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THE 
 
 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 BLANCHARD JESROLD. 
 
 AUXHOR OF "THE LIFE AXD REMAINS OF DOUGLAS JERROLD ;'' 
 
 " I3IPERIAL TARIS;" " IHE FRENCH UNDER ARMS;" 
 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 WILLIAM TINSLEY, 314, STRAND. 
 
 MDCCCLX. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 THESE CHRONICLES ARE INSCRIBED 
 TO 
 
 ALDEKMAN W. A. MATTHEWS 
 
 I (op SHEFFIELD), 
 
 m GRATEFUL RE5IEMBRANCE 
 
 OP HIS 
 
 GRACEFCL HOSPITALITT, AND HIS 
 
 CORDIAL SERVICES; 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 B.J. 
 
 ckr 
 
 038 
 
PEELIMINAEY WORD. 
 
 NEAraA' all the papers included in these " Chronicles" 
 have appeared in the pages of " Household "Words ;" while 
 some are printed for the first time. For those not 
 hitherto printed, the author ventures to bespeak the 
 indidgence with -which his "Household Words" papers 
 have been received. 
 
 October, 1860. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CH.AJ>TER I. Page 
 
 The Brethren of the Crutch 8 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Brother Lebord's gossip about Paris Lamps ; together with 
 lis account of "A Dinner with a IMysteiy." — Brother Hartopp 
 adds some gossip about the Buonapartes. . . . . . . 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Old Creighton's story of " The World's Common Verdict." — 
 Brother Sands ventures to ask, ""^Tiat is Life? " — The Master, 
 tempted by the success of the Brothers, and delighted with 
 some extraordinary Cavendish, talks about " Pipes !" . . 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Lebord's account of " The French Piou-Piou ! " — A letter 
 from Brother Hartopp's nephew, in which he describes " The 
 Conquering Heroes coming" fi'om Italy. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Brother Balder, the artist, has two di-eams: one, about 
 *' The Best of AH Good Company; " — one, " Sitting Before 
 Chatterton." . . . . . . . . • . . . . . 82 
 
 CH.\PTER VI. 
 
 Brother Frowde describes "The British Museum a Century 
 Ago." — The Master communicates his paper on the " Invalids 
 of the French Army." . . . . . . . . • . . . 97 
 
Viil CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. Pace 
 
 Brotlier Hon-ocks takes the Brethren on an Atlantic Cmise. — 
 "Eyes I\Ia<Ic to Order." — Babbycombe's "Methuselah Pill." — 
 Tilr. Seesaw on "Bubbles." .. .. .. .. .. lit 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Brother Enough addi-esses " Persons about to Many." — 
 Brother Sands, on " Smithfield Races." — A yam over some 
 "Ruins with Silver Keys." — The old men hover over 
 " Protected Cradles." . . . . • . . . . . . . 145 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Brother Frowde discourses on the " Efforts of a Gentleman 
 in Seai'ch of Despair." — The Master dissects "A Subsciiptiou 
 List." — And Brotlier Sands reads a biogi-aphy of tlie "Con- 
 stant Reader." .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 17'J 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "The Queen's Bazaar" visited by Brother Pha?nix. — Brother 
 Seesaw is learned on " Spiders' Silk." — The Master suggests 
 a Nightcap. 198 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HoiTocks gives " Some Experiments made at Sea, by a 
 Landlubber." — Lebord discourses on "An Old Dutch Por- 
 trait ; " and on " A I\Iilky-and- Watery Way." — Brother 
 H?.rtoxip, on "Fate Days." .. .. .. .. .. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The Master announces three papei-s : — " The L-on Seam- 
 stress;" "The Budding Chathams ; " and, it being Christmas, 
 "Christmas in Lodgings." — The Brothers' Christmas Bowl. 2-15 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BRETHREN OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 The Brethren of the Cnitch -were tired of the lagging 
 hoxii's. Wearily to them the sun passed over the heavens. 
 Sitting in the cool cloisters, on summer afternoons, they 
 puffed the blue fumes of their bird's-eye into the air ; and 
 dozed and yawned. They were each familiar ^vith the 
 other. Every experience of the world (still humming 
 without, careless of their withdrawal, and still preparin;? 
 new brothers for the coming years) had been told over 
 and over again. There was not a rent in a brother's 
 garment upon which the feeble eyes of his comrades had 
 not rested. No brother had a relation whose name and 
 fortune were not familiar to the minds of the rest. In 
 this asylum for the vanquished soldiers of the world— this 
 " chapel of ease for all men's wearied miseries" — there 
 was a pervading, unbroken quiet, that befitted, it was said, 
 the ante-room to the sepulchre. These vanquished sol- 
 diers were here gathered together — waiting for their 
 sentence. The world gave them the needful crust and 
 the comforting pipe — as the French lately gave caporal 
 and wine to the captured Austrians. 
 
 B 
 
2 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Vast, soKdly-bviilt — capable of giving comfort to rheu- 
 matic limbs — Avas the venerable Crutch. Tlie lichen had 
 greyed its walls, the weather had rounded its gables : the 
 rolling years had well nigh filled its Httle cemetery. 
 Some few kings had reigned singe masons were busy in 
 the foundations, under the list slippers of these weary 
 brothers into whose company we have crept. There was 
 ivy, and enough, over the wall-ends when the first Charles 
 suffered at Whitehall. Tliis roomy refectory was musical 
 with wooden platters when the Virgin Queen, of the 
 shadowless face, was expecting the Spanish Armada. We 
 never cut wood solidly now, nor hammer iron roughly, as 
 these beams are cut and these bolts are hammered. They 
 are of a more muscular age than ours. There is dust in 
 the chinks of the cloister pavement, we make bold to 
 assert, from the boots of Sir Walter Raleigh. Tlie en- 
 dows through which the brothers look out upon the fading 
 sky, are diamond panes. There are leather stoups in the 
 master's room : and in the gi-eat, dark haU may be seen 
 the place where the rude brothers of the good old times 
 ht their fire, and consumed the smoke thereof. No better 
 place than this could be found for tired man to fill up the 
 list of his years. Gentle Charity spreads her Avings over 
 it, and her smile is there to warm the blood of torpid age. 
 The need of rest presses upon the man who has done his 
 fifly years of work : — 
 
 " The sunne, that measures heaven all day long, 
 At nighte doth baite his steedes the oceau waves among." 
 
 But there are vanquished workmen, who bear their scars 
 Ughtly as ribbons. There remains a hearty kernel in the 
 split shell, sometimes. Weary then were the monotonous 
 hours to the old men whose eyes beamed still, and who 
 
CHRONICLKS OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 had not had. enough of the world. The unbroken round 
 of morning chapel, afternoon dinners, and early supper ; 
 the irksome gowning ; the inevitable silence, fell heavily 
 upon them. And still they sate at their little doors under 
 the cloisters, and wearily blew their bird's-eye smoke into 
 the air ; and, as they dipped their fingers into the hot pipe- 
 bowl from time to time, sighed faintly. 
 
 One summer's evening, while the cloisters were fragrant 
 with the smoke from the Brethren's pipes, the sundown 
 beU tolled. Every brother took his pipe from his mouth 
 at the first stroke. Some drew their hands to their ears 
 to catch the sound ; others raised themselves and tui-ned 
 towards the belfry: but all muttered, " One ! two ! three !" 
 and so on, while the bell tolled. Wlien it stopped, the- 
 Brothers looked at one another. 
 
 " Twenty-one only ! — only twenty-one !" passed from 
 lip to lip. There were twenty-two Brothers yesterday — 
 and the bell calls the number of the aged men whose 
 silver heads the Crutch protects ! There was a stir in the 
 cloisters — the pipes were laid aside — and " Peace be with 
 him !" said the old men. Brother Creighton had passed 
 away, in the night. 
 
 Brother Lebord was elected in the dead man's stead, 
 and took up his quarters in the late Brother Creighton's 
 rooms. In this way every Brother stood in dead men's 
 shoes. 
 
 Lebord was a very brisk brother. He was as spare as 
 a hop-pole ; and when he went to church of mornings, in 
 his rusty black velvet gown, the folds of it hung wofuUy 
 about him. But he had sparkling grey eyes, deep sunk 
 under his skull and behind his high cheek-bones — but 
 sparkling, we repeat. He smoked cigarettes ; and he 
 chattered as he made them, with a freshness that gave new 
 
 b2 
 
4 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 life to the brotherhood. Now, under the cloisters, there 
 were a few merry laughs, and a little animation. Brother 
 Lebord was indeed a welcome addition to the circle. 
 
 He had seen much. He had paid Louis Philippe his 
 allowance (before 1830): he had spoken to the hero of 
 Austerlitz. Talleyrand had bowed to him. He had been 
 head cashier in a great Paris bank, till the Revolution of 
 July broke out ; when he took his savings to Brussels, 
 where he lost them in the tiu'moil which gave Leopold a 
 throne. This turmoil was indeed an unfortunate one for 
 him ; for it not only beggared him, but it cost him also a 
 bayonet wound in the back. To be wounded is unpleasant 
 under any circumstances ; but to be probed in the back ! 
 •This wound was not only a source of perpetual pain to 
 poor Lebord — ^it was, in addition, a subject on which his 
 comrades would rally him by the hour together. He bore 
 both the pain and the pleasantry with grace. He had all 
 the polish of the old French school. His bow to a lady 
 was one of those graceful movements of dignified respect, 
 which look almost grotesque, in these rough days, when a 
 man addresses a lady with his hat on. Lebord looked 
 down with contempt upon the fast manners which marked 
 his latter day. He had bowed his way, under the elder 
 Bourbons, through the most exclusive salons of the Fau- 
 bourg St. Germain. CotJd he then look patiently upon 
 the young sprig of 1855, who told his sister that he was 
 " tol-lol," and described an invitation to pass a quiet even- 
 ing in the company of honest and accomplished women, as 
 " a slow tea-fight?" Brother Horrocks laughed, with a 
 lavigh as loud as the roar of a bull, at Lcbord's ceremoni- 
 ous ways ; and Lebord put down the old sailor with a 
 winning smile, and dominated him by his superior 
 courtesy. 
 
CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. O 
 
 Lebord was, in many tilings, a benefactor to the Cmtcli. 
 He tauglit liis companions how to make coffee ; and lie 
 believed to his dying day that he, among all men on the 
 eax'th, knew how to make perfect mustard. He was an 
 epicui'e in his humble way, and was at considerable pains 
 to humour his educated palate. The old gentleman was a 
 little inchued to light stories, and thoiight very poorly of 
 the reputation of Josephine. He treasured a little greasy 
 almanac, which appeared in the birth-year of Napoleon 
 and Wellington. He had an odd volume of the writings 
 of Charles Nodier, the leaves of which he kept together 
 by the clumsy application of a gutta-percha back. He 
 had also heaps of very worn documents, which included 
 the story of a horrible mystery. This mystery was con- 
 nected with the ruin of his father ; and, somehow, the 
 Prince Regent was mixed up with the said mystery, and 
 appears to have played a shabby part in it. 
 
 Many winter evenings did Brother Lebord begxule over 
 these yellow documents, and many stories did they suggest 
 to him ; indeed, they became rehcs so interesting to all 
 the brothers, that one or two — as Brother Horrocks and 
 Brother Hartopp (a very sour brother as a rule) — begged 
 that Lebord would set forth explanations of them upon 
 paper. 
 
 " But why should / take all this trouble, Brother Har- 
 topp ? You, who have travelled all over the world, and 
 have spun us yams (I think that is the nautical phrase) by 
 the houi' together, don't appear anxious to rub your silver 
 spectacles, and set a quire or two of blank paper before 
 you ! There's the doctor again — mild, kind Babbycomb 
 — he has been in hundreds of houses of mourning : wail- 
 ing and gnashing of teeth have been household sounds to 
 him — yet, devil a word does he write ! Hartopp and 
 
b CIIROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Phoenix have stories behind them ; but they only smoke, 
 and look languidly at the clock. Even Seesaw hasn't 
 enough speculation in him to tempt a publisher with some 
 account of the castles in the air he has built in his time. 
 Then why shoiild I dip my fingers in ink, and strain my 
 poor eyes ?" 
 
 A laugh was Brother Horrocks' answer — a laugh, and a 
 prodigious puff of smoke. 
 
 " Somebody must begin," quoth Hartopp, who was great 
 in platitudes. 
 
 " I've an idea," said Brother Seesaw, who had not 
 spoken up to this time — " yes, I've an idea." 
 
 Brother Seesaw had had many ideas — ^in his time. He 
 had been the boldest speculator of his day ; and he was at 
 his boldest flights when his pockets Avere light. The rail- 
 way panic was his end ; and from Capel-court he repaired 
 direct to the Crutch, in which he obtained rooms through 
 the kind influence of a friend whose fortune he had made. 
 Here he had beguiled the weary hours planning a joint- 
 stock company, for life assurance on a ncAV principle — the 
 principle being that the prenaiums were paid by the com- 
 pany, and that not one farthing was to be drawn from the 
 pockets of the policy-holders. He was hard at work upon 
 the very original tables by which he intended to prove 
 that his principle of gratuitous policies would return twenty 
 per cent, per annum, clear of income-tax, to the share- 
 holders, when the new idea dawned upon him. 
 
 " Let us have it !" cried Brother Horrocks. 
 
 " Are you all ready V" The Brothers nodded, and 
 smiled. 
 
 " Well, neither Lebord nor Horrocks shall have it all 
 to themselves. Let each of us write about something that 
 we have seen. We can meet now and then, as the fit 
 takes us, and read the results to one another." 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 7 
 
 " Capital ! and I'll begin with ." cried Babbycomb, 
 
 starting up. 
 
 " Wait a minute," Seesaw interrupted ; " I've not quite 
 finished yet. I propose that we collect our papers, and 
 sell them to a publisher." 
 
 " Ay, ay, mate," Horrocks chimed in — " and give the 
 money to the Greenmch pensioners." 
 
 " Tlae Consumption Hospital, I should respectfully sub- 
 mit," simpered Brother Babbycomb." 
 
 " Or, say we pay the national debt mth it," called out 
 a Brother — and then a roar of laughter. 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 There were now busy days and evenings in the Crutch. 
 The old porter wondered what the Brothers could be 
 about. Every old gentleman returned home with quiBs 
 protruding from his pocket, or with al^ook under his arm. 
 Brother Lebord borrowed his inkstand : Brother Horrocks 
 had been heard discharging broadsides of oaths over Bath 
 post, in his quarters. 
 
 But the porter's wonder Avas brought to a painful 
 intensity when, on a certain November night, lights were 
 ordered by the master, in the sombre hall; and the great 
 fire was stirred, and there Avas a report among the female 
 servants that hot ale was to be spiced at eight o'clock. 
 
 The master of the Crutch — a man who was blessed with 
 the kindest face iipon which our eyes have ever rested — 
 sank upon the black leather cushion of the high-backed oak 
 chair, at the end of the table, and the Brothers took their 
 seats around hini. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said the good master; and the Brothers 
 smiled. How blessed is the man who, when he rises amons 
 his feUows, and having said "Gentlemen," has already 
 warmed their hearts ! " Gentlemen," said the master, " do 
 me the honor to try this tobacco : I am told it is very fine. 
 If it is too mild for Brother Horrocks, I thmk I can suit 
 him from another pocket." 
 
 A brown leather pouch of comfortable proportions, and 
 a cake of Cavendish tobacco, were pushed along the table. 
 The master whispered the porter Avhen to bring the ale, 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 9 
 
 and then called upon Brother Lebord to address the 
 gentlemen. 
 
 The Brother rose to make a few remarks before he began 
 his reading. He was proud to know that his companions 
 had chosen him to open their readings. He would do his 
 best ; but he must warn them that nearly all his experi- 
 ences had France or Belgium for their scene. He must 
 ask their kind consideration if he read slowly, for the 
 wound in his back affected hini when he exerted his voice 
 much. 
 
 Before he launched, however, into the curious story 
 which he had prepared, and which related to Paris of the 
 present day, he might perhaps be permitted to di-aw their 
 attention to a quaint little book which he held in his hand, 
 and which an old friend of his (whom he used to meet at 
 the Cafe de la Regence, in 1817 and 1818) had sent him. 
 It was nothing less curious than a Histoiy of the Old 
 Methods of Lighting Paris, and was -written by M. Edouard 
 Foiirnier. He would, with their permission, (here the 
 master bowed and smiled) make a few observations on it, 
 where he had marked it. 
 
 " I anticipated," the Brother began, "from the first title 
 of M. Foumier's book, a vivid street-view of the First 
 Revolution — a terrible Hst of impromptu executions carried 
 out by the grandfathers of ouj present allies, under the 
 exciting influences of a popular revolt. But fear was un- 
 necessary. M, Fournier has nothing to say aboiit the 
 revolutionary episodes enacted under the old lanterns of 
 Paris. He deals with the real history of Paris by night. 
 He even glances at the endeavoui's of the ancients to con- 
 trive substitutes for the sun, Diogenes is not too far off 
 to escape the searching eye of the author. The result is, 
 gentlemen, an amusing, if not a very useful, book. 
 
10 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 "The author arrives at Paris, after having glanced at 
 Caligula's ilkimination of Eome — at the nocturnal fetes 
 in honor of Minen'a, applauded by Tacitus, as tending to 
 preserve public morals — at the night-fires burned in the 
 open places of Antioch — and at the facetious essay on the 
 origin of lanterns, pubhshed by Dreux du Eudier, in 1755. 
 He halts in Paris in the fourteenth century, to find the 
 good city still one of impenetrable gloom at night. His 
 description of Paris streets, after sunset, at this epoch, is 
 vivid." Here the Brother translated the passage : — 
 
 ' "VMien the bells of Saint-Meny or of Sainte- Opportune, or of 
 tlie Sorboime, which, accordiag to Villon — 
 
 Toujours a neuf heures Sonne, 
 
 have announced the evening angelus, and the same strokes have given 
 the signal of the couvre-feu or gare-fou, Paris falls into complete 
 dai-kness. The shops are shut, the lights disappear from behind the . 
 leaden windows ; from that, large and ornamented, which is placed 
 above the roof of the shop, to that, narrow and long, which peers 
 down like a cyclop's eye from a high and black gable end. If all 
 lights in tlie sti-eet are put out, nothing bums in tlie houses. The 
 great city, the hoi-rible paving of which makes its streets positive 
 sewers of pestilent mud, becomes from this hour the immense domain 
 of cut-throats. The benighted man runs the double chance of being 
 imbedded in mud and assassinated. Sometimes he has just got out 
 of a quagmii-e when he tinds himself in the hands of some of those 
 eternal bandits, whom we shall discover — even three centuries 
 later — marauding by favour of the darkness. Frightened— but not 
 driven away — at tirst by the lanterns, then by the reverheres, and at 
 last by gas, they long carried on their nocturnal industry with impu- 
 nity. But at the time to which we now refer, these robbers often 
 waited long for their prey. The quagmire was a solitude, the cut- 
 throat's domain had become a desert. Nobody ventured out. After 
 the disappearance of the hawkers, who, at nightfall, hastened 
 through the streets, some crying oublies, otliers common candles, 
 (which they carried in packets, piled up upon baskets), pressing for- 
 ward to the distant sound of the (lare-fou, tlie streets became silent 
 solitudes. The great city, hushed to rest by tlie last cries of the 
 oblayer, awoke only to the shrill cries of the bran-devinier, who, at 
 the break of daj% began to move in the direction of the Halles and 
 the Grand-Chatelet. At long intervals some accidental noise might 
 break upon this silent night — some rapid rays of light flicker through 
 this gloom. Here came the watchman of the dead, whose white 
 
cnnoxiCLEs of the crutch. 11 
 
 robe, oraamentcA with skulls and crossbones, Saint- Armand cursed 
 in the seventeenth century, ringing and crying aloud — 
 
 Reveillez-vous, gens qui dormez, 
 Priez Dieu pour les trespasses. 
 
 Then came the chevalier of the watch, followed by his archers. 
 They marched ^vith a gi'eat display of torches and halberds ; but their 
 pnideuce — their caution — almost resembled fear. The bandits, how- 
 ever, went in strong bodies, so that the gentlemen of the guard, 
 buried in all this mud, would have found it difiRcult to be brave. 
 Still they did theii- business as well as they were able ; and strutted 
 noisily on their way, seeming to say to the good bourgeois — ' Here 
 we are : be at rest.' But they did not conceal from one another that 
 they themselves were fiir from tranquil.' 
 
 " Of these watchmen, M. Fournier has some pleasant 
 anecdotes. Especially ridiculous is the story of Gaulthier 
 Tallart, chevalier of the watch in 1418, who added some 
 musicians to his troop, that the bandits might get out of 
 the way of his steel. Bixt the Parisians were not the dupes 
 of this artifice ; and the pleasantries of the people he pre- 
 tended to protect, made at his expense, soon compelled 
 liim to send away his artists. I shall not follow the his- 
 toiian of Paris lanterns through the IVliddle Ages and all 
 subsequent epochs down to the present hoiir. Still his 
 pictures of Paris lighted by the religious bodies of the 
 capital in the Middle Ages — of the expiatory candles 
 which criminals were compelled to burn on the spot where 
 they had committed a crime — have a certain interest. 
 The subject is perhaps not important in itself; but its 
 study may be of use to men who deal -with historical 
 points of greater moment. Elaborate historical treatises 
 have been written on pastry — on boots and shoes — not of 
 importance in themselves, perhaps, but, I repeat, presenting 
 useful matter for the historical picture-painter. It may 
 not be of great use to know the exact form of pastry con- 
 siimed by Henry the Fourth ; but in a general picture of 
 his reign — in a description of a bancpiet given in his 
 time — such a point might fall into the narrative with 
 effect. In the same way, the 'History of Lanterns,' 
 although not, I repeat, an important work, may be useful 
 to historical pamters and writers, for the minuteness of its 
 details." 
 
12 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Here Brother Lebord put the odd volume upon the 
 table ; adding that it was at the service of any gentleman 
 who might wish to read it. 
 
 He then lifted his paper, and firmly adjusted his 
 spectacles. Short nervous coughs echoed through the old 
 hall. The manuscript was neatly arranged, and tied at 
 one corner with a white riband — spotless, said the old 
 gentleman, as the fleur-de-lis. The master begged the 
 Brothers not to spare his tobacco pouch ; asked whether 
 they were all quite comfortable ; bade the porter stir the 
 blazing fire, and draw the heavy screen more comfortably 
 for Captain Horrocks — then, gently tapping the table with 
 the bowl of his pipe, nodded benignly to Brother Lebord. 
 
 " Here," said the Brother, " is a story Avhich happened 
 to a brother of mine. I make him tell it, as he told it to 
 me. I call it — 
 
 A DINNER WITH A MYSTERY. 
 
 " Even in Normandy, where the sunny valleys, dear to 
 high-capped girls, are bounded - by richly-wooded hdls ; 
 and where the gentle curves of dancing streams break the 
 rigid outlines of cultivated fields — yes, even here, a journey 
 in a diligence was no enviable pastime. The jarring cries 
 of the driver, the monotonous jingle of the bells upon the 
 horses, the parching dust, the interminable rows of poplars, 
 and the plaintive whine of the roadside beggars in their 
 ragged blue — all tended to depress you. The convulsive 
 heaving of the lumbering vehicle only served to deepen 
 your melancholy. Strange that up to the very time when 
 the first French railway was opened, our neighbours had 
 travelled in these moveable houses — that they remained 
 always strangers to the light and swift stage-coach. 
 
 Well, we were once rolling towards Paris, having started 
 from Caen, in one of these bright yellow diligences, capped 
 by a huge and dusty banquette., and we were fortunate in 
 our travelling companion. He was not a lively, but he 
 was a most sensible and pleasant gentleman. We talked 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 13 
 
 of the crops that lay ripening under the powerful rays of 
 the sun on either side of us ; we touched upon many topics 
 of the time ; we passed verdicts, all too lightly, on public 
 men, ' sipping the foam of many lives,' as Emerson has 
 it. And we grew very intimate. Two or three cigars 
 ripen a travelling friendship wonderfully. We exchanged 
 weeds, and described the kno\\'ing dodges by which we 
 had respectively procured unapproachable havannahs at 
 unheard-of prices. So that, on the evening after our 
 departure from Caen, when we drew up in a long, strag- 
 gling \-illage, before a huge whitewashed house, from the 
 windows of which a strong odour of cabbage-soup and 
 onions stole to our nostiils, we were almost ready to 
 tutoyer each other. I clambered down fi"om my elevated 
 position in the banquette^ aided by the vigorous arm of the 
 conductor, and called to my companion to follow me. 
 Only half an hour was allowed for dinner ; and I, for one, 
 was not inclined to lose a single second of the time. But 
 my new friend declined, and pleasantly compared himself 
 to a hermit, as he expressed his determination to eat some 
 bread and chocolate where he was. I had invited him to 
 be my guest : his refusal was gracefully but steadily given. 
 I could tell by his voice that time would be completely 
 lost in pressing him ; so I turned at once into the post- 
 house, and drank my scalding soup in silence. 
 
 Wlien I returned to my seat in the banquette^ I found 
 my travelling companion asleep. The conductor, as he 
 gained his perch near us, threw a light upon the sleeper's 
 face. There was a fretful expression upon it. We started 
 onward, and the noise produced by a whip-thong and the 
 yell of a French driver, the rumble of his vehicle, the 
 clatter of his dingy horses' hoofs, and the jingling of the 
 bells upon the animals' harness — a noise only too familiar 
 to the ears of travellers in the departments of France — 
 woke my friend. He rose quietly to his seat, gave me a 
 pleasant look of recognition, and planting a cigar in his 
 mouth, settled himself in the heavy folds of his cloak. I 
 saw that, now and then, when his head was turned towards 
 the road, and away from me, his eyes wandered round and 
 stole a look at me. I remarked that the conductor, who 
 
14 CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 
 
 was a jolly fellow by nature, answered my companion's 
 questions very coldly. I noticed that when my new friend 
 took the said conductor's cigar, for a light, the conductor, 
 although his cigar was not half consumed, threw it away 
 on its return to liim. My friend saw this sacrifice, and a 
 cloud of anger passed swiftly over his featui'es. Still we 
 full into a gossiping mood once more, and I was pleased, 
 as I had been throughout the morning, with my com- 
 panion's shrewd remarks on passing events, and the serious, 
 not to say sad, view he took of most things. There was, 
 really and truly, a charm in the man's melancholy. The 
 time ran on. We no longer noticed the clatter of the stable- 
 men (with their lanterns flitting round the dark and bidky 
 vehicle) who changed the horses at the post-stations ; we 
 became deaf even to the shrill piping of the driver, and to 
 the bells of the horses. And so chattering, we saw at last, 
 twinkling far oif, in a capacious valley, like a great nest of 
 glow-worms, the wondrous city where we and our plung- 
 ing hoi'ses were to rest. 
 
 I had got up a real interest in my fellow-traveller ; and 
 as we swept down the winding road to the Barriere, I took 
 out my card-case, gave him my name and address, and 
 begged that he wotdd call upon me. To my surprise and 
 mortification he abstained from returning the compliment; 
 and when we turned into the courtyard of the Messageries, 
 in the Eue St. Honore, or thereabouts, he hastily collected 
 his cap and cloak and a little bag, and was, I believe, the 
 fii'st man to jump from the vehicle. He had disappeared 
 in a moment. I said to myself, as I went towai-ds my 
 hotel, there is a secret locked up in that nian's heart. On 
 the morrow the sights and pleasures of Paris drove his 
 figure from my memory. Fellow-travellers and the dead 
 are soon forgotten. 
 
 Like most men fresh from the provinces, I found myself 
 always on the Boulevards. When I had examined every 
 brooch in the Palais Koyal, when I had seen all the 
 notable equipages of the Champs Elys(^cs, when I had 
 spent some hours in the Louvre, or had penetrated to the 
 more modest attractions of the Luxembourg — I still found 
 myself turning with an elastic step towards the Boulevards. 
 
CHROJnCLES OP THE CRUTCH. 15 
 
 The di-amas of the Gymnase and the curious pleasantries 
 of the Palais Royal Theatre had eifaced the figure of my 
 mysterious friend from me altogether ; and I should have 
 forgotten his opinions and his manners for ever had they 
 not been forcibly recalled to me, one afternoon, as I sat 
 before the Cafe Veron, cooling myself, in anticipation of 
 dinner, -with a soda. A strange-looking man, neither well 
 nor ill-di-essed, . crossed the pavement and hurriedly took 
 up his position at a comer table, apart from the rest of 
 the company. I should not have noticed him but that I 
 felt, I cannot tell why, an eye fixed upon me. It was 
 that of a man I had seen before, and had kno^vn. But 
 where ? For the hfe of me I could not remember. So 
 completely had I forgotten the mysterious consumer of 
 bread and chocolate, that his image never rose to my mind. 
 Still I had certainly known this man, and he had known 
 me. He di-ank his beer rapidly, and moved off just as I 
 was moving. At this moment he lifted liis broad-brimmed 
 hat from over his eyes, and I recognised my companion 
 of the banquette. He passed me Avithout appearing to 
 notice me, till I seized him by the arm and recalled myself 
 to his mind. 
 
 I could perceive that he had recognised me before, and 
 it was this conviction that had urged me to accost him; 
 for I was curious to learn the mystery that encompassed 
 him. He appeared pleased to see me, but almost distressed 
 when I insisted that he should dine vdih me. He had 
 twenty excuses, but I oven-ided them all. Every word he 
 spoke deepened my cuiiosity. He saw that he could not 
 escape, and assented, on two conditions — namely, that I 
 would Usten to his story, in the first place ; and then, if I 
 still wished him to be my guest, I shoidd allow him to 
 choose the restaurant, in the second place. I was too 
 generous to hear his story first; but it was only after 
 violent protestations on my part, that the man consented 
 to tell it to me over our dessert. 
 
 We now turned out of the Boulevards, in the direction 
 of the Rue Montorgueil ; but I abstain from disclosing the 
 sign of the house which my companion entered, bidding 
 me to follow. He enquired for a private room; they 
 
16 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 were all engaged. I saw that my guest was greatly 
 mortified, and fretted under the landlady's suggestion that 
 we should be almost alone in the great salon., where three 
 or four students were all the company — and they were 
 about to leave. I persuaded my friend, however, to ac- 
 cept this accommodation; and we entered the salon., where 
 some young fellows were laiighing and telling anecdotes 
 of their stiident Hfe, over the remains of their dessert. 
 My companion marched straight across the room and took 
 his seat in a dark comer, where the gas had been turned 
 down, because all the diners had left. The waiter was 
 about to cast a flood of light upon us, when my guest, 
 apologising to me for the inconvenience, hoped that I 
 would let him dine in the shade — the gas invariably gave 
 him a violent headache. 
 
 I ordered the dinner, offering him the Patrie to read 
 whUe it was being serA^ed. He appeared glad to bury 
 himself behind it. I had remarked that there was one 
 young man in the group of revellers in the light comer 
 of the room, who, when we entered, was leading the con- 
 versation. His companions were appealing to him on 
 several points, and it was to him alone that the waiter 
 spoke, as to the sole person in authority. Once or twice 
 my friend glanced over the edge of the paper at the young 
 man. Having fairly dismissed the waiter from our table 
 with the menu of our repast, and having left my mysterious 
 guest to devour the evening's ncAvs, I turned once more in 
 the direction of the students' table, struck by the sudden 
 change of the young men from noisy conversation to ab- 
 solute silence. The chief of the party — who was dressed 
 in the widest of wide trousers, and over Avhose head was 
 suspended, upon a peg against the wall, the flu.ffiest of 
 fluffy hats — was as pale as death ; and was endeavouring 
 to conceal his emotion by cutting the peel of an apple 
 into infinitesimal morsels. He had evidently alarmed his 
 young companions ; only one venturing, as it appeared to 
 me, to banter him on his small capacity as a wine con- 
 sumer. 
 
 The soup was sensed to us. 
 
 I made my guest drop the Patrie, and gave him some 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRl'TCn. 17 
 
 Jxilienne. He would drink nothing beyond ordinary 
 Bordeaux. We talked very little, and had soon finished 
 the soup — the opposite table keeping np a faint hum of 
 conversation the Avhile. As Ave flirted with our radishes 
 and sardines, the Avaiter appeared, bearing a flaming bowl 
 of punch, which he deposited in the midst of the students. 
 The effect Avas irresistible. The younger men raised a 
 shout, and called tipon their chief to ladle out the intoxi- 
 cating liquid. He obeyed Avith ill-feigned alacrity. The 
 poor felloAv Avas obAdously sick at heart. 
 
 The meat Avas placed before us. 
 
 I helped my friend in silence, for he seemed disinclined 
 to talk. Even the noise of our young neighbours, and 
 tlie blue flame of their punch, that gave a perfectly ghastly 
 hue to the features of their chief, as he stood OA'er it ladling 
 it out, failed to attract his attention. We talked, by 
 snatches, on indifferent subjects. The opposite table, the 
 punch once served out, became quiet again. I was 
 attracted presently by the hissing Avhispers of the revellers. 
 The young men had their heads inclined to a common 
 centre — the mouth of their chief — who Avas telhng them 
 something of the most serious import. But my curiosity 
 Avas mightily intensified Avhen I saAV that from time to 
 time, as the young man proceeded, one listener, then 
 another, turned round and snatched a look at us ! Surely 
 they Avere talking about us ! 
 
 My friend ate his dinner soberly, and never appeared 
 to interest himself in the others' table. When they were 
 Avhispering, he Avas intent upon the dissection of a foAvl 
 that lay temptingly before him upon a bed of young 
 water-cresses. 
 
 The SAveets and dessert lay before us. 
 
 My guest ate rapidly, and talked on all kinds of 
 subjects ; I thought somcAvhat incoherenth". The Avaiter 
 was siunmoned to the students' table ; and" he Avas drawn 
 close up, that he might receive a communication in a 
 Avhisper. There Avas CAidently some mystery in the room, 
 llie Avords ' such company,' ' Ave'U neA^er come again, ' 
 rose above the undertones of the youths, as they 
 addressed the Avaiter. I glanced at my friend, but he Avas 
 
18 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 quietly eating his Gruyere. There was a fixed expression 
 upon his face, however, of profound seriousness. 
 
 The coffee and brandy were laid before us. 
 
 The punch was having its effect upon the opposite table ; 
 and, as the conversation grew once more animated, fierce 
 glances were levelled at us. It was evident that we 
 were seriously objected to. 
 
 There were side-glances and shrugs of the shoulders, 
 meant to indicate the scorn in which we were held. I 
 began to feel my anger rising ; but I said nothmg. 
 
 I paid my bill. 
 
 As the waiter was retiring with the amount, he was 
 detained by the leader of the yoimg men, who, now grown 
 desperate and ungovernable with the punch, hiccupped 
 out something that sovmded to me hke the word 
 'executioner.' I caught the eye of my guest at this 
 moment. There was a wondrously complicated expression 
 in it. He rose ; took down his hat from its peg ; and, with 
 a firm step, walked direct to the students' table. I ex- 
 pected to hear a very proper and timely moral lecture. 
 
 ' Your companion is right,' said my giiest ; and his 
 voice vibrated strangely. ' I am the executor of the 
 hautes oeuvres'' — the executioner of Caen. He knows 
 me well, for he was sentenced to five years' imprisonment 
 and exposure in the town of the department in which I 
 officiate. He (and my guest levelled his finger at the 
 young chief) is a format. Bew^are, young men, of the 
 company you keep. You have known him, I can see, but 
 a few hom's ; well, button up your pockets." 
 
 My guest then bowed to the young men ; and, having 
 paid me a similar honour, disappeared from my astonished 
 sight. 
 
 I literally reeled into the streets. And now, when I 
 am alone on winter nights, I often — too often — see my 
 friend the executioner." 
 
 " Thank you. Brother Lebord," said the master. 
 " When did your brother make the acquaintance of his 
 mysterious fellow-traveller ? " asked Brother Horrocks. 
 " Some three-and-twenty years ago." 
 
CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 19 
 
 " Ay, things have changed since then," was Hartopp's 
 profound obsei-vation. Brother Lebord sighed. He knew 
 nothing of France of the present time. Hartopp, however, 
 was determined to back his platitude. As they were on 
 French affairs, he Avould just give them some passages 
 from a letter he had received. The writer was a nephew 
 of liis — a shrewd observer, and a well-informed person, as 
 they would see. He began -wdth Louis Napoleon. 
 
 " Naturally suggested by Lebord's mysterious friend," 
 said Brother Babbycomb mildly, looking amiably round 
 the table for a thankful recognition of his sagacity. 
 
 " We will hear you with pleasure," said the lu'bane 
 master, " while I fill your glasses." 
 
 The hot ale (I think apples were bobbing, in a livelv 
 manner, about the bowl) had just been put upon the table 
 by the porter. 
 
 Hartopp loved an audience. His companions knew his 
 weakness, and, sly old boys, winked at one another as the 
 proud uncle held his papers at arm's length, and selected 
 choice passages for the enjoyment of the company. 
 
 " Let me premise, said Brother Hartopp, " that I had 
 a.sked the boy for some of his impressions of France and 
 the French. He has lived seven years in Paris, and was 
 educated at Boulogne — so he ought to know somethiuff. 
 Well, he begins at Boulogne. He says — 
 
 " I was a boy at school when Louis Napoleon — amid 
 the laughter of Eui'ope — was securely locked up by a few 
 ill-armed National Guards in the castle of Boulogne-sui'- 
 Mer. I was among the crowd of idle yoimgsters who 
 braved the angiy words of the sentries before the castle 
 gates, and looked steadily iip at that little barred window 
 where, from time to time, the dark, calm face of the 
 prisoner might be seen. My elbows were as vigorous as 
 those of any other EngUsh boy — in those davs when our 
 
 ' c 2 
 
20 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 contempt for the youth of France "vras nndisgnised — ^wlien 
 this same stem prisoner Avas can'ied oiF in a close caniage, 
 surrounded by a regiment of dragoons. I remember how 
 all the boys were secretly disappointed to know that an 
 attempt to fan the good town into a state of revolution 
 had failed. Our sympathies were Viith the stern prisoner ; 
 and not a few of us en-\aed him his pei-ilous position, as he 
 rumbled across the narrow street where Lesage died, 
 towards the Porte de Paris. But w'e soon forgot both 
 him and his adventure ; and, probably, had Louis Philippe 
 cut his head ofF, the fact would not have reached the 
 obscurity of oui' schoolroom. Our masters share in the 
 aifair, hoAvever, Avas highly popular, and was desciibed 
 every night, A\-ith considerable additions due to the vigor- 
 ous imaginations of youth, in the various dormitories of 
 our estabhshment. You may remember, dear rmcle, that 
 Lotus Napoleon reached Boulogne early in the morning ; 
 and that by six o'clock a.m. this valiant fishing-port Avas 
 in a state of alarm. The colonel of the National Guard 
 rushed through the streets of the upper tOAvn, and under 
 our AvindoAVS, shoiiting, *■ Avx Armes P Some National 
 Guards heard the A'oice of their commander, while others 
 liecame siiddenly deaf Among the gentlemen inclined fro 
 liA-e and fight another day, Avas our master. We heard 
 this from a glazier, Avho came one day to mend Avin- 
 doAvs, and Avho happened to be a National Gxiard of M. 
 Soubise's company. Soubise Avas oiir master's name. Hoav 
 Avelcome was that glazier Avhen he assured lis that M. 
 Soubise was laughed at eveiyAvhere as a coAvard ! I am 
 not certain that CA-en at this moment the pleasure I feel in 
 I'ecalhngthe memorable descent of his Lnperial Majesty, is 
 not mainly due to the impression left by the glazier .in 
 our schooh-oom. The big boys made stern resolves to be 
 cuffed no more by the sneak Soubise ; the little boys con- 
 tented themselves A\dth imaginary pictures of Soubise 
 saffeiing ignominious castigation at the hands of somebody 
 'half his size.' 
 
 I heard no more of Lotus Napoleon for many a day, 
 till, on that memorable morning AA'hen the Chartists pro- 
 posed to ride from Kcnnington-common to disperse the 
 
CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 21 
 
 House of Commons and tlie House of Peers, the name of 
 the hero captured at Boulogne came once more under my 
 eyes. That stern face — which I remembered fi-amed 
 between prison bars — had overawed the seditious of 
 Jermyn-street. 
 
 I was fairly interested in the silent, sombre exile; the 
 friend of D'Orsay and Lady Blessington; the man possessed 
 with one great, all-absorbing idea! I read the story of 
 his imprisomnent; and I wondered how sentries who had 
 seen that figure once, foiled to recognise it, even disguised 
 under the blue linen of a Avorkman. Other stories of the 
 Ham imprisonment, which have not been j'jrinted, have 
 reached me. One, connected Louis Philippe's prisoner with 
 the female servant of the prison, and pointed to results in 
 the shape of several lu'chins crawling about, with the 
 blood of Queen Hortense, at all events, in their veins. 1 
 caught rumours floating about society, of the fidelity -wath 
 which the escaped prisoner kept his eyes steadily fixed 
 upon the French cliffs; and hoAV he owed money, and 
 accepted bills, and had mistresses in England — to be paid 
 when he should be governor of France. Then many of us 
 heard tliat account of his conversation with an eminent 
 diplomatist, in which he said that it was his destiny to 
 become Emperor of France; that, in the course of his life 
 lie would be, for some days, master of London; and that 
 in the end he would be murdered in the Tuileries. Part 
 of the prophecy has been accomplished. The stern face 
 I saw through the bars of Boulogne castle, I have since 
 seen, bowing through the Anndows of the- Tuileries. 
 Glorious was the scene on that day when the revived 
 Imperial Guard sunned their glittering accoutrements for 
 the first time under the windows of the Pavilion de 
 I'Horloge! Even amid the silent crowds, who laughed at 
 tlie new guard, there was a grim contentment written upon 
 that calm face, not to be mistaken. The talisman, wrenched 
 by his uncle from the tomb of Charlemange, was still safe 
 xnider his waistcoat. Fire at him, Pianoris ; while he 
 wears that talisman (and cuii-ass) your -bullets shall be 
 harmless! "Well, seen in any light, the man's story has its 
 grandeur. You m:iy laugli at Strasbourg; you may be 
 
22 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 merry over the eagle of Boulogne; you may recall the old 
 steamer that carried him, rotting in the port, xmder the 
 savage eyes of the custom-house officers, who seemed to 
 see sedition even in her ragged rigging. Still, you shall 
 consider his final flight to power, and be compelled to 
 recognise behind that iron mask he wears upon his 
 shoulders, the light of a commanding genius. He governs 
 Europe. He has Frenchmen under his foot. A few 
 writhe and squeal ; but the many are content, and cry 
 ' Vive rEmpereur!'' 
 
 A word about his voice. When he speaks, his words 
 are iron words, and they shoot from his lips hke so many 
 cannon-balls. You have not heard that voice, uncle? 
 Well, I have. And I can tell you that it is an awful 
 voice. The man — a spare, small biped — stands some 
 hundreds of yards off, in his pale bhie coat and scarlet 
 trousers, his tahsman kept warm under the riband of the 
 garter, and the voices of the servitors about him tinkle 
 like weak, cracked bells, upon my ear; but presently the 
 spare figure moves forward, and a sound comes forth, that 
 seems to issue from lips close to my ear. It is the voice — 
 let us fairly allow it — of a strong man. The words are 
 those of one who reads his age sagaciously. That voice 
 was certain to command, before it was extinguished. At 
 last, it does command. 
 
 But his cousin ! The man's beaiing and character are 
 the laughing-stock of Paris. No man laughs — eA^en in his 
 sleeve — at the Emperor. I Avill gi^^e you a touch or two 
 that a\t11 help you to draw a figm-e of great Plon-Plon of 
 the Palais Koyal. 
 
 Here Brother Hartopp sipped his beer ; while Brother 
 Lebord muttered something against the crew that lived in 
 the palaces of the elder Bourbon. 
 
 " Antoine, who is at my elbow" — my nephew's name, 
 Brother Hartopp proudly interposed — "vows that it cost 
 me an effort not to follow the examples presented to my 
 imagination ; but, as I have already declared, Antoine is a 
 very lukewanu Plon-Plonist. I saAV Plon-Plon, not long 
 
CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 23 
 
 since, blowing his cloud through the public streets, and 
 the people dotted along the kerb-stone to Avatch him. 
 Magnfficent sight! I asked Antoine, when the spectacle 
 had passed, and he was covered again, whether he could 
 now realize a picture of a blighted porpoise? He could 
 not — I could. Had Monseigneur been taken by his 
 country's enemies, I am afraid, sadly afraid, that, with the 
 unscrupulous nature of barbarians, they would have 
 turned him to account in the popular shape of dips ! But 
 I fear that, placed even in such favorable circumstances, 
 no light would have been got out of him. The paternal 
 Plon-Plon must be very proud of him, especially Avhen he 
 carries that useless black portfolio under his arm, and to 
 all around him displays the most finished want of manners 
 of any gentleman in Europe. Has Antoine ever told you 
 about his row with the celebrated upholsterer? Yes, 
 Monseigneur had a row, a public row, with an upholsterer. 
 It appears that this upholsterer, in the heat of his com- 
 mercial zeal for the 'powers that be' over the water, un- 
 dertook to fuxnish splendidly a sitting-room and boudoir 
 for his great master and mistress at a certain show of 
 general luxury. He performed his task 'to the perfect 
 content of his powerfvd patrons. Tapestry glowed from 
 the walls, gold sparkled on the tortuous arms and legs of 
 the chairs. Time ran on serenely till nearly the close of 
 the show, when it occurred to Monseigneur that the 
 boudoir and sitting-room Avere ugly. He expressed this 
 opinion as loudly as that queer voice would allow him; 
 whereupon, the bold upholsterer gave orders to shut the 
 doors, and refuse admittance to all applicants, except his 
 august master and mistress. Monseignevir stormed when 
 he heard of this order, and summoned the adventurous 
 tradesman into his a-wful presence. He proceeded to ques- 
 tion him before his servitors. The tradesman calmly but 
 very firmly intimated to his great questioner, that the rooms 
 were not Monseigneur's, and that he, the upholsterer, had 
 a perfect right to exercise his own will as to the admit- 
 tance of the public. I am told that ]SIonseigneur banged 
 his fist upon the table, and screeched his orders to the 
 little man, his secretary, to have a paragraph inserted 
 
24 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 in the Plon-Plon organ, telling the public that they 
 would be admitted to the boudoir as usual. Whereupon 
 the tradesman replied that he should lock the rooms up, 
 and put articles in the foreign joiu-nals describing the po- 
 sition in which he had been placed. He added, I believe, 
 that if Monseigneur himself asked admittance, he would 
 be refused. The rooms were arranged for the illustrious 
 occupants of the throne, and for nobody else ; and, sinc<3 
 their majesties had felt perfectly satisfied with the 
 arrangement, he, the upholsterer, did not really care for 
 the opinion of any third party. If it had not been for 
 him, their majesties Avould not have had a-place to rest in, 
 after their visits to the luxuries of Europe. 
 
 Monseigneur had the worst of it, and the upholsterer 
 went off to chii^ about the affair, no doiibt, among his 
 friends. 
 
 Still, in spite of these odd conflicts with all kinds of 
 people, Monseigneur contrives to pass the greater part of 
 his time gaily enough. He may be sad jiist now, seeing 
 that a dear friend of his is dead. But tliis dear friend 
 never dipped her tragic fingers into her travelling-bag 
 (price £120, was it not, Mr. Meclii?) let us hope, without 
 thinking of the valiant soldier by whose connivance it was 
 smuggled from the gathering of the luxuries of all nations, 
 at the time when the said vahant soldier was arresting 
 other vendors of luxuries, against the rules of the estalish- 
 ment. 
 
 I am really afraid, however, that INIonseigneiir Plon-Plon 
 is an rmfortunate man. Somehow, he never touches any- 
 thing Avithout making a flaw in it. Pie is invited to a 
 public entertainment. WeU, it turns out to be the most 
 brutal gathering of men ever brought about. The results 
 are, carpets hidden under lobster-shells and bread-crusts ; 
 drunken gendarmes dancing in the midst of the company 
 they should keep in order; and jellies kindly emptied 
 into the coat-tail pockets of the more favoured guests. 
 Did the founders of the feast purposely introduce these 
 features to make their illvistrious g-uest at home ? Antoine 
 says that this suggestion is too bad. Wliy, I ask a ques- 
 tion simply ! I am not saying that Plon-Plon the First 
 
' CIIIIONICLES OF TIIK CUUTCU. 2o 
 
 indulges in di-inking-bouts and coarse conversation with his 
 aide-de-cainps, that he is not indifferent to the charms of 
 dramatic talent displayed in petticoats, and that he main- 
 tains the brutality of the corps de garde without displaying 
 the courage of its occupants. To say all this of so illus- 
 trious a person — to pull aside the green velvet curtain, 
 and begging the English people to disregard the golden 
 bees shimmering over its broad expanse — to point into a 
 dark hole behind, where a burlesque copy of a great con- 
 queror is swilling and smoking — to do all this would be to 
 perform a most luigracious act, seeing that the British lion 
 now loves to greet a swarm of these bees buzzing a friendly 
 greeting about his nose. 
 
 Understand, acute uncle, that I am not quarrelling 
 Avitli the bees, for they are very well behaved, indeed — 
 most valiant and chivalrous bees. But because I have a 
 love for the little bodies that mine bravely in the cups of 
 flowers, am I to be the friend of every bumpkin who eats 
 honey ? The family quarrels of the Plon-Plons are no busi- 
 ness of mine perhaps ; Antoine says they are the business 
 of every thinking man. If this were true, I might enlarge 
 on the state of discord in which the Plon-Plons are said to 
 live ; I might slily point to rare Adsits of ^Monseigneur 
 Plon-Plon to the rooms of the great cousin into whose shoes 
 he hopes to find his Avay, sooner or later ; I might give 
 currency to rimioiu's as to the coldness of the terms on 
 which the ladies of the great family jog on. But I abhor 
 and detest scandal." 
 
