Wednesday ? He is in El Dorado, strutting upon gold. 
 Thus works the play let it go on. Our business calls us 
 to the outside. 
 
 There is scarcely a passenger to be seen on Bank-side. 
 Three or four boys loiter about the theatre, some trying, 
 through a deceitful crevice, to catch a glimpse of the play 
 some tending horses, until the show be done. Apart from 
 these, his arms crossed, leaning against a post, his eyes 
 fixed on the Rose flag, stands a youth, whose face, though 
 
 907
 
 1 1 4 SNA KESPEA RE A T " BA NK-SIDE. " 
 
 perfect in its beauty, has yet a troubled air. As he stands, 
 watching the rustling beacon, it almost seems so fixed is 
 his look as though he held some converse with it ; as 
 though the fortunes of his future life were woven in its web 
 in mystic characters, and he, with his spirit straining from 
 his eyes, were seeking to decipher them. Now so would 
 imagination work there seemed voluble speech in its flap- 
 ping folds, and now a visible face. The youth turned from 
 gazing on the flag to the open river. Some spirit was upon 
 him; and, through his eyes, gave to vulgar objects a new and 
 startling form. He was in a day-dream of wonder and 
 beauty ; and as it told that those doomed to the ocean with 
 hearts yearning for the land see fields and pleasant gardens 
 in the heaving wave, so our hero, tricked by his errant 
 fancy, gazed breathless at new wonders sweeping before 
 him. A golden mist shrouded the mansions and ware- 
 houses on the strand. Each common thing of earth glowed 
 and dilated under the creative spirit of the dreamer. The 
 Thames seemed fixed whilst a thousand forms moved along 
 the silver pavement. The sky shone brighter harmony 
 was in the air ! The shades move on. 
 
 First passes one bearing in his hand a skull : wisdom is in 
 his eyes, music on his tongue the soul of contemplation in 
 the flesh of an Apollo: the greatest wonder and the deepest 
 truth the type of great thought and sickly fancies the 
 arm of clay, wrestling with and holding down the angel. 
 He looks at the skull, as though death had written on it 
 the history of man. In the distance one white arm is 
 seen above the tide, clutching at the branches of a willow 
 "growing askant a brook." 
 
 Now there are sweet, fitful noises in the air : a shaggy 
 monster, his lips glued to a bottle his eyes scarlet with 
 wine wine throbbing in the very soles of his feet heaves
 
 SHAKESPEARE AT "BANK-SIDE." 115 
 
 and rolls along, mocked at by a sparkling creature couched 
 in a cowslip's bell. 
 
 And now a maiden and a youth, an eternity of love in 
 their passionate looks, with death as a hooded priest joining 
 their hands : a gay gallant follows them, led on by Queen 
 Mab, twisting and sporting as a porker's tail. 
 
 The horns sound all, all is sylvan ! Philosophy in 
 hunter's suit, stretched beneath an oak, moralises on a 
 wounded deer, festering, neglected, and alone: and now 
 the bells of folly jingle in the breeze, and the suit of motley 
 glances among the greenwood. 
 
 The earth is blasted the air seems full of spells : the 
 shadows of the fates darken the march of the conqueror : 
 the hero is stabbed with air-drawn steel. 
 
 The waves roar like lions round the cliff: the winds are 
 up, and howling ; yet there is a voice, louder than theirs 
 a voice made high and piercing by intensest agony ! 
 The singer comes, his white head " crowned with rank 
 fumitor " madness, tended by truth, speaking through 
 folly ! 
 
 The Adriatic basks in the sun : there is a street in 
 Venice; "a merry bargain" is struck the Jew slinks like 
 a balked tiger from the court. 
 
 Enter a pair of legs, marvellously cross-gartered. 
 
 And hark! to a sound of piping, comes one with an ass's 
 head wreathed with musk roses and a spirit playing around 
 it like a wildfire. 
 
 A handkerchief, with "magic in the web," comes like a 
 trail of light, and disappears. 
 
 A leek a leek of immortal green shoots up ! 
 
 Behold ! like to the San Trinidad^ swims in a buck- 
 basket labelled "to Datchet Meads." 
 
 There gleam two roses, red and white a Roman cloak
 
 1 1 6 SHAKESPEARE A T "BA NK-S1DE? 
 
 stabbed through and through a lantern of the watch of 
 Messina ! 
 
 A thousand images of power and beauty pass along. 
 The glorious pageant is over no ! fancy is yet at 
 work. 
 
 Yonder ship, laden with sherries, canary, and spice see 
 how her masts and rigging fall and melt, like metal in a 
 furnace ! Her huge hold, stowed to the deck with wine, 
 swells and distends, and takes another form. We see no 
 ship, but a man mountain, with a belly that " would sink a 
 navy." One butt of red wine is sinking in the Thames : 
 no ; it moves and shapes itself into something like a nose, 
 which, rising like a comet, fiery red, before him of the 
 abdomen, seems as 'twere purposed for a torch to light him 
 "'twixt tavern and tavern." And sec- 
 But the day-dream of the youth is broken. A visitor, 
 mounted, has just arrived, and would fain enter the play- 
 house ; but there is none bold or strong enough to hold his 
 steed. At least a dozen men it was remarkable that each 
 had in his bosom a roll of paper, it might be the draft 
 of a play rushing from the Rose, strove to hold the bridle: 
 but some the horse trod down some he struck paralytic 
 with his flashing eye some ran away, half distraught at his 
 terrible neighing. At length our dreamer approached the 
 steed, which, as it had been suddenly turned to stone, 
 stood still. The rider dismounted and entered the play- 
 house, leaving his horse tended by our hero. The animal 
 ate from out his hand answered with its proud head the 
 caresses of its feeder and, as it pranced and curveted, a 
 sound of music, as from the horny hoofs of dancing satyrs, 
 rose from the earth. All stood amazed at the sudden 
 taming of the horse. 
 
 The play ended the audience issued from the doors.
 
 SHAKESPEARE A T ' l BANK-SIDE. " 117 
 
 The story had run from mouth to mouth, touching the 
 new-comer and his horse. All hurried about the stranger, 
 to see him mount. He, with some difficulty, such was the 
 crowd, leaped on his steed, when, inclining his face, radiant 
 with smiles, towards the youth who had performed the 
 office of his groom, he flashed like a sunbeam out of 
 sight. All stood marble with astonishment. At length 
 the immortal quality of the visitor was made manifest, for, 
 in the press and hurry, a feather had fallen from one of his 
 wings albeit, concealed and guarded by a long cloak. 
 
 The youth who had taken charge of the horse seized, as 
 his rightful wages, on this relic of Phoebus, and, taking his 
 way, he fashioned it into a pen, and with it from time to 
 time gave to the "airy nothings" of his day-dream "a 
 local habitation and a name." 
 
 It is modestly hoped that this well-authenticated story 
 will wholly silence the sceptical objections of Mr. Steevens.
 
 n8 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA, 
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 
 
 "/ cannot tell that the wisest Mandarin now living in China is not 
 indebted for part of his energy and sagacity to Shakespeare and Milton, 
 even though it should happen that he never heard of their names." 
 
 Godwin's "Essay on Sepulchres." 
 
 WE do great injustice to the College of Mandarins, if we 
 think that body at the present time ignorant of the marvels 
 of Shakespeare. No : Canton has produced its commen- 
 tator, and, by means of his explanatory genius, it is hoped 
 that in a few years the whole Celestial Empire will, in the 
 fulness of its knowledge, bow to the majesty of the poet. 
 At this moment we have before us a radiant evidence of 
 the admission of the great teacher into the Sacred City : 
 believe it, astounded reader, Shakespeare has gone farther 
 than Nieuhoff. England, however that England who has 
 shown herself such an idolatress of her darling son who 
 has encircled the house in which he first drew breath with 
 a golden rail who has secured it from possible destruction 
 at the hands of the bigot, by making it the property of the 
 State that England who, when the tree planted by the 
 bard was felled by the axe, wept as she turned the timber 
 into 'bacco-stoppers * that England who, even at the 
 present time, only a little more than two centuries after his 
 death, has already begun to think of the propriety of 
 
 1 The Mulberry-tree was cut down ; and the race of Gastrels is not 
 extinct. D. J.
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 119 
 
 erecting, at some future day, a national monument to her 
 poet that England cannot, after the many and affecting 
 instances of her deep and maternal love towards her most 
 illustrious child, refuse to aid in the dissemination of 
 Shakespearanity in any corner of the world, but at the 
 present interesting crisis, more particularly in the empire 
 of China. 
 
 The cry that the Chinese are not yet fit for Shakespeare 
 a cry raised in the same acute spirit in which people in 
 chains have been said not to be fit for freedom can, we 
 think, have no bad effect on even moderately liberal men, 
 after the production of papers now beneath our hands. All 
 we ask of the Foreign Minister is a company, to act either 
 on board Chinese junks or on shore, as the intellectual 
 wants of his Majesty may require ; nay, if under the direc- 
 tion of their own stage-manager, to exhibit themselves at 
 any distance in the interior. The company to be paid and 
 clothed by the government for whose benefit they act, with 
 this condition, that they be subject to the laws and customs 
 of the Chinese, obediently shaving their eyebrows and 
 letting their tails grow. For the passing difficulty of the 
 language, that, we have no doubt, will soon be overcome ; 
 many of the actors, we religiously believe it, speaking and 
 playing equally well in English or in Chinese. We now 
 come to the proofs of the fit condition of the people for 
 Shakespeare for that which they will "hail as a boon," 
 and which we shall part with as a drug. 
 
 Some months since, it was our fortune to be present 
 at an auction of curiosities from the East shells, parrots, 
 rice-paper, chop-sticks, japanned cabinets, and cut-throat 
 sparrows. Our friend Peregrine he had just arrived from 
 the Great Pyramid, from the top of which, and by means of 
 a most excellent glass, he had discovered, and after made
 
 120 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 
 
 captive, three giraffes -bade money for a picture. As it was 
 a scene from Shakespeare, there were of course no opposing 
 bidders, and he became the owner of what proved to be an 
 exquisite evidence of Chinese art and imitation ; in brief, 
 no other than a copy faithfully drawn, and most brilliantly 
 coloured by an artist at Canton of the Boydell picture of 
 Falstaff in the Buck-basket, and the Merry Wives. The 
 picture, however, proved in itself to be of little value com- 
 pared to the essay found to be inserted at the back between 
 the picture and the frame; being written on paper, half a 
 quire of which would not exceed the thickness of a butterfly's 
 wing, it is no wonder that the treasure escaped even the 
 meritorious vigilance of an auctioneer. It is this essay that 
 we now propose to submit to the reader, in evidence of the 
 condition of China for an instant export of a company of 
 fine Shakesperian actors. When we state that the essay has 
 been printed by its author in at least one of the Canton 
 journals, the dissemination and adoption of the principles 
 comprised in it, over the whole of China, cannot for half a 
 moment be a matter of doubt. 
 
 We regret that we cannot wholly acquit our intelligent 
 Mandarin of the taint of ingratitude. It is evident that his 
 views of English history at least of that portion in which 
 Falstaff conspicuously appears, for the writer suffers no 
 subject to escape in any way involved in the character of 
 the immortal knight have been gathered from one of 
 our fellow-countrymen ; he has, if we may be allowed to 
 say it, sucked the brain, as a " weasel sucks eggs/' of some 
 enlightened but obscure supercargo whom he has left un- 
 honoured and unthanked. How different, in a similar case, 
 was the conduct of an Englishman : our deep veneration of 
 the national character will not, at this happy moment, suffer 
 us to be silent on the graceful magnanimity of Mr. Nahum
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 121 
 
 Tate, who, in his preface to his improved version of King 
 Lear, returns his " thanks to an ingenious friend who first 
 pointed out the tragedy " to his condescending notice ! 
 The silence of the Mandarin towards his instructor is the 
 more strange, as ingratitude is not the vice of the barbarian. 
 An ingenious friend points out a skulking, unarmed straggler 
 to a Cossack; the soldier makes him prisoner, cuts off his 
 ears, slits his nose, bores his tongue, and having mounted the 
 captive behind him, in the cordial spirit of Nahum Tate, 
 " thanks his ingenious friend" for his information ! But it 
 is so ; in this particular our Mandarin fails in comparison 
 with the Cossack and with Nahum Tate. 
 
 We now lay before the reader the Essay of Ching the 
 Mandarin, who, it will be seen, in his orders to the painter 
 employed to copy the original picture by whom taken to 
 China remains unknown has, with national exactness, given 
 the birth and education not only of the author of Falstaff, 
 but of Falstaff himself, together with glancing notices of 
 Windsor wives and Windsor soap. 
 
 It is, perhaps, only due to the translator, to state that by 
 our express solicitation he has a little lowered the orientalism 
 of the original, whilst he has at the same time endeavoured 
 to preserve the easy, conversational tone of the educated 
 Chinese. 
 
 "CHING TO TING. 
 
 " I send, O Ting, from the barbarian ship, a picture of 
 barbarians. Make one for your friend, like unto it ; in 
 size, in shape, and colour, even the same. But why should 
 I waste words with Ting, whose pencil is true as the tongue 
 of Confutzee ? No ; I will straightway deliver to him all 
 my studies have made known to me of the barbarians written 
 on the canvas before him : for how can even Ting paint the
 
 122 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 
 
 faces of barbarians in their very truth, if he know not the 
 history not only of themselves but of their fathers ? 
 
 " The he barbarian with the big belly was called Forlstoff, 
 and in time was known as Surgeon Forlstoff: from which, 
 there is no doubt, he was a skilful leech in the army of the 
 barbarian king, more of whom in good season. Forlstoffs 
 father was one Shak or Shake, Speare or Spear ; for there 
 have been great tumults among the barbarians about the e. 
 In nothing does the ignorance of the English barbarians 
 more lamentably discover itself than in the origin they 
 obstinately give to their Shakespeare ; who, according to 
 them, was, like the great Brahme, hatched in an egg on the 
 bank of a river, as may be seen in a thousand idle books in 
 which he is called the 'Swan of Haveone.' And this con- 
 ceit was further manifested in the building of a place called 
 'the Swan Theatre,' where the barbarians were wont to 
 worship. There is little known of Shakespeare's wife, Forl- 
 stoff's mother, and that little proves her to have been an idle 
 person, given to great sleep and sloth, as is shown by her 
 getting nothing at the death of her husband but his ' second- 
 best bed ! ' 
 
 "If Forlstoff would not, at a later time of life, leave off 
 stealing, there is little doubt that he owed the fault to his 
 father, Shakespeare, who was forced to fly to London, which 
 is a sacred city for all thieves, for having stolen an antelope, 
 an animal consecrated to the higher kinds of barbarians, 
 and which it is death for the poor to touch. Indeed, the 
 flesh of the antelope is to be eaten with safety by very few 
 of the barbarians, it having killed even many of the Eldermen 
 immediately after dinner. 
 
 "When Shakespeare came to London he was poor and 
 without friends, and he held the horses of the rich 
 barbarians who came to worship at a temple on the banks
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 123 
 
 of the river. In time he learned to make shoes for the 
 horses ; and in such esteem are the shoes still held by the 
 barbarians, that they are bought at any price, and nailed at 
 the threshold of their houses and barns ; for where they are 
 nailed, the foolish natives think no fire, no pestilence will 
 come, and no evil thing have any strength. Such is the 
 silly idolatry of the barbarians. 
 
 "At length Shakespeare got admitted into the temple; 
 and there he showed himself master of the greatest arts ; 
 and he wrote charms upon paper which, it is said, will 
 make a man weep or laugh with very happiness, will bring 
 spirits from the sky and devils from the water, will open 
 the heart of a man and show what creeps within it, will 
 now snatch a crown from a king, and now put wings to the 
 back of a beggar. And all this they say Shakespeare did, 
 and studied not. No, beloved Ting, he was not like Sing, 
 who, though but a poor cowherd, became wise by poring 
 on his book spread between the horns of his cow, he 
 travelling on her back. 
 
 "And Shakespeare proceeded in his marvels, and he 
 became rich ; and even the queen of the barbarians was 
 seen to smile at him, and once, with a burning look, to 
 throw her glove at him ; but Shakespeare, it is said, to the 
 discomfiture of the queen, returned the glove, taking no 
 further notice of the amatory invitation. 
 
 " In a ripe season of his life Shakespeare gave up con- 
 juring, and returned to the village on the banks of the river 
 Haveone, where, as it is ignorantly believed, he was hatched, 
 and where he lived in the fulness of fortune. He had laid 
 down his conjuring-rod and taken off his gown, and passed 
 for nothing more than a man, and, it is said though you, 
 beloved Ting, who see the haughty eyes and curling noses 
 of the lesser man mandarins, can, after what I have writ of
 
 i2 4 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 
 
 Shakespeare, hardly believe it thought himself nothing 
 more. 
 
 " Shakespeare built himself a house and planted a tree. 
 The house is gone, but the barbarians preserve bricks of it 
 in their inner chambers, even I tremble as I pen it as 
 we preserve the altars of our gods. 
 
 "The tree was cut down by a fakir in a brain fever, but 
 the wood is still worshipped. And this, O Ting ! I would 
 not ask you to believe had not your own eyes witnessed 
 that wonderful tree, 1 the leaves whereof, falling to the 
 ground, become mice ! Hence learn that the leaves of 
 Shakespeare's mulberry have become men, and on a 
 certain day every year, with mulberry boughs about their 
 heads, their bodies clothed in their richest garments, they 
 chant praises to the memory of Shakespeare, and drink 
 wine to his name. 
 
 "Shakespeare Forlstoff's father, and the father of a 
 hundred lusty sons and daughters, such as until that time 
 had never been born, Shakespeare died ! He was buried 
 in a chest of cedar, set about with plates of gold. On one 
 of these plates was writ some magic words ; for thieves, 
 breaking into the grave, were fixed and changed to stone ; 
 and are now to be seen even as they were first struck by the 
 charm of the magician. And so much, beloved Ting, of 
 Shakespeare, Forlstoff's father." 
 
 That our Mandarin has herein displayed very popular 
 abilities for the difficult task of a commentator, no one 
 who has read many volumes of Shakespearian commentaries 
 will, we believe, deny. It is observable that in many 
 instances he makes his facts ; a custom of particular 
 advantage to the indulgence of the most peculiar opinions 
 
 1 See Navarrete's China for the account of this tree ; underneath 
 which, we humbly suggest, it would be as well to keep a cat. D. J.
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 125 
 
 and conclusions. We have read some writers who, deprived 
 of this privilege, would really have nothing to work upon. 
 The pleasure of making a giant, great as it possibly may 
 be, cannot be comparable to the delight of killing him, 
 our own handiwork. If, however, our reader will bear with 
 us, we will proceed with the labours of Ching on the 
 character of Falstaff, and on those personages and events, 
 directly and indirectly, associated with his glorious name. 
 Falstaff in China ! Jack Falstaff on a regimen of rice ! 
 
 "Forlstoff was born in the third hour of the morning; 
 and at his birth the roundness of his belly and the white- 
 ness of his head betokened his future greatness. But little 
 is known of his early life ; save that he assisted in the 
 temples of the barbarians, where his voice, once remarkable 
 for its sweetness, became broken with the zeal of the singer. 
 He then travelled with a juggler, and if lying were not the 
 especial vice of the barbarians did greater wonders than 
 even our own Yiyi. The Eldermen of London so named 
 because chosen from the oldest inhabitants are known by 
 a ring upon the thumb ; this ring Forlstoff, to the admira- 
 tion of the barbarian court, crept through and through like 
 any worm, and was promoted by the king therefore. I 
 should, however, do evil unto truth did I not advise you, 
 O Ting, that this feat of Forlstoff seems greater than 
 it really is : for a tame eagle being kept at the court of 
 the king, it was afterwards discovered that a talon of 
 the bird was something thicker than the waist of the said 
 Forlstoff. 
 
 " It is certain that Forlstoff, a short time after his feat 
 with the ring, became a student in a place called Clemency 
 Inn ; which, as its name implies, is a temple wherein 
 youths study to become meek and merciful, to love all men 
 as brothers of their own flesh, and to despise the allurements
 
 126 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 
 
 of wealth. There was with him another student, called 
 Robert Shaller, who afterwards became a mandarin, or, in 
 the barbarian tongue, a justice of the peace, being promoted 
 to that office because he was like a double radish, and had 
 his head carved with a knife. He was, when at Clemency 
 Inn, dressed in an eel-skin, and used to sleep in a lute-case. 
 He lent Forlstoff what the barbarians call a thousand pounds, 
 which Forlstoff was honest enough to acknowledge. 
 
 " I next find Forlstoff in company with one Princeal, 
 the son of the barbarian king, and several thieves. Forlstoff 
 and here the vice of his father, Shakespeare, breaks out 
 in the child tempts the king's son to turn robber. He 
 is, however, so ashamed of the wickedness, that he goes 
 about it with a mask on his face, as a king's son ought. 
 
 " Forlstoff falls into disgrace with Princeal, and is sent by 
 him with soldiers to Coventry ; that being a place in the 
 barbarian country where no man speaks to his neighbour. 
 After some delay Forlstoff marches through Coventry to 
 fight one Pursy, who can ride up a straight hill, and is 
 therefore called Hotspur. Forlstoff fights with him by 
 that is, near a clock, and kills him, Princeal, the king's son, 
 meanly endeavouring to deprive Forlstoff of the honour. 
 
 " After the battle Forlstoff goes to dine with the king at 
 Wincer, which is the royal manufactory for soap. Forlstoff 
 pretends to love two wives at the same time, and is put by 
 them in what is called by the barbarians a ^<r/v'-basket 
 that is a basket for the finer sort of barbarians, their word 
 buck answering to our push, and meaning high, handsome, 
 grand. He is flung into the river, and saves himself by 
 swimming to a garter. He is afterwards punished by being 
 turned into the royal forest, with horns upon his head and 
 chains upon his hands. Princeal, in time, becomes king, 
 and discards Forlstoff, who goes home goes to bed- does
 
 SHAKESPEARE IN CHINA. 127 
 
 nothing but look at the ends of his fingers, talks of the 
 green fields about Wincer, and dies. 
 
 " For the habits of Forlstoff, if they were not quite as 
 virtuous as those of Fo, it was perhaps the fault of his 
 times ; for we have his own words to prove that they were 
 once those of the best barbarians. He swore but few oaths 
 gambled but once a day paid his debts four times and 
 took recreation only when he cared for it. He loved sack 
 a liquor that has puzzled the heads of the learned 
 without eggs, and was extraordinarily temperate in bread. 
 
 " His companions were thieves of the highest repute 
 but all, unhappily, died and left no sons ! 
 
 "You will now, oh wise and virtuous Ting, directed by 
 these few and feeble words, paint me the picture of Forlstoff 
 and his two wives." 
 
 We put it to the impartial reader whether Ching, in the 
 above estimate of the character of Falstaff, has not entitled 
 himself to take rank with many Shakespearian commenta- 
 tors ; and whether, if the Foreign Minister will not consent 
 to ship a company of English actors to Canton, Ching 
 should not be invited by the patrons of the British drama 
 to preside in a London theatre.
 
 128 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 
 
 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 
 
 " THERE'S pippins and cheese to come ! " 
 
 Such are the hopeful words of an old divine of one Sir 
 Hugh Evans a preacher distinguished in the latter part of 
 the reign of Henry the Fourth, not so much for the ascetic 
 asperity of his speech and bearing as for a certain household 
 wisdom that ran like threads of gold through his most 
 familiar sentences, enhanced and recommended by a blithe 
 look and a chirping voice ; all of which excellent gifts made 
 him the oracle and friend of the yeomen and goodwives of 
 Windsor. These inestimable qualities to say nothing of 
 his miraculous hand at bowls, and his marvellous sagacity 
 as a brewer of sack had, as we have already inferred, 
 endeared him to his flock : and, living, and preaching, and 
 gossiping in a neighbourhood of love and good fellowship, 
 the parson grew old, his cheek mellowing to the last ; when, 
 
 in the year , he fell, like an over-ripe plum from the tree, 
 
 into his grave all the singing men and maids and little 
 children of mournful Windsor following their teacher to his 
 couch of earth, and chanting around it the hymn best loved 
 by him when living. 
 
 In sooth, the funeral of the poor knight was most bravely 
 attended. Six stout morrice men carried the corpse from 
 a cottage, the property of the burly, roystering Host of the 
 "Garter" a pretty rustic nook, near Datchet Meads, whither 
 the worn-out parson had, for six months before his death, 
 retired from the stir and bustle of Windsor, and where, on 
 a summer evening, he might be seen seated in the porch,
 
 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 129 
 
 patiently hearing little John Fenton lisp his Berkshire 
 Latin, the said John being the youngest grandson of old 
 Master Page, and godchild of the grey-headed, big-bellied 
 landlord of the "Garter." Poor Sir Hugh had long been 
 afflicted with a vexing asthma ; and, though in his gayer 
 times he would still brew sack for younger revellers, telling 
 them rare tales of " poor dcnr Sir John and the Prince," 
 he had, for seven years before his death, eschewed his 
 former sports, and was never known to hear of a match 
 of bowls that he did not shake his head and sigh, and 
 then, like a stout-hearted Christian as he was, soothe his 
 discomfited spirit with the snatch of an old song. Doctor 
 Caius had, on his death-bed, bequeathed to Sir Hugh an 
 inestimable treasure ; nothing less than a prescription a 
 very charm to take away a winter cough : for three years 
 had it been to Sir Hugh as the best gift of King Oberon ; 
 but the fourth winter the amulet cast its virtue, and from 
 year to year the parson grew worse and worse, when, in 
 the sixty-eighth year of his age, on a bright May morning, in 
 the arms of his gossip and friend, staid, sober Master Slender, 
 with the Host of the "Garter " seated (for he was too fat to 
 stand) in an arm-chair at the bedside, and Master Page and 
 Master Ford at the foot, Sir Hugh Evans, knight and priest, 
 passed into death, as into a sweet, sound sleep. His wits 
 had wandered somewhat during the night, for he talked of 
 " Hcrne the hunter" and "a boy in white"; and then he 
 tried to chirrup a song, - -and Masters Page and Ford smiled 
 sadly in each other's face as the dying man, chuckling as 
 he carolled, trolled forth 
 
 " Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
 Till candles, and starlight, and moonshine be out.'' 
 
 As the day advanced, the dying man became more calm ; 
 and at length, conscious of his state, he passed away at 
 
 908
 
 130 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 
 
 half-past nine in the morning, with a look of serenest happi- 
 ness and " God be with you ! " were the last words that 
 fluttered from his lips. 
 
 The personal property of the dead parson was shared 
 among his friends and servants. Master Slender inherited 
 his " Book of Songs and Posies ;" the Host of the "Garter" 
 the sword with which Sir Hugh had dared Doctor Caius to 
 mortal combat ; and all his wardrobe, consisting of two entire 
 suits and four shirts, somewhat softened the grief of Francis 
 Simple son of Simple, former retainer of Master Slender, 
 and for three years body-servant of dead Sir Hugh. A sum 
 of two shillings and fourpence, discovered among the effects 
 of the deceased, was faithfully distributed to the parish poor. 
 
 There was sadness in Windsor streets as the funeral pro- 
 cession moved slowly towards the church. Old men and 
 women talked of the frolics of Sir Hugh ; and though they 
 said he had been in his day something of the merriest for a 
 parson, yet more than one gossip declared it to be her belief 
 that " worse men had been made bishops." A long train 
 of friends and old acquaintance followed the body. First, 
 came worthy Master Slender- -chief mourner. He was a 
 bachelor, a little past his prime of life, with a sad and sober 
 brow, and a belly inclining to portliness. The severe censors 
 of Windsor had called him woman-hater, for that in his 
 songs and in his speech he would bear too hardly on the 
 frailties and fickleness of the delicate sex ; for which unjust 
 severity older people might perchance, and they would, have 
 found some small apology. For, in truth, Master Slender 
 was a man of softest heart ; and though he studiously avoided 
 the company of women, he was the friend of all the children 
 of Datchet and Windsor, lie always carried apples in his 
 pocket for little John Fenton, youngest child of Anne 
 Fenton, formerly Anne Page; and was once found sitting
 
 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 131 
 
 in Windsor Park, with little John upon his knees, Master 
 Slender crying like a chidden maid. Of this enough. Let 
 it now suffice to say that Master Slender for the Host 
 was too heavy to walk was chief mourner. Then followed 
 Ford and his wife ; next, Mr. Page and his son William, 
 poor Mrs. Page being dead two years at Christmas, from a 
 cold caught with over dancing, and then obstinately walking 
 through the snow from her old gossip Ford's. Next in the 
 procession were Master Fenton and his wife, and then 
 followed their eight children in couples ; then Robin now 
 a prosperous vintner, once page to Sir John, with Francis 
 Simple ; and then a score of little ones, to whom the poor 
 dead parson would give teaching in reading and writing, 
 and, where he marked an after wit among his free disciples, 
 something of the Latin accidence. These were all that 
 followed Sir Hugh Evans to his rest for death had thinned 
 the thick file of his old acquaintance. One was wanting, 
 who would have added weight and dignity to the ceremony 
 who, had he not some few years before been called to 
 fill the widest grave that was ever dug for flesh, would 
 have cast from his broad and valiant face a lustrous sorrow 
 on the manes of the dead churchman, who would have 
 wept tears, rich as wine, upon the coffin of his old friend ; for 
 to him, in the convenient greatness of his heart, all men, 
 from the prince of the blood to the nimming knave who 
 stole the " handle of Mrs. Bridget's fan," were, by turns, 
 friends and good fellows ; who, at the supper at the 
 "Garter" (for the Host gave a solemn feast in celebration 
 of the mournful event), would have moralised on death and 
 mortal accidents, and, between his tankards, talked fine 
 philosophy true divinity ; would have caroused to the 
 memory of the dead in the most religious spirit of sack, 
 and have sent round whole flagons of surest consolation.
 