 " I 'U not trouble you with any more," said the merciful 
 uncle. " But my nephew writes a pretty letter, it seems 
 to me." 
 
 " Capital ! capital ! " This came from the beaming 
 master, of course. Everything Avas capital to this man's 
 happy nature. When the rain was falling, his eye was 
 fixed on the flowers it burst from the seed — not upon the 
 mud it created on his path. 
 
 " Shall we say another pipe, gentlemen, and then bed ? " 
 he asked ; his face smiling round the taljle. 
 
26 CHEOXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. • 
 
 One pipe more was had over gossip about the execu- 
 tioner of Caen, and the Boulogne expedition of Louis 
 Napoleon. Strong opinions were expressed by Brothers 
 Horrocks and Lebord ; and Babbycomb would have di- 
 vided his views of every part of every subject into three 
 heads, if the company could have mustered patience to 
 listen to him. 
 
 But all parted merrUy, and were eager to fix a second 
 night. 
 
 " It shall be soon, gentlemen," said the master. " Good 
 night. God be with you all." 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Brother Creighton has left a paper behind him — 
 with directions for its publication," said the master, when 
 next the Brothers Avere assembled to spend a reading 
 evening. " It is a sad, but, unfortunately, a common 
 story. There are tear-spots upon the paper. The 
 heroine, I believe — as I have reason to beheve — Avas 
 connected Avith poor Creighton. Shall I read it ? " 
 
 "Ay, let's hear of poor old Creighton's youth," said 
 Brother Horrocks. 
 
 "It's only respect to the late deceased," Avas the de- 
 lightfully-conventional ansAver of Brother Hartopp. 
 
 Then, in a SAveet, vibrating voice, the master read the 
 story of 
 
 THE AYORLD'S common VERDICT. 
 
 "There is a happy, quiet village embosomed in the 
 dense foliage of a Kentish valley — not sixty miles from 
 busy London. This village shall be called DcAvberry. 
 The Avoful story that noAV clouds many a bright tace 
 there, must be told Avithout dragging the suiferers into 
 the glare of public light. Though it may be useful to 
 pubUsli the facts, a veil shall be throwTi before the 
 mourners, Avho ask only to grieve alone and imregarded. 
 
 In 184 — , DcAvberry Avas a happy, pi'osperous spot. 
 London Avas as strange a place to many of its inhabitants 
 as Canton or Hyderabad. The seasons Avere marked by 
 the bursting of the buds, the shooting corn, the ripened 
 ears, the sunburnt apple, and avitumu ' laying, here and 
 there, a fiery finger on the leaA'es ; ' not by the closing of 
 
28 CHROKICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 theatres, the breaking up of Parhament, or the openhig 
 of the Session. These latter events were not very in- 
 teresting to people Avho seldom journeyed beyond the 
 nearest market-town, and who were engrossed throughout 
 the year, in agricultural pursuits. The maidens of Dew- 
 berry ruled in the poultry-yard and the dairy ; the men 
 turned the fruitful soU to the sun; gathered in the ripened 
 harvests, and wore out the short days of frost and snow, 
 upon the threshing-floor. The tide of time ran on with 
 scarce a ripple. 
 
 To Dame Marsden was entrusted the task of educating 
 the peasant children. At eight o'clock, daily, ruddv 
 urchins, mth pohshed cheeks, and diity, well-thumbed 
 books, lifted her latch and ranged themselves upon 
 benches in her little parlour. Mary Marsden, more than 
 her mother, perhaps, contributed to the instruction of her 
 little neighbours. Her learning, goodness to her mother, 
 and charity to the poor, were constant themes of praise. 
 Critically, she was not beautiful. Her nose was decidedly 
 not Grecian — almost the reverse ; her mouth was rather 
 large ; and her complexion was, beyond dispute, tar- 
 nished by the sun ; yet from this homely face there 
 beamed an. expression — a soul — that won more heaiLs 
 than her neighbour, ]Martha Maxwell, -with her finely-cut 
 mouth and exquisite nose, could boast of ha-ving caught. 
 Clary's face was a mirror — faithful to the last — of her heart. 
 Her manners, not polished, in the drawing-room sense 
 of the word, were still pleasing — too truly modest to be 
 noticed for their modesty. In short, she Avas one of those 
 warm-hearted, simple creatures, who are never intrusive 
 in their goodness ; but who are content to track ' the even 
 tenor of their way' without an eye to mark the sustaining 
 virtue which guides and protects them. Thus Mary daily 
 toiled through the alphabet -with the I'ustic youth of Dew- 
 berry ; was ready to be called to a neighbour's sick-bed 
 at any time ; bore the temper of an erratic mother ; 
 entered into the little grievances of children, and inter- 
 posed when the parental rod was about to fall xipon a 
 truant's back. She was not the belle of Dewberrv — slie 
 was too quiet and unpretending to take so prominent a 
 
CnRONICLES OF THE CIJUTCH. 29 
 
 place. But in the hearts of the old, rather than the 
 young, she held her seat, without knowing it. Her father 
 had been dead many years ; she had but the faintest me^ 
 mory of him. Of the world she knew nothing. If she 
 believed in e-\dl deeds, her belief was dimmed by the dis- 
 tance at which they ever appeared to be from her. In 
 the peoplv' about her, she had never met with instances of 
 criminal behavioiir ; although many, of course, were only 
 remarkable for that negative morality which keeps clear 
 of the law. She had never fallen in love ; for she had 
 never met Avith a nature sufficiently refined, in the moral 
 sense of the Avord, to awaken her heart from the peace of 
 its daily beating. 
 
 In 184 — , the date when her story opens, an unusual 
 abundance of game attracted a party of sporting gentle- 
 men to a shooting-box situated about a mile from Dew- 
 lierry. Among these was a man of superior intelligence, 
 whose frank and cordial greetings were gratefully wel- 
 comed by tlie village folk. His companions treated the 
 villagers mth disdain : this made his lU'banity the more 
 remarkable. He strolled about the village in the twilight; 
 chatted with the farmers who assembled at the village 
 inn ; and told ghost-stories to the peasant children. One 
 afternoon he sauntered into the village school-room, and 
 found Mary ilarsden correcting the erroi's of incipient 
 Cockers. His manner, when he addressed Mary, was 
 polite — even deferential. He excused the liberty of his 
 intrusion, patted some of the children, and begged leave 
 to cross-question one or two of them. He made innu- 
 merable inquiries as to the rapidity of their progress ; 
 gave, apologetically, an opinion as to the best system of 
 tuition ; and, on taking his departure, very politely shook 
 Mary's hand. 
 
 The eyes that wandered after him as he passed through 
 the garden-gate, had an unusual expression in them. 
 Pausing here, the sentimentalist might pertinently waite a 
 disquisition, citing innumerable corroborative instances, 
 on love at first sight. In the capacity of historian, how- 
 ever, it is only necessary to place facts logically — to hold 
 the balance between truth and falsehood ; therefore it 
 
30 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 may be declared, without preface, that the young sports- 
 man made a particular impression upon poor ]VIary's 
 heart, at once. His easy manners had effectually de- 
 stroyed that sense of superior fortune which chills, in 
 people of low degree, the sympathies that rise suddenly, 
 and without bidding, between persons meeting for the 
 first time, and on equal ground. It was not love that she 
 felt at first ; it was only the tremor that marks its quick- 
 ening. Had Robert Hassell never Hfted her mothers 
 latch again, Mary Marsden would have probably forgotten 
 him in the course of a few months. But he came again 
 and again. One day he brought a huge hiunming-top 
 for her first scholar ; on another occasion he had plums to 
 throw among the children, for a scramble. Mary wel- 
 comed him, each time, with a satisfaction as frank as 
 innocence. If he talked to her, it was only about her 
 scholastic labours ; if he still lingered after the children 
 had left for their respective homes, it was only to look 
 over their copy-books. Even the minutest details of the 
 little village seminary interested him, and Dame Marsden 
 was not a little proud of the gentleman's high-flown com- 
 pliments. He pronounced her homely teachings to be 
 based on a profound knowledge of the infant mind; 
 Mary's hand-writing shamed Smart, and her definitions of 
 words were infinitely more vivid than the lumbering ex- 
 planations of Dr. Johnson. All this was said, and again 
 and again repeated. There was not one touch of malice 
 — not one glimmer of sarcasm perceptible in the words or 
 expression of Robert Hassell. He was frankness itself. 
 His learning was imparted without ostentation, as it was 
 worn without pride. He talked always of elevating in- 
 fluences — of the subtle thoughts which give a keenness to 
 the moral sense — of the harmonies of nature — of the 
 things which humble arrogance to the dust. Mary lis- 
 tened, as the penitent to her priest. Had she read the 
 mighty laws which inile the heavenly bodies ? No. Step 
 forth, then. The sun has passed below the horizon, and 
 from the deepening blue the stars peep forth one by 
 one. The Milky Way creeps like a silver film athwart the 
 mystic dome; the moon peeps above a neighbouring 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 31 
 
 hill. Robert HasseU read the glorious page with scientific 
 precision, and \vith the music of a minstrel. The feet of 
 the village maiden hardly pressed the sod. As the won- 
 drous tale grew from the vivid brain of her companion, 
 she crept unconsciously — but with the awful fascination 
 that with a magnetic influence drags the pilgrim's feet to 
 the edge of the precipice — nearer to her teacher. Still 
 his solemn lesson went on, and she rose with him to 
 heights which only the young and guileless dare. Every 
 word penetrated her soul. To her he Avas a prophet ; — 
 she was in his leading-strings. Almost unconsciously his 
 hand enclosed hers, as they wandered back to the cot- 
 tage : at the -wicket he bade her adieu with a tender yet a 
 solemn voice — but no word of love passed his lips. Mary 
 walked into her home, entranced. In a minute the quick, 
 grey eye of her mother fixed its penetrating glance upon 
 her. Mary awoke from her glorious dream — woke, and 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 ' Mary, you have been a long time ; neighbour Mar- 
 shall teils me I had better look after you and that young 
 man.' 
 
 The fidl was too sudden — too abrupt; Mary could 
 make no reply. She felt that an infinite space separated 
 her and her companion from the poor village people, 
 among whom she was doomed to live ; even her poor 
 mother on that night was, to her, a common, narrow- 
 minded, pitiable old woman. She was shocked at the 
 coarseness of her neighbour's warning, as well as at the 
 unconcern -with which her mother repeated it. How 
 little could they understand the sublime truths which 
 fonned the link — the only Unk of sympathy — between 
 Robert Hassell and herself ! What a vain task would it 
 be to attempt any explanation ! 
 
 ' What have you been about, Mary ? You look con- 
 fused and stupid ! Crazy like ! ' 
 
 Confused and stupid ! She who had been lifted from 
 the earth to look with raptiire upon the machinery of the 
 heavens — she who had never felt the purity of life before ! 
 How the grandeur of the scene was rolling away before 
 the coarse human thoughts which were thrust in upon 
 
32 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 her ! Yet the memory of his voice, the majesty (of her 
 investiture) which encompassed his steps, the lofty ptirity 
 which made her own innocence seem impure — how could 
 these fade away ! 
 
 Again he came : a gain "he bade her penetrate the mys- 
 teries of natiu-e. With him she learned the wondrous 
 story that lay in every pebble at her feet ; ^vith him she 
 unravelled the cui'ious chemical machineiy that pumped 
 the sustaining juices from the bosom of the earth into the 
 veins of plants. He talked of these things first, enchained 
 her irreA'ocably ; then, and only then, he faltered syllables 
 of a human s^inpathy — spoke of love. The miser knew 
 his wealth — knew that -witliin his grasp lay a heart over 
 which he Avas autocrat. He had but to command ; his 
 slave was ready. Dame Marsden heard tlie news of her 
 daxTghter's betrothal \nth pride. Her child Avould be a 
 lady. Robert HasseU's companions might laugh and point 
 at Mary when they passed her gate, but soon she woxild 
 be as good as the best of them. 
 
 Let the tiiith be told of Mary. Here, while we may, 
 let us mark the purity that elevated her love ; the pixrity 
 that made her defenceless. It was enough to know that 
 Robert Hassell loA-ed her; enough for her that in his 
 noble heart she had a share. His superior fortune did 
 not separate them ; so united, so sympathetic were their 
 aspii'ations. Did she wander about alone -with him ? This 
 question was often asked by the prudent matrons of the 
 village. Her virgin pride was a Httle wounded at this 
 implied construction of the relations which existed be- 
 tween her and her lover. Still farther did she feel herself 
 removed from her neighboiu-s ; she pitied their forlorn 
 ignorance ; she was sad when she thought that her good 
 mother felt nothing of that grandeur which filled herself. 
 She clung more passionately to her teacher as the magic 
 of his lessons fastened upon her soul. She entered into 
 the heaven of her love \\nth all the rapture of a novice. 
 Persuaded that she was soaring, she followed, blindfold, 
 the footsteps of her cherished guide. From the lieiglit to 
 which he led her fevered imagination, he gradually began 
 to point out to her the littleness of human dealings, the 
 
■ CHRONICLES OF THE CKUTCII. 33 
 
 paltry consiclorations liy -wlucli men Avoro govornccl — tlw 
 slavery of ciistoin in Avhich people existed. He surveyed 
 the detdings of liis fellow-ereatures, and contrasted their 
 littleness Avith the grandeiir of the spirituality to which he 
 had raised her. And thus entranced, thus weaned from 
 her peaceful home by the power of the very virtues which 
 once adorned it, he led her, l:>y the waves of his wand, to 
 his lair. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 To tell how, when she awoke from her dream, he 
 soothed her troubled heart ; how he allayed the Avounds 
 which gathered in her ; hoAV that potent spell Avhich first 
 lured her to the precipice AA-as once more e\'oked to soothe 
 the smarts of the fallen creature ; hoAV her mother came 
 to comfort her and reprove him ; hoAV she belicA-ed his 
 story and remained to soothe the pangs of his remorse ; 
 hoAV she believed that, in the eye of her God she Avas his 
 Avife ; hoAV she chmg to him, and dared the world — still 
 Avorshipping, Avith a Avoman's Avhole soul, the author of 
 her shame ; and hoAV, at last, maternal anguish Avas borne 
 Avithout a murnnir — Avould be to reiterate an old, old 
 stor}', told again and again, in e\'ery journal that is laid 
 
 upon the breakfast-table. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 A pale, poor creature is A\\indering near the little cot- 
 tage — the old school — of Dewberry. The windoAvs are 
 closed ; not the faintest light streams from any casement. 
 The old Aveathercock creaks under the pressure of the 
 AA'ind ; the moon is smeared at freciuent intervals by the 
 scudding clouds. The leaves of autumn rustle along the 
 high-road. A year has elapsed since the shooting-party 
 inhabited the box that can be faintly traced upon the 
 broAV of a neighl^ouring hill. In the eyes of the poor 
 wasted creature, aa'Iio is Avandering fitfully about, there is 
 a, serene, lieaA^enly light, AA'hen they are raised heaven- 
 Avards. With Avhat a rapt expression is that pale face 
 tunied to the stars ! What history can that poor creature 
 read in the mystic higliAvay? She is not in distress, for 
 her face is calm as a child's in sleep : is it not calmer ? Is 
 there not in that bosom a licaA^enly hope — is there not in 
 
 D 
 
34 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 that fevered brain a resolution tliat lias vanqnislied fear? 
 "What tempts so young a creature to l)rave the night, with 
 a child in its earliest sAvaddling-clothes ? A pleasant river 
 nmnnurs not far off; thither she is driven. By whom? 
 The world must answer. A lingering look at the darkened 
 cottage, a few steps, and the mother and child are — where ? 
 The statute-book will tell us. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Solemn men gather about the door of the Dewberry 
 Arms. There is not a smile upon the face of t)ne of them. 
 The parlour of the inn is arranged -witli scrupulous neat- 
 ness ; there is not a footprint upon its sanded floor. 
 Presently, one or two country gentlemen arri-\-e, call for a 
 little brandy, and wonder how long they are likely to be 
 detained. 
 
 ' liather a serious case, sir, I am told,' said one gentle- 
 man, addressing a young man near him. ' Yes, so I hear. 
 It's hanged inconvenient for me — I was going to the 
 Snobblebury ^leet this morning.' 
 
 'Hoi — here's the coroner I' the first speaker inter- 
 nipted. 
 
 The official in qiiestion jimiped from his gig, and went 
 direct to the parlour. Having gone through the usual 
 preliminary fonnalities, he suggested that ' the gentlemen 
 of the jury ' should at once proceed to view the l^odies. 
 
 ' It 's not far off, I hear,' the official continued. ' I '11 
 ask where !Mrs. ^larsden's cottage is ? ' 
 
 Having received the necessary direction, the gentlemen, 
 headed by the comity coroner, Avalked slowly down the 
 High-street of Dewberry. Tliere was a solemnity in the 
 perfect stillness that reigned throughout the village. 
 Eveiy shutter was closed — every matron paused from her 
 daily laboiirs. 
 
 Dame Marsdens cottage, however, was the spot to 
 which the grie-\-ing villagers plodded their way, to offer, 
 in blunt and imcouth language, their sense of the loss 
 which the poor old woman had sustained. In the village 
 school-room lay the bodies of ^Mary !Marsden and her 
 child. There, in the scene of her daily labours — where 
 she had endeavoured, to the liest of her ability, to 
 
ClIUONICLKS OF THE CRUTCH. 35 
 
 stronjrtlion the nionil sense of lier nc'iglil)(>ui's' children — 
 lay llie tragic end of lier own weakness. How those i-yes 
 ari' s\uik ! how the clieek is Idanched and wrinkled! how 
 the liand has faded to a trellis-work of bone and nmsch; ! 
 The child, with its ])nl]»y lips, its dimpled arms, its cheriil) 
 smile, hes at the maternal side; di'frauded — and by whom? 
 — of its life, at the threshold of its existence. 
 
 With this hapless Avreck the law proceeds to deal. Let 
 lis stand back, and learn the sentence to be pronounced 
 npon INIary Marsden and her child. The coroner, fol- 
 lowed by the gentlemen of the jury, enter the Aillage 
 school-i'oom, incjuire whether there are any marks about 
 the persons of eitlier of the deceased; exclaim, 'Poor 
 tlungs!' and retire to the village inn. From the jury- 
 room, the following report goes forth to the world : — 
 
 ' Coroner's Inquest. — Mr. , coroner for the Couuty, as- 
 sembled a highly respectable juiy at the Dewbeny Amis, Dewberrj', 
 to inquire into the circumstances of the death of Mary Marsden and 
 
 lier child, who were found di'owned, in the river, on the iustiint. 
 
 It appeared from the e\T.deuce of the young woman's motlier, that her 
 daughter had formed an attachment for a gentleman of fortune, who 
 visited Dewberry last shooting season. Suddenly the young woman 
 who had previously borne an iiTeproachable character, disappeared 
 fi-om her home. It appeared that the gentleman who accompanied 
 lier (Robert Hassell, Esq., in the ser'^ice of the East India Company) 
 told her that he considered her as his vdfe, and that the only reason 
 for his delay in taldng her to the altar was that he feared the anger 
 of his mother, from whom he had large expectations. After the birth 
 of a child, however, the gentleman suddenly disappeared, and wrote 
 a letter to the young v-oman, infomiing her that he was on his way 
 to India to join his regiment and his wife. The evidence of various 
 witnesses went to show that the young woman was in the habit of 
 walking out with Mr. Hassell, after dark ; that when last seen she 
 was calm, and, to all appearances, was in the enjoyment of her 
 reasoning faculties. Under these circumstances, the juiy, after a 
 short deliberation, returned a verdict of Wilful Murder of the cliiid, 
 and of Felo-ile-xe ; and ordered the remains of the young woman to 
 l)e inteired at night, without the customaiy religious senice.' 
 
 How then stands the case between Mary Marsden. 
 Robert Hassell, and the world "? Robert Hassell is liable 
 to be sued for damages 'for loss of service:' he pays the 
 money, and is acquitted of his sin towards society. He is 
 still 'an officer and a gentleman.' Had he robbed ^Nlary 
 Slarsden of a peimy-picce, he would have been sentenced 
 
 ]> 2 
 
36 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 to a practical lesson in rotatory motion at a certain Brix- 
 ton school ; but, inasmuch as he rolibed her of all that 
 makes life estimable and honourable, he Avas, so the law 
 tells us, indiscreet only, and must open his purse to the 
 parents of his victim. Yet how great were the odds 
 throughout against poor ^lary !Marsden ! AU his learning 
 — all the refinement Avith which it is possible to mask 
 treachery — all the holy powers entriisted to man to Avin 
 OA^er and elevate woman — Avere brought to bear Tipon 
 a sensitive creatiire, Avhose purity and sensibiUty made 
 her only an apter victim. 
 
 She falls ! Hoav stands her account Avith the Avorld 
 noAV V The scorn \\4th Avhich she is levelled to the dust 
 is knoAVU too well. Her child — innocent as it came from 
 the hand of God — ^is branded. On all sides she sees only 
 averted faces. She has a heavy load of shame to bear. 
 She is poUvited — set aside from the immaculate society 
 that shrinks from the contamination of her touch. 
 
 The inheritance of her babe is infamy ; she bears the 
 penalty of her frailty Avith a courageous heart aAvhile. 
 The baby has its father's features — features dear to the 
 mother even noAV. How mighty is the A-engeance. and 
 how irrevocable ! See, she sinks beneath the Avithering 
 touch of her immaculate fellow-creatures. She Ha'cs in so 
 piu'c an age, that she must not noAV raise her eyes from 
 the gi'ound ; she is made at length to loathe herself Her 
 brain becomes disjointed. Surely there is more lenient 
 judgment for her in another Avorld. This thought fastens 
 itself on her soul : it pervades her being — it follows her in 
 her sleep. It conquers at last ! 
 
 Yet the A'engeance of the Avorld does not die out A\"ith 
 her death. That burning Ioa^c that made even the maniac 
 mother clasp her child to her heart, and take it Avith her, 
 in her fear of the shame to Avhich the Avorld had doomed 
 it, is ' Wilful ]SI\irder ' — her mad destniction, infamous ! 
 
 The torch-bearers gather about her mother's home. 
 They bear her body sloAvly, silently to its grave. That 
 religion, the spirit of Avhich is charity, forgiveness, and 
 love, is not for her. Not only Avas her life judged, and 
 her earthly career ^legraded, but tAvelve men declare that 
 
CIIROMCLES OF THE CRUTCH. 37 
 
 she is lost, and may not lie prayed for. A Christian jury 
 prejiidges her before her God. Let not a clergyman com- 
 mend her spirit to her Maker, for twelve conntry gentle- 
 men know that the inteveessiou is useless. As the world 
 has tracked her with the scent of a bloodhound, so shall 
 vengeance follow her hereafter. 
 
 Turning from this true hist<,)ry, how soothing is it to 
 welcome the outpouring of a heart truly lunuan — to follow 
 pensively this Christian lesson : — 
 
 * Cross her hands humbly, 
 As if prajdiig devoutly, 
 
 Over her breast ! 
 O'svniiig her wealaiess. 
 
 Her evil behaviour, 
 Aud lea^■iug, with meekuess, 
 
 Her siiis to her Saviom- ! ' 
 
 And liow shall it fare with Robert Hasscll ? He is on 
 his way to India — to a career of glory, to lie closed, iu 
 due time, by an officiating priest. WcU, will there not 
 be, after all, more reason for prayer over the grave 
 of Robert Hassell, than over tlu^ body of poor Mary 
 ^larsden?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, true enough, HasselFs the white-livered 
 rascal to pray for," said Brother Horrocks. " But, while 
 I prayed for him, wouldn't I lay a rope's-end about h.im, 
 if I coidd get a grip of him." 
 
 "That story explains much to me, in poor Creighton, 
 that I eoidd never understand. In the first place — "' 
 
 " Order ! " cried the master, gently — to the relief of the 
 company, who feared the three heads of Babbycomb — 
 to the last speaker. " AVe have another paper for this 
 evening.*' 
 
 " Somethhig lively, I hope," said Lelx)rd ; " or we shall 
 dream of poor Mary Marsden." 
 
 " AVell — yes ; I think I may say it is lively, may I not, 
 Mr. Sands ? " 
 
38 CnitONlCLES OF THE CRL'TCir. 
 
 All eyes were turned n]>on little Brother Sands ; ri 
 timid, old man, witli laughing eyes, and an imploring 
 expression, that melted your heart Avhenever you looked 
 at him. " Would tlie gentlemen really do him the h(jnour 
 to listen to his liumhle effort? In the presence of siieh 
 distinguished — " 
 
 " Never mind all that palaver, Sands," roared Ilorrocks 
 — " out with it, like a man." 
 
 Brother Sands pulled out his papers. Ilis " little con- 
 ti'ibiition " Avas -written upon the backs of notes; and it 
 took the iierA^ous little reader full ten mimites before he 
 could begin. 
 
 At last, he said : " IMy little paper, gentlemen, is — lia ! 
 ha ! — a mere trifle — a few answers, in point of fact, to the 
 great question — 
 
 "WHAT IS LIFE? 
 
 I will, tlien, with yoiir kind permission, l)egin." 
 
 " The prosiest of men, as well as the most unaginative 
 — the lonely weaver at his monotonous lal)oui-, and the 
 spent dandy in his sickly morning — the hot-eyed semp- 
 stress, and the gorgeous lady — the dullest book-keeper, 
 and the grandest poet — have asked themselves, in various 
 moods, one question — 'What is life?' The answers to 
 this univei'sal qiiery -would fill volumes. In each reply 
 there is a view of the respondent's life. Let us glance at 
 a few of them. 
 
 The first gentleman who und(;rtakes to define life for us 
 is not of the most amiable cast of mind ; decidedly not 
 the gentleman with whom we should be inclined tt> make 
 a voyage round the woi'ld. He begs to inform us that 
 life is a desolate joiirne)^, beset at every step by briars. 
 Not at all an encouraging ])rospect to yoiing people, 
 flushed with hope, who are starting on the voyage — who 
 are just al)out to put tlieir first finger upon the treacherous 
 thorns. This genthanan we recognise as of that pecidiar 
 
C'lIUOXICLES OF THE curTCir. 39 
 
 class Avlu) put mourning upon l^ridos — reminding them, 
 just by way of damping tlu'ir pivsc-nt happiness, that the 
 morrow may find tlieir lover in his grave. Not (juite a 
 reasonable coursi; this, in our opinion. We all know that 
 driatli is inevitable, and not a few of us, let us hope, do 
 something as we proceed in life, to fortify us for the 
 a])proach of the enemy Avhen he advances upon tis. But 
 Avhy be sniffing continually at tlie door of the cliarnel- 
 house 'i 
 
 Another individual approaches Avith a definition. He is 
 a solenni man, not to be lightly approached by any one. 
 He is not to be tiiiled with on any occasion. We slioiild 
 say he did not smile on his wedding-day. Life, be tells 
 us, is but a joiu-ney to the grave ; therefore, men are to 
 pucker tlieir faces into the most serious i-xpression, and 
 live near an luidertaker. Tins is a most melancholy gen • 
 tleman, who Avears his sadness as other men Avear holidjiy 
 looks — who is, in fact, very proud of his solemn a,spect. 
 He shines at funerals ; and perhaps the proudest moment 
 of his life was when, as chief motu'ner, he followed his 
 father to the grave, between rows of staring strangers. 
 
 And now comes a jovial, reckless fellow. He is a little 
 worn, Ave think, and tlie l^rightness of his eye siiggests the 
 use of artificial stimulants. He is a thoroughly careless 
 man. Careless of dress, careless as a husl)and, careless as 
 a father, particularly careless in business — and careful 
 onlv to imbibe his proper, or rather improper, cpiantity of 
 spirits before going to bed. Yet he, Avith all his laissez 
 faire logic, has liis definition of life. He lirings it out 
 patly enough, ask him Avheii you may — to him life is a 
 farce. He is, at bottom, a hapless individual, Avith very 
 little faith in the social virtues ; inclined to laugh at 
 heroism and to palliate ruffianism ; yet, hunself, a tho- 
 roughly good-hearted felloAA*. 
 
 A prettv girl uoav trijjs toAvards us Avith her definition. 
 She is of the sentimental school ; Ave see that at once. 
 .She has a Avhite rose in her hair ; her cheek is pale, and 
 she sighs frec[uently. ' Life,' she says, ' is a tloAA'er — 
 to-day, bright and Ix-autiful; and to-morroAV, nipt by the 
 frost.' We thought so ; exactly the definition Ave expected. 
 
40 CHROXICLllS OF THE CRL'TCH. 
 
 She is a young lady who, possessing much natural sense, 
 and having one day opened an odd volume of philosophy, 
 conceives that she has an insight not A-ouchsafed to com- 
 mon mortals — that she is etherealised, and that all her 
 thoughts must be conveyed to the outer world in meta- 
 phors. She is passionately fond of flowers, adores the 
 megatherium, and has much to say (out of an elementary 
 geological work) on the tertiaiy formation. She informs 
 her partner, in the course of a cpiadrille, that experience 
 teaches her she exists as a tangible reality, but philosophy 
 tells her that she only exists in her imagination. Many 
 readers have met the young lady. The last Ave heard of 
 her Avas, that she had adopted the Bloomer costume, and 
 expected a cornetcy in one of her Majesty's household 
 regiments. 
 
 [Here the Brothers laughed loudly — possibly to en- 
 coiu'age Brother Sands.] 
 
 And now Ave are to obsei-AC a A^ery salloAV young gen- 
 tleman, buried in the muslin and gauze of a dozen A'oung 
 ladies, Avho are listening A\ith open mouths. We remark 
 that the young gentleman's hair is Avorn extremely long, 
 and parted doAvii the middle of his head. The Avorld is 
 alloAved to see uauch of this young gentleman's neck, Ave 
 also perceive. A glance at his shirt-collar — completing 
 the solemn picture — Ave recognise the unacknoAvledged 
 poet ; the injured individual Avho haunts the coteries of 
 Islington to Avhile aAvay time, till posterity pronoiuices a 
 final and triumphant verdict on his poems, entitled, 
 ' Sarah Anne, and other Verses.' Here he is, an infinitely 
 condescending Apollo, and the young ladies, not Avithout 
 trepidation, hint that they have blank leaves in theii* 
 albiuns. To one he gives an impromptu A\Titten on the 
 summit of ^lont Blanc ; to another favored lady he pre- 
 sents his lines on tlie decease of a faithful spaniel ; and, 
 to a third, he offers an answer to the great question. 
 Here it is : ' Life is a rapid riA-er, floAving into a myste- 
 rious sea.' This definition, according to the poet's confi- 
 dential friend, is true poetry, for ' it leaves plenty to the 
 
CIIIIOMCLKS OK THE CKUTCII. 41 
 
 iningination.' Oiirpoet de;ils in the vagno and mysterious 
 exclusively ; and dandles Death through his verses with 
 that sportive activity which, according to himself, only 
 truly great minds can comprehend. He plays at footV)ail 
 with the destinies, and territies young ladies by the levity 
 with which he alludes to all that is solenui in life, and 
 terrible in death. This is pitiful ; lie Avould have made a 
 cajiital banker's clerk. But, luckily, one of his circle has 
 the hardihood to rebuke the presumptitm of his verse ; to 
 advise the cutting of his hair, and to point out the danger 
 in which his expf)sed neck runs. This bold friend is a 
 lady, Avho, if she have any pride, is proud of the gentle- 
 man she ' sits under.' She is an uneasy maiden female of 
 Hve-and-thirty, who thinks that jewellers should be in- 
 dicted for openly displa^dng wedding-rings in their shop- 
 windows. Her coffin is continually before her eyes. She 
 has the profoundest conviction of the uncertainty of 
 things, and is known to have rebxiked a jovial party for 
 appointing a future pic-nic, without reflecting that they 
 might all be in their graves belVire the day arrived. She 
 tells her friends that life is a thread, snajit in an instant. 
 She has lately advertised for a situation as a cheerful 
 companion to a nervous or h>-]iochondriacal person. 
 
 And now let us stop another passenger in the great 
 thoroughfare of the world. Care has tattooed his face 
 terribly ; lines intersect every inch of his forehead ; his 
 eyes lie liack from the daylight, \inder his puckered l)row; 
 coarse lines ramble about his mouth — we linger no longer 
 over the picture : he has fought a great, stern battle -^vith 
 the world, and has lost. The honey of his young nature 
 lias turned to gall. He has not a smile left for any of us. 
 Well, not a few of these stern men pace our London 
 streets, with sixty years upon their shoulders, and empty 
 purses in their pockets. They are men who have pros- 
 pered in the beginning, and failed in the end. And they 
 Avhisper in the ears of the flushed ytmths who hasten past 
 them in the great struggle, words of sad import — syllables 
 that slacken the vigour of young blood often. Life, our 
 tattooed fiiend declares, is a hideoixs nightmare. Toil, 
 
42 CIIRONK'LES OF THE CRLTCII. 
 
 and fret, and Avoe, encompassing us all, at every step we 
 advance, only bid us farewell when the sexton takes us in 
 hand. 
 
 Not by any two of ns, in short — not by the bride and 
 bi'idegi'oom at God's altar — is the question answeralile in 
 the same phrase. AVe have a letter from an old-fasliioned 
 friend of ours, who has adopted an answer to the c[uestiou 
 under discussion, as his seal. A vessel (whether l)rig or 
 schooner the engraver has not allowed us to determine) is 
 rolling tremendously upon a red cornelian sea, so that it 
 is evident to the most inexperienced spectator she cannot 
 keep abt)ve water, or above cornelian, many minutes. 
 Under this terrible picture are these words — ' Such is 
 life ! ' Life, to a vast number of persons, is a path of 
 various Avidths : to the A'ery serious it is the narrowest of 
 paths; to the jocose, it is a broad and pleasant highway; 
 to the young, it is a green lane, hedged Avith flowers, and 
 arched over with the ' crescent promise ' of the rainl)ow ; 
 to the sceptical, it is a maze. To another crowd of indi- 
 ■viduals, life presents itself in various spaces of time ; to 
 thousands it is a brief hour, and, to the particidarly ]ihilo- 
 sophic, a second, and no more. An impetuous friend 
 interposes with his definition, and as it represents, in some 
 way, the class of answers Ave should receiA-e from tin- 
 numbers Avho go through life, panting all the Avay Avith 
 the speed of their ])rogress, Ave give it. Life, says ovu' 
 im])etuous friend, is a flash of liglitning. 
 
 The Aexed (juestion has, in truth, so many ansAvers, that 
 they might fill thick octaA'O A'ohunes. Everj^ poet, CAany 
 statesman, every essayist, cA^ery philosopher, has had his 
 epigrammatic reply to oiu* question. ^Ir. Carlyle starts 
 forAvard Avith one — 
 
 ' Wiat is life ? A tlKurius iee-hoanl 
 On a sea ydili sniniy sliore — 
 Gay we sail — it melts beueatli ns, 
 We are sunk, and seeu no more.' 
 
 Generally, to assure us of its rapid extinction, IiaA-e 
 poets Avrittcn types of lite. According to one poet it is 'a 
 SAveet deliLsion ; ' Avhile another plaintively asks — 
 
CIMJOyiOLKS <>I' THK OUUT(MI. 43 
 
 ' Oh, Life ! is all thy song 
 Eiuliire, luiil — ilio '.' ' 
 
 Snri'lv, not in any si'uso i-an lit'c l)o so iutcriuvtrd ; for, 
 it" it wi'iv so, in vaiu would tho poet's song 1)0, iiml all 
 Tinnotici'd tlu> niid-dav lark niiirlit niako tlio lioavons 
 musical to us I OtluT poetical tVicmls approach Avitli 
 definitions : — 
 
 ' Oiu- lifo is nil idle hont, 
 AU)iig a wiuiliug liver.' 
 
 Ilciv a lilcam nt' pliilosopliy lipflits flic bunK'U. Idle the 
 boat is, liencrally, compared Avith its capacity for naviua- 
 tion, and little often do we accomplish of the mighty siuu 
 of lahour tiiat lies in the hands of the weakest of us ; but 
 not altogether contemptible are imr realisations, and it is 
 hardly for ns, Avith all our weakness oi' purpi>se, to cry 
 aloud woe and sadness, and let the boat float errandless 
 and empty out to sea. 
 
 I am fairly besieged with definitions — now. Life is a 
 boat, an iceberg, a nnuldy stream, a jH'llucid riyer, a game 
 at chess, the toss of a coin ; a bubble, ;v comedy, a tragedy, 
 a Inulesiiue, a poem to the end, a dull passage of ])rose, an 
 ebbing tide, a sandbank, a dream, a fitful feyer, Ccc, »S;c., 
 &c. It is interpretinl by a thousand images, because it. 
 has its tlumsand phases — because it is supportable or 
 insupportable, according to the realisations of each indi- 
 vidual. It is a dream to those who wander through the 
 Avorld with tlu-ir hands in their pockets, as Longfellow 
 infers : — 
 
 ' Toll iiic not, in nionnifiil nnnihi'i-s, 
 Life is lint nii empty th-finu ; 
 For till' soul is (lend thnt slniuhers, 
 And things nvo not \vh;it they scoiu.' 
 
 To the heated speculator, busy with the rise and fall of 
 fuiuls, it is the toss of Ji coin; to the indiflerent it is a, 
 cinnedy ; to few, indeed, let its hope, is it a dull passage 
 of prose ; and to iewi-r still may it be a tragedy! But 
 may many say with Longfellow again — 
 
44 cirnoMCLEs of the cnrxcH. 
 
 ' Life is real — life is fieetiug, 
 
 Aiid our liefLi-ts, tliougL stout aiul brave, 
 Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral mui-clies to the grave.' 
 
 And now we must close our chapter of definitions. Not 
 to doleful music would we give our oa\ti particiilar defini- 
 tion ; but rather to a cheerful measure, full of hannony, 
 a touch of tenderness here and there, ahvays a thoroughly 
 coiTect and earnest accompaniment, and happy light airs 
 treading upon the mournful burdens, to reheve the 
 -n-hole." 
 
 Brother Sands threw his irregular manuscript upon tlie 
 table, sa}-ing, that " it Avas a hasty production, vinworthy 
 of the subject — but," he added, modestly, " to quote Jean 
 Paul, ' I have cnunbled bread into a famous soup for you, 
 and leave yoii sitting with the spoon.' " 
 
 " Capitally said, Brother .Sands," said the master, tap- 
 ping the tal)le Avith his heavy pipe. Sands was confused 
 with the compliment, and tittered like a young huly, as 
 he sipped his hot ale. 
 
 "We have still half-an-hour, gentlemen," said the 
 master ; " and, if you Avill alloAV me, I Avill read you some 
 notes I made the other da}-, of my recent visit to the jjipe 
 manufactory, Avhen I bought the exquisite straws I trust 
 you are enjoying." 
 
 "That's it^ — capital I Silence for the master," roared 
 Horrocks. 
 
 " Silence, gentlemen I silence I " echoed roinid the table. 
 
 " Well — I '11 begin at once," said the master. 
 
 "I have an eccentric friend, whom I meet occasionally. 
 He cannor be said to have an im|uiring tiu-n of mind, or 
 iisiaally to busy himself Anth the science of industrial 
 economy. Babbage is an unknoAvn Avriter to hun : and 
 he has not yet contrived to ' get up ' any interest in the 
 recent Reports on Her Majesty's Customs. In fact, I 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 45 
 
 should not be surprised if he never opened the interestinii; 
 vokinies in question. He is ;i man with an active mind, 
 neverthek'.ss ; hut this activity is expended, as a rule, in 
 eccentric i)ursuits. He has one conlirmed antipathy — he 
 hates a purpose. Since he heard that 1 had taken an 
 interest in the Avronj^s of factory ckildren, he has treated 
 me with marked coolness. Yet he is a man with an 
 excellent heart. Let me at once give the key to his 
 character. jSIost people haA'C one serious object in life, 
 therefore he is opposed to all seriovis objects. Lately, I 
 met him Avalking briskly on his way homeward, and I 
 consented to accompany him. Suddenly, he remembei'ed 
 he must make a call belbre he entered his chambers. 
 
 Tliis call led us out of a great thorouglifare, through two 
 or three narrow and dark streets, to the door of a dingy 
 house. As we paused on the threshold, my companion 
 asked me if I had ever seen a tobacco-pipe manufactory. 
 I expressed my hiexperience ; and, having been cautioned 
 against sermons on what I was about to see, followed my 
 eccentric friend down a dai'k passage, which terminated in 
 a very dirty and a very dark warehouse. A few samples 
 of tobacco-pipes lay upon a coimter, and one side of the 
 warehouse was skirted with drawers full of " yards of 
 clay " — my eccentric friend's ordinary expression when 
 alluchng to his pipes. In a dark corner, a strong man Avas 
 savagely punching huge blocks of clay Avith a heavy 
 Avooden bar ; in another corner lay a prodigious pile of 
 clay blocks in a rough state — a]iparently a heap of dirt, 
 of httle iise to anybody. A mild Avoman — the Avife of the 
 manufacturer — shoAved us about, Avith a cheerful manner. 
 My friend, Avho took an evident interest in all the processes 
 Ave Avitnessed, still contriA'cd to maintain his eccentric 
 habit, by continually expressing his unconcern. As Ave 
 Avatched the skilful action of the Avorkmen's fingers, my 
 friend alloAved that they played the fiddle Avell, but added 
 that they could on I// play the fiddle. HoAveA'er, I left him 
 to pursue his eccentric Avay, and Avandered about, myself, 
 Avith unfeigned CTiriosity. 
 
 Turning from the nmscular felloAV Avho Avas beating the 
 rough clay Avith the Avooden bar, and moistening it, that 
 
46 ClIROXICLES OF TIIK CKUTCH. 
 
 it might yield to the pressure of the monkl, I sucldenly 
 saw a black, gaping mouth l)efore me, that seemed to he 
 in the agony of swaUowing a dense stack of tobacco pipes ; 
 this, I learned, was the pipe-kiln. The pipes are arranged 
 in exact rows, and in vast quantities. I ventured to 
 express mv astonishment at the nmnber of pipes in the 
 eapacioxis kiln ; whereupon the clay-V)cater paused from 
 his labour, and, with a smile that expressed pity for my 
 ignorance, declared that there was a mere handful on tlie 
 premises. ' There are a few still, up there,' he added, 
 ])t)inting to the roof of the Avarehouse. 
 
 I followed the direction of his finger, and saw above me 
 a roof of tol)acco-pipes piled in regidar rovv-s,upon brackets. 
 The number appeared incalculable, but tlie clay-ljcater 
 contemptuously pronounced it insignificant. He informed 
 me that I might see ' a few more,' if I woxild have the 
 goodness to go upstairs. 
 
 ]\Iy troublesome friend vowed that the trouble was ex- 
 cessive — that our l)usiness was with the pipes when they 
 had tobacco in them, and not Avlth the people who made 
 them ; and, as he remarked (having had a sharp pecuniary 
 altercation with the manufacturer's Avife), who took parti- 
 cular care to charge a remunerative price. But he moimted 
 the stairs, in spite of his ol)jections, and followed me into 
 the room, where the battered clay of the 1 leater below Avas 
 undergoing other processes. Here and there men seemed 
 to be printing off pipes — the action of their arms, and the 
 moA'ement of their presses nearly resemlding those of hand- 
 printing. A pale Avoman sate in the centre of the room 
 Avith a counter ]:)efore her, and tAvo or three delicate tools ; 
 but Ave Avent past her at once to the man Avho had a mound 
 of soft grey clay before him. lie Avas Avorking briskly. 
 He first seized tAvo lumps of clay, each of the average sixe 
 of an apple, and having carelessly kneaded them Avith his 
 fingers, seemed to throAV them contemptuously upon the 
 board before him. Then, Avith the palms of his hands, he 
 rolled them shar])ly out on the board, leaving one end of 
 each lum]i A-ery thick ; and ])r()ducing, altogether, two clay 
 tadpoles of a large size. These he took up, and placed 
 Avith others in a roAV, all pressed and sticking together. 
 
CHRONICLKS OK THK CKUTCII. 47 
 
 Tlie apparent imconcorn and indifference with Avhich tlie 
 entire operation was perfoDiuid struck us particularly. 
 Wlien wo had sutiiciently noticed tlie nianulacture of 
 gigantic tadpoles, we crossed the room to an opposite bench 
 where a man was working rapidly. Here Ave found a con- 
 fused lieap of clay tadpoles, ready to he run through and 
 burnt into seendy ])ipes. We watched the operations of 
 the second skilled labourer Avith intense interest. First, 
 Avith a. Aveary air he took up a bundle of limp clay tadpoles, 
 and thrcAV' them doAvn close beside him. He then took a 
 fine steel rod in his left hand, and seizing a tadpole, drcAV 
 its long slender tail on to the rod. This operation Avas so 
 dexterously performed, that the rod never protruded the 
 least to the right or to the left, but Avas kept, hy the fine 
 touch of the riglit-hand fingers, exactly in the centre of 
 the tube. The spitted tadpole Avas then laid Hat in the 
 loAver lialf of the metal pipe-mould, the upper part Avas 
 pulled doAvn over it, and then pressed. On lifting the 
 mould from the press, the Avorkman quickly cut aAvay the 
 superfluous clay that stood up beyond the bowl, opened 
 the movUd, and disclosed, to the undisguised admiration 
 even of my eccentric friend, the graceful floAV of his usual 
 *yard of clay.' But it was not yet ready for smoking — 
 very far from it. 
 
 It AA-as still a damp, leaden grey pipe, A\dth tAvo broad 
 seams of clay projecting from it, throughout its length. 
 It Avas ragged, also. (.)n these difficulties my friend began 
 to offer a fcAV pungent remarks ; Avhcn the Avorkman inter- 
 rupted him by jjointing towards an industrious Avoman, 
 Avho seemed to l)e in a desperate hurry; yet she Avas not 
 at all excited. My friend suggested that steam nuist he 
 circulating in lier nimble fingers, iTistead of blood. She 
 smiled at the pleasantly, and said, meekly enough, that it 
 Avas custom. She Avas as clumsy as I shoidd be, Avhen she 
 began : — but long, long days of experience — there, sitting 
 before that board, and cutting incessantly those seams 
 that curl so neatly off the rough pipes — give that dexterity. 
 It is Avell — perhaps severely, paid for. The Avorkwomau 
 •wears a serious, dull face generally. It struck me, as I 
 Avatched the repetition of her movements, that in their 
 
43i CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 dreadful monotony tlicre must T)C a deadening influence 
 upon the mind and heart. I even thought that she must 
 find it a reUet" noAV and then to break a pipe, or drop one 
 of the ghsteuing steel rods. First, she took up one of the 
 r6ugh pipes, and with a sharp steel instriiment, smoothed 
 aU the roiigh clay about the. bowl. Then she smoothed 
 the stem with a flat instrument — then she ciit the mouth- 
 piece even. Having thus rapidly traA'elled over the 
 moulder s Avork, she withdrew the fine steel rod from the 
 tube, blew down the pipe to assure herself that the air 
 passed from the bowl to the mouthpiece, and then care- 
 fully added it to a row, placed upon a frame lieside her. 
 The finished pipe was hardly deposited in its place before 
 another was in lier hands, and in rapid process towaads 
 completion. 
 
 The heat, from a roaring fire crackHng in the grate, 
 was oppressive. Above, were more endless rows and 
 galleries of pipes, waiting to be baked, and in a fair way, 
 I thought, of undergoing that process where they lay. I 
 could hear the dull, heavy sounds of the clay-beater's 
 weapon below, and in the room the incessant click of the 
 closing moulds. The workmen were proud to show their 
 dexterity — as they well might be. Our friend in the 
 farther corner, as he talked pleasantly to us on various 
 subjects, still carelessly made his clay tadpoles; the woman 
 never paused from her rapid work when she exchanged 
 occasional sentences with a boy who stood near her ; and 
 the wife of the manufactiu-er sun^eyed the Inisy scene Avith 
 sparkling eyes. 
 
 I thought once or twice of the damp clay streaming 
 about these Avorkpeople; and of the hard, stern work 
 going on to pro\dde receptacles for lazy men's tobacco. 
 Pipe-clay seemed to force itself everywhere; aliout the 
 rafters, on the benches, on the floor, in the walls. IVIy 
 friend's curiosity was soon satisfied; for his anxiety to 
 avoid contact with the raw material of his favoiirite 
 manufactured article, drove every other consideration from 
 his mind. He vowed that he did not Avish to appear in 
 the streets of London in the guise of a miller — that, 
 generally he preferred a l)lack coat to a piebald one, and 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 49 
 
 that not being a. military man, the less pipe-clay he took 
 away in the nap of his clothes the better. But I had one 
 or two questions to put to the tadpole-maker ; — not with 
 the view, as my friend stoutly asserted, of writing a ser- 
 mon, but perhaps "with an object sufficiently laudable. I 
 learned that a Avorkman, 'keeping to it' twelve hours, can 
 make ' foiu* gross and a half of pipes per diem. 
 
 "The de^il he can!" from Brother Horrocks. 
 
 " My friend Avas struck Avith this astonishing fact ; 
 and, forthwith, began to prove from it that he ought 
 to have the half-gross he Avanted at a veiy Ioav price 
 indeed. It was only when the Avorkman paused, for 
 the first time, from his Avork, to discuss the beauties of 
 various pipes, that my friend felt himself quite at home 
 in the manufactory. The Avorkman placed a variety 
 of pipes in juxta-position, and began to talk of their 
 relative excellencies and beauties, Avith the taste of 
 an artist. This man Avas not AA-ithout a shrcAA^d sense of 
 art ; he had liis ideal of a tobacco-pipe, as the political 
 dreamer has his ideal of a model state, or as a sculptor has 
 his ideal beauty. He had shrcAvd unansAverable reasons 
 for a certain romidness in the boAvl; his eye AA'andered 
 critically doAAii the graceful bend of the tube, and his 
 hand tested nicely the finish of the surface. His skill 
 Jay, certainly, only in the manufacture of tobacco-pipes; 
 but, still, herein his mind Avas actiA^e, and his taste Avas 
 cidtiA'ated. 
 