 132 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 
 
 Alas ! this great, this seeming invincible spirit, this mighty 
 wit, with jests all but rich enough to laugh Death from his 
 purpose to put him civilly aside with a quip, bidding him 
 to pass on and strike at leaner bosoms, he himself, though 
 with " three fingers on the ribs," had been hit ; and he, who 
 seemed made to live for ever, an embodied principle of 
 fleshly enjoyment, he, the great Sir John 
 
 " He was dead and nailed in his chest." 
 
 Others, too, passed away with their great dominator, were 
 wanting at the ceremonial. Where was he, with nose 
 enshrining jests richer to us than rubies? Truly liberal, yet 
 most unfortunate spirit, hapless Bardolph ; where, when Sir 
 Hugh was laid upon the lap of his mother earth, oh ! where 
 wert thou ? Where was that glorious feature that, had the 
 burying been at the dead time of night, would have out- 
 shone the torches ? Where was that all-rich all-lovely 
 nose ? Alack ! it may be in the maws of French falcons ; 
 its luckless owner throttled on the plains of Agincourt for 
 almost the smallest theft ; hung up by fcllcst order of the 
 Fifth Henry of his old boon companion, his brother robber 
 on the field of Gadshill. And could Harry march from the 
 plain with laurel on his brow and leave the comrade of his 
 youth his fellow-footpad with neck mortally cut "with 
 edge of penny cord ?" Should such a chaplet have been 
 intertwined with such hemp ? The death of Bardolph is a 
 blot a foul, foul blot on the 'scutcheon of Agincourt. But 
 let us pass the ingratitude and tyranny of kings, to dwell 
 wholly upon the burial of Sir Hugh. 
 
 Who shall say that all the spirits with whom the parson 
 was wont to recreate himself,- -to counsel, to quarrel, who 
 shall say that they did not all mingle in the procession, all 
 once again pass through the streets of ancient Windsor? 
 The broad shadow of Sir John, arm in arm with the spirit
 
 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 133 
 
 of Mrs. Page, Bardolph and Nym, descended from their 
 gibbets, new from the plains of France, to make melancholy 
 holiday in Berkshire,- learned Dr. Cains, babbling Quickly, 
 and Pistol, her broken, war-worn husband, kicked down the 
 tavern stairs, where in his old days he served as drawer, and 
 was killed, and Shallow, immortal Shallow, his lean ghost 
 fluttering with a sense of office, who shall say that all these 
 did not crowd about the coffin of good Sir Hugh, and, as 
 he was laid in the grave, give him a smiling welcome to his 
 everlasting habitation? Let us not, in this day of light, be 
 charged with superstition, if in these pages perpetual as 
 adamant we register our belief, a belief mingling in our very 
 blood, that all these illustrious ghosts followed, and, with their 
 dim majesty, ennobled the procession, albeit, to the eyes of 
 the uninitiate, none but the living did service to the dead. 
 
 Sir Hugh Evans was laid by the side of his old friend 
 and old antagonist, Doctor Caius ; and, for many years, 
 there was a story among the good wives of Windsor, that 
 the fairies, once a year, danced round the grave of Sir Hugh, 
 the turf upon it growing as bright as emeralds ; and, in a 
 hawthorn bush, but a few paces from the spot, "melodious 
 birds" did, at certain seasons, "sing madrigals." 
 
 We have now to speak of the epitaph of the good Sir 
 Hugh. More than four hundred years have passed away 
 since the mortal part of that most worthy piece of Welsh 
 divinity was consigned to dust. It may be a lesson to 
 ambition to learn that the exact spot where he was buried 
 cannot, at the present time, be verified : the ablest anti- 
 quarians are at odds about it. Proud, however, and, we 
 trust, not unbecomingly so, are we to be the means of 
 publishing to the world the epitaph of Sir Hugh, copied 
 from his tombstone, in the possession of a gentleman in 
 Berkshire, who has resisted our most earnest supplications
 
 i 3 4 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 
 
 that he would suffer us to make known his name. This 
 favour he has resolutely refused ; but has, in the most 
 handsome manner, presented us with the use of the tomb- 
 stone, together with a most voluminous, and no less 
 satisfactory, account of its genuineness. Happy should we 
 have been could we have found room for the history of 
 the relic at full. Leaving it, however, for the archives of 
 the Antiquarian Society, we must content ourselves with 
 stating that the document fully proves that the tombstone 
 was erected from the private munificence of Master Slender, 
 and that the pithy and most touching epitaph inscribed 
 upon it was selected by his happy taste, as combining all 
 the excellencies of an epitaph in the fewest words these 
 words having the further recommendation of being uttered, 
 on a memorable occasion, by the deceased himself. The 
 words were repeated to Master Slender by his servant 
 Simple, despatched, on a certain day, by Sir Hugh with a 
 letter touching the wooing of Anne Page. After long 
 pondering, reviewing every circumstance of his ancient 
 friendship with the dead Sir Hugh, seated, one sunny 
 afternoon, on the bench outside the " Garter," the words 
 came jump again into the mind of Slender ; and quickly 
 raising and emptying his tankard, he marched, like a man 
 resolved, to the stone-cutter, and for he cared not for 
 Latin bade the workman cut on the stone (the inscrip- 
 tion, considering its age, is in a wonderful state of 
 preservation) the words that follow : 
 
 Ipricste 
 
 H>v>e& atte Datcbette 
 -anno >omi 14 
 
 "Gberc's pippins anc Cbcesc to Come."
 
 THE EPITAPH OF SIR HUGH EVANS. 13$ 
 
 How simply, yet how beautifully, does this epitaph shadow 
 forth the fruit! ulness of the future ! How delicate, and yet 
 how sufficing, its note of promise! 
 
 "THKRK'S PIPPINS AND CHKKSK-- TO COMK." 
 
 Pippins! Dues not the word, upon a tombstone, conjure up 
 thoughts of Hesperian gardens of immortal trees, laden 
 with golden fruit; with delicious produce, the growth of a 
 soil where not one useless weed takes root, where no 
 baneful snake rustles among the grass, where no blight 
 descends, no canker withers? Where we may pluck from 
 the consenting boughs, and eat, and cat and never, as in 
 earthly things, find a worm at the core, a rottenness at the 
 heart, where outside beauty tempted us to taste? "There's 
 pippins to come /" The evil and misery gathered with the 
 apple of death will be destroyed forgotten by the 
 ambrosial fruit to be plucked for ever in immortal 
 orchards ! 
 
 "THERE'S PIPPINS AND CHEESE TO COME!" 
 
 What a picture of plenty in its most beneficent aspect 
 what a prospect of pastoral abundance ! 
 
 Think of it, ye oppressed of the earth ! Ye, who are 
 bowed and pinched by want ye, who are scourged by the 
 hands of persecution ye, crushed with misery- ye, doomed 
 to the bitterness of broken faith; take this consolation to 
 your wearied souls apply this balsam to your bruised 
 hearts. Though all earth be to you as barren as the 
 sands 
 
 "THERE'S PIPPINS AND CHEESE TO COME!"
 
 136 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 
 
 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 
 
 A GRF.KNXVICH pensioner! Did any of my readers ever 
 ponder on that strange composition of battered humanity 
 and blue serge? Did they never feel a something approach- 
 ing very near gratitude on passing, in the metropolis, a 
 Greenwich pensioner, who, with his honest, carved out, 
 unabashed front, looks as bluntly and as wonderingly at the 
 bustle and splendour around him as does an unsophisticated 
 wether suddenly removed from South Downs to Cheapside, 
 whilst shaking his woollen coat beneath the whip of the 
 coachman to the Lord Mayor. What a mixture of gravity 
 and wonderment is in the poor brute's countenance ! how 
 with its meek, uplifted head it stares at the effulgent 
 vehicle, runs leaping at the coach-wheels, mistaking them 
 for hurdles, falls, awe-struck, back, at the gilt and beaverecl 
 greatness of the footman's cocked hat, --then, suddenly 
 awakened from its amazement by the lurcher's teeth, or 
 the driver's stick, makes an unlucky spring of some three 
 feet into the air, catches a glance of its figure in the 
 mirrored walls of a silk mercer, and, startled at the sight, 
 dashes through the first court, carrying perhaps a few 
 yards upon its back some red-faced, nankeen-gaitered little 
 stockbroker, whose spattered small clothes are for a time 
 unregarded in the mighty rush of drovers, butchers, dogs, 
 and idlers. 
 
 Now such is the real Greenwich pensioner. When I say
 
 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 137 
 
 I mean one who ahliors London worse than he does a 
 Frenchman ; who thinks there is nothing to be seen in it, 
 unless, indeed, it be Nelson's tomb, in St. Paul's, or the 
 '"Ship" public-house, in Tooley Street. London is to him 
 a never-failing source of merriment; that is, whilst he is out 
 of it. He sits at Greenwich, and looking as sagely as a 
 starling ere he snaps at a fly, at the piled-tip clouds of 
 smoke hanging over the metropolis, or, indeed, almost 
 propped upon its chimney-pots, and, stretching forth his 
 stick, significantly points them out to his former shipmates, 
 asking them if they do not think "there is something dark 
 over there something of an 'ox-eye' to the west?" He, 
 indeed, never ventures to London, unless it be for a fresh 
 supply of tobacco, or to pay a quarterly visit to his grand- 
 daughter, the upper housemaid in a gentleman's family, 
 and who, indeed, thinks with horror upon his call, because 
 the neighbours laugh at the cocked hat and the shoe- 
 buckles of her relative ; but principally because Richard, the 
 baker's young man, declares he hates all sailors. The visit 
 is never a very lengthened one, especially if the girl lives 
 far to the west ; for her grandfather has to call upon Will 
 Somebody, who set up, with his prize-money, a public- 
 house in Wapping. So off he starts, hurries up the .Strand, 
 touches his hat from a point of principle as he nears 
 Somerset House ; puts out more canvas, and away for 
 Temple Bar. The pensioner has not yet, however, sat for 
 his picture. 
 
 We have all read of crabs being despoiled of their claws, 
 locusts of their entrails, and turtles of their brains, receiving 
 in lieu thereof a pellet of cotton, and yet retaining life, and 
 appearing, in the words of the experimentalising and soft- 
 hearted naturalist, "very lively and comfortable." 1 Now, 
 
 1 See I "ail/ant and Kedi.
 
 138 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 
 
 the real Greenwich pensioner distances all these ; he is, 
 indeed, an enigma : nature knows not what to make of 
 him. He hath been suspended, like a school-boy's bob- 
 cherry, a hundred times over the chaps of death, and yet 
 still been snatched away by the hand of Providence to 
 whom, indeed, his many hurts and dangers have especially 
 endeared him. Ye of the "hind interest," ye soft-faced 
 young sparks, who think with terror upon a razor on a 
 frosty morning, ye suffering old gentlemen, who pause at 
 a linen-draper's, and pass the flannel between your fingers, 
 as time verges towards October ye martyrs to a winter 
 cough, ye racked with a quarterly toothache all ye of 
 household ailings, look upon this hacked, shivered piece of 
 clay, this Greenwich pensioner : consider of how many of 
 his powers he is despoiled see where the cutlass and the 
 boarding-spike have ploughed up and pierced his flesh; see 
 where the bullet has glanced, singeing by: and when you 
 have reckoned up if they are to be reckoned his many 
 scars, above all, look at his hard, contented, weather- 
 barnacled face, and then, gentle spectators, complain of 
 your rheums, your joint-twitchings, and your corns ! 
 
 Why, this Greenwich pensioner is in himself a record of 
 the last forty years' war. He is a breathing volume of 
 naval history: not an event but is somewhere indented in 
 him with steel or lead : he has been the stick in which the 
 English Mars has notched his cricket matches, when 
 twenty-four pounders were balls, and mainmasts wickets. 
 See, in his blinded eye is Howe's victory on the glorious 
 First of June ; that stump of what was once an arm is Nile ; 
 and in his wooden leg read Trafalgar. As to his scars, a 
 gallant action, or a desperate cutting out is noted in every 
 one of them. And what was the old fellow's only wish, as 
 with a shattered knee he lay in the cock-pit under the
 
 THE GREENWICH 1>ENS1ONER. 139 
 
 surgeon's hand ---what was his earnest supplication to the 
 wet-eyed messmate who bore him down the hatchway? 
 Simply that he would save him one of the splinters of the 
 mainmast of the Victory, to make of it a leg for Sundays ! 
 His wish was granted; and at Greenwich, always on the 
 seventh day, and also on the 2ist of October, is he to be 
 seen, propped upon the inestimable splinter, which from 
 labour, time, and beeswax, has taken the dark glossiness of 
 mahogany. What a face he has ! What a certain conscious- 
 ness of his superiority on his own element at times puffs out 
 his lip, and gives a sudden twitch to his head ! But ask 
 him in what quarter sets the wind and note, how with his 
 one eye he will glance at you from top to toe ; and, without 
 ever raising his head or hand to make a self-inquiry, 
 answers you at once, as though it was a question he was 
 already prepared for ! And so, indeed, lie is ; it being his 
 first business, on rising, to consult the weather. The only 
 way to gain his entire confidence, is at once frankly to avow 
 your utter ignorance, and his superiority; and then, after he 
 has leered at you with an eye in which there is a meeting of 
 contempt, good-humour, and self-importance, he is wholly 
 your own ; and will straightway launch into the South Seas, 
 coast along the shores of Guinea, where, by-the-bye, he 
 will tell you he once fell in love with a negress, who, how- 
 ever, jilted him for the cook -- and then he will launch out 
 about Admiral Duncan take you a voyage with him round 
 Cape Horn, where a mermaid appeared, and sang a song to 
 the ship's crew; and who, indeed, blew aside all the musket 
 shots that were ungallantly fired at her in requital of her 
 melody. But our pensioner has one particular story; hear 
 him through that, suffer yourself to be wholly astounded at 
 its recital, and, if you were not a landsman, he would 
 instantly greet you as his dearest friend. The heroes of
 
 i4o THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 
 
 this same story are, our pensioner and a shark : a 
 tremendous shark that used to be the terror of the harbour 
 of St. Thomas's. Upon this shark, and the piece of the 
 mainmast of the Victory, is our pensioner content to rest all 
 his importance during his life, and his fame with posterity. 
 He will tell you that he, being caterer of the mess, let fall a 
 piece of beef out at the port-hole, which this terrible shark 
 received into its jaws, and twisted its body most provokingly 
 at the delicious mouthful. Hereupon our pensioner it 
 was before, he reminds you, he had lost a limb asks leave 
 of the first lieutenant (for the captain was ashore) to have a 
 bout with the shark : leave being granted, all the crew arc 
 quickly in the shrouds, and upon the hammock netting, to 
 see Tom " tackle the shark." Our pensioner now enters 
 into a minute detail of how, having armed himself with a 
 long knife, he jumped overboard, dived under the shark, 
 whom he saw approaching with distended jaws, and inflicted 
 a tremendous wound with the knife in the belly of the fish; 
 this is repeated thrice, when the shark turns itself upon its 
 back a boat is let down, and both the conqueror and the 
 conquered are quickly received upon deck. You are 
 doubtless astonished at this ; he, however, adds to your 
 surprise by telling you that the mess regaled off the piece of 
 beef recovered from the fish ; be more astounded at this, 
 although mingle no doubt in your astonishment, and he will 
 straightway promise some day to treat your eyes with a 
 sight of a set of chequer men, cut from the very dorsal 
 bone of the immolated shark ! To be the hearer of a 
 sailor's tale, is something like undergoing the ancient 
 ordeal of red-hot ploughshares; be innocent of unbelief, 
 and you may, as was held, journey in safety; doubt the 
 smallest point, and you are quickly withered into nought. 
 What an odd contrast to his early life is the state of a
 
 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 141 
 
 Greenwich pensioner ! It is as though a part of the angry 
 and foaming sea should lie stagnant in a bathing tub. All 
 his business is to recount his former adventures to plod 
 about, and look with a disdainful eye at trees and bricks and 
 mortar ; or, when he would indulge in a serious fit of spleen, 
 to walk down to the river's side, and let his gall feed upon 
 the mishaps of London apprentices, who, fearless of conse- 
 quences, may have ventured some five miles from home in 
 not a " trim-built wherry." A Greenwich pensioner fresh 
 from sea is a most preposterous creature ; he gets up 
 every morning for a week, a month, and still finds himself 
 in the same place ; he knows not what to make of it he 
 feels the strangeness of his situation, and would, had he 
 the patience and the wit, liken himself to a hundred 
 unsettled things. Compare him to a hippopotamus in a 
 gentleman's park, and he would tell you he had in his day 
 seen a hippopotamus, and then, with a good-natured grunt, 
 acquiesce in the resemblance ; or to a jolly-boat in a flower 
 garden ; or to a sea-gull in the cage of a canary ; or to a 
 porpoise upon a hearthrug; or to a boatswain's whistle in a 
 nursery ; or to a marling-spikc in a milliner's workroom ; or a 
 tar-barrel in a confectioner's ; with any one or all of these 
 misplaced articles would our unsettled pensioner sympathise, 
 until time shall have reconciled him to his asylum; and 
 even then his fancy, like the shells upon our mantelpiece, 
 will sound of the distant and the dangerous ocean. At 
 Greenwich, however, the mutilated old sailor has time 
 enough to indulge in the recollection of his early days, and, 
 with what wisdom he may, to make up his mind to meet in 
 another world those whom his arm may have sent thither 
 long before. Death, at length, gently lays the veteran upon 
 his back his last words, as the sailor puts his withered 
 hand upon his heart, are " All's well," and sea and earth
 
 i 4 2 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 
 
 have passed away. His body, which had been for forty 
 years a bulwark to the land, now demands of it but "two 
 paces of the vilest earth;" and if aught could spring from 
 the tomb characteristic of its inmate, from the grave of the 
 pensioner would arise the stout, unbending oak it would 
 be his fitting monument ; and the carolling of the birds in 
 its branches would be his loud, his artless epitaph. 
 
 The Greenwich pensioner, wherever we meet with him, 
 is a fine, quaint memento of our national greatness, and our 
 fortunate locality. We should look upon him as the 
 representative of Neptune, and bend our spirit towards him 
 accordingly. But that is not sufficient ; we have individual 
 acknowledgments to make to him for the comforts of a long 
 safety. Let us but consider, as we look at his wooden 
 supporter, that if it had not been for his leg the cannon-ball 
 might have scattered us in our tea parlour the bullet which 
 deprived him of his orb of vision might have stricken Our 
 Village from our hand whilst ensconced in our study; the 
 cutlass which cleaved his shoulder might have demolished 
 our china vase, or our globe of golden fish : instead of which, 
 hemmed round by such walls of stout and honest flesh, we 
 have lived securely, participating in every peaceful and 
 domestic comfort, and neither heard the roar of the cannon 
 nor seen its smoke. Shakespeare has compared England 
 to "a swan's nest " in the " world's pool ": let us be nautical 
 in our similes, and liken her to a single lemon kernel in a 
 huge bowl of punch : who is it that lias prevented the 
 kernel from being ladled down the throat of despotism, from 
 becoming but an atom of the great, loathsome mass ? our 
 Greenwich pensioner. Who has kept our houses from being 
 transformed into barracks and our cabbage markets into 
 parades? again, and again, let it be answered, the Green- 
 wich pensioner. Reader, if the next time you sec the tar,
 
 THE GREENWICH PENSIONER. 143 
 
 you should perchance have with you your wife and smiling 
 family, think that if their tenderness has never been 
 shocked by scenes of blood and terror, you owe such 
 quietude to a Greenwich pensioner. Indeed, I know not 
 if a triennial progress of the Greenwich establishment 
 through the whole kingdom would not be attended with 
 the most beneficial effects fathers would teach their little 
 ones to lisp thanksgivings unto God that they were born in 
 England, as reminded of their happy superiority by the 
 withered form of every Greenwich pensioner.
 
 T44 THE DRILL SERGEANT, 
 
 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 
 
 SHALL we view our subject through the glasses of philosophy? 
 Precious microscopic glasses, by which we look into the 
 exquisite order of a bee's weapon, which shames the rugged- 
 ness of that vaunted wonder of man's hands a Whitechapel 
 needle. By which the superfine coat of the unworthy 
 appears but as a vile complication of coarse hemp-strings; 
 by which we look into the heart that to the naked eye 
 displays a tenanted cherub, with voice of music and wings 
 of light, but find a weak-eyed little monster, with squeak of 
 mouse and pinions of leather. O, glorious spectacles ! 
 which show palaces not entirely as resting-places for 
 divinities many laurels as nettles, stinging what they are 
 fancied to adorn Fame's trumpet, a penny whistle blown 
 by Asthma the awful person of Ceremony, a AFerry- 
 Andrcw stricken grave a grand review-day, a game at 
 ninepins on an extensive scale a levee, a triumph of the 
 laceman and jeweller a court ode, a verbose receipt for 
 wages "honourable gentleman," convicted scoundrel 
 "learned friend," stupid opponent a prison, a temporary 
 retirement from noise a glass of spring water, a "cup of 
 sack" an ugly face, God's own handiwork a handsome 
 one, nothing more noble blood, of the same hue as a 
 carter's a black parish coffin, a couch of crystal a grave, 
 a place of rest consecrated earth, the whole globe a 
 tombstone, work for the mason a pompous epitaph, the
 
 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 145 
 
 toil of a liar ! This transformation or rather, this showing 
 of reality is the result of using the glasses of philosophy. 
 Without the common microscope we could not know how 
 certain insects respired, whether at the mouth or shoulders ; 
 wanting philosophy's optic, we should be in like ignorance 
 of the source of being in some men for all exist not by 
 the same laws. To the naked eye, indeed, there appears 
 no difference ; but to the spectacled orb of philosophy it is 
 shown that many men respire, not by inward organisation, 
 but by external and adventitious instruments. Let those 
 who are sceptical on this position consider for a moment 
 the bearing of a thorough-paced coxcomb : does he breathe 
 from his lungs? No; but from his habiliments. His coat, 
 cravat, boots yea, his spurs, are the sources of his being, 
 his dignity, his action. Nay, some men take all their life 
 from a riband at their button-hole, or a garter at their leg. 
 Our Drill Sergeant takes it from his rattan. 
 
 I know that much of this may be deemed foreign to the 
 purpose. To those who so conclude, I say A common 
 wire-dancer gives not his grand feat without many little nick- 
 nack preparations. When we visit the Egyptian Hall, that 
 grand emporium of monsters, we do not step from the 
 pavement into the show-room, but are wisely made to 
 thread two or three passages for the better excitation of 
 our feelings. And shall my Drill Sergeant have not the 
 common observance paid to a mermaid ? I trust I have 
 more respect for my subject, and the army in general. If 
 any one of my readers, when he glanced at the title, thought 
 to meet with the Sergeant standing bolt upright at the 
 beginning of the line, like the sentinel at Buckingham Gate, 
 I luxuriate in his disappointment. 
 
 To be candid : I had laid clown no form for my begin- 
 ning ; so I thought a caper or two upon philosophy would 
 
 909
 
 146 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 
 
 not be amiss, trusting eventually to drop upon my subject. 
 This is a trick frequently played by - . However, to 
 business. 
 
 We must contemplate the Drill Sergeant at a distance : 
 there is no closing with him. A painter would decline a 
 chair in the tiger's den, asserting that he could take the 
 animal's stripes equally well through the bars. Even so 
 will I take the stripes of our Sergeant. First, to consider 
 his appearance, or rather the discipline by which his "thews 
 and muscles" deport themselves. He has a vile, cat-like 
 leer of the eye, that makes us retreat back a few paces, and 
 rub our palms, to be assured the knave has not secretly 
 placed in one of them a shilling. We tremble, and for once 
 are afraid to meet the king's countenance (I am adding to 
 the awful attributes of the Drill Sergeant the fearful privilege 
 of recruiting). We shrink, lest he has mentally approved of 
 us as being worthy of ball cartridge. He glances towards 
 our leg, and we cannot but feel that he is thinking how it 
 would look in a black gaiter. At this moment we take 
 courage, and, valiantly lifting off our hat, pass our luxuriant 
 curls through our four fingers we are petrified ; for we see 
 by his chuckle that he has already doomed our tresses to 
 the scissors of the barrack-barber. We are at once about 
 to take to our legs, when, turning round, we see something 
 under a middle-sized man looking over our head. On this 
 we feel our safety, and triumph in the glory of five feet one. 
 Something must always be allowed for weakness some- 
 thing for vanity ; which, indeed, philosophers denominate 
 the greatest weakness. Hence all these cogitations, 
 foolishly attributed by the little individual to the Sergeant, 
 arise from the civil man's self-conceit \ the Sergeant always 
 treating with ineffable contempt persons of a certain size. 
 And here may be remarked the astonishing capacity of our
 
 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 147 
 
 Sergeant in judging of human altitude. Ere George Bidder 
 can enumerate the virtues of King Ferdinand, our Sergeant 
 will sum up the exact height of a man, duly allowing for his 
 pumps and silk stockings. Strive to mystify the question, 
 and the ability of the Sergeant mocks the endeavour ; for 
 he will, on a minute's notice, resolve how many feet of 
 martial flesh are in a complete square, after including the 
 triangle, fife, and drummer lads, and deducting some of the 
 boy officers. Thus, five-feet-eight reader, if thou wouldst 
 enjoy the pranks of the Sergeant, unmolested by his eye, 
 teach thy leg to mimic lameness : or, if easier, cough con- 
 sumptively. 
 
 I would wish to convey a striking resemblance of our 
 Drill Sergeant on duty, when you would swear by his gait 
 that this glorious earth was wholly composed of spring 
 wires, so elastic are his soles. It is a motion unparalleled 
 either in the natural or artificial world ; it is a movement 
 by itself like the swoop of the eagle, the waddle of the 
 duck, the fleetness of the greyhound, or the hop of the frog. 
 And yet, on intense consideration, I think I have seen 
 something approximating to the bearing of our Drill 
 Sergeant. What think you of the manner of a pug dog 
 in a dropsy, exposed for air on a nipping December 
 morning, his black nose turning almost white with indigna- 
 tion at the coldness of the flags? There certainly is a 
 resemblance ; there is dignity in both animals, albeit to the 
 daring eye of a grotesque character. It must, however, 
 be owned, that on great occasions our Sergeant can alter his 
 deportment. It is not in the nature of things to be always 
 strained to the highest : the distended skin of the serpent 
 at times falls into amiable and social wrinkles ; an arrant 
 shrew may sometimes be caught singing " Sweet Home !" 
 the bow-string of a William Tell may be doubtless as relaxed
 
 148 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 
 
 and tuneless as the instrument of a Haymarket fiddler ; 
 and shall not our Sergeant unbend ? He does break 
 himself up from the stiffness of parade ; for see him when 
 the draughts of mine hostess hath diluted some portion of 
 military starch, and he no longer holds his head like a 
 game-cock, taking his morning's potation ; see him then, 
 and own that even a Sergeant may be amiable. Is he not 
 the very model of elegant ease? He is, indeed, unbent; 
 for his limbs swing loosely as hung ramrods. Our Sergeant 
 can now talk ; his tongue hath overleapt the two barriers, 
 "Attention!" and "Stand at ease!" and rambles wildly 
 from Egypt to Waterloo. And if it should happen that the 
 pretty barmaid be niece to the landlady, mark how the 
 Sergeant probes for her feelings with charged bayonets 
 how he will try to smite her gentle ear with a discharge of 
 artillery swear that he hath had twenty wounds under his 
 coat, although very politically adding that they have left 
 him not a bit the worse man. Then, if the damsel still 
 continue untouched, taking orders with a calm air, our 
 Sergeant hints in a whisper, audible to the do/.ing watch- 
 man at the door, something about a Spanish widow at 
 Saragossa ; adding very loudly, " But no I was always 
 for true love!'' adorning the beautiful edifice of principle 
 with a flowery oath. He then begins a sentiment, and, at 
 a loss, dives for the conclusion to it in a pot of ale. If 
 there happen to be four or five privates in the room, our 
 Sergeant increases in importance from the circumstance 
 just as a cat becomes great from the introduction of a litter 
 of puppies. Our Sergeant is more than ever the leading 
 gander of the flock the king-herring of the shoal the 
 blue-bottle of the swarm the pebble of the sand the G 
 of the gamut. He has now additional hearers of the tales 
 of his prowess, and, if he but give the wink, companions
 
 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 149 
 
 who saw him face the breach and spike the cannon. His 
 rank next becomes the subject of discussion ; and looking 
 very complacently at his arm, he tells of some dreadful 
 exploit in which he earned his stripes. " And doubtless, 
 Sergeant, not before you deserved them," ventures a small, 
 quiet wight in the corner, who will have his fling, though at 
 the expense of his liquor ; for ere he concludes his remark 
 he gives the Sergeant his glass just as a schoolboy, who 
 twitches the trunk of an elephant, throws to the animal a 
 peace-offering of apples whilst the privates inwardly laugh 
 at the joke, and get rebuked for again enjoying it on parade 
 to-morrow morning. Just as the Sergeant's opponents are 
 nearly all slaughtered, a little Italian boy, bearing a tortoise, 
 adroitly glides into the room to display the testaceous 
 wonder ; or he has with him a bust of Napoleon, at which 
 our Sergeant bristles up, looking, indeed, seriously fierce at 
 plaster of Paris. Here he utters some half-audible wish 
 that he had not received a bullet in the last charge, and 
 then - Now, however, our Sergeant takes an opportunity 
 to pour forth his learning he mangles five words of 
 French ; the Italian shakes his head, and holds forth his 
 hand ; the Sergeant swears at him for an impostor, ignorant 
 of his own language. It drawing late, our Sergeant calls 
 for his reckoning, and, learning the amount, with an affected 
 air of destitution avows he has no money ; he has not a 
 piece of silver about him, unless it be that at his breast 
 and here he carelessly lifts up with one finger a Waterloo 
 medal ; then he draws out a watch, once the property of a 
 French general slain by our Sergeant, and asks if that will 
 serve for the amount? At length, however, the money 
 being shaken from a yellow silk purse, our Sergeant, after a 
 salutary admonition to the privates, goes off, as he says, to 
 visit a friend in the Ordnance.
 