 ' What AA'ould become of you if smoldng Avere put doA\^l 
 by Act of Parliament?' my friend asked Av-ith a sarcastic 
 air. But the nmn was a match even for the practised 
 eccentricity of my companion. 
 
 ' Why, su',' said the man, ' most likely more snuff AA-ould 
 be consmned instead, and I should shut up the kUn, and 
 take to making snuff-boxes.' 
 
 INIy friend Avas silenced; and, as we Avalked away from 
 the manufactory, doAvn the dark narroAv streets, he alloAved, 
 in a AA'hisper, that there A\'as Arisdom in the pipemaker's 
 ansAver. And then he began to make calculations as to 
 hoAV many people floiuish in the A\-orld on the bad 
 
 £ 
 
50 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 lialiits and vices of their fellow-citizens. He wove a chain 
 of terrible length, to show how many men were interested 
 in the drunkenness of England. A man reeled past 
 ns in the imbecile, singing stage of the vice. ' That man,' 
 said my eccentric friend, ' has done the State some sei'vice 
 to-night. He has been helping to swell the Excise returns ; 
 presently he -^vill create a distui'bance ; a poHceman Avill 
 gallantly walk him off to the station-house, and be pro- 
 moted. Drunkard's hat A\dll be broken, to the great advan- 
 tage of a hatter; his shirt-front Avill be torn, to the benefit 
 of some poor, lone seamstress ; and — there, he has broken 
 his yard of clay, to the advantage of the manufactoiy we 
 have just left ! Delirium tremens Avill come at last ; and 
 with it a surgeon; and, with the surgeon, herbs which are 
 now gro-ftdng under the burning heat of Indian skies.' 
 Thus my eccentric friend ran on, and I did not interrupt 
 him; for, in his words, I detected sparks of light that led 
 us merrily forward to oiir journey's end; Avhere we found 
 half-a-gross of 'yards of clay;' 'a perfect pictiu-e,' accord- 
 ing to my friend — lying, all white as snow, before us, 
 trimmed, I knew, by the serious, nimble-fingered woman 
 we had seen at her work. And she is at it now, still 
 cutting the seams off, and blowing doAvn the tubes ! " 
 
 " Even now, my friends," said the master, folding up 
 his paper, "while we are thinking of our tapers, and oiu" 
 way to bed." 
 
THE FRENCH PlOU-noU. 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Brother Lebord was, unquestionably, the most popular 
 contributor to the readings of the Crutch. He -was the 
 man whose experiences carried his companions to new 
 fields. He had moved in the midst of historical per- 
 sonages. He had seen the Cossacks encamped before the 
 Invalides ; he could tell all the story of the EngUsh Govern- 
 ment's meanness in the purchase of the British Embassy 
 in the Faubourg St. Honore. He had heard the firing of 
 Jidy, and had seen Brussels in a state of revolution ; so 
 that subjects came readily enough to his pen. His careless 
 stories suggested themes. 
 
 "Tell us," old Horrocks wordd say, "all you know 
 about the French army, or the Mounseer sailors." 
 
 " Wliat is their exchange like ?" Brother Phoenix 
 would ask. Lebord was pleased -wdth these questions, and 
 promised to answer them all in good time. 
 
 On the third occasion, when the Brothers were assem- 
 bled in the hall, to hsten to readings, Lebord offered 
 accordingly to communicate to the company something that 
 should be of interest to them, and especially to their 
 gallant friend Horrocks. He had been thinking, of late, 
 about 
 
 THE FRENCH PIOU-PIOU. 
 
 He would read as clearly as he was able. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 CIIROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 " Let me offer you a lozenge," said tlie genial master. 
 *' I Lave foiuid them of great service." 
 
 The lozenge was received -with a profoimd bow — a bow 
 of the old school — and then the reader began : — 
 
 " Leo Lespes has described the French soldier "justly 
 enough : mixing up with his facts that fair quantity of 
 hvely matter indispensable to the production of an article 
 that is to 'mterost feuillefon readers. 
 
 The French soldier must be between the ages of 
 eio-hteen and thu'ty. He must measure one metre sixty 
 centimetres ; he must possess sixteen teeth at the least ; 
 he must have a true eye, and his leg must be free from 
 varicose veins. He must not be subject to fits of any 
 kind. Here is the healthy raw material. The perfect 
 man is taken in hand; he is made to turn his head briskly 
 to the right and left ; to throw out his leg, &c., dxmng 
 three months, and then he is thrust mto red trousers and 
 a blue frock coat. 'The god Pan is a Avarrior!' Very 
 perfect must the ' tonrloiirou'' be, while great men have 
 the privilege of gomg through life with chib-feet, short- 
 siffht, or any other defect which nature may have given 
 them. ^L Lespes reminds these gentlemen that "\vith all 
 their eminence as civilians they would not have found 
 their way even into the honourable corps attached to the 
 ambulance department; a corps said to carry sticks of 
 liqiiorice in their gma-barrels, and sticking-plaister in their 
 cartridge-boxes. French soldiers are broadly marked off 
 into two classes, viz., the vokmteers and the conscript?. 
 The former are ambitious, the latter are, generally, only 
 resinned to the profession of arms, as an ine^atable tem- 
 porary calling. The conscript has ' tomhe an sort ! ' and 
 this popidar description of his fate describes also the 
 spirit Avith Avhich he puts on his regimentals. When he 
 has di-aAvn the imlucky number, he returns to his native 
 \dllage arm-in-arm \dt\\ his companions in misfortmie ; 
 tricolor ribbons floating from his hat, and but the dullest 
 colours in his eye. He serves his time without the hope 
 of winning even a corporal's stripe, and he is glad enoiigh 
 to leave other; to ficht for the marshal's stick, while he 
 
TUE FRENCH PIOU-PIOU. 53 
 
 returns to his village, and his scrap of land. We must 
 not forget the sordid fellow Avho sells himself to gioiy; 
 who, for some £100, replaces a neighbour with an imlucky 
 number, and with money to buy a substitute. The sub- 
 stitute is but ill received in the ranks, and is contemptuously 
 described by the soldiers as ' one who has sold his father s 
 pig.' Lespes describes these substitutes us winding up 
 their lives, after having sold themselves three times in the 
 dignified position of masters of canteens, allied to washer- 
 women, or occasionally giving the advantage of their 
 experience to the fencing-school of the regiment. Only 
 the conscript is received, by his regiment, with military 
 honours. When a draft of these conscripts arrives, the 
 entire regiment turns out, Avitli its band ; ajid the new 
 warriors enter their barracks to the stirring strains of 
 martial music. Then the conscript has. to answer the 
 pressing inquiries of his comrades as to the state of his 
 purse ; he must pay his footing. Woe to him if his 
 prudence suggest to him an endeavour to avoid payment. 
 Rude tricks (as rude as those played ])y English officers 
 and gentlemen) are tried upon him. His cartridge-box 
 is stuffed Avith sawdust ; thistles bristle between his sheets ; 
 and dead rats perfume his shako. These experiences 
 must give delicately-constituted minds a distaste for glory, 
 at the outset ; but then there is the dinner from the gamelle ! 
 This gamelle is a large vessel, which, filled with soup, 
 floating six lumps of meat upon its greasy bosom, contains 
 the dinner of half-a-dozen soldiers. The man who fetches 
 the gamelle from the kitchen, has the privilege of choosing 
 his lump of meat, betbre his companions dip for theirs. 
 Very critical is the fellow's eye : equally critical are his 
 fingers very often, as he searches for the best piece, with 
 the decidedly indelicate intention of taking it. And then, 
 when the lumps of meat have been withdrawn, the six 
 diners, each armed with a spoon, dip by turn into the 
 common soup-dish, nor does a single spoon lose its activity 
 watil they all clash at the bottom of the vessel. It is said 
 that attempts have been made in various regiments to 
 replace the soup with a i-agout, but without success ; the 
 
54 CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 
 
 soldiers cling to the soup, and groAV melancholy on any 
 other diet. 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" from Brother Horrocks. 
 
 "This attempt at a change became known among the 
 soldiers as the rata; and now le rata is the synonpii 
 for everything that is poor and bad. M. Lespes cites a 
 popular song sung by the soldiers, the satire whereof con- 
 sists in calling the weaknesses of their officers the rata 
 once more. Let me quote a verse as a specimen : — 
 
 ' Le caporal est bon enfant, 
 II boit bien, sec et souveut ; 
 Mais au marche quand il va, 
 II nous garde un sou par franc, 
 Voila le rata ! ' 
 
 I am tempted. to quote the concluding verse also, as ex- 
 hibiting the ordinary aspirations of the soldiers. They look 
 to their villages very often through the tobacco-smoke of 
 tlie barrack : — 
 
 ' Je voudrais I'.tre chez nous, 
 Avcc margot sur nies genoux ; 
 Mais quaud au pays uion cceur va, 
 L'adjutant (lit : garde a vous! 
 Voila le rata ! ' 
 
 Many writers have been facetious over the pay of the 
 soldier of the line. The sou, per diem, which he receives, 
 carries with it the responsibility of pro\-iding his own 
 blacking, varnish for his cartridge-box, nails for his boots 
 and brushes ; but these expenses defrayed, he is master 
 of the balance. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" again from the gallant Horrocks. 
 
 " Resources so slender make him thrifty ; and it is 
 probable that the working-men of France, Avho have serA^ed 
 their seven years in the ranks, return to civil life Avith 
 regular habits, that give them a great advantage over 
 neighbours Avho have not served. 
 
 The gaiety of the French soldier is inexhaustible. He 
 is fond of yjractical jokes, t(jbacco ; and for martial songs, 
 remarkable rather for a doAvnright expression of meaning 
 
THE FRENCH PlOU-riOU. 55 
 
 than for a classical correctness of gi-ammar ; beer and 
 brandy, stories of wild adventure, told after the lights are 
 out at night, and sarcasms levelled, as a riole, at his cor- 
 poral. The fjimoiis story of La Ramee, who had been 
 twenty-seven years in the 17th regiment of the line, and 
 had lived on in the hope of being corporal at last, is 
 always a favovu'ite. How this famous trooper appealed to 
 his captain, who repUed that he Avas some hundi-eds of 
 francs in debt, and without shirts, and that these short- 
 comings stood in the Avay of his promotion. How La 
 Ramee olitained leave of absence to get money, that he 
 might pay his debts ; how he experienced wonderful adven- 
 tures in the dominions of the King of Seringapapapathos, 
 and finally returned to his regiment -with a himdred 
 million six-farthing pieces, and the daughter of the king, 
 whom he had married. How, at last, he paid his debts 
 and became coi-poral, are points of wonder which have 
 been told in hujidreds of guard-houses over which the 
 tricolour floats. 
 
 The popular termination of this stoiy is, that the 
 princess and corporal's \dfe (Madame la Princesse La 
 Ramee, if you please) obtained the great honour of serv- 
 ing the sous-officiers A\ith fricot. The hit at the sous-officieis 
 is, of course, the sting of the ballad. The secretary 
 enjoys a hit at the minister; the clerk chiickles over a 
 caricature of his director; the artisan vastly relishes a joke 
 played iipon the foreman. 
 
 Other songs simg round the barrack-stove are charac- 
 teristic. Those of an amorous tendency, in Avhich nuns 
 occa,'?ionaUy figure, cannot be printed; but there is one 
 of the martial songs sung, according to M. Lesp^s, to the 
 tramp of a double-quick march, which is an excellent 
 sample of these kind of compositions ; it is called the 
 ' Weaver of Corbeil.' 
 
 " I cannot sing," here ]\L Lebord observed, " but I'll 
 give you some notion of the ah- : — 
 
 '• C'est le filenr cle Corbeil, 
 Qu'il u"y avait pas son pareil ; 
 Avaut d'etre an regimeut, 
 II avait un attachement. 
 
56 CHRONICLES OF THE CRLTCH. 
 
 II s'en va dire a sa maman, 
 
 Je pars iuseusiblemeut ; 
 
 Dites a ma taute qu j' suis son n'veu, 
 
 Et que j'ai q'u le numero deux. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Si Charlotte vient m'demauder, 
 Dites liii que je suis occupe ; 
 Qu'elle me garde son cceur, sa foi, 
 Si 9a peut, quelquefois. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Dites encore aux compagnons, 
 Que le fileur de coton, 
 Qui a file bonnets et bas, 
 D'vant Tennemi ne filera pas I " 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Brother Lebord cliaunted these verses "with the Hght- 
 ness and vigour of an old trooper; then he resumed his 
 reading : — 
 
 *' The conckiding pun gives the song its vahie in the 
 eyes of the lively French soldier ; and he trolls it gaily as 
 he marches under the standard Avhich, during his seven 
 years of service, he calls ' the steeple of his native 
 village.' 
 
 And bravely does he stand in the shadow of tliis steeple ; 
 cheerily does he point to it on long marches ; reverently 
 does he salute it when it has passed through victorious 
 battle-fields ! For, if he be content mth his obscurity as 
 a simple soldier; if he be firm in the detei'mination to 
 return to his native village when his time is out, he still 
 respects his Avocation of soldier ; is jealous of the honour 
 of his regiment ; and at any moment would lightly cast off 
 the ease and fun of garrison Hfe, to he scorched in Algeria 
 or Italy, or to be frozen upon the heights of Sebastopol. 
 
 " And now," said Lebord, breaking off from his reading, 
 " let me give you some characteristic touches of our neigh- 
 bours, which I have collected lately, and which I have 
 throwTi together in the form a letter." 
 
 " By all means," qiioth the Master ; and Brother Lebord 
 continued his reading: : — 
 
THE FRENCH PIOU-PIOU. 57 
 
 "My DEMI B. — ' 2'enez, Monsieur, vous faites de la peiii- 
 iure en Angleterre!' said a digiiifit^d, elegant covmtcss to 
 me in a Paris salon, in 1855, when I told her that the 
 English intended to contribute largely to the Universal 
 Picture Exhibition. It was the belief of the lady that the 
 EngUsh manulactured nothing save cotton and iron, and 
 that Poetry and Art had hardly damied upon our 
 ' bizarre ' race. It was easy to excuse the lady's ignorance. 
 She had possibly derived her notions of England from 
 Jules Lecomte or M. AVey. But it is provoking to find 
 Frenchmen Avho have opportunities for close personal 
 observation, and who are, moreover, tolerably read, still 
 airing their complete ignorance of England and the 
 English. 
 
 M. ]Menche de Loisne's elaborate contrast between France 
 and England have suggested to me some few further ilh;s- 
 trations of the general literary estunate of ourselves by 
 our neighbours. M. de Loisne has lived hi the midst of 
 English people, for years, in his Boulogne prefecture. He 
 is a thoughtfid and a well-read man. He is popular in 
 the town he governs. He has leisru-e and abimdant 
 opportunity to study the English character, and the result 
 of reading, observation, and analysis is — a view of us not 
 less exaggerated than the famous ' Voyarje de Desagremens 
 a Londres.' From his windows J\I. de Loisne can see the 
 cliffs of Dover ; in his daily walks he meets troops of 
 Enghsh mothers with their children. He is brought 
 hourly in contact with EngHshmen and Englishwomen, 
 and yet he understands the genius of them, or the heart of 
 them, as little as an inhabitant of Jeddo comprehends the 
 economy of one of Her iSIajesty's ships of war. 
 
 Wlience has M. de Loisne derived that bold siimmary, 
 Avherein he declares that English motheis are ^nthout 
 heart, and English children without poetry ? I fear tluit 
 it is the old story of a Frenchman liaA'ing studied a people 
 after he had made up his mind with regard to them. Did 
 not M. Francis Wey live in London, and return to Paris 
 to tell our neighbours that strangers were charged a 
 shilling each before they coxdd enter our tavern parlours ? 
 Did not this Avriter chne at the Keform Ckib, and write 
 
58 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 that here sherry, port, claret, and Bordeaux preceded the 
 champagne ? Did he not discover that every Londoner 
 Avalked Avith a stick ? Is it not due to M. Wey that the 
 Parisians beheve we have only two cheap articles in 
 London, -viz. — flovrers and cottoii nightcaps ? Way for 
 Wey ! Here is an English scene draAvii by a Frenchman : — 
 
 ' A cutler placed some needles before me. This created 
 a desire in me to buy a knife. He showed me a single 
 one. I asked for two or three. He placed them in a row 
 before me, told me their prices, and left me td myself. I 
 sat down, looked towards the ceiling, and as INIery has it, 
 sang a song which does not exist. The artisan took up 
 his work and his file. Presently he remarked to me that 
 it was very hot ; whereupon I rephed very patly, ' Yes.' 
 As I played Avith the knives, I at last chose one. The 
 cutler examined it, and said to me, 'Not is good.' He 
 put it down again, and returned to his work. I then en- 
 deavoured to make a more sagacious selection ; whereupon 
 it was the cutler's turn to say 'yes.' I wanted a really 
 good knife. The tradesman picked one out and placed it 
 before me. When I asked to make my own choice he 
 said — ' Very good, very good !' Still he did not move, 
 but kept murmuring in my ear, ' Very good.' Well, I 
 bought the pen-knife. It is carefully made, and the steel 
 is very fine, I presume ; but it will not cut at all.' I can 
 only congratidate M. Wey upon having chosen the shop 
 of a very patient cutler, who allowed his customers to gaze 
 at the ceiling and hum an air. But then the cutler -was, 
 of course, not an Enghshman, since he told his customer 
 that a certain knife ' not was good.' 
 
 But M. Wey shines in generalities. He is bold when 
 he has a verdict to pronounce, or a warning to offer. 
 Towards the end of his experiences he addresses his com- 
 patriots, exclaiming — ' Lively children, devoted to the 
 culture of fashions and dancing, fear the disdain of this 
 austere and grave people, who furnish Europe pi'odigally 
 ■with learned ladies' companions, and who govern by the 
 fingers of their legions of dentists all the jaws of the Con- 
 tinent.' I am inclined to excuse even M. Wey all his ab- 
 surdities, since he confesses that his friend, Lyonel Banks, 
 
THE FRENCH PIOU-PIOU. 59 
 
 dragged him irom one end of Cremorne Gardens to the 
 other, and refreshed him — with ginger-beer! M. Wey is 
 not, in short, so serious as the Boulogne Sous-Prefet, luit 
 he is quite as near the truth. 
 
 He is as near the truth — or rather as near a correct appre- 
 ciation of us — moreover, as M. Edmond About, the now 
 estabhshed romance-writer, whoso ' Tolla,' some years ago, 
 was welcomed as an original and an elegant work. M. 
 About has published a very clever and amusing book ('Le 
 Roi des Montagnes'), in which some English and American 
 people figure. One American is called William Lobster: the 
 English ladies are Mrs. and Miss Simons. IMrs. Simons has 
 a share in the house of Messrs. Barley & Co., a London firm. 
 The ladies are taken by the robber band commanded by 
 the renoAvned Hadgi-Stavros, — whereupon their Britannic 
 eccentricities ooze out. The chief eccentricity of the 
 elderly lady is to assert that she is Enghsh at every tiu'n. 
 She is on the edge of a precipice, whereupon she is made 
 to exclaim that ' she is English, and therefore not made to 
 fall down precipices.' Her other Britannic peculiarity is 
 lier gluttony. She has an insatiable maw. British phlegm 
 is illustrated by the following dialogue between mother aiid 
 daughter: — 'Mary Ann.' — 'Mamma?' — 'I'm hungry.' — 
 'Are yovx?' — 'I am.' — 'I am hot, Mamma.' — 'Are you?' 
 — ' I am.' ' You would readily believe,' the author 
 adds, 'that this wonderfully British dialogue made me 
 «mile. But not at all ; I was fascinated by the voice of 
 Mary Ann.' 
 
 Absurdities of this description, however, may be found 
 in nearly all the living romance-writers of France. The 
 most distinguished Enghsh names are mis-spelt in the 
 leading French joiunials ; and M. Th^ophile Gaultier opens 
 a review of the British school of Art, in the columns of the 
 Moniteur, by declaring that this Art is always ' aristocratic 
 and f/entlenum.^ La Presse reports a speech on Avar matters 
 of Sir Sidney Herbert. Stiil Jules Lecomte's assertion, 
 that England is all iron and coal, is the belief of the 
 Boidevards ; while the Quartier Latin is fixed in its faith 
 that the great majority of Englishmen have red hair. 
 Errors with regard to us, as old as the time of Louis the 
 
60 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Fourteenth, are still printed and reprinted in the cun-ent 
 literature of France. Stale squibs cm-rent in England fifty 
 years since, and afi'ecting our national character, are abso- 
 lute living facts to the vast public under the sceptre of the 
 Third Napoleon. Old Mathews' joke about the variety of 
 meaning given to the word Box, is vised, for instance, by 
 M. Jules Lecomte, as actual personal obsei^vation made in 
 1851, — the year in which this charmingly incorrect writer 
 treated an English ' Miss ' (according to his book) to six 
 shilangs' worth of pastry, Avhich she ate as she stood before 
 a refreshment stall in the Great Exhibition building, in 
 Hyde Park ! 
 
 If, then, M. Lecomte, w-ho has visited England — if M. 
 Wey, who has hved in England — cannot comprehend us or 
 appreciate us Avithout prejudice, il. de Loisne may be 
 siu'ely forgiA'en. It is a pity, indeed, to see so much 
 historical study thrown to the Avinds. It is unpleasant ta 
 wade through long pages of argument to a conclusion 
 based in bhnd ignorance. But I, for one, was not surprised 
 when I reached the climax of the Sous-Prefet's book. ]\Iy 
 experience of the Hterary tone of Bordonge-siu'-iler was 
 too recent to permit me the pleasiu'e of surprise at 
 any exhibition of popular ignorance on the subject of Eng- 
 land that might emanate from the Pas de Calais. I kneAv 
 the temper of Boulogne journals, tmder M. de Loisne's 
 inspiration. Let me oifer you a fcAV dottings of my 
 experience. A few days since, at Boulogne, I Avas the 
 centre of terrible rumours : the receptacle for appalling 
 official facts, that turned out to be not only non-official, but 
 not facts at all. ' See ! ' said a Gallic friend of mine, the 
 Boreas-in-chief of the local AAdiirhvind, ' you detect that 
 Avhite mark upon the hue of the blue ocean. The cUfFs of 
 England, Monsieur ; the cliffs of England ! ' And he 
 folded his arms, as only a Frenchman can ft)ld arms. I 
 thought he Avould have Avrenched them from his shoulders. 
 And he nodded his closely-cut head toAvards tlie Avhite line 
 upon the blue horizon, solemnly, energetically. I lifted 
 my opera-glass slowly, and then declared that I saAV the 
 Avhite line in question. This admission made my friend 
 more energetic than ever. ' You see it ! you see it ! ' he 
 
THE FRENCH PIOU-PIOU. 61 
 
 exclaimed frantically; 'and do you known that for the 
 last lifty years we have always taken the apjicarance of 
 those cliffs as a sipn of foul weather ! ' ^ly friend now 
 folded his arms with startling vehemence, and glared luider 
 my hat, possibly to see whether I felt faint. But" I was 
 lighting my second cigar. Disappointed to discover that 
 the 'British phlegm' was not distvrrbcd, Baptiste (my 
 Boreas was called Baptiste) threw me a little ncAvspaper ; 
 then cast himself upon one of the benches at the pier-head, 
 and prepared to watch the changes in my coiuiteuance, 
 and to catch me, should the thunderlwlt destroy my 
 equilibrium. 
 
 It was a very little paper, with a very imposing title, 
 and Avith a very lofty style. For ncAvs it told me that the 
 English yacht ' Llill of the Wosp ' had left the port, and 
 that ' the chief and lady Clanranold ' had taken tickets for 
 the local bathing establishment. It included, also, a report 
 of the meeting of the mayor and council, at Avhich the 
 biiilding of a ' grandiose ' establishment for bathers and 
 visitors had been determined upon. I was invited to take 
 part in the solemn inaixgru-atiou of a series of children's 
 fetes, and to assist at a concert, to be given by artists of 
 European reputation, but mth whose names I Avas not 
 familiar. Having read all these interesting points of in- 
 formation, and glanced at grand ' deballages,^ advertised in 
 colossal iDlack letters, I Avas about to put the dignified little 
 ncAvspaper aside, when my friend rushed at me, and dabbed 
 his fingers heavily, again and again, iipon a particular 
 passage. His hands thrust into his pockets spasmodically, 
 his head Avagging up and doAm ferocioiisly, my Boreas 
 glanced at me as I read the little journal's defiance o 
 England. 
 
 A great Thunderer on the other side of the Channel 
 had said tmcivU things about loyal France. A great 
 Thimdercr Avas not content to see gigantic transports 
 rising above the Avails of French dockyards, even Avhen 
 the Thunderer had been assured that these floating bar- 
 racks Avere intended merely to take advantage of the 
 neAA'ly-opened Japanese markets. A great War Tnmipet 
 
62 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 was being blown by the 'juvenile ' English ; Dover was 
 shaking with the thunders of practising artillery. "V\niat 
 was the attitude of France, under these circumstances ? 
 
 I glanced fi-om the page of the little paper at my excited 
 friend; His head wagged more vehemently than ever ; 
 his hands were searching for a lower depth in his deep 
 pockets : ' Proceed, proceed !' he said. He was deter- 
 mined to shame me thoroughly. I proceeded. 
 
 Yes, what was the attitude of France under these cir- 
 cumstances ? Why the fort of La Creche was crmnbhng 
 before the attacks of the sea ; the fort on the east was 
 dismantled ; the heights were A\dthout batteries (save that 
 one which saluted Queen Victoria in 1855) ; the coast was 
 guarded by a few Custom-house officers ; and the town 
 was protected by forty-four foot soldiers ! Vehement use 
 of points of exclamation give emphasis to the convincing 
 arguments of the little journal. 
 
 If these forty-four 2'>iou-pious and the crumbling fort of 
 La Creche are not convincing proofs of the peaceful inten- 
 tions of France, the editor of the little journal Avill be 
 happy to knoAV what proofs mean. But to add perfume 
 to the violets of his rhetoric, the editor will beg the reader 
 to remark, that Avhile DoA^er is practismg artillery, France 
 and England are dancing polkas together in the EUihlisse- 
 raent. ' Eh ben ! Eh ben ! ' still Avagging his head, shouted 
 my friend, foUoAving my eyes, glancing under my hat, 
 dodging me, indeed, as though he Avould mesmerize me. 
 Wliat Avould be said in England, to this ? What Avould 
 our Parliament say ? Woidd not the editor of the 
 Thunderer pull doAvn the blinds in his office, and gouig 
 doAvn upon his knees before a figiu-e of France, proceed 
 to devour a substantial meal of luunble pie ? AVould not 
 the artillerymen of Dover decline to fire another shot ? 
 Would not the shipAva'ights of Chatham, and the engineers 
 of Woolwich leave molten iron at the edge of the moidd — 
 the bolt tmriveted in the ship ? Boreas Avas quite aAvare 
 that the English Avere a bizarre race ; but the logic of the 
 little journal mtxst appeal to the meanest understanding. 
 
 I ventured to inquire into the importance of La Creche, 
 
THE FRENCH PIOU PIOU. 63 
 
 Avhicli is ' falling to pieces.' It is on the riglit as I stand 
 at the head of the pier, fronting the sea — fronting England 
 — bizarre England — to which, even imder the tierce 
 glances of Boreas, I am proud to say I belong. 
 
 La Creche is a heap of stones lying a few feet below 
 high water-mark ; a heap iipon which some thii'ty very 
 expert acrobats might perch themselves. ' Yon see !' says 
 Boreas, ' all in ruins, and opposite yotir noisy Dover !' I 
 stroll along the pier towards the town of which the Httle 
 journal is the mouthpiece, under the superintendence of 
 the thin and sallow gentleman who is approaching me on 
 horseback ; who wears the ribbon of the Legion ; and 
 who is in the leading-strings of the great personage of the 
 Eue Bellechasse, Paris. This happy reference to the 
 ioxty-ioxxr inou-^nons has been duly considered and amended 
 by the sallow gentleman. This sallow gentleman is answer- 
 able for the little joui-nal's reference to La Creche. This 
 sallow gentleman might make short work of the little 
 journal's editor, if this functionary Avere to speak his mind 
 regardless of the prefecture. This sallow gentleman, to 
 be technical, ' inspires ' the editor of the httle journal ; 
 and, to be brief, is the author of ' France and England 
 Historically Considered.' 
 
 Friend Boreas bows to the Inspirer profoundly, and we 
 pass on to an hotel, Avhere I propose to refresh myself 
 after the excitement natural to a man who feels that his 
 country has given way to ' puerile ' fears, and has, to use 
 a vtdgarism, been 'sat upon' by the overpowering logic 
 of a French provincial editor. 
 
 A few Gallic ladies and gentlemen arc in the salle- 
 a-manger. The ladies have just crossed the Channel, 
 and are describing the perils of the transit to theii- male 
 companions; the said male companions are putting 
 on poHte expressions of consternation, and giving way 
 to timely 'Bahs!' the while. Having passed six: 
 days in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square, the 
 travellers are authorities on the present temper of the 
 Enghsh nation. "With animation almost hysterical, the 
 craven fears of the Anrjlais are set before the gentle- 
 
64 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 men. Then the gentlemen are asked to explain this 
 sudden warlike bustle made by the 'droll' EngHsh. 
 Whereupon, a tall Ganl, with the figure and force of a 
 spill, rises, and, shrugging his shoidders, says : — ' It is 
 very natural that they should be afraid of us.' ' Shall we 
 have war ? ' my waiter asks me, as he puts my half chicken 
 before me, and excuses the absence of water-cresses. I 
 confess that I know nothmg about the matter. 'The 
 English ought to be very grateful to us, Monsieiu-.' — 
 ' Wliy ? ' — ' We saved their handful of soldiers from anni- 
 hilation in the Crimea. But you English (pardon me, 
 IMonsieur) are so self-sufficient ! A friend of mine said 
 to me the other day, the Enghsh beheve that they have 
 a right to every puddle upon the face of the globe. 
 Will Monsieur have an omelette?' — 'No Francois, thank 
 you.' — 'I don't say you are not good sailors. But your 
 navy's big enough. You don't want it for the colonies 
 now. You've killed all the Indians — those poor Indians ! ' 
 And Francois clasped his hands, "with a napkin between 
 them, and looked tragic. 'But our army!' And he 
 shook his head over my half chicken. — ' Well ! ' I said, a 
 little nettled, I confess, at being drawn head over heels 
 into an argument, by the waiter. Frangois Avas now fold- 
 ing the napkins into the shape of pyramids, making a roll 
 the apex of each pyi-amid. — ' Well, ]\ronsieur, shall I tell 
 you what I think '? jMind, I'm an Enghshman rather than 
 a Frenchman, in spnpathy. I think that if the French 
 army once got a 2ned-a-terre in your famous Albion, the 
 English army wovild not suffice for a breakfast a la ha'ionette 
 for our Zouaves.' Frangois paused over a damask pyramid, 
 and repeated that this was his opinion : — more, that it was 
 the opinion of a gentleman Irom Paris, very high in 
 society there, Avho had dined at the tahle-dlwte yesterday. 
 He should be sorry to see a war between the two countries, 
 nevertheless ; because the cannon balls wotdd just reach 
 his Httle 'bazaar' (meaning his garret) under the rampart 
 walls ; and it was as hard to lose one hundred francs as 
 one hundred thousand, if a hundred were a man's all. 
 ' Then, what was to be gained by either side ?' Franc^ois 
 
THE FRENCH PIOU-PIOU. 65 
 
 turned ferociously upon me. — ' By France,' said I, ' Glory ! ' 
 Francois shnigged his shoulders, declared that he was an 
 ignorant man, and could not deal with State questions ; 
 but as for glory, why glory was to him, like a tramp by 
 the road-side — very picturesque, but sans le sou." 
 
 " A few hours in the Uvely, noisy little port on my 
 friend's hasty way from the modern Bal)ylon to the centre 
 of civilisation, sufficed to have the above little tunes 
 whistled in his ear," added Lebord — "tunes of which I 
 shall be, not the critic, but simply the transcriber. 
 There are pompous excellencies, and eminences, and 
 right honourables, and high mightinesses enough to 
 transpose, and adapt, and re-adapt, and set to all 
 kinds of discordant instruments, feebler tunes than 
 these, which may serve humble people who are 
 neither excellent nor eminent, as suggestions as to 
 the way of the wind about this time. From ill-natured 
 bluster, opinions based iipon ignorance, and sarcasms that 
 can amuse only when knowledge of facts is wanting, 
 I turn to Charles Gouraud's book on the ' Causes of Eng- 
 land's Greatness.' Here is a fair and conscientious study 
 of the rise of England's power, compared with which 
 M. de Loisne's long journey upon the wrong road is boy's 
 work. We must be content to permit the Sous-prefct to 
 sow the belief among his readers (and I hear that a second 
 edition of his book is in the press) that Englishwomen 
 and Englishmen part from their childi-en as sparrows part 
 from their young. The Boiilogne Prefet has, tinhappily, 
 more power to bring to bear upon the propagation of eiTor 
 than poor Fran9ois, the waiter, has." 
 
 All the Brothers thanked M. Lebord cordially for his 
 papers ; and begged that he would prepare others for 
 them in the same style. 
 
 Lebord bowed profoundly — ^in the manner of a gentle- 
 man of Louis the Eighteenth's time; and assured the 
 company that he would do his best. 
 
 " Meantime," said the master, " as we are on French 
 
 F 
 
66 CHKONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 subjects, and as Brother Hartopp lias a very interesting 
 commimication from his nephew, in Avhicli the entry of tlie 
 Army of Italy into Paris is described, I think we cannot 
 do better than call upon our worthy brother to read it." 
 
 Brother Hartopp Avas delighted. Having reheved 
 himself of a little superabundent embarrassment, by the 
 assertion that this was the happiest moment of his life ; 
 he unfolded the paper, and read. 
 
 " My nephew calls his little description," Mr. Hartopp 
 premised — 
 
 "the conquering heroes comes^g." 
 
 "It runs thus: — 
 
 " You are requested to be of good cheer, and to unfold 
 your red velvet drapery along your balcony. Will you be 
 good enough to have the beak of yoiu" loyal eagle re- 
 burnished ? If your throat be clear, will you have the 
 extreme kindness to cheer ? 
 
 The scarlet is bursting upon every house in Paris, thanks 
 to imperial doctors m cocked hats, and with lancets 
 at their sides. Bright crimson spots indicate a Parisian 
 fever, and that the fever is coming out well. In the 
 vicinity of the Place VendOme, the heart of Paris, the 
 doctors have achieved a triimiph. Scarlet from the attics 
 to the gateways, scarlet amphitheatres and columns scarlet- 
 bound! ISIuch dehriimi may be prognosticated. Way, 
 there ! for the blouses, bearing pails full of Hquid red 
 ochre, that is to be poured over the Venetian masts, for 
 banners. A clear space for the agile fellows, who are 
 hauhng these lofty masts to the perpendiciilar, that their 
 oriilammes may be even vntli the windows of grisettes' 
 fifth floors. While the skilful artistes of feverish Paris 
 pause, with theii' huge red brushes in their hand — a fiiii* 
 field for the wonder-working moxilders ! who tiirn out 
 Corinthian columns while you wait in their shop ; who 
 "wiU perch a Victory for you, upon a hollow pedestal, that 
 shall look soUd as the granite rocks, Avhile you read your 
 paper ; who will work in little lanterns propped high up 
 
THE CONQUERIKG HEROES COmXG. G7 
 
 in tlie air, all night ; fixing colossal capitals fragile as 
 Avliipped cream, upon columns about as substantial as 
 Rheims biscuits. The head is lifted iipon the plaster 
 shoulders of Peace (with eagles for a footstool), as easily 
 as the helmet was deposited upon the diver's head at the 
 Polytechnic. Then the air is rich with the debris of gold- 
 leaf; and anon, the sandals of Peace are biu'nished, and 
 the crouching eagles glisten in the burning sun ! 
 
 No wonder that the fever spreads rapidly in this 
 weather ; that the Boulevards catch the infection from 
 the Place Vendome, and unrol thousands of yards of 
 crimson drapery. Paris is thirsty ; and from Venetian 
 ices to the humble coco, Paris diinks deep ; her red face 
 bursting, till it almost rivals the flush of the setting sun. 
 One great idea dominates her, in her fever. They are 
 coming. Along these Boulevards ; tmder these flags that 
 darken the roads ; past these great amphitheatres ! They 
 are coming ! But, who ? 
 
 Ask these importunate cafe waiters, Avho Avill graciously 
 permit vou to answer the question yourself, to-morrow, for 
 the small charge of forty francs. Ask that blufi" comitry- 
 man of yours, Mr. Bull, who is known all over Paris, 
 because he has given forty pounds to satisfy himself as to 
 who is coming, and how tliis great Somebody is coming,. 
 and what 'svill be said to this great Somebody when he 
 does come. Seats, wherever the great question shall be 
 satisfactorily answered early to-morrow, are being thro-\vii 
 up, even in the doorways ; and hammers are having a busy 
 time of it, in aU directions. Shop-'wdiidows are daintily 
 lifted to the pavement, and women are discovered in the 
 rear, still seAving at the crimson cloth. Brazen-voiced men, 
 upon whom the fever is clearly expending itself ■with 
 ferocious "violence, thrust programmes imder every passing 
 nose. The fever has even seized upon the stockbrokers ; 
 and they are crimson to the house-tops, Avith their Vene- 
 tian masts and velvet hangings, in the regions of the 
 Bourse. At the doors of the shopkeepers, lie great baskets 
 full of rough-looking accordions. Dare to ask what is the 
 use to which these instruments are to be put, and you shall 
 
 F 2 
 
68 CHRONICLES OF THE CRrTCH. 
 
 be gruffly answered that tliey are Venetian lamps, at five 
 sous each, '■pardie P 
 
 Admu-al 'Sir Chops" — the Charivari British Admiral — 
 is doubtless here, grinding his teeth over the inevitable 
 annihilation of his fleet by a few French fishing-boats. 
 Or, better still, he may b.e closeted with M. Protin (propa- 
 gateiu', initiateiu--matrimonial), with a xioAX to a scheme for 
 *a general introduction of Enghshmen to French vvives, 
 that poor Albion may have a last chance of savmg herself 
 by the help of a Franco-EngUsh race. As ]M. Protin 
 promises husbands ' dots ' ranging from one himdred to 
 twelve hundred pounds, it is probable that the scheme 
 would succeed if M. Protin's * dots ' do not, in any sense, 
 stand for noughts. But Sir Chops must be comforted ; 
 good France will be his friend still, and still in the English 
 quarter of her capital, provide for his ' bizarre ' wants. 
 He shall not lack even that 'Guy's Ess Balm,' which, 
 according to a Rue de Rivoli shopkeeper, enjoys so 
 enviable a reputation in his native island. 
 
 We are determined to rescue Sir Chops from the me- 
 lancholy into which the ill-natured comic French -wTiter 
 has plunged him. He shall not be devoured by his con- 
 stitutional spleen. Sir Chops shall feel the raging pulse of 
 Paris, with us. With us he shall himt for a cab under the 
 blazing sun, and with us he shall pray for blue spectacles 
 to protect his eyes against the ever-reddening fever. 
 From the red balconies whither may one's aching eyeballs 
 wander ? To the shops ? The baggy red trousers of 
 Zouave suits at forty francs, for little boys of eight years 
 old ; the scarlet fez ; the toy Zouaves, hanging by their 
 arms in dozens, distract us. From the shops to the 
 TDeople ? We pass the blazing face of a Turcos, whose 
 brilliancy draws tears from our poor eyes. To the pave- 
 ment? The stones send up a red heat to caution us. 
 The relentless sun, that leaves no shady side to the wide 
 simmering Boulevards, dashes the heat under our broad 
 hat, brands our shoulders, parches our feet, and flays our 
 neck. Currant sp'up consoles us not, and in vain we 
 quaff the grateful beer of Lyons. That in this heat, people 
 
THE CONQUEKING HEROES COMING. G9 
 
 can still fever themselves over dominoes, and throw them- 
 selves into contortions at a bUliard-table ! That under 
 this t}Tant sun, darting to the marrow of man, evil-faced 
 crowds can shamble lightly over the burning pavement ; 
 laughing, eating, and haggling ! That they can fight 
 good-humoiu-edly at omnibus doors, and broil, while a 
 tmnbler glares in the face of the sun, at the ball he is to 
 catch upon his forehead ! Sir Chops vows that the heat 
 beats Egypt ; and he mops his bald head. Yrith a light, 
 cheery voice, a man cries medals struck in honour of tlie 
 coming occasion, and looks without blinking, into his tray 
 of new coins, that sparkle like an adder's nest. It is not 
 too hot for a grisette to trip about father and mother and 
 sister (ynth baby) and lover (^dth herself), and, having 
 bought a farthing sugar-stick, to bite bits off, and laugh- 
 ingly poke them into the mouths of the party. Sir Chops 
 miist take courage, then, and follow the boding stream, 
 ■with us. 
 
 Heavy bribery prodi;ces a cabman at last ; and we rum- 
 ble lazily through the terrible Quartier St. Antoine to the 
 Barriere, whence a broad dusty road leads to Vincennes. 
 We make our way through solid banks of dust, till we are 
 stopped by a feverish policeman, who turns us into our 
 proper place, in a file of vehicles : lemonade carts, Seltzer- 
 water carts, trim carriages copied from Rotten-row, carts 
 fall of sugar ' broken by patent machinery ; ' indescribable 
 carts fuU of indescribable people, driven by a noisy blouse 
 and drawn by animals in rope harness; hawkers propelling 
 barrow-loads of cheap peaches, figs, and plums ; honest 
 old Avomen, whose white eyebrows stand in bold relief 
 from their bronzed skin, and whose snowy caps are deeply 
 shaded in the folds by the dust, carrying heaA'y baskets 
 loaded with macaroons and jumbles; a chattering, 
 laughing, tumultuous blue and white crowd fiUing up 
 every available space between vehicles, hawkers, and 
 poHcemen; all talking, shouting, singing, and clacking 
 whips, in a white fog of dust, heated still by the unre- 
 lenting sun, — these Avere unmistakeable indications that; 
 we are on the right road to know some of the reasons 
 why Palis has taken so merrily to the scarlet fever. 
 
70 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 The vast plain, at which we eventually arrived, ap- 
 peared, at the first glance, to have thro'wn up countless 
 white molehills, amid which needles were stacked, and 
 blue and red and black ants seemed to be ininning by- 
 thousands, in all directions. But, as we took our eyes 
 from the distance, and drew them upon thmgs close to us, 
 we perceived that the far-off ant-hiUs were fac-similes 
 of the tents (about the size of cuciunber frames) at our 
 feet ; that the stacks of needles were bayonets ; that the 
 ants were men and women. Here were mounds of 
 heavy grenadiers' anns, ■with the men's rusty shakos 
 hanging upon the bayonets, the men being not far off, 
 indidging m games of skittles, or gaining honest sous by 
 putting up the pins, for ^-isitors. 
 
 Bevond the grenadiers' lines were those of the Tm-cos. 
 Cheered by the gaiety of the scene, even Sir Chops 
 almost jumped from the carriage. Hundreds of elegant 
 ladies Avere peering into the little canvas boxes of the 
 solemn Arabs. They were not the most savoury boxes, 
 where eight swarthy fellows slept, packed close as figs, 
 and where their ragged, greasy clothes lay, all day long. 
 But the Turcos were proud of them, and did the honours 
 with dignity. Here a brawny fellow, Ipng upon his 
 stomach, -with his head just out of his tent, was looking at 
 the pictui'es of the Sou Paper ; there a fellow, squatting 
 tailor-fashion, was taking his soup out of a battered tin 
 with a bent pewter spoon. There is a hole in the midst 
 of the first Hnes, and in it limips of raw flesh are warming, 
 and shapeless saucepans are bubblhig, while Turcos, en- 
 veloped in capacious aprons, and .sheltered from the sun 
 by heaAy burnous, are watching the dinners of their bat- 
 , talion. Visitors talk to them, but are tmable to understand 
 the Arab-French in Avhich the noble savages reply. Here 
 is the trumpeters' tent, wth the bruised trumpets skuig 
 to sticks, at the entrance. Everywhere are Turcos saunter- 
 ing, squatting, laughing Arith grisettes, folding turbans, 
 jilaying at cards, polishing swords, mending rent garments, 
 all talking, and all smoking, and all proud to be the ob- 
 sei'A'ed of thousands of visitors. 
 
 " Look to yourself, Sii* Chops ! for hitherwards a 
 
THE COXQUERDJG HEROES COMING. 71 
 
 mounted Zouave is dashing upon a bony steed, -with a 
 great tin pan slung to the animal's neck. He is on his 
 way to fetch the food of his company from one of the 
 smouldering holes hereabouts. There is much to be 
 cooked yet, before all these mouths wall be satisfied ; and 
 square iiunps of meat, clustered in bunches, are slung 
 upon bayonets still before the tents, where the flies are 
 <:oming in for first taste. 
 
 The tattered flags are stuck in mounds of loose stones ; 
 canvas beer-shops are choked -with soldiers and soldiers' 
 friends, clicking glasses, and imbibing seas of sour beer 
 and wine, at threepence per bottle. The butts of Vin- 
 cennes, ploughed Avith cannon-balls, are covered Avith the 
 yellow Unen of the troops, drying in the sun. Springs 
 have been condiicted hither by the engineers, and are 
 filling cans of all shapes and sizes. Greedy corporals are 
 making a long and noisy quexie before the camp-butcher's 
 shed. The English Crimean medal lies upon hundreds 
 of breasts — the h\\\e riljand bro^vlled by the sun. Every- 
 body is on the move. Here a Zouave is splitting- wood 
 Avith his sword ; there a Turcos is sketching. Hows of 
 lean horses (some wounded), tied to stakes, are munching 
 dry forage. Empty mne casks serve for tables, where- 
 upon broAvn bread and black sausages are spread, temptmg 
 sous out of the pockets of the hive. In the corner is a 
 veiy substantial stone police station house — a building not 
 altogether useless here. Everybody is so lively, that even 
 the drmn -majors imbend, and bear themselves like com- 
 mon mortals. A contemptuous artilleryman describes a 
 dandy passer-by as a man with ' white-bread ' ideas. 
 Heavy grenadiers chuck nimble npnphs under the chin, 
 while the omnipresent Turcos appear to be sated -with the 
 admiration of the fair sex. We pass through a wood to 
 the vast plain Avhere the cavahy and artillery are en- 
 camped. The dragoons are veiy dignified : the guardians 
 of the terrible rifled cannon bear themselves proudly, and 
 cherish an unalterable afiection for the guns that have 
 ploughed up fields of living men. Everything has a nick- 
 name in France, and these gims are called Austrian Cigars. 
 Cuirasses are being brightened for to-morrow ; cans of oil 
 
72 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 are being emptied upon steel and brass ; boots as tall as 
 an ordinaiy chasseur, are being blacked ; and horses are 
 being fed and groomed by hiuidreds. The steeds look 
 lean and Avoe-begone, and the sadder they appear the 
 more they are petted by their riders. 
 
 Sir Chops declares that he begins to feel feverish him- 
 self, -with all this activity under the still scorching sun ; 
 and he is horrified when he hears that to-morrow this vast 
 plain is to be a desert, and that the scattered host is to be 
 gathered together, and directed upon Paris. 
 
 Dinner in a quiet room at Philippe's presently brought 
 back the habitual geniality of Sir Chops' temperament. 
 We horrified him when we declared that we were going, 
 in the cool of the CA'ening, to take a last look at the fever 
 spots of the Boulevards and the Place Vendome. But it 
 is not often that rational man has an opportunity of seeing 
 so serious a case of scarlet fever. Every symptom be- 
 comes interesting, every scarlet spot is significant. The 
 disease has many phases. There is its commercial phase, 
 for instance. Were we not right in taking pains to learn 
 that there Avas room for one hundred and one thousand 
 one hundred and sixty people at the windows, in the line 
 where they woidd come to-morrow ? Was not our severe 
 study rewarded when we learned that a man had made a 
 fortune by taking three thousand seats at a low price, and 
 letting them at a high price ; and that the inventor of the 
 Venetian lamps had his crust and wine assm-ed to him, by 
 his ingenuity, for the term of his natural life ? The cool- 
 ness with which the waiter at the Cafe Pergod paused 
 before oiir empty cup, \nth coffee and cream in his hands, 
 and deliberately watched the finishing toiiches that were 
 being given to the Peace trophy, was refreshing, in the 
 midst of the fever. Coidd any human creature remain 
 indifferent and thrifty while hawkers were selling the 
 Imperial infant in gi-enadier's dress ; broadsheets of the 
 decorations of all nations ; broader sheets describing all the 
 regimentals of the Imperial army ? 
 
 The Boulevards are occupied, although it is ten o'clock at 
 night, by a compact, laughing, and excited crowd. Carpen- 
 ters are sawing planks, for seats, under every gateway. Cabs^ 
 
THE CONQUERING HEROES COJONG. 73 
 
 full of flags, with the eagles lolling out of the windows, are 
 struggling through the throng. 'The Place Vendome is 
 blocked up. The gravel carts are there, and three or four 
 hundred workmen are there also, giving the final rub to 
 the Imperial canopy. Behind the amphitheatre, ladies are 
 creeping into the houses, to remain there all night, tliat 
 they may see the great to-morrow from the peep of day. 
 Cart-loads of flowers are passing hither and thither ; 
 flushed men are buying sou cigars by the hundreds; paper 
 laurel-leaves are fetching high prices ; and wild plans are 
 being laid for securing advantageous positions upon house- 
 tops. People who have a little forethought left, in this the 
 height of the fever, are securing sausages, and ham, and 
 galantine. The pork-bvitchers are besieged. Everybody 
 is suggesting to his neighbour that it would be prudent to 
 go to bed early, because to-morrow will be an exhausting- 
 day. It would be prudent, but who can sleep in a high 
 st-ate of fever ! 
 