 150 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 
 
 Now this is the utmost stretch of our Sergeant's amia- 
 bility; and he departs with a consciousness of having made 
 himself remarkably agreeable, at the same time that he has 
 maintained the proper dignity of the army. To-morrow he 
 is stiff and stately again, performing his old duty of setting 
 up in due order men for the sport of War, that fearful 
 skittle-player. And, indeed, how great must be the satis- 
 faction of the Drill Sergeant when he thinks that, by his 
 kindly solicitude, his Majesty's subjects will " die with 
 decency" and "in close order." Soothing reflection! 
 
 We may liken a Recruiting Sergeant to a sturdy woodman 
 a Drill Sergeant to a carpenter. Let us take a dozen 
 vigorous young elms, with the same number of bluff-cheeked, 
 straddling rustics. How picturesque and inviting do the 
 green waving elms appear ! Whilst we look at them our 
 love and admiration of the natural so wholly possess us that 
 we cannot for a moment bring ourselves to imagine the 
 most beautiful offspring of teeming earth cut up into boot- 
 jacks or broom-handles : in the very idea there is sacrilege to 
 the sylvan deities. The woodman, however, lays the axe to 
 the elms (the forest groans at the slaughter) ; the carpenter 
 comes up with his basket of tools across his shoulder; and 
 at a Christmas dinner we may by chance admire the extra- 
 ordinary polish of our eating knife, little thinking it owes its 
 lustre to the elm which shadowed us at midsummer. Now 
 for our rustics. We meet them in green lanes, striding like 
 young ogres carelessness in their very hat-buckle a scorn 
 of ceremony in the significant tuck-up of their smock-frock. 
 The Recruiting Sergeant spirits them away from fields to 
 which they were the chief adornment, and the Drill Sergeant 
 begins his labour. 
 
 And now, reader, behold some martial carpentry and 
 joinery. Our Drill Sergeant hath but few implements : as
 
 THE DRILL SERGEANT. 151 
 
 eye, voice, hand, leg, rattan. These few tools serve him for 
 every purpose, and with them he brings down a human 
 carcass, though at first as unwieldy as a bull, to the slimness 
 and elegance of the roe. There are the dozen misshapen 
 logs before him; the foliage of their heads gone with the 
 elm leaves, as also their bark their "rough pash," the 
 frocks and wide breeches. 
 
 Mercy on us! there was a stroke of handiwork! the 
 Sergeant with but one word has driven a wedge into the 
 very breast of that pale-looking youngster, whose eyelid 
 shakes as though it would dam up a tear ! Perhaps the 
 poor wretch is now thinking of yellow corn and harvest 
 home. Another skilful touch, and the Sergeant hath fairly 
 chiselled away some inches of the shoulder of that flaxen- 
 headed tyro : and see how he is rounding off that mottled 
 set of knuckles, whilst the owner redly, but dumbly, sym- 
 pathises with their sufferings. There is no part left 
 untouched by our Sergeant ; he by turns, saws, planes, 
 pierces, and thumps every limb and every joint; applies 
 scouring paper to any little knot or ruggedness, until man, 
 glorious man, the "paragon of animals," fears no competi- 
 tion in stateliness of march, or glibness of movement, from 
 either peacock or Punch. 
 
 The Drill Sergeant hath but little complacency in him; 
 he is a thing to be reverenced, not doated upon ; we fear 
 him and his mysteries; even his good humour startles, for 
 it is at once as blustering and as insignificant as a report of 
 a blank cartridge. Again, I say, the Drill Sergeant is to be 
 approached with awe ; smirking flies the majesty of his 
 rattan. He is the despot of joints ; and we rub our hands 
 with glee, and our very toes glow again, when we reflect 
 they are not of his dominions.
 
 152 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER OF REAUVAIS. 
 
 THE oldest people of Beauvais remembered Schatten the 
 tapestry weaver. Some vowed he was threescore, some a 
 hundred years old ; and ever as the subject was touched 
 upon, Schatten would widen his huge mouth, and cry with a 
 low chuckle, "Ay, ay, a thousand more or less. I shall 
 live to see wrinkles in the sun." None knew from what 
 stock he sprang from what land he came. Such questions 
 he would ever parry with some extravagance. " I was born 
 of felspar and quartz, and my home was the Hartz Mountains 
 when they were no bigger than mole-hills." And thus 
 Schatten lived on. Tie saw the child rise into manhood 
 wed become a parent a grey-headed man a corpse ; 
 and so with the child's child, and yet no change came upon 
 Schatten. He stood, a flinty image gazing on dying 
 enerations. 
 
 A hovel in an obscure part of Beauvais was the dwelling 
 of the weaver. There was his tapestry loom ; and there, 
 day after day, and night after night, would he work, at times 
 droning a song to cheer what seemed the monotony of 
 an eternal employment. Notwithstanding the inexplicable 
 mystery about the man, he was, on the whole, a favourite 
 with his fellow-townsmen. There was something so meek in 
 his demeanour, so placid, so unassuming, and his speech 
 was so soft and gentle, that although his name had been 
 mingled in strange recitals, he had never been molested,
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 153 
 
 but, on the contrary, was generally considered a harmless, 
 well-meaning creature ; one who, far from sneering at the 
 pleasures of youth, looked upon them with seeming satis- 
 faction. No one more frequently witnessed the bacchanal 
 revelries of the topers of Beauvais ; for, though Schatten 
 was no drinker himself, he beheld with unaffected pleasure 
 the loose jollity of others. The like at feasts : although he 
 was temperate as a chameleon, he would most readily carve 
 huge collops for others. He seemed 10 hold in peculiar 
 admiration a purple, bloated face and swagging paunch, 
 though his own sharp visage was as yellow as saffron, and 
 his figure lank as a thread-paper. This urbanity towards the 
 failings of others was, it will be conceded, the secret of his 
 popularity. Though he himself abstained from all animal 
 indulgence, he not only did not gloomily lecture on the 
 lawlessness of appetite, but, on the contrary, smiled on its 
 achievements. This charity had served many besides old 
 Schatten. 
 
 But there was another circumstance that greatly assisted 
 the goodly reputation of the weaver : it was the character of 
 his many visitors and pupils. His hovel was the resort of 
 the loveliest girls the most beautiful youths, not only of 
 the town of Beauvais, but from the great city itself from 
 elegant, voluptuous Paris ; for even at the period of which 
 we write it was distinguished for the refinement and luxuries 
 of life. 
 
 Schatten, in his capacity of tapestry weaver, had pictures 
 of every variety of subject ; and it was his good fortune that 
 those professors who excelled in the beautiful art seemed 
 by common consent to seek old Schatten, that he might 
 immortalise their radiant sketches in his still more exquisite 
 tapestry. There was no subject which painting could 
 portray, no imagination which it could robe in life and
 
 154 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 
 
 colour, that was not ready for the loom of Schatten. If a 
 battle were the theme, there might be seen contending 
 heroes, with stern rapture in their faces, glory about their 
 heads their every limb glowing as with Mars' own fire 
 their swords like sunbeams, and the smoking blood more 
 like libations to purple Liber, than torrents in which the 
 human life gushed forth. Thus a battle woven by old 
 Schatten was a grand and glorious thing each combatant 
 was an excited god ; whilst the drained and pallid carcass 
 the dreadful wounds, with jagged and gaping mouths 
 the rigid muscle straining against death the fixed and 
 stone-like eye, and clotted hair all the gross, substantial 
 horrors of systematic slaughter, were thrown into the shade : 
 they were not to expose that common liar Glory. If the 
 subject were beauty, there might be seen as erst was chosen 
 by the antique master one charm from twenty different 
 faces, making a miracle of perfection. All that was volup- 
 tuous and entrancing shone in the dewy light of woman's 
 eye ; there was an eternal youth in her red lip, a tenderness 
 in her warm cheek : too pure for the earth, too exquisitely 
 fragile, she seemed of a sisterhood 'twixt humanity and 
 angels. The same masterly hand was displayed though 
 the subject was the banquet of the glutton the supper 
 was still spread " in the Apollo." The same power shown 
 in the golden heaps of the miser : the food, the wine, 
 seemed ambrosia and nectar, bestowing immortality on the 
 lip that tasted : the gold glittered like something dropped 
 from the skies, to be worn as amulets against calamity. 
 
 A man so potent in his handicraft as Schatten might have 
 surrounded himself with all the symbols of wealth; and, 
 had he been ambitious, have successfully contended for the 
 highest honours of citizenship. But, it was plain, he valued 
 gold as ashes ; and for the trappings of state and place, the
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 155 
 
 most regal shows, the pomp and blazonry of kings, were 
 with him matter for a jest. 
 
 "Alack!" cried Michel Sous, a withered money-scrivener 
 of Bcauvais "I hear 't was a brave sight; and plague on 
 my shanks ! I have missed it. Which way went the 
 procession ? " The man of bonds and pieces remained 
 gaping for the answer of the tapestry weaver, who stood, 
 cross-legged, leaning on his staff, with a face immovable as 
 granite. It was a day of triumph, a time of holiday, and 
 Michel had for once quitted his bags and desk to sun 
 himself in the glory of his fellow-townsmen. " Weaver, I 
 say, which way went the procession, and where shall I 
 find it ? " 
 
 " It went, after some turnings, into the churchyard. 
 Take up a handful of mould, and, in truth, you clutch a 
 part of what you seek." 
 
 "Why, thou art drunk, merry, or mad! The church- 
 yard and mould ! I ask you where went, where is, the 
 procession ? " 
 
 "Where I tell you. I saw it pass by me, and after some 
 windings and shiftings, I saw each brave puppet that 
 strutted as though the angels were looking at it I saw it 
 shrink, and bend, and totter, and the yellowness of age 
 crept over it, and its eye faded, and its hair whitened, and 
 it crawled into the earth as the fox slinks beneath his cover. 
 The trumpets lay dumb and cankering in the soil the 
 rustling flags dropped tinder at the breeze the rust-eaten 
 sword crumbled beneath the mattock of the digger, and 
 rank grass grows above the pomp of the last hour." 
 
 "Why, Schatten, thou art dreaming. Blessed St. Mary! 
 thou surely didst not see the sight, else thou hadst told me 
 a truer story of its progress." 
 
 "Not so: trust me, I saw the revel but I beheld it from
 
 156 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 
 
 the pinnacle of time ; and I tell you again, all the men who 
 passed me I watched into the churchyard. Their haughty 
 eyes their trophies, flags, and clamorous pipes I say to 
 you, they are dust ! The shout of triumph hath died in the 
 distance, and hie jacet is now the only tongue." 
 
 "So, so a riddle," crowed the scrivener; and he hobbled 
 on to seek a less perplexing respondent. 
 
 Such were, at times, the answers of old Schatten, who, 
 when he pleased, could be as grave and oracular as a father 
 confessor. Such were his reflections on pageants which, to 
 many thoughtless and happy minds, were the symbols of all 
 earthly greatness. It was his pastime to analyse appearance 
 to unravel the glossy web of policy to unfold the swath- 
 ings of vain pomp and ceremony, and point to the foul 
 mummy they encased. Yet would he vary this custom with 
 smiles, and laughter, and witty sayings, which gave a savour 
 to the wine they honoured. He would, with his thin voice, 
 troll a song in praise of beauty, and, with quick conceits, 
 prick on lusty youth to deeds of jollity and wild adventure; 
 nay, he would often mingle in the revelry. Many a time 
 have the townsfolk of Beauvais laughed at the gambols of 
 old Schatten, who, pranked in his best, would trip it with 
 some blue-eyed fair one, who, seemingly unconscious of 
 the deformity of her partner, would glide through the dance 
 all smiles and sweetness, as though mortal youth were 
 wedded to immortality, and wrinkles and grey hairs were 
 not the inheritance of the children of earth. Alas ! but a 
 few months, or weeks, and the poor maiden she who 
 seemed the embodied principle of beauty and motion was 
 as the " clods of the valley," a mass of blank insensibility. 
 
 Various were the ways by which old Schatten had 
 insinuated himself into the good graces of the people of 
 Beauvais. To please them he would, when in the humour,
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 157 
 
 act twenty different parts now he would be a learned 
 doctor, and now a mountebank; at times he would utter 
 the wisdom of sages at times play a hundred antic tricks, 
 making his audience shout with merriment. For one long 
 winter did Schatten profoundly lecture upon laurels, crowns, 
 swords, and money-bags ; and, like a skilful chemist, would 
 he analyse their component parts. 
 
 " This," cried Schatten, producing a semblance of the 
 wreath, "this is the laurel crown of one of the Cassars. 
 How fresh and green the leaves remain ! Ha ! there is no 
 such preservative as innocent blood it embalms the names 
 of mighty potentates, who else had never been heard of: 
 steeped in it, deformity becomes loveliness fame colours 
 her most lasting pictures with its paint! The fields that 
 grew this branch were richly manured : tens of thousands 
 of hearts lay rotting there ; the light of thousands of eyes 
 was quenched ; palaces and hovels, in undistinguished 
 heaps, were strewn about the soil ; there lay the hoary 
 and the unborn ; the murdered wife and the outraged 
 virgin and showers of tears falling on this garden of agony 
 and horror, it was miraculously fertile for lo ! it gave forth 
 this one branch, to deck the forehead of one man ! In the 
 veins that scam its leaves arc the heart-strings of murdered 
 nations ; it is the plant of fire and blood, reaped by the 
 sword ! Such is the conqueror's laurel. 
 
 " And here is the despot's diadem ! Many a time, like 
 glowing iron, hath it scared the brows it circled. Of what 
 is it composed ? What wonderful ingredients meet in this 
 quintessence of worldly wealth ? See, the passions and the 
 feelings that helped to make it still haunt their handiwork. 
 Their shadows live in its glittering metal and its flashing 
 gems. Full-blooded power, with a demon's eye, glares 
 from this ruby leprous fear trembles in these pearls in
 
 158 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 
 
 every diamond, care or compunction weeps a tear! Through- 
 out the gold I see a thousand forms, dawning and fading 
 like hues in heated steel : there, fancy detects the assassin 
 with his knife; there, the bondsman snaps his chain; there, 
 is the headsman ; there, the civil war ! These are the 
 shades that haunt the despot's crown ; that wear him 
 waking, and screech to him in his sleep. A nation's groan 
 is pent up in its round. It is a living thing that eats into 
 the brain of the possessor, making him mad and drunk for 
 blood and power ! 
 
 " The miser's money-bag ! Another monster all throat. 
 Could its owner have put the sun itself within this bag, the 
 world for him had been in darkness perpetual night had 
 cast a pall upon creation the fruits of earth had withered 
 in the bud, and want and misery been universal ; whilst he, 
 the thrifty villain ! smugly lived in bloom, and in his very 
 baseness found felicity ! And yet, what was the worth of 
 all this bag contained ? Though it was stuffed with wealth, 
 it was hung about with fears. As its owner slid his palm 
 into the heap, he would start as though he felt the hand of 
 death were hidden there to grasp him. He was almost 
 blind within a world of beauty. His eye saw no images 
 save those painted by gold; his ears heard not, save when 
 the metal tinkled; his tongue was dumb, if it spoke not of 
 wealth ; the glittering pieces were to him the children of his 
 heart and soul dull offspring of the foulest appetites ; yet 
 he hugged them to his bosom he hugged them, and in his 
 dying hour they turned to snakes, and stung him in the 
 embrace ! This is the miser's money-bag the abode of 
 reptiles, the sepulchre of the soul ! 
 
 "The sword ! Ceremony sanctifies it. Some kingly 
 words are spoken a trumpet is blown ; straightway the 
 sword is ennobled 7
 
 THE TAPESTRY WEAVER. 159 
 
 "The lawyer's gown! the masquerading dress of common 
 sense. There is a living instinct in its web : let golden 
 villainy come under it, and with a thought it flows and 
 spreads, and gives an ample shelter to the thing it covers ; 
 let poor knavery seek it, and it shrinks and curtains up, 
 and leaves the trembling victim naked to the court!" 
 
 Thus, in his graver moments, would old Schatten preacli 
 to his hearers ; then, with a thought, he would break from 
 the solemn discourse, and make merriment with the self- 
 same objects. Thus, like a skilful juggler, he would hold 
 the conqueror's laurel, that hardy plant, to his lips, and 
 with a puff blow it into dust ; he would change the tiara 
 into a huge snake, monstrous and ugly, and make the 
 beholders start at ils contortions. The long purse he 
 would ravel into a shroud ; he would mull the sword into 
 drops of blood, and turn the lawyer's gown into a net of 
 steel. Whilst these tricks made him a favourite with the 
 young and gay, his learning, and the thousand stories he 
 had of men of all ages and of all ranks, rendered him an 
 oracle of wisdom to the studious. It was observed that 
 Schatten, whilst narrating any history, always spoke as 
 though he had been an eye-witness of the circumstance 
 he detailed ; nay, as though he had known their most 
 secret thoughts. 
 
 And who is Schatten, whose history is yet unfinished ? 
 Who is this mysterious Weaver, whose deeds, if chronicled, 
 would fill thousands of folios ? He is everywhere about us : 
 in the solitude of our chamber, in the press and throng of 
 the street, in the wilderness and in the city. 
 
 "MY DAYS ARE SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE."
 
 160 THE WINE CELLAR. 
 
 THE WINE CELLAR. 
 
 A "MORALITY." 
 
 STEPHEN CURLEW was a thrifty goldsmith in the reign of 
 the Second Charles. His shop was a mine of metal : he 
 worked for the Court, although, we fear, his name is not to 
 be found in any record in the State-Paper Office. Stephen 
 was a bachelor, and, what is strange, he never felt that is, 
 he never complained of his loneliness. His chased ewers, 
 his embossed goblets, his gold in bars, were to him wife and 
 children. Midas was his only kinsman. He would creep 
 among his treasures, like an old grey rat, and rub his hands, 
 and smile, as if communing with the wealth about him. 
 He had so long hugged gold to his heart that it beat for 
 nothing else. Stephen was a practical philosopher; for he 
 would meekly take the order nay, consult the caprice of 
 the veriest popinjay with the humility of a pauper, when, at 
 a word, he might have out-blazoned lords and earls. If this 
 be not real philosophy, thought Stephen, as he walked 
 slipshod at the heels of his customers, what is? 
 
 Stephen was a man of temperance ; he was content to see 
 venison carved on his hunting-cups ; he cared not to have 
 it in his larder. His eyes would melt at clustering grapes 
 chased on banquet goblets, but no drop of the living juice 
 passed the goldsmith's lips. Stephen only gave audience to 
 Bacchus when introduced by Plutus. Such was the frugality 
 of Stephen to his sixty-fifth year ; and then, or his name
 
 THE WINE CELLAR. 161 
 
 had not been eternised in this our page, temptation fell 
 upon him. 
 
 It was eight o'clock on a raw spring evening, and Stephen 
 sat alone in his back-room. There was no more fire upon 
 the hearth than might have lain in a tinder-box, but Stephen 
 held his parchment hands above it, and would not be cold. 
 A small silver lamp, with a short wick for the keen 
 observation of Stephen had taught him the scientific truth, 
 that the less the wick, the less the waste of oil glowed, a 
 yellow speck in the darkness. On the table lay a book, 
 a treatise on precious stones; and on Stephen's knee, 
 Hermes t the True Philosopher. Stephen was startled from 
 a waking dream by a loud and hasty knocking at the door. 
 Mike, the boy, was out ; but it could not be he. Stephen 
 took up the lamp, and was creeping to the door, when his 
 eye caught the silver, and he again placed it upon the table, 
 and felt his way through the shop. Unbolting the five 
 bolts of the door, but keeping fast the chain, Stephen 
 demanded "who was there?" 
 
 " I bear a commission from Sir William Brounckcr, and 
 I'm in haste." 
 
 "Stay you a minute but a minute," and Stephen hurried 
 back for the lamp, then hastily returned, opened the door, 
 and the visitor passed the threshold. 
 
 "'Tis not Charles!" cried Stephen, alarmed at his 
 mistake, for he believed he had heard the voice of Sir 
 William's man. 
 
 " No matter for that, Stephen ; you work for men, and 
 not for Christian names. Come, I have a job for you ;" 
 and the visitor, with the easy, assured air of a gallant, 
 lounged into the back-parlour, followed by the tremulous 
 Stephen. 
 
 " Sir William " began the goldsmith. 
 
 910
 
 1 62 THE WINE CELLAR, 
 
 "He bade me use his name; the work I'd have you do 
 is for myself. Fear not : here's money in advance," and 
 the stranger plucked from his pocket a purse, which in its 
 ample length lay like a bloated snake upon the table. 
 
 Stephen smiled, and said, "Your business, sir?" 
 
 " See here," and the stranger moved the lamp immediately 
 between them, when, for the first time, Stephen clearly saw 
 the countenance of his customer. His face was red as 
 brick, and his eyes looked deep as the sea, and glowed 
 with good humour. His mouth was large and frank, and 
 his voice came as from the well of truth. His hair fell in 
 curls behind his ears, and his moustache, black as coal, 
 made a perfect crescent on his lip, the points upwards. 
 Other men may be merely good fellows, the stranger 
 seemed the best. " See here," he repeated, and produced 
 a drawing on a small piece of paper, " can you cut me this 
 in a seal ring?" 
 
 "Humph!" and Stephen put on his spectacles; "the 
 subject is 
 
 " Bacchus squeezing grape-juice into the cup of Death," 
 said the stranger. 
 
 " An odd conceit," cried the goldsmith. 
 
 "We all have our whims, or woe to the sellers," said the 
 customer. " Well, can it be done ? " 
 
 " Surely, sir, surely. On what shall it be cut ? " 
 
 "An emerald, nothing less. It is the drinker's stone. 
 In a week, Master Curlew?" 
 
 "This day week, sir, if I live in health." 
 
 The day came. Stephen was a tradesman of his word, 
 and the stranger sat in the back-parlour, looking curiously 
 into the ring. 
 
 "Per I) a ceo ! Rarely done. Why, Master Curlew, thou 
 hast caught the very chops of glorious Liber, his swimming
 
 THE WINE CELLAR. 163 
 
 eyes, and blessed mouth. Ha ! ha ! thou hast put thy 
 heart into the work, Master Curlew ; and how cunningly 
 hast thou all but hid the dart of death behind the thyrsus 
 of the god ! How his life-giving hand clutches the pulpy 
 cluster, and with what a gush comes down the purple rain, 
 plashing into rubies in the cup of Mors ! " 
 
 " It was my wish to satisfy, most noble sir," said Stephen, 
 meekly, somewhat confounded by the loud praises of the 
 speaker. 
 
 " May you never be choked with a grape-stone, Master 
 Curlew, for this goodly work. Ha ! " and the speaker 
 looked archly at the withered goldsmith ; " it hath cost 
 thee many a headache ere thou couldst do this." 
 
 " If I may say it, I have laboured hard at the craft have 
 been a thrifty, sober man," said Stephen. 
 
 " Sober ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " shouted the speaker, and his 
 face glowed redder, and his eyes melted ; " sober ! why, 
 thou wast begot in a wine cask, and suckled by a bottle, 
 or thou hadst never done this. By the thigh of Jupiter ! he 
 who touched this," and the stranger held up the ring to his 
 eye, and laughed again, " he who touched this hath never 
 known water. Tut ! man, were I to pink thee with a sword 
 thou'dst bleed wine ! '' 
 
 " I," cried Stephen, " I bleed," and he glanced fear- 
 fully towards the door, and then at the stranger, who 
 continued to look at the ring. 
 
 " The skin of the sorriest goat shall sometimes hold the 
 choicest liquor," said the stranger, looking into the dry face 
 of the goldsmith. " Come, confess, art thou not a sly 
 roysterer? Or art thou a hermit over thy drops, and dost 
 count flasks alone? Ay! ay! well, to thy cellar, man; 
 and yes thine arms are long enough bring up ten 
 bottles of thy choicest Malaga."
 
 1 64 THE WINE CELLAR. 
 
 " I ! my cellar ! Malaga ! " stammered Stephen. 
 
 " Surely thou hast a cellar ? " and the stranger put his hat 
 upon the table with the air of a man set in for a carouse. 
 
 " For forty years, but it hath never known wine," cried 
 the goldsmith. " I I have never known wine." The 
 stranger said nothing; but, turning full upon Stephen, and, 
 placing his hands upon his knees, he blew out his flushing 
 cheeks like a bagpipe, and sat with his eyes blazing upon 
 the heretic. " No, never ! " gasped Stephen, terrified, for 
 a sense of his wickedness began to possess him. 
 
 " And dost thou repent ? " asked the stranger, with a 
 touch of mercy towards the sinner. 
 
 " I humph ! I'm a poor man," cried Curlew ; " yes, 
 though I'm a goldsmith, and seem rich, I I'm poor ! poor ! " 
 
 "Well, 'tis lucky I come provided," and the stranger 
 placed upon the table a couple of flasks. Whether he took 
 them from under his cloak, or evoked them through the 
 floor, Stephen knew not ; but he started at them as they 
 stood rebukingly upon his table, as if they had been two 
 sheeted ghosts. "Come, glasses," cried the giver of the wine. 
 
 " Glasses ! " echoed Stephen, " in my house ! " 
 
 " Right, glasses ! No cups, and let them be gold ones ! " 
 and the bacchanal, for it was plain he was such, waved his 
 arm with an authority which Stephen attempted not to 
 dispute, but rose and hobbled into the shop, and returned 
 with two cups just as the first cork was drawn. " Come, 
 there's sunlight in that, eh?" cried the stranger, as he 
 poured the wine into the vessels. "So, thou hast never 
 drunk wine ? Well, here's to the baptism of thy heart ! " 
 And the stranger emptied the cup, and his lips smacked 
 like a whip. 
 
 And Stephen Curlew tasted the wine, and looked around, 
 below, above ; and the oaken wainscot did not split in
 
 THE WINE CELLAR. 165 
 
 twain, nor did the floor yawn, nor the ceiling gape. Stephen 
 tasted a second time ; thrice did he drink, and he licked 
 his mouth as a cat licks the cream from her whiskers, and, 
 putting his left hand upon his belly, softly sighed. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! another cup ! I knowthou wilt," and Stephen 
 took another, and another ; and the two flasks were in brief 
 time emptied. They were, however, speedily followed by 
 two more, placed by the stranger on the table, Stephen 
 opening his eyes and mouth at their mysterious appearance. 
 The contents of these were duly swallowed, and lo ! another 
 two stood before the goldsmith, or, as he then thought, 
 four. 
 
 "There never was such a Bacchus!" cried Stephen's 
 customer, eyeing the ring. " Why, a man may see his 
 stomach fairly heave, and his cheek ripen with wine : yet, 
 till this night, thou hadst never tasted the juice ! What 
 what could have taught thee to carve the god so capitally?" 
 
 "Instinct instinct," called out the goldsmith, his lips 
 turned to clay by too much wine. 
 
 " And yet," said the stranger, " I care not so much 
 for How old art thou, Stephen?" 
 
 " Sixty-five," and Stephen hiccupped. 
 
 ;< I care not so much for thy Death, Stephen ; instinct 
 should have made thee a better hand at Death." 
 
 " 'Tis a good Death," cried the goldsmith, with unusual 
 boldness, "a most sweet Death." 
 
 " 'Tis too broad the skeleton of an alderman with the 
 flesh dried upon him. He hath not the true desolation, 
 the ghastly nothingness, of the big bugbear. No matter ; 
 I'm content; but this I'll say, though thou hast shown 
 thyself a professor at Bacchus, thou art yet but a poor 
 apprentice at Death." 
 
 Stephen Curlew answered not with words, but he snored
 
 1 66 THE WINE CELLAR. 
 
 very audibly. How long he slept he could not well discover, 
 but when he awoke he found himself alone; no, not alone, 
 there stood upon the table an unopened flask of wine. In 
 a moment the mystery broke upon him and he sprang to 
 his feet with a shriek, and rushed into the shop. No he 
 had not been drugged by thieves all was as it should be. 
 The stranger, like an honest and courteous man, had taken 
 but his own ; and, without disturbing the sleeper, had 
 quitted the house. And Stephen Curlew, the wine glowing 
 in his heart yea, down to his very nails, stood and smiled 
 at the unopened flask before him. 
 