 The wine-shops of the Halle -will be crowded to-night. 
 The gamin element of Paris ydW. keep alive the darkness 
 through, before the pewter coimters, and over little glasses 
 of hot wine, and savagely burning cheap brandy. The 
 bakers ■will have no child's play of it, baking roUs and 
 galette through the small hours, to the chirp of crickets 
 and the sound of distant drums. StroUing throiigh the 
 Palais Eoyal on the stroke of eleven, Ave pass through a 
 group of Avomen busily scAving Legions of Honour and St. 
 Helena ribbons ; for to-morroAv's Moniteur is to be gar- 
 nished Avith lists of men Avho are to bear crosses upon their 
 breasts, in token of the strength Avith Avhich they haA'e 
 thrust their steel at the enemy. 
 
 There is a spot, hoAvever, Avhich the fever has hardly 
 reached ; — yet it is close to the Tuilieries. Calm and cool as 
 oysters, the chess-players of the famovis Regence, marshal 
 their paAvns and rest their chins upon their thumbs ; while 
 their opponents snap their finger over the ganie, in fear and 
 trembling. We remember a gentleman Avho, Avishing to 
 give a select society an intense picture of the storming of 
 Badajos, declared that, by Heavens ! it Avas as exciting 
 as a game of chess. "We neA'er understood the force of 
 
74 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 the comparison until now, when we see bishops, knights, 
 kings and queens, of wood and ivory, lording it over mere 
 Imman high-mightinesses, and holding their slaves firmly. 
 In the Regence, the chess-board is not to be cleared for 
 the field of St. Manr. The fever of the Boulevards stops 
 at the cafe doors, and passes aside down the Rue St. 
 Honore. 
 
 We have made a vow that the midnight bells shall 
 sound upon our tympanimi through the softening medium 
 of a nightcap. The great hotel in which we have licen 
 accommodated with a garret, at the price of a prince's suite 
 of rooms (through the kindness of a friend to whom we 
 entrusted the duty of providing a pillow for us), Avhen it 
 receives our jaded limbs, is wide awake still. The waiters 
 are frantic, the master is white hot. We are inchned, in- 
 deed, to recommend him to see somebody ; but we 
 remember how deeply that searching hand of his has 
 dipped into our pockets, and we leave him to shout, and 
 stamp, and stare apoplexy in the face, as he pleases. 
 Number four -wishes to be called at five ; number five must 
 be called and have a cold bath at foiir ; nimiber seventeen 
 is hdng in his clothes, and will want a ciip of tea at a 
 quarter to six, sharp ; number eight orders two bottles of 
 bitter ale and bread and butter now, and eggs and tea 
 Avhile dressing in the morning. 
 
 ' Cochons rrt.'' responds the dingy half- waiter, half- 
 clerk, Avho is taking down these orders, that none of them 
 may be punctually attended to. 
 
 Head throbbing, hands hot, tongue dry, Ave take our 
 candle, and panting imder a hot roof, we hear St. Roch 
 proclaim the advent of the 14th. 
 
 Pale morning light shone upon dazzling dresses in the 
 long breakfast-room of our hotel. But the rolls were 
 only broken at the corners, the rich coffee was only sipped, 
 in the general haste. The fever of j^esterday had reached 
 the hotel. Angry fathers were gathering stray meml^ers 
 of their family ; matrons were leaving strict injunctions 
 about baby's food ; and yoimg gentlemen in plaids of tlie 
 Moses clan, were buckling opera-glasses Inisily about them. 
 
 At the hotel door a low, rumbling inurmiir caught my 
 
THE CONQUERIXa HEROES COMIXa. 75 
 
 ear. It was not seven o'clock yet, and the bye-street was 
 swarming. Monstachioed gentlemen Avere dipping huge 
 lumps of bread into coffee-cups before the cafes ; others, 
 terrible tipplers of that terrible absinthe, were mixing 
 their favourite cloudy-green beverage. Blouses -with 
 gaily-ribboned damsels on their arms, were stalking along 
 the roads toward the Boidevards. Vendors of the four 
 seasons were pushing barrows loaded Avith damaged 
 peaches, thither. At hundreds of Avindows, blithe bonnes 
 were tying Venetian lamps by dozens. The rub-a-dub of 
 drums broke upon the ear at every corner. Policemen 
 looked ferocious, and were frantically catching at horses' 
 heads, as, still moving with the stream, we neared the Boule- 
 vards — Via Sacra upon which the footprints of sixty- 
 thousand heroes shaU be printed ere the sun goes down ! 
 At every tm-n we dip und(>r the floating tricolor, and come 
 nose to beak Avith the imperial eagle. Shrill as Boulogne 
 iishwomen's shriek when they are hawldug oysters, is the 
 cry of vendors of med^ds and paper croA\Tis. Pleasant is 
 the laughter of men and Avomen as they elboAV one another 
 Avhen the croAvd thickens ! We defy any nation to produce 
 men Avho can poke more pointed elboAvs in neighboxirs' 
 chests, Avith better politeness ! Packed in solid masses, 
 between houses and a hedge of bayonets draAvia along the 
 kerb-stones, the Parisian may be studied to advantage. 
 With Avhat good-humour he Avill tread upon yoiir toes ! 
 HoAV deferentially he Avill bar your way. How ceremo- 
 niously he Avill answer you when you Avax a little Avrath 
 Avith him. There is nothing for it but to laugh, and 
 chatter, and politely push, and ceremoniously squeeze with 
 the rest ; — to take the laughter of jammed grisettes for 
 music, and to inhale the fumes of barrack tobacco and 
 garlic as tastes of delightful Araby! Ah, me! the sun is 
 gaining poAver overhead, and the Boulevards are packed 
 closely jis a fig-drum. There is a mighty din along this 
 broadAvay, mingled Avith the clashing of horsemen's swords, 
 and the occasional shouts of the blouses, raised, when some 
 gaudy staff officer, or Avell-knoAXTi general gallops along 
 the cleared road, betAveen lines of ghttering bayonets. 
 Every lamp-post is again and again scaled by urchins, avIio 
 
76 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 are driven back by the police. The balconies are alive 
 with pretty faces, the chimney-pots are gay with the tri- 
 color. Disderi the indefatigable, is in his dark chamber, 
 preparing plates that, by a stroke of the snn, are to cast 
 upon paper two faithful pictures of the Heroes Coming. 
 Every shop -window has a splendid etalage of happy human 
 heads. Thousands of arms bear chaplets, to be cast upon 
 the broad way presently — paper chaplets, cut in- the sombre 
 byways where hunger glares, ever ready to pounce upon 
 a chance that holds a crust. 
 
 The sun flames upon this wa^dng sea. The sea keeps 
 up its music still ; and steams, as it flows between the 
 bayonets and the houses. There are three miles and 
 more of these shoiiting, singing, struggling crowds. There 
 are three mUes of these lofty houses, crowded from garret 
 to ground with the faces of men, women, and children. 
 A broad, even line of march, with great hedges of people 
 flanking it ; with unbroken banks of armed men to guard 
 it, shadowed by triumphal arches, and enliA'ened by dancing 
 oriflammes, is spread before the bronzed host that chokes 
 up the Quartier St. Antoine, and extends far on the dusty 
 road to Vincennes. Little boys are carried everywhere 
 by proud parents, beating httle drums or sounding little 
 trumpets. Three-year-old Zouaves are whimpering for 
 galette, and a Grenadier of the Guard (who must have 
 been short-coated for the occasion) is sucking a sugar- 
 stick. Old men are sporting the bronze medal of St. 
 Helena, and are tlie object of special veneration to the 
 blouses. Every five minutes, ' There they are !' is shouted 
 along the outer lines of the throng ; and an almost deaf- 
 ening roar rises, and runs along the lines, to die only in 
 the Rue de la Paix. The minute hands of the clocks are 
 watched ; the point of distance is steadily kept in view ; 
 and men, women, and children, with outstretched necks, 
 press towards the roads. The sun may dart his most fiery 
 shafts upon this dehrious throng ; not a man, woman or 
 child will wince. For glory is coming, in tattered clothes, 
 and with rusty helmet ; v.ith Italian diist upon wheels, 
 and the spots of enemy's blood upon bayonets ; with 
 ragged flags holding by threads to hacked poles ; with 
 
THE CONQUERING HEROES COMING. 77 
 
 the limping wounded showing honourable scars scarce 
 healed. 
 
 Hark ! the roll of drums ; the thunder of the luvalides 
 guns ; the lively strains of regimental bands ; the electric 
 sounds of distant vivas! Let me escape to my -window 
 from the mad multitude. They throw their limbs about 
 frantically, waAiug flowers and chaplets ! Suddenly the 
 roofs of the houses are alive. People run along parapets, 
 skip upon chimney-pots, slide down slates, and crawl upon 
 burning zinc, with the agility of monkeys. At points 
 along the hne, women and children are squeezed through the 
 serried ranks of the soldiers. The faces of all the soldiers, 
 and of all the crowd, are turned towards the Bastille. 
 The Sim is there to which these human sunflowers open 
 their blossom. The murmur, the drums, the music are 
 approaching. The sounds are becoming separate and dis 
 tinct, and where the opposite lines of soldiers meet in the 
 perspective, there is a dusty, half-distinguishable confusion. 
 
 Yes, yes, they are coming ! Oh ! moment of supreme 
 happiness ! Oh ! proud mothers and sisters, and wives, 
 throw open your arms — for your heroes, with lofty step, 
 though footsore and elbow-greasy, are tramping along the 
 triumphal way ; and every step presses a votive flower ! 
 Bright helmets gleam through the dust ; the music swells, 
 and sharp is the roll of the drums. A loud, shrill, pro- 
 longed cry greets this new assurance that the heroes are 
 at hand. And then a dead silence follows. Every eye is 
 searching a few yards behind the sturdy horSemen who 
 open the march : — searching for a solitary Figure. 
 
 It is approaching, along a floAvery way. A terrible fire 
 of colossal bouquets from the windows, and a galling 
 support of chaplets from behind the soldiers, makes the 
 proud steed of the solitary man wince and caper. Hand- 
 kerchiefs flutter like butterflies from every window ; and 
 a loud shout of welcome rises as the solitary Man, un- 
 moved and easy, and graceful upon his restless horse; lifts 
 his plimaed hat, and just suffers himself to smile, at the 
 tens of thousands who hedge him about, and strew the 
 way of his dainty footed horse, ^vith flowers. He is perfect 
 master of himself while the floral shower is at its fiercest ; — 
 
78 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 while the vivas are loudest. At a brisk Avalk, his steed 
 carries him forward between hedges of iiproarioiis subjects. 
 A bouquet strikes him, and he smiles ; a shout rises, and 
 he lifts his hat. But whence come all these flowers ? 
 Are the fields for miles round Paris, leafless? Is Fon- 
 tenoy-aux-Roses without a rosebud? Sixty thousand 
 men are tramping behind this remarkable leader : -vrith 
 marshals created on the battle-field, and standard-bearers 
 still stained Avith the sweat of mortal strife. There will 
 be flowers, and enough for all of them. 
 
 We can hardly believe it as Ave notice, folloAving in the 
 wake of the leader's brilliant staff", a battahon of men, 
 dressed in all kinds of regimentals, it Avould seem ; but so 
 covered Avith floAvers, from the points of their bayonets to 
 their waist, that the regiments to which they belong re- 
 mains a matter of doubt. ' Long hve the Avoimded !' 
 shout the croAvd from chimney-pot, garret, draAving-room, 
 and pavement. But many handkerchiefs that were AvaAang 
 in the air a minute or tAvo since, are damp with tears noAV. 
 For this battalion of maimed men trudging upon crutches, 
 bearing ghastly Avhite bandages athwart very pale faces — 
 Avith arms in shngs — and one Avitli both arms gone — 
 this sick and faint battahon, is a very difficult thing to 
 keep dry eyes upon. "Women burst upon the invalids 
 through the file of soldiers ; national guards hft Avine to 
 their parched lips. They try hard to bear themselA'cs Ught- 
 ly, and to march briskly under the blazing sun. They are 
 conscious of the great position they occupy — that CA'ery 
 bandage is a sash of honoiir — that every sabre-cut is an 
 ornament. We are noAV hob-and-nobbmg Avith the horrors 
 of the battle-field. But the wounded are passing on their 
 way. To the right and left I can see the army of Italy — 
 a mile of it at a time — Avinding its way: hvely, nnisical, 
 and nimble — past tens of thousands of shouting people. 
 In the distance, the flowers i'ail so fast from the AvindoAvs 
 that they appear hke floral arcades, stretclung from the 
 houses to the road. This is indeed a happy day ! The 
 great army, trailing along, capped Avith sparkling steel, 
 looks like a gigantic serpent passing through a dark and 
 restless bed. 
 
THE COKQUERING HEROES COMIKG. 79 
 
 Compact as a rampart stalks the hauglity Guard, proud 
 of tlie rusty shako and the white seamed coat. Behind, 
 Ave catch, bobbing in tlie distance, the turbans of the 
 Zouaves. The excitement of the roofs and garrets is 
 appalling. La dies lean frantically over tlie balconies; gentle- 
 men cast clouds of cigars into the open space, as the great 
 Zouave drum-major throws his stick high in the air, catches 
 it, t-ftirls it round and round upon his finger, twists it 
 behind his back, and jerks it forward over his head, all to 
 the time of the drums, and walking at a brisk pace ! He 
 makes a great sensation, to which he appears to be supremely 
 indifferent — just as indifferent, indeed, as the majestic dog 
 at his side is. To be the dog of the Zouaves of the Guard 
 is to be the king of dogs. And the dog marching before 
 all Paris, wdth a decoration upon his proud canine chest, 
 and his general mihtary costiune, is equal to his biilliaut 
 destiny. Yovi can see it in the solemn step with which he 
 heads his battalion, and in the lofty cahnness -with which 
 he meets the cheers of the populace. The dust of Italy is 
 upon his paws ; possibly, the fleas of Italy are in his coat ! 
 He may well be proud to head the battalion that stiaits 
 boldly behind him. He can even afford to look doAvn 
 upon the goat of the Chasseurs. 
 
 iMade for fighting, handling muskets as lightly as tooth- 
 picks, self-sufficient everywhere, lithe as osiers, patient 
 under a burning sun, and with a keen sense of the enjoy- 
 ment of fighting, and the pleasiu-e of ploughing hu.mau 
 flesh Avith those long, broad sword-bayonets, these Zouaves 
 look terrible and cruel. If we are cheering successful war, 
 however, we must be loud, as these dark men gUde hghtly 
 and stealthily past, for they are of King Death's chosen 
 body-guard. Still echoes of distant bands to the right and 
 left — bands going and coming ; the hea^^y roll of the drimis 
 before us, the distant and near cries of the vast crowd ; — 
 all under a sun, searing as a bui-ning-giass, overwork the 
 mind. My temples throb, and I am faint, and the march 
 has only just opened ! Some thousand fighting men or 
 so have passed. Why, there are fifty thousand waiting 
 behind, for their viccts and their floAvers! 
 
 I catch the rumbling of artillery. *■ Les Jiase's !^ shout 
 
80 CHRONnCLES OF THE CKUTCH. 
 
 the crowd. The cannon that ploughed tip the Austrian 
 rear must be saluted. Ladies' pocket-handkerchiefs to 
 •welcome these hoarse-throated monsters ! Well, it is not 
 a time to moralise : my business is cheering. The excite- 
 ment is upon us all. ~V\^iat with that Zouave drum-major's 
 lusty drunmiers, what mth the bugles and the bands, 
 what with the shouts of tens of thousands of people which 
 have been ringing in my ears, I cannot hold back to spe- 
 culate Avhy those rifled cannon should be cheered. 
 
 Then a Marshal of France, mth one arm ; a serious, 
 sallow man •, lifts his empty sleeve to his hat, as the people 
 shout to ' Hard-as-leather!' Here he is, back from the 
 war, with his coiys (Varmee behind him, bearing tattered 
 flags. *■ Les drapeaux !' shout the crowd ; and then men 
 almost fall upon their knees and Avorsliip these picturesque 
 rags, which bring the sweat and heat of strife vividly 
 before the mind. Glen's eyes start, to di'ink in the story 
 of every tear, of every spot, upon the beloved tricolor. 
 Bosoms swell as the Austrian colours are borne along. 
 Regiment succeeds regiment, all scarred and worn by war. 
 For each there is a new welcome, and for every marshal 
 a loud cheer and a bed of flowers. It is astonishing to 
 find, as hour after hour passes by, that the cheers last, 
 and that there are more flowers. And still, again and 
 again, artillery rtmibles in the rear of each corps darmee^ 
 and the flags are Avorshipped, and men and women of the 
 crtnvd dash at intervals into the middle of the battalions, 
 and hug and kiss a bronzed brother or friend. Here a 
 national guard throws himself into the arms of a captain 
 of chasseurs ; there, a blouse salutes the tawny cheeks of 
 a sapper of the line. 
 
 Every coips d'arme'e has its nickname. Magenta's 
 corps is Victory ; and when proud Magenta passes, the 
 people cast themselves frantically on his path, and wor- 
 ship the hero of the war. Canrobert is affectionately 
 saluted, at the head of his corps, which is -wickedly called 
 Hope. Then follows, with the baton of a marsh;il, Niel, nick- 
 named The Spoilt Child. Very few cheers meet him. The 
 croAvd must be hoarse and weary at last, "vrith the shouting, 
 the dust, and the siui; so that there is very little enthu- 
 
THE CONQUERING HEROES COMING. 81 
 
 siasm left for the cavalry, which brings Tip the rear; there 
 is none left when, as the poor fellows pass, a deluge 
 lalLs iipon tens of thousands of xuiprt)tected people. The 
 gamins are driven by the storm from the house-tops; the 
 women packed upon the pavements laugh, and gesticidate, 
 and shrink back under cover somewhere ; but still 
 thousands hold their ground in the great bath, and give a 
 faint welcome to the dripping dragoons. 
 
 It is fortunate that the rain has. come to put out the 
 raging fever. The National Guards, with the Avater eddy- 
 ing from their shakos iipon their bourgeois noses, are cool 
 enough, as they close round the last horseman of the 
 army of Italy, and shamble oiF in a broken line, to their 
 quarters." 
 
 " Very exciting, no doubt," said Brother Seesaw, who 
 regulated his idea of every human operation by its effect 
 upon the funds. " Yos, very excithig, very; but mark 
 my words, gentlemen — it's all holler! all holler!" 
 
82 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Gentlejien," said the good Master, "we are already 
 under heavy obligations to Brothers Lebord and Hartopp. 
 Now we have an artist among us, who is, I believe, ready 
 to give lis some of his dreams. You remember his visit to 
 the great Manchester Exhibition of Pictures in 1857, and 
 the gossips Ave have had with him about all he saw. He 
 has put something upon paper, I know; and I have deter- 
 mined to make him read to us this evening." 
 
 Mr. Babbycomb was delighted. He and Brother Balder 
 (the artist to whom the Master had alluded) were great 
 friends. Balder talked about his pictures, and the ateliers 
 in which he had figtired; while Babbycomb recovuited his 
 exploits in alleys and garrets, in cholera times (modestly 
 as all good men speak of their good works), as his com- 
 panion still idly drew his pencil over ends of academy 
 boards. 
 
 Brother Balder was a dreaming man. An enthusiastic 
 and accomplished talker about art — he had never produced 
 a great work of his own. He should have been in an art- 
 professor's chair ; it was hard that he slioidd have been all 
 his life doomed to set forth half-reahsed ideas, with his 
 brush. He began always on a grand scale, and could 
 never set his mind to supply the market. Great, cliunsy 
 cartoons were his, Avith noble but disjointed thoughts in 
 them. He stood still; thin, and poor, and threadbare, 
 while lighter men passed from the shivering shade, into 
 
THE BEST OF ALL GOOD COJIPAXV. 83 
 
 the warmth of prosperity. His end was a terrible ilhicss, 
 and rooms under the sheltering roof of the Crutch. 
 
 But now he Avas to read. He protested that he was no 
 reader ; that on this present evening he was hoarse. Still, 
 however, the Master pleasantly persisted in his demand 
 for Brother Balder's contribution. In the end, the good 
 Brother took out his paper and said — 
 
 " Let me then give you a fanciful dream of the His- 
 torical Portrait Gallery, I saw with a friend, amid the 
 ^Manchester Art Treasiu'es, as aiTanged clearly, and with 
 an artist's eye, by Peter Cunningham. I call it — 
 
 " THE BEST OF ALL GOOD COMPANY. 
 
 "We passed a strange night. Along that broad dark 
 road, spangled here and there at its edges by the bed- 
 lights of early risers ; seeing ghostly forms in the gloom ; 
 pensive, and strangely stirred to avoid all men by the 
 way, we wandered ; while the moon was swiftly smeared 
 by patches of cloud — to a suburban park, in Avhich a magic 
 palace had arisen, and v/here Ave Avere to meet a curious 
 company. The ring of our footsteps alone soimded to our 
 ears.. We were lea^dng the Avorld behind us. Quaint 
 foiTiis of serA-itors flitted before us. Torches Avildly danced 
 in front of the magic palace. The clash of armour reached 
 us as Ave adA^anced rapidly, determined, come what might, 
 to be calm and cool. White hghts played in the distance 
 about moA'ing halberds. Were they held by men AAith 
 frills and flat caps? The moonlight is so treacherous, that 
 Ave dare not assert anA'thing. 
 
 The gloom deepened, hoAveA'er, as Ave reached the palace- 
 gates. The himi of life Avas certainly there ; but hoAV 
 curious Avere the figiu'es ! 
 
 A steel gauntlet presently fljished imder our very nose. 
 We Avere evidently summoned to declare ourseh'es. But 
 a gentler hand, clad in buff leather, waA'ed the cold steei 
 away, and Ave passed on. Isoav, Ave appeared to A\'-allv upon 
 rushes; and noAV our feet timidly sank into the softest 
 carpet. There are lights, but sti'angely conti'iA-ed — " 
 
 G 2 
 
84 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 "Gas?" asked that practical Seesaw. A look of scorn 
 from tlie Master suppressed a rising titter. 
 Tlie di'eamy artist continued: — 
 
 ** But strangely contrived ; and there is, here and there, a 
 nauseous smell of burning fat. The gallery in -which we 
 stand is a lengthy one, with a ribbon of moonlight along the 
 roof. The columns look like shafts of burnished gold ; 
 ghostly forais, in white, keep the way clear, down the centre; 
 music faintly lises from the dim extremity, that, to owy con- 
 fused sight, is simply shifting vapour ; and the flitting 
 figiu'es are l)ut so much moving, darkened, cloud-shadoAvs 
 in a silvery fog. You -will all readUy imagine that in our 
 every -day dress, with a sUk hat between our kid-gloved 
 fingers, we felt somewhat ill at ease. Now a colossal A\'ig ; 
 now a head, cropped, and round as a cocoa-nut ; now a 
 helmet; now a low, broad cap; now a conical hat, smo- 
 thered imder feathers, dashed past us. Stdl we moved 
 forward. 
 
 Presently, for the first time, we caught the sound of 
 human voices ; but they were not the voices to which our 
 nineteenth century ears were attuned: the words they 
 spoke were strange. A jargon of French; coarse oaths 
 and allusions, shocking to our ears; jokes, for parallels 
 to which I refer you to untouched editions of Congreve ; 
 but all distant and faint ! As we stdl advanced, however, 
 the light increased. We strained our eyes, and clutched 
 our hats. 
 
 The company was arriving. A hand beckoned us to 
 the south side of the nave. We followed silently ; and 
 leaning against a column, or endeavouring to lean against 
 its shado%\y line, for v.'e could never touch it (and -set it 
 could not be made of air), we watched the progress of 
 ghostly events. 
 
 We could see just the nape of men's nocks along the 
 entire line of the perspective, llie front of these bended 
 men was turned tcjwards the wall ; and in tlicir hands they 
 held lights of many kinds, varying, as far as we could 
 judge, from the pitchy torch to the pink wax-candle; — still 
 the faint music coidd be heard, and still tlie voices, from 
 
THE BEST OF ALL GOOD CO:iIPANY. 85 
 
 far off, sounded weirdly in our ears. A distance that we 
 endoaToiired in vain to lessen, appeared to be between u.s 
 and the scene we were witnessing. i\Ien Averc incessantly 
 about to speak to us, but they never did speak; now a 
 hand was about to grasp ours heartily, but it was invaiiably 
 wdthdrawu before we could catch it. A goblet of ruljy 
 vdno., or some sack Avas at our elliow, and our palate 
 longed to taste it, — only to make it vanish. An inviting 
 chair tempted us to press its cushions, but we never dared 
 to trust ourselves to its treacherous solidity. 
 
 But, hush ! They come : — and how strangely ! 
 
 Along the dark walls are gold-edged doors, or frames, 
 and from them step the motley company. ^len whom we 
 thought dead long years ago, stride, in the moonlight near 
 us ; but still, we feel, very distant. First, in the throng, 
 stalks the second Eichard. They say he is a fop ; but 
 who would think so ? He is stupidly stolid, Avith that 
 plump face of his ; yet he carries the sceptre A\-ith him, 
 completely conscious of the poAver it gives him. ^len 
 duck their heads Ioav as he passes on, leading the company; 
 foUoAved by Henry, and nervous, cruel, Richard the Third. 
 Let us hope that this man's eye aatII not rest upon us. 
 WickhiFe also passes solidly. But, AA'ay there, ghostly un- 
 substantial serving men ! Avay there, old Holbein ! for see, 
 the broad shoidders of the eighth Henry appear, and the 
 complaisant moonlight plays upon the countless jcAvels 
 that coA'er the rotten heart ! With Avhat a jatmty sAvagger 
 he Avears that Ioav velvet hat ; and hoAv the cruel httle 
 eyes gleam ! Surely that manly figure at his side, splendid 
 in scarlet robes ; — that noble countenance, can ncA'er be 
 the A-assal to such a lord ! Ay, it is so ; for see, hoAV 
 respectfiilly he Avaits upon the footsteps of the squat 
 Harry. Earl of Surrey, SAveet-lipped poet, ayIio brought 
 home some of the sunhght of Italy in his verse, boAvs to 
 Jane Sejnnour, the gentle. There is a grace in her pend- 
 ant sleeves, and e\en in the squareness of her dress. 
 Very feminine is she, as she turns to the burly Wolsey ; 
 and the gloAV of his red garments throAvs a warm tint 
 upon her face, that gives it a neAV hfe. But hoAV little is 
 that man to be touched ! There is nought, save the biiild, 
 
86 CHRONICLES OF THE CRL'TCH. 
 
 of the butcher's son in the cardinal now. He sees his 
 high place in the throng, and stalks into it. 
 
 Sweet is youth, always: and how fresh is childish 
 Edward the Sixth, as he steps through his gilded door- 
 way. His gait is not Idngly, perhaps ; he has little or 
 nothing of the monarch about him, even in his ermine 
 and Avhite satin. Pretty feet now press the vapoury 
 ground, from the great Harry's court, resplendent with 
 gold and jewels — stiff, and prim, and stately. The line of 
 procession is growing rapidly. And now there is a pause 
 in the arrivals ; and the company we have noticed passes 
 along, up the nave, into the misty distance. • 
 
 Softly, again, the music rises, as Philip and Mary step, 
 awkward, furlDidding, and ugly, from their frames. In 
 their rear comes clever Holbein, looking upon the stately 
 procession before him Avith a paternal regard. And then, 
 walking backAvards, Lucchero and Sir Antonio ]More 
 appear. No wonder that they boAV profoundly. No Avon- 
 der that there is a stir among the lingering croAvd. For, 
 io ' advances from the frame, Avith a stately tread, the 
 figure of Queen Bess. The high arched nose, the search- 
 ing eyes, and the red hair — and the long, lean hands ! It 
 is startHng to look through the centuries, and see them all 
 in the hfe once more ! Hoav strong the vanity, yet hoAV 
 great the soul ! The foot is upon the map of England — 
 yet even the ruff is not forgotten. We Avere almost 
 laughing at the high-pointed sleeves of the illustrious 
 lady ; but the brilUant suite in her rear commands respect 
 for her. Her courtiers' short cloaks have an odd look, to 
 our vulgar eyes ; and to us, their manners are too elabo- 
 rate. But they command silence, these stately shades ! 
 Here is the Earl of Essex, Avith beard like a flat, prize 
 straAvberiy ; here treads great Raleigh ; and behind him 
 — it was even so — sombre Shakspere, Avith his noble head. 
 About his mighty shade, manly Ben Jonson, and some fcAV 
 actors have congregated — a curious group, close to the 
 skirts of Mary, Queen of Scots, Avho sAvims, stately as a 
 swan, AAath a cross upon lier sad heart. Tins heart must 
 beat somewliat Avildly in this strange company. 
 
 Was it upon us that Leicester tiuned liis arrogant eye, 
 
TIIK BEST OF ALL GOOD COMPANV. 87 
 
 as he stalked forward ? We tnist not. Let the Tudors 
 pass ; and tliey may pass proudly, even laden with their 
 crimes. 
 
 Sad company steps, at a funereal pace, from the 
 dark, mysterious wall. Ponderous James the First, ^\-ith 
 his son and daughter ; and grave Bacon ! Buckingham 
 is at hand, vnth a dazzling group in ruffs and cloaks — a 
 moving prison. Another pause. 
 
 And now, ushered by Vandyke, melancholy Charles 
 appears. At his side are his stately wife and his children. 
 A brilliant array of knightly gentlemen troop at his heels ; 
 a burlv figru-e, however, crosses his path, and he pauses 
 in anger; but way is made for the moment, l)y his Majesty's 
 gallant coiu't, and he presses ahead. 
 
 The rays of the moon play along the edge of an axe, 
 carried by one of the attendants, as the court of the first 
 Charles sweeps by. Gay Lovelace and Killigi-ew hold 
 back to chat and laugh with Suckling: they are dashing 
 fellows, and bent upon drinking to their mistresses ! 
 
 A relief from the bright colours. A broAvai, compact 
 company make their way along the nave. The faces are 
 massive, serious, detennined. First, walks the Lord Pro 
 tector, smiling — possibly at the foppery of Lovelace, and 
 the highly-coloured crew before him — and vnth him are 
 Pym, great Blake, and mild, manly Hampden, looking 
 straight before him. But this sombre group has no sooner 
 shoATO its back, than" kughing, chattering fellows, gaily 
 tinted as macaws, to which the last crimson has been 
 added, trip from their frames. Where are Charles's 
 puppies? His Portuguese mfe is here; and stiff enough 
 she looks in her native dress. But he pays her little 
 attention. In truth, she has a quiet, homely look, beside 
 those ample, loosely-clad ladies whom his jNIajesty addresses 
 at intervals, touching, here and there, a chin, vdih his fore- 
 finger. 
 
 There trips Rochester, wnth his monkeys. Think you 
 he is distiu-bed because Suckling, Avho has jiist turned 
 back to notice him, grasps the hilt of his sword? No; 
 the laurel remains about the animal's A\"icked head. We 
 bow to Evelyn the Simple, as he almost trips over the 
 
88 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 white wand of Arlington. Somewhat shocking, we must 
 confess, are the dresses of the ladies who now advance, 
 and claim place about the coiu't of Charles. Tut ! there 
 is Nell G^vynne ! pretty, cheerful, shameful girl ! Sad 
 dogs, we fear, are all these gentlemen ! 
 
 James the Second steps do^vn, carrpng a portentous 
 proboscis : — -with hapless Monmouth. They passed so 
 quickly that we had hardly more than a gUmpse of them. 
 But here come William and Mary. How grave is Newton 
 as he moves. ^Marlborough, Avith all the splendour of a 
 marshal upon liim, looks the conqueror; ready to cleave 
 the first aggressor AN-ith the staff he holds. Way is deftly 
 made for him ; and at his heels follow, Harley and the 
 Young Pretender, properly powdered for the occasion. 
 
 But we are particularly interested in the next group, 
 little claim as any member of it may have to wear ermine. 
 Here is Dryden, emphatically putting something to stolid 
 Tonson. But while they talk, Ave tiu'u to watch the male 
 coimtenance of Steele — to catch a glimpse of Addison. 
 ^<Vhj doth yonder sickly creature join the Avon di'ous throng? 
 Look in his eye, and you shall be ansA\^ered, for you shall 
 knoAV Alexander Pope at once. That is Lady Mary at 
 Avhom he fiercely glances. But she is undismayed, and 
 struts carelessly ouAvard, Avith SAAift at her elboAv. 
 
 And noAv a ucav race appears. Way for the Fu'st of 
 the Georges, and Queen Caroline, and Walj^ole and 
 Harley! Theatrical Chatham stalks past — A'anquishing 
 the gout, that he may be seen to the best advantage. We 
 are sure Garrick looks upon him Avith no friendly eye. 
 Ponderous Johnson appears, leaning upon the arm of 
 Gay, while he talks to Gibbon, AA-hose flabby face trembles 
 at CA'ery step. We thought the splendid Earl of Bute, 
 faA'ourite of a royal princess, looked someAvhat super- 
 ciliously upon the poor scribes. But AAdiat cared they ? 
 Rough, ploughboy Burns returns the glance of Bute, and 
 then darts a Avicked look at dandy Bp-on. SoUtary, and 
 ANdth a cuid upon his lip, Avalks Childe Harold, and not far 
 off AA'e note opium-eating Coleridge. 
 
 The cortege is at its close. Nearly all the ghostly 
 A'isitors ha\'e Arrived. But, strangely enough, there is 
 
THE DKST OF ALL (JOOD COMr.VKV. 89 
 
 vivacious Brougliam, a young man; there, too, savage 
 Gifford; and there fresli and frolicksome Lockhart, talking 
 to Sir W'aUer! Crowds of scrviug-mcu close about the 
 heels of these latter. There is an awful rush, iu the tide 
 on which we are carried, although no hand nor elboAv 
 touches us. Laughter rings through the air, yet it sounds 
 to us as from a great distance ; and there are the faint 
 strains of the music still. There is to be high revelry 
 to-night, undoubtedly. Bluft" Harry's face will shine and 
 glow ere he returns to his frame. Johnson promises him- 
 self the pleasui'c of a booxe with Gibbon; and Burns, and 
 Byron, and Kepiolds — ay, and Sii- John Suclding. Tlie 
 burly schoolmaster is not disinclined to see himself in the 
 company of a lord. The only fear he has is, that Burns 
 Avill get uproarious, and will disturb the conversation Anth 
 his 'Eigs o' Barley.' He has alAvays been told that 
 the little Scot is a dangerous, although a right good fellow, 
 sir. 
 
 The tide still rolls ouAvard, and we float with it, almost 
 reconciled to the army of ghosts that encompasses us. 
 Suddenly a broad Avay is made do-\\ai the navCs Siu'ely 
 their ghostly majesties are not about to dance! 'Ay!' 
 a voice Avhispers. We turn sharply round, bvit cannot 
 fasten upon our informant. We would not have missed 
 this night for worlds. See Eichard the Second — a very 
 demon — leads forth plain Queen ]\Iary. Grave James the 
 First makes vis-a-vis with stately Elizabeth ! And there 
 is poor gawky Philip, Avriggling forAvard with unfortunate 
 Jane Seymour; wliile Charles the Second comes laughing 
 after, making lovely ^lary Stuart smile and chatter. 
 There are others — but the mist Avhich we cannot altogether 
 clear from our eyes, obscures them. From a farther 
 corner, we could catch the stern eye of Wolsey, and the 
 savage little optics of the Eighth Harry, glaring on the 
 scene. Hapless Seymour ! And surely that Avas Crom- 
 well's sturdy tread that sounded along the nave in the 
 midst of the minuet, and made the royal dancers start! 
 But the dance Avas a fine thing to see. It A\as a roA-al 
 one, right royally performed. Perhaps PhiHp AA'as the 
 only prince Avho • failed to bear himself as became his 
 
90 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 rank. Indeed, -n-e tlioiiglit we noticed tlae Merry ^lonarcli 
 point the attention of liis lovely partner to cruel Clary's 
 ill-favoured consort. Stately as the dancers, was the 
 music that accompanied them. It made the pulse beat 
 feverishly ; it carried the heart away — to dream delightful 
 visions, upon which the pale moon ahvays shone, and 
 which faded before they could be fairly seen. 
 
 We vv'andered, Avondering still. Everythmg near to vis 
 — ^yet everything beyond our reach. Not a single 'beaded 
 brim' reached our parched lips through the night, yet on 
 all sides sparkled goblets — on all sides ghostly knights and 
 princes held crystal cups between their a^vful eyes and 
 the moon's rays. The excitement alone kept our spirits 
 up, for at every turn strange incidents claimed our wonder. 
 Here we passed Charles the Second offering a cigar to 
 James the First (who declined the attention very stifly) ; — 
 there ■Slary Stuart looked at good Queen Bess from head 
 to foot, and passed scornfully on; — there Charles the First 
 turned rapidly do-^vn a side passage, to avoid Cromwell ; — 
 and there again the merrie monarch and the l^krff king, 
 arm-in-arm, were whispermg with Nell Gwynne and a 
 host of loosely-clad ladies. ]\Iarlborough talked -\A-ith 
 Blake, and flourished his baton -with fearful A^igour, as he 
 spoke. 
 
 Silent and even pensive, amid the throng, his eye 
 not distracted even by the jewels that blazed upon the 
 ample chest of Se^miour's inconstant lord, -with his broad 
 coUar carelessly folded over his black, walked WilHam 
 Shakspere ! A vivid light played about his head. If Harry 
 the Eighth, and Oiarles, and their brilliant courts heeded 
 him httle, or simply stared at the poor plebeian in black — 
 in return, Johnson, and CongrcA^e, and Byron, and Cole- 
 ridge, bowed low, as he joined them. And they all went 
 their way, leaving princes behind them. Our footsteps 
 touched the earth lightly as we followed, far in the rear. 
 They turned aside, through gloomy passages; and as they 
 moved onward, indistinct, but, we thought, more familiar 
 shapes, bowed low before them. They entered a grand 
 chamber, brightly lighted; that is, the light was bright, 
 but to our poor eyes all remained indistinct. Still, we 
 
THE BEST OF ALL GOOD COIIPANV. 91 
 
 were thankful for tlie little we could see, as the great 
 company gathered about an ample board; and Selden, and 
 Evelyn, and Vandyke, and Holbein, and Lovelace, and 
 SuckUng, and old (lodfrcy Kneller, and Al)raham Cowley, 
 joined the cu'cle. The latter appeared, supporting ailing 
 Pope. But where were blind Milton and Andrew Marvel? 
 That was surely Burns' hearty laugh! There, too, Avas 
 Hume, just closing his note-book. Reynolds looked on 
 benignly through his spectacles. It was a wondrous com- 
 pany indeed. Our ears were strained to catch the immor- 
 tal words of every speaker; but our sense was dull, or we 
 were forbidden to hear. Still it was no slight honour to 
 look, from afar, upon the feast — to catch even the faint 
 echo of the triumphant song! Every eye sparkled; every 
 cheek glowed; for the banquet was served by princes. 
 King Henry the Eighth stood, as toast-master, behind the 
 chair of Shakspere! Henrietta ]\Iaria was Hebe to Van- 
 dyke! Lely's cup was frothed to the brim by the ]\Ierry 
 !^Ionarch ! 
 
 And could we have heard the Avords that Avere spoken, 
 how should Ave have interpreted them? Centuries con- 
 tradict years. The year that saAV King Harry's portrait 
 completed — saw Holbein the bending serAator still. But 
 centuries shook the king to dust, and grasped to croAA'n 
 his urn, the figure of the painter. We keep laurels eA-er 
 fresh for the broAVS of Holbein and Vandyke; Ave are still 
 the vassals of Shakspere. Time has turned the balance, 
 striA'ing to teach the princes of the earth to be reverent 
 before God-gifted nobility. Yet Avho, CA'en here, AA-ould 
 accept an immortal sonnet for a single quartering. The 
 bloody hand Avaves back the careering Pegasus! 
 
 Still there is hope, Ave fondly murmur to oiu-seh'es, 
 remembering for a moment the Avorking Avorld Ave have 
 quitted — there is hope in this great mystic gathering, if 
 Ave can only carry back its lesson Avitli us to our neighbours. 
 
 Immortal lips send jcAVcls to the ear, upon the AA'aA'es of 
 sound. Gentle lessons fall from Shakspere's mouth. The 
 heart Avarms at the sight of Sir Joshua's pencil. And 
 princes AA^ait upon the best of all good company ! Briefly : — 
 
 The morning light — SAVorn enemy of ghosts — surprised 
 
92 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 old Johnson mixing a final glass! The glorioTis vision 
 faded; and we went out from the faiiy palace, we knew 
 not how. Nor can I tell you how we reached our bed. 
 Biit the sun was high above the horizon, when the eddying 
 steam of my shaving-v.'ater reminded me of the day's 
 duties." 
 
 The Master tapped the table with his tobacco-stopper, 
 and nodded to the bashful reader; and ]\Ir. Babbycomb's 
 face was a garland of smiles as he shook his friend's hand. 
 
 " But," said Babbycomb slyly, " this is not all, Brother 
 Balder. I remember a dreamy gossip of yours over that 
 curious picture of dead Chattcrton, we have so often talked 
 about." 
 
 "Let lis have it," said the Master, "by aU means, over 
 our humming ale, if it isn't long : — and then to bed." 
 
 "I'm afraid I shall bore you," quoth Balder the modest; 
 "but, liickily, the thing is a mere fragment. Five minutes, 
 and you Avill be out of your misery." 
 
 SITTING BEFORE CHATTERTON, 
 
 is the title of the trifle. It runs thus : — 
 
 " It was early morning when I sat xmdisturbed, in the 
 northern aisle of tlie Art Treasures Palace, in the summer 
 of 1857 — before Thomas Chatterton. The world rolls 
 back, as I sit and dream. As my eyes wander over those 
 rich, deep locks of liair — the bitter story of the strong boy's 
 struggle, brings tears under my eyelids. The world looks 
 coldly on now — as it looked some ninety years ago. IMany 
 men pass this way with a sneer upon their clean-shorn lip. 
 
 After all said and done, what was Chatterton ? was he 
 not the proud, self-willed, immoral attorney's apprentice of 
 Bristol ; avIio committed ingenious forgeries ; who was 
 insolent towards his superiors ; who became a precocious 
 young libeller ; and Avho madly threw up the brilliant 
 prospect of one day becoming a Bristol attorney, for the 
 
SITTING BEFORE CHATTERTON. 93 
 
 more glorioxis career of letters, in London ? More, consider 
 liis religious views, and then, gentlemen of the jur\-, for 
 your verdict. It -will probably be a harsli one — rf you be 
 in the s^\^Jlg of to-day's gentilities : — if your soul be prison- 
 ed in the forms that prevail, on all sides, just now, yoiu* 
 eyes Avill rest upon this lifeless form : — upon the pale 
 morning hght gi^'ing a frosty bloom to the piirjjle drapery: 
 — upon the last puff of feathery smoke rising from the 
 expiring flame : — upon the scattered papers, all ghastly 
 •with the dead hopes they bear in black and white — and 
 you will cry — ' Foolish boy ! ' 
 
 And, prav, why did he not respect his articles of appren- 
 ticeship? Why did he leave that good mother's side? 
 "\Yhv part from the young and humble friends of Bristol, 
 who loved him, and were proud of him ? AVhy jump lustily 
 into the basket of the London coach, to seek the foulness 
 and the coarseness of Shoreditch ? The feathers of the 
 pillow are sweeter far, perhaps (so Beranger would teach 
 us), than the sohd marble of the recording tomb : — and 
 the valley is softer than the rocky seaboard. But is the 
 bird of sinewy pinion content to build under a cottage 
 thatch ? No, — he buUds, where the -\\-inds shriek, and where 
 the billows thunder. And so, those marble temples that 
 gUsten before me, Avith the sweat of death upon them, 
 disdained the pillow in the Avidow's cottage, and passed to 
 the garret ' within an inch of a thunder-cloud.' 
 
 ilr. Wallis has done his painter's work with terrible 
 fidehtv. Here is all that remains of old Cross' arsenic — 
 that, in ,a thoughtless moment, he sold to the poor boy, 
 yesterday. Here hes the poet's parting cui'se upon Bris- 
 tol. Tlie baker round the corner, who held back the loaf 
 yesterday — must feel sore at heart to day. 
 
 A gentle tap falls iipon the door. Strike louder, timid 
 ^Mistress Angell, youi- lodger certainly hears you not. As 
 he parted from you last night, he kissed you for the first 
 time. Be prepared, good, thoughtless soul ! — those lips 
 are cold now, and there is arsenic hanging about them ! 
 You knock louder — but still that ann dangles to the 
 gi-ound — that noble head is marble. You whisper fear- 
 
94 CHEOXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 fully to your female friend : — and still you knock. Wliy, 
 woman — Death was lying heavily iipon this young l:)oy's 
 sturdy shoulders wlien he mounted the stairs, so lumpishly, 
 last night, as though he would break up the way behind 
 him. Cann't you feel that Death is in the room ? Does 
 not his icy breath poiu- upon you through the chinks of 
 the door? 
 
 Ay, ]\Irs. Angell is fairly frightened now. And quickly 
 her pit-a-pat steps fade to the street. Sturdy feet mount 
 the staircase. Yet the boy's clammy ciuds lie, still, 
 over the bed's edge. Raise the crowbar — it cannot wake 
 hun ! 
 
 Enter, the apothecary Cross — he, who sold the arsenic, 
 and yet who almost loved Chatterton ! Enter, Mrs. Angell, 
 poor soul ! — to weep, yoii may be sure, and accuse herself, 
 only too grievously. Ay, pick up the torn papers. You 
 shall find, for Bristol, the boy's curse: for his mother, 
 his cold limbs: for his Maker, his stormy soid, now 
 becalmed. 
 
 Dingy men come from Shoe-lane — now that tweh'e 
 wondrously gifted jurymen have said '■felo-de-se'' : — they 
 come, and bear along the parish shell. It is the world's 
 shame, not that of Chatterton, my men, you bear upon 
 yoiu- shoulders. Hurry away, and in the dead of the 
 night, find workhouse earth — be sure, that it is unhallowed 
 — ^for the ashes of the boy who conjiu'ed up in an 
 attorney's dingy office, the grim figure of the JNIonk RoAvley, 
 You may do your Avork as roughly as may be — yet, after 
 eighty years, shall brave men look upon it, and say how 
 ill it was done. 
 
 Take WaUis and ]\Iasson for chief mourners, and be 
 certain of Goldy's tear, as of Walpole's most gentlemanly 
 regret. 
 
 And were those young limbs, at last, put to rest in the 
 shadow of that church, which the hapless l)oy had im- 
 mortalized? All we can say is — that Ave trust it was so — 
 if the ashes of Chatterton can, indeed, be at rest, in the 
 city that roused all that Avas bitter in him. The face looks 
 calm enough, Mr. Walhs, as you shoAV it to us — calm 
 
SITTING BEFORE CITATTERTON. 95 
 
 enough to rest anyAvhere. There is no pride upon that lip 
 now. Those eyes have lost their old habit of staring. 
 The world has conquered one of the proudest spirits that 
 ever struggled to make a figure in it. The Avidow, at 
 Bristol, will not have her tAvo silk dresses — ^iDUt she may 
 prepare her crape. The girls Avill be teased no longer. 
 A braver heart never faced its doom. Hoav haughtily, 
 only yesterday, those lips defied your S}anpathy — poor, 
 weeping !Mrs. Angell ! But — reserA^e your story for the 
 ears of the tAvclve intelligent men Avho A\nll meet, pre- 
 sently, at the Three CroAvs in this same Brook-street, Hol- 
 born. The scene before us belongs to NuuiIkt 4 in the 
 same street, and to the year 1770. 
 
 Well, I must move forAvard, and make Avay for the 
 streaming croAvd behind me. With charity — Anth pity in 
 my soul, shall I AvithdraAV my eyes from that noble head — 
 from that Avondrous life, extinguished in its young morn- 
 ing. The dayUght that is creeping througli the half- 
 opened garret A\indoAV, and touches tenderly the outUne of 
 this AAdiite sleeper, is young, as the light that yesterday 
 gaA-e glory to these A'igorous limbs. You may tell that the 
 boy suffered greatly before he fell. All about — the 
 very air — is cold and reserved. The AVi'eck of a proud 
 man hes before you, and commands respect for strength, 
 at any rate. Oh! if the pride could have been thaAved, 
 once! If Thomas Chatterton could haA'e broken bread at 
 the hands of apothecary Cross — from Avhom he took 
 arsenic! If he could have confessed his temporary foilure 
 to the anxious hearts of Bristol! Well — then, he had not 
 been Thomas Chatterton." 
 
 Here ended Brother Balder's reading. 
 
 "Very, A'ery sad story, that of Chatterton," said the 
 Master. 
 
 " I've ahvays been given to imderstand that the boy 
 Chatterton Avas a highly improper character," from SeesaAA'. 
 
 " ^liat ! " exclaimed Babbycomb, starting from liis seat, 
 eagerly, to defend friend Balder. 
 
' * CIIEOXICLES OF THE CKITCH. 96 
 
 " Hush ! gentlemon," cried tlie ^Master, smiling do-\vn 
 the ruffled temper of the old doctor. " Hush ! It is not 
 v,-eU to sleep upon hot words. Let us lay doAvn our pipes, 
 in perfect peace. Good night : the sleep of just men be 
 upon us all." 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CKUTCH. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Brother Frowde — a bookish, silent man — had not yet 
 opened his lips at the reading meetings of the Brethren of 
 the Crutch. But after the fifth meeting, the Master, fresh, 
 on a November morning, as a peony, tapped at the book- 
 worm's door. 
 
 " Come in," almost growled Brother Frowde. The 
 Brother had a pen between his teeth, and the folio edition 
 of "Cotgrave's Dictionary," upon his knees. 
 
 " A wonderful juml-)le of English and French, this, sir," 
 said Frowde, still turning the yellow pages -with his thin 
 hands. 
 