 Stephen continued to eye the flask; and though its donor 
 had shared with him he knew not how many bottles, 
 Stephen was resolved that not one drop of the luscious 
 juice before him should wet an alien throat. But how 
 where to secure it? For, in the new passion which seized 
 upon the goldsmith, the one flask seemed to him more 
 precious than the costly treasure in his shop a thing to be 
 guarded with more scrupulous affection more jealous love. 
 In what nook of his house to hide the glorious wealth 
 what corner, where it might escape the profane glances and 
 itching fingers of his workmen? The thought fell in a 
 golden flash upon him the cellar ay, the cellar ! Who 
 of his household ever thought of approaching the cellar? 
 Stephen seized the flask and lamp, and paused. The 
 cellar had no lock ! No matter ; he had a bag of three-inch 
 nails and a stout hammer 
 
 The next morning neighbours met at the closed door and 
 windows of the goldsmith, and knocked and shouted, 
 shouted and knocked. They were, however, reduced to a 
 crowbar, and, at length, burst into the house. Every place 
 was searched, but there was nowhere visible old Stephen
 
 THE WINE CELLAR. 167 
 
 Curlew. Days passed on, and strange stories filled the ears 
 of men. One neighbour vowed that he had had a dream 
 or a vision, he knew not which, wherein he saw the gold- 
 smith whirled down the Strand in a chariot drawn by a lion 
 and a tiger, and driven by a half-naked young man, wearing 
 a panther skin, and on his head vine-leaves and ivy. An 
 old woman swore that she had seen Stephen carried away 
 by a dozen devils (very much in liquor), with red faces and 
 goat legs. However, in less than a month, the goldsmith's 
 nephew, a scrivener's clerk, took possession of Curlew's 
 wealth, and became a new-made butterfly with golden 
 wings. As for Stephen, after various speculations, it was 
 concluded, to the satisfaction of all parties, that he must 
 have been carried away by Satan himself, and the nephew 
 cared not to combat popular opinions. But such, in truth, 
 was not the end of the goldsmith. Hear it. 
 
 Stephen, possessed by the thought of the cellar, with the 
 one flask, a lamp, nails, and hammer, proceeded to the 
 sacred crypt. He arrived in the vault, and having kissed 
 the flask, reverently put it down, and straightway addressed 
 himself to the work. Closing the door, he drove the first 
 nail, the second, third; and borrowing new strength from 
 the greatness of his purpose, he struck each nail upon the 
 head with the force and precision of a Cyclops, burying it 
 deep in the oak. With this new-found might he drove 
 eleven nails ; the twelfth was between his thumb and 
 finger, when looking round oh ! sad mishap, heavy mis- 
 chance ! awful error ! he had driven the nails from the 
 wrong side ! In a word and we tremble while we write 
 it he had nailed himself in ! There he stood, and there 
 stood the flask. He gasped with horror; his foot stumbled, 
 struck the lamp, it fell over, and the light went out.
 
 z68 THE WINE CELLAR. 
 
 Shall we write further on the agony of Stephen Curlew ? 
 Shall we describe how he clawed and struck at the door, 
 now in the hope to wrench a nail, and now to alarm the 
 breathing men above ? No ; we will not dwell upon the 
 horror ; it is enough that the fate of the goldsmith was 
 dimly shadowed forth in the following paragraph of last 
 Saturday : 
 
 "Some labourers, digging a foundation near" no, we 
 will not name the place, for the family of the Curlews is not 
 yet extinct, and there may be descendants in the neighbour- 
 hood "near , found a skeleton. A hammer was beside 
 
 it, with several long nails : a small wine-flask was also found 
 near the remains, which, it is considered, could not have 
 been in the vault in which they were discovered less than a 
 century and three-quarters ! " 
 
 Oh, ye heads of families ! and oh, ye thrifty, middle-aged 
 bachelors, boarding with families, or growing mouldy by 
 yourselves, never, while ye live, forget the terrible end of 
 Stephen Curlew. And oh, ye heads of families and oh, 
 ye aforesaid bachelors, albeit ye have only one bottle left, 
 never, NEVER NAIL UP THE WINE CELLAR 1
 
 THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA. 169 
 
 THE CASTLE BUILDERS OE PADUA. 
 
 GIULIO and Ippolito were sons of a farmer living near 
 Padua. The old man was of a quiet and placable temper, 
 rarely suffering any mischance to ruffle him, but, in the 
 firm and placid hope of the future, tranquillising himself 
 under the evil of the present. If blight came upon his corn 
 one year, he would say 'twere a rare thing to have blights in 
 two successive seasons ; and so he would hope that the next 
 harvest, in its abundance, might more than compensate for 
 the scarcity of the last. Thus he lived from boyhood to 
 age, and retained in the features of the old man a some- 
 thing of the lightness and vivacity of youth. His sons, 
 however, bore no resemblance to their father. Instead of 
 labouring on the farm they wasted their time in idly wishing 
 that fortune had made them, in lieu of healthy, honest sons 
 of a farmer, the children of some rich magnified, that so they 
 might have passed their days in all the sports of the times, 
 in jousting, hunting, and in studying the fashions of brave 
 apparel. They were of a humour at once impetuous and 
 sulky, and would either idly mope about the farm, or 
 violently abuse and ill-treat whomsoever accident might 
 throw in their way. The old man was inly grieved at the 
 wilfulness and disobedience of his sons, but, with his usual 
 disposition, hoped that time might remedy the evil; and so, 
 but rarely reproving them, they were left sole masters of 
 their hours and actions.
 
 170 THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA. 
 
 One night, after supper, the brothers walked into the 
 garden to give loose to their idle fancies, always yearning 
 after matters visionary and improbable. It was a glorious 
 night, the moon was at the full, and myriads of stars glowed 
 in the deep blue firmament. The air stirred among the 
 trees and flowers, wafting abroad their sweetness ; the dew 
 glittered on the leaves, and a deep-voiced nightingale, 
 perched in a citron tree, poured forth a torrent of song 
 upon the air. It was an hour for good thoughts and holy 
 aspirations. Giulio threw himself upon a bank, and, after 
 gazing with intentness at the sky, exclaimed 
 
 " Would that I had fields ample as the heavens above 
 us!" 
 
 "I would," rejoined Ippolito, "I had as many sheep as 
 there are stars." 
 
 " And what," asked Giulio, with a sarcastic smile, "would 
 your wisdom do with them?" 
 
 " Marry," replied Ippolito, " I would pasture them in 
 your sageship's fields." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Giulio, suddenly raising himself upon 
 his elbow, and looking with an eye of fire upon his brother ; 
 " whether I would or not ?" 
 
 "Truly, ay," said Ippolito, with a stubborn significance 
 of manner. 
 
 "Have a care," cried Giulio, "have a care, Ippolito; 
 "do not thwart me. Am I not your elder brother?" 
 
 " Yes ; and marry, what of that ? Though you came first 
 into the world, I trow you left some manhood for him who 
 followed after." 
 
 " You do not mean to insist that, despite my will, despite 
 the determination of your elder brother, you will pasture 
 your sheep in my grounds ? " 
 
 "In truth but I do."
 
 THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA. 171 
 
 "And that," rejoined Giulio, his cheek flushing, and his 
 lip tremulous, "and that without fee or recompense?" 
 
 " Assuredly." 
 
 Giulio leaped to his feet, and, dashing his clenched hand 
 against a tree, with a face full of passion, and in a voice made 
 terrible by rage, he screamed, rather than said, " By the 
 Blessed Virgin but you do not ! " 
 
 " And by St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins I 
 protest I will." This was uttered by Ippolito in a tone of 
 banter and bravado that for a moment made the excited 
 frame of Giulio quiver from head to foot. He gazed at the 
 features of Ippolito, all drawn into a sneer, and for a 
 moment gnashed his teeth. Pie was hastily approaching 
 the scoffer, when, by an apparently strong effort, he arrested 
 himself, and, turning upon his heel, struck hastily down 
 another path, where he might be seen pacing with short, 
 quick steps, whilst Ippolito, leaning against a tree, carelessly 
 sang a few lines of a serenata. This indifference was too 
 much for Giulio ; he stopped short, turned, and then rapidly 
 came up to Ippolito, and, with a manner of attempted tran- 
 quillity, said, " Ippolito, I do not wish to quarrel with you ; 
 I am your elder brother; then give up the point." 
 
 " Not I," replied Ippolito, with the same immovable 
 smile. 
 
 "What, then, you are determined that your sheep shall, 
 in very despite of me, pasture in my fields ?" 
 
 " They shall." 
 
 " Villain ! " raved Giulio ; and ere the word was well 
 uttered he had dashed his clenched hand in his brother's 
 face. Ippolito sprang like a wild beast at Giulio, and for a 
 moment they stood with a hand at each other's throat, and 
 their eyes, in the words of the Psalmist, were " whetted " 
 on one another. They stood but to gain breath, then
 
 172 THE CASTLE BUILDERS OF PADUA. 
 
 grappled closer. Ippolito threw his brother to the earth, 
 huddling his knees upon him, furious blows were exchanged, 
 but scarce a sound was uttered, save at intervals a blas- 
 phemous oath or a half-strangled groan. Giulio was com- 
 pletely overpowered by the superior strength and cooler 
 temper of his brother ; but, lying prostrate and conquered, 
 his hands pinioned to his breast, and Ippolito glaring at 
 him with malicious triumph, he cursed and spat at him. 
 Ippolito removed his hand from his brother's throat, and 
 ere his pulse could beat, Giulio's poniard was in his brother's 
 heart. He gave a loud shriek, and fell a streaming corpse 
 upon his murderer. The father, roused by the sound, came 
 hurrying to the garden ; Giulio, leaping from under the dead 
 body, rushed by the old man, who was all too speedily 
 bending over his murdered child. From that hour hope 
 and tranquillity forsook the father ; he became a brain-sick, 
 querulous creature, and in a few months died almost an 
 idiot. Giulio joined a party of robbers, and, after a brief 
 but dark career of crime, was shot by the sbirri. 
 
 Ye who would build castles in the air who would slay 
 your hours with foolish and unprofitable longings ponder 
 on the visionary fields, the ideal sheep of Giulio and 
 Ippolito.
 
 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 173 
 
 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 
 
 MAY we ask the reader to behold with us a melancholy 
 show a saddening, miserable spectacle ? We will not take 
 him to a prison, a workhouse, a Bedlam, where human 
 nature expiates its guiltiness, its lack of worldly goods, its 
 most desolate perplexity ; but we will take him to a 
 wretchedness, first contrived by wrong and perpetrated by 
 folly. We will show him the embryo mischief that in due 
 season shall be born in the completion of its terror, and 
 shall be christened with a sounding name, Folly and 
 wickedness standing its sponsors. 
 
 We are in St. James's Park. The royal standard of 
 England burns in the summer air the Queen is in London. 
 We pass the Palace, and in a few paces are in Birdcage 
 Walk. There, reader, is the miserable show we promised 
 you. There are some fifty recruits, drilled by a sergeant to 
 do homicide, killingly, handsomely. In Birdcage Walk 
 Glory sits upon her eggs, and hatches eagles ! 
 
 How very beautiful is the sky above us ! What a blessing 
 comes with the fresh, quick air ! The trees, drawing their 
 green beauty from the earth, quicken our thoughts of the 
 bounteousness of this teeming world. Here in this nook, 
 this patch, where we yet feel the vibrations of surrounding 
 London even here Nature, constant in her beauty, blooms 
 and smiles, uplifting the heart of man if the heart be his 
 to own her.
 
 174 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 
 
 Now, look aside and contemplate God's image with a 
 musket. Your bosom duly expanding with gratitude to 
 nature for the blessings she has heaped about you, behold 
 the crowning glory of God's work managed, like a machine, 
 to slay the image of God to stain the teeming earth with 
 homicidal blood to fill the air with howling anguish ! Is 
 not yonder row of clowns a melancholy sight ? Yet are they 
 the sucklings of Glory the baby mighty ones of a future 
 Gazette. Reason beholds them with a deep pity. Imagina- 
 tion magnifies them into fiends of wickedness. There is 
 carnage about them carnage, and the pestilential vapour of 
 the slaughtered. What a fine-looking thing is war ! Yet 
 dress it as we may, dress and feather it, daub it with gold, 
 huzza it and sing swaggering songs about it what is it, nine 
 times out of ten but murder in uniform ? Cain, taken the 
 sergeant's shilling ? 
 
 And now we hear the fifes and drums of her Majesty's 
 Grenadiers. They pass on the other side ; and a crowd of 
 idlers, their hearts jumping to the music, their eyes dazzled, 
 and their feelings perverted, hang about the march and catch 
 the infection the love of glory ! And true wisdom thinks 
 of the world's age, and sighs at its slow advance in all that 
 really dignifies man, the truest dignity being the truest love 
 for his fellow. And then hope, and faith in human progress, 
 contemplate the pageant, its real ghastliness disguised by 
 outward glare and frippery, and know the day will come 
 when the symbols of war will be as the sacred beasts of 
 old Egypt things to mark the barbarism of bygone war; 
 melancholy records of the past perversity of human nature. 
 
 We can imagine the dcep-chcstcd laughter the look of 
 scorn which would annihilate, and then the smile of com- 
 passion of the man of war at this, the dream of folly and 
 the wanderings of an inflamed brain. Yet, oh, man of war !
 
 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 175 
 
 at this very moment are you shrinking, withering like an 
 aged giant. The fingers of Opinion have been busy at 
 your plume you are not the feathered thing you were; 
 and then that little tube, the goose-quill, has sent its silent 
 shot into your huge anatomy ; and the corroding INK, even 
 whilst you look at it, and think it shines so brightly, is 
 eating with a tooth of rust into your sword. 
 
 That a man should kill a man and rejoice in the deed 
 nay, gather glory from it is the act of a wild animal. The 
 force of muscle and the dexterity of limb which make the 
 wild man a conqueror are deemed, in savage life, man's 
 highest attributes. The creature whom, in the pride of our 
 Christianity, we call heathen and spiritually desolate, has 
 some personal feeling in the strife he kills his enemy, and 
 then, making an oven of hot stones, bakes his dead body, 
 and, for crowning satisfaction, eats it. His enemy becomes 
 a part of him ; his glory is turned to nutriment ; and he is 
 content. What barbarism ! Field-marshals sicken at the 
 horror; nay, troopers shudder at the tale, like a fine lady at 
 a toad. 
 
 In what, then, consists the prime evil? In the murder, 
 or in the meal ? Which is the most hideous deed to kill 
 a man, or to cook and eat the man when killed ? 
 
 But, softly, there is no murder in the case. The craft of 
 man has made a splendid ceremony of homicide has 
 invested it with dignity. He slaughters with flags flying, 
 drums beating, trumpets braying. He kills according to 
 method, and has worldly honours for his grim handiwork. 
 Pie does not, like the unchristian savage, carry away with 
 him mortal trophies from the skulls of his enemies. No, 
 the alchemy and magic of authority turns his well-won 
 scalps into epaulets, or hangs them in stars and crosses at 
 his button-hole; and then, the battle over, the dead not
 
 176 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 
 
 eaten, but carefully buried and the maimed and mangled 
 howling and blaspheming in hospitals the meek Christian 
 warrior marches to church, and reverently folding his sweet 
 and spotless hands, sings Te Deum. Angels wave his 
 fervent thanks to God, to whose footstool in his own faith 
 he has so lately sent his shuddering thousands. And this 
 spirit of destruction working within him is canonised by the 
 craft and ignorance of man and worshipped as glory ! 
 
 And this religion of the sword this dazzling heathenism, 
 that makes a pomp of wickedness seizes and distracts us 
 even on the threshold of life. Swords and drums are our 
 baby playthings ; the types of violence and destruction are 
 made the pretty pastimes of our childhood ; and as we grow 
 older, the outward magnificence of the ogre Glory his trap- 
 pings and his trumpets, his privileges, and the songs that 
 are shouted in his praise ensnare the bigger baby to his 
 sacrifice. Hence slaughter becomes an exalted profession ; 
 the marked, distinguished employment of what in the jargon 
 of the world is called a gentleman. 
 
 But for this craft operating upon this ignorance, who in 
 the name of outraged God would become the hireling of 
 the Sword? Hodge, poor fellow, enlists. He wants work; 
 or he is idle, dissolute. Kept, by the injustice of the world, 
 as ignorant as the farmyard swine, he is the better instru- 
 ment for the world's craft. His ear is tickled with the fife 
 and drum ; or he is drunk ; or the sergeant the lying 
 valet of glory- tells a good tale, and already Hodge is a 
 warrior in the rough. In a fortnight's time you may see 
 him at Chatham ; or indeed he was one of those we marked 
 in Birdcage Walk. Day by day the sergeant works at the 
 block ploughman, and, chipping and chipping, at length 
 carves out a true, handsome soldier of the line. What 
 knew Hodge of the responsibility of man? What dreams
 
 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 177 
 
 had he of the self-accountability of the human spirit? He 
 is become the lackey of carnage, the liveried footman, at a 
 few pence per day, of fire and blood. The musket stock, 
 which for many an hour he hugs hugs in sulks and weariness 
 was no more a party to its present use than was Hodge. 
 That piece of walnut is the fragment of a tree that might 
 have given shade and fruit for another century; homely, 
 rustic people gathering under it. Now it is the instrument 
 of wrong and violence; the working tool of slaughter. 
 Tree and man, are not their destinies as one ? 
 
 And is Hodge alone of benighted mind ? Is he alone 
 deficient of that knowledge of moral right and wrong, which 
 really and truly crowns the man king of himself? When he 
 surrenders up his nature, a mere machine with human 
 pulses to do the bidding of war, has he taken counsel with 
 his own reflection does he know the limit of the sacrifice? 
 He has taken his shilling, and knows the facings of his 
 uniform ! 
 
 When the born and bred gentleman, to keep to coined 
 and current terms, pays down his thousand pounds or so 
 for his commission, what incites to the purchase? It may 
 be the elegant idleness of the calling : it may be the bullion 
 and glitter of the regimentals ; or, devout worshipper, it 
 may be an unquenchable thirst for glory. From the 
 moment when his name stars the Gazette, what does he 
 become ? The bond-servant of war ! Instantly he ceases 
 to be a judge between moral right and moral injury. It is 
 his duty not to think, but to obey. He has given up, 
 surrendered to another the freedom of his soul : he has 
 dethroned the majesty of his own will. He must be active 
 in wrong, and see not the injustice : shed blood for craft 
 and usurpation, calling bloodshed valour. He may be 
 made, by the iniquity of those who use him, a burglar and
 
 178 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 
 
 a brigand ; but glory calls him pretty names for his prowess, 
 and the wicked weakness of the world shouts and acknow- 
 ledges him. And is this the true condition of reasonable 
 man ? Is it by such means that he best vindicates the great- 
 ness of his mission here ? Is he when he most gives up the 
 free motions of his own soul is he then most glorious? 
 
 A few months ago chance showed us a band of ruffians 
 who, as it afterwards appeared, were intent upon most 
 desperate mischief. They spread themselves over the 
 country, attacking, robbing, and murdering all who fell 
 into their hands. Men, women, and children all suffered 
 alike. Nor were the villains satisfied with this. In their 
 wanton ruthlessness they set fire to cottages, and tore up 
 and destroyed plantations. Every footpace of their march 
 was marked with blood and desolation. 
 
 Who were these wretches? you ask. What place did 
 they ravage? Were they not caught and punished? 
 
 They were a part of the army of Africa ; valorous French- 
 men, bound for Algiers to cut Arab throats ; and, in the 
 name of glory, and for the everlasting glory of France, to 
 burn, pillage, and despoil ; and all for national honour all 
 for glory ! 
 
 But Glory cannot dazzle Truth. Does it not at times 
 appear no otherwise than a highwayman with a pistol at 
 a nation's breast? a burglar with a crowbar entering a 
 kingdom ? Alas ! in this world there is no Old Bailey for 
 nations, otherwise where would have been the crowned 
 heads that divided Poland ? Those felon monarchs 
 anointed to steal? It is true the historian claps the 
 cutpurse conqueror in the dock, and he is tried by the 
 jury of posterity. He is past the verdict, yet is not its 
 damnatory voice lost upon generations? For thus is the 
 world taught albeit slowly taught true glory ; when that
 
 THE FOLLY OF THE SWORD. 179 
 
 which passed for virtue is truly tested to be vile ; when the 
 hero is hauled from the car and fixed for ever in the 
 pillory. 
 
 But war brings forth the heroism oi the soul : war tests 
 the magnanimity of man. Sweet is the humanity that 
 spares a fallen foe; gracious the compassion that tends 
 his wounds, that brings even a cup of water to his burning 
 lips. Granted. But is there not a heroism of a grander 
 mould the heroism of forbearance ? Is not the humanity 
 that refuses to strike a nobler virtue than the late pity born 
 of violence? Pretty is it to see the victor with salve and 
 lint to his bloody trophy a maimed and agonised fellow- 
 man ; but surely it had been better to withhold the blow 
 than to have been first mischievous, to be afterwards 
 humane. 
 
 That nations professing a belief in Christ should couple 
 glory with war is monstrous blasphemy. Their faith, their 
 professing faith, is "Love one another;" their practice is 
 to cut throats ; and more, to bribe and hoodwink men to 
 the wickedness, the trade of blood is magnified into a 
 virtue. We pray against battle, and glorify the deeds of 
 death. We say beautiful are the ways of peace, and then 
 cocker ourselves upon our perfect doings in the art of 
 man-slaying. Let us then cease to pay the sacrifice of 
 admiration to the demon W T ar; let us not acknowledge 
 him as a mighty and majestic principle, but, at the very 
 best, a grim and melancholy necessity. 
 
 But there always has been there always will be war. 
 It is inevitable ; it is a part of the condition of human 
 society. Man has always made glory to himself from the 
 destruction of his fellow ; so it will continue. It may be 
 very pitiable ; would it were otherwise ! But so it is, and 
 there is no helping it.
 
 i8o THE POLL Y OF THE SWORD. 
 
 Happily we are slowly killing this destructive fallacy. A 
 long breathing time of peace has been fatal to the dread 
 magnificence of glory. Science and philosophy -povera e 
 nuda filosofia ! have made good their claims, inducing 
 man to believe that he may vindicate the divinity of his 
 nature otherwise than by perpetrating destruction. He 
 begins to think there is a better glory in the communication 
 of triumphs of the mind, than in the clash of steel and the 
 roar of artillery. At the present moment a society, em- 
 bracing men of distant nations "natural enemies," as the 
 old wicked cant of the old patriotism had it is at work 
 plucking the plumes from Glory, unbracing his armour, 
 and divesting the ogre of all that dazzled foolish and 
 unthinking men, showing the rascal in his natural hideous- 
 ness, in all his base deformity. Some, too, are calculating 
 the cost of Glory's table : some showing what an appetite 
 the demon has, devouring at a meal the substance of these 
 thousand sons of industry yea, eating up the wealth of 
 kingdoms. And thus by degrees are men beginning to 
 look upon this god Glory as no more than a finely-trapped 
 Sawney Bean a monster and a destroyer a nuisance -a 
 noisy lie.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS," 181 
 
 JOHN MORNER; THE MAN WITH 
 "THE PLUMS." 
 
 UNLESS the early education of the reader has been culpably 
 neglected, he must have a due knowledge of the extra- 
 ordinary sagacity, and, withal, self-complacency of John 
 Homer, or, as he is familiarly denominated by his historian, 
 " little Jack Homer," the wise child, who 
 
 " Sat in a corner, 
 
 Eating a Christmas pie ; 
 
 He put in his thumb, 
 
 And pulled out a plum, 
 And said ' \Vhat a brave boy am I ! "' 
 
 Touched by the intelligence and amiable self-glorification 
 eternised in this simple verse, we have more than twice 
 regretted the silence of history on the after achievements of 
 the hero : if, we have thought, the child be father to the 
 man, what plums must John Homer have picked out what 
 paeans must he have sounded to his own successful parts ! 
 The world before him, one large Christmas pie, he from 
 his little stool in the chimney-corner of his grandam, to his 
 soft-cushioned chair in the old oak room of his beautiful 
 manor-house, went on, putting in his thumb, and picking 
 out a plum, and crowing shrill-voiced triumph at every new 
 possession. To such a genius it would matter little, we 
 have thought, where the plums were scattered : it was not
 
 i8a THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 necessary to him that they should lie on the surface, to be 
 counted by a blind man no, were there but a single plum, 
 and that in the pie's centre, the invincible and unerring 
 thumb would dig it forth. How often do we see the thumb 
 of an Apollo grope vainly in a pie full of plums, when the 
 thumb of a John Horner shall pick them out as a hen picks 
 up barley ! Shrewd and happy John Horner ! who, shutting 
 his eyes to the vanities of trifling spirits, considered this 
 wide earth as only one large Christmas pie, the only things 
 worth feeling for, the scattered plums. With such fine 
 wisdom, with so just a valuation of the use and purposes of 
 life, the thumb of a John Horner hath greater power than 
 the right arm of Alcides. To us there has ever appeared 
 such a beautiful adumbration of the prosperous man in the 
 self-satisfied plum-pulling boy, that when we fell upon the 
 record of his later life, in a word, his full history from the 
 chimney-corner to his very handsome tomb and much do 
 we regret our inability to designate the peace-promising 
 cherubim and the palm-leaves thereon in finest marble 
 sculptured we felt a thrill, a glow of satisfaction, a music 
 of the brain, and a dilation of the heart, such as would seize 
 a scholar were he suddenly to come upon that lost heap of 
 gold, the lost Greek tragedies. 
 
 It was a short time since our good fortune to be guest in 
 a fine old country house, which, though the largest mansion 
 for ten miles round, was too small for the heart of its 
 possessor. It was one of those capital pigeon-hole mansions, 
 where fifty visitors may do what they will, unknown to each 
 other, until rung down to dinner ; a very garrison for good 
 fellows. We had promised albeit in such matters we are 
 imbecility itself to assist at the construction of a kite for 
 Master Tommy, the third flaxen-haired, blue-eyed little boy 
 of our worthy host. We commenced our task with proper
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 183 
 
 gravity, and, we avow, with best intentions. However, in 
 more serious matters than kite-making, well meaning goes 
 for little if unaccompanied by success. Tommy, with as 
 much contempt as he could put into a face of seven years 
 old, took his paper, lath, and string from our uncultivated 
 fingers, and sought a more skilful workman among the 
 servants. Philosophically resigning ourselves to the poor 
 opinion of Tommy, we sat upon the sward, and in a very 
 few minutes our thoughts, escaped from all human things, 
 were flying among the rooks, repairing and building their 
 nests on a ring of fine old elms, a bow-shot from the 
 mansion. 
 
 A rookery to us presents the almost instant means of 
 escape from less grave matters; there being to our mind 
 something inexpressibly serious in the manner and habits 
 of the birds, which that Cyclops, man saniem eructans 
 with deadly bow and rifle, murders for his throat. Nay, 
 and when killed, when brought tumbling down from their 
 native branches, to be deprived, nine times out of ten, of 
 their lawful reputation, nearly all the pigeon-pies sold by 
 confectioners, being at a certain season we give the truth 
 on the faith of a late Irish friend made of young rooks 
 when slain, they are not even gazetted in paste in their own 
 name ! To kill a sparrow is but trifling ; indeed, the late 
 Mr. Cobbett assures us that it is the only way to cure a 
 sparrow of his bad habits (legislators until lately have held 
 the same opinion of naughty men). To kill a pigeon is a 
 kind of poulterer's sport little more than cutting the throat 
 of a duck : but to shoot a swallow that winged soul, that 
 spirit of a bird darting between heaven and earth ! We 
 have heard, too, of monsters who have eaten of blackbird 
 pies ; nay, roasted larks think of the glorious creature, 
 " beating the vaulted heaven " with a song that seems to
 
 i8 4 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 be everlasting fairly steeping, saturating the fields with 
 music spitted with twenty minstrels before the kitchen 
 coals ! And yet these horrid feasts are less frightful than 
 a banquet from a rookery. The feeder who eats blackbirds 
 and skylarks is, perhaps, little more than a cannibal, fond 
 of young opera-singers : we can, with some stretch of our 
 elastic charity, find some excuse for him in his excessive 
 love of music ; but it almost becomes a matter of moral 
 iniquity to shoot rooks for our larder. Mark their gestures 
 hear them speak, for if they do not speak, the defect is in 
 your ears and not in their voices. With what gravity 
 what composed reason they move from bough to bough ! 
 What order is in all their movements what general harmony 
 in their design ! Are they not a set of sages, governed by 
 laws as true as truth spirits sublimed in the regions of 
 unalterable right ? They are the Brownes, the Bayles, the 
 Newtons, the Lockes of the air ; and the omnivorous glutton 
 who feeds on rooks would, after this our essay, ruthlessly 
 make a meal off a royal astronomer, an historian, or even 
 an archbishop. 
 
 Such, influenced by the notes and motions of the jetty 
 builders, was our soft conviction and in the moment, we 
 think we could have bound ourselves to Brahmin when 
 there came a sound from the mansion that struck upon our 
 heart ; it was the dinner-bell. Church bells have been 
 christened -the sweetest names, have had the most illustrious 
 sponsors ; princes and princesses have answered for their 
 metal sons and daughters. Why doth not the dinner-bell 
 undergo some such ceremony ; or is it that we may be 
 safely trusted with our own natural reverence of it, un- 
 influenced, unschooled by any other teaching ? As we 
 hurried towards the house, we felt the question, but had 
 not then time satisfactorily to answer it. As we approached
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS," 185 
 
 the door, little Tommy with his completed kite, and a look 
 of saucy triumph, stood before us. 
 
 "There," said the boy, " if you can't make a kite, I 
 suppose you can make a tail," and, saying this, he held to 
 us a roll of dirty paper for the purpose. 
 
 "Yes, Tommy, we'll try and make a tail but there's a 
 shower coming on, and it's now late. To-morrow, the kite 
 shall have its tail" Tommy was, evidently, not wholly 
 satisfied with the procrastination, but as we had placed the 
 roll of paper in our pocket, he seemed instinctively to 
 respect the principle of possession ; though he looked 
 sulky, he said nothing. Tommy might have taught his 
 elders. 
 
 It was a cold night in spring, and the rain pattered 
 against the window, and came at intervals down the 
 chimney, hissing in the fire, as though to remind us of the 
 cheerlessness without and the comfort within, when, the 
 dinner over, we found ourselves in our room, one of the 
 set of warm, comfortable nooks whereof we have already 
 spoken. We sat by the fire rose went to the bookshelf 
 for, let the apartment be ever so small, our host had it 
 stored with what Cicero calls the soul of a house, books. 
 The reader knows the mood with which a man in such a 
 room, and in such a time- with an hour or two to spare 
 from bed approaches a bookcase. Now, we were solicited 
 by Montaigne and now, our old friend Apuleius appealed 
 to our ancient love and now, the wise, the gently-resolute 
 Erasmus silently conjured us and now our finger was on 
 the pure, firm English of Walton's Lives and now on that 
 fresh and odorous homily, the Holy Living and now on 
 rich Boccaccio now on his plainer, younger brother, 
 Geoffrey Chaucer. We stood undecided a sultan amid 
 a circle of willing beauties. And as we stood a reverence
 
 1 86 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 fell upon our heart glowed along our blood for the 
 unalienable gifts bestowed by books upon us ; wealth, 
 which no prcemunire, no attaint, no constructive treason, no 
 bitterness of poverty could take away. We were the guilt- 
 less, triumphant Faustus, conjuring by the so potent art of 
 memory the incarnate graces, virtues, beauties of our nature 
 round about us. Mighty sorcery glorious magic that 
 hangs a wattled hut with tapestry coloured with richest 
 hues, that peoples even "the blasted heath" of this work- 
 ing-day world, with things of loveliness, enduring faith and 
 everlasting hope ; that turns the eye from outward squalor 
 upon inward glory that makes deaf the ear to the hurly of 
 mere human days, quickening it to the coming music, as 
 from a far procession, of immortal life ! 
 
 We turned from the bookcase to the casement ; in doing 
 so, we felt in our pocket the roll of paper proffered to us 
 by Tommy. We then perceived that it was carefully tied 
 with a piece of dirty, faded, red tape, which had secured 
 the body of the MS. for it proved to be one from the 
 mice, although the edges bore zigzag evidence of their 
 depredation. Seating ourselves, as carefully as though it 
 had been Egyptian papyrus in lieu of an English copy-book 
 we unrolled the paper, and judge, reader, how our eyes 
 sparkled and our heart beat, when we deciphered these 
 words ! "Memoranda of the Life of fohn Homer, the man 
 with ''the Plums'" \Ve at once felt satisfied that it was 
 the later life of little Jack, the hero of the chimney-corner, 
 and turning to the fire, we already saw our name writ in 
 the embers, with the glowing addition of " E.R.S.A.," an 
 honour fully deserved by the discoverer of so precious a 
 relic as the written life of a man who hath had so many 
 imitators, and among whom are people of what is called 
 the first respectability. Having, however, no interest with
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 187 
 
 the society, whose favour we yearn to obtain, we take the 
 present means of wooing its encouragement. We have a 
 very few words of our own to add. We have left our 
 address with our publisher. 
 
 It may not be impertinent to state that the mansion 
 whereat we made the discovery for as Tommy was re- 
 compensed with a quire of gilt-edged writing-paper for the 
 dirty scribbled roll he had picked from out a lumber-room, 
 he can make no claim whatever to the history was some 
 seven years before in the possession of a gentleman, a 
 reverend gentleman, who spent four-fifths of his time in 
 London, of the name of Homer. Whether he was a 
 descendant of little Jack, and if so, in what degree, there 
 is nothing in the manuscript to indicate. It is evident, 
 however, that the writer of the history had a perfect know- 
 ledge of his subject ; an advantage, whatever may be the 
 honest wishes of an author, not always attainable. He has, 
 moreover, sprinkled the history with remarks and specu- 
 lations, arising from the sentiments and conduct of his 
 hero, a vice not to be too much condemned by those who 
 would have their nuts ready cracked for them. We have a 
 high respect for the honesty of a man of this taste, whom 
 we once heard declare, that in reading Tom Jones, he 
 always skipped the introductory chapters and passages. 
 We claim no thanks in awarding to our readers the like 
 privilege, seeing they have the uncontrolled power of 
 taking it. 
 
 We have unrolled the MS.; whether it had been more 
 profitably converted into the tail of Tommy's kite, than to 
 its present use, no man of real modesty will consider us 
 called upon to say.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THOMAS HORNER rented a cottage and two acres of ground, 
 on the borders of the Great Forest ; any tree of which had 
 seen as much of the world, had endured as many changes, 
 as the said Thomas. Fixed to the soil spring, summer, 
 autumn, winter, looked upon him with their unvarying 
 features ; and he heeded no revolution, save of the earth 
 about the sun, the human changes on the earth itself all 
 the while unthought of and unknown. And Thomas 
 Homer, taking example of the birds, had paired himself 
 with a female of his species, or, as might vulgarly be said, 
 had married a wife. And Mr. and Mrs. Horner were of 
 the same clay. Happy, thrice happy are such matches ; 
 when joined by the " moral fitness of things," there is no 
 assumption of superiority, no impatient sense of better 
 knowledge no fatal contrast. We had an excellent aunt, 
 a woman of exalted gifts, inhumanly married in her six- 
 teenth year to a painstaking fox-hunter. She outlived her 
 husband, though not the memory of him, and yet we had 
 never known the hymeneal discrepancy, but for a trifling 
 household accident A giddy, laughing cousin, setting the 
 tea-things, inadvertently placed a common white clay cup 
 (how it came there we know not) in a radiant china saucer, 
 real India. Our aunt turned pale, and trembled ; with 
 tears in the good woman's eyes, and her heart in her voice, 
 she lifted up her fan, saying solemnly, " Barbara, why will 
 you be so thoughtless ? If you did but know, if you could 
 but think, what a pang it is to me to see a common cup in 
 a china saucer ! " The emotion of our aunt at once dis- 
 closed to us her long-hidden sorrow. 
 
 The loves of Thomas and Susan Horner were requited
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 189 
 
 with a boy, the hero of our tale in fact, with John Homer. 
 Who that saw him crawling at the paternal door, could have 
 prophesied his future greatness ? At six years old, how- 
 ever, he showed signs of superior wit, though, unhappily, 
 the exhibition was too often lost upon the beholders. Nay, 
 at five, an incident occurred which, with Ben, the pedler, 
 marked him for serious things for, with very little hesi- 
 tation, he satisfied the querist Ben of the precise number of 
 black beans and white beans required to make three. Ben 
 shook his head, and upon his own responsibility declared 
 the boy was born for a bishop. This prophecy obtained 
 new weight from a circumstance that happened about a 
 year afterwards. A neighbour cottager had lost his pig; it 
 had strayed into the forest, and it was supposed a belief, by 
 the way, extremely unjust to the natural sagacity of the pig 
 that the animal had lost its way, or, what was much more 
 probable, had been transmuted into bacon by the gipsies. 
 
 " What would you give for your pig ? " asked little Jack 
 of the owner, who had almost resigned himself to the loss, 
 but whose hopes were once more quickened by the question, 
 " Will you give one leg of him ? " 
 
 " Not an ear, Jack not an ear ; I did know he'd come 
 home," said the man, now quite assured of his long-lost 
 pork. Another week, however, passed, and there was no 
 pig. " What will you give for him ? two legs ? " asked 
 Jack, again accosted by the owner, anxious for his property. 
 It was in vain that the simple Thomas Horner essayed his 
 paternal authority to induce Jack to disclose the retreat of 
 the hog gratis. The boy avowed that he merely inquired 
 the extent of the reward, in case he might meet, in his 
 rambles in the forest, for he knew every inch of it, the 
 lamented fugitive. Days rolled on, and at length the owner 
 of the beast came to the cottage of Horner to make
 
 i go THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 conditions. Susan Horner and her hope, Jack, were alone 
 at home. 
 
 " I'll tell ye what, dame, if the pig be brought to me, and 
 I know Jack knows where he is, I don't mind giving " 
 
 " Three legs ? " chirped Jack from the chimney-corner. 
 
 " I don't mind giving " 
 
 "Why, neighbour," said the elder Horner, entering the 
 house, "your pig is safe and sound, and fat as butter, stied 
 in the hollow of the great oak in the middle of the forest. 
 Whoever has left him there, has left him well he hasn't 
 wanted mast, I warrant." 
 
 This was quite true ; whoever had fallen in with the 
 straying animal, had safely housed it from wind and weather, 
 and fed it daily with acorns and beech-nuts. It cannot be 
 denied that suspicion fell upon little Jack, who was, 
 however, rewarded for the ill opinion, by the arrival of 
 several of the neighbours, who declared that in the business 
 of the pig, Jack Horner had discovered intelligence enough 
 for a vicar. Proceed we with the growing wisdom of little 
 Jack. 
 
 It was Christmas Day, and Jack had completed his 
 eighth year. His friend Ben, the pedler, in acknowledg- 
 ment of small courtesies done him by Dame Horner, 
 presented Jack with a plum-pie, from a shop in the neigh- 
 bouring town. On that day Ben was a guest at the 
 cottage, where the families of two or three acquaintances 
 were gathered about the fire little Jack with his Christmas 
 pie upon his lap, having silently chosen the warmest corner. 
 Jack remained dumb, but still Jack fed. 
 
 "Why, you'll never eat all the pie yourself, Jack," said a 
 neighbour ; " you'll give a piece to Bill ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes," and Jack held forth the remains ; " for I 
 ha ! ha ! I have picked out all the plums."
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 191 
 
 The pedler laughed at the extraordinary sagacity of Jack, 
 who, encouraged, again declared the achievement, which, 
 put into metre by a native poet, has come down to us a 
 touching allegory of worldly wisdom, and worldly self- 
 respect 
 
 The pedler settled into thoughtful looks at Jack, and next 
 morning opened his mind to Thomas Horner. " The boy 
 was losing himself in such a place ; he had only to go into 
 the world to become a man it was to slight the gifts of 
 Providence to put such a light under a bushel. He (Ben) 
 was not so young as he had been : and wanted help with 
 his pack besides, he had taken a liking to the boy, and as 
 it was plain he would never be of any use to his father, why 
 not save his food and clothes?" 
 
 We pass the conference of man and wife the half- 
 objections of the father, the tears of the mother it was 
 decided ; Jack Horner was to go into the world he was to 
 follow the pedler. With misty eyes, Jack turned from the 
 door, but, in a trice, began to whistle like a blackbird. 
 The pedler looked down with pride upon his pupil ; and, in 
 truth, Jack was worthy of no worse a master. 
 
 Ben, the pedler, knew men, as the generality of men 
 know clocks. It was enough for him to address himself 
 according to the hour; he considered only the outward 
 marks of things, caring little, asking not, to know the 
 inward wheels and springs which move the hands of life. 
 " He didn't make men,'' he would say, " he only traded 
 with them. A guinea was a guinea all the world over, and 
 the best of consciences couldn't make it five-and-twenty 
 shillings." And by this light, Jack Horner saw, as it is 
 called, the world. And then Jack's golden thumb ! He 
 would pick plums from what seemed hopeless places still 
 vaunting his bravery to the world, all too apt to take a
 
 192 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 resolute man at his own valuation. Jack had faithfully 
 followed the pedler nine whole years, when an accident 
 occurred that somewhat rudely snapt the tie between them. 
 Ben, in his peripatetic mode of traffic, had many strange 
 customers ; now Ben was a man above vulgar curiosity, and 
 in his dealings in the highway and by the roadside, for 
 there was no place where, business calling, he would not 
 open his pack, he never asked the name or calling of a 
 stranger, his whereabout, or any other prying question. 
 Ben bought or sold, buying and selling being to him the 
 only aim of serious man. But the truth is, Ben had made 
 a weary pilgrimage about the earth, and now began to feel 
 fitful yearnings for home and rest. The "Unicorn" was a 
 thriving house, on the Warwick Road, and in all his life he 
 had never felt so placid, so composed, so open to the 
 influence of peace and good humour, as when seated in the 
 easy-chair of the late Mr. Wassail, looking with the eyes of 
 anticipation upon the living relict of the buried man. Mrs. 
 Wassail was about five-and-forty, with one of those neutral 
 faces, which escape observation, unless, as it sometimes 
 happens, a scrutiny be rigorously insisted upon by the 
 owner. 
 
 " I wonder, Mrs. Wassail," thus, one evening, spoke Ben; 
 " I wonder that you let your neighbours take such advantage 
 of you ! " 
 
 "Lord, Mr. Benjamin, what can a lone woman do? 
 Here, Dolly I wish, Mr. Benjamin, you wouldn't bring 
 that Jack here ; there's no getting nothing done for him 
 Dolly, take these pipes into the parlour."' 
 
 " I'm sure, Mrs. Wassail, if you desire it, I'll send Jack 
 Homer about his business. I think with you, that he begins 
 to be troublesome." 
 
 " Pah ! how I hate 'em, when they're neither men nor
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 193 
 
 boys," exclaimed the widow, with marked disgust in her 
 face. 
 
 "True, Mrs. Wassail, true. Perhaps the autumn of life 
 is the only time for real happiness all on this side of forty 
 is, I am now convinced, nothing but, smoke. After forty 
 begins solid enjoyment.'"' 
 
 " I don't know," said Mrs. Wassail, delicately insinuating 
 by her manner that she was not yet capable of judging. 
 
 Ben shifted his ground. "As you say, Mrs. Wassail, 
 once let a woman be left alone, and everybody puts upon 
 her. Do you see what they have been doing at the ' Black 
 Bull'? Ha! all spite and malice against the 'Unicorn'; 
 you may see the sign three miles off- there's gold enough 
 on the horns and collar and chains of the bull to gild the 
 Lord Mayor's coach. Then, to be sure, as you say, there's 
 a man at the ' Black Bull,' and yet it's hardly fair of him 
 towards a widow." 
 
 " Let him do his worst," said Mrs. Wassail, " yes, his 
 worst ; I'll be a match for him ! Ha, Mr. Ochre, pray 
 come in." 
 
 Benjamin suddenly bit his pipe, lowered the corners of 
 his mouth, and, with his eyes fixed upon the visitor, jerked 
 a nod of recognition. Rubens Ochre, to the mechanic 
 trades of plumbing and glazing, added the loftier graces of 
 sign-painting. Now, although Benjamin was no enemy to 
 the arts in the abstract, he was no friend to Ochre, simply 
 because it was the misfortune of the poor man to be an 
 unencumbered widower. And this fact had been three 
 times forced upon the knowledge of Ben by the presence 
 of Ochre fixed in the chair of the late landlord. Indeed, 
 there had been as much silent manoeuvring as great a 
 display of tactics between Benjamin and Ochre to obtain 
 possession of the chair, as between any two generals for 
 
 912
 
 194 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 vantage ground. Ochre, casting a look of civil malignity 
 and the reader, if he has seen anything, must have seen 
 such looks at the occupied seat, a look which was met by 
 Benjamin stretching himself to his full length, ostentatiously 
 publishing his enjoyment, subsided into resignation, and 
 meekly sank upon a chair, rush-bottomed. 
 
 "How odd!" said Mrs. Wassail. "Mr. Benjamin was 
 just speaking of you, Mr. Ochre." 
 
 "I!" said Benjamin, wonderingly. 
 
 " Of me ? " asked the painter, as if resenting a liberty. 
 
 " It's all the same, I mean of the ' Black Bull,' " observed 
 Mrs. Wassail. "To be sure they've made a fine show." 
 
 " I hope, Mrs. Wassail, you don't think it's my work ? A 
 bull ! well, if it isn't more like a zebra I But, as I said, you 
 don't think I'd paint against the 'Unicorn'?" 
 
 "No, no, I'm sure not, Mr. Ochre; but Mr. Benjamin 
 was about I know he was about to say, that if our 
 unicorn 
 
 " True, true, I was going to say that our unicorn " and 
 the eyes of Benjamin sparkled at the possessive pronoun 
 " pray, for I suppose that is your business," and it was 
 extraordinary how soon Ben fell into the air of the master, 
 "pray, what colour do you intend to paint our unicorn?" 
 
 "What colour?" asked the artist, "why, what colour 
 would you have him painted?" 
 
 "Why, let me see,''' said Benjamin, seriously taking 
 the question as an appeal to his judgment, " I should 
 say" 
 
 " As if unicorns were of two colours. Ha ! ha ! what 
 colour?" and Ochre laughed with professional ferocity. 
 
 " And why not ? " asked Ben, very seriously. " Why 
 not?" 
 
 " I can't say ; it isn't for a painter to dispute with nature ;
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 195 
 
 all he has to do is to copy her. Therefore, depend upon 
 it, Mrs. Wassail," and the artist turned with a smile upon 
 the widow, "the unicorn shall be as like as life." 
 
 " Still, as we've never yet had a sign, but only the name, 
 though the poor man who is in his grave could say it wasn't 
 my fault, I should like to know the colour." 
 
 " To be sure, Mrs. Wassail, the real natural colour ; a 
 bright white with a dash of sky-blue." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Benjamin, "and why not pink with 
 spots of yellow ? Blue for a unicorn ! Ha ! ha !" 
 
 " The natural colour, the colour of life, the only colour," 
 asserted the painter with proper vehemence. 
 
 "The only colour! You don't mean to tell me," said 
 Benjamin, beginning to be stern, " that there aren't unicorns 
 of all colours ?" 
 
 "I suppose, next you'll say there are piebalds?" cried 
 Ochre with a sneer. 
 
 " Will say ? to be sure I will. It's very well for people 
 who grow like a cabbage upon one spot, but I I have seen 
 the world ; the world, Mr. Ochre, and I say there are 
 piebald unicorns." 
 
 " Did you ever see 'em?" rapidly returned the painter. 
 
 Ben opened his mouth, and was, we fear, suddenly about 
 to soil his reputation for truth, when, recovering himself, he 
 sank back in his chair, and with a dignity, very useful on 
 difficult occasions, asked, "What is that to you?" 
 
 " Yes, I thought so. I tell you, Mrs. Wassail, that the 
 carriage of the King of the Indies is drawn by six unicorns, 
 all of 'em white with a dash of blue," said the artist. 
 
 " If that be the case," observed Mrs. Wassail, " we can't 
 do better " 
 
 "White and blue? they're all greys," cried the pedler. 
 
 "You don't mean to call me a liar?" asked Mr. Ochre.
 
 196 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 " I mean to call your white grey, that's all," returned 
 Benjamin. 
 
 " I'm satisfied," said the painter, " for I can bear much, 
 Mr. Benjamin; but no skit upon my truth. I'm satisfied." 
 
 " It's more than I am ; and I say if you paint our unicorn 
 any other colour but grey 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ?" said a thin, tall, elderly man, 
 who had the right of entry into the parlour, by virtue of 
 his office of schoolmaster, and caster-up of Mrs. Wassail's 
 accounts. "What's the matter?" said Mr. Birchenough, 
 not without a sinister glance at the chair of the late land- 
 lord, possessed by Benjamin. It was odd, but the three 
 seemed to look upon the easy-chair as the lawful first step 
 to the widow's bed; hence the uneasy associations sug- 
 gested by rival occupancy. 
 
 " The matter ! Why, and it's so silly, they will quarrel," 
 said the landlady, " about the colour of the King of Indy's 
 unicorns." 
 
 "White, white, with a dash of blue " cried Ochre, 
 looking to Birchenough as an umpire. 
 
 " Grey, or mottled grey," shouted Benjamin, nodding at 
 the schoolmaster. 
 
 "There again," fired the artist, "do you mean to say I 
 tell an untruth ?" and his rage was rising above blood heat. 
 
 " Yes, do you mean to say that Mr. Ochre isn't to 
 be believed?" asked Birchenough, benevolently stirring the 
 coals. 
 
 " I mean to say this : as a man, a husband, and a father 
 when he had a wife and child he is, and was, the 
 pattern of truth; but as a painter he is the greatest liar 
 upon earth." 
 
 " Say no more, Mr. Benjamin ; so as you said nothing 
 against my private charar.it.-r, T am satisfied." Here is a
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 197 
 
 delicate distinction, which if pondered upon by ministers 
 and politicians, may happily save much gunpowder. Ochre 
 cared but little for his veracity as a painter of public signs, 
 but was morbidly sensitive upon the score of private virtues. 
 All his horses might, for what he cared, be abused as long- 
 eared asses his white swans geese, but he was not, at 
 the same time, to be accused of the slightest tendency to 
 misrepresent. 
 
 "And you've been quarrelling about the colour of uni- 
 corns?" asked Birchenough ironically. "Why didn't you 
 first prove beyond all doubt that there were unicorns?" 
 
 Though Birchenough put this question with a malicious 
 intention, it is nevertheless a query that might induce 
 fiercer disputants than even the painter and the pedler to 
 defer sine die more weighty debates than that on the colour 
 of an unicorn. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 JACK HORNER, at the present time of our story, was in his 
 eighteenth year. " If there be something in true beauty 
 which vulgar souls cannot admire," and we do not hesitate 
 to strengthen Mr. Congreve's opinion with our own, Jack 
 Homer was calculated to pass upon nine people out of ten 
 as a very pretty fellow. He was slim and straight, and of 
 good growth; he had red cheeks, curly black hair, and a 
 something in his eye which Dolly called spirit, but which 
 one less observing might denominate cunning. Jack was 
 precisely one of those lucky people to whom nature bounti- 
 fully denies the fatal gift of sensibility. He was, morally, 
 cased like an armadillo. Jack, however, had his virtues:
 
 198 THE AT AN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 let us give him his due. He never told a lie when the 
 truth would do just as well ; never offended man, woman, 
 or child, when it was clear nothing was to be got by the 
 injury. Moreover, Jack Homer would very often use the 
 word respectability. Now, here was a youth to carry a 
 pack along the highway of life, filling it, ere he had 
 travelled half the road, with the best gifts of fortune, and 
 halting at the top of the hill to build and plant. And Jack 
 Homer was wisely provident : his shrewdness at eight years 
 old, so touchingly manifested in the matter of the plum 
 pie, never deserted him. No ; let the world crack about 
 him, Jack Horner never forgot the plums ! Let us renew 
 the history of Jack with an illustrative instance. 
 
 Jack, among his many shining parts, had a peculiarly 
 susceptible ear ; nature had endowed him with an admir- 
 able organ, and Jack, like a grateful servant, cultivated the 
 good gift. Indeed, very often he has been known to give 
 himself a lesson at a keyhole. We have felt it necessary to 
 state thus much to account in some way for what still must 
 seem the strange behaviour of our hero. We trust that the 
 dispute in the matter of unicorns has not yet escaped the 
 reader. Be it known, then, that as Birchenough delivered 
 himself of what we consider a most perplexing query, 
 Smash, the exciseman, joined the party in the parlour, and 
 was almost immediately followed by Jack Horner himself. 
 
 "Why, how now, Jack?" said Ben, taking the pipe an 
 inch from his mouth, and looking a look of offended 
 authority at the intrusion. " How now, Jack ? " 
 
 "Won't you sit down, John?" said Mrs. Wassail, with 
 sudden complacency ; and all the seats being engaged, we 
 are bound to state that she looked in the eyes of Master 
 Horner, then threw a glance at the easy-chair of the late 
 Mr. Wassail, and but she had been troubled with a cold
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS" 199 
 
 sonic days slightly coughed. "Won't you sit down?" 
 asked the widow, but not one of the party offered to move. 
 
 "No, I thank you, Ma'am," said John, with a modesty 
 that would have won the heart of any woman, more hearts 
 we are convinced being won by modesty than by any other 
 masculine faculty of the mind. " I want to speak to you," 
 and John looked at Benjamin. 
 
 "Come along then, Jack," and Benjamin rose from his 
 chair, and immediately walked out of the parlour. He was, 
 however, met in the passage by Mrs. Wassail, who had gone 
 for a seat for John, and was urged back into the room. 
 
 "There, do sit down," said the widow, and with smiling 
 violence she thrust Jack into the easy-chair of the late Mr. 
 Wassail, at the same time offering a less voluptuous seat 
 in fact, a wooden stool to Benjamin the master. Mr. 
 Ochre stared like a man who has made a sudden discovery 
 Birchenough uttered a prolonged " hem," and Benjamin 
 twisted on the stool as though he were seated upon broken 
 glass Smash laughed outright. 
 
 "Well, John Homer ?" said Benjamin, the politeness of 
 some people rising in proportion with their disgust. 
 
 " I've been thinking, master," said John, "that I've been 
 a great deal of trouble to you ; " Benjamin courteously 
 suffered John to proceed without interruption "a great 
 deal of trouble to you ; and as I know the goodness of your 
 heart is so great, that whatever burden I might be upon you, 
 you would never think of turning me aw r ay 
 
 " Do take some ale, John," said Mrs. Wassail, pressing 
 the beverage upon the speaker, and preparing herself to be 
 much affected. 
 
 " I I your health, gentlemen I think it but right that. 
 I should leave you of my own accord." 
 
 Benjamin was evidently struck by this self-sacrifice on the
 
 200 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 part of John ; lie, however, concealed whatever emotion he 
 felt, merely slightly nodding affirmation. 
 
 " Why, John, you'd never think of going like a lamb alone 
 in the world?" asked the widow, feeling for the corner of 
 her apron. 
 
 " There's a Providence, Mrs. Wassail," said John. 
 
 "To be sure there is," corroborated Benjamin. 
 
 " A very excellent young man," said Ochre, the other 
 suitor for the easy-chair. 
 
 " It does one good to witness such a lively trust in 
 Heaven. Beautifully said yes, there is a Providence," 
 exclaimed Birchenough, and he too, from the corner of 
 his eye, looked at the chair. 
 
 "Since I've been in business," observed the exciseman, 
 |( I never doubted it." 
 
 " I hope I've never lost sight of it, even when I lost my 
 husband," said Mrs. Wassail, "but still, that so young a 
 creature 
 
 " Young," said the painter, ' I was married when I was 
 eighteen." 
 
 " To be sure," said Mrs. Wassail, and she fixed her eyes 
 upon John Homer. 
 
 " Though it was very wrong," suddenly rejoined the 
 artist, feeling that he had just been very wrong "though 
 it was very wrong 
 
 " Well, Jack, but you were saying," said the master 
 pcdler, returning to the point. 
 
 "That as I can't think of any longer bjing a weight upon 
 you, I am come to say good-bye." 
 
 "Ciood-byc, John," said Benjamin, with a smile, and 
 "goodbye" was uttered with touching cordiality by Ochre 
 and Birchenough. 
 
 "But before I go," said John, "as you've been so good
 
 TIJE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 201 
 
 to me, I should wish you to see that everything is right ; 
 and so I'll just bring the packs before these gentlemen, 
 and lay out all the articles, and get Mr. Smash to be a 
 witness 
 
 " Not at all necessary," said Benjamin insistingly. 
 
 " But I must for my own satisfaction. You know there's 
 a great deal of property, and if anything 
 
 " I am quite satisfied, John, and why should you trouble 
 yourself?" asked Benjamin. 
 
 "You know, now I'm leaving you, I have nothing but 
 my character and if there should be any after-clap I 
 must bring down the bales," and Jack half rose from his 
 chair, but was pushed dosvn again by Benjamin, in whose 
 features there was a sudden look of ferocity darkly con- 
 trasting with the simple and composed face of John Horner. 
 
 " Really, I think the young lad is only right," said Smash, 
 the exciseman, " and for my part, I don't mind being wit- 
 ness, ay, and signing the inventory of the articles.'' 
 
 "Thank'ee," said John, again rising upon his legs, and 
 again pushed down upon the chair by Benjamin, "thank'ee, 
 because there's a great deal of nice property. In the first 
 place, there's the Brussels lace 
 
 "What!" cried the exciseman, and the exclamation 
 pierced the marrow of Benjamin. 
 
 " And the French cambric and crimson velvet," and John 
 Horner unconsciously enumerated several articles which 
 aroused the suspicious mind of the exciseman, and awakened 
 smiles in the faces of Ochre and Birchenough, still looking 
 
 O i O 
 
 at the chair. Benjamin swelled and turned black at the 
 innocent discoveries made by his unsophisticated pupil. 
 
 " I say, Mr. Benjamin, this must be looked into," said 
 Smash with an ominous visage. 
 
 "It's all a lie/'' said the pedler "lace! not a thread
 
 202 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 French cambric ! not a strip the scoundrel wants to ruin 
 me ; there isn't a 
 
 " What ! " cried John Homer, lively in his love of truth, 
 " you don't mean to say there isn't in the green pack 
 
 " The green pack ! " roared Benjamin, drawing himself 
 up, and looking w r onderingly. 
 
 " The green pack ! " repeated Horner, in unchanged 
 tones. 
 
 " What have I to do with the green pack ? A'n't you 
 ashamed of yourself? you must smuggle, forsooth rob the 
 king, God bless him, of his lawful right, and then hope to 
 put your sins upon me ? Isn't the green pack, and all in it, 
 your own? Is it likely, gentlemen, that I would have a lad 
 for nine long years and it was a bad day for me when I 
 took him from the chimney-corner without letting him do 
 something for himself ?" And Benjamin looked an appeal 
 to the company. 
 
 "But the green pack/' said Smash, with the stern purpose 
 of an exciseman. 
 