 " Ay, ay," cried the ]Master cheerily. Pidling his pipe 
 (a meerschaum, richly brown as a ripe chesnut) from his 
 pocket, he held it before the brother. " Have I yoiur 
 permission ?" • 
 
 " Sir, you are at home, directly you lift my latch, as 
 indeed, every honest human soul is." 
 
 The Master bowed, and filled his pipe. 
 
 "I was much interested, the other evening, in your 
 account of your visit to a pipe manufactory, sir," said 
 Frowde — "but you might have made more of your subject. 
 You might have touched upon the famous old pipes of 
 Amesbury — the gauntlet pipes — the Indian's pipe of peace, 
 and the INIilo pipes of our present time." 
 
 " Shall I tell you, brother, why I didn't touch upon all 
 these topics ?" asked the Master. 
 
 " WeU, sir." 
 
 H 
 
98 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 " Because " (here a cloud of smoke) — " Because " (here 
 another cloud of smoke) "I was profoundly ignorant of 
 every one of them." 
 
 " Bless me !" said the bookish brother. " There is the 
 British INIuseum." 
 
 "To be sure there is; but I'm no book-worm, do you 
 see. I knoAv nothing about your Musexun. That reminds 
 me. Not a bad idea. Could you tell us anything about 
 it ; could you read us something about it V" 
 
 " Nothing, that all the world doesn't know." 
 
 " What was it, say — a hundred years ago ?" 
 
 Brother Frowde paused, lifted his hand to one or two 
 of the books upon his shelves — then — 
 
 " Well, I'll look into that." 
 
 " Good — good," replied the Master; "and now I must to 
 Lebord's; I want to pump him about my French Invahds." 
 
 " Don't rely on me," said Frowde. 
 
 " On the contrary, Brother Frowde, I shall make your 
 
 paper the evening's ^)zece de resistance.'''' 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 T\^ien the brothers were assembhng for their sixth 
 reading, Brother Frowde stepped into the hall -with empty 
 hands. The Master looked inquisitively at him : Brother 
 Babbycomb, who Avas in the secret, whispered anxiously 
 in Balder's ear. 
 
 Coaxingly, the INIaster presently leaned over the table 
 towards the silent book-worm, and said — 
 
 "Are you ready?" 
 
 " Qu.ite," was the laconic answer. At which Babby- 
 comb started, as though he had accidentally pricked 
 himself Avith one of his oavu lancets. 
 
 Brother FroAvde dijiped his fingers into his waistcoat 
 pocket, and AvithdrcAV a few slips of cnxmpled paper. 
 
THE BRITISH MUSEUM A CENTURi' AGO. 99 
 
 Babbycomb st:u-od; the Master (who h;u,l an exc^uisitely 
 appointed manuscript before him) smiled ; and the 
 literary brother, seeing the general attention dra'wii upon 
 his paper, obsei"ved, abstractedly — 
 
 " We literary men don't waste paper." 
 
 "Sometimes! sometimes!" squeaked Sands, -who tittered, 
 and rubbed his hands, profoundly convinced that he had 
 made an inimitable joke. 
 
 " Silence, gentlemen ! " cried the ]\Iaster, " for our 
 learned friend Frowde." 
 
 Oiu: learned friend Frowde then raised his voice : — 
 
 "the BRITISH MUSEUM A CEJsTUKY AGO. 
 
 "Experience has long since proved the injustice of 
 closing national museiuiis from the great body of the 
 people, imder the plea that the public is a most destructive 
 and brutal animal. Nervous gentlemen of the old school 
 threw up their hands in despair when they learned that 
 Government intended to give the pubhc free and unlimited 
 access to the National Gallery ; but the result of the ex- 
 periment has been here, as elsewhere, a strong and 
 unequivocal contradiction of the old Torjdsm, that the 
 labourer in cordiu-oy would make as lamentable a figure 
 in a miiseimi or a pictiu'e-gallery, as the proverbial ])idl 
 in the china-shop. Crowds of artisans pace the galleries of 
 the National Gallery and the Kensington IMuseimi, and yet 
 the glories of Ruljens, Claude, and Vandyke are not dese- 
 crated — the line of beauty is untouched upon Hogarth's, 
 palette. Any injury which the national collection may have- 
 suffered, is traceable, according to high critical autliorit}-, 
 rather to the appointed guardians of the treasures, than to 
 the rash lingering of artisan visitors. To the minds of many 
 enlightened men, the picture-cleaner, with his scrubbing- 
 brush, is an animal more to be feared than the poor 
 holiday-maker, Avith his reverence and his seemly bearing. 
 
 " Rank Radicalism," cried Horrocks. 
 " Hush !" said the master. 
 
 h2 
 
100 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 " Ciirious persons "svlio are anxious to obtain a fair es- 
 timate of the progress made by men in authority, in their 
 jridgment on the moral rectitude of the great industrial 
 class of this countiy, may form a \TLvid picture of the old 
 state of feeling Avhich regulated the admission of visitors 
 to the British ]\Iuseum a century ago. 
 
 In the year 1759, the trustees of this institution pub- 
 lished their ' Statutes and Kules relating to the Inspection 
 and use of the British Lluseum.' Tliis instructive docu- 
 ment may now pertinently serve to illustrate the darkness 
 from which we are struggUng. Visitors who now con- 
 sider it rather an affront to be required to giA'e up 
 theii" cane or umbrella at the entrances to our ^Museums 
 and Galleries ; ■ttdll be astonished to learn, that in the year 
 1757, those persons who -wished to inspect the national 
 collection, known as the British ]\Iuseum, were required 
 to make previous application to the .porter, in writing, 
 stating their names, condition, and places of abode, as also 
 the day and hour at which they desii'ed to be admitted. 
 Their appHcations were written do-mi in a register, which 
 was submitted every evening, to the Hbrarian or secretary 
 in attendance. If this official, judging from the condition 
 and ostensible character of an applicant, deemed him 
 ehgible for admittance, he directed the porter to give huu 
 a ticket on the follomng day. Thus the candidate for ad- 
 mission Avas compelled to make tAvo visits, before he could 
 learn Avhether or not it Avas the gracious aa-lU of a lilirarian 
 or secretary, that he should be alloAved the inestimable 
 priA-ilege of inspectiong the national collection. If suc- 
 cessful, his trouble did not end Avith the issuing of the 
 ticket ; for it Avas proAdded by the trustees, that no more 
 than ten tickets should be given out for each hour of 
 admittance. Accordingly, CA'ery morning on Avhich the 
 JNIuseum was open, the porter received a company of ten 
 ticket-holders at nine o'clock, iishered them into a Avaiting- 
 room ' till the hour of seeing the musemn had come ' — to 
 use the Avords of the trustees. This small party Avas di- 
 vided into tAvo of five ; one under the direction of the 
 under-hbrarian, and the other under that of the assistant 
 in each department. 
 
THE BRITISH MUSEUJI A CENTURY AGO. 101 
 
 Thus attended, the companies traversed the galleries, 
 and on a signal given hy the tinkling of a. bell, they passed 
 from one department of the collection into another — one 
 hour being the utmost time allowed for the inspection of 
 a dej)artnient. This system calls to mind the dragoon- 
 ing through Westminster Abbey, under the command of 
 the gallant vergers, still in vogue to tlie annoyance of 
 leisurely people, and ardent but not hasty students. 
 Sometimes, when public curiosity was particularly excited, 
 the number of respectable applicants exceeded the limit of 
 the prescrilTed issue. In these cases, tickets were given 
 for remote days ; and thus, at times, when the lists were 
 heavy, it miist have been as impossible for a passing visitor 
 to London, to get within the gateway of the British Museum, 
 as it lately was to inspect Wren's masterpiece ibr less than 
 twopence. The trustees provided, also, that when any 
 person, having obtained tickets, was prevented from making 
 use of them at the appointed time, he was to send them 
 back to the porter, in order ' that other persons wanting 
 to see the Museum might not be excluded.' Three hours 
 was the limit of the time any company might spend in the 
 Museum ; and those who were so unreasonable or inquis- 
 tive as to be ' desirous of visiting the Museimi more than 
 once,' might apply for tickets w^henever they pleased, 
 'provided that no one person had tickets at the same time 
 for more than once.' The names of those persons who, in 
 the course of their visit, Avilfully transgressed any of the 
 rules laid down by the tiaistees, were written down in a 
 black register, and the porter was directed never to issue 
 tickets to them again. 
 
 It -will be seen then, that a hundred years ago the 'highly 
 .respectable' were alone allowed to be inscribed in the visit- 
 ing list of the national institution, in Great Russell-street. 
 The books were hoarded for the undisturl^ed enjoyment of 
 the womi, whose feast was only at rare intervals disturbed 
 by some student regardless of difficulties. To the poor 
 worn, unheeded authors of those days, serenely starving 
 in garrets, assuredly the British Museum must have been 
 as impenetrable as the old Bastille. The prim under-hbra 
 
102 CHROXICLES OF THE CKUTCH. 
 
 rian probably looked ^dtli a doubting mind upon tlie names 
 and addresses of many poor, aspiring, liononrable men — 
 men whose 'condition,' to use the phrase of the trnstees, be- 
 spoke not the gentihty of that vulgar age. In those days 
 the weaver and the carpenter would as soon have contem- 
 plated a visit to St. James's Palace, as haA^e hoped for an 
 admission ticket to the national Museum. 
 
 The mean precautions of the last century, contrast hap- 
 pily with the enlightened liberty of this. Crowds of all 
 ranks and conditions besiege the doors of the British 
 INIuseum — especially in holiday time; yet the 'skeleton of 
 the elephant is spotless — the bottled rattlesnakes piclde in 
 peace. The Elgin marbles have suffered no abatement of 
 their profuse beauty; and the coat of the cameleopard is 
 yet without a blemish. 
 
 The Yorkshireman has his unrestrained stare at a 
 sphinx ; the undertaker spends his day over the mtimmies, 
 or 'Egyptian parties,' as he calls them, and no official 
 controls his professional objections to the coffins ; the 
 weaver has his observations on the looms of the olden 
 time ; the soldier compares the Indian's blunt weapon with 
 his keen and deadly liayonet; the poor needlewoman has 
 her laugh at the rude needles of barbarous tribes; the 
 stonemason ventures to compare his tombs with the sarco- 
 phagi of ancient masters. No attendant watches every five 
 visitors with the cold eye of a gaoler ; no bell rings the 
 company from one spot to another — aU is open, free. 
 
 At all events, the two pictures — that of the British 
 Museum a century back, and the IMuseum of to-day, 
 crowded with holiday visitors, are in happy contrast. And 
 what, in all things, are we to learn from the great sum of 
 accomplished facts, save that in this sum we have an earnest ■ 
 of coming harvests of good?" 
 
 "(Juite so. Brother Frowde," said the Master, handing 
 his tobacco-pouch to the reader. 
 
 " Too short — much too short,'' cried Brother Sands, who 
 was anxious to atone for the severity of his joke about 
 
THE INVALIDS OF TIIK FUKXCII AR:MV. 103 
 
 author's paper. Brother Frowde (he coiildu't kelp it), 
 looked upon the little man, and liis jokelet, and his com- 
 pliment, with profound disdain. 
 
 "And now, profound attention for our worthy ^Master," 
 cried Horrocks, as though he were roaring from the 
 quarter-deck, in a full gale. 
 
 The Master bowed ; and mitied the rosy riband that 
 was about his maniiscript. Tiuning to Brother Frowde, 
 he said: — 
 
 " Yoii see, we amateiu's are so proiid of our first Uterary 
 children, that we hardly care how much we spend on 
 their dress." 
 
 And then, putting the brown meevschaiun upon the 
 table, the master declared that he was about to give the 
 company something abou.t — 
 
 "the rWALIDS OF THE FREN'CH ARMV 
 
 A subject that, to all who were under the protecting 
 wing of the benevolent founder of the Crutch, must be 
 pecidiarly interesting. 
 
 Montesqiiieu said of the Invalides: — The world cannot 
 show a spot more venerable than this temple consecrated 
 at once to personal misfortiuie and public giory. Were I 
 a prince, I should be as proud of having raised this build- 
 ing as of ha\ing won three battles." And, in truth, this 
 building is perhaps the best monu.ment Louis XTV. has 
 left behind hun. Its aspect is in keeping Avith its object 
 It has a solid useful look ; and its proportions give it im 
 portance. Herein eight generations of disabled soldiers 
 have found rest and comfort. Here the Avounds of Rocroi 
 and Lodi, of Fleiu'us, of Fontenoy and Austerlitz, of Denain 
 and Waterloo, have healed, under the protection of the 
 national flag. Here are still men Avho fought under Napo- 
 leon — men Avhose eves glisten yet at the sound of that 
 magic name ; and who are wearing away the few years that 
 
104 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 lie between them and the grave, in happy contemplation 
 of the great drama in Avhich they figured. Prince Jerome 
 ■was lately their governor; Count Ornano is their deputy- 
 governor: Santini is the guardian of their hero's costly tomb. 
 
 'Everything about the building,' writes M. Cay la, 'is 
 on a grand scale: from the gilded dome to the great haUs 
 — every detail is admirable. In this pile of solid stone; 
 in this forest of columns; in these sculptured battles; in 
 this masterpiece of French architecture, there is more than 
 a palace — nay, more than a temple: there is a btiilding as 
 great as its object — immortal as the name of martial 
 France — an institution for whicli the olden time can show 
 no precedent.' 
 
 The idea of building the Invahdes is due to the minister 
 Louvois ; but the original idea of founding an institution 
 similar in object to the Invalides, may be traced back to 
 the time of Philip Augustus. Centuries elapsed, however, 
 between the first conception of the idea, and the erection 
 of the building. Meantime, infirm warriors were sent to 
 the rehgious retreats, where they were received as religieux- 
 lais or oblats. 
 
 Felibien asserts that a Paris tradesman, established a 
 hospital for oqohans and poor people — ^first at the Enfants 
 Eoiiges — then in the Hue de Lorraine; and lastly, in the 
 Kue St. Marcel. Queen Louise of Lorraine obtained for 
 this establishment, from her Inisband, Henri III., letters 
 patent, dated 1583, by which it was agreed that the hos- 
 pital should shelter and feed poor gentlemen and disabled 
 soldiers. This foundation, it may be remarked, very 
 closely resembles that of the London Charter-house. 
 Afterwards Henri IV., by letters patent, dated October, 
 1597, made over the entire establishment, originally 
 founded by the Paris tradesman (Nicholas Houel) to poor 
 gentlemen and disabled soldiers. He devoted the funds 
 left by Henri III. for poor orphans, &c., to this object; 
 and he secured this application of his predecessor's 
 beqtiest by subsequent letters patent, dated the 1st of 
 June, IGOO. After the death of Henri IV., his queen re- 
 solved to perfect her husband's plan ; l)ut the necessary 
 
THE INVALIDS OF THE FRENCH ARMY. 105 
 
 money was -svanting — and so, invalid soldiers still crawled 
 about to religions retreats in search of a pallet and a crust 
 of black bread. 
 
 Eichelieu, who was certain to understand perfectly the 
 beauty of a scheme lilce this, saw at once the utility of a 
 house of refuge for disabled soldiers. In the name of 
 Louis XIII., this notable cardinal devoted the castle of 
 Bicetre to this pious pui-pose. But once more the good 
 intentions of the governing powers were not carried out. 
 The cardinal's project died A\ath him: and noAV crippled 
 soldiers were compelled to beg, for the religious houses 
 had turned them from their gates. It is clear, however, 
 from these endeavours, that the idea of a retreat for mili- 
 tary men was an old one, long before the first stone of the 
 Invahdes was laid. To each effort let us heartily pay the 
 honour due to it — to Philip Augustiis, to jS^icholas Houel, 
 to Henri IV., and to Eicheheu, belongs the credit of 
 taking the initiative ; to Louis XIV. that of the realisation. 
 Thus the Invalides — a state recognition of sacred debts 
 contracted by France upon her battle-fields — is an idea 
 which Louise of Lorraine endeavoured to realise ; which 
 Louis XIV., with the help of French money, and the 
 genius of Bruant and Mansart, did reahse. 
 
 A great idea was greatly executed. If the King may 
 be praised for the munificence with which he went to 
 work, the great artists Avho taught him how to spend the 
 national money well, may also claim the gratitude of their 
 country. The most remarkable fact, however, in the 
 history of this interesting building is, that it was erected 
 in eight years, and while the country was siipporting the 
 heavy expenses of war. 
 
 The first stone of the hotel Avas laid on the 30th of 
 November, 1G71; and four years afterwards the com- 
 pletion oi tha far^ade Avas celebrated by a gratified people. 
 This faqade was adorned by the genius of the Coustons 
 and of Girardon. The revolution destroyed Girardon's 
 figure of the royal founder ; but the restored Boui'bons 
 employed Carteher to model a fac-simile of it. Here, too, 
 marking the four angles of the J'iK^ade, are Desjardin s 
 bronze figures of the nations conquered by France. Of 
 
106 CHROKICLES OF TRE CRUTCH. 
 
 the general plan of the hotel it will be sufficient to remark 
 that it describes an oblong — the long lines of -which in- 
 ckide no less than five square courts of different areas. 
 All these courts are flanked by four-storied buildings — 
 comfortably arranged, and admirably adapted, it is gene- 
 rally allowed, to the honourable purpose for which they 
 were constructed. The vast quadrangle, kno^vn as the 
 Court of Honour — one hundred and six metres long, by 
 sixty-foixr metres in width — has an imposing appearance. 
 The church is opposite the principal entrance : and the 
 way to this sacred edifice is ornamented in the French style. 
 Two stories of arcades, stretching the length of this vast 
 quadrangle, give it a lofty character, and afford to the 
 veteran soldier a dry walk in bad weather. Under 
 Lepautre's clock, and the plaster model of the Napoleon 
 statue of the Place Vendome, the visitor passes to the 
 soldiers' church, remarkable chiefly for the ragged trophies 
 of war which decorate it. These, and the cenotaphs of 
 deceased hotel governors, are the only ornaments of the 
 church — save always the glimpses of the blue and golden 
 splendour of the hero's tomb beyond. 
 
 The flags are only a remnant of those which belonged 
 to the Invalides in the beginning of the present century. 
 We need not dwell on the story which ended in 1814, in 
 the encampment of the enemies of France in her splendid 
 capital. Every Englishman txirns chivalrously from this 
 past, to the Ijrighter passages of international historv which 
 are promised by the future. Therefore, let us simply note 
 — for the elucidation of our story — that the Cossack tents 
 Avere pitched at the threshold of the Invalides in 1814. 
 The Englishman, whose insular position has protected him 
 during many centuries from similar indignity, may yet 
 realise to himself all the mortification and disgust with 
 which a brave people saw their enemies at their doorways. 
 Insolent in' the passing hour of triumph, the alhes had 
 summoned Marshal Serrurier, Governor of the Invalides, 
 to restore the trophies Avhich France had wrested from her 
 enemies upon the field of 1-)attle, at the cost of very pre- 
 cious blood. 
 
 The demand was calculated to rouse the martial spirit 
 
THE INVALIDS OF THE FRENX'II AR5IY. 107 
 
 of invalids, who rememhered only the times when 
 France IkkI dictated terms. For a moment the JMarshal 
 had resolved to bury himself and his disabled subjects 
 nnder the ruins of the building. Even this sacrifice Avas 
 preferal)le to the shame of jdelding back to the enemy 
 these trophies of French valour. Serrurier hesitated : the 
 demand was repeated. At length a better plan was hit 
 upon — a plan, the execution of which would save at once 
 the national honour and the building. The Marshal 
 summoned Baron d'Amaud and Colonel Cazeau, and said 
 to them : — 
 
 ' Resistance is out of the (jnestiou : tliey are two hundred to one : 
 the blood of all of us Tvould not save the standards. We coukl not 
 efl'ectually hide them, for the liarbariaus wouhl search for them even 
 in the graves of our dead sohliers. Come, then— since we cannot 
 save them — at least they shall not have them.' 
 
 The three warriors entered the church. Here the 
 ^Marshal, in a A'oice choked vrith emotion, ordered the 
 trophies to be removed, and to be piled in a heap, in 
 one of the cellars. Amid the tears of many an old 
 soldier, they were burned, on the 30th of March, 1814. 
 Wlien the flames had claimed every trophy, the ^larshal 
 ordered the messenger of the Cossacks to be called in. 
 And then, pomting to the smoiddering ashes, he said to 
 him : — ' You demand the trophies Avhich our soldiers 
 wi-ested from you : take them, they are there.' And the 
 astonished Kalmouk retired to communicate to his masters 
 the ^Marshal's reply. Some trophies remained, however, 
 but these were further thinned by the fire which took 
 place during ^Marshal Sebastiani's funeral, in 1851. 
 
 There are other points of interest in the Hotel of the 
 Invalides. Every visitor has been pestered with the sta- 
 tistics of the great kitchen — Avith the fumes of the eleven 
 hvmdred pounds of meat and twenty-five bushels of 
 vegetables daily cooked in this colossal establishment : 
 every visitor is familiar with the dining halls, where little 
 round tables are set apart for the officers' mess, and where 
 the plate and china presented to the hotel by the Empress 
 Marie Louise is used ; every visitor has been tired out 
 
108 CHRONICLES OF THE CROTCH. 
 
 with the pamtings which cover the hall walls, all pointing 
 either to the greatness of Louis the Fourteenth, or to the 
 invarial^le victories of French engagements. Of these 
 decorations it may be said that they are generally in the 
 style of the Van der Meulen battle-pieces of Versailles — 
 indeed, they are by Martin, that masters pupil. And 
 then there are the halls in which the wasted warriors 
 repose ; and happily must the fine old fellows skmiber in 
 Bayard's hall, or in the dormitory named after Klelier. 
 Comforting, too, is it doubtless, to the old fellows, to be 
 carried, when ill, to the ward of Valour, or to the ward of 
 Victory. The hotel is, in short, a place where old soldiers 
 may cheerfully wait death. They have every comfort. 
 There is their little tobacco-shop under one of the colon- 
 nades ; baths of every description are on the premises ; 
 and, in the coiu't of Friendship, they find various games. 
 They have the enjoyment of a library of twenty thou- 
 sand volumes — a library, moreover, where are laid, the 
 ball that killed Turenne, and the hat the Emperor wore at 
 Eylau — and which served Le Gros for a model when he was 
 painting this battle.* The hotel is crowded Avith rehcs 
 and paintings of interest to the pensioners. The council 
 chamber is decorated Avith portraits of French marshals 
 and governors of the establishment, and contains Bosio's 
 white marble bust of Napoleon. And there, behind the 
 church, rest the remains of the hei'o of Austerlitz. Under 
 Mansart's great dome, surrounded by all that the wealth 
 and genius of modern France coidd produce in his honour, 
 ■will repose the ashes of the Emperor. Here, even the 
 little philosophers Avho may have twisted their petty 
 historic pellets to throAV at the gigantic reputation of 
 Napoleon, cannot but hold their breath, and recognise in 
 the splendour before them the expression of a great nation 
 in favour of their dead leader. That pensive, solid head 
 carved all this glory out of the spare materials of a lieu- 
 tenant's single epaulette ! Everything looks great and 
 
 * It was bought at the Sale of Le Gros' effects, m 1835, by M. 
 De La Croix, of Orleans, for 2,040 francs (;£81 12.*.) and presented to 
 the luA'alides on the occasion of the Emperor's fimiral. 
 
THE rSTVALIDS OF THE FRENCH ARMY. 109 
 
 solid as the name it is meant to immortalise. Enduring 
 masses of cai-ved marble — stupendous blocks of granite, 
 marvellously arranged for strength and beauty — make up 
 a sanctuary associated with the most brilliant passages of 
 French history. And in this sanctuary the faithfvd Santini 
 — some time Napoleon's valet — proudly displays the cross 
 of the Legion of Honour. 
 
 In spite of the earnest desire of Louis the Foiu'tcenth 
 to see the dome of the Invalides finished ; in spite of the 
 activity of the minister Louvois, seconded by that of the 
 architect Mansart, the dome, begun in 1675, was not 
 finished before 1735, or sixty years after the foimdation 
 stone was laid. Louis the Foui-teenth had been dead 
 twenty years ; Louvois had been gathered to his fathers 
 forty-four years ; and Mansart's grave was twenty- seven 
 years old. Even now Napoleon's ashes do not lie in their 
 final resting-place. A dim funereal lamp shines upon his 
 cofiin, and upon the trophies of Austerlitz and other 
 emblems of his glory, in a httle side chapel. The granite 
 sarcophagus is yet open; and its massive lid lies upon 
 great rollers, ready to cover up the precious ashes for ever. 
 
 The entrance to the tomb is reached hj a broad and 
 massive marble staircase. The colossal door wliich leads 
 to the ci-j-pt is supported by bronze Caiyatides — old men, 
 the depositories of the symbols of human gi'eatness. 
 Above, in letters of gold, is inscribed the celebrated wish of 
 the Emperor : ' I desire that my ashes may repose on the 
 banks of the Seine, in the midst of the French people, 
 w^hom I have so deeply loved.' M. Diu'et's ngiires majes- 
 tically support this entablature. Strange that this vnsh, 
 expressed in exile, should have been realised by a 
 monarch who, himself, foimd a grave in a foreign land ! 
 Appropriately guarding the entrance to the Emperors 
 tomb, lie the ashes of brave men. The heroes of Jaffa 
 and the Kremlin — of YaLmy and Austerlitz — of Marengo 
 and Friedland, and of Tilsit ! Neither the Pantheon of 
 Home, nor the Necropolis of Athens, could offer more 
 suggestive matter than that which belongs to the ashes of 
 so many heroes grouped in one common sepulchre. As 
 
110 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 worthy sentinels before the great tomb, Visconti placed 
 the funereal monuments of Bertrand and Duroc. Here 
 are Friendship and Courage at the gates of Glory ! The 
 mind flies back irresistibly to the past, as we pass through 
 the heavy gates into the great man's tomb. All his con- 
 quests, all his national reforms — his laws — his errors, if 
 you "svill — crowd upon the brain, and oppress it as it 
 attempts to realise a spectral figure of the giant, whose 
 memory haunts every footstep. All about is rich and 
 great. Everywhere the walls and floors are of the purest 
 marble — as the visitor passes into the open crypt — covered 
 only by the dome, under the central pomt of which, sur- 
 rounded by Pradiers twelve colossal Victories, ■\\dll he, in 
 a Finnish quartz-rock sarcophagus, the ashes of Napoleon 
 the First ! M. Cordier has compared this quartz, whicli is 
 harder than porphyry, to that of Upper Egypt. It is 
 sprinkled, like avantuiine, with gold. Steam power alone 
 could make an impression upon it. As we look upon this 
 colossal work, we stand upon the brilliant mosaic pave- 
 ment, which describes an enormous wreath of laurels 
 encirchng the tomb ; and the Avails round about are rich 
 witli Siuiart's allegories of the civil glories of the empire. 
 In a circidar chamber, and lighted by a funeral lamp, is 
 Simart's statue of Napoleon ; and upon an altar before the 
 statue, the sword of Austerlitz is laid, as are also the 
 insignia of the Legion of Honour. 
 
 In one of the four chiipels, as we have abeady noticed, 
 the remains of the Emperor still lie ; in another is the 
 body of Turenne, placed here in 1800, and covered with a 
 monument by Le Brun. The space between two of the 
 chapels is dedicated to a monmiient in honour of Vauban, 
 by Etex. These chapels are decorated by the Boullongues. 
 
 The body of Turenne Avas placed here on the 27th of Sep- 
 tember, 1800 — and the funeral pomp was applauded, even 
 by those Avho had seen the body exposed to the public at the 
 Jardin des Plantcs, in a glazed iron cage, during the revolu- 
 tion. This monument Avas designed by Le Brun, and ex- 
 ecuted ])y Baptiste Tuby. Turenne is represented expiring 
 in the arms of Innnortality. The bas-reUefs illustrate the 
 
THE I^•^'■ALIDS OF THE FRENCH AR:MV. Ill 
 
 later exploits of the -warvior. The two female figures were 
 sculptured by Glassy. The only inscription is — Tikexxe." 
 
 The guardian of this Imperial tomb, -where Kapoleon 
 lies surrounded by great French generals, is Santini — tlie 
 Santini who brought the famous protest from St. Helena 
 to England. He has told his OAvn story of hair -breadth 
 escapes : — of imprisonment : — and of weary heart-breaking 
 traA'els — suffered, that he might make known to the WLa-kl 
 the wrongs borne by his master at St. Helena. 
 
 And here, resting before the splendid sarcophagus, in 
 which the remains of the emperor are to be linally de- 
 posited, let me recaU to yom- mind, the funeral ceremonies 
 with which these were conveyed to the chapel on the left 
 of the entrance, where, gaiarded by the veteran Avho 
 holds a flag near the gates they lie in the glories of this 
 temporary sepulchre. Many of you may have read 
 descriptions of the ceremonies with which the body of the 
 emperor Avho died in exile, was brought back to the 
 country of his adoption and of his love. Without, there- 
 fore, endeavouring to place the scene once more before 
 your eyes, I may translate a few paragraphs from the ar- 
 chives of the InvaHdes in which this solemn ceremonial is 
 recorded. By way of preface, it may be remarked, that 
 durmg this funeral ceremony, of the loth December, 
 1840, no spectators showed more feeling — more enthu- 
 siasm — than the Englishmen present ; in this, doing 
 personal penance for the outrages committed by a British 
 faction in the name of England. The paragraphs I have 
 selected for translation, raw as foUows : — 
 
 ' Upon tlie Esplanade, and from the gates of tlie Invalides to the 
 Quai d'Orsay, the way was omameuted hy thiiiy-two statnes 
 rejjreseiitmg Clo^is, Chai-les Martel, Philip Augiistus, Chai'les V., 
 Joan of Ai-c, Louis XII, Bayard, Louis XIY, Tureune, Duguay, 
 Trouin, Hoche, La tour d'Auvergue, Kellennan, Nej-, Journan, 
 Lobau, Chai'lcmagne, Hugues Capet, Louis IX., Charles VII., 
 Dugnesclin, Francis the First, Hemy r\'., Coude, Vaubau, Marceau, 
 Desaix, Kleber, Lanues, ilassena, Mortier, and INIaedonald. Between 
 these statues were tripods, from which ftmeral lii-es blazed. Before 
 tile gates of the Invalides was an immense nius, near a triumphal 
 ai-ch, under wliich the funeral cpj.- ifrew up. Here the body was 
 delivered over to the axU and ililitarv authorities.' 
 
112 CHRONICLES OF THE CEL'TCH. 
 
 Tlie following is tlie proces verbal given by tlie officers 
 of the Hotel on receiving the remains of the Emperor : — 
 
 ' We, Vauthois Christoplie Aime, tliis 15th of December, 1840, 
 officer of the Legion of Honour, etc., charged with the government 
 of the luvalides, acting under the orders of Marshal Moncey, Duke 
 of Coneghauo, Peer of France, Grand Cordon of the Legion of 
 Honoiir, Governor of the InvaUdes : — in conformity ■with the law of 
 the 10th of June, 18-iO, which decreed that the remains of the 
 Emperor Napoleon should be deposited in the Eoj^al Hotel of the 
 Invalides : in confoiinity also with the proces verbal given by the 
 Count de Rohan Charbot, on the 15th of October, 1840, on the island 
 of St. Helena, and in virtue of the powers given, etc. etc. ; — and the 
 above act declaiing : — that the cofhn was found to be in a good state 
 of preservation, except a small portion of the lower part which had 
 shifted, and that on opening the coffin, the entire body of Napoleon 
 was discovered, only so lightly touched by time that the features were 
 instantly recognised : — in conformity, also, with the proces iwrhal 
 brought back by C. Guillard Remy JuUen, sui-geon major of the 
 frigate Belle Poule, describing the state of the remains of the 
 Emperor Napoleon, and the articles deposited in his cofi&n, — it is 
 declared that the remauis of the Emperor are inclosed in six coffins : 
 1, a tin coffin : 2. a mahogany coffin : 3, a lead coffin : 4, a second 
 lead coffin, separated fmm the first by sawdust and wood : 5, an 
 ebony coffin : 6, an oak cofiin to protect the ebony.' 
 
 Here follow interesting details of the official forms. 
 The archives then go on to describe the conveyance of 
 the coffin into the building, by the sailors of the Belle 
 Poule; audits place of rest under the gorgeous catafalque 
 prepared for its reception. Then high mass was said by 
 the Archbishop of Paris, assisted by his clergy. ]\lozart's 
 Requiimi was sung — cannon thundered — and as the cere- 
 mony closed, the Lieattenant General and Baron Athelin 
 raised the sword of Austerlitz from the coffin of the de- 
 ceased conqueror and confided it to the guardianship of 
 the Marshal General of the Invahdes. The ]\Iarshal is 
 reported to have kissed the sword as he received it, and 
 to have said in a tremulous voice : — ' Now I have lived 
 long enough !' I may now add that the body of the 
 Emperor will rest in the granite sarcophagus prepared for 
 it under the dome ; and that these remains are confided 
 to the guardianship of the old soldiers of France. 
 
 " Gentlemen, I have done," said the IMaster. 
 
THE INVALIDS OF THE FRENCH AK.AIV. 113 
 
 "And done bravely," roared Ilorrocks. " ^Master, here's 
 your good hcaltli !" 
 
 " And that I may preserve my health," responded the 
 Master, pleasantly, "let me seek my bed-room taper." 
 
 And the brothers, gossiping, dispersed. 
 
114 CHRONICLES OF THE CRDTCH. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Bkother Horrocks had been very ill-tempered all the 
 v/eek. His old companions were afraid to approach him. 
 At last the Master Avas asked to explain the captain's 
 irritability. 
 
 " My friends," the Master rephed, " My friends, you 
 vdll learn the cause at our next meeting." 
 
 The Brothers Avaited patiently; and when they assembled 
 for their next reading evening, in their old hall, they 
 turned curiously to the Master. 
 
 Said the Master, — "Gentlemen, our friend Horrocks has 
 been somewhat irritable during the last few days; but, 
 then, he has been very busy, preparing something to please 
 us. He is going to take us a cruise on the Atlantic; 
 and his responsibilities of commander of such an inex- 
 perienced crew, has weighed iipon his spirits." 
 
 Loud laughter, in which the worthy captain joined. 
 
 "Well, here's the yarn," growled Horrocks. " I call it — 
 
 "ATLANTIC AVAVES. 
 
 " One brisk March morning, in the year 1848, the brave 
 steam-ship Hihernia rolled about in the most intoxicated 
 fashion on the broad Atlantic, in north latitude fifty-one, 
 and west longitude thirty-eight, fifty — the wind blowing a 
 hard gale from the west-south-west. To most of the pas- 
 sengers the grandeur of the waters was a mockery, the 
 fine bearing of the ship, only a delusion and a snare. 
 Everything was made tight on deck; if any passenger had 
 left a toothpick on one of the seats, he would assuredly have 
 
ATLANTIC WAYES. 115 
 
 found it Inshed to a near railing. Eope was coiled about 
 every imaginable item; and water dripped from every spar 
 of the gallant vessel. Now, it seemed as tliougli she were 
 travelling along through a brilliant gallery, flanked on 
 either side by glittering walls of water; now, she climbed 
 one of the crested walls, and an abyss, dark and terrible 
 as the famotis ^Maelstrom, which cannot be found any-\A'here, 
 yawned to receive her. The snorts of the engine seemed 
 to defy the angry waters; and occasionally when a monster 
 wave' coiled about the ship, and thundered against her, 
 she staggered for a moment, only to renew tlie battle with 
 fresh energy. 
 
 The cooks and stewards went placidly through their 
 several daily avocations on board this rolUng, lighting, 
 shaking craft. If they had been Belgravian servants, or 
 club-house waiters, they could not have performed their 
 duties with more profound unconcern. Their coolness 
 appeared nothing less than heroic to the poor tumbled 
 heaps of clothes with himian beings inside, that Avere 
 scattered about the cabins below. An unhappy wight 
 who had never befoi'e been five miles from Boston, Avas 
 anxiously inqiirring of the chief steward the precise time 
 in the course of that evening that the A'essel might be 
 expected to founder; while another steward, with provok- 
 ing pertinacity, Avas asking how many Avould dine in the 
 saloon at six, with, the same business-like unconcern he 
 might haA'e sIioaati had the ship been gliding along on glass. 
 So tremendous Avas the tossing; so extreme the apparent 
 uncertainty of any event except a AA'atery terminus to all ex- 
 pectation, that this sort of coolness appeared almost Avicked. 
 
 Then there Avas a monster m British form actually on 
 deck — not braA-ing, it Avas said, but tempting the storm tO' 
 SAveep hini into eternity. He astonished CA-en the ship's 
 officei's. The cook did not hesitate to A-enture a strong- 
 opmion against the sanity of a man who might, if he 
 chose, be snugly ensconced in the cabin out of harm's 
 way, but who icould remain upon deck, in momentary 
 danger of being bloA\^l OA-erboard. The cook's theory was 
 not lU supported by the subject of it; for he AA'as continu- 
 ally placing himself in all manner of odd places and 
 
 I 2 
 
116 CHROKICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 
 
 grotesque postures. Sometimes lie scrambled up on the 
 cuddy-roof ; then he rolled do^^^l again on the saloon-deck ; 
 now he got himself blo-wn up on the paddle-box; that was 
 not high enough for him, for when the vessel sunk into a 
 trough of the sea, he stood on tip-toe, trying to look over 
 the nearest wave. A consultation v/as held in the cuddy, 
 and a resolution was unanimously passed that the amateiir 
 of wind and water (which burst over him every minute) 
 was either an escaped lunatic or — a college professor. 
 
 It was resolved, nem. con., that he was the latter; and 
 from that moment nobody was surprised at anything he 
 might choose to do, even while the Hihernia was labouring 
 in what the mate was pleased to call the most 'lively' 
 manner. The professor, however, to the disgust of the 
 sufferers belov^r, Avho thought it was enough to feel the 
 height of the waves, -wdthout going through the trouble of 
 measuring them, pursued his observations in the face of 
 the contempt of the official conclave above-mentioned. 
 He took up his position on the cuddy-roof, which was 
 exactly twenty-three feet three inches above the ship's 
 line of flotation, and there watched the mighty mountains 
 that sported mth the brave vessel. He was anxious to 
 ascertain the height of these majestic waves, but he found 
 that the crests rose so far above the horizon from the 
 point Vvdiere he was standing, that it Avas utterly impossible, 
 without gaining a greater height for observation, that he 
 could arrive at any just estimate on the subject. His 
 observations from the cuddy-roof proved, however, beyond 
 a doubt, that the majority of those rolling masses of water 
 attained a height of considerably more than twenty-four 
 feet, measuring from the trough of the sea to the crests of 
 the waves. But the professor was not satisfied Avith this 
 negative proof; and in the pursuit of his interesting 
 object did not feel inclined to be baffled. It is impos- 
 sible to know what the secret thoughts of the men at the 
 wheel Averc, Avhen the valiant observer announced his 
 intention of making the best of his Avay from the cuddy- 
 roof to the larboard paddle-box. Noav he Avas to be seen 
 tumbling about Avith the motion of the ship; at one moment 
 clinging to a chain -box; at the next, throAving himself into 
 
ATLANTIC AVA-^TDS. 117 
 
 the arms of the second mate. Now he was Iniried in spray, 
 and a fo"\v minutes afterwards his spare form was seen cling- 
 ing to the rails which connected the paddle-boxes. 
 
 Despite the stonn without, a calm, mathematical process 
 was going on in the mind of that ardent observer. The 
 professor knew he was standing at a height of twenty-four 
 feet nine mches above the flotation mark of the ship; and 
 allowing five feet six inches as the height of his eye, he 
 found the elevation he had obtained to be altogether thirty 
 feet three inches. He now waited till the vessel subsided 
 fairly for a few minutes into the trough of the sea, in an 
 even and upright position, Avhile the nearest approaching 
 wave had its maxinuim altitude. Here he Ibund also, 
 that at least one-half part of the wave intercepted by a 
 considerable elevation his view of the horizon. He declared 
 that he frequently observed long ranges extending one 
 hundred yards on one or both sides of the ship — the sea 
 then coming right aft — which rose so high above the 
 %'isible horizon as to form an angle estimated at two to 
 three degrees, when the distance of the wave's crest was 
 about a hiindred yards off. This distance would add about 
 thirteen feet to the level of the eye. This immense 
 elevation occurred about every sixth wave. Now and 
 then, when the course of a gigantic Avave was impertinently 
 interfered with by another liquid giant, and they thundered 
 together, their breaking crests would shoot upward at 
 least ten or fifteen feet higher — about half the height of 
 the monument — and then pour down a mighty flood upon 
 the poor professor, in revenge for his attempt to measure 
 their majesties. No quantity of salt water, however, could 
 wash him from his post, till he had satisfactorily proved, 
 by accurate observation, that the average wave wiiich 
 passed the vessel Avas fully equal to the height of his eye — 
 or thirty feet three inches — and that the mean highest 
 waA^es, not including the fighting or broken Avaves, Avere 
 about forty-three feet above the level of the holloAV 
 occupied at the moment by the ship. 
 
 Satisfied at length of the truth of his observations, the 
 professor, half-pickled by the salt Avater, and looking, it 
 must be confessed, veiy cold and miserable, descended to 
 
118 CHROXICLES Of THE CRUTCH, 
 
 the cabin. TliroiTghout dinner-time a conversation was 
 kept up between the professor and the captain — the latter 
 appearing to be about the only individual on board who 
 took any interest whatever in these scientific proceedings. 
 The ladies, one and all, vowed that the professor was a 
 monster, only doing 'all this stuff' in mockeiy of their 
 sufferings. Towards night the mnd increased to a hui'ri- 
 cane; the ship trembled like a frightened child, before the 
 terrible combat of the elements. Night, with her pall, 
 closed in the scene: — it was a ■wild and solemn time. 
 Towards morning the wind abated. For thii-ty hours a 
 violent north-west gale had swept over the heaving bosom 
 of the broad Atlantic. 
 
 This reflection hastened the dressing and breakfasting 
 operations of the professor, who tumbled up on deck at 
 about ten o'clock in the morning. The storm had been 
 subdued for several hoiu's, and there was a visible decrease 
 in the height of the waves. He took up his old position 
 on the cuddy roof, and soon observed, that, even then, 
 when the sea was comparatively quiet, ten waves overtook 
 the vessel in succession, which all rose above the apparent 
 horizon; consequently they must have been more than 
 twenty-three feet — probably aliout twenty-six feet — from 
 ridge to hollow. From the larboard paddle-box, to which 
 the professor once more scrambled, he observed that 
 occasionally four or five waves in succession rose above 
 the visible horizon — hence they must have been more than 
 thirty feet Avaves. He also observed that the waves no 
 longer ran in long ridges, Init presented more the form ot 
 cones of moderate elongation. 
 
 Having so far satisfied himself as to the height of Atlantic 
 waves in a gale of wind (the professor's estimate must not 
 be taken as the measurement of the highest known waves, 
 but simply as that of a rough Atlantic sea), he directed his 
 attention to minuter and more difficult observations. He 
 determined to measure the period of time occupied by the 
 regidar waves in overtaking the ship, their width from 
 crest to crest, and the rate of their travelling. The first 
 point to be known Avas the speed of the ship; this he as- 
 certained to be nine knots. His next object was to note 
 
ATLANTIC WAVES. 11 Q 
 
 3ier course in reference to the direction of the -vvaves. He 
 found that the true course of the vessel was cast, and that 
 the waves came from the west-north-Avest, so that they 
 passed under the vessel at a considerable angle. The 
 length of the ship was stated to be two hundred and 
 twenty feet. Provided with this information, the professor 
 renewed his observations. He proceeded to count the 
 seconds the crest of a wave took to travel from stern to 
 stem of the vessel; these he ascertained to be six. He 
 then coimted the time which intervened between the mo- 
 ment when one crest touched the stem of the vessel, and 
 the next touched it, and he found the aA^erage interval to 
 be sixteen seconds and a fraction. These results gave 
 him at once the width between crest and crest. As the 
 crest travelled two hundred and twenty feet (or the length 
 of the vessel) in six seconds, and sixteen seconds elapsed 
 before the next crest touched the stern, it was clear 
 that the wave was nearly three times the length of 
 the vessel; to Avrite accurately, there was a distance of six 
 hundred and five feet from crest to crest. 
 
 The professor did not forget that the oblique course of 
 the ship elongated her line over the waves; this elongation 
 he estimated at forty-five feet, reducmg the probable 
 average distance between crest and crest, to five hundred 
 and fifty-nine feet. 
 
 Being quite satisfied with the result of this experiment, 
 the hardy professor, still balancing himself on his giddy 
 height, to the wonder and amusement of the sailors, found 
 that the calcidations he had already made did not give 
 him the actual velocity of the waves. A wave-crest cer- 
 tainly passed from stern to stem in six seconds, but then the 
 ship was travelling in the same direction, at the rate of 
 nine geographical miles per hour, or 15"2 feet per second; 
 this rate the professor added to the former measure, which 
 .gave 79()'0 feet for the actual distance traversed by the 
 wave in 16'5 seconds, being at the rate of 32 "67 Enghsh 
 miles per hour. This computation Avas after^vards com- 
 pared Avith calculations made from totally different data by 
 Mr. Scott Russell, and found to be qixite correct. 
 
 With these facts the professor scrambled from the lar- 
 
120 CHEOKICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 board paddle-box of the Hibernta. He had also made some 
 observations with regard to the forms of waves. "When 
 the wind blows steadily from one point, they are generally 
 regular ; but wlien it is high and gusty, and shifts from 
 point to point, the sea is broken up, and the waves take a 
 more conical shape, and assume fantastical crests. While the 
 sea ran high, the professor observed, — now and then, a ridge 
 of waves extending from about a quarter to a tliird of a 
 mile in length, forming, as it were, a rampart of water. 
 This ridge was sometimes straight, and sometimes bent in 
 a crescent form, Avith the central mass of Avater liigher 
 tlian the rest, and not tuifrequently -with two or three semi- 
 elliptical mounds in diminishing series on either side of the 
 highest peak. 
 
 When the wind had subsided, a few of the l)older 
 passengers crawled upon deck in the oddest imaginable 
 costumes. They had not much to encounter, for about a 
 third part of the greater undulations avernged only twenty- 
 four feet, from crest to hollow, in height. Tliese higher waves 
 could be seen and selected from the pigmy Avaves about 
 them, at the distance of a quarter of a mile from the ship. 
 
 The professor had been very unpopular on board Avhile 
 the stormy Aveather lasted, and the ladies had voAved that 
 he Avas a sarcastic creattu-e, Avho ivuidd have his little joke 
 on the gravest calamities of life ; biit as the AvaA'es decreased 
 in bulk, and the AA'ind lulled, and the sun shone, and tlie 
 men took off their oil-skin coats, and the oabin-AvindoAvs 
 Avere opened, the froAvns of the fair voyagers Avore off. 
 Perfect goodwill Avas general before the ship sighted Liver- 
 pool : and even the cook, as he prepared the last dinner 
 for the passengers, AA^as heard to declare (in confidence, to 
 one of the stokers) that, after all, there might be something 
 Avorth knoAving in the professor's obserA'ations. 
 
 Wlien the professor landed at Liverpool, he Avould, on 
 no account, suffer the carpet-bag, containing his calcula- 
 tions, to be taken out of his sight. Several inquisitive 
 persons, hoAvever, made the best use of their oAvn eyes, to 
 ascertain the name of the extraordinary observer, and 
 found it to be legibly inscribed Avith the Avell-knoAvn name 
 of Scoresby, 
 
EYES MADE TO OKDEK. 121 
 
 That his mvestigations may he the more readily im- 
 pressed on your minds, I conclude Avith a summary of 
 them. It would seem from Dr. Scoresby's intrepid investi- 
 gations, that the highest waves of the Atlantic average in 
 
 Altitude 43 feet. 
 
 Mean distance bet^-eeu each wave . . . 559 ,, 
 
 Width fi-om crest to crest .... 600 „ 
 luteiTal of time between each wave . . Ifj seconds. 
 Velocity of each wave per hoiu- . . . 32 i miles. 
 
 " By jingo !" was Mr. Seesaw's expressive exclamation. 
 " Thirty-two miles an houi- — almost as fast as an express 
 train." 
 
 '■' Express train ! " thimdered Horrocks ; " he must be a 
 downright land-lubber who tallcs of the grand old sea, 
 and your plaguy steam-engines, in the same breath." 
 
 "Beg pardon," said Seesaw. 
 
 " Ugh ! " repHed the offended Horrocks, as he rammed 
 his mamiscript into his pocket, and shook the ashes from 
 his Turkish pipe-bowl. 
 
 Brother Balder whispered to the ^Master. 
 
 " Excellent ! " exclaimed this gentleman. " But, ' a few 
 words ' -R-ill not be held as a substitute for some pleasant 
 papers Mr. Babbycomb has been good enough to promise, 
 us. Will you oblige iis ? " 
 
 Babbycomb l)owed, and read as fuUoAvs : 
 
 " EYES MADE TO ORDER. 
 
 "Contradictory opinions prevail as to the limits that 
 should be assigned to the privilege of caUing Art to the aid 
 of Nature. To some persons a Avig is the type of a false 
 and hollow age ; an emblem of deceit ; a device of ingeni- 
 ous vanity, covering the wearer Avith gi'oss and unpardon- 
 able deceit. In like manner, a crusade has been waged 
 against the skill of the dentist — against certain artificial 
 'extents in aid ' of s}Tnmetry, effected by the milliner. 
 