 " Hear me, gentlemen," cried Benjamin. " I was one 
 night at the ' Three Bells ' ; I had had a good week, and 
 my heart was open he must recollect it." 
 
 " I don't indeed, master," replied John, unmoved in his 
 serenity. 
 
 " We went up to our beds, and there as I lay, thinking 
 of this life and the next, and one thing and another, I said 
 to John he was lying on the floor in one of the corners -I 
 said to him, 'John,' says I, 'you're growing up, and should 
 think of doing something for yourself. There isn't much in 
 the green pack he always carried the green one but what 
 there is I give you to trade with be a good, honest, hard- 
 working man and copy me. Now, all this I said, and if I 
 didn't may I
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE. PLUMS." 203 
 
 " Then the green pack is Jack's ?" asked the exciseman. 
 
 "And every thread that's in it," replied Benjamin " I'm 
 willing to take my oath of it. He knows all my talk to 
 him at the 'Three Bells.'" 
 
 " Then it wasn't a dream ? " said John Homer, courage- 
 ously looking in the face of his master. 
 
 "A dream !" echoed Benjamin, and he ground his teeth, 
 as he tried to smile upon John. 
 
 " Why, I do recollect all that you say, at the ' Three 
 Bells,' but I was so heavy to sleep at night, that in the 
 morning I thought it was only a dream. How could I 
 expect that 
 
 "But where is the pack? the green pack," cried the 
 exciseman, roaring for his prey. 
 
 " Yes, where is it ? " said Benjamin, " and, rascal, for 
 your wicked lies I do hope they'll transport you." 
 
 " Serve him right," judged the painter. 
 
 " Transportation is too good for him," remarked Birch- 
 enough with a leer, for John Homer was still in the easy- 
 chair. 
 
 "What! for a little little smuggling?" asked Mrs. 
 Wassail ; the charity of the sex assailed by cambric and 
 Brussels lace. 
 
 " The man who'd smuggle," said the schoolmaster, whose 
 patriotism had advanced with his ale score, he, like Regulus, 
 best vindicating his country when deep in a barrel, "the 
 man who'd smuggle would murder." 
 
 " You're right," cried Benjamin, and his clenched fist on 
 the table gave solemnity to the apothegm. 
 
 The green pack was speedily produced, and its contents 
 rigidly scrutinised by the exciseman. However, albeit the 
 pack had many excellent commodities, there was nothing 
 that could be held contraband. John Homer merely
 
 204 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS" 
 
 uttered something about a mistake, and again arranged the 
 pack, Benjamin bursting with silent anger. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "WHERE is John Homer?" asked Mrs. Wassail of Dolly 
 next morning. 
 
 "Gone, Ma'am ! " said Dolly in tears. 
 
 " Gone ! " cried the widow, biting her lip. 
 
 " Gone ! " shouted Benjamin, and he groaned. 
 
 "Gone," sobbed the maid "gone, green pack and all." 
 
 Dolly spoke the truth; at daylight, John quitted the 
 " Unicorn," bearing on his shoulders the green pack, which, 
 before, as he said, he had dreamt to be his, but which was 
 now his assured property by the testimony of the donor. 
 
 Benjamin was somewhat comforted under his loss by the 
 departure of John the ungrateful John ; inasmuch as a 
 dangerous rival for the easy-chair was removed from the 
 field, though the victory remained long disputed, fortune, 
 at various seasons, equally favouring the three combatants. 
 Astounded are we that Mr. Wassail, poor man, rested quietly 
 in his grave, whilst his relict was so variously assailed for 
 his easy-chair. 
 
 To return to John Homer. The reader may have felt 
 some surprise at the absence of the contraband articles from 
 the green pack. Let us explain as we proceed : the truth 
 is, John had removed them ; in other words, he had 
 picked out the plums. 
 
 John moved omvard with his pack, and there was a 
 fluttering at his heart, and a singing in his brain, and he 
 was all but overcome with the sense of his own capacity
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 205 
 
 with the glory of his recent triumph. He was now his own 
 master : he carried his own pack. However, tranquillity 
 came with time, and some twelve hours after his departure 
 from the "Unicorn," John was seated in the chimney-corner 
 of a hedge ale-house, calmly calculating his future prospects. 
 John sat with thoughtful eye upon his pack ; and, perhaps, 
 he cared not from a deep sense of gratitude to compete with 
 his old master ; but, certain it is, he pondered with growing 
 disgust upon the trade of pedler. 
 
 " What ! Jack ! How's Ben ? " 
 
 John slowly turned his head towards the speaker, and 
 beheld Josiah Weevil, a small dealer of Stratford, who had 
 alighted from his horse on his way to Birmingham, for 
 goods in his trade. "I'm told," said Weevil, "if he isn't 
 already married to the 'Unicorn,' he ought to be." 
 
 " Ha ! Master Weevil, that little parlour, and that nice 
 chair I'm a thinking they're better than tramping through 
 mud and dust, under rain, and sun, and snow, and hail. To 
 be sure," and John thought of the penalty attending the 
 parlour and the chair, "to be sure, there's the widow her- 
 self." 
 
 "Can't buy land without stones, nor meat without bones," 
 was the homely yet ungallant expression of Weevil. "And 
 now, I suppose, as Ben is all snug, he's turned you off?" 
 John drew a long sigh. "I thought so the way of the 
 world, John. But I always thought Ben was all for him- 
 self." 
 
 " It's hard to name anybody he likes better," observed 
 Horner; "and therefore I oughtn't to complain." 
 
 "And whose pack is that, John ? " asked Josiah \ " it's a 
 full-grown one." 
 
 " Pretty well," replied John, with philosophical in- 
 difference. "But, Master Weevil, I don't like the trade;
 
 2o6 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 it isn't the work of a Christian, but an elephant. No I 
 I'll sell my pack." 
 
 " And is it really yours ?" asked the small trader, and his 
 eyes glistened. 
 
 "And little enough for nine years' walking. I'll sell off 
 my stock; and, as father and mother are getting old, I'll 
 go home and live with them, and take all my money to 
 them, and yes, I hope I haven't forgot to honour my 
 father and mother." 
 
 The old woman of the house clasped her withered hands, 
 and looked down on the filial John Horner with speaking 
 tenderness. Bridget, her daughter, sighed at the goodness 
 of the youth, and Josiah Weevil drew close to the young 
 pedler, and snatched up his hand ; squeezing it, he began, 
 " John, I always thought you too good for the trade." 
 
 " You must lie so, to do anything at it," said Horner. 
 
 "But I was not aware," continued Weevil, "that you had 
 such a proper feeling towards the authors of your being ; I 
 mean, your father and your mother." 
 
 " I hope I shall never forget my own flesh and blood," 
 replied Horner with animation, and we can answer for him, 
 that he never did. 
 
 " What have you got in your pack, John ? " asked the 
 trader, sinking with dignity from morals to business. 
 
 " Cloth, stuffs, linen, and yes, Master Weevil, I shall 
 never be happy till I'm at home again." 
 
 "An excellent son, John. Any silks?" 
 
 "A remnant of thunder-and-lightning. There's nobody 
 like a mother." 
 
 " True, true. Has " and the trader lowered his voice, 
 and with the manner of a man who puts a dear question to 
 a dear friend " Has a bit of Brussels fallen of late ? " 
 
 "lla!" and John sighed and whispered, "smuggling
 
 THE MAN WIT PI "THE PLUMS." 207 
 
 isn't what it was." And then aloud : " Poor soul ! T hear 
 she's much altered." 
 
 " All mortal things change. What for a bit of cambric ? " 
 
 " Don't talk in that way," said Homer, melted, taking the 
 back of his hand to his eyes. " Don't talk in that way. 
 Hem ! a handkerchief's now worth any money." 
 
 "And you intend to go home and turn husbandman, eh. 
 John ? Well, you are right, very right ; there is something 
 so noble in getting your bread from the soil oh, they're 
 nobody," said Weevil, observing the eye of John cast from 
 the old woman to Bridget. " Let's look at the pack ; who 
 knows, I may be saved a ride to Birmingham." 
 
 The pack was unbuckled, its contents laid open to the 
 eye of Weevil, who with an educated look scrutinised every 
 article. " Ha humph ! Yes, John ; a bit of earth, a few 
 seeds and a spade what so good ? You cheat nobody 
 you flatter nobody you backbite nobody you envy no- 
 body." And then recurring to the immediate business : 
 " How much, now, for the lot ? ; ' 
 
 " Very true, Master Weevil ; a bit of land of your own 
 a spade a strong arm, and a clear conscience. Let me 
 see ; how many guineas," and John began silently to 
 calculate with his fingers. 
 
 " How nice to see your little crop springing, and to know 
 that it comes from nobody's loss ! How very sweet to cat 
 the bread, not of other people's misfortune, but of our own 
 honest labour ! I wouldn't give a pin for that," and Josiah 
 suddenly pointed to an article which, as it appeared to him, 
 John considered " too curiously." 
 
 " Ha ! I shall, indeed, never be happy till I get home 
 again ; to eat what we sow, eh ? That's something like, 
 Master Weevil. I should say twelve guineas for the whole 
 pack."
 
 2o8 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 " Twelve guineas ! Pooh ! buckle up again, John. 
 Twelve fiddlesticks ! I'm sure I wish I could give up 
 trade, and go to the fields ; that is, indeed, a pure 
 employment." 
 
 " I gave three pounds for the velvet," said John. 
 
 "For at your business," observed Josiah, not hearing the 
 pedler, "as you say, to make anything you must lie so. I 
 should say nine guineas would be one too many for the lot." 
 
 "I'm sure eleven is one too little; but there's no harm 
 done," and John Horner proceeded to secure the pack. 
 
 "Well, I might and yet I well, it's a little rash of me, 
 but say nine guineas." 
 
 John was about to close the bargain, when, turning his 
 eye up from the pack, he saw the visage of Josiah, and 
 seeing it, he held his peace, and continued to buckle. 
 There was a pause for a minute, when Weevil cordially 
 slapped John on the shoulder. 
 
 "As I'm a living man, John," said Weevil, "I wouldn't 
 give anybody else eight pound ; but I like you yes, it isn't 
 often that we meet with a son who has such a respect for 
 his parents such a good, dutiful lad. Ha ! John, you 
 remind me of myself when I was your age; yes, just such 
 another ; and so, lad, I'll give you what you asked. 
 Here's the ten pounds." 
 
 "Guineas," said John Horner, with peculiar expressive- 
 ness. It was but a word, and yet, like the "swear" of the 
 ghost in "Hamlet," it seemed to vibrate with the very soul 
 of the speaker. 
 
 "Well, well friends ought not to part upon pounds and 
 guineas," said the benevolent Weevil. 
 
 " To be sure not," acquiesced John Horner. "Guineas." 
 
 "Well, may I die if you don't drive the hardest bargain," 
 cried Weevil, reddening at the tenacity of John.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 209 
 
 "My father and my mother," said John, and he counted 
 the money laid upon the table by Josiah. 
 
 Let it suffice the reader to be told that Josiah Weevil 
 mounted his horse, and with the pack a bargain, as in 
 his heart he knew full well before him, turned his way 
 towards Stratford. John resumed his seat in the chimney- 
 corner, holding council with himself as to his next day's 
 march. We dare not doubt that, with the rising sun, he 
 would have started for his home near the forest, had not 
 his humanity been most powerfully appealed to by a 
 sudden lamentable accident, of which we must give the 
 following rise and progress. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "WELL, father, you know, it isn't my fault; you know I 
 must eat." 
 
 "To be opposed by one's own flesh and blood." 
 
 "Times are so bad, father." 
 
 "This this it is to have a son." 
 
 " Right's right, father don't blame me for that. I'm 
 sure I wouldn't have joined the opposition if I could have 
 lived without it." 
 
 "Ha! well, it can't last, that's one comfort: it can't 
 last. Do your worst, we shall beat the opposition." 
 
 " They pay very well, that's all I know." 
 
 " They promise to pay, you mean ; but I know every 
 place they have upon hand, and I know how they fill 'em. 
 I'.ut ha ! ha ! join the opposition ! it can't last." 
 
 Let not the reader hastily conclude, from the preceding 
 colloquy, that we would trap him into politics. By no
 
 210 THE MAN WITH " THE PLUMS." 
 
 means ; the father and son above conversing are not 
 members of Parliament ; patriotism is not their theme ; 
 they speak of stage-coaches, and not of a ministry. The 
 opposition is the opposition on the Birmingham road, and 
 not on the road to Windsor. 
 
 "I must do my duty to my employer," said Young Tom, 
 " and so, father, you won't think the worse of me as a son, 
 if I beat you." 
 
 " Beat me ? " and the soul of a Greek charioteer glowed 
 in the eye, and elevated the expression of Old Tom, as he 
 scornfully smiled at the impossibility. "But you've always 
 been a trouble to me." 
 
 " I can't help it, if 1 was found too big for a jockey. I 
 had rather been on the turf than the box, I'm sure ! but it's 
 flying in the face of Providence to blame me for my weight. 
 Good-bye, father, we start at six ; " and Young Tom still 
 lingered, and unsatisfactorily played with his fingers, and 
 looked in Old Tom's face. "Good-bye, father." Old Tom 
 bent his brow, and smoked his pipe with greater determi- 
 nation ; but Old Tom spoke not. " Good-bye, father"- 
 more smoke : "good-bye, father," yet an increase of sinoke 
 "well, if you won't say good-bye, why, good-bye, father," 
 and Young Tom, like tineas, departed in a cloud. 
 
 The " Comet/' driven by Old Tom, started at due season, 
 and pursued its fiery way, when, to the agony of the driver, 
 the axle broke, and a delay of two hours was the unhappy 
 consequence. Passing a few intense exclamations on the 
 part of Old Tom, it may suffice to state that the accident was 
 repaired, and the coach once more away. The time, how- 
 ever, lost by Old Tom, had been gained by Tom's son, 
 who, though announced to start an hour later than the 
 "Comet," was, if reputation be not a bubble which we 
 sometimes think it is, seeing how very easily some people
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUAW 211 
 
 blow it -pledged to reach the goal even before his father. 
 The "Comet" travelled on, the horses being visited with 
 the sins of the broken axle ; the creatures fairly "devoured 
 the way," and many were the mute glances of remonstrance 
 cast by the passengers at Old Torn, who, it was plain, had 
 made himself up for desperation. Now, a traveller would 
 venture to suggest a less rate of speed, when Old Tom, with 
 his mottled cheeks, his under lip turning over like the lip of 
 a. ewer, and his green and yellow eyes glaring down upon 
 his horseflesh, deigned no answer, but applied the whip. 
 
 " For God's sake, Mr. Coachman," said, or rather crowed, 
 an elderly lady inside, thrusting her head out of the window. 
 
 Down came the whip. 
 
 "Mr. Coachman, I suppose " it was a legal gentleman 
 of Staple's Inn who now addressed Old Tom, " I suppose 
 you are aware that, no matter what accident may come to 
 us, we may all recover ? " 
 
 Again the horses sprang and quivered. 
 
 " My good man," cried a third passenger, and again the 
 cattle suffered, Old Tom resenting every attempted inter- 
 ference of the biped on the quadruped. 
 
 " Hast thou no humanity?" asked the Quaker. 
 
 " Xone," replied the lash, for not one syllable escaped 
 Old Tom. 
 
 " I'll get out, if we live to change," said the inside lady, 
 a spinster; though she bore a "charmed life," being an 
 annuitant. 
 
 A pause ensued, and the goaded horses began to feel the 
 good effects of silence, when the noise of wheels was heard 
 behind. Old Tom turned his head it was but for a 
 moment. Gripping his reins as a Cyclops would grip a 
 bar, setting his teeth, and his eyes burning like molten 
 glass, he looked at his horses, like a hungry Abyssinian
 
 212 THE MAN WITH ^THE PLUMS." 
 
 choosing a dinner from the living animal. The lash cut 
 through the air like steel, and amidst the cries of the men, 
 and the shrieks of the women, the horses, urged to madness, 
 tore away. Still the " Star," guided by Young Tom, gained 
 upon the "Comet." Old Tom turned all colours as the 
 sound became more heavy ; putting his stony heart into 
 his arm, he lashed and lashed but yet the "Star" came 
 nearer. Five minutes and the coaches were parallel. 
 Young Tom ventured a look from the corner of his off- 
 eye at his respected parent; that look met no returning 
 glance for Old Tom seemed no longer a man, but an 
 automaton flail. For a brief time, the speed between 
 father and son was equal. At length the " Star " advances 
 and the " Comet," thanks to infuriated horse-flesh wins 
 the way, and again a grim smile makes terrible the face of 
 Old Tom. However, Young Tom has too much of the old 
 man in him, to give in a matter of business any pre- 
 cedence to his own father. He, too, has a whip, and the 
 horses know it. The "Comet" is a bow-shot before 
 Young Tom wields his right arm the "Star" shoots on! 
 There is a narrow lane, but what is that to the cause of the 
 "opposition"?- what the near declivity? Again the whips 
 sing in the air the "Star" gains upon the "Comet" is 
 near it so near, that wheels strike wheels the leaders of 
 the "Star" break from their traces the "Comet" over- 
 turns the " Star " has a clear roof from the concussion 
 and, amidst the plunging of the horses, the shrieks and 
 groans and faintings of the terrified and the wounded, 
 Young Tom has vindicated the dignity of the " opposition." 
 Old Tom lies stunned with a broken arm, and Young Tom 
 mourns two fractured ribs. 
 
 Scattered here and there were the various outside 
 passengers, those of the inside crawling as they best could
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 213 
 
 from the window. The legal gentleman from Staple's Inn 
 shrugged his shoulders, with a satisfied air, and approaching 
 the Quaker -who was seated on a heap of stones, declaring 
 that he was dead bade him take heart, assuring him that 
 he was certain "to recover." This was the more magnani- 
 mous of the attorney, as he, upon his own evidence, was 
 suffering martyrdom from an "inward bruise." Happily, 
 there were no mortal accidents. The shrieks and groans 
 were, however, of the most appalling kind ; mothers, crying 
 for their children husbands, yes, husbands, calling for 
 their wives. Old Tom swearing Young Tom shouting. 
 In the midst of this, it was a sight for Socrates to behold 
 the exquisite equanimity of a former inside passenger. He 
 was a middle-sized man, with the appearance of a belly ; he 
 had clawed a box from the outside of the overturned coach ; 
 and, unlocking it, with considerable agitation withdrew its 
 contents ; in other words, a very handsome violoncello. 
 The musician, his features quite aghast, set him down on 
 a heap of gravel next the Quaker, and the air yet ringing 
 with the sound of lamentation from his fellow -passengers, 
 he twanged the strings, and dismay fled from his 
 countenance. He next essayed a successful pizzicato, and 
 his features lighted up as he went fiddling on, and at length 
 with a gladdened face, and in a voice of triumph, he 
 exclaimed to the wounded Quaker " Providential escape ! 
 not the slightest damage done !" 
 
 Fortunately, the accident took place within a few yards of 
 the public-house where sat and mused our hero. Old Tom 
 and Young Tom were, for good reasons, placed in the 
 same bed, the other spare room being devoted to another 
 passenger, seriously injured. " How are you, father?" said 
 Young Tom, on the departure of the doctor, who had 
 carefully attended to their hurts. "How are you, father?"
 
 2i 4 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 Old Tom grunted and was silent. At length he spoke ; 
 but more to his own communing spirit than to his own flesh 
 and blood. " Humph ! How can people expect good 
 luck, when they lower the prices ? " 
 
 " If I had had but Betsy for the off-leader," said Young 
 Tom, imitating the independence of his father, and talking 
 only to himself, " if I had only had Betsy." 
 
 " Humph ! Well, he ought to drive horse-flesh, that's 
 what he ought, but it should be in a wheel-barrow," said 
 Old Tom, soliloquising. 
 
 "Well, you have been wrong, mayhap, you have," said 
 Young Tom, " but, poor fellow, how can you help it, if you 
 haven't been taught no better?" 
 
 " What ! " cried Old Tom, suddenly twisting himself in 
 bed, and jerking his broken arm, he groaned and turned 
 pale. 
 
 "Father, how are you, father?" and Young Tom raised 
 himself so quickly up, that he gasped with the pain of his 
 fractured ribs. " How are you, father? " And Young Tom 
 leaned over, looking in his father's face. "Well, father, if 
 ever you find me in the road in opposition again, send the 
 wheels over me. Why, it's a judgment ! " 
 
 " Tom," said the old man, and he took hold of his son's 
 hand. 
 
 " Father ! " 
 
 "Tom ! " and Old Tom shook his son's hand and smiled. 
 "Tom, how are you ? " 
 
 " Why, I may say hearty how arc you ? " 
 
 "Tom," and again the old man smiled and squeezed his 
 hand, "it can't be mended now, but there T^as room 
 between me and the stump." 
 
 Young Tom said nothing in defence but he kept his 
 word ; he was never again found in opposition to his father.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 215 
 
 (There is it will be allowed sometimes good to be picked 
 from a broken bone.) 
 
 The coachmen disposed of, let us attend to the other 
 wounded passenger, the tenant of the best room in the way- 
 side house. 
 
 On the crash without, John Homer, the landlady and 
 her daughter, immediately rushed into the road. John 
 looked about him, not knowing, in the confusion, who to 
 aid. At length, he espied a middle-aged gentleman dressed 
 in glossy black, with a massive gold watch-chain, three rings 
 on his fingers, and a brooch the size of a half-crown in 
 his bosom, lying in the road, screaming for help. The 
 sympathies of John were touched, and compassion lending 
 him strength, he lifted the wounded man, with the nicest 
 care, into the house. Nay, with the consent of the guard, 
 he took one of the horses, and galloped off for a surgeon, 
 who, on his arrival, pronounced a fracture to have taken 
 place in the right leg of Andrew Thiselton, stockbroker, 
 such being the name and profession of the well-dressed 
 sufferer. 
 
 Now, until this untoward accident, Andrew Thiselton had 
 been one of those unbelievers who, walking on rose-leaves 
 all their lives, have no faith in the possibility of weariness and 
 blisters. He was one of those who are content to take tales 
 of martyrdom as bold designs on the credence of human 
 nature : mere pen-and-ink sufferings, never endured, because 
 they could not endure them. Andrew once visited the 
 Tower, and, on being shown the interesting spoils of the 
 Armada, declared he had no faith in the thumb-screw; he 
 was induced to try it, and then, certainly, he roared himself 
 a convert. If people were unfortunate, Andrew would put 
 a wise face upon the calamity, declaring that every man was 
 master of his fate. In a word, Andrew Thiselton would
 
 2i6 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 have met the rumour of a famine in a neighbouring state, 
 by triumphantly producing the receipts of his wine-merchant, 
 poulterer, and butcher. After all, there is an unconscious 
 humility in the race of Thiseltons ; themselves wanting 
 nothing, they cannot understand how fortune should have 
 been sparing towards their neighbours. 
 
 For a whole fortnight, Andrew remained at the public- 
 house, and John Homer was as constant to the bed as the 
 bed-post. The patient was quite won by the disinterested 
 assiduity of the youth, who had been pronounced by the 
 landlady as one of the most affectionate of sons, giving all 
 he had to his father and mother. One night, as John sat 
 by the sufferer, fanning what might be the flies from 
 Andrew's face, lest they should disturb him in his sleep 
 not that John was certain that he slept Mr. Thiselton 
 observed " John ! how should you like to go to London, 
 John ? " 
 
 "Anywhere in the world, Sir for all over the world, Sir, 
 honest bread has the same taste." 
 
 " Have you wound up my watch, John ? '" 
 
 "Yes, Sir," and to give John his due, he had been 
 particularly careful of the chronometer ; he had, moreover, 
 twenty times counted the jewels with which it was stopped ; 
 for the diamonds were to him stars in which he tried to read 
 the character and destiny of the owner. Now, he thought 
 nothing less than a lord could afford their brilliancy now, 
 if not a lord, a baronet at least. 
 
 " Humph ! John, how should you like a place ? " 
 
 "Jewelled in eight holes," said John, in a reverie, his 
 thoughts driven back to the watch. 
 
 " What ! " said Andrew Thiselton. 
 
 " Sir ! " said John, startled, and again addressed himself 
 to flap away the imaginary flies thit mi^ht disturb the patient.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUWS." 217 
 
 "That will do, John I don't see any flics myself." 
 
 "No, Sir perhaps not, Sir; but, saving your presence, 
 Sir, I do;" and again John flapped, John feeling with 
 people of higher station and higher sense, that it is some- 
 times necessary to feign the flies to hold the employment. 
 
 "Well, John, as the doctor says I may be removed next 
 Monday, you shall go with me to London ! " 
 
 Happy was the hour when John, standing among the 
 appalled and wounded, selected Andrew Thiselton, the 
 wearer of the chain, the brooch, and the rings ! Gifted 
 John ! endowed by nature with that cool yet quick percep- 
 tion which at all times, and in all cases, picks out the 
 plums ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NEXT to living in a square is to live in a street "out" of a 
 square. The house of Andrew Thiselton was thus for- 
 tunately placed. The dinner was just over as the master 
 of the house, attended by John Horner, drove to the door. 
 Andrew, however, had to meet a new inmate a gentleman, 
 hcncefoith to be garnered up as an especial friend of the 
 family. Whilst Mr. Thiselton disputes with the hackney- 
 coachman, we have time to sketch the characters of his 
 interesting household. 
 
 Mrs. Thiselton had brought her husband ten thousand 
 pounds, and thought any other attention in a wife a low- 
 minded superfluity. She was not handsome; indeed, she 
 was of that clay which demands very thick gilding. Miss 
 Whitney, her sister, was a middle-aged maid : she owned to 
 six lustres, though it was shrewdly supposed by her bosom 
 friends that she did not acknowledge all her griefs. But
 
 2i8 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 Miss Whitney to use a phrase that ladies sometimes apply 
 to their gowns, though rarely to each other wore well; 
 that is, she wore not at all. She was one of the few people 
 who look as if they had never been younger, and, conse- 
 quently, would never look older : in short, Miss Margaret 
 Whitney was a maid in Dresden china. 
 
 There were three children, the offspring of the mutual 
 love, or mutual matrimony, of Mr. and Mrs. Thiselton ; 
 but as the pledges were in the nursery, they provoke, on 
 our part, no further attention. 
 
 On the arrival of Mr Thiselton, two gentlemen were 
 with the family. The elder was named Nehemiah Sack- 
 cloth the younger, Joseph Sackcloth : it will at once be 
 presumed they were brothers. But the following incident 
 will illustrate the fraternal connection in a most touching 
 and instructive manner. Joseph had been called from the 
 room, when Nehemiah he was a square-built man, with a 
 large head, buff complexion, big black eyes, a profusion of 
 whisker, and glossy raven hair, clipped formally round the 
 forehead -thus, in modulated voice, bespoke the sympathy 
 of his hearers, Mrs. Thiselton and Miss Margaret W T hitney. 
 
 "Ha! ladies, you can hardly conceive the anguish that 
 man" he spoke of his absent brother "that man causes 
 me. Had I not been supported by the charity and resigna- 
 tion which peculiarly belong to my profession " let us not 
 omit to state that Nehemiah Sackcloth called himself 
 reverend, he having an independent congregation in a 
 subscription chapel a few miles from town, where the 
 influence of his character had had its marked effect on the 
 sins and levity of his neighbours. Some idea may be 
 received of the austere virtues and eloquent persuasion of 
 the reverend gentleman, when we state that Mr. Sackcloth 
 had, among other benevolent triumphs, induced two dairymen
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 219 
 
 not to milk their cows on a Sunday! To proceed "The 
 charity and resignation which peculiarly belong to my pro- 
 fession, I should have sunk under the shameful no, let me 
 not say shameful the imprudent conduct of Joseph." 
 
 " You never say so?" exclaimed Mrs. Thiselton, rather 
 surprised, for Nehemiah had an hour before shaken Joseph 
 by the hand, very warmly. 
 
 "I wish I didn't," said Nehemiah, ostentatiously strang- 
 ling a groan. 
 
 "Can it be? Then why do you acknowledge him?" 
 asked Miss Whitney. 
 
 " After all, Madam, he is my brother : I have long 
 struggled with myself, but you have no conception of 
 what he is capable." 
 
 " You alarm me, Mr. Sackcloth," said Mrs. Thiselton, 
 with much composure. 
 
 " I think he'd compass any imprudence," said, or rather 
 cried Nehemiah ; for as he went on blackening his brother 
 he became greatly affected at the negro he was painting. 
 
 "Would he, indeed?" said Miss Whitney. "Well, I'm 
 sure he looks 
 
 " Oh, Madam, in this world of sin and outsides, who 
 would trust to looks ? " asked the reverend Nehemiah, and 
 he stroked his hair. 
 
 " Very true, no one no one," concluded Mrs. Thiselton. 
 " But what what may be his peculiar vice ? :> 
 
 "Dear lady, it is hard for a brother to speak thus; but 
 he is a crafty man a generally wicked man a man of 
 no principle. In fact," and the voice of the speaker 
 thickened with emotion, "in fact, I should be very sorry 
 to trust him with my spoons." And the reverend Nehemiah 
 Sackcloth took out his pocket-handkerchief, and wept. 
 Almost at the same moment Joseph entered, and Nehemiah,
 
 220 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 doubtless urged by disgust of the sinner, making an excuse 
 to see the children, quitted the apartment. 
 
 Joseph Sackcloth and the ladies sat for a space in silence. 
 At length, Joseph folded his arms, moved his head back- 
 wards and forwards, and sighed very profoundly. " Ladies," 
 said Joseph, "you saw that man? Ha! I blush to call 
 him my brother." 
 
 "Mr. Sackcloth!" exclaimed the ladies together. 
 
 " Yes,- I blush, ladies blush. You little know what he 
 can do." 
 
 "I thought you were the best friends when you met?" 
 said Mrs. Thiselton. 
 
 "Would it have been right, Madam, to quarrel in your 
 house ? Friends ! Oh, Miss Whitney, you don't know what 
 he is." 
 
 "What? " asked Miss Whitney; and "what?" questioned 
 Mrs. Thiselton. 
 
 "He is an artful man, Madam a very designing, artful 
 man; I may say a dishonest man. He is my brother, but" 
 and Joseph took out his pocket-handkerchief for the 
 climax, " but he's a thief! :! 
 
 "A thief! " cried the ladies. 
 
 "Yes, a thief," repeated Joseph; "for now I recollect, he 
 once did steal a fiddle.'"'' 
 
 A loud knock at the door announced the arrival of Mr. 
 Thiselton, and at the same time abridged the fraternal 
 sorrows of Joseph. Mr. Thiselton hurried into the room 
 to embrace his wife, who, though she always dwelt in the 
 cold proprieties of affection, was on the present occasion, as 
 Andrew thought, more than usually chilly. 
 
 "Why, my dear well I thought after my terrible 
 accident nearly lost my leg rather lame now I did think 
 you'd have been ^iad to set-' me, after such an accident."
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS.' 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Thiselton, we have thought of it !- 
 " And where and how are the children ? " 
 
 "And they, too. have thought of it: Mr. Sackcloth has 
 written them such a beautiful thanksgiving for the chasten- 
 ing mercy that has fallen upon you, to win you from the 
 vanities of life." 
 
 " What ! thanks for my broken leg? " asked the father. 
 
 "Don't speak in that light way, Mr. Thiselton. A broken 
 leg, in your case, is a mercy, as Mr. Sackcloth 
 
 "And who is Mr. Sackcloth?" said Mr. Thiselton; and 
 as he put the question Mr. Nchemiah entered the room, 
 and with his linked hands lying on his bosom, his eyes upon 
 the carpet, and his mouth fixed with a smile, he moved 
 gently towards the former master of the house. Mr. Joseph 
 Sackcloth at the like time advanced to Mr. Thiselton, who 
 stood perplexed between both the brothers, when the three 
 children walked into the apartment. The father started at 
 the altered manner of his little ones, who were wont to 
 frolic like kids. "Billy Emma Robert," cried the 
 parent, and held out his arms ; but Billy, Emma, and 
 Robert, glancing at Mr. Nehemiah Sackcloth, the little 
 puppets, pulled by strings, fell by one accord upon their 
 knees, and putting up their innocent hands, began aloud 
 and together to repeat the "beautiful thanksgiving" com- 
 posed by the Reverend Nehemiah Sackcloth, for the broken 
 leg vouchsafed their father, as the means of winning his 
 heart from all carnal delights. 1 Poor Andrew Thiselton ! 
 he was not, as we have prefaced, of the softest nature ; but 
 in this instance, he stared for a moment, like one possessed, 
 at the thanksgiving group, and stumbling into a chair, sobbed 
 and wept. Mrs. Thiselton smiled grimly at the emotion of 
 
 1 The reader may possibly be shoekecl at this ghastly improbability. 
 It is from life.
 
 222 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 her husband, and approaching him, said she was happy to 
 perceive that the truth had at last found him out ! Mr. 
 Nehemiah Sackcloth raised his eyes to the ceiling, and 
 moved his lips with inward prayer ; but whether for the soul 
 of Andrew Thiselton, or in penance for a stolen fiddle, we 
 cannot determine. Miss Whitney, like the Mother Teresa, 
 was in an ecstasy, looking at Andrew and Joseph, with 
 busy, tender thoughts, contemplated Miss Whitney. At 
 this solemn and affecting moment, John Horner somewhat 
 clumsily entered the room. He was instantaneously trans- 
 fixed by the eyes of Mrs. Thiselton. John stood fascinated 
 by the glance ; he felt that he had broken into a sanctuary. 
 Xow, a less judicious youth would have instantly withdrawn, 
 with a damaged character for decency ; but John Horner 
 was resolved to stay, and amend his error. Thus, gently 
 closing the door behind him, he sank upon his knees, and 
 held up his hands, in admirable imitation of the little 
 children. 
 
 The solemnity over, Mrs. Thiselton, looking at John 
 Horner, asked her husband, " Who is this ? " 
 
 "A youth whom I found of some use to me in my late 
 trial ; I have brought him up to take him into my service," 
 said Andrew. 
 
 " I hope you know who he is, Mr. Thiselton. I trust he 
 is decent and respectable ; because, you know, Fanny must 
 sleep with him," said Mrs. Thiselton, and John Horner 
 stared. 
 
 "I don't intend that he should be here, but, I think, 
 I have a corner for him at the office," replied Mr. 
 Thiselton. 
 
 (It may be necessary to state that Edward the footman 
 had been discharged in consequence of his non-attendance 
 at a sermon preached by Nehemiah Sackcloth, and that it
 
 THE MAN WITJ1 "THE PLUMS." 223 
 
 was the duty of the footman of the house to sleep with 
 Fanny, the silky-haired spaniel of Airs. Thiselton.) 
 
 " He seems a youth of considerable piety," said Miss 
 Whitney, as John Horncr quitted the room. 
 
 "He didn't go upon his knees as if he were used to do 
 so," said the uncharitable Joseph Sackcloth. 
 
 " Right, dear Joseph I marked that," said Xchemiah. 
 
 " And now you mention it, there was an awkwardness 
 in his manner that I trust, Mr. Thiselton, you have not 
 brought an atheist into the family ?" asked his w r ife. 
 
 "A very excellent young man," said Andrew. "But 
 why need you be so particular ? Don't I tell you that he'll 
 not be in the house, but at my office that I want him for 
 the 'Change?" 
 
 " Ha ! Mr. Thiselton, there is no wonder that you have 
 lost so much in stock of late ! How can you hope to 
 prosper on 'Change, whilst you employ clerks of such lax 
 morality ? " 
 
 " Yes, Madam but the irreligion of money-changers ! " 
 said Nehemiah Sackcloth, and sighed. 
 
 "Yes, Sir yes: with such people about him, it's no 
 matter of astonishment that Mr. Thiselton is so often an 
 unprofitable 'bear.'" 
 
 Mr. Nehemiah Sackcloth said nothing, but he sighed 
 
 o? o 
 
 again, and left the room ; Joseph and Miss Whitney 
 followed him. Mrs. Thiselton sat opposite her husband; 
 she evidently wished to prolong the subject of his sinful- 
 ness in the money-market, but the subject was too much 
 for her. Hence, after a violent struggle of some minutes, 
 she rose, and placing her handkerchief to her eyes, quitted 
 the apartment. 
 
 Andrew Thiselton looked about him, stunned and be- 
 wildered ; he had never been allowed to exercise pure
 
 224 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 despotism in his house, but he now found himself almost 
 wholly stripped of his little prerogative : it was therefore 
 with a trembling hand, and a feeling of suspense, that he 
 rang the bell to inquire of the servant if he might be 
 allowed anything for dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " WHAT sort of a creature is Fanny ?" asked John Homer 
 of one of the maids. 
 
 "Such a beautiful creature!" was the answer, "and so 
 good-tempered. " 
 
 John paused at his meal, for he was dining in the kitchen. 
 '' I suppose you haven't too many beds in this house ?" said 
 John. 
 
 "Not too many/' said the maid. "You'll have to take 
 Fanny out every day in the park." 
 
 " I shan't mind that at all 'specially if you say she's so 
 good-tempered," answered John. 
 
 " She has only one bad habit ; she will run into the 
 water,''' said the maid. 
 
 " Bless me ! " said John. 
 
 " Hut that's to be got over, if you walk with a string about 
 her neck." 
 
 "A string ! :) cried John. 
 
 " Here the pretty creature is ! Fan, Fan," and the silky- 
 haired spaniel gambolled into the kitchen, leaped upon the 
 table, and with genuine hospitality began to lick the (ace 
 of the discomfited John. The next day, however, Horner 
 learned the full intentions of Mr. Thiselton, who proposed, as 
 John was no mean arithmetician, to place him as something
 
 THE MAN WJTH "THE PLUMS." 225 
 
 between a clerk and a light porter, in the office in the 
 city. John had been installed about a fortnight, in which 
 time he had given the liveliest satisfaction to his employer, 
 who, albeit he said no word of encouragement, could not 
 hide the feeling from the quick perception of the new- 
 comer. John's fellow-clerks, however, despising his in- 
 dustry, which they called sycophancy, resolved to keep 
 him down. " Homer," said one of the principal clerks, 
 "run with this parcel to the 'Jiluc JSoar.'" 
 
 " No,'' says Hornrr. " No ! " asked the astonished clerk ; 
 and in a deeper tone, l 'No," replied John. 
 
 This may be called impudence in John ; we rather think 
 it good policy, and will illustrate the wisdom of Horner by 
 a short story. 
 
 It happened that two gentlemen, whose high profession 
 was the display of ihe passions, or as they themselves would 
 have said, "the holding the mirror up to nature,'' etc., etc., 
 met in a parlour to arrange the business of the coming 
 season. A compliment was paid to Mr. Tobin. by the 
 selection of Tlie lf<ic\inwu as ihe first diama of the session. 
 The gentleman who seemed to be the " belter wisdom " of 
 the two ran through the list of characters, coupling them witii 
 their several representatives. At length the manager rame 
 to /.!>/<'.';, a pail ol minor dignity. " I of me see/' said the 
 manager "oh, yes, Mix/lehurst will play /,'_/V~;/' "Never, 
 novel' ; depend upon't you'll never induce him to do that. 
 Lopez! he'll never do it," \oiiehed the second gentleman 
 "Yes, yes,'' said the manager; "I'll arrange it I'll talk 
 him into it, ' and M ix/.leiniiht was wiuien down for /,<yv:. 
 The manager next proceeded to allot the characters in the 
 farce; all o! which he settled to his satisfaction, except the 
 SoTant, a part of three lines. "Ol course,'" cried the 
 manager, discovering at 1 v-t hn man, " i\l i//lelun *-t will play 
 
 Q i 4
 
 226 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 the Setvani" " Hang it ! he play the servant \Lopez^ 
 though that is something below him, perhaps he may do ; 
 but the Servant! why, it's only three lines," said the 
 gentleman. " Very true, 1 ' replied the manager, " very true; 
 but don't you see, my dear fellow, if I can only persuade 
 Mizzlehurst to go a little down, to play Lopez, I can make 
 him play (he Servant." Now, John Homer was one of 
 those men who, once well-placed, owe their future success 
 to iwer consenting to " play Lopez." 
 
 It rnny be remembered that John did not arrive in London 
 in the proper predicament of genius : no, he had some 
 fifteen guineas in his possession, which, he solemnly promised 
 himself, should increase and multiply, no matter how. This 
 resolution he carried into the office of Mr. Thiselton, where 
 ho speedily acquired if it be an acquisition, for our part, 
 we think it an inborn faculty the best knowledge for the 
 improvement of his capital. He, of course, began with the 
 humility of small funds, but time and success gave him 
 confidence in his talent and his money. 
 
 By degrees, Andrew Thiselton whether from the caprice 
 of growing years, or whether, as his wife would have 
 insinuated, from natural stubbornness of hc.irt, we will not 
 say but certainly, by degrees, Andrew became less kind to 
 John, his now third clerk. To be sure, Andrew possibly 
 in consequence of the wickedness charged upon him by his 
 wife, was less successful than heretofore in his speculations : 
 and he remembered that he hardly ever returned to the 
 office, fevered, flustered by a loss, that he did not sec John 
 Homer in the best possible humour, all smiles and self- 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "Humph! Mr. Horncr well I- /ounds ! " Such were 
 the incoherent words of the stockbroker, as lie returned 
 from 'Change to hi> nllico one winter's cvenim:;.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 227 
 
 "It is very cold, Sir," said Homer, poking the fire; 
 "and I'm afraid, Sir, the frost affects your leg." It was 
 very strange, but Horner never lost an opportunity of 
 alluding to that accident, for the which Mr. Nehemiah 
 Sackcloth had written such a beautiful thanksgiving. 
 
 " My leg ! humph yes ha ! if things go on in this 
 manner, I shall want legs, for there will be no standing such 
 luck. Sold again, when I should have bought. Why, Mr. 
 Horner yes, Sir, I can't help saying it you always seem 
 mightily pleased when I lose." 
 
 " I, Sir? Oh, Sir !" said John, and again he poked the 
 fire. The truth is, John really deserved great praise for his 
 modesty. Had he owned his satisfaction, he must have 
 confessed that though his master had lost by selling, his 
 clerk, with superior sagacity, had gained by buying. This, 
 however, John cared not to publish, trusting to chance to 
 conceal or reveal the matter to Andrew Thisclton. 
 
 ' I am sorry, Sir very sorry, if you think me no longer 
 worthy of your esteem." Such was the speech of John 
 Horner to his master, on the following morning. " And 
 therefore. Sir, with many thanks, I hope I may be allowed 
 to leave you." 
 
 " Very well," said Andrew Thiselton. 
 
 " Thank you, Sir," said his disappointed clerk, and he 
 could have severed his tongue that gave the warning ; for 
 John only wished to show his spirit and not his heels to his 
 master. 
 
 For some months John seemed to be out of employment ; 
 we say seemed, for. though he had no apparent occupation, 
 his brain was continually working. Massaniello protested, 
 on his elevation, that his head became full of boiling lead: 
 the head of John Ilorner worked with boiling gold. It was 
 July, and John Horner, now some five-and twenty years old.
 
 228 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS" 
 
 lay on the beach, looking at the sea, and thinking of his 
 wealth to come. Yes, John had slipped from London to 
 make holiday with nature ; he had travelled to the shores 
 of Kent, to soothe and purify his spirit from the moil and 
 smoke of city life. And as he lay upon the beach, love yes, 
 love wantoned on the strand. But very different was the 
 Cupid of John Homer to the Cupid of the poets. John's 
 little god had neither bow nor arrows : but in either chubby 
 hand he bore a bag, and chinking metal kept time to his 
 dancing. John's Cupid pointed to no rose-decked bower 
 no green and odorous nook, with ringdoves cooing among the 
 boughs, but to a most substantial freehold of fine red brick, 
 with gardens, orchard, fish-ponds, arable land, outhouses, 
 and all that nukes this vale of tears inhabitable. At the 
 time whereof we write, this "desirable residence" was the 
 property of a virgin lady named Ruth Thompson, who, in 
 the disposal of some portion of her wealth, had employed 
 Mr. Thiselton, and thus afforded a fine exercise to the 
 native perseverance of John Horner. Briefly, John knew 
 the amount of Ruth's property to the last shilling. Now, 
 by a strange accident which sometimes favours the adoring, 
 Miss Thompson happened to be at Ramsgate at the very 
 time John lay upon the beach. In those days Ramsgate 
 was a more sequestered spot than in these stirring times 
 it was then a retreat, and not a rendezvous. For t\vo hours 
 did fohn look upon the sea. and then he got upon his legs 
 as a man determined. John walked onward, and at length 
 paused at a neat lodging-house; he coughed tor resolution, 
 and then knocked. In few words, he was ushered into 
 the presence of Miss Thompson, who, with her bosom 
 friend, Miss Whitney for Joseph Sackcloth, to his great 
 repugnance, had been compelled by his creditors to leave 
 tuat blossom still unplucked- was rng;iged, l j kc 1'enclope,
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE />LUMS." 22y 
 
 at woik. There sat the two maids, and had John been 
 poetical, they must have suggested to his mind the 
 
 -knot of cowslips on the cliff, 
 
 Miss Whitney had a particular friendship for .Miss Thomp- 
 son, although she was even much plainer than herself; 
 indeed, her regard was so great that she never liked to stir 
 abroad without Ruth. 
 
 "Well, Mr. llorner sit down, pray so, how does that 
 reprobate brother of mine get on ? " asked Miss Whitney. 
 
 " You are aware, Madam, that I have no further business 
 with Mr. Thiselton, except my good wishes,"' said Homer. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know. Well, 1 only pray, for the sake of 
 those who trust him, that his heart may be turned," and 
 Miss Whitney proceeded stitching. 
 
 " My dear, you know he's my broker," said Miss Thomp- 
 son. " I hope there is nothing suspicious nothing 
 
 '' My dear Ruth, how can any man hope to prosper who 
 has his dinner cooked on a Sunday?" asked Miss Whitney. 
 
 " But you always dine with him on the Sabbath ! " said 
 Ruth, a little unconsciously. 
 
 " Where's the green silk ? " asked Miss Whitney. 
 
 " Here it is," said John Horner, picking it from the floor, 
 and gracefully extending it to Miss Whitney, who smiled 
 more than ordinarily. As the maidens sat, like Helena and 
 
 Jdennia. 
 
 " with their neelds creating both one flower, 
 
 15oth on one sampler, sitting on one cushion," 
 
 John Horner paused, and a feeling very like that which is 
 said to possess the breast of a certain domestic creature of 
 the feline race, happily placed in a warehouse of delicate 
 viands, shot into the breast of our hero. Simply, for the
 
 2 3 o THE MAN WITH "TUE PLUMS." 
 
 moment, John knew not which to choose. A slight 
 incident of what cobwebs are love's strong fetters made ! 
 decided him. 
 
 "Can you thread a needle, Mr. Horner ? " asked Miss 
 Thompson, with an expression of arch ugliness. John 
 smiled at the waggish question, and, with a roguish air, 
 advanced to try the novel experiment. Miss Whitney 
 looked a little surprised as John took the small instrument 
 from the fingers of Miss Thompson, and essayed to thread. 
 
 "Captain White," said the servant, and just as the 
 captain entered the room, John Horner accomplished his 
 delicate task, and bowing, returned the needle to Miss 
 Thompson. 
 
 Captain White was a man of about five feet two, with the 
 symmetry of a mile-stone. He rolled one eye at John, for 
 the military discipline he had laid upon himself, together 
 with a bale of cravat, prevented his turning his neck. The 
 captain had three recommendations to the heart of Miss 
 Thompson : he was a tanner of extensive practice he held 
 a post in the Middlesex militia and he was the best whist- 
 player, as she, with woman's fondness, said, in all the world. 
 This, liis last accomplishment, Miss Thompson had kept 
 from Miss Whitney, who abhorred cards an aversion 
 which Ruth publicly manifested, though in her heart she 
 loved a little loo. 
 
 Captain White condescended to raise himself upon his 
 toes, and inflating himself with an airiness of manner, he 
 approached the ladies, and laid his broad hand upon their 
 embroidered work. " Beautiful- very beautiful what is 
 it ? who is it for ? " 
 
 "A favourite of mine," said Miss Thompson. 
 
 "Indeed ! " said the captain, and he showed the ruins of 
 his teeth. " And what may it be ? "
 
 TUR MAN WITH "777 A' PI. VMS." 231 
 
 " You will sec in good time," said Miss Whitney. 
 
 " Why, they're laurel leaves you're working, eh ?" asked 
 the captain, his military habits assisting him in the 
 discovery. 
 
 "To be sure," replied Miss Thompson, and she laughed. 
 
 "And for a favourite, eh?'' And the captain threw his 
 hands behind him, drew himself up, and blew out his face 
 into a smile. " A favourite ? " 
 
 " You'll see how well it will look, :> said Miss Whitney. 
 
 "Can it look otherwise from such fingers?'' asked the 
 gallant captain. " Hut, ladies, are you for a walk ? " 
 
 The ladies answered in the affirmative by immediately 
 rising, and, having slightly curtsied to John Homer, 
 retiring into the adjoining apartment. John llorner, some- 
 what abashed, was about to quit the room ; he had reached 
 the door, when the captain, with a voice of authority and a 
 look of defiance, said " Don't do that again, Sir." 
 
 " Do what. Sir ? " asked John, very mildly. 
 
 " I found you threading Miss Thompson's needle. That's 
 a liberty. Sir," and the captain grew broader. 
 
 " A liberty ! " said John. 
 
 " Blood, Sir blood has been shed for a smaller freedom." 
 
 " I see no freedom I 
 
 "Perhaps not, Sir- you may have no sense of refined 
 honour but when I tell you, Sir, that Miss Thompson will 
 very speedily become Mrs. Captain White, I think you will 
 feel it prudent not to repeat the insult." 
 
 " Mrs. Captain 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; I think there can be little doubt of a lady's 
 choice of a gentleman, when she is discovered embroidering 
 his waistcoat." 
 
 John thought so too ; and Miss Thompson's freehold 
 dissolved in mist before him. John made no answer, but
 
 232 THE MAN WITH "THR PLUMS." 
 
 descended the stairs, the captain calling from above 
 " Don't do that again, Sir." 
 
 John's melancholy was evanescent, lor above his ruined 
 hopes of Miss Thompson, there glowed the smiling face 
 of Miss Whitney. Again and again John Wrought to his 
 mind's eye the gracious looks of the gentle sempstress ; 
 hence, he remained some days at Ramsgate, dogging Miss 
 Whitney in her walks, and, indeed, proceeding very far into 
 the fortress of her heart. She at first thought of the dis- 
 parity of their relative situations, but then what she had 
 in money John wanted in years. As John advanced in 
 the affections of Miss Whitney, the captain became less 
 ferocious. Days passed on, the embroidery proceeded, 
 and the captain like a new butterfly exulted in the 
 thoughts of his waistcoat, when the vanity, or the hopes, 
 of the lover received a rebuke which, well considered, has 
 its moral. 
 
 The two pair of lovers strolled on the beach and the 
 sun was sinking in the western way-- and "the gentleness 
 of heaven was on the sea " and the ocean murmured as 
 with sea-m mph melodies-- and all things brought sweet 
 tranquillity to the heart of man, when the captain thought 
 of his waistcoat. Me was about to touch upon the interest- 
 ing subject, when Miss Thompson, having turned her head, 
 observed "There, captain, there's my favourite I told 
 you how well he'd look in it." Captain White turned and 
 saw 
 
 Yet a word. People are never so humane as when they 
 visit the sea-side. The town of Ramsgate had long been 
 shamed by the cruelty of its indigenous ass-drivers. At 
 last a man of a benevolent mind brought new asses to the 
 town ; they bore in their sleek coats and happy counten- 
 ances irresistible evidence of the soft-heartedness of their
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 233 
 
 master. This was not lost upon the gentle bosoms of the 
 visitors; and several ladies instantly resolved to shame the 
 cruel into mercy, by affixing a distinguishing mark of their 
 approbation of the man on the man's beasts. Thus, when 
 Captain White turned his head, he saw the embroidery, 
 which he fondly hoped would grace his waistcoat, decking 
 the saddle-cloth of an eater of thistles ! He had dreamt 
 that Miss Thompson worked for him for him, who would 
 have prized the gift more than the heart it covered ! Alas, 
 she had cast away her thoughts her hours her best 
 accomplishments, on an insensible an unregarding ass ! 
 That woman pretty woman should ever so mistake! 
 
 Captain White bit his lip and frowned at his dumb rival 
 with more than mortal hatred. Poor wretch ! he was rather 
 the object of pity than of hate. The embroidered saddle- 
 cloth brought him a constant burden : and while other 
 asses, with empty saddles, cropt their meal in quiet, the ass 
 with the finery was selected from his brethren by all riders. 
 Never did the benevolence of a master cause so many 
 burdens to be laid upon his beast ! 
 
 However, the captain was somewhat soothe. 1 for his loss of 
 the waistcoat by the yielding sweetness of Miss Thompson, 
 who on the same evening fixed the happy day. Miss 
 Whitney merely to keep her friend company consented 
 to make one in the ceremony with Mr. Horner. The 
 solemnity, it was agreed, should be gone through as 
 privately as possible. The day arrived, and Miss Thomp- 
 son became Mrs. Captain White. An accident an 
 unlooked-for calamity deferred the union of John Horner 
 and Miss Whitney; for only the previous evening he 
 received intelligence of the mortal sickness of his mother, 
 who wished to bless him ere she died, and what could 
 a son do? with heart-strings torn to pieces, he quitted 
 
 9:4
 
 234 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS," 
 
 Ramsgate for Hampshire left a bridal couch for the death- 
 bed of his parent. Poor Miss Whitney ! she was especially 
 unfortunate ; for, by a luckless coincidence, the day before 
 the departure of John her beloved John Mr. Thiselton, 
 involved in a rash speculation we know not whether roast 
 mutton on Sundays had called down the evil lost not only 
 all his own fortune, but all his sister's. A poor forty 
 pounds a year was all that was gathered from the ruin. A 
 wooden memorial in a churchyard in Wales informs posterity 
 that Margaret Whitney died a virgin at the ripe age of 
 eighty-four ! 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JOHN HORNER quietly, but surely, continued to pick out 
 the plums of life, and at thirty-eight he was a most respect- 
 able man a householder and a person of some considera- 
 tion in the vestry. To fill up his leisure hours he had 
 accepted an office under the crown. Indeed, he held one 
 of the most important offices of government we may say, 
 the most important. He was the collector of taxes due to 
 his Majesty for the proper support and dignity of the State. 
 John Horner felt the weight, the delicacy of his place and 
 was wont to talk to the procrastinating parishioners about 
 the "solemn compact" between the tax-payer and the 
 crown. The last man to be cheated, he would say, is the 
 king : we think so too. There was, John would insist, a 
 moral duty implied in the payment of a rate : constructive 
 treason in the vain attempt to avoid it. " Soldiers and 
 sailors bleed," John would observe, "what remains for us 
 but to pay ? " These stern ideas of public duty John had
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 235 
 
 still further strengthened by a perusal of an abridgment of 
 the Roman history. He was also particularly learned in his 
 knowledge of the value of Roman money ; and would at 
 times astonish the ignorant with the words, sestertius, 
 denarius. It was, moreover, alleged against him but we 
 think the accusation was the fruit of his envy that he had 
 written a tragedy on the Jugurthian war; a tragedy, it was 
 averred by John, very similar to Mr. Addison's Cato, inas- 
 much as it contained precisely the same number of lines. 
 John, having assured himself an independence, could now 
 afford to dally with the graces of life : it was not that 
 he had a violent passion for them, but they implied a 
 gentility in their admirer, and nothing was more easy than 
 to admire. 
 
 John remained a bachelor ; he sometimes thought of Miss 
 Margaret Whitney the poor human vegetable in Wales 
 and then he thought how shocking it was that she had lost 
 her money. Indeed, in his moments of confidence, John 
 would tell his married acquaintance that they little knew 
 what it was to be disappointed in love : for John, as he 
 grew older and richer, did not dislike the interesting reputa- 
 tion, falling to a man of blighted hopes in the way of the 
 fair sex. As John approached forty he began to learn the 
 meaning of the word sentiment ; and made very frequent 
 use of the discovery. Hence, John in his middle age 
 was a favourite with widows and elderly spinsters ; who 
 allowed him to have a taste and, indeed, to exercise it in 
 many little commissions. Yes, John became the pet of a 
 tea-table; and the merits of no new play were decided 
 upon until Mr. Horner had given judgment. The Sunday's 
 sermon was as rigidly criticised by John, as have been the 
 books of Ariosto. Not, be it understood, that he suffered 
 such matters to interfere with the graver concerns of life.
 
 236 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 No John knew what was due to society, and to the most 
 important person in it himself. 
 
 And thus John proceeded in his earthly pilgrimage. If 
 the reader feel any disappointment at the absence of stirring 
 and exciting events in the life of John Homer, we must 
 remind him that they do not belong to the Homer species; 
 we have written the quiet, subtle, plodding life of a picker 
 of plums ; and do not profess to give the history of a 
 military hero. Our biography is that of the mole, and not 
 of the lion : of the mouse who bites the net not of the 
 beast that roars and struggles in it. 
 
 We have endeavoured to show the reader how John 
 Horner obtained a taste for the refinements of life. He 
 liked books, pictures, music, as some people like olives, 
 for the gentility of the thing. He would have fallen into 
 admiration with a work of Correggio's, the instant he could 
 afford to buy it : however, having bought the veriest daub, 
 he would protest it to be worth all the world beside, simply 
 because it w r as his. John Horner would enter a pig-stye; 
 and he being there, and calling it his own, the pig-stye 
 would become a Grecian temple. Though he picked bad 
 currants, they became raisins of the sun. 
 
 John, in the course of his profession, arrived at a pretty 
 correct knowledge of the fortunes of the people in his 
 district. There were three widows of almost equal property, 
 and John was puzzled. Unhappily, polygamy was not 
 allowed by the English law, and whatever John's bene- 
 volent intentions might be, the institutions of his country 
 restricted him to one wife at a time. 
 
 It was an evening in cold November, and John's old 
 housekeeper had had strict orders to put everything in the 
 nicest condition. There was evidently something in the 
 mind of the master of the dwelling ; for though he tried to
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 237 
 
 sit in an easy, careless attitude, he would every now and 
 then rise and go to the windows, and look out on the black 
 night; then return, and poke the fire, and then sit down, 
 and run his fingers over the keys of a spinnet, albeit he 
 knew no more of music than the cat upon the rug. The 
 table was covered with books of light poetry, some pictures, 
 and a few pieces of china, besides two silver snuff-boxes 
 presented to Mr. Homer as testimonies of his rectitude as 
 the secretary of a benefit society, and his conduct as a 
 vestryman, every one of the body having similarly compli- 
 mented themselves. Horner was dressed in a very rich 
 morning gown, and his hair was not half-an-hour from the 
 hands of the barber. What could Mr. Horner be after? 
 thought the housekeeper. 
 