 An opposite side argues in favour of the Avig, that, in the 
 social intercourse of men, it is a laudable object for any 
 
122 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 individual to propose to himself, by making an agi'ceable 
 appearance, to please, ratlier than repel, his associates. 
 On the sunple ground that he would rather please than 
 offend, an inchvidual, not having the proper complement 
 of hair and countenance, places a cunningly-fashioned "wig 
 upon his head, artihcial teeth in his mouth, and an artifi - 
 ficial nose upon his face. A certain money-lender, it is 
 urged, acknowledged the elevating power of beautv when 
 he drew a veil before the portrait of his favorite picture, 
 that he might not see the semblance of a noble counte- 
 nance, while he extorted his crushing interest from des- 
 perate customers. It is late in the age, say the pro-Avig 
 party, to be called upon to lu'ge the refining power that 
 dwells in the beautiful; and, on the other hand, the 
 depression and the coarseness which often attend the 
 constant contemplation of things unsightly. The consci- 
 ousness of giving unpleasant sensations to spectators, 
 haunts all people Avho are visibly disfigiu'ed. The bald 
 man of five-and-twenty is an unpleasant object; because 
 premature baldness is luinatural and ugly. Argue the 
 question according to the strictest rules of formal logic, 
 and you will arrive at nothing more than that the thing is 
 undoiibtedly unpleasant to behold, and that therefore 
 some reason exists that should urge men to remove it, or 
 hide it. Undoubtedly, a wig is a counterfeit of natiu'al 
 hail-; but it is not a counterfeit Avom in deference to the 
 sense of the world, and -with the view of presenting an 
 agreeable, instead of a disagreeable, object? Certainly. 
 A pinch of philosophy is therefore sprinkled about a -nig, 
 and the wearer is not necessarily a coxcomb. As regards 
 artificial teeth, stronger pleas — even than those which 
 support wigs — may be entered. Digestion demands that 
 food- should be masticated. Shall, then, a toothless person 
 be forced to Hve upon spoon-meat, because artificial ivories 
 are denouneed as sinful? These questions are fast coming 
 to an issue ; for Science has so far come to the aid of hiunan 
 natm-e, that according to an enthusiastic professor, it will 
 be difficult, in the course of another century, to tell how 
 or where any man or woman is deficient. A mUlennimn 
 for Deformity is, it seems, not far distant. M. Boissonneau 
 
■ EYES MADE TO OKDER. 123 
 
 of Paris, constnicts eyes witli such extraordinary pre- 
 cision, that the artificial eye, we are told, is not distin- 
 guishable from the natural eye. The report of his 
 pretensions Avill, it is to be feared, spread consternation 
 amoni? those Avho hold even wigs in abhorrence, and con- 
 sider artificial teeth incompatible Avith Christianity; yet 
 the fact must be honestly declared, that it is no longer safe 
 for poets to Avrite sonnets about the eyes of their mistresses, 
 since those eyes may be M. Boissonneau's. 
 
 The old rude artificial eyes are simply oval shells, all 
 made from one pattern, and differing only in size and in 
 colour. No pretension to artistic or scientific sldll has 
 hitherto been clahned by the artificial eye manufacturer; — 
 he has made a certain number of deep blues, light blues, 
 hazels, and others, according to the state of the eye-market. 
 These rude shells were constructed mainly with the view 
 of giving the wearer an almond-shaped eye, and Ax-ith little 
 regard to its matching the eye in soimd and active service. 
 Artificial eyes Avere not made to order ; but the patient 
 was left to pick out the eye he Avould prefer to Avear, as 
 he Avould pick out a glove. The manufacture Avas kept a 
 profound mystery, and fcAV medical men had access to its 
 secrets. The manufacturers sold eyes by the gross, to 
 retail dealers, at a low price ; and these supplied patients. 
 Under this system, artificial eyes Avere only applicable in 
 the very rare cases of atrophy of the globe ; and the effect 
 produced was even more repulsive than that of the dis- 
 eased eye. The disease Avas hidden by an unnatural and 
 repulsiA'e expression, Avhich it is difficult to describe. 
 While one eye Avas gazing intently in your lace, the other 
 was fixed in another direction — immoveable, the more 
 hideovis because at first you mistook it for a natural eye. 
 A smile might overspread the face, animate the lip, and 
 lighten up the natural eye ; but there Avas the glass eye — 
 fixed, lustreless, and dead. It had other disadvantages : 
 it interfered Avith the lachrjaual functions, and sometimes 
 caused a tear to drop in the happiest moments. 
 
 The ncAV artificial eye is nothing more than a plastic 
 skullcap, set accurately upon the bulb of the diseased eye, 
 so that it moves Avith the bulb as freely as the sound eye. 
 
124 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 The lids play freely over it ; the lachrjnnal functions con- 
 tinue their healthy action ; and the bulb is effectually 
 protected from currents of cold air and particles of dust. 
 But these effects can be gained only by modelling each 
 artificial eye upon the particidar bulb it is destined to 
 cover ; thus removing the manufacture of artificial eyes 
 from the hands of clumsy mechanics, to the superintend- 
 ance of the scientific artist. Every individual case, 
 according to the condition of the bulb, requires an artificial 
 eye of a different model from all previoiisly made. In no 
 two cases are tlie bulbs found in precisely the same condi- 
 tion ; and, therefore, only the scientific workman, pro- 
 ceeding on well-grounded principles, can pretend to 
 practise ocidar prothesis with success. The newly-invented 
 shell is of metallic enamel, which may be fitted like an 
 outer cuticle to the bulb — the cornea of which is destroyed 
 — and restores to the patient his natural appearance. The 
 invention, however, will, we fear, increase our scepticism. 
 We shall begin to look in people's eyes, as we have been 
 accustomed to examine a luxuriant head of hair, Avhen it 
 suddenly shoots upon a surface hitherto remarkable only 
 for a very straggling crop. Yet, it would be well to abate 
 the spirit of sarcasm Avith Avhich wigs and artificial teeth 
 have been treated. Undoubtedly, it is more pleasant to 
 owe one's hair to nature than to Truefit ; to be indebted to 
 natural causes for pearly teeth ; and to have sparkling 
 eyes Avith light in them. Every man and Avoman Avould 
 rather have an aquiline nose than the most playful pug ; 
 no one Avould exchange eyes agreeing to turn in one direc- 
 tion, for the pertest squint ; or legs observing the fair 
 proportions and Hnes of the perfect human form divine, 
 for gnarled limbs, irregular as an oak-branch. And it is 
 pleasant to knoAV and to acknoAvledge, gratefully, and 
 seriously, that science can repair many of the ravages of 
 disease ; and mend many of the fractures and cracks 
 which the great chapter of accidents includes, as the por- 
 tion of poor human nature." 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried Mr. Balder, as his fi'iend's A'oice died> 
 *' but Ave must have your PiU paper to-day." 
 
THE METHUSELAH PILL. 125 
 
 " Yes, yes," from the Master. " ^Ir. Babbyconib owes 
 us somotliing more important than this fragment about 
 artificial eyes." 
 
 " He has a capital — a ■wicked stoiy about a quack pill." 
 
 " Move ahead !" growled HoiTocks. 
 
 Mr. Babbyconib reluctantly drew a paper from his 
 pocket, and said, " Here's the nonsense :" — 
 
 "the METHUSELAH PILL. 
 
 " Mr. Prattles was a poor man. He had a wife and 
 a large family dependent on him ; and his printing 
 business brought him in only a veiy slender income. 
 His neighbours often wondered how he contrived to make 
 both ends meet. They knew nothing of the struggle that 
 went on within the walls of Mr. Prattles' establishment. 
 The svirrounding tradesmen were his customers. He had 
 a shrewd notion of business, however. When the grocer 
 over the way gave him an order to print fifty copies of 
 * Fine Congou at three-and-sixpence,' he knew very well 
 that the grocer down the road would soon empower him 
 to print bills advertising ' Fine Congou at three-and-five- 
 pence three farthings :' to which Avould be added the 
 further intelligence that ' now was the time !' The keener 
 the competition in the neighbourhood, the better for Mr. 
 Prattles. Among other printing orders, Mr. Prattles one 
 day receiA'ed a command to strike off a thousand labels for 
 ' ]Mr. Smith's Universal Pill.' No sooner had lie delivered 
 the first batch of labels, than a second order was given for 
 five thousand more labels ; and the second order was im- 
 mediately succeeded by a thii'd, and a third by a fourth. 
 
 This influx of business surprised Mr. Prattles ; and he 
 began to em-y the prosperity of Mv. Smith. Presently it 
 struck hini that it was no difficult matter to manufacture 
 a pill. But how could he hope to invent a story so 
 plausible as that which enveloped ]\Ir. Smith's pill-boxes. 
 There was a difficulty here. I\Ir. Smith had fortified 
 himself in every possible way. He had selected the most 
 obsciu-e collages of the coimtry from the Gazetteer, and 
 had written very characteristic testimonials fi-oni miagmaiy 
 
12i6 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 patients residing near those remote localities. His pill 
 ■vvas — these spurious documents declared — an infallible 
 cure for every disease. He had tacked to his pill the proper- 
 ties of the entire pharmacopoeia. Mr. Smith's pill was 
 advertised to accomplish everything of -which medical 
 science was capable. The history of Mr. Smith's Pill was 
 a narrative of blessings conferred upon frail mortality. 
 By the virtues of Mr. Smith's Pill, John Dobbins of Cwyr- 
 ytchcmwU, in Wales, had been cured of a bad leg, which 
 had baffled the ingenixity of the first surgeons in the 
 cou.ntry. Mr. Smith's Pill restored Miss Brown of Briar 
 Cottage, near Battledore-cum-Shiittlecock, to life, when 
 the rattles were in her throat. It cui-ed asthma, consump- 
 tion, water on the brain, dropsy and influenza ; it was 
 infallible in scarlet fever, yellow jaundice, and blue cholera, 
 gout, rheiunatism, tic-doloreux, sciatica, and cancer in- 
 variably disappeared from every patient respectively and 
 concurrently afflicted Avith any or all of these diseases, — 
 after the third box. 
 
 ]\Ir. Smith's ingenuity was not exhausted even with these 
 arrangements. He understood his business perfectly, and 
 felt that, in order to make his pill go down, it was neces- 
 sary to secure the patronage of a peer of the realm. With 
 this vieAV he entered into negotiations with a poor noble- 
 man residing abroad. The transaction was a long time 
 pending, but at length it Avas signed and sealed between 
 ]\Ir. Smith and the Earl of Rottenborough, that his lordshij> 
 should, for and in consideration of the sum of six himdred 
 per annum, to be paid to him, the Earl of Eottenborougli, 
 by the said Mr. Smith, consent to be cured, in public 
 advertisements, by means of Mr. Smith's Omnipotent Pill, 
 of any disease of which the said i\Ir. Smith might choose 
 to call upon him, the Earl aforesaid, to testify he had been 
 ciu'ed. Under these auspices Mr. Smith's Pills had thrived 
 exceedingly, but it was not till Mr. Smith conferred upon 
 himself a diploma, and inducted himself into the chair 
 in a college Avhich he endoAved, for that single piu-pose, 
 somcAvhere, that the Universal Pill Avas found in cAcry 
 respectable house in the three kingdoms, as the special 
 
THE MEXnUSEL.lII TILL. 127 
 
 and particiilar pill of Professor Smith, M.D., ^^-itIlout 
 whose siiruature aU others -were spurious. 
 
 Poor Prattles ! how could lie, who had not twenty pounds 
 in the world, hope to compete with the rich Professor 
 Smith. AVhen he recounted the advantages Avhich his 
 rival possessed, and reflected upon his own moneyless 
 condition, he was ready to give up his idea in despair. At 
 this crisis of his fate his wife, one day in purest jest, told 
 him that care woiUd soon make hun look as old as Methu- 
 selah. This simple remark, as he affectingly tells us to the 
 present day, decided him. He would have a I\Iethuselah 
 PiU ! His wife tried hard to dissuade him from embarkinff 
 m so expensive a speciuation; — he was deaf to her 
 pleading. He Avrote foith^vith to his cousin, who was a 
 chemist at Bath, and asked him to mix him a harmless 
 pill. ' Let the properties it contams neutralise one another.' 
 This was the simple direction. A bribe of a third share 
 in the specxdation decided his cousin, the chemist, to set 
 to work immediately. The next step was to frame a very 
 learned history of the piU — to trace its descent from 
 Methuselah to Prattles. With tliis object. Prattles con- 
 sulted a battered old schoolmaster of his acquaintance, 
 Avhose scraps of ancient lore sufficed for the printer's 
 purpose. In a few hours a very interesting story, narra- 
 ting the liistory of the receipt, was falnicated and ready for 
 the press. It ran as follows : — 
 
 It is well known to most people that the venerable Metliiiselali 
 lived to the good old age of NINE HUNDRED AND SIXTY NINE 
 lEARS. The secret of so long a life has for ages remained an 
 IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY. In these degenerate days men 
 seldom live to gaze upon their gi-andchildi-en ; but in the days of 
 Methuselah, matters were very different. Men lived for centuries. 
 What potent power — what subtle elixir — held bodv and soul together 
 for so long a pei-iod? ' That is the question.' About two vears a?o 
 two gentlemen were traveUiug in THE ARID DESERTS OF ASLi 
 MINOR. They fell in, one evening, with an encampment of Ai-abs. 
 They were most hospitably received by the Mussiilmen. The first 
 peculiarity they remarked among the' Ai-abs was that there were 
 several men in the encampment who, though they looked veiw old, 
 were nevertheless, active in theii- gait and lively in conversatiou. 
 Our travellers entered into conversation with one of these hoary sons 
 of the desei-t ; the old man was very communicative. 
 
128 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 ' I Tvas in your coimtiy many years ago, when Charles the Second 
 was Idng. I played tricks )3efore hiin : — he was a jo\'ial fellow. Ah ! 
 I was young then ; ' and the old man heaved a deep sigh. The 
 travellers, it may well be imagined, were sm-prised ; and, at first, 
 somewhat incredulous. 
 
 ' There is a man, but he is very old now, who fought in Palestine 
 when one of your king's sons helped in a foolish war- — I think you 
 Christians call it the Holy War.' The old man pointed to a figure 
 crouched to the earth. It was that of a veiy old man, whose hair 
 was white as silver. ' That man,' continued the Ai-ab, who was 
 addressing the travellers, ' is upwards of six hundred years old ! ' 
 
 ' Incredible ! ' our travellers exclaimed. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' the old Ai-ab continued ; ' you of the degenerate West 
 Imow nothing of this matter. The secret remains with us, to you it 
 is unknown — au undiscovered mystery. Have you ever heard of 
 Methuselah?' 
 
 ' The travellers replied in the affirmative. 
 
 ' Do you know by what secret he prolonged his life to the ripe old 
 age of nine hundred and sixty-nine years ?' 
 
 The travellers confessed their profound ignorance. Forthwith 
 the old Arab fumbled, mth his ebon hands, about the folds of his 
 turban, and presently drev/ therefrom a tattered piece of parchment, 
 so dirty, besmeared -with grease, and discoloured by age, that the 
 Arabic characters written upon it could be deciphered only by the 
 most practised Arabic scholar. One of the travellers happened to be 
 a proficient in Arabic. He begged the old man to allow him to 
 peruse the precious document. To this the wily Arab consented, ou 
 the conditions that it should be read in Ms own hands, and that he 
 should receive a large sum of money for allowing the travellers to 
 transcribe its contents. These j)reliminaries having been an'auged, 
 the party entered the nearest tent, and the travellers became possessed 
 of the invaluable life-presen-er. Ou their retui-n to England, the 
 travellers entered into a negotiation with the present proprietor of 
 the recipe, vAio offers his 
 
 METHUSELAH PILLS 
 
 to the British public at thirteeupence-halfpenny per box. None are 
 genuine unless signed by the proprietor, John Prattles. Agents 
 wanted for eveiy part of the world. N.B. — The Methuselali Pills are 
 carefully made up after the Methuselah receipt, from particular herbs 
 known only to the proprietor of this invaluable medicine. As a 
 proof of the efficacy and wonderful properties of the Methusaleh Pill, 
 Her Majesty's Government have granted to the proprietors, to the 
 exclusion of all pretenders, the use of a splendid RED AND 
 BLACK STAMP. All pilLs pretending to be Methuselah Pills 
 — without this stamp, are forgeries ; — and all imitation of it is felony.' 
 
 This notable prospectus was concocted in the back 
 parlour of ^Ir. Prattles' house, Mr. Prattles had not been 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 129 
 
 a piinter all Lis life for nothing ; he had picked up, -with 
 his types, the trick of editorship ; and he revised the school- 
 master's rough-draft -with skill. Mr. Prattles then 
 wore a paper cap and an apron. He published his pros- 
 pectus, adding now and then new bits, to give it additional 
 zest. At one time is was headed 
 
 'cheat the lxdertakeks, and lite six hundred 
 
 YEARS.' 
 
 A second prospectus began A^-ith 
 
 'life prolonged to an rST)EFINITE PERIOD BY THE 
 METHUSELAH PILLS !' 
 
 In a few years Mr. Prattles was a man of property. In 
 time he was even able to sneer at Professor Smith, -wdth 
 his tool, my Lord Rottenborough. 
 
 When some foolish old man, in a remote rural district, 
 died at an advanced age, public attention was particularly 
 called to Prattles' patent, by a statement on the part of 
 the firm, that the instance of longevity in question was 
 undoubtedly the effect of the IMethuselah receipt. Prattles 
 pocketed his shillings, and smiled at the world: he 
 laughed and won. To make all square, as far as possible, 
 he even went to the leirgth of eating a feAv charity dinners, 
 and subscribing a few pounds in aid of hospital and other 
 funds. 
 
 Prattles' Pills sold prodigiously. Whenever a doubt 
 was expressed respecting their efficacy, it was silenced by 
 reference to the sanction of Her Majesty's Government 
 whose mark picturesqiiely adorned each box, to prove the 
 genuineness of the Methuselah PiEs; just as plate and 
 jewellery are stamped by the assay axithorities to show the 
 standard excellence of gold or silver. Publicly, Mr. 
 Prattles complamed that the Gfoverament charo-ed him 
 threehalfpence per impression, for these 'HaU Marks;' 
 privately, he whispered that to them he owed his fortune. 
 
 Like all those who have much, Mr. Prattles wanted 
 more. After he had exported millions of his Methusaleh 
 Pills to every comer of the Queen's Colonial dominions, 
 
 K 
 
130 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 he attempted to introduce them into foreign medicine 
 markets. To his chagrin, he found that in no other countnj 
 in the world save in these dominions (except the United 
 States of America) were articles of that description allowed 
 to be vended — much less are they sanctioned for the sake 
 of a paltry revenue. On the contrary, individuals, ]\Ir. 
 Prattles learned, who were discovered selling such things 
 on the Continent, are severely punished ; even newspapers 
 who advertise them, are fined. He met with native 
 patent medicines during his travels on the Continent, 
 but they were real remedies ; having all been submitted 
 to a Board of Government Officers distingviished for 
 their proficiency in pharmacy and medicine, who had 
 decided whether the non-professional public could be safely 
 trusted with them or not. ISIr. Prattles, however, made 
 a brilliant fortune by his gullible countrymen.' " 
 
 "And may he live to be gulled as he has gulled the 
 public ! " shouted Horrocks. " I'd have the thief swinging 
 from the yard-arm, if I had my way." 
 
 " We are on social shams, or swindles," cried the blaster ; 
 — " let us beg Mr. Seesaw to oblige us. He is ready I am 
 told, with some very amusing experience."' 
 
 " Every man to his o^^^l shop, you know," said Brother 
 Seesaw. "I know nothing about the height of your Atlantic 
 Waves : nor about Artificial Eyes. If I wanted to go to 
 America, I should pay my passage like a man ; and con- 
 sider the sea-sickness as part of my business. If I lost an 
 eye, I should get the best artificial one money would buy. 
 I hate your theories and discussions. Give the best price, 
 and you Avill get the best article." 
 
 " Poor thing," whispered Frowde to IVIr. Babbycomb. 
 "Now writing-— beyond business letters — is not my 
 province," continued Seesaw ; " but, since the ISIaster has 
 been good enough to ask me for some of my city experi- 
 ence, I have thrown something together, about the way 
 
PROVISIONALLY AND COMPLETELY EEGISTERED. 131 
 
 tlacy got bubble companies up, a little time ago. Stop me, 
 if it doesn't interest you." 
 
 "Everyman's experience is interesting," said the Master. 
 
 " Except a marine's," roared Horrocks. 
 
 Amid laughter, Mr. Seesaw opened his reading. 
 
 " I have christened my paper — 
 
 "provisionally xsv cojipletely registered" — 
 he said. " Now, I proceed : — I, adopting for the time, the 
 Royal 'we.'" 
 
 " "We have a fortune within our grasp. The thing is 
 as clear as noon-day. Twenty thousand pounds for myself, 
 and twenty thousand pounds for my fellow promoter, 
 Ralph Augustus Rigging. People are welcome to call iis 
 sanguine, and headstrong and foolish. Capitalists may 
 turn their backs upon us ; but we know that, very shortly, 
 the proudest "of them will be at our feet. This is how we 
 found our fortmie : 
 
 I and Rigging were having a chop ui the City one 
 sloppy afternoon, Avhen the market was dull (that very 
 moiniing, in fact, the Great.North and South Pole Junction 
 shares had dropped doAvn to seventy-five ex. div.), when 
 a very quiet dull man planted himself in the same box 
 with us. He called for a chop and a sausage, and par- 
 ticularly directed that the sausage should be fried crisp. 
 He had a careworn countenance ; and when he placed his 
 hat upon the table, he dropped a bundle of greasy papers 
 into it. Little did I think at that moment my fortune 
 was bouiid up in that grease. 
 
 Ringing soon broke cheei-ily into conversation ■\\'ith him. 
 He talked about the money market. Rigging (who had, I 
 know, only eighteenpence in the world), chattered airily 
 and confidently about the glut of money in the City, and 
 o-ave long lists of the paper done by various discoimt 
 houses, whose operations he pretended to know thoroughly, 
 at one and a half per cent. The aspect of metals, the 
 hopes of hops, the chances of corn, the prospects of jute, 
 the rise in B.P. sugar gradually led, from a discussion on 
 
 K 2 
 
132 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 the hottled-beer trade, to a few words on the imperial 
 pint question then beginning to be mooted. The mention 
 of bottles visibly worked on the stranger's mind, and his 
 hand wandered instinctively towards the greasy bundle of 
 papers in his hat. He paused, and then awkwardly asked 
 whether we had ever experienced the astonishing ineffi- 
 ciency of the common corkscrew? Rigging suggested 
 that all the corkscrews he had operated with were bad, 
 because they required laboui* to fulfil their purpose. In- 
 deed he was quite prepared to extend his patronage to 
 any new screw that would draw a cork instantly and 
 without efibrt. 
 
 This intimation threw the stranger into a state of greater 
 excitement. He grasped his bundle of adipose papers ; 
 and, as he untied them, rapidly and earnestly traced the 
 leading points of his career. At an early age, he said, he 
 saw that the world wanted an improved corkscrew; and he 
 resolved to give the matter his undivided attention. He 
 resigned the business for which his father had destined 
 him ; and, A\T.th his savings, bought every kind of cork- 
 screw that came within his reach. He found that thev 
 were one and all based upon wrong principles ; and for a 
 long time he could not devise the right principles on 
 which those important social instnaments ought to be con- 
 structed. But he never let the subject pass from his 
 mind. He felt convinced that an improved corkscrew 
 would draw a colossal fortune for the mventor ; and this 
 conviction kept him true to his purpose. He said it woidd 
 make our hearts ache to listen to the miseries he had 
 suftered, in carrpng out the great and glorious object of 
 his existence. He had defied sheriffs' officers, and had 
 serenely seen his household gods pass imder the hammer 
 of the auctioneer; he had been deceived by large and 
 powerful bodies of people ; he had wasted the fortune of 
 "his wife, in experiments; he had tried to open, on new 
 and improved principles, upwards of thirteen thousand 
 bottles of wine ; and at last he had succeeded in manu- 
 facturing a corkscrew that drew a cork -wdth the daintiest 
 twirl of the tiniest lady's finger. 
 
 As he rapidly pictured these stages of his career, his 
 
PROVISIONALLY Am) COMPLETELY REGISTERED. 133 
 
 eyes dilated ; his voice became tremulous ; his action 
 grew Avildly animated. IVIr. Rigging begged him to calm 
 himself; but encouraged him to proceed, and to enter 
 into fvdl details ; adding, that he had, probably, by the 
 merest accident, met mth parties who might reahze all 
 the di-eams of his youth — men, who at all events could 
 console him for years of misery by insuring him a meridian 
 of competence, and a decline of imclouded prosperity. 
 
 Thus urged, the gentleman imfolded his plan ; wdnding 
 up by the declaration that aU he Avanted was a capitalist. 
 Eigging smiled at this trifling desideratum; and asked, 
 particularly, whether this was all the stranger required? 
 I confess that I was a little surprised at Rigging's confident 
 au- ; for I knew, to my cost, that he was no capitalist. But 
 he continued to cheer the little man on until the inventor of 
 the screw had revealed the whole of his project; conclud- 
 ing, by asking him what sum he required for his novel 
 and highly remunerative invention. The stranger took 
 out his pencil and made several elaborate calculations; 
 while Rigging kept uttering exclamations on the Avonder- 
 ful luck which had brought ourselves and the inventor 
 togetli^r. 
 
 I did not see the matter quite so clearly as Rigging 
 seemed to see it ; but I left it entirely in his hands. Pre- 
 sently the stranger said, in a hesitating tone — and after 
 having exlaibited in a viA-id Hght the incalculable expenses 
 lie had borne — that he would not object to part with liis 
 entire right in his patent corkscrcAV, for the preposterously 
 low sum of six thousand five hundred and fifty pounds. 
 Eigging asked, with earnest solemnity, if, positively, he 
 was prepared to sign an ageement to that effect ? The 
 stranger replied in the afHrmative. " Better make it ten 
 thousand," Rigging suggested. 
 
 The stranger stared. Rigging went on to show that the 
 thing Avas Avorth ten thousand pounds, at least, if it Avere 
 Avorth ten pence ; and that it Avould be mere folly to part 
 vdth it for less. The stranger Avas not sIoav to accede to 
 this \aeAv of the subject. 
 
 " NoAV to business," Mr. Rigging suggested. He then 
 went on to show that the scheme was one, the importance 
 
134 CHRONICLES OF THE CEUTeH- 
 
 of whicli was so great, that it could not be ftiHy carried 
 on by any private individual. A public company was the 
 only expedient conceivably practical, and Mr. Kigging was 
 exactly the 'party' whose influence in the City could 
 command directors of weight and character. The stranger 
 looked doubtingly. Mr. Kigging returned to the charge 
 with renewed vigour. He painted in glowing colotu's the 
 prospects of a public company working so important an 
 invention. He shadowed forth colossal di\'idends paid at 
 frequent intervals. He pointed to companies that were at 
 ten, premiiun ; and wotind up by appeahng to the stranger 
 as a man of business, whether this glorious scheme had 
 not stronger claims upon pubhc support, than many of 
 those then so high in the esteem of the members of the 
 Stock Exchange. The stranger's enthusksm expanded 
 under Eigging's eloquence. Rigging saw tliis, and chose 
 his moment to recall to us that we were not in a place for 
 the transaction of important business. He suggested that 
 perhaps the stranger woidd favoui' Mm next mormng -snth 
 a call at his oflice in Moon Alley. The stranger eageriy 
 assented to this arrangement, and we parted. 
 
 I found Mr. Eigging at his place of business, and in 
 company mth the stranger, at the appointed minute. They 
 were surrounded -vrith plans, sections, together vnth work- 
 ing, isometi-ical, and perspective drawings of corkscrews. 
 The stranger's drdl, heavy, hopeless expression of coiin- 
 tenance had vanished. He was in high spirits; and, at 
 the moment Avhen I entered, !Mr. Eigging was debating 
 with him ^vhether they would have the Prime ]\Iinister, 
 or the Chancellor of the Exchequer, or both, as president 
 or presidents of the board of honorary dii'ectors. Eigging 
 suggested that they should not make the thing too cheap ;. 
 and that therefore he was decidedly of opinion that only 
 the Prime Minister should be allowed the honour. And 
 so it was settled. From this subject our attention was 
 turned to the formation of a working board. Eigging 
 proposed that two of the most celebrated wine-merchants, 
 a leading man in the cork trade, and an influential bottle- 
 maker, should be at once communicated with. They 
 would, of course, assent to become directors, -svithout a 
 
PROVISIONALLY AND COMPLETELY KEGISTERED. 135 
 
 thought of hesitation : for their very existence as manu- 
 facturers (in which designation wine-merchants Avere 
 designedly inchided) depended upon corkscrews. Here 
 wouki be four directors ; Mr. Rigging would endeavour so 
 to economise his time, as to make a fifth ; and then there 
 would be only three (with power to add to their number) 
 wanting, to complete the board. The scheme lay in the 
 compass of a nutshell. The stranger was asked whether 
 he had any preference as to bankers ; whether he intended 
 to bring in his own, or any favourite solicitor ; and whether 
 he would be disposed to take an active part in the manage- 
 ment of the Company? To these questions the stranger 
 gave highly satisfactory answers. Whereupon Mr. Rig- 
 ging, passing his hand with a graceful bow towards me, 
 expressed the great pleasure he felt in proposing his excel- 
 lent friend Mr. Scripplewick as Secretary ^;ro. tern. He 
 knew (he Avas so good as to add) that I should do all in 
 my power to carry out the views of the directors, and 
 that I should l)e found an efficient and intelligent officer. 
 I was thereupon requested to proceed to the nearest 
 stationer's shop aiad purchase a book. ' For,' said Mr. 
 Rigging in a highly impressive tone, ' I make it a rule in 
 all business matters to act from the beginning according to 
 the strict letter of the law, and Avith the most scrupulous 
 exactitude.' 
 
 "The artful villain ! " ci'ied Horrocks. 
 
 The inventor approved of this very refreshing sentiment, 
 and I invested (out of my own capital) two shillings and 
 ninepence in a minute-book. I was at once requested to 
 draw up a statement of our proceedings. Accordingly I 
 set forth, that, at a meeting, of which Ralph Augustus 
 Rigging was unanimously voted Chairman, it Avas resoh'ed, 
 nemine contradicente, that the Company Avhich the fleeting 
 had been summoned to form, should be called and desig- 
 nated, and is hex'eby called and designated, 'The Patent 
 CorkscrcAV Company.' Another resolution fixed its capital 
 at tAventy-five thousand pounds ; Avith the option, suggested 
 by Mr. Rigging, of increasing to one hundred thousand 
 pounds, in tAVo hundi'cd thousand shares of ten shiUiugs 
 
136 CHROljnCLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 each — one sliilling deposit per share. The next proceed- 
 ing was to decide who shonld be promoters, and Avhat they 
 (the promoters) should severally claim for their preliminary 
 trouble, in the shape of preliminary expenses. Here the 
 experience of Eigging was of essential service. He de- 
 clared that the inventor, in this capacity, should have allotted 
 to him six thousand free shares ; and that I and Rigging 
 should each have, as joint promoters, two thousand free 
 shares. This self-denying arrangement was adopted ; 
 offices were fixed upon : a printer was appointed ; and we 
 proceeded to draw up the prospectus. 
 
 This Avas a glowing document. It described a little 
 EI-Dorado mthin two minutes walk of the Stock Exchange. 
 It bristled with figures, exhibiting the number of cork- 
 screws in use (from well authenticated data), distinguishing 
 Avorm screws from barrel screws, and single-barrelled 
 corkscrews from double-barrelled coi'kscrews. It tabula- 
 ted, in separate columns, pocket, pantrj^, and pic-nic 
 corkscrews. It dwelt on the importance of the corkscrew 
 in the abstract, upon its indirect effect on the happiness of 
 unborn millions ; and it concluded by promising to share- 
 liolders dividends of nineteen per cent., paid quarterly. 
 Rigging read this effusion to us with marvellous unction ; 
 and it was pleasant to see the glow of expectation that 
 deepened every moment on the cheek of the inventor, as the 
 reading proceeded. We wound up our proceedings for 
 that day by sending the prospectus to the printer ; and by 
 provisionally registering the Company at the expense of 
 the inventor; Avho paid five pounds to the Registry- 
 office "ttdth sublime alacrity. 
 
 "We next devoted our energies to the formation of a 
 powerful working Board. Every day we persuaded our- 
 selves that the matter in hand was very easy : every day 
 Rigging had reason to believe he would obtain a first-class 
 name. Time ran on, while we ran after Directors. After 
 seven weeks' severe labour we booked one gentleman. I 
 remember well, the air of triumph with which Mi-. Rigging 
 lauded the Honourable Chester Titbury, and produced 
 him in the Board-room. I remember, to, the promises of 
 support that gentleman lavished upon us. He would see 
 
PROVISIONALLY AND COJIPLETELY REGISTERED, 137 
 
 his friend Lord Cattegat and make liim join ; and if we 
 wanted tip-top trustees, he would pro^'ide them for us. 
 Mr. Kigging told us, after boA\ang out the Honourable Mr. 
 Titbury, that now the formation of the Board was a matter 
 of certainty; for it would be easy to get any names to join 
 Titbury. Indeed, there would be a hot competition among 
 the ■wine, cork, and bottle interests for the honour of ser\ang 
 upon our Board. This prospect carried us all home, I 
 think, very comfortably to bed that night. I dreamed 
 that I was dipping my fingers, -with a noble duke, into a 
 certain little bowl filled with sovereigns, which was always 
 placed upon the Board on all the Board days. 
 
 Eigging used the name of the Honourable Chester 
 Titbuiy most disci'eetly. I was always hopeful while he 
 had a copy of the printed prospectus in his pocket, Avith 
 oiu- first and only name filling up the Ijlank in manuscript 
 under the head ' Directors.' Every day he called on me 
 to report a new certainty of a first-rate Director. Eveiy 
 day he heard something encouraging from the Stock Ex- 
 change. Eveiy day he was told that all the influential 
 men in the City had their eyes upon us. Every day I 
 went to the office flushed -w-ith hope ; but every evening 
 returned home jaded and worn Anth disappointment. For 
 still Mr. Chester Titbury was our only Director. But 
 what of that ? Mr. Eigging had heard that ' they ' were 
 only holding back to see how the market went. At last 
 we resolved to disappoint and to exclude them (Avhoever 
 they were). We accepted some names we had before de- 
 clined. We had Mr. Flippy of Camden ToAvn, said to be 
 a retired gentleman ; Mr. Samuel Flick, a man of great 
 influence in the tooth-brush trade : the Eev. Joshua Jeny, 
 a clergjinan Avith enlarged views and contracted means : 
 and two or three more equally ehgible members of the 
 leisure classes. It was decided that the promoters ought 
 to bear aU the preUminary expenses ; so that when the 
 Board passed a very liberal resolution to advertise largely, 
 I, Eigging, and the inventor had to take counsel of one 
 another. I need not reveal the cost at which we scraped 
 money together, to pay for long advertisements in the 
 morning papers. 
 
138 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 These were inserted day after day. Applications for 
 shares came in, in prodigious quantities. Mr. Troubadub, 
 of Pentom-ille wanted five hundred shares ; jNIr. Barley- 
 mus of Berniondsey would be glad to pay on seven 
 hundred and fifty ; Mr. Tumbledon of the Old Kent Road 
 woidd feel obhged by an allotment of six hundred. 
 Hundreds of other gentlemen were - eqvially obliging. 
 Sixty-two thousand three hundred and twenty-seven 
 shares Avere apphed for by the day the books were an- 
 nounced as being about to close ; twenty -five thousand 
 were judiciously allotted. 
 
 That is some time ago : calls upon only three hundred 
 and one have as yet been paid. Our expenses have now 
 amounted to seven hundred pounds ; and at this moment 
 the Honourable Chester Titbury has got his jewelled 
 fingers in the little bowl of sovereigns on the Board table. 
 WHien the proportion of capital prescribed by the Act of 
 Parhament has been paid tip, we hope to be completely 
 registered. It is not, however, our intention to bring out 
 the Patent Corkscrew until the invention is fully pro- 
 tected by law. 
 
 Between Provisional Registration and Complete Regis- 
 tration there is a long and difticult way to travel ; that is 
 to say, the intention of the law was to make this way 
 difficult, but some knowing fellows have found out a path 
 strewn with rose-leaves. The Patent Corkscrew Company, 
 however, have had no easy time of it since we left them 
 (all hopeful as young girls) enjoying the charms of Provi • 
 sional Registration. Good du'ectors would pour in. The 
 RothschUds and the Barings would at once see the magni- 
 ficent commercial promises of the scheme, and take an early 
 walk to the offices. Tlie manufacturers of all old-lashioned 
 corkscrews would tremble in their boots. Wine merchants 
 in every part of the kingdom, would be in a painful state of 
 expectation. 
 
 The first point to be attended to was advertising a 
 second time. Without a shower of advertisements no 
 compaiay could hope to succeed. Advertising agents soon 
 presented themselves. It was mildly suggested tliat the 
 
PROVISIONALLV AND COMPLETKLY KEGISTEllEI). 139 
 
 Chelsea Banner was an important medium ; that the Juan 
 Fernandez Gazette was an authority on corkscrews, and 
 had an enormous circidation; that the Baher Street Star 
 wouki bring us two or three himdred first-rate apphcations 
 for shares.^ The advertisements were given out very 
 handsomely to all kinds of papers. Suburban prints in- 
 formed their readers, that the Patent Corkscrew Company 
 would make the fortune of its shareholders, and that it 
 would be the moral duty of every honest man to have a 
 patent corkscrew in the house. Tlie time for appli- 
 cation for shares had been extended. The incessant 
 popping of corks made bhssful the nights _ of the 
 inventor; for, this time, the list of applications for 
 shares included some of the most notable names in 
 the country. Captain Bluebill, of Tanglebury Hall, 
 Norfolk, wanted three hundred shares; Benjamin But- 
 ton, of Clapham, the great silk merchant, would be 
 glad to take up two hundred; Thomas Towling, of 
 the Cottage, Putney, the well-knoAvn baidcer, would 
 not be content -with less than four hundred; Admiral 
 Hawker, of the Grange, Somerset, who gave as his reference, 
 one of the most respectable banking firms in the metropolis, 
 would be obliged to the directors for an allotment of^ one 
 hundred. The promoters examined these apphcations, 
 and did not permit themselves to doubt the respectabihty 
 of the parties. Then Thomas Match, Esq., of Piccadilly, 
 wanted fifty shares ; Tollemache Towneley, Esq., of Pall 
 Mall, would be obliged by an allotment of seventy-five. 
 How cheerfully the secretary filed these apphcations ! How 
 merrily the members of the "Board talked over the extensive 
 manufactory they woidd open over the Avater ! 
 
 It Avas determined, that in consequence of the great 
 influx of applications, the time alloAved for further apphca- 
 tions shorUd be shortened. The shares applied for already 
 amoxmted to three hundred thousand pounds in A-alue. A 
 day Avas appointed, beyond Avhich no application Avould be 
 received ; and on that day the letters Avere poured 
 into the office of the happy promoters. Noav, the success 
 of the undertaking Avas beyond a doubt. Alas ! hoAV slily 
 did that seedy gentlemen grin, Avho appeared at the offices 
 
140 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 the day before the directors allotted the shares !, He wanted 
 to know Avhether or not the directors were prepared to buy 
 up theii' own letters of allotment. 
 
 ' Bless me ! ' replied the secretary, ' my good man, our 
 business is not to buy our shares, but to sell them. We 
 buy shares ! That's very good ! No, Sir, good morning.' 
 And chuckling very merrily, the secretary turned his back 
 upon the appKcant. The seedy man said he would caU 
 again in a day or two, and departed. 
 
 How heartily Lord Ballyshannon, the worthy chairman 
 of the company, laughed, when the secretary described the 
 applicant and his enquiry. It was a great joke. We buy 
 their own shares ! 
 
 With great ceremony the Board proceeded to allot. It was 
 reaUy heart breaking to see the excellent men whose appli- 
 cations they (the Board) were compelled to refuse. Yet it 
 covild not be helped — the applications were so very numer- 
 ous. They could aiford Captain BluebUl,of TangleburyHall, 
 only one hundred and fifty of the three hundred apphed 
 for ; the great silk merchant, Benjamin Button, of Clapham, 
 who was eager for two hundred, could not possibly have 
 more than one hundred and twenty-five. The public had 
 apparently conspired to heap riches upon this most fortu- 
 nate, this most promising company. But then, everybody 
 said the tiling Avould be a great success from the first. It 
 was to supply a want, long felt throughout the country. 
 
 Four days were given to the happy applicants who had 
 shares allotted to them, to pay up their deposits — four 
 days only, and then would arrive the golden day, when the 
 directors would be able to draw a cheque for the purchase- 
 money of the invention. 
 
 Two days after the clerks had poiu*ed three bagfuls of 
 allotment letters into Her Majesty's Post Office, the seedy 
 gentleman once more made his appearance at the office of 
 the prosperous company. On this occasion he had busi- 
 ness of some importance to transact ; and must see the 
 secretary. The secretary condescended to give the appli- 
 cant an audie7ice — just to hiimour the fellow. 
 
 ' Now, sir, do you wish to buy any letters ? ' 
 
PROVISION.\XLY AND C05IPLETELY REGISTERED. 141 
 
 ' My good man, I doirt understand you,' replied the 
 secretary. 
 
 * Any letters of allotment ? ' 
 
 * Letters of allotment ! I am still more perplexed ! ' 
 
 * "Well, then, let me tell you, sir, tliere are plenty to be 
 had — and at sixpence per share.' The seedy gentleman 
 smiled A^dth gi-eat condescension upon the secretary. The 
 secretary looked very foolish. The applicant drew a dirty 
 bundle from his pocket, and continiied : 
 
 ' Look here, sir ; here are four hundred and tliirty 
 shares I have bought at four pence per share.' 
 
 ' Dear me, let me look at them ! ' 
 
 'O dear no: buy them, and you may do what you 
 please with them. There are plenty of them in the 
 market ; and if you want any paid upon, I shoidd advise 
 you to buy them up as fast as possible." 
 
 ' I cannot understand this : we allotted only to persons 
 of the first respectability.' 
 
 'You allotted to a great many stags sir, I can teU 
 you,' repHed the seedy indi-^ddual. ' Now I ventm-e to 
 assert sir, that unless you buy up these letters upon the 
 market, you will not have a five-pound note paid into 
 your bankers. Ever}dDody who intends to pay, goes to see 
 how the shares are upon the market, first ; and if they see 
 letters of allotment being hawked about for a few shillings, 
 they'll not pay up. Why, it was only the other day that 
 the Great Timbuctoo Mining Company got up thirty 
 thousand pounds in two days. And how did they do it ? 
 Sir, they bought up any letter of allotment at any price 
 that was offered in the market ; they gave commissions ta 
 brokers to biiy shares even at a premitim ; and so the shares 
 were quoted at two premium on the list, and everybody 
 rushed to the bank to pay in. Why, to-day I was offered 
 a letter for a hundred of your shares, for half-a-crown ! " 
 
 ' You sm-prise me,' the be-wildered secretary exclaimed. 
 ' But how do these letters get into the hands of men who 
 hawk them about ? ' 
 
 'They write for them. Didn't you have any stag- 
 books Avhen you allotted ? ' 
 
142 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 ' Stag-books ! No. What are stag-books ? ' 
 
 ' I see, sir, you have much to learn m these matters.' 
 
 This oliservation roused the secretary's indignation, and 
 he began to entertain an idea that he laad been duped by 
 his informant. 
 
 ' Sir,' said the secretary, with a grand air, ' we do not 
 wish to have the knowledge you seem to possess. The 
 Patent Corkscrew Company is not the Great Tunbuctoo 
 Mining Company. I ■wish you good moi'ning. We do /ioi 
 Vvish to purchase letters of allotment.' 
 
 'Very well, sir,' replied the seedy gentleman, Avith a 
 jaunty air, ' you Avill have a different story this day next 
 week. I shall sell these at any price, and then you'll see 
 how many you'll have taken up.' With this tlireat tlie 
 seedy individual left the astonished secretary. 
 
 When the board met that afternoon, the directors did 
 not look quite so gay as on former occasions. The secre- 
 tary's account was not a cheerful one ; and, after due 
 deliberation, it was agreed that one of the clerks should 
 lie sent into the market to buy up a letter for one hundred 
 and fifty shares, at the current price. Armed with this 
 ]oower, the clerk was not long in transacting his business. 
 He soon returned with one hundred and fifty shares, which 
 he had bought for seven shillings. The letter of allot- 
 ment was handed to the noble chairman, who read the 
 name, the honoiu'ed name, of Captain Bluebill. Could 
 the OA\aaer of Tanglebury Hall stoop to this V 
 
 Three days after this purchase had been made, the 
 seedy individual made his appearance a third time at the 
 offices of the Patent Corkscrew Company. He saw how 
 matters stood, at a glance. Everybody Avas dull. Directors 
 were whispering together in couples ; the clerks were 
 making up their minds to secure their salaries ; the secre- 
 tary Avas drawing out advertisements for another situation. 
 
 ' How much do you say has been paid into the bank, 
 Mr Secretary ? ' asked the noble chairman, 
 
 'Forty-two pounds; neither more nor less, my lord.' 
 
 'That's a bore,' said his lordship, as he twiiied his 
 moxTstache. 
 
PROVISIONALLY AND COMrLETELY REGISTERED. 143 
 
 At tins moment the secretary recognised the seedy in- 
 dividual, lie had a book under his arm — a stag-book 
 belonging to the Timbuctoo Mining Company. The secrc- 
 taiy asked the seedy individual to take a chair, and 
 then introduced him to the directors. These gentlemen 
 clustered about the possessor of the stag-book, and begged 
 to look at it. 
 
 ' Will you give me a list of the applicants to whom you 
 have allotted?' This request was at once comphed with. 
 The seedy individual then set to work. 
 
 ' In the first place, allow me to infonn you, gentlemen, 
 that Captain Bluebill, of Tanglebury Hall ; Jlr. Button, 
 of Clapham ; and the Admiral are one and the same 
 person — one Samuel Brown, who lives at a coffee-shop 
 somewhere in the Borough.' After a few minutes' further 
 examination, the seedy individual showed the directors 
 that all the great names upon which they relied Avere 
 forged; and that the stags who forged them made arrange- 
 ments with the servants at the great houses to which their 
 forgeries were addressed, for the letters to be sent back to 
 them. Thus the honourable Board of the Patent Cork- 
 screw Company found themselves with liabilities amounting 
 to about six hundred pounds, and, as the result of applica- 
 tions for three himdred thousand pounds' worth of stock, 
 A^dth forty-two pounds in the hands of their bankers. 
 
 The seedy indi^ddual now strongly advised the Board to 
 extend the tune of payment, by public advertisement ; 
 meanwhile to buy up all the letters in the market, and 
 to commission brokers to biiy shares. Tliis adA-ice Avas 
 adopted, and the seedy indiA'idual Avas employed to buy 
 up. In a fcAV days, the market Avas cleared ; the brokers 
 created a demand for the shares by purchasing them at 
 the bidding of the directors — in other Avords, by rigging 
 the market — and the end of it A\'as, that the Company 
 scratched together tAVo or three thousand pounds. 
 
 It Avas found that they might Avith the aid of a feAV 
 stags, contriA^e to scramble to complete registration. The 
 steps Avere Avanted to enable them to comply Avith the Act, 
 Avhich declai'ed that one-fourth of the capital miist be sub- 
 scribed for, before complete registration could be granted. 
 
144 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 And in this the stags were useful — since they readUy wrote 
 their names iipon the deed, for a few shillings. 
 
 Of the permanent prospects of the Patent Corkscrew 
 Company it is not easy to form an estimate. Some people 
 say it will do Avell, some people say it will wind up in a 
 few months. All I know is that they have not yet pro- 
 duced a corkscrew, and that their lawyer's bill is as long 
 as their board room table." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha 1" shouted the jovial Horrocks. 
 
 " That's my contribution " — said Mr. Seesaw — throwing 
 down his paper upon the table. "Don't ask me for 
 another, that's all. It doesn't pay." 
 
 The Master bowed profoundly to ungracious Seesaw ; 
 and offered him a pipe of very fragrant tobacco. " I call 
 it," said the Master — " I call it — it is so sweet — Lady's. 
 Breath." 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 145 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "TuEKE was a roystering weight resting under the snug 
 eaves of the Crutch, upon whom the Master had lon<T en- 
 tertained designs. It was necessary, so thought the 
 jocimd ruler of the Crutch, to enliven their readings. 
 They must have sparkling wine occasionally. And from 
 ■whom cotdd they hope for sparkle, if Brother Enough, of 
 the sunny face, could not give it to them. 
 
 " I Avrite ! ha ! ha ! " cried Enough ; and he laughed as 
 though the Master had made the best joke in the world. 
 As the Master grew serious, Enough still laughed, louder 
 and louder. But he, finally, agreed to carry the joke 
 into practice. 
 
 " I can just flirt about a place — some place I have seen, 
 perhaps," said the jolly Brother. And then he laughed 
 again. His laugh was music to his Brethren. ^^Tien any 
 Brother asked how the work proceeded. Enough grew 
 greatly hilarious. Then he woidd suddenly assume a 
 very responsible, solemn look ; and voav that the author 
 must look wise at any rate. A playful child of sixty ; 
 his white hair reminded me of spring snowdrops, not of 
 winter's frost. 
 
 The ninth reading at the Crutch came in due time. 
 Brother Enough danced into his seat ; and there was sim- 
 shine upon all faces. His happy nature warmed all who 
 came within its influence. 
 