 A hackney-coach drove to the door, and, in an instant, 
 the knocker loudly summoned Mr. Horner's man. 
 
 " Is the tax-gatherer at home ? " asked a lady in an angry 
 and impatient voice. 
 
 "Will you step into his office, Ma'am? "said Luke. The 
 lady complied with the request, and Mr. Horner, being sum- 
 moned by his man, crossed the passage and entered his office. 
 
 " Well, Sir ! " exclaimed the lady as her eye caught the 
 coming tax-gatherer. 
 
 " Bless me ! " cried Horner, in the liveliest astonishment. 
 " What, Mrs. White ! " 
 
 "Yes, Sir, Mrs. White! And I am come to ask the 
 reason of this impertinence " 
 
 "Impertinence!" said Horner, very innocently. "My 
 dear Mrs. White " 
 
 " Don't dear me, Sir dear forsooth ! Had the captain 
 been still alive, he'd have shaken you out of your shoes." 
 
 " Really, Madam I if 1 have offended what is the 
 matter ? " asked Horner.
 
 238 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 "The matter! Ask your man, if he is your man," said 
 Mrs. White, with the most ingenuous contempt. 
 
 "Luke what is the meaning of this?" and Homer 
 turned fiercely round upon his servant. 
 
 " I don't know, Sir," replied Luke. 
 
 " Don't know ! " exclaimed the Widow White " pray, 
 fellow, what message did you leave at my house this 
 morning ? " 
 
 "I left only what my master told me," said Luke. 
 
 " What I told you ! " asked Homer, wonderingly. 
 
 " Yes, about the taxes. I left word that if Mrs. White 
 didn't send the money for his Majesty," Luke had caught 
 the magniloquent style of his master when touching on 
 tax.es, "this evening, that you'd distrain." 
 
 "Yes, told my footman that you'd put a man in," said the 
 widow. 
 
 " You did? " asked, or rather shouted John Homer. 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; and when I told him so, the footman laughed, 
 and asked if you couldn't make it a woman," and Luke 
 grinned. 
 
 "And is it thus, Sir, that you insult wealthy and loyal 
 parishioners ladies, who know what is due to the crown ?" 
 said Homer. 
 
 " I only told 'em what you told me to say," urged Luke 
 in defence. 
 
 "// But this is the second time leave my house, Sir 
 this instant be gone I won't hear a word that a lady 
 like Mrs. White a lady whose character for all that is just, 
 punctual, and benevolent take your box, fellow, and be 
 gone." Vain was it for Luke to attempt a reply; sentence 
 of discharge was pronounced, and Horner was inexorable. 
 Mrs. White, though not naturally severe, smiled commenda- 
 tion on the energy of Mr. Horner.
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 239 
 
 " I believe, Madam, there is a family a few doors from 
 you of the name of Knight shocking people I only hope 
 they aren't Jacobins ; but they take no pleasure in paying 
 taxes, and it was to them I sent the message, which 
 
 " I felt there must be some mistake, and, after a minute's 
 thought, I was resolved to come and have it cleared up 
 myself," said Mrs. White. 
 
 "Though I regret the incivility of my man, if you will 
 pardon my saying it, I can hardly be sorry for any cause 
 that brings Mrs. White to my humble roof. But the office 
 is cold will you step into " 
 
 " Not at all there, Sir," and Mrs. White laid down, as 
 Horner would have said, the money for the monarch, and 
 asked for a receipt. 
 
 " Bless me ! It is some years, Mrs. White, since you and 
 I met," said Horner, "and yet to look in your face, Mrs. 
 White, it doesn't seem as many weeks. Really, the office is 
 cold." 
 
 " It is a little cold," said Mrs. White, and immediately 
 followed Horner into his parlour. The widow had no 
 sooner entered the circle of the enchanter than she seemed 
 to feel his influence. There was a propriety a comfort a 
 taste in the apartment so rare to be met with in the abodes 
 of bachelors. 
 
 " Well, it's very odd," said Mrs. White, " but only 
 on Tuesday, I had a dream about poor dear Miss 
 Whitney." 
 
 "Hem!"' said John, "it was a pity she was of so 
 melancholy a temper. For my part, I had an esteem 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Horner, it's a good thing her heart didn't 
 break, or her ghost would certainly have haunted you," said 
 Mrs. White smilingly. 
 
 Horner smiled too; then said "The truth is, Mrs.
 
 240 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 White, our hearts were not, I found, made to pair ; she 
 she hadn't taste." 
 
 "Dear me, how it pours ! I hope the coach 
 
 " The coachman oh he wouldn't stay," Horner had, 
 by means of his housekeeper, discharged him, "but 
 Deborah can soon get another." 
 
 " Well, then, if you will write the receipt, Mr. Horner." 
 
 " To be sure, my dear Mrs. White the pen and ink are 
 only in the other room. Why now, that's very odd ; how 
 very strange ! " 
 
 "What, Mr. Horner?" 
 
 "Very strange, that the song ' My lodging is on the cold 
 ground] that song which I heard you sing so beautifully at 
 Ramsgate, should be lying uppermost of the heap. That 
 song you used to sing to the captain." 
 
 " I recollect ha ! how time flies ! how soon, Mr. 
 Horner, one's singing days go over!" 
 
 "The true nightingale, Mrs. White," and John moved 
 his chair towards her, and repeated the words, "the true 
 nightingale never gets old." 
 
 Mrs. White, with the modest perception of a woman, 
 changed the subject. " You have a nice, comfortable house 
 here, Mr. Horner?" 
 
 "Cold dull and miserable," sighed Horner. " I some- 
 times wish I had been a Papist." 
 
 " Lord ! " exclaimed the lady in considerable alarm. 
 "What for?" 
 
 "That I might have sold off all I had, and turned monk. 
 It is a woman, Madam, who gives life and warmth to a 
 house." 
 
 " My receipt, Mr. Horner," said the widow languidly. 
 
 " Who gives the last grace the last comfort whose taste 
 well, I declare, now. if that isn't odd," and Horner
 
 THE MAN WITH "THE J'LUAlb." 241 
 
 smiled henignantly at Tib, the cat, who at that moment 
 leapt from the rug into the lap of the widow. "Would you 
 believe it, Mrs. White, Tib never did that to a stranger 
 before." Mrs. White smiled and patted Tib. " Never 
 to anybody before. Well, Sir," and Homer chucklingly 
 addressed the cat "you seem quite at home. I'm sure, if 
 you were his mistress, he couldn't be more at his ease. 
 But perhaps he troubles you," and Horner stretched forth 
 his arms to remove the intruder. 
 
 " Let him be," said Mrs. White, and again she patted 
 Tib, who renewed a recognition of the patronage. 
 
 " Yes, Madam, I was saying 
 
 " The partridge is done," said Deborah, unceremoniously 
 opening the door, whereupon Mr. Horner started to his 
 feet, and Mrs. White, with a slight blush, shook the cat 
 from her lap. 
 
 " Bring it up," said Horner. 
 
 "The receipt, Mr. llorner I really had no notion it was 
 so late -I 
 
 "You must stay and take a bit of partridge," said John, 
 and a sudden gust of wind, and a plash of rain at the 
 window, in good time seconded his eloquence. 
 
 "They'll think I'm lost," said Mrs. White, and she untied 
 her bonnet. 
 
 The partridge was served. "I declare I'm robbing you 
 of your supper, Mr. Horner," said the widow. 
 
 " I don't know how it is, but I have not the slightest 
 appetite -you must have the breast I couldn't eat a bird 
 of paradise." 
 
 " But when it's plain the bird was cooked for yourself,'' 
 said the unconscious Mrs. White "now you shall eat 
 a bit." 
 
 " It must be a leg, then," and John helped himself to the
 
 242 THE MAN WITH "THE PLUMS." 
 
 scanty limb, and continued to cut atoms of ilesh from the 
 bone, chewing and looking with fixed eyes upon the widow. 
 
 " Past ten o'clock," cried the watchman without, and Mrs. 
 White sprang from her scat, declaring she hadn't thought it 
 eight, and insisted upon a coach. Deborah was despatched 
 for a vehicle, and ]ohn Horner, sighing, very profoundly 
 assisted the lady into it. The door was closed, and the 
 horses about to start, when John exclaimed "Dear me! 
 you have forgotten the receipt." 
 
 "And so I have," said Mrs. White, and then in the 
 softest tone, "would it be too much trouble, Mr. Horner, 
 for you to drop in with it to-morrow?" The coachman, 
 anticipating Homer's consent, drove off. 
 
 Mr. Horner, as a middle-aged man, was a man of 
 gallantry. He therefore failed not the next day to call on 
 Mrs. White with her receipt in full : he called again and 
 again, until more than one neighbour remarked, that the 
 State ought to be much beholden to Mrs. White, for surely 
 she paid more to the king than half the parish put together. 
 Ere another quarter's taxes were due, Mrs. White was Mrs. 
 Horner ! 
 
 John retired with his wife to an old and spacious country 
 seat. The late Captain White had been very prosperous as 
 a tanner; two or three distant relations had, moreover, died 
 on purpose as it seemed to leave him their money ; hence, 
 John Horner, with the plums he had picked himself, and 
 the fruit he obtained with the relict of the captain, achieved 
 that enviable distinction so ardently yearned for by the 
 many he died rich. A hymn was composed for his funeral 
 - and a marble monument covered his remains. He died, 
 says his epitaph full of hope; to the which history may 
 add and full of plums. 
 
 THE WALTER SCOTT TRESS, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE.
 
 NEW BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WALTER SCO TT, 
 
 LO X I ) O X , EX G L A XI); 
 
 And 3 EAST 14x11 STREET, NEW YORK. 
 AGKNTS A. LOVELL & CO. 
 
 THE CAMELOT SERIES. 
 
 EDITED BY ERXKST RHYS. 
 
 RdMAXCE OF KING ARTHUR. 
 ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER. 
 
 LA XDO R'S COXY HRSATLOXS. 
 PLUTARCH'S LIVES. 
 REI.IGIO MEDICI, &c. 
 
 SHELLEY'S LETTERS. 
 PROSE WRITINGS OF SWIFT. 
 GREAT ENGLISH PAIXTKUS. 
 LORH BYI10X-S LKTTERS. 
 K-^SAYS ]'.Y LKTCII HUXT. 
 MARCUS AURELIUS. 
 
 AY11ITKS sELHOIiXF-]. 
 DEFOE'S SIXCLHTOX. 
 MAZZIXl'S ESSAYS. 
 PROSE W1J1TIXGS OF IIIIIXE. 
 REYNOLDS' DISCOURSES. 
 PAPERS OF STEELE AXD 
 
 ADD ISO X. 
 BURNS'S LIH'J'ERS. 
 VOLSUXGA SAGA. 
 ?.ARTOR 1IESARTUS. 
 SEXI-IC'A'S MORALS. 
 LTFI-: OF LORD II HUBERT. 
 KX(;LISIi 1M10SK. 
 JBSHVS PILLARS OF SOCIHTY. 
 IRISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES. 
 
 HPICTETUS. 
 
 ESSAYS (iF DR. JOHXSOX. 
 
 ESSAYS OF WILLIAM 1IAXLITT 
 
 LAXDOR'S PEXTAMEROX, &c. 
 
 POE'S TALES AXD INS AYS. 
 
 VICAR OF NYAKKFIHLD. 
 
 POLITICAL ORATIOXS. 
 
 C 1 1 ESTERFIEL1 >'S L K TTERS. 
 
 STORIES FROM ClARLETuX. 
 
 JAXH EY'RH. 
 
 ELI/AUETIIAN EXGLAXD. 
 
 WRITIXGS OF THOMAS DAVIS. 
 
 SPEXCE'S AXECDOTES. 
 
 MoRE'S UTOPIA. 
 
 SADI'S GULISTAN. 
 
 EXGL1SI1 FOLK AXD FAIRY 
 
 TALE-. 
 
 NORTHERN STUDTHS. 
 FAMOUS REVIEWS. 
 ARISTOTLE'S ETHICS. 
 PERICLES AXD A SPA SI A. 
 AXXALS OF TACITUS. 
 ESSAYS OF ELI A. 
 SHORTER STORIES FROM 
 
 BALZAC. 
 
 I)E MUSSET'S COMHDIKS. 
 DAU WIN'S LDRAL-RHHFS. 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS.
 
 THE CANTERBURY POETS. 
 
 EDITED BY WILLIAM SHARP. 
 A NEW COMPREHENSIVE EDITION OF THE POETS. 
 
 Square I2'fio, Uncut, 40 cents; Limp Mor. , $1.75; Padded Grained 
 Mor., $2.00; Padded Polished Afar., 2.00; Half Mor., 1.50, 
 Also Sets of above, 2. vols. in paper box, cloth, gilt, tlie Set, 1.00. 
 Also in cloth, gilt stamp and edges, 75 cents per volume. 
 
 CHRISTIAN YEAR. By Rev. John Keblc, M.A. 
 
 COLERIDGE. Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 CAMPBELL. Edited by John Hogben. 
 
 SHELLEY. Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 WORDSWORTH. Edited by A. J. Symington. 
 
 BLAKE. Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 CIIATTERTON. Edited by John Richmond. 
 
 BURNS. Songs. Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 BURNS. Poems. Edited by Joseph Skipsey. 
 
 MARLOWE. Edited by Percy E. Pinkerton. 
 
 KEATS. Edited by John Ilogben. 
 
 HERBERT. Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 VICTOR HUGO. Translated by Dean Carrington. 
 
 COWPER. Edited by Eva Hope. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE: Songs, Poems, & Sonnets. Edited by W. Sharp. 
 SONNETS OF THIS CENTURY. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 SCOTT. Marmion, etc. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 SCOTT. Lady of the Lake, etc. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 PRAED. Edited by Frederick Cooper. 
 
 HOGG. Edited by his daughter, Mrs. Garden, 
 
 GOLDSMITH. Edited by William Tirebuck. 
 
 LOVE LETTERS OF A VIOLINIST, etc. By Eric Mackay. 
 
 SPENSER. Edited by Hon. Roden Noel. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE POETS. Edited by E. S. Robertson. 
 
 BEN fONSON. Edited by John Ad;lington Symonds. 
 
 BYRON. Miscellaneous. Edited by Mathilde Blind. 
 
 BYRON. Don Juan, etc. Edited by Mathilde Blind. 
 
 SONNETS OF EUROPE. Selected by S. Waddington. 
 
 ALLAN RAMSAY. Edited by J. Logie Robertson, M.A. 
 
 SYDNEY DOBELL. Edited by Mrs. Dobell. 
 
 POPE. Edited by John Jlogben. 
 
 HEINE. Selected, with Introduction, by Mrs. Kroeker
 
 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Edited by John S. Fletcher. 
 
 BOWLES, LAMB, etc. Selected by William Tirebuck. 
 
 SEA MUSIC. Edited by Mrs. William Sharp. 
 
 EARLY ENGLISH POETRY. Selected by II. M. Fit/gibbon. 
 
 1IEKRICK. Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 
 IRISH MINSTRELSY. Edited by II. Halliday Sparling. 
 
 PARADISE LOST. Edited by J. Bradshaw, M.A., LL.D. 
 
 JACOBITE SONGS & BALLADS. Selected by G. S. Macc;u>.id. 
 DAYS OK Till-: \ EAR. With Introduction by William Sharp. 
 
 AUSTRALIAN BALLADS. Edited by Douglas B. W. Sladen, B.A. 
 MOORE. Edited by John Dorrian. 
 
 BORDER BALLADS. Edited by Graham R. Tomson. 
 
 PHILIP B. MARSTON. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 HORACE. Translations by Sir Stephen E. De Yere, Bart. 
 
 OSSIAN. Edited by Geor-e Eyre-Todd. 
 
 ELFIN MUSIC. Selected and arranged by Arthur E. Waitc. 
 
 SOUTHEY. Edited, with Introduction, by Sidney R. Thompson. 
 
 CHAUCER. Selected and Edited by Frederick Noel Paton. 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY. Bogatzky. 
 
 POEMS OF WILD LIFE. Edited by Charles G. D. Roberts. 
 
 PARADISE REGAINED. Edited by J. Bradshaw, M.A., LL.D. 
 CRABBE. With Prefatory Notice by Edward Lamplough. 
 
 DORA GREENWELL. With Introduction by William Dorling. 
 
 LANDOR'S POEMS. Selected and Edited by Ernest Radford. 
 
 GREEK ANTHOLOGY. Edited by Graham R. Tomson. 
 
 HUNT AND HOOD. Edited by Julian Ilarwood Panting. 
 
 HUMOROUS POEMS. Edited by Ralph II. Caine. 
 
 LYTTON'S PLAYS. Edited by R. F. Sharp. 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH. Selected by M. Betham-Edwards. 
 
 THE PAINTER-POETS. Edited by Kineton Parkes. 
 
 WO MEN -POETS. Edited by Mrs. William Sharp. 
 
 LOYE LYRICS. Edited by Percy Iluiburd. 
 
 PRESS NOTICES OF RECENT VOLUMES. 
 
 Thf La It/ of Lyons, and other Plays. By Lord Lytton, \vith an Introduction 
 by Farquharson Sharp. 
 
 " Mr. Sharp's ess iv is abli\ As for Lyttou's dramas the poetic merits of two 
 of them are. indisputable, while tin; L-i /.-/ of fj-irnu is proliably, taking it all 
 round, the best acting play written in this country during the last sixty years ; 
 Mid in my people will bo : A\i to havu the text of all three pieces in the neat 
 and handy form in which they are here presented. "^cuttix/i I.e-.id<'r. 
 
 SeUeH'Hiii i'i\,ia tli'.' Gre : : .1 " ' nj. Translations by Dr. Richard Ganieti, 
 
 Andrew Lani:, GoMwin Smith, etc. Kdited by Graham K. Tomson. 
 "JJnth in selection and arrangement Mrs. Tomson has displayed the utmost 
 ta.-t-j. . . . The introduction is exactly whit it should be. It con\eys. a 
 great deal of information, yet is syuvaihelic and picli.. es-jue from bc'^iuiiinx 
 to end." Scoti Obii-'rvcr.
 
 GREAT WRITERS. 
 
 Edited by Professor ERIC S. ROKERTSOX, M. A. 
 
 A Series of bi-monthly Biographies of the Famous Writers of 
 Europe and America. 
 
 izmo, Uncut, 40 cents ; Half Morocco, $1.80. 
 
 LIFE OF LONGFELLOW. 
 LIFE OF COLERIDGE. 
 LIFE OF DICKENS. 
 LIFE OF DANTE GABRIEL 
 
 Uy Professor Eric S. Robertson. 
 
 By Hall Caine. 
 
 By Frank T. Marzials. 
 
 ROSSETTI. ByJ. Knight. 
 
 LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 LIFE OF DARWIN. 
 
 LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE. 
 
 LIFE OF THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 LIFE OF ADAM SMITH. 
 
 LIFE OF KEATS. 
 
 LIFE OF SHELLEY. 
 
 LIFE OF SMOLLETT. 
 
 LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. 
 
 LIFE OF SCOTT. 
 
 LIFE OF BURNS. 
 
 LIFE OF BUNYAN. 
 
 LIFE OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 LIFE OF EMERSOX. 
 
 LIFE OF GOETHE. 
 
 LIFE OF CONG RE VE. 
 
 LIFE OF CRABBE. 
 
 LIFE OF HEINE. 
 
 LIFE OF MILL. 
 
 LIFE OF SCHILLER. 
 
 LIFE OF MARRYAT. 
 
 LIFE OF LESSING. 
 
 LIFE OF MILTON. 
 
 LIFE OF GEORGE ELIOT. 
 
 LI ]]) OF BAL/AC. 
 
 LIFE OF JANE AUSTEN. 
 
 LIFE OF BROWNING. 
 
 LIFE OF HYRON. 
 
 LIKE OF HAWTHORNE. 
 
 LIFE OF SCHOPENHAUER. 
 
 LIFE OF SHERIDAN. 
 
 LIFE OF THACKERAY. 
 
 By Colonel F. Grant. 
 
 By G. T. Bcttnny. 
 
 By A. Birrell. 
 
 By R. Garnett, LL D. 
 
 By R. P.. Ilaldune, M.P. 
 
 By W. M. Rossetti. 
 
 By William Sharp. 
 
 By David Hannay. 
 
 By Austin Dobson. 
 
 By Professor Yonge. 
 
 By Professor Blackie. 
 
 By Canon Venables. 
 
 By Frank T. Marzials. 
 
 By Richard Garnett, LL. D. 
 
 By James Sime. 
 
 By Edmund Gosse. 
 
 By T. E. Kcbbel. 
 
 By William Sharp. 
 
 By W. L. Courtney. 
 
 By Henry W. Nevinson. 
 
 By David Ilannay. 
 
 By T. W. Rolleston. 
 
 By Richard Garnett, LL.D. 
 
 By Oscar Browning. 
 
 By Frederick Wedmore. 
 
 By Gold win Smith. 
 
 By William Sharp. 
 
 By I Ion. Roclen Noel. 
 
 By Moncure Con way. 
 
 By Professor Wallace. 
 
 By Lloyd Sanders. 
 
 By H. Merivalc.
 
 THE OXFORD LIBRARY. 
 
 Comprises the most popular novels of Scott, Dickens, Lytton, Matryat 
 Lc. vcr, and other Standard Works. 
 
 i2///,>, Handsomely Bound in Cloth, Gilt Tup, Price $1.00. 
 
 LIVKS GREAT AND SIMPLE. By S. A. Toolty. 
 
 QUEENS OF LITERATURE. By Eva Hope. 
 
 OUR AMERICAN COUSIN'S. By W. E. Adams. 
 
 LIFE OF GENERAL GORDON. By Eva Hope. 
 
 OUR QUEEN. By Eva Hope. 
 
 CONDUCT AND DUTY. Compiled ly \V. T. Pyke. 
 
 NEW WORLD HEROES. By Eva Hope. 
 
 LIFE OF GARIBALDI. By Howard Blacken. 
 
 LIFE OF ROBERT MOFFAT. By Rev. W. Walters. 
 
 LIFE OF W. E. GLADSTONE. By Lewis Apjohn. 
 
 LIFE OF BEACONSFIELD. By Lewis Apjohn. 
 
 RICHARD COBDEN. By Lewis Apjohn. 
 
 1OIIN BRIGHT. By Lewis Apjohn. 
 
 LIFE OF H. W. BEECHER. By Rev. W. Walters. 
 
 LIFE OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE. By J. S. Robertson. 
 
 LIFE OF GRACE DARLING. By Eva Hope. 
 
 MEMORABLE ENGINEERS. By J. F. Layson. 
 
 VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. By Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 BOOK OF MARTYRS. By John Foxe. 
 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS AND HOLY WAR. By John Bunyan. 
 
 VILLAGE TALES. By Miss Mitford. 
 
 MEMORABLE SHIPWRECKS. By [. F. Layson. 
 TALES AND SKETCHES OF THE COVENANTERS. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE. By Daniel Defoe. 
 
 UNA MONTGOMERY, By Jones. 
 
 BAKNABY RUDGE. By Charles Dickens 
 
 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 PICKWICK PAPERS. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 OLIVER TWIST. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 SKETCHES BY BOZ. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 RODERICK RANDOM. By Tobias Smollett. 
 
 PEREGRINE PICKLF.. By Tobias Smollett, 
 
 IVANHOE. By Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 KENILWORTH. By Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 JACOB FAITHFUL. By Captain Marryat,
 
 THE OXFORD LIBRARY. Continued. 
 
 PETER SIMPLE. By Captain Marryat. 
 
 PAUL CLIFFORD. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 EUGENE ARAM. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 ERNEST MALTRAVERS. By Bulwer Lytton 
 
 ALICE; OR, THE MYSTERIES. By Bulwer Lytton, 
 
 RIENZI. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 PELHAM. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 LAST DAYS OF POMPEII. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. By Jane Porter. 
 WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS. 
 
 THE INHERITANCE. By Miss Ferrier. 
 
 ETHEL LINTON. By E. A. \V. 
 A MOUNTAIN DAISY. By Emily Grace Harding. 
 HAZEL ; or, Perilpoint Lighthouse. By Emily Grace Harding. 
 
 CHARLES O'MALLEY. ' By Charles Lever. 
 
 MIDSHIPMAN EASY. By Captain Marvyat. 
 
 BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN. Sir Walter Scott 
 
 LAST OF THE BARONS. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 OLD MORTALITY. By Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 TOM CRINGLE'S LOG. By Michael Scott. 
 
 CRUISE OF THE MIDGE. By Michael Scott. 
 
 COLLEEN BAWN. By Gerald Griffin. 
 
 VALENTINE VOX. By Henry Cockton, 
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING. By Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK. By Jane Austen. 
 
 LAST OF THE MOHICANS. By Fenimore Cooper. 
 
 POOR JACK. By Captain Marryat. 
 
 JANE EYRE. By Charlotte Bronte. 
 
 DOMBEY AND SON. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 VANITY FAIR. By W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 HARRY LORREQUER. By Charles Lever. 
 BURNS'S POEMS. 
 SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. 
 
 WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS 
 
 AND OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 HISTORICAL, TRADITIONARY, AND IMAGINATIVE. 
 Revised by ALEXANDER LEIGIITON." 
 
 A complete storehouse of fact and romance of the Border Wars 
 between England and Scotland. No collection of tales published in 
 serial form ever enjoyed so great a popularity as the " Tales of the 
 Border.-,." 
 
 j n 2\ z'ols. , sold separately^ price 40 cents fcr vol. , or $9.60 the sef. 
 Aiso in 12 volumes, so.'.i on'.y in setfs, pi ice 10 GO.
 
 NEW PRESENTATION VOLUMES. 
 
 The "Windsor Scries" of Poetical Anthologies 
 
 Printed on Antique Paper. lamo. 
 
 WOMEN'S VOICES. Edited by Mrs. William Sharp, 
 
 SONNETS OF THIS CENTURY. Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE POETS. Edited by Prof. E. S. Robertson. 
 SACRED SONG. Selected by Samuel Waddington. 
 
 A CENTURY OF AUSTRALIAN SONG. 
 
 Selected and Edited by Douglas 13. W. Sladen, B.A., Oxon. 
 JACOBITE SONGS AND BALLADS. Edited by G. S. Macquoid. 
 IRISH MINSTRELSY. Edited by II. Halliday Sparling. 
 
 THE SONNETS OF EUROPE. Selected by S. Waddington. 
 
 EARLY ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POETRY. 
 
 Selected and Edited by II. Macaulay Fitzgibbon. 
 BALLADS OF THE NORTH COUNTRIE. 
 
 Edited, with Introduction, by Graham R. Tom~on. 
 SONGS AND POEMS OF THE SEA. Edited by Mrs. Sharp. 
 
 SONGS AND POEMS OF FAIRYLAND. 
 
 Selected by A. E. Waite. 
 SONGS OF THE GREAT DOMINION. 
 
 Edited by W. D. Lighthall, of Montreal. 
 
 READY. Price #1.00. 
 121110, Cloth Gilt, 433 pages and 31 Full-page Illustrations. 
 
 STANLEY AND AFRICA. 
 
 By the Author of " Life of General Gordon." 
 
 This volume will be found to be one of the most com- 
 plete and graphic records of the career and adventures of 
 the great explorer, and for those who wish to know the 
 history of Stanley's life and the significance of what he has 
 achieved, no better nor more interesting guide will be found 
 than the present volume.
 
 THE 
 
 EUROPEAN CONVERSATION BOOKS. 
 
 In Limp Cloth, for the Pocket. Price 40 Cents. 
 
 FRENCH. ITALIAN. 
 
 SPANISH. GERMAN (shortly). 
 
 Compact and practical. Arranged to permit direct and immediate 
 reference. All dialogue or inquiries not absolutely essential excluded. 
 A few hints given for the benefit of those unaccustomed to travel. 
 
 Cloth Covers, Price 40 cents each. 
 
 VERY SHORT STORIES AND VERSES FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 By Mrs. W. K. Clifford 
 LIFE STORIES OF FAMOUS CHILDREN. 
 
 By the Author of " Spenser for Children,' 
 UNCLE TOBY'S BIRTHDAY BOOK. 
 NATURAL HISTORY OF BIRDS, BEASTS, AND FISHES. 
 
 By John K. Leys, M.A. 
 FACTS ABOUT INFANT FEEDING AND MANAGEMENT. 
 
 By Dr. C. Stennett Redmond. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 ELOCUTION. By T. R. Walton Pearson, M.A. 
 
 Books at $3.00 each. 
 Large Imperial 8vo. Coloured Illustrations. 
 
 LIFE AND EXPLORATIONS OF DR. LIVINGSTONE. 
 
 By J. S. Robertson. 
 
 ENGLAND UNDER VICTORIA. By Author of " Grace Darling." 
 LIFE AND TIMES OF GARIBALDI. By Howard Blackett. 
 
 STANLEY AND AFRICA. By the Author of " General Gordon." 
 
 Books at $2. 50 each. 
 
 A MUSICIANS' BIRTHDAY BOOK. Crown 410. 
 
 Edited by Eleonore D'Esterre-Keeling. 
 Padded Green Morocco, 5.00. 
 
 LIFE OF GENERAL GORDON. Royal 8vo. 
 
 By the Author of " Our Queen," etc. 
 
 HLACKIE'S LAYS OF THE HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS. 
 
 Price 1.00.
 
 A 001417940 2