 " Here's a bit of experience, of the years gone by, you 
 know ; told in my own odd way. Well — -it's true : — I can 
 say that for it. It is addressed to 
 
146 CRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 " PERSONS ABOUT TO JLAJIRT. 
 
 " The same Gretna Green : — before the ruthless law feU 
 with desolating hand upon that romantic village." You 
 see I begin graphically, thus : — 
 
 "I leave Carlisle early this fine morning, in no Avay matri- 
 monially inclined. I set out to explore the recesses of 
 Gretna Green with perfect confidence. This confidence is 
 the result of two facts. The first, that I am a married 
 man ; the second, that bigamy is impossible, since I have 
 no lady with me. Through dark boglauds, and past prim 
 fir-plantations, the train whisks me to the station, the name 
 of Avhich an unpoetical station-porter shouts into railway 
 carriages, ^vithout a thought of the flutter into- which it 
 throws a yoiuig lady deeply veiled, Avho is sitting in the 
 first-class compartment nearest the engine. I, a married 
 man with a houseful of children, hear the word ' Gretna' 
 Avith no kind of emotion ; but two fellow-passengers are 
 ready to bless the only ofiicial who announces the arrival 
 of the train at the charmed spot. Yet I do feel a kind of 
 nervous interest in the place. I think of the scenes Avhicli 
 have been acted here ; of the fathers who have stamped 
 furiously upon this classic ground ; of the trembling girls 
 who have luuried hence across the Border, and to the 
 famous Hall, to dream of unclouded happiness shining 
 upon every step of the way, from that spot to their distant 
 grave. I think of the cunning lovers who used to engage 
 all the post-horses of Carlisle, so that their piu'suers might 
 not reach them before the marriage ceremony was over ; 
 of the impudent impositions of the Carlisle postboys ; of 
 the determined lover who shot the horses of his pursuer 
 from the carriage window; and of other memoi'able matters 
 with which Gretna is associated in the minds of most of 
 us. If there be a touch of poetry in my present reflections, 
 that touch is speedily effaced by the spirit of competition 
 that arises before me. A couple, evidently bent upon 
 matrimony, though they are making painful efforts to 
 
PERSONS ABOUT TO MARKY. 147 
 
 appear at their ease, and to regard the place with a placid 
 indifference, are addi'essed eagerly by one or two men of com- 
 mon appearance. Are these individuals making offers for the 
 conveyance of the couple's luggage ? The station-man looks 
 on at the warm conference, with a sardonic grin ; and, with 
 a quick twitch of the head, draws the attention of the guard 
 to the interesting group. The train goes forward, and the 
 conference breaks up. One of the men conducts the lady 
 and gentleman to a little red-brick hotel close by ; and the 
 others retire discontentedly. I inquire about this rivalry, 
 and am informed that it is a clerical contest. And here I 
 am made party to a curious local secret. This little red- 
 brick hotel is the property of Mr. Murray, Mr. Miu-ray 
 also inhabits the famous toll-bar which is on the Scotch 
 bank of the little stream that marks the borders of the 
 country. Thus this sagacioxis toll-keeper pounces upon the 
 couples at the station ; removes them to his * Gretna Hotel,' 
 and then drives them down a narrow lane, and over the 
 bridge to the toll bar, where he marries them. In this 
 way it appears Murray has contrived to monopolise five- 
 sixths of the trade matrimonial. It should be observed, 
 however, by persons about to marry, that there is a Gretna 
 station, and a Gretna Green station ; and that the latter is 
 the point which deposits happy couples opposite Gretna 
 Hidl. HoAvever, as I am altogether ignorant of the supe- 
 rior convenience of the ' Green' station, I may be par- 
 doned the mistake, which makes a walk, in a dense shower 
 of rain, through slippery lanes, a necessity. I advance 
 briskly, however ; pass the famous toll-bar, near which a 
 bluff Scotch ploughboy is yoldng horses to a waggon, and 
 presently approach the Green. It is a pretty place enough, 
 but very quiet and very muddy just now. The Green is 
 a triangular patch of ragged turf, in front of the village 
 church. The church is rather dirty and neglected in its 
 appearance, than old ; and from the roof hangs a stout 
 cord, which is attached to the bell, and is now lazily 
 rocking to and fro in the breeze. Children of various 
 sizes, and in indescribable costiimes, stare at me from 
 various cottage-doors. It is evident that I am taken for 
 a young man bent upon marriase. I turn to the left, and 
 
 l2 
 
148 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 through a gateway, to the Hall. It is evident that no 
 marriage is going forward to-day. Desolate, and thoronghly 
 soaked Avith rain, appears the large square house, flanked 
 on one side by a farm-yard. I advance, under cover of 
 some tall trees, to the front door. It is closed and barred. 
 I give a perfectly metropolitan double knock. In a few 
 minutes a man — rather a surly man, I think — begins— 
 leisurely, to withdraw the bolts. Seeing me alone, he looks 
 a little surprised — perhaps disappointed. I begin to feel 
 that I ought to apologise for coming without a lady. I 
 boldly ask whether I can breakfast at the Hall. The man 
 does not oblige me with a direct answer ; but pointing to 
 the right, growls that he will send somebody to me, and 
 disappears. 
 
 I advance into a long low room. It is a curious mix- 
 ture of a village tap-room, -with the pretensions of an 
 hotel. At one end a massive sideboard displays a quantity 
 of valuable plate ; over the mantel-piece is an engraving 
 after Turner ; but, to the left of this production, is one ol" 
 those compositions which, about a century ago, were 
 admixed in all the country villages of England, Scotland, 
 and Ireland. A Avoman Avith a crimson lake face is looking,, 
 \yith. a blotched expression of affection, upon a child Avhose 
 head seems to have dropped casually, upon shoulders made 
 for some other infant, and the colour of whose frock run 
 into various surrounding objects. This production bears 
 the folloAnng touching couplet : — 
 
 ' Come, father's hope, and mother's glory, 
 Now listen to a pretty story.' 
 
 I am hardly convinced that I am in the celebrated 
 Gretna HaU till I have read the directions to visitors, 
 which are pasted upon the looking-glass. 'Please not tO' 
 write on the walls, windows, or shutters, &c.' Having 
 read this direction I am convinced that I have reached a 
 place Avhere many cvxrious coimtrymen have been before 
 me. I turn to the windows, and at once recognise the 
 necessity for the request. Every pane is covered with 
 names, sorry jests, and revelations of ages, professions, 
 and other matters. W. Thorborne, of Manchester, has, 1 
 
PERSONS ABOUT TO MAKRY. 149 
 
 find, left liis celebrated name, coupled with the inference 
 that he possesses, or did possess, a diamond ring, upon one 
 window, in company with S. Goodacre of Liverpool. But 
 G. Howell, also of Liverpool, has recorded his ^asit to the 
 Hall in two or three different places, lest the interesting 
 fact should be lost to posterity. 
 
 Upon one -window I find this instructive sentence : — 
 'John Anderson made a fool of himself in Gretna, 1831.' 
 It is information also that 'Sally Norton, late Sally AVestern,' 
 has been here, and that the fame of the place has attracted 
 hitlier 'Jane Stordy, of Stanway.' A gi'easy book, in 
 shape like a ledger, marked ' Visitors' Book,' lies upon the 
 Avindow-sill. ^lany pages have been torn away ; so that 
 the only records it now contains date back only to last 
 October. The entries consist of a series of very melan- 
 choly jokes. The first remarkable name I notice is that 
 of ^laria ^Manning, to which name some obliging his- 
 torian has subsequently added the words, ' hanged since.' 
 ' Brick, from London,' is the next entry, and he is followed 
 by an 'Early Closing Quadrill Party.' It strikes me as a 
 pity that before forming a ' Quadiill' party, the party did 
 not form a spelling class. I next find that a wit of the 
 North has recorded his visit in these words : ' Da^ad Kae, 
 thief-catcher, Dmufries ; ' and that a lady has been carried 
 away by the high spirits of the foregoing, to this extent : 
 ' !Mrs. Grimalkin (to be Mrs. Gabriel Grub)' — Here I am 
 interrupted by the entrance of a widow, Avho annomaces 
 herself as the relict of the late parson of the Hall, Mr. 
 Linton. She offers me a substantial breakfast, and while 
 it is preparing, is not disinclined to answer any questions 
 I may put on the subject of the matrimonial trade. Of 
 coui'se, thinking A\-itli the rest of my country-men that 
 Gretna Green marriages are of rare occiu-rence now-a-days, 
 I begin by asking liow long it is since the last marriage was 
 celebrated at the Hall. The old lady very quietly turns 
 to her maid, who is laying the breakfast cloth, and says : — 
 ' AA''as it Tuesday or Monday last, that coiiple came ? ' 
 
 The maid, holding a substantial joint of cold meat in 
 her hand, while she thinks the subject over, replies presently, 
 ' Monday.' 
 
150 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 I am surprised, and inform Mr. Linton's widow tliat it 
 was my impression Gretna marriages were quite matters of 
 the past. She assures me, in reply, that they have a good 
 sprinkHng still throughout the year ; but not so many as 
 twenty or thirty years ago, when her Inisband first l^egan. 
 She disappears for a few minutes. Ha ! here she comes, 
 with some heavy substance carefully tied up in an old silk 
 handkerchief. She deposits her load upon the table 
 (having previously brushed the place), deliberately an'anges 
 her massive spectacles, and now carefully unties her trea- 
 sure. Two gaudily -bound books lie before me ; I am 
 about to open them eagerly, but the widow of Mr. Linton 
 will not allow the volumes to suffer any desecrating touch. 
 She gently repulses my hand, and carefully opens the 
 thickest. The thin volume is an index to the thick one, 
 which is a formal register of the marriages celebrated at 
 the Hall. The entries, however, only reach back to 1826 ; 
 yet the list includes many celebrated names. The widow 
 proudly points to one or two German dukes, to Miss 
 Penelope Smith and her princely betrothed, to the well- 
 known name of Sheridan, to Lady Adela Villiers and her 
 husband. Against all the notable couples, distinguishing 
 marks are placed. Having sho^vn me these signatures^. 
 the old lady carefidly spreads out the silk handkerchief,, 
 upon which I find a rude map of England is printed,, 
 re-covers her treasure, and holds it securely in her arms 
 whUe she continues to talk to me. She tells me tliat, in 
 times gone by, it was by no means miusual to give the 
 Gretna Green parson as much as one hundred pounds ; and 
 that fifty poimds, even lately, was not an imcommon 
 marriage-fee. The parson charges according to the osten- 
 sible means of the contracting parties. ' Old Lang' Avas 
 the regidar village parson before the late Mr. Linton 
 began. ^Ir. Linton confined his attention entirely to 
 marrying runaway couples. She knows nothing about the 
 blacksmith, and doesn't believe such a man ever married 
 couples. As far as she knows, these kind of marriages 
 began to be celebrated at Gretna about one hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 I express a wish to see the room in which the marriages. 
 
PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY. 151 
 
 at the Hall are celebrated. The widow of Mr. Linton 
 directs me down a long passage, past two cases of stuffed 
 owls, to a long room litted up with some care ; and from 
 the bow-windows of which there is a picturesque view of 
 the vilhige. It is a quaint room. Over the doorway 
 stands a huge model of a ship. The pictures exhibit an 
 odd taste. On the one side is a painting, in which Cxipid 
 and Venus are represented ; and opposite, are two large 
 pieces of canvas, covered -with horsemen, in the vigorous 
 pursuit of the fox ; upon which scenes, the placid coimte- 
 nance of a Quaker is serenely gazing. The bow- window 
 is marked with the initials of various captains — the captains, 
 I remark, strangely predominate among the visitors. Open- 
 ing by a door from this room, is the bridal chamber, fitted 
 up luxiuiously with yellow satin-damask hangings. Even 
 here, the EngUsh habit of scrawling upon furniture is 
 indulged. I open the looking-glass drawer, and here- 
 in find these inscriptions : — ' Thomas Parker to Mother 
 Walmsley,' 'Joseph Lee to Betty Booth.' 
 
 Strangely interested in the pecuharitics of the HaU, I 
 retm-n to the breakfast-table. I find that sentiment has 
 not preyed upon my appetite. I do perfect justice to the 
 fine haddock and the exquisite marmalade provided by the 
 ■widow of Mr. Linton. But I am so amused -with this village, 
 that I think I will take a stroll, and return to dine at the 
 Hall. I intimate this intention to the maid, and emerge 
 upon the green, determined to know something more of 
 Gretna and its marriage-trade. 
 
 A dii-ty road, hedged by cottages, leads to the village, 
 which is within the same parish as Gretna, and is called 
 Springfield. This village is larger than its more famous 
 neighbour ; the houses are bigger, there is more apparent 
 life, and it boasts two or three mns. It appears to me 
 highly probable that at one of these inns I shall hear much 
 quaint gossip about Gretna marriages. I enter the most 
 inA-itmg. The kitchen at once forcibly reminds me of one 
 of ^Yillde's village sketches. Even the details of the scene 
 suggest the pencil of the great Scotchman. The soHd 
 black chairs placed under the overhanging chimney ; the 
 huge black pot suspended by a powerful crane over the 
 
152 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 fire; the mud floor; the old clock m a rude case; the milk- 
 pails in a row upon the shelf; the limited crockery of the 
 cstal^lishment proudly arranged in a cupboard, the door of 
 which is intentionally open. The figures, too, are Wilkie's. 
 Before the Anndow is a cutting-board, upon which sits — 
 her pretty feet dangling in the air — the village dressmaker. 
 As I advance towards the fire, I notice the figure of a 
 young Scot (with his broad bonnet) who is turning over the 
 leaves of a very greasy song-book — but is chiefly occupied 
 casting furtive glances at the young lady upon the cutting- 
 board. These are obviously lovers, and I am obviously no 
 w-elcome intruder. However, the landlord, a broad squat 
 man, Avith much to say about his ale, puts a cheei"ful face 
 upon matters, and stands ready to foi'nish anything I may 
 request in the shape of refreshment. I order a glass of 
 Avhiskey, and hope the landlord will drink one with me. My 
 invitation is accepted. I think I may now fairly open the 
 question of Gretna — or rather Springfield — marriages. I 
 ask, by way of jest, whether mine host has ever married 
 stray couples. The girl behind me titters, and the father 
 laughs at my simplicity. ' ISIarried any ? Ay, a many of 
 them, in this very room ; and fine folk, too ! ' 
 
 Twirling a willow stick in his hand, and kicking his 
 heels against the legs of a table upon Avhich he is sitting, 
 mine host gossips, as nearly as I can follow him, in this 
 Avise : — 
 
 ' Ay ! there have been a many marriages in this room. 
 Lord Erskine was married where I am sitting — in womans 
 clothes ; his lady held her children under her cloak the 
 while. The people Avho come to be married noAv are 
 mostly poor people — a great many of them fiom Edin- 
 burgh. They can as easily be married anywhere in 
 Scotland ; somehow they come here : the place is knowni 
 for it, I suppose. But here comes Lang ; he will be able 
 to tell you more than I can.' 
 
 A spare old man, dressed, not as a simple villager, but 
 ■with a pretension to gentility and to a clerical simplicity, 
 hobbles into the room, rubbing his left leg vigorously. 
 He is suffering an acute attack of rheumatism ; yet this 
 does not prevent him from taking his seat at a little round 
 
PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRT. 153 
 
 table, and accepting the tumbler of whiskey -which I offer 
 him. He refuses, I notice, to spoil tlie spirit by the ad- 
 mixture of water ; but continues, even when seated, to 
 rub vigorously the calf of his leg. He apprehends at 
 once that his experience as a parson is to be pumped from 
 him; and he gives himself up cheerfidly to the operation. He 
 seems to know that he is an object of cjuriosity to aU 
 visitors, and is, therefore, not particidarly flattered by the 
 interest I appear to take in him. Of coiu'se I ask him, as 
 an opening question, whether there is any truth in the 
 blacksmith legend. To my astonishment, I find that the 
 blacksmith is utterly unknown in these parts. There 
 •stands the landlord expressing unfeigned surprise. He 
 who had Uved all his life here, has never heard of the 
 blacksmith ! 
 
 ' Ay, to be sure !' continues Parson Lang — vigorously 
 rubbing his leg the while — ' Old Colthard, as far as I can 
 tell, was the first regular Gretna Green parson. He flou- 
 rished somewhere about one hundred and twenty years 
 ^go. He Avas either a regular blacksmith or a nailer — I 
 cann't say which. His old house is prdled down, now^ ; it 
 used to stand on the ground where the school now stands, 
 or close there.' I show particvdar interest in the parson's 
 narrative, which amuses the girl iipon the cutting-board 
 and her sly lover with his greasy song book. I ask Lang 
 whether he can trace the parsons^that is to say, the 
 regular parsons — from Colthard down to hiuiself. 
 
 Still vehemently rvrbbing his leg, Parson Lang con- 
 tinues : ' To be sure I can. After Colthard — let me see 
 — came Pasley and Elliot, Avho both flourished togethei : 
 Pasley Avas my fiither's uncle. Then came my father, old 
 Parson Lang as they called him. He lived at the Hall, and 
 married people in the busy days of Gretna Green. After 
 lum, I came :' Avhich advent appears to the parson to con- 
 stitute the climax of the curious history. ' But,' he goes 
 on statistically, 'Aveddings continued to increase iip to the 
 year 1833, Avhen, 1 should say, they amoimted to three 
 hundred or thereabouts. After that they fell off. They 
 now aA^erage about one hundred a-year.' 
 
 I make an inifortunate allusion Avhen I enquire 
 
154 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 ■whether Piirson Lang is in the habit of officiating at the 
 Htill. 
 
 * No,' the parson rephes, rubbing his leg -with great ve- 
 hemence, and indulging in a sarcastic smile ; ' no, no ; I 
 have nothing to do with the Hall ; there they seem to 
 think a shoemaker, who lives opposite, can marry as well 
 as anybody else.' 
 
 I see at once that this is a sore point with the parson. 
 I change the topic by asking whether the villagers of 
 Springfield and Gretna are married at the Hall, or by 
 Parson Lang. Tliis question highly amuses the lovers, 
 who interchange significant glances. ' Oh dear, no !' 
 Parson Lang replies ; ' I have been married twice, but 
 was always asked in church ; so are all hereabouts. I 
 hardly know how Gretna first came to be celebrated for 
 marriages ; but I have heard some story like — once a 
 queen was returning to England from Scotland with an 
 army. Well, the soldiers were followed by a number of 
 ■women who were in love -with them, to the border here- 
 abouts ; and then, when they were to part -with them, 
 they all set a-greeting, which means crying; and this, 
 folks say, gave the village the name of Greta or Gretna 
 Green. However the queen was so touched by the distress 
 of the women, that she made the officers act on the spot 
 as parsons, and marry the women at once to the soldiers ; 
 and then they all went to the south together.' 
 
 The parson now begins to philosophise a little about the 
 facilities offered in Scotland to persons about to marry ; 
 and intersperses his theories \vdth many illustrative anec- 
 dotes. But whenever I touch upon the subject of fees, he 
 is discreetly silent. He seems to admit that they vary 
 consideralDly ; I suspect from a silver coin and a glass of 
 whiskey, to a bank-note of considerable value. He re- 
 members that, only two years ago, a waiter at the chief 
 Carlisle hotel, got married, at short intervals, to three of 
 his fellow-servants ; that, to this day, the fellow has been 
 allowed to go unpunished, and that he has returned to his 
 first love. Having gleaned these facts from Parson Lang, 
 I begin to think about my dinner at the Hall. The parson 
 condescends to shake hands -with me, the eyes of the lovers 
 
PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY. 155 
 
 sparkle as they see me rise to depart, and the landlord, as 
 I pass into the road, bids me a hearty farewell. 
 
 Tlie widow of Mr. Linton has prepared me a very snug 
 dinner. While I am enjopng it, she brings me a copy ot 
 the forms filled np by the persons Avho are married at her 
 establishment. "\^^lile I proceed with my salmon, the 
 reader may amuse himself with the document. Here is a 
 literal copy of it : — 
 
 KINGDO:^! OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 COUNTY OF DUMFRIES, 
 
 PARISH OF GRETNA. 
 
 These are to Certify to all to whom these Presents may come, 
 That , from the parish 
 
 of , in the county of , 
 
 and , from tiie parish of , 
 
 in the county of , being now here present, 
 
 and having declared themselves single persons, were this day ilsirried, 
 agreeable to the Laws of Scotland, as witness our hands. 
 
 Gretna Hall, this day of 
 
 Witnesses -^ 
 
 I find that excellent cigars are obtainable at the Hall. 
 I attribute this to the fact that captams generally smoke. 
 Pro\-ided A\-ith many suggestive facts, I take leave of the 
 late parson's estabhshment, not dissatisfied with the method 
 with which his disconsolate -widow carries on her business. 
 Gretna Hall — the ancestral seat of the Maxwells — has only 
 recently ceased to be licensed to sell marriage contracts ; I 
 can assure persons not about to many, the Hall vnR pro- 
 vide an excellent dinner for those prosaic visitors Avho do 
 not pretend to Hve upon love altogether. 
 
 I hear the railway bell." 
 
 "Thank you Brother" cried the Master. "But the 
 Green has lost its glory." 
 
 " Wlien I Avas there it was all sunshme" cried Enough. 
 
 "Let this be a night of experiences," said the ^Master; 
 " and I tiu-n to Brother Sands, for a httle note he has made, 
 
156 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 I know, of some remarkable races, -whicli are held close at 
 Lome. 
 
 Sands twitched his little manuscript nervously from 
 under his goAvn ; bowed round the table, and announced 
 his title — 
 
 " SIHTIH^IELD RACES. 
 
 " Keen lovers of the glories of the turf are not to be 
 dejected by a foggy morning. Friday opened with a cut- 
 ting north-east A\dnd, a grey sky, and a heavy atmosphere ; 
 Taut our glass stood at fair weather (the works having been 
 removed, as we afterwards ascertained, by a high-spirited 
 "boy, then home for the holidays); so we assumed our 
 sporting attire, and sallied forth, light at heart, for the 
 enjoyments of the day. Everybody knoAvs that the road 
 to the races is usually enjoyed more keenly than the con- 
 tests of the horses upon the course ; and on this occasion 
 the journey was not altogether a didl one. Omnibuses, 
 loaded with well-pomatumed clerks, were crawhng along 
 the Avay; a few carriages, filled mth 'nobs,' were here 
 and there hemmed in by the equipages of our turf friends; 
 and sparkling dialogues of a technical nature, as to the 
 skill and appearance of all parties, were gomg forward 
 brisldy. It was a happy sight, however, to notice the real 
 sporting boys on their way to the races, in turn- outs of 
 various degrees of elegance. In the Blackfriars Road, 
 particularly, the sight was one to thrill the pulses with 
 <lelight. Here we noticed many animals that appeared to 
 have imdergone a severe training in omnibuses and other 
 hackney vehicles : but some of the donkeys looked fresh, 
 though we were afraid that the choice ' spirits' who were 
 mounted upon them, were working them a little too fast, 
 before reaching the ground. As the day advanced, and 
 we neared Sinithfield Racecoiu-se (the scene of so many 
 glories !) the clouds cleared off; and, encouraged, in all 
 probability, by the appearance of the sun, considerable 
 numbers of the fair sex (apples and herrings having been 
 removed from their private trucks for the occasion) made 
 their appearance, seated upon these elegant open vehicles, 
 
SMITHFIELD RACES, 157 
 
 and advanced rapidly in the direction of the exciting scene. 
 On we went, at a splitting pace — do^vn the Blackfriars 
 l^oad : — to the New Cut we have noAV come again — wc have 
 reached the Bridge — crossed Fleet Street — and now, at Oa 
 tremendous pace, we pass the varied beauties of Farring- 
 don Street, and enter the spacious and delightful Smith- 
 field — the sacred ground of the City ! 
 
 The scene that met our enraptured sight was one of the 
 liveliest description. All was gaiety — life ! Near the 
 Hospital of St. Bartholomew, a considerable trade in choice 
 delicacies was briskly going forward. The more robust 
 were manifesting a partiality for particularly juicy mutton- 
 pies ; and throwing occasional glances of ill-suppressed 
 contempt at the dandies of the scene, who were flii'ting 
 ■with the effeminate periwinkle. Gentlemen, very properly 
 bent upon showing due attention to the gentler portion of 
 creation, were seen to reserve a quantity of the drink, 
 of which they had made themselves proprietors, and before 
 handing the bright vessel, out of which their faces had 
 recently emerged, to the nearest lady, to pass the cuff of 
 their coat vigorously round its rim. In and near the 
 drinking-booths, commonly called public-houses, the shouts 
 of happy laughter sounded upon the enraptured ear, 
 Ivnots of excited turf-men Avere eagerly balancing the vir- 
 tues of various horses. As yet, however, Ave could see 
 only groups of the gay visitors — the imposing length of 
 the course Avas still beyond our sight. We advanced 
 rapidly, and in a feAV minutes Ave had a noble coup (Ta'il of 
 the entire course. Across the noble field of Smith a line 
 Avas formed, flanked on either side by specimens of the 
 'noble animal,' so handsomely commended by MaA-or in 
 his memorable Spelling-book. From the point Ave had 
 now reached, Ave could observe upon the character of 
 CA'cry animal. 
 
 The various A'irtues of the noble steeds defy particidar 
 description ; but to shoAV the liberal spirit in which the 
 proceedings Avere conducted, it is as Avell to state at once 
 that the races AA-ere open to horses of tAventy years old and 
 upAvards. The loss of an eye did not incapacitate an 
 animal from appearing on the coui'se ; ])rokeu knees Avere 
 
158 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 peculiarities that did not excite close atteutiou ; and lame- 
 ness was only a subject for comment, when of a serious 
 nature. All these ills to which horseflesh is heir, were 
 fully and picturesquely developed by the animals entered 
 for Sniithfield Races. When we first arrived upon the 
 ground, the gentlemen of the turf were engaged in the 
 examination of the mouths, knees, and hoofs of the heroes 
 of the day. Much money (of a copper ciu-rency) appeared 
 to be changing hands, and many horses changed o^^^lel■s. 
 Blind Tom, the property of Mr. Jem Toddles, of Fly 
 Court, Walworth, whose exploits in that gentleman's cart 
 are too well known to need recapitulation, was transferred 
 to Mr. Scrubb, of Coav Lane, for the extraordinary sum of 
 fifty shillings. We have no doubt that we shall shortly 
 hear of Blind Tom again. Rumour, mdeed, says that he 
 is entered at a subui'ban poimd for a considerable sum 
 already. We always predicted great things of him. He 
 certainly did his work at Sniithfield, trotting the entire 
 length of the coiu'se T\T.th ease — ha\'ing only one man 
 behind to lu-ge him, and one to his head to pull — in less 
 than a quarter of an hour. In his backing, however, lies 
 his great strength, particularly when in harness. 
 
 It would be impossible, idthin reasonable limits, to par- 
 ticularise the exploits of aU the annuals on this glorious day ; 
 we must therefore content ourselves -wdtli noting down one 
 pr two of the more wonderful feats. BUnd Tom had hardly 
 been trotted away by his new o-\vner, when a discussion 
 began among the gentlemen of the coui-se, as to the coiu-age 
 of the Camberwell Roarer. It was said by his zealous 
 champion that he had trotted easily from Covent Garden 
 to Rye Lane, ^vith half a ton of potatoes at his heels, in 
 less than forty minutes ; whereas his opponents obstinately 
 persisted in an assertion that his lame ofi" leg would make 
 such an accomphshment impossible. Hereupon his owner 
 explained that the Roarer was lame in three legs, and that 
 when he first started on a journey the off fore leg Avas stiff 
 and made him limp ; but that Avhen he got warm this stiff- 
 ness wore off, and then the two hinder legs began to 
 trouble him ; so that the animal must be used to these 
 little inconveniences, and coidd probably do as much as 
 
SJIITHFIELD RACES. 159 
 
 more showy beasts. We took an unprejudiced view of 
 the Roarer, and observed that he had been well broken — 
 especially about the knees. His most vindictive slanderers 
 could not have said that he was overloaded with flesh. 
 The discussion as to his merits and defects grew hot, and 
 many emphatic compliments were intei'changed by the 
 parties at issue. That disagreeable compoimd known as 
 'wholesome truth' was bandied about without the slightest 
 reserve ; and curious legal points, as to how many times 
 each party had transgressed the laws of his country, were 
 graphically and pointedly raised. At last it was decided 
 that the animal should show his quality. 
 
 His proud owner laid aside his short pipe, and proceeded 
 to tug at the Roarer's head. Seeing that this single effort 
 Avas not productive of any astonishing locomotion, an 
 experienced bystander was kind enough to recommend the 
 appHcation of a stick — a recommendation which was 
 promptly and energetically acted upon. This hap^iy com- 
 bination of incentives induced the Roarer to clear his stall, 
 and display his proportions upon the course. Without 
 more delay than that usually necessary for the con- 
 ficientious administration of a prehminary cudgelling, the 
 Roarer left the starting-point. He went as easily forward 
 as the lameness in liis fore-leg would allow him. Gentle- 
 men betted familiar measures of malt and hops on his 
 chances of surviving the day's proceedings ; but, being 
 •continiially reminded by the repeated threats of his OA\mer 
 that it was the time to display his prowess, the Roarer 
 ■contrived, at more than one point, to break into a trot ; 
 shaking his entire anatomy. Without relenting for a 
 moment, however, the Roarer's owner dogged his heels 
 ■with an upraised stick, at every jerk of which the hind- 
 quarters of the animal sank. The Roarer fetched no less 
 than sixty shillings, including a stipulated supply of beer 
 to be paid for by the fortunate purchaser, for the con- 
 sumption of the late owner ; who was supposed to be 
 depressed by the loss of his noble property. 
 
 Considerable excitement was caused at a late period of 
 the day, by the appearance of Solemn Joe iipon the course. 
 This jet-black steed was a particular favourite. His pace 
 
160 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 "was not so remarkable for its speed as for its evenness.. 
 He still held his head erect, and preserved all the grace of 
 his fine contour. It was reported by malicious detractors 
 that Joe was a bay mare that had tried ' our infallible hair- 
 dye ' only once. He was to be disposed of without reserve ; 
 his o^vner having relinquished the performance of funerals, 
 and entered upon the more cheerful business of pastry- 
 cook. Solemn Joe fetched the extraordinary sum of live 
 pounds — a false tail being thro^vn mto the bargain. His 
 sire was a famous trotter in his time (as a sporting ' nob '' 
 of Smithfield confidentially informed us) ; and his hoofs 
 were, after his death, carved into snuff-boxes by his grate- 
 ful owner. Solemn Joe was bought by j\Ir. Muggins, oF 
 Clerkenwell (who had the funeral of a highly genteel 
 * party ' on hand, and wished to create an impression in 
 tJie neighbourhood), and left the ground attached to the 
 tail -board of his new master's cart. 
 
 Other horses figured prominently in the day's sport ; 
 and it would be possible to lengthen out our notice of the 
 scene considerably, but Ave prefer to enlarge upon the most 
 interesting incidents, and to omit altogether those which 
 would not interest the sporting world generally. The 
 liberal minds that preside over Smithfield Races, seeing, 
 as all enhghtened men must see, that the turf is one of the 
 most valuable institutions of this great country, and feeling 
 that its privileges shordd be extended to all classes of the 
 community, have opened their lists, not only to horses, 
 without regard to their age, or to their personal disabilities ; 
 but also to the donkey. Hence the owners of horses — as 
 Mr. Jem Toddles — are confronted and compelled to mix 
 with the less fortunate possessors of that animal, libelled 
 in the popular song, which has poetically imagined, for 
 many years, the extreme case that ' it Avoiddn't go.' 
 
 We made our way to the arena — a remote corner of the 
 ground — set aside for the exhibition of asinine prowess. 
 Here we at once recognised many of the ladies whom 
 we had noticed on the road, still seated upon their open 
 vehicles ; engaged, in some instances, in the vigorous 
 administration of summary punishment to their offspring,, 
 or testing with an luidisguised rehsh, the excellence of the 
 
SMITIIFIKLl) RACES. iGl 
 
 neighbouring beer-taps. The expressions of adniu-ation 
 that burst from the lips of the bystanders when, after 
 seA'ere castigation, and a few suggestive hints from a pointed 
 stiek, a donkey attained to a canter ; the iirmness with 
 "vvhich certain of the animals refused to move a leg; the 
 choice vocabulary and the keen faces of the boys Avho had 
 donkies for disposal; are the prominent points of the don- 
 key scene that occur to us at the present moment. 
 
 But the road home claims a short description. Horses 
 of every kind, dejected by every species of ailment, afflicted 
 with the most varied action, and presenting the most 
 melancholy contrasts, moved away at the back of carts — 
 ■were led slowly by serious purchasers — Avere mounted by 
 daring lu-cliins, whom we expected to see divided into two 
 equal pieces every time the animals trotted — or were 
 harnessed in the most remarkable vehicles. Pushing their 
 Avay amid these varieties of horse-flesh, donkeys were seen, 
 urged by the blows of vigorous costermongers or their 
 wives. The general conversation Avith whicli the A-arious 
 traA'ellers endeaA'Oiu-ed to enhA-en the joux-ney, Avas of a 
 technical character, A\-hich fcAV sporting men Avould under- 
 stand. Amid this din and bustle, Ave Avere forced to remain 
 some time, in the coiirse of Avhich aa'C learned that ten 
 pounds isahigh price for a horse bought at Smithfield IJaces. 
 We also learned that the races Avere held at the risk of many 
 lives and hmbs of Her ^Majesty's liege subjects. We did 
 not learn that the PoUce, co-operating AA-ith the Society for 
 the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, Avere the vigilant 
 SteAvards of the Course ; but we should be very happy to 
 receive the information. It is high time that the laAv of 
 kindness Avere extended to the Biiite creation — more 
 brutally treated, but too often, in England, than is good 
 for an Enghshman's heai't or an Englishman's pride.'' 
 
 "I A'olunteer a passage from my experiences — because 
 
 it made a profound impression upon me at the time," said 
 
 Brother Horrocks, directly Brother Sands had folded his 
 
 paper. " It is not a sea yarn," added the volunteer. '' I 
 
 call it — 
 
 M 
 
162 CIIROXICLBS OB" THE CKUTCH. 
 
 "RUIXS WITH SILVER KEYS. 
 
 " We arc on our Avay to inspect sonic fine historic rnins 
 — they are Simpson's ruins. Tlirough hop grounds, OA^er 
 hills, here and there affording pleasant glimpses of the sea, 
 the road winds to the slope where the memorable battle 
 of Pumkinfield Avas fought. Here a fine old king fell, and 
 here a tyrant first made his footprint sink into the soil of 
 England. Schoolboys are still shown terril^le pictures of 
 the battle. The village lies in the A'alley, near the ruins 
 ■of the Abbey founded by the conqueror of Pumpkinfiold, 
 to celebrate his Adctory. 
 
 MVe know all about the ruins. We have read of the 
 terrible deeds that have been done there. We are pre- 
 pared to shudder in the debris of the dungeons. We ask 
 what manufacture is carried on in the village ; — in reply 
 people point to the riiins. The feAV grey stones support 
 the village folk: — the children are learned in the relics of 
 the battle-field. Simpson and Pumpkinfield are the two 
 rallying cries of the A'illage. Simpson is a considerable 
 man in his county. It is asserted that he ought to be a 
 baronet. A solemn Avhisper travels about that he is the 
 rightful heir to a certain peerage. His name is now in- 
 separably connected Avdth Pumkinfield. There is an air of 
 antiquity about the place, however, which we are inclined 
 to enjoy Avithout hearing anything about Simpson. The 
 mind is forcibly carried back to the time Avhen Pumpkin- 
 field Avas strcAvn Avith dead AAvarriors ; and then to the period 
 Avhen salloAV monks cooled their sliorn heads perhaps 
 under the very oaks that now shadoAv us. We are be- 
 ginning to feel that really and truly Hume and Smollett's 
 History is not a fiction. We shoiild hardly be surprised 
 to clear the clash of the battle-axe, and the Avliistle of an 
 arroAV, Avith death on its point. 
 
 On alighting before the great village hostehy, Ave are 
 informed that, as a preliminary to our visit to the ruins, 
 Ave must have an intervicAV Avith the postmaster. We have 
 no ol\jeccion to an intervicAV Avith this official ; if it is his 
 ambition to see all the strangers Avho come to Avauder 
 
IvUINS WITH SILVER KEYS. 1 G3 
 
 •about a spot that is rile -vvitli the romance of history. 
 Accordhigly, we make our way to the post-ofiice. We 
 exchange salutations with the man in the shop, and de- 
 chare our intention of exploring the ruins of the Aljl)(>y. 
 AVe love ruins, for they recall the past — they assure us of 
 the times gone by. We talk of the pleasure of dwelling 
 upon old histoiic ground; and ^^-ith pardonable A'anity 
 hint that we are intunately acquainted with the history 
 and fortunes of the Abbey. Hereupon, the face of the 
 post-office dealer saddens, we tliink ; at all events, he asks 
 al^ruptly the number of our party. We conclude, that 
 Simpson is anxious to keep an exact account of the number 
 of visitors to his property. We declare oiir party to con- 
 sist of eight individuals, including three children. Forth- 
 Avitli two cards are placed in our hand, together ^nth a 
 guide ; and in a sharp decided voice, that betrays no 
 remorse — no twinge of conscience — Ave are informed that 
 six shillings and sixpence is the sum required by the noble 
 oAvncr of the broken Abbey walls, before he will admit us. 
 We may sneak in for five shiUings and sixpence, if we re- 
 fuse the guide book ; but our young friends clamour for 
 it, and we pay the entii'e svim demanded. 
 
 This payment alters the train of our reflections. A few 
 (juestious to be put to Simpson, instantly rush to our 
 mind. We experience an irresistible inclination to ask 
 him how it is tlnit he has not erected a high wall round 
 the entire battle-field, and advertised — ' The Field of the 
 Battle of Pinnpkintield on View ; entrance half-a-croAvn. 
 The Abbey Kuins one shilling extra, including a peep at 
 the Exhibitor's Drawing-room. Schools half-price.' This 
 woidd be making the most of the property — or, at least 
 of those historical associations which are its only attrac- 
 tions — Avhich are not the property of tlic noble inhal>itant 
 of the modern Abbey, and wanting which, excursionists 
 would never press the grass of Pumpkinfield. We try to 
 reason ourselves into a good humour again ; but no — the 
 romance is fled, and Ave feel that we are on our Avay to 
 Simpson's Exliibition. 
 
 Aj-med A\ith the tickets, Ave have a sense of a critical 
 
 m2 
 
164 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 vocation, which refuses to depart from us. As we glance 
 at the grey walls of the standing structure, we involuntarily 
 look out for the check-taker's box. We expect to find 
 placards pasted over the gothic gateway. We speculate 
 as to the success of the show. Yie reflect that it can cost 
 the speculator nothing for gas, to l^egin with. We tap the 
 walls to assure ourselves that they are not painted canvas. 
 As we approach the doonvay, it falls back, and a portly 
 female attendant, with palms exquisitely made to receive 
 shiUings, curtseys to us. We are about to ask Avhether 
 our tickets admit us to the reserved seats — but we refrain 
 in time. We think we hear a cry of ' Apples, oranges, 
 and ginger-beer !' but it is only our vexed brain at work, 
 after its particular fashion. We advance into the enclosed 
 space. 
 
 On our left is a range of buildings — grey with the 
 weather-beating of some hundi'cd years — ^but forming no. 
 part of the original structure ; indeed, not a stone of tlie 
 hero of Pumpkinfield's building is now to be seen. We 
 advance into the hall, which is remarkable for a bad paint- 
 ing of the battle of Pumkinfield, some portraits of the 
 Simpson family, and a few Vandykes. Hence we are ad- 
 mitted to a room mth a low vaulted roof, now carpeted 
 and used as a dra-\viug-room, where our antiquarian know- 
 ledge is enriched by the inspection of an Argand lamp at 
 least a year old, and the tmdisturbed examination of a 
 silver donkey ^vith panniers. A sharp-eyed boy follows 
 us about, close at our elbow, evidently to satisfy himself 
 that our unholy fingers touch none of the Simpson jewel- 
 lery. Under these flattering auspices, Ave leave the room, 
 take no notice of the boy's expression, which has an unmis- 
 takeablc pecuniary tendency ; and depart from the build- 
 ing through the door from the hall, which is opened by a 
 .second official, with an equally greedy eye. Bits of ruin 
 are scattered about the grounds ; and finduig that cloisters, 
 the crypt, and the refectory remain to be inspected, Ave 
 proceed on our Avay Avith the intention of thoroughly 
 examining them. We have contriA'ed to gain admittance 
 to the enclosure Avith u six-shilling-and-sixpeuny silver 
 
RUixs wirn silver keys, 1C5 
 
 toy; but the ruins — all that is worth seeing — arc separated 
 from us by a door, -which no official can oyxni without 
 another sUvor key, to be given to an authorised guide. 
 
 We are by no means at liberty to roam about the luins 
 alone, and at our leisure : — to think of the monkish days 
 gone by : — to hold communion with the spuits of the past 
 that dwell amid the lichen and the mould. No: Ave must 
 follow a guide. We give him his silver key, and dog his 
 heels. He is an old, grey man, with the marks of some 
 sixty sunnncrs upon him. He seems to travel over the 
 groTUid mechanically, and to halt before little odd relics 
 with the precision of an automaton. He recalls the 
 romances of the past with the enthusiasm of a speaking 
 doll. He pauses near the stables of the OAvner, to show us 
 the remains of a stone coffin, and points to the cutting in 
 the stone shaped to receive a head ; and then he hurries 
 forAvard into the gardens of the Abbey. He Avalks into a 
 space enclosed on three sides by crumbHng Avails pierced 
 Avith unglazed apertures, like eyeless sockets: this is the re- 
 fectory. We pass some fine cedars (to one of Avhicli a ham- 
 mock is slung, and in it a luxurious gentleman lies at full 
 length, smoking his cigar), and then Ave halt before some 
 scattered stones, called the ruins of the Abbey cliurch. As 
 even the gronnd-plan of the Iniilding is hardly distinguish- 
 able, Ave hasten forAA'ard once more, and soon arrive at the 
 cloisters and the crypt. Here Ave certainly find some very 
 fine old arches spanning the space ; — Avhich space is filled 
 Avith agricvdtural implements. Noav we have seen all 
 that remains of the Abbey of Pvunpkinfield ! 
 
 We are not impressed Avith our visit. The ruins are so 
 far gone, that they have lost all claims to the ]>icturesque, 
 and are attractive only as the crumbling renniants of one 
 of the greatest of those old mysterious abbeys, upon Avhich 
 the unscrupulous hand of the eighth Henry fell, in the 
 sixteenth century. They are still A'isited, not because they 
 have any claim upon the artist's eye, but because they are 
 linked Avith the history of that past upon Avhich oiu- present 
 has been raised. Associations that recall the struggles Ave 
 have survived, the religious tyrannies Ave have vancpiished, 
 Xhe grovelling superstitions that have been trodden luider 
 
166 CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 
 
 foot, gather about those damp, grey stones, and are hardly- 
 scared away even by the frigid, systematic old showmen by 
 whom they are introdnced to visitors. 
 
 It must be confessed that we have a hearty dislike to 
 approach miins by means of silver keys. Our moral sense 
 is offended. We feel that the scene of the battle of 
 Pumpkinfield, and the Abbey raised to commemorate the 
 struggle, belong to all Englishmen. The sod. has its OAvnier; 
 and, may his crops be abundant; but to all of us belong 
 the associations that draw pilgrims to it. The dawn of 
 tp'anny recalled by Pumpkinfield is not a memory dear to 
 Englishmen ; and the Abbey is not visited Avith the same 
 feelings which attract the traveller to Riinnymede ; but it 
 is the scene of one of the most important events that have 
 happened on the island, and for this reason is the highway 
 to it a Avell-beaten track. To Avhom, then, does the his- 
 toric association belong ? We apprehend, to all English- 
 men, and not to the poAver that requires sih-er keys to 
 open the Abbey ruins. 
 
 Undoubtedly the laAV is on the side of Simpson, and he 
 is at hberty to hide the ruins from the public eye altogether; 
 but it is hardly honoiu-able to barter the associations Avhich 
 belong to all Englishmen — to turn a fcAV paltry pence upon 
 the poprdar recollection of a great Saxon stniggle. We 
 haA'e not the pleasure of Simpson's acquaintance. We find 
 that a Simpson Avas painted by Vandyke ; but our visit to 
 Pumpkinfield had no reference to this interesting discoA'ery. 
 In the early part of last century Simpson Avas a name 
 unknoAA'n in Pumpkinfield. Simpson, therefore, has no 
 historic halo fiitting around him. His title to the soil and 
 the ruins is, Ave are told, indisputable ; and Ave also learn 
 that he gaA^e a round siim for the property; but then 
 Simpson did not buy all the legends and all the romances 
 Avhich cling to the mossy granite, and attract pilgrims to 
 his eleven-acre field, noAV burnished Avith sini-kissed corn.. 
 
 AVell, after all, Simpson only foUoAvs the exanq)le of his^ 
 betters — for many of the historic relics of old England 
 open only Avith silver keys ; and many solemn peers of 
 Belgravia are, in their respective counties, speculating 
 shoAvmen." 
 
PROTECTED CRADLES. 1G7 
 
 Hereupon followed an anhnated conversation on historic 
 castles and show mansions, to which the public were ad- 
 mitted with silver keys. Lebord, who had been a great 
 traveller in his day, vehemently denoiuiced the greed 
 exhibitions of which he had seen when he had made tours 
 in provincial England. "There are dignified housekeepers," 
 said he, "who take sovereigns only. There are great 
 houses which levy a revenue for high servants, by showing 
 the family portraits." 
 
 " Suppose we close with a little useful paper from 
 our serious and statistical Brother Phoenix," the Master 
 suggested. 
 
 " Statistics, ugh !" replied liorrocks ; Avho was not in the 
 habit of disguising his feelings. 
 
 " I agree Avith our worthy ISIaster," from Brother 
 Babbicomb ; " the more cordially, because I have the 
 pleasure of knowing something of the subject of my 
 friend's communication." 
 
 Horrocks sulkily tilled his pipe, and threw hhnself back 
 in his chair — resigned and stern. 
 
 Brother Phanix, without noticing the old sailor's ill- 
 humour, announced that the title of his paper was — 
 
 " PROTECTED CRADLES." 
 
 The Brother read as follows : — 
 
 "Wlien the child of the Lancasliire or Yorkshire 
 operative first sees the light, it is assailed by every possible 
 disadvantage that can stunt its gi'owth and enfeeble its- 
 intellect. It is disarmed for the battle of life at the- 
 threshold of existence, — its limbs are palsied by drugs, 
 and deformed by careless mu'sing, sometimes by criminal 
 nvu'sing. The expence of providing for her family drives 
 the mother to the factory, and leads to the employment of 
 an ignorant hireling nurse, who, to earn a pittance with 
 a mininuxm of trouble, journeys to the chemist's shop, and 
 
1G8 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 purchases Godfrey's Cordial. With this notable mixture 
 she retiu-ns to her charge, stupifies it, and so buys ' peace 
 and quietness.' Gradually she finds that the Cordial has 
 not the old eifect, — that it is not strong enough ; to remedy 
 this, she adds a little laudanum, or, mayhap, some crude 
 opium, to the mixture, and again is her charge as quiet, 
 iilmost, as death. She extends her nursery ; ' takes care 
 of,' perhaps, eight or nine infants, and becomes a good 
 customer to her neighbour, the chemist. 
 
 Indisputable facts prove the extent to vrhich this system 
 is adopted. Walking about TNIanchester and Birmingham, 
 advertisements of ' Mothers' quietness,' ' Soothing Syrup,' 
 arrest the attention at every turn. It is easy to perceive 
 that the druggists are driving a good trade — that the quiet 
 Iiomcs of the poor reek Avith narcotics. The Report of 
 the Board of Health furnishes some appalling facts on 
 this head. In Preston, twenty-one druggists sold, -within 
 the space of one Aveek, no less a cpiantity than sixty-eight 
 poiuids of narcotics, nearly all of which were for the use 
 of cliildren ; and the calculation of the quantity of 
 Godfrey's Cordial sold in Preston, gave a weekly alloAvance 
 of half an ounce to each ftunily ! Generally, Godfrey's 
 Cordial is mixed in the proportion of one ounce and a half 
 of pure laudanum to the quart ; — and the stronger it is the 
 faster it is sold. It may be had at pulilic-houses and from 
 general dealers, as well as at druggists' ; and on market- 
 days the people from the surrounding neighbourhoods 
 legularly provide themselves with this ' mothers' comfort,' 
 ivs they purchase other household provisions. About two 
 thousand gallons of Godfrey's Cordial are sold in Man- 
 chester alone every year. Mv. F. C. Calvert, at a meeting 
 at Manchester, once stated that in one chemist's shop 
 in Deansgate, two hundred and fifty gallons Avore sold in 
 the course of a year, the same quantity in a second shop, 
 one hundred gallons per annum in another, the same 
 quantity in a shop in Ilulme, and tAventy-five gallons each 
 in two shops in Chorlton-on-Medlock. 
 
 These nurses, to Avhom the children of the factory 
 peojde are entrusted, are either laundresses or super- 
 annuated crones. The more they drug the children 
 
PROTECTED CKADLES. 169 
 
 entrusted to thoni, tlie greater number they can undertake 
 to manage. This consideration acts as a powerful incen- 
 tive to drug. 
 
 That wholesale death is the result, is fully proved. 
 Among the gentiy in Preston, for instance, the average 
 number of deaths uf children under live years old was 
 seventeen per cent. ; among tradesmen, about thii"ty-eight 
 per cent. ; and among operatives, fifty-five per cent. Of 
 €very one hundred children born among the gentry, 
 ninety-one reach their first year ; eighty among the 
 trading classes ; and sixty-eight among the operatives. 
 The vital statistics of Preston for six years show that no 
 less than three thousand and thirty-four childi-en were 
 swept away before they had attained their fifth year, who, 
 had they been the offspring of Avealthy parents, woidd have 
 survived that period of their cliildhood. 
 
 But of all the locnlities specified in the Return of the 
 Board of Health, Ashton is tlie most fiital. The propoi*- 
 tion of infant deaths in this Godfrey's stronghold is thirty- 
 foiu- per cent. In Xottingham it is thirty-three per cent. ; 
 in ^Manchester, thirty-two per cent.; Bolton, thirty-one 
 per cent. ; Leicester, Salford, and Liverpool, thirty per 
 ■cent. These to^\^ls may be classed as the head-(piarters 
 of factory labour — the locaUties where mothers are away 
 from their children from smirise till after nightfall. In 
 London the proportion of infant deaths is twenty-three 
 per cent. ; in Plpnouth, twenty-one per cent. ; and in 
 Bath, Shrewsbiuy, and Reading, twenty-one per cent. In 
 these places mothers generally attend to then- own 
 offspring. A vast proportion of the mortality in ^lan- 
 chester is that of children under the age to labour in the 
 miUs. More than forty-eight per cent, of the deatiis in 
 Manchester arc those of sufferers under the age of five 
 years ; and more than fifty-five per cent, are under the 
 age of ten years; while in the aggregate of purely rural 
 districts the proportion is not more than thirty-three per 
 cent. Dr. Cliarles Bell, in the course of a speech delivered 
 in Manchester, at a meeting convened to consider the 
 propriety of establishing Day-Nurseries in that town, stated, 
 that ' thirty-eight per cent, of poor children died, who 
 
170 CIIKONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Avoiild not die if they Avere properly attended to.' Mr. 
 Clay's investiprations showed, that, out of about eight 
 hundred families of married men employed in the mills of 
 Preston, the children living in each family averaged 2 "7, 
 dead, 1 '6 ; and that seventy-six out of every hundred 
 had died under five years of age. Yet this calculation 
 does not give us a full conception of the ravages Avhich 
 death makes amongst the children of the poor ; inasmuch 
 as the investigator declares, that, of the eight hundred 
 families he examined, only one hundred and thirty-three 
 mothers apyieared to lie working. 
 
 We have adduced siifficient evidence, however, to prove 
 two important facts ; namely, that an extensive system of 
 careless nursing and criminal drugging is pursued in the 
 manufacturing towns of England ; and that, amongst those 
 classes by Avhom this system is carried on, the rate of mor- 
 tahty is thirty-eight per cent, higher than amongst those 
 classes where children are properly clothed, fed, and cared 
 for. Absence of sanatory precautions, insufficient food, 
 and, in many cases, the nature of their emploj-ment, 
 increase the rate of mortality amongst the artisan classes ; 
 but these, it Avould appear, from the mass of authentic 
 evidence which lies before us, are influences of minor 
 importance Avhen taken in relation to the streams of 
 laixdanum and aniseed which stupify their childhood. 
 Much has been lately -wTitten on the degeneration of race 
 in our manufacturing to-\\-ns. Many writers have placed 
 this physical decline to the account of the loom ; but it is 
 fair to interpose the drugs upon Avhich Aveavers are suckled. 
 It is reasonable to attribute the stunted fonns, the blood- 
 less cheeks, the nerveless limbs, Avhich are to be met in 
 the great factories of England and France, to the for- 
 saken cradle rather than to the labour of the Avorkshop. 
 Mr. John Greg Harrison, one of the factory medical 
 inspectors, thus describes the effect of the drugging 
 system: — 
 
 ' Tlie consequences produced by the system of drugging 
 children, are, suffusion of the brain, and an extensive 
 train of mesenteric and glandular diseases. The child 
 sinks into a Ioav torpid state, Avastes aAvay to a skeleton 
 
PROTECTED CRADLES. 171 
 
 except tlu' stomach, pvorlncing: Avliat is kno-\vn as pot-boUy. 
 If the children survive this treatment, they are often 
 ■weakly and stunted, for life. To this drugging system, 
 and to defective nursing its certain concominant, and not 
 to any fatal effect inherent in factory lal)o:ir, the great 
 infant mortality of cotton towns mi;st be ascribed.' 
 
 Those "who regard the rapid increase of the population 
 "with dismay, and are prone to foster any system Avhich 
 tends to diminish the great circle of the human family, 
 vill perhaps be inclined to throw a veil before this child- 
 slaughter, and to let the deadly system effect an extensive 
 emigration of souls from this world; but to those whose 
 human sympathies are quickened at a tale of grievous 
 social wrong committed upon helpless childhood, Avho 
 acknowledge fully the sanctity of life — that life is to be 
 cared for before all other human considerations — the 
 drugging system, of which we have faintly sketched an 
 outhne, will appear as an evil and a public stigma, to be 
 rejnoved at any risk or cost. 
 
 As it is impossible, in the present state of things, to 
 remove the mother from' the factory, the point to which 
 attention must be concentrated, is to the means of pro- 
 ■viding the safest custody of her infant dimng her absence. 
 The solicitude with Avhich maternal duties are discharged, 
 cannot, perhaps, be hu-ed at any cost, fi'om a stranger; 
 yet, as we shall show, a Avell-regulated system of nursing, 
 under scientific and other responsilile superA'ision, may 
 supply all the physical requisites of Avhich infancy stands 
 in need. Motherly tenderness cannot, perhaps, be guaran- 
 teed at so nuich per kiss, but a judicious selection of 
 experienced and Avell-disposed nurses, tinder the control of 
 ladies' committees, may l^e safely relied upon to provide 
 all that is positively necessary to the health of imcon- 
 scious infancy. 
 
 Some few years ago, j\I. Marbeau, who is knoAvn to 
 political sttidents as the author of various Avorks on political 
 economy, Avas employed by the civil authorities of France 
 to report on the state of the infant schools of Paris. He 
 pursued his investigations Arith enthusiasm. He saAv hoAV 
 Avell the state provided for children from tAvo to six years- 
 
172 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 old ; liow admirably the primary schools for more advanced 
 children worked, and liually the national gratuitons adult 
 ■classes abounded, where the poorest — the pauper and 
 the workman — might accpiii'e sound and invigorating 
 knoAvledge. 
 
 This admirable machinery struck him, however, as being 
 •essentially and radically defective. It provided for the 
 mental growth of children above two years old ; but 
 where was the provision for the first two years of exis- 
 tence? In whose hands were the infants of those poor 
 women who were employed from home throiighout the 
 ■day? His investigations into this matter, disclosed a sys- 
 tem of infant training, that sufKciently accounted for the 
 large proportion of deaths amongst the children of the 
 poor. He forthwith submitted to the authorities a scheme 
 for the establishment of creches (or cribs) in the different 
 sulDurbs of Paris. These institutions were to be Day- 
 Niu-scries for the children of the poor. With the help of 
 a few charitably disposed individuals, ]M. IMai-beau opened 
 the first pubhc creche^ vrhlch he describes in his work on 
 the subject: — * 
 
 ' The superior of the SiEurs de la Sagesse pro\'ided, 
 near the house of refuge, which is under her care, a very 
 liumble place, but one which sufficed for our first attempt. 
 This place was put at our disposal on the 8th, and on the 
 18tli of November our creche was opened. Its furniture 
 consisted of a very few chairs, some baby chairs, a crucifix, 
 and a framed copy of the rules of the establishment. The 
 cost of its fitting up was barely three hundred and sixty 
 francs (nearly fifteen pounds). At first there were but 
 eight cradles ; but Charity soon furnished means sufficient 
 for twelve; and linen v/as plentifully supplied. 
 
 * The superintending committee chose tAvo niu'ses 
 nmong the poor women out of work ; both were mothers, 
 and worthy the confidence of other mothers. Agreeably 
 to the rides laid down, the committee refused to admit 
 any other children than those Avhose mothers Avere poor, 
 well conducted, and Avho had work at a distance from tlieir 
 
 * I quote the passage as I find it translated, by a lady, in an 
 interesting pamphlet, entitled Day-Xurstrks. 
 
PROTECTED CRAPLES. 173 
 
 own lioino5. At first there •were scarcely twelve children, 
 but this number Avas soon exceeded. When the Creche St. 
 Louis d'Antin was opened, there was not one child regis- 
 tered there ; a week afterwards there were six candidates, 
 and a mouth after that, eighteen. The authorities Avere 
 obliged to enlarge it. There can be nothing more inter- 
 esting than the sight of this little creche, betAveen tAvo and 
 three o'clock, Avhen the mothers come and suckle their 
 children for the second time in the day ; they seem so 
 pleased to emliracc their little ones, to rest from their 
 Avork, and to bless the institution Avhich procures them 
 so many benefits. One of them used to pay seA^enty-fiA'e 
 centimes (scA'enpence-halfpenny) a day — half her OAvn 
 earnings — and the child Avas badly attended to ; .she noAV 
 only pays tAventy (tAvopence), and he as aa'cU taken care of 
 as the child of a rich man. Another kept her little boy, 
 eight years old, from school, to look after the babA', and 
 noAV he is able to attend school regularly. Another is 
 pleased to tell you that her husband has become less 
 brutal since she has paid ten sous less for her child — ^ten 
 sous a day make such a difference in a poor family ! 
 
 ' There is another, aa'Iio Avas only confined a fortnight 
 ago, suckling her ncAV-born child. She is asked hoAV she 
 Avould haA"e done Avithout the creche ? 
 
 ' Ah ! Sir, it Avould haA^e been as it Avas Avith his poor 
 brother. I sell apples, and can scarcely earn fifteen sous 
 a day ; I could not spare fourteen' to have him looked 
 after. Poor little felloAv ! he died Avhen he Avas foiu'teen 
 months old, from Avant of care. Oh, Sir, my little angel 
 Avould have been liA'ing noAV, if there had been a creche six 
 months ago !' 
 
 M, !Marbeau's experiment has been adopted in \-arious 
 parts of France and Germany, AA^th uniform success. In 
 Paris these day-nurseries open eA'ery morning at half-past 
 fiA'e, and close every CA'ening at half-past eight — that is, 
 they open half-an-hour before the time at Avhich Avork is 
 usually commenced in Paris, and close half-an-hour after 
 the time at Avhich Avork is generally over for the day. The 
 children are rcfpiired to be luider tAvo years of age, and 
 the offspring of poor and Avell-conducted parents. No child 
 
174 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 is admitted imtil it has been vaccinated, or Avliile it is ill. 
 This latter cause of exclnsion proves the infancy of the 
 institution. Day-nurseries without an infirmary or sick 
 ward attached to them, can be only a partial boon to the 
 industrious poor. The mother brings her child properly 
 Avrapped up and provided Avith linen for the day ; attends 
 punctually at appointed houi's to suckle it ; and fetches it 
 before the close of the institution, in the evening. The 
 charge paid by the mothers per diem, for one child, is two- 
 pence, and threepence for two children. The nurses are 
 appointed and directed by the lady managers. The room 
 is carefvilly ventilated ; and the diet and other arrange- 
 ments are under the immediate direction of regularly ap- 
 pointed medical men and lady inspectors. In most of these 
 nurseries there is a mattress in the middle of the chief 
 apartment, where the children can be laid at any time, with 
 perfect safety. At the present time there are about twelve 
 of these useful institutions in operation throiighout Paris. 
 In 1846, when a report on the subject was drawn iip, there 
 existed nine institutions, the number of children in which 
 averaged from twenty-five to eighty, at a cost averaging, 
 for each infant, from sixty to seventy centimes per diem. 
 
 I\I. jSIarbeau's experiment has been imitated in England, 
 and it is to its extension that Ave desire to draw es]iecial 
 attention. In March, 1850, a house was opened in Nassau 
 Street, Marylebone, for the reception of infants; and after- 
 wards a nursery, under the control of the parish authori- 
 ties, was established at Kensington. The Nassau Street 
 nursery contains two large airy rooms. It is furnished with 
 wire-work cradles. All children admitted must be the 
 offspring of respectable parents. They must be vaccinated, 
 and be between the ages of three months and three years. 
 The charge for daily food and attendance is threepence 
 per child, and fourpence for two of the same family. The 
 authors of the pamphlet entitled ' Day-Nurseries,' show 
 very satisfactorily, that these charges are not sufficient to 
 maintain a self-supporting nursery ; but that fivepence 
 per diem will suffice for the proper care and feeding of an 
 iniant. The Bishop of Manchester has very pertinently 
 declared, that, ' it was not merely the aA\-ful per-centage— 
 
PROTECTED CRADLES. 175 
 
 the thirty-eight in every hundred -who died we must bear 
 in mind — but also the infinitely -worse sixty-tAvt) who lived 
 — lived to be trained to habits of idleness, and to be 
 driven to habits of dissipation.' The Bishop also supports 
 the views of the authors of 'Day-Nurseries ' on the point 
 that these nurseries should not be eleemospiaiy institu- 
 tions, but self-supporting establishments, maintained by 
 the co-operation of the working classes. This is a judicious 
 and a wholesome law. According to the calculation before 
 us, a mother might send her child to a Day-Xursery, 
 •where it would receive every comfort, including wholesome 
 food and sound medical care, for the weekly charge of half- 
 a-crown. Under the present drugging system, mothers 
 usually pay the washerwoman, to whom they are obliged 
 to commit their babes throughout the day, from four to 
 live shillings weekly. On the score, therefore, of pecuniary 
 economy, no less than in discharge of that sacred duty 
 Avhich the parent owes to the helpless being he has brought 
 into the world, the working-man, whose wife is away from 
 home throughoirt the day, is bound to aid, as far as he is 
 able, in the immediate establishment of wholesome, well- 
 directed Nurseries. 
 
 The Committee of influential to-ftnasmen that was formed 
 at Manchester, to establish such Nurseries throughout their 
 great maniifactiu'ing city, could do little unsupported liy 
 the workpeople. 
 
 It has been urged, in opposition to the establishment of 
 Day-Nurseries, that such institutions tend to encourage the 
 contracting of imprudent marriages, or illicit connexions. 
 This Adew cannot be supported by any evidence, nor be 
 proved by the most tortuous logic ; on the other hand, 
 experience demonstrates that the destruction of infant life 
 has the effect of increasing population, by lightening the 
 probable obhgations of marriage. Another objection raised 
 by ^I. ^larbeau's opponents is, that these Nurseries A\'ill 
 inevitably relax the strength of domestic affections. This 
 plea is so groundless that it is Avonderfvd to find any voices 
 raised in its support. In the first place, the proposed 
 Day-Niirseries are not intended to be receptacles for the 
 children of mothers avIio are able to take care of their own 
 
176 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 progeny. Tliey are not intended to foster a system of 
 rearing children away from home ; no — the object aimed 
 at is to provide the best and tendcrest ntu'siug for children 
 ■who are inevitahli/ deprived of the -watchful attendance of 
 a mother. In the place of an ignorant nurse, redolent of 
 laudanum, it is proposed to place a skilful attendant under 
 medical sun^eillance. Instead of a squalid apartment, 
 reeking with all kinds of offensiA'e emissions from the 
 Avash-tub, it is proposed to raise lofty, -well-ventilated 
 rooms ; and, lastly, it is proposed to rock children to sleep 
 in the careful arms of a nurse, rather than by the influence 
 of opium and aniseed. To me, these propositions savour 
 rather of that enlightened kindliness Avhich we are begin- 
 ning to feel for every grade of the human family, than of 
 that carelessness, in respect of the public morals, -\vhich the 
 narro-w -minded and the bigotted Avould fain attach to 
 them. The atrocious practices at present openly pursued 
 towards childi'en, must justify the promoters of Day- 
 Nurseries, in the opinion of all thinkers, be they on the 
 opposition or majority benches of any house or assembly. 
 
 AdA'ertisements of the readiness of certain Day-Nur- 
 series to receive tenders for the supply of ' tops and 
 bottoms,' rattlos, baby-baskets, cradles, and cots, -wiW form 
 a new feature in the columns of the morning papers ; and 
 it is more than probable that the -vicinity of one of these 
 establishments would not be chosen as the most quiet spot 
 on eai-th, by any nervous old gentleman, Avhen a round 
 dozen of the young inmates Avere teething. It is not diffi- 
 cult to imagine the look.of horror Avith Avhich the ghost of 
 Malthus (if such things be) Avill rise to A\itness the cere- 
 mony of laying the foundation stone of a great Day- 
 Nursery. As the advocate of mercenery matches, this 
 possible spirit Avill assuredly make some kind of demon- 
 stration on the occasion. Yet it is hardly necessary to 
 iuA-ite the ghost, since so many still cling to his crotchets, 
 and a feAv Avould not eA^cn dash the cup of poison from an 
 infant's lips. There cannot be many Avho Avonld leave the 
 cradle unguarded, — the hapless babe to die by sIoav 
 degrees. A regard for the future — for the generations 
 -with which our children Avill Avork and live — is that to 
 
PROTECTED CRADLES. 177 
 
 "which the advocates of these Nursei'ies dii'cct our parti- 
 cular attention. It is a question Avhether tlie artisan class 
 shall dwindle, in physical stamina and in mental capacity, 
 to poor, dwarfed images of God, under the laudaiuun 
 <loses of Preston and Manchester ; or whether, by showing 
 n. parental solicitude for those children, -whose parents are 
 called away to the factory and the loom — by affording 
 them, at a fair rate of remuneration, the advantages of 
 scientific treatment and honest care, we will endeavour to 
 give them a fair chance of becoming strong and intelligent 
 Englishmen. The question of Day-Nurseries — the ques- 
 tion of Protection for the Cradle — has an intrinsic im- 
 portance which reaches beyond the exigencies of the hoiu'; 
 it is one that concerns every man, and will interest every 
 man who acknoAvledges that social duty, which has nevei- 
 been publicly derided even in the darkest passages of the 
 world's history — the duty of the adidt to the infant." 
 
 " With one foot in the grave, we talk about the cradle I '' 
 said the Master, pensively. 
 
 " One foot in the grave ! "' chirped Brother Enougli, 
 " speak for yourself, good Master. I hav'nt a toe in. I 
 never felt younger in my life. I and tops and bottoms 
 Jiave hardly parted company." 
 
 - " Yoiir artificial mother was not flavoured by a Godfrey," 
 (juoth Babbicomb. 
 
 " True, true ! " from Enough. " Nature had a little 
 more to do in the bringing into the world and nursing of 
 children, in the days when I was cutting my teeth. My 
 mother was of the homespun kirtle school : — ^\"ith no fear 
 of her figure, Ipng 1)etween me and the food nature had 
 set forth for my puling infancy. ^NIj^ teeth have cut me 
 now : yet, ha ! ha ! my sixty-foiu" years have left my heart 
 yoixng. He spoke well, who said ' a man is as old as he 
 feels.' I, on this principle, gentlemen, have just turned 
 thirty." 
 
178 
 
 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 "And so, at peace witli all men: thankful that the roof 
 that covers ns has been raised by the gentle charity of the 
 Avorld — let ns to onr pillows — and, if racked by rheuma- 
 tism, still keep the memory of human goodness green in 
 our hearts. This remembrance shall make them young — 
 tven at the yawning of the grave." 
 
 With this the Master beckoned fur his taper. 
 
EKFOUT.-? OK A GEKTLEJIAX IN' SE.VTICH OF DESPAIR. 179 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 " You were talking, the other iiight," said the Muster, 
 Avhen the Brothers had assembled for their ninth reading — 
 "yoxi Avere talking, friend Enough, about your young 
 heart. I thought of your cheery voice the next mornings 
 andj happening to drop in upon Brother Frowdo, the 
 conversation tiu'ned to your happy view of life — thence to 
 the gloomy view. And Frowde came out vnth his learning. 
 An idea for a paper Avas born of this gossip; and I am 
 about to call upon our friend for the result, which, I 
 believe, he has set fortli in a whimsical form." 
 
 " ' Shall be delighted to listen to Mr. Frowde," responded 
 Brother Enough. 
 
 "Let us have facts — -fact^," Brother Seesaw expos- 
 tulated. 
 
 " In good time," said the ^Iastei\ 
 
 Mr. Frowde, withoiit a word of introduction, gave the 
 name of his paper — 
 
 *' EFFORTS OF A GEXTLEMAX IX .SEARCH OF DESPAIR ;" 
 
 and opened the reading : — 
 
 " Mr. Blackbrook lived in a world of his own. It was 
 his pleasm-e to believe that men were phantoms of a dav. 
 For life he had the utmost contempt. He pronoiuiced it 
 to be a breath, a sigh, a fleetmg shadow. His pci-potual 
 theme was, that we are only here for a brief space of 
 time. He likened the uncertainty of existence to all the. 
 most frightful ventures he coidd conjure up. lie informed 
 
 N 2 
 
180 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 timid ladies that they were pei-petually on the edge of a 
 yawning abyss ; and warned little boys that their laughter 
 might be turned to tears and lamentation, at the shortest 
 notice. Mr. Blackbrook was a welcome guest in a large 
 serious circle. From his yoxith he had shown a poetic 
 leaning, of the most serious order. His muse was always 
 in deep mourning — his poetic gum oozed only from his 
 lavourite graveyard. 
 
 He thought 'L'Allegro' ^lilton's worst performance; and 
 declared that Gray's 'Elegy in a Country Churchyard' was 
 too light and frivolous. His life was not without its cares ; 
 but, then, he revelled in his misfortunes. He was always 
 prepossessed with a man Avho wore a hatband. The owl 
 was his fiivourite bird. A black cat Avas the only feline 
 specimen he would admit to his sombre apartment ; and 
 his garden was stocked with j-ew-trees. He revelled in 
 the charm of melancholy — he would not, if he could, be 
 gay. His meditations raised him so far above his family, 
 that little spnpathy could exist between them. Eternity 
 §0 engaged him, that his brothers and sisters — mere 
 phantoms — did not cost him much consideration. His 
 youthful Lines to the Owl, in the course of Avhich he 
 called the bird in question ' a solemn messenger,' ' a dread 
 image of the moral darkness which surrounds us,' ' a wel- 
 come voice,' and ' a mysterious visitant,' indicated the 
 peculiar turn of his mmd. His determbiation to be 
 miserable was nothing short of heroic. In his twenty- 
 second year a relation left him a modest fortiuic. His 
 friends flocked aboixt him to congratulate him ; l.nit they 
 foiuid him in a state of seraphic sorrow, searchmg out a 
 proper rhyme to the urn in which he had poetically 
 deposited the ashes of his benefactor. On looking over 
 the lines he had distilled from his prostrate heart, liis 
 friends, to their astonishment, discovered that he had 
 alluded to the bequest in question in the most contemptuous 
 strain : — 
 
 ' Why leave to one thy velvet and thy dross, 
 Whose wealth is boiindlcs.=, ami vlmse velvet's moss.' 
 
 So ran his poetic commentary. Ilis boimdlcss wealth 
 
EFFORTS OF A GENTLEMAN IN SEARCH OF nKSPAIR. 181 
 
 consisted of intellectual treasures exclusively, and the 
 sweet declaration that moss was his velvet, was meant to 
 convey to the reader the simplicity and Arcadian nature 
 of his habits. The relation who had the assurance to 
 leave him a fortune, was dragged remorselessly through 
 fifty lines, as a pimishment for his temerity. Yet, in a fit 
 of abstraction, Mr. Blackbrook hurried to Doctors' Com- 
 mons to prove the will ; hereby displaying his resignation 
 to the horrible degree of comfort which the money assiired 
 to him. It Avas not for him, however, to forget that life 
 was checpiered with woe, that it Avas a vale of tears — a 
 brief, trite, contemptible matter! The gaiety of his house 
 and relations horrified him; they interfered, ateveiy tiu-n, 
 with his melancholy mood. He sighed for the fate of 
 Byron or Chatterton ! "Wliy was he doomed to have his 
 three regular meals per diem ; to lie, at night, upon a 
 feather-bed, and the recognised layers of mattresses ; to 
 have a ncAV coat when he wanted one ; to have money 
 continually in his pocket, and to be accepted Avhen he 
 made an offer of marriage 'i The fates Avere obviously 
 against hun. One of his sisters fell in loA'-e. How hope- 
 fully he Avatched the course of her passion ! How fondly 
 he lingered near, in the expectation — the happy expec- 
 tation — of a lovers' quarrel. But his sister had a SAveet 
 disposition — a mouth made to distil the gentlest and most 
 tender accents. The courtship progressed Avith luiusual 
 harmony on both sides. Only once did fortune appear to 
 favour him. One evening, he observed that the lover^i 
 avoided each other, and parted coldly. Xoav AA'as his 
 opportunity ; and in the still midnight, Avhen all the mem- 
 bers of his household Avere in bed, he took his seat in his 
 chamber, and, by the midnight oil, thrcAV his soul into 
 some plaintive lines ' On a Sister s SorroAA'.' He moiu-ned 
 for her in heart-breaking syllables ; likened her lover to 
 an adder in an angel's path ; dAvelt on her quiet grey eyes, 
 her stately proportions, and her classic face. He doomed 
 her to years of quiet despair, and saAV her fickle admirer 
 the gayest of the gay. He concluded Avith the consoling 
 intelligence, that he Avould go hand in hand Avith her along 
 the darkened passage to the grave. His sister, hoAvever, 
 
182 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 did not avail herself of this proffered companion ship^ 
 Ijut chose rather to be reconciled, and to marry her 
 lover. 
 
 Mr. Blackbrook found some consolation for this dis- 
 appointment in the composition of an epithalamivmi of 
 the most doleful character, on the occasion of his sisters 
 marriage, in the course of which he informed her that 
 Jove's thunderbolts might be hurled at her husband's head 
 at any period of the day ; that Vve all must die ; that the 
 bride may be a widow on the morrow of her nuptials ; 
 and other equally cheerful triiths. Yet at his sister's 
 wedding breakfast, Mv. Blackbrook coquetted with the 
 choice parts of a chicken, and drowned his sorrow in a 
 delectable jelly. 
 
 AYhen for a short time ho was betrayed into the expres- 
 sion of any cheerful sentiment; if he ever allowed that it was 
 a fine day, he quickly relapsed into congenial gloom, and 
 discovered that there might be a thunderstorm within the 
 next half hour. His only comfort was in the reflection 
 that his maternal uncle's family were consumptive. Here 
 he anticipated a fine field for the exorcise of his poetic 
 gifts, and, accordingly, when his aunt was gathered to her 
 forefathers, her dutiful nephew laid a sheet of blank paper 
 upon his desk, and settled himself down to Avrite ' a Dirge.' 
 He began by attributing all the virtues to her — devoting 
 about six lines to each separate virtue. Her person next 
 engaged Ins attention ; and he discovered, though none of 
 her friends had ever remarked her surpassing loveliness, 
 that her step was as the breath of summer winds on flowers 
 (certainly no gardener Avould liave trusted her upon his 
 box-]jorders) ; that she was fresh as Hebe (she always 
 breakfasted in lied) ; that she had pearly teeth (her dentist 
 has maliciously informed us that they were made of the 
 very best ivory); and finally that her general deportment 
 was most charming — so charming that IMr. Blackbrook 
 never dared trust himself in her seductive presence. Havuig 
 proceeded thus flu- with his melancholy dut}^, the poet ate 
 a hearty supper of the heaviest cold pudding, and — we had 
 almost written — went to bed — but we remember that Mr. 
 Blackluook always 'retired to liis solitary couch.' He 
 
EFFOHTS OF A GF.XTLEMAX IX SEARCH OF DESPAIH. 183 
 
 rose betimes on the following morning, looking most poet- 
 ically pale. His dreams had been of woe, and darknes';, 
 and death ; the pudding had had the desired effect. Again 
 he placed himself at his desk, and having read over the 
 prcfavatory lines which Ave have endeavoured to desciibe, 
 •he threw his fragrant ciarl from his marble forehead, and 
 diought of the funeral pall, the darkened hall, — of grief 
 acute, and the unstrung lute. He put his aimt's sorroAving 
 circle in every possible position of despair. He reja-esented 
 his surviving uncle as threatening to pass the serene portals 
 of reason ; he discoA'ered that a dark tide rolled at the 
 unhappy man's feet ; that the sun itself Avould henceforth 
 lie black to him ; that he Avould never smile again ; and 
 that in all probabilitv, the shroud Avoiild soon euAvi-ap his 
 manly form. He next proceeded to describe, minutely, the 
 pearly tears of his cousins, and the terrible darkness that 
 had come over their bright young dreams. An affecting 
 allusion to his OAvn unfathomable grief on the occasion, 
 was conchided by the hope that he might soon join liis 
 sainted aunt, though he had ne^-er taken the least trouble 
 to pay her a A'isit while she lived in St. John's "Wood. 
 This touching dh-ge Avas printed upon moiu'ning paper, 
 and distrilnited among ^Ir. Blackbrook's friends. Tlie 
 death of an aunt Avns an affecting incident, bvit still it fell 
 short of the brink of despair. !Mr. Blackln-ook's natural 
 abiding-place was the edge of a precipice. His muse must 
 be fed on heroic sorrows, hopeless agony, and other poet- 
 ical condiments of the same serious nattu'e. Tlae coiu'se 
 of modern life Avas too IcA-el for his impetuous spirit ; but 
 in the absence of that terrible condition to Avhich he 
 aspired, he caught at cA-ery incident that could nerve the 
 pinion of his muse for gi-ander flights. A dead fly, Avhich 
 he found crashed betAveen the leaA-es of a book, furnished 
 him Avith a theme for one of his tenderest compositions. 
 He speculated upon the probable career of the fly, — opined 
 that it had a little Avorld of its OAvn, a family, and a sense 
 ■ of the beautiful. This effusion met Avith such fei-vent 
 praise, that he folloAvcd it up by ' Thoughts on Cheese 
 Dust,' in Avhich he dived into the mysteries of animalcula% 
 • And calculated the mvriads of lives that Avere sacrificed to 
 
184 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 give a momentary enjoyment to the ' pampered palate of 
 man.' His attention was called, however, from these 
 minor poetic considerations, to a matter approaching in its 
 gravity, to that heroic pitch of sorrow which he had sought 
 so unsuccessfully hitherto. 
 
 His cousin was droAvncd by the upsetting of a pleasure- 
 boat. At such a calamity it was reasonable to dcspaii- — 
 to refuse comfort — to leave his hair uncombed — to look 
 constantly on the groiuad — to lose all appetite — to A\Tite 
 flo^\dng Averse. JNIr. Blackbrook entered upon his vocation 
 ■\\-ith a full sense of its heroism. At least one hundred 
 lines would be expected from him on so tremendous an 
 occasion. The catastrophe Avas so poetical ! The sea- 
 weed might have been represented entangled in the 
 golden tresses of the poor girl, had the accident hap- 
 pened only a little nearer the Nore ; and the print of her 
 fair form might have been faintly traced upon ' the 
 ribbed sea-sand.' This was unfortunate. In reality the 
 ' melancholy occurrence ' took place at Richmond. jMr. 
 Blackbrook began by calling upon the Avillows of Rich- 
 mond and its immediate vicinitj', to dip their tender 
 l)ranches in tlie stream in token of their grief ISIr. 
 Blackbrook, felicitously remembering that Pope once lived 
 not far from Richmond, next invoked that poet's shade, 
 and begged the loan of his melodious rhythm. But the 
 shade in question not answering to the summons, all that 
 remained for the sorrowing poet to do Avas to take doAvu 
 liis dictionary of rhymes, and tune his oayu lyre to its most 
 mournful cadences. He set to Avork. Pie called the 
 Thames a treacherous stream ; he christened the Avherry a. 
 bark ; he declared that Avhen the pleasure party embarked 
 at Richmond Bridge, Death, the lean felloAV, Avas standing 
 upon the beach Avith his Aveapon iipraised. Asterisks de- 
 scribed the death ; and some of his friends declared this 
 passage the best in the poem. He then Avent on to inform 
 Ids readers that all Avas over ; but by this expression the 
 reader must not infer that the dirge Avas brought to a 
 conclusion. By no means. ^Ir. Blackln-ook had made 
 up his mind that his state of despair required at least one 
 hundred lines to give it adequate expression. He had 
 
EFFORTS OF A OEXTLEMAX IX SEARCH OF DESPAIR. 185 
 
 devoted twenty to tlie death of a ily — suvely, then, a 
 female cousin desei-ved one hundred. This h^gical reflec- 
 tion spurred him on. He pulled down the blinds, and in 
 a gloom that well became his forloni state of mind, he 
 began a picture of his condition. With the aid of his 
 dictionaiy, having asserted that the shroud enwrapped a 
 coiisin's form, he reflected that he envied the place of the 
 winding sheet, and was jeahms of the worm. He felt 
 that he was warming into his sul)ject. He tried to think 
 of the condition in Avhich the remains of his relative would 
 speedily be ; and having carefidly referred to an eminent 
 medical work as to the length of time which the himian 
 body requires to resolve itself into its original earth, (for 
 he was precise in his statements,) he proceeded to describe, 
 with heart-rending faithfulness, the various stages of this 
 inevitable decay. That was true poetry. He declared 
 that the worm woxdd crawl upon those lips that the lover 
 had fondly pressed, and that the hand which once touched 
 the harp so magically, Avas now motionless for ever. 
 Having brought this tragic description to a conclusion, he 
 proceeded to number the flowers that shoidd spring from 
 his cousin's grave, and to promise that 
 
 from year to year, 
 
 Roses shall flourish, moistened bv a tear ' 
 
 This vow evidently eased his heart a little, and enabled 
 him to conclude the poem in a more cheerful spirit. He 
 woiuid \ip with the reflection, that care was the lot of hu- 
 manity, and that it was his duty to bear his proportion" of 
 the connnon load, with a patient though Itruised spirit. 
 He felt that to complete his poetic destiny he ought to 
 wander, none knew whither, and to turn up only at most 
 i;nseasonable hours, and in most solenm places. But lui- 
 happily he Avas informed that it Avas necessary he shoidd 
 remain on the sjTiot for the proper management of his 
 affairs. Fate woidd have it so. AVhy Avas he not alloAved 
 to })ursue his destiny? He A\-as one day mentally hr- 
 Availing the CA-en tenour of his Avay, Avhen a fcAV kind 
 fi'iends suggested that he should publish his effusions. At 
 first he firmly refused. What AA-as fame to him — a hope- 
 
18G ClIKOXICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 less despairing man on tlie Inink oftlie grave ! His friends, 
 ]iowever, pressed liini, in tlie end. into compliance ; and in 
 due time Mr. Blackbrook's ' Life-Drops from tlie Heart ' 
 were offered to the piililic for the price of ten shillings — 
 little more than one sliilling per drop. 
 
 An eminent critic Avrote the following opinion of our 
 friend and his poetry : — 
 
 ' We notice Mr. Blacklirook as the representative of a 
 school — the Doleful School. He draws terril;)le pictures ; 
 but what are his materials ? He does not -vn-ite from the 
 heart, inasmuch as, if lie really felt that incessant agonv, 
 which is his everlasting theme, we should find in his per- 
 formance some original imagery — something with an indi- 
 vidual stamp. We rather hold Mr. Blackbrook to be a 
 very deliberate, vain, and calculating being, who takes 
 advantage of a domestic calamity to display his knack of 
 verse-making ; who composedly tiu-ns a couplet upon the 
 coffin of his mistress ; Avhose syni2:)athy and sensibility are 
 only the ingenious masks of inordinate self-esteem. His 
 view of the poetic is only worthy of an undertaker. He 
 sees nature through a black-crape veil. He describes 
 graves with the minuteness of a body-snatcher ; and wheu 
 he would be impressive, is disgusting. You see the actor, 
 not the poet. He admits you (for he cannot help it) 
 behind the scenes. His rhymes are uot the music of a 
 poetic faculty ; but rather the jingle of a parrot. He is 
 one of a popidar school, however ; and while the public 
 buy his wares, he -will continue to fiishion them. Mate- 
 riahst to the back-bone, he simpers about the littleness of 
 human dealings and human sympathies. He Avho pretends 
 to be melted with pity over the fate of a fly, woidd \ise 
 his mother's tombstone as a writing-desk. He deals in 
 human soitow, as his baker deals in loaves. Nervous dow- 
 agers, who love tears and ' dreadfid descriptions ;' who 
 i-njoy 'a good cry;' and who have the pecuhar facuHy of 
 seeing the dark side of everything, cnjov his dish of verses 
 amazingly. To sensitive young ladies there is a terrible 
 fascination in his inventories of tlie tomb and its a])pendages ; 
 and children are afraid to walk about in the dark, afrer 
 listening to one of his effusions. The followers of his 
 
r.FFORTS OF A CiKNTLEJIAX IX SKAKCII OF DKSI'AIK. 187 
 
 school inckide one or two forniidublc }'Oung ladies, ■who 
 enter into descriptions of death — that is to say, the mate- 
 rial part of death — with a minuteness that must excite the 
 envy CA-en of the most ingenious auctioneer. When bent 
 ixpon a fresh composition, these terrible young poetesses, 
 having killed a child, proceed to trace its journey to the 
 tomb — its return to earth. How they gloat over the dire 
 •changes ! — how systematically the painful portrait is pro- 
 ceeded with ! In tliis they rival Chinese arti>ts. And 
 people of ill-regulated sj-mpathy, who, containing witliin 
 them all the elements of spiritual cidture, are yet affected 
 only by sensual appeals, regard these doleful elfusions as 
 the outpourings of true human suffering. 
 
 ' Mr. Black])rook and his disciples are hapless mate- 
 rialists, verse-makers without a sense of the beautiful. 
 They are patronised by those to Avhom they write down ; 
 iuid the effect of their lucubrations is to enchain the imagi ■ 
 nation, to debase the moral capacity, to weaken that 
 spiritual fiiith which disdains the horrors of the church- 
 yard. !Mr. Blackbrook's adventures in search of despair 
 were undertaken, to our mind, in a cold-blooded spirit. 
 A resolute determination to discover the gloomiest phase 
 of every earthly }natter, a longing for the applause of a 
 foolish clique, and a confused idea that Chatterton was a 
 poet because he perished miserably, while Bp'on owed his 
 inspiration to his domestic unhappiness — make up that 
 j)icture of a verse-writer which we have endeavoured to 
 delineate. "When extraordinary vanity is allied to very 
 ordinary ability, the combination is an uuAvholesome, 
 ascetic, weak and deformed mind : — such a mind has Mr. 
 Blackbrook. He endeavours to drag us into a vault, Avlien 
 we would regard the heavenly aspect of death. Ask him 
 to solve the great mystery, and he points to the fading 
 ■corpse. His tears suggest the use of onions ; and his 
 threats of self-destruction, remind us of the rouge and 
 Indian ink of an indifferent melo-dra)natic actor. We 
 ■have no respect for his misfortunes, since we find that he 
 -esteems them only as opportunities for display ; Ave knoAV 
 that despair is Avelcome to him. He turns his back to the 
 Sim, and rejoices to sec the length of shade he can throw 
 
188 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 upon tlie earth. Natui'e to him is only a vast charnel- 
 house — so constructed that he may sing a life-long re- 
 quiem. He Avould have us journey through life Avith oui' 
 eyes fixed upon the ground, scenting the gases of decay. 
 But -wiser men — poets of the soul — bid us look iip to 
 heaven, nor disdain, as we raise oiu- heads, to mark the 
 beauty of the lily — to gather, and Avith hearty thanks, the 
 fragrance of the rose.'" 
 
 " Aye, aye, that's it — that's it," cried Brother Enough. 
 " I emphatically refuse, on all occasions, and under any 
 circumstances, to smell the mould above the rose." 
 
 " It seems to me," said the Master, " that the little paper 
 ■which I shall noAV have the honour of reading to you, is 
 in its proper place here. Under this roof — raised by the 
 charity of one good man — before Avhose time-AVorn tomb I 
 daily lift my hat — luider this roof Avhich covers a temple of 
 pure charity, Ave may di'aAV a contrast betAveen those Avho 
 do good by stealth, and the vainglorious Avho giA'C to the 
 beat of drum. The advertisement columns of the morning 
 papers, haA'e suggested to me an analysis of 
 
 " A SUBSCRIPTION LIST." 
 
 Here are my obserA-ations. !Make free Avith my tobacco 
 poiich Avhile I read : — 
 
 " It has been declared, Avith truth, that public charity 
 accomplishes more in this country than in any other in 
 the Avorld. The inference to be deduced from this fact 
 must be carefully draAvn. Many influences SAvell the 
 amount of ' charitable donations ;' and it is hy arriA"ing 
 at something like an estimate of the pure charity, to be 
 generally traced in a subscription list, that Ave must 
 measure the extent of public Heart-benevolence. Let us 
 t<ike up a list at random. Here is a subscription in aid 
 of a Hospital. The first name Ave find is that of — 
 
 Miss Letitia Latterday, of Latterborough Hall . . . £10 
 Doubtless this lady is sincerely desirous that the hos • 
 
t 
 
 A SUBSCRIPTION LIST. 189 
 
 pital tlms patronised should be a couple of l^eds the l)ettei* 
 of her contriljiition ; yet the conspicuous advertisement 
 of ^liss Latterday's name and euphonious address at full 
 length, betrays an anxiety that her benevolent desires, 
 together -with the fact of her being the possessor of Latter- 
 1)orougli Hall, shoidd be extensively kno-vvn to the public 
 nt large. The next lines on the list are : — 
 
 Jolin Pampas, Esq. ....... £5 
 
 Mrs. Joliu Pampas ........ 5 
 
 If Mr. Pampas be solely anxious to extend the useful- 
 ness of the hospital, why did he not subscribe at once 
 Avithout dragging in his -wife? Is he pleased to see his 
 name prominently repeated in the list ; or has Mrs. Pam- 
 pas insisted upon seeing herself in print ? We suspect 
 that the Pampases look upon the matter rather as a bit 
 of cheap distinction, than as a real goodness performed by 
 them. Mr. Pampas, we are told, was very particular 
 about having his name properly spelt. 
 
 The expedient for spreading a small amount of charity 
 over a large siu-face of publicity is more strikingly exem- 
 plified by the next entries : — 
 
 The Eiglit Honourable Lady Bittern 
 The Houoivrable Blanche Bittern . . . . 
 The Honourable Fanny Bittern .... 
 The Honourable Alicia Bittern . . . . 
 
 The Honourable Jemima Bittern .... 
 The Honourable Charles de Braudenburgh Bittern 
 
 Lady Bittern is an economist. No one knows better 
 than her ladyship how to lay out thirty shilhngs in charity, 
 with profit to the reputation of her nmnerous family. 
 ^Miat a miracle of precocioiis munificence is exhibited to 
 those people Avho happen to knoSv that Charles de Bran- 
 denbui-gh Bittern has not yet arrived at the dignity of 
 being short-coated ! 
 
 The next name worthy of note is that of our friend — 
 
 Johnson Tomlinson, Esq., of Toppei-ton Hall . . £25 
 
 We happened to be present when this subscription was 
 solicited. Tomlinson, an exemplaiy sharebrokcr, had re- 
 
 [0.< 
 
 . C'd. 
 
 7 
 
 6 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
190 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 cently Ijouglit ' the place ' advertised above. The first 
 question he asked the begging secretary -was — ^iiot as to- 
 the object of the fund in course of formation ; how it 
 would be applied ; what amou.nt of suffering it would miti- 
 gate ; how many new patients Avould be relieved — but, 
 ' Whom have you got ?' The secretaiy iinfoldcd his list ; 
 ' Well, Sir,' he began, ' Ave have the Lord Lieutenant (fifty 
 guineas), the High Sheriff (fifty pounds), Lord Bramble 
 one hiuidred and five pounds. You see. Sir?' continued 
 the wily solicitor, knowing his man, and remembering his 
 initial, ' We do not make up our list alphaheticalhiy but 
 according to amounts.' 
 
 ' Hum ! ' considered Tomlinson, melting to the cause, 
 when he remembered how completely out of sight the 
 ' T's ' were stuck in former advertisements ; ' How much 
 lias Sir Skinner Flint put down ? ' 
 
 'TAventy pounds, Sir.' 
 
 ' Very well ; put down twenty-five opposite to my 
 name. You see,' Avas Tomlinson's aside speech to us, ' one- 
 must do the thing a little handsome as a ncAV comer into 
 this aristoci-atic part of the country, or one gets looked on 
 freezingly by these people : I may say, bloA\ai upon.' 
 
 It is a sorry inference, then — but alas, a true one — that 
 Tomlinson's money Avas not put forth to fend off suffering 
 from the sick poor, but as a golden shield for himself 
 against the cold shoulder of the rich. 
 
 ' Sir,' said the secretary, Avhen he called on the chief 
 proprietor of the Chronicle. ' We spend tAvelve hundred 
 a year in ncAA'spaper advertising ; besides tAvo hundred per 
 annum in printing circulars. You coidd not ha\-c a better 
 medium for making your excellent publication extensively 
 knoAvn to the public. Let me say five.' But as the per- 
 son appealed to, kncAV that the notification Avould be 
 repeated in just as many impressions for less money, Ave 
 find it stand thus : 
 
 Proprietors of the Chronicle ... ... £2 2 
 
 Could the price and day of publication have appeared, 
 the donor candidly OAvned he would have been glad to 
 give the five. 
 
A suDScrarxiON list. 191 
 
 Glancing the eye over othei* parts of the subscription 
 list, Ave do not find it Avholly a record of pomps and vani- 
 ties. There are a few scarcely perceptible entries almost 
 overshadowed by the big letters of the great subscribers. 
 They are simple initials set against small sums ; the; 
 smallest, however, is greater than either of Lady Bittern's 
 family ofterings. ' A Friend' occurs more than once, and 
 then, ten shillings bestowed by ' an Old Patient.' Such 
 contributions speak true charity out of the fulness of 
 genuine gratitude. 
 
 Our former instances are, Ave reluctantly own, not over- 
 charged demonstrations of Avhat goes by the name of 
 charity, in a great many cases. A ncAV Avard is to be biiilt 
 in a hospital. Experience proves that to demonstrate the 
 necessity and utilit}^ of such an addition, is but a secondary 
 necessity. The promoters knoAV, that to succeed, they 
 must get the undertaking graced AA-ith the names and 
 patronage of half-a-dozen peers, a sprhikling of the House 
 of Commons, and a judicious selection from Avealthy 
 neighboiirs. The list is published, and subscriptions floAV 
 in. Why do they Hoav in ? Because the xindistinguished 
 vich — the mob of gentlemen Avho pay with ease — have, 
 too often, a morbid desire to find their names ranged along- 
 side those of Dukes, Earls, and ]NLP"s. 
 
 The truth is, deep, sympathising, effectual benevolence 
 does not often find its Avay into the subscription list at all. 
 Neither does it go about in mysterious melodramatic dis- 
 guise, on purpose to be foimd out and be all the more 
 blazoned; but, Avith unostentatious earnestness, gives its 
 intellect and its time, as Avell as its money, to the needy 
 and suifering. It discriminates, incpiires, and aftbrds judi- 
 cious help, rather than tuiqualified alms, Avhich may bless 
 the giver, but seldom the receiver. 
 
 Tileek Charity never thrusts her hand into her pm-se 
 Avith the bouncing let-me-knoAV-AAdiat-I-have-to-pay,-and 
 have-done-Avith-it, profusion of a rich 'subscriber.' She 
 is a great economist ; for had she millions, she could not 
 cover and heal all the sores of poverty that cover the 
 land. She knoAvs that unAAdse profusion to one case is 
 
l52 CnROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 gross injustice to many others, that must be, consequently, 
 ne.sjlected. 
 
 It may be argued that whatever be the motives of the 
 jidvertisers, for their seeming charity, the result is good. 
 They give their money and that is iisefully applied. 
 
 As a general rule, we doubt this. The regular charities, 
 of which routine advertisements are constantly appearing 
 in the Spring, are, many of them, gigantic jobs ; operating 
 less for the excellent objects pretended in them than for 
 the payment of large salaries to their officers and managers. 
 Most of the subscribed capital goes to huild magnificent 
 palaces for a few children, who are supposed to be born 
 in hovels ; to pay the bills of treasurers, who manage to 
 get elected because they are print eis, or contractors 
 for articles used in the institution, and enormously over- 
 charged. The purest we believe to be medical charities; 
 but some of these are full of abuses — abuses often occa- 
 sioned by their very affluence, and which they have 
 attained by means of a clever and constant working of 
 The Subscription List." 
 
 "Just a little harsh, good Master, "qiioth Brother 
 Babbicomb." 
 
 "Not in the least," shouted Horrocks. "Have at shams, 
 with Nasmyth's hammers, if you can get hold of them. 
 Send broadsides into them : rake them fore and aft." 
 
 " "We have little time for discussion, this evening," the 
 blaster interposed. " There is a third paper before us. 
 It is in Brother Sands' usiial style." 
 
 Mr. Sands blandly accepted the Master's description of 
 his production as a compliment. The little man bowed 
 and simpered. It was only a slight sketch — but if he had 
 not already intru.ded too often on their attention, he would 
 venture to road it: 
 
 "the constant reader." 
 
 " It is vain to contradict anything I may choose to atllrni 
 
THE COKSTAXT RKADER. 19S 
 
 — ^for I kiioAV everything. I am the Constant Keader. 
 The post is no sinecure, since my work is unceasing and 
 my reward nil. All the Avorld may, if it pleases, be enjoy- 
 ing itself. Jones may take his sweetheart to Picnics ; 
 Jobson may treat his wife and lamily to Margate ; Smith 
 anay sail to Jersey ; Kobinson to Jericho ; the Premier 
 mav be Hying paper balloons in gusty Scotland, to please 
 his children ; the Chancellor of the Exchequer may be 
 shooting partridges in Berkshire ; but for me there is not 
 one moment's respite. ^Vhen I hear about the calamities and 
 poverty of the writers of the olden time, I chuckle with 
 a savage mirth, for I know that they enjoyed a comparative 
 condition of clover. Not that their clover was not occasion- 
 ally very hard lying, liut that my lying is still harder. 
 
 I said lying, but I must correct myself, since I never lie 
 down. The horizontal position in which most people 
 indulge for some tune, once in foiir-and-twenty hoiu's is 
 impossible for me. I had occasional snatches of rest n 
 long time ago, when wholesome restrictions were exercised 
 towards the press ; but now it would be madness to think 
 of devoting five minutes to the indulgence of phvsical 
 repose. Hercules has been talked about from generation 
 to generation ; but he never performed a laboiir half so 
 formidable as that I am in the habit of knocking off daily, 
 — and without making any particular noise or liubbub 
 about it, either. 
 
 My acquu'emeuts arc iLLimitable. I can read and -wTite 
 at one and the same moment. Most authors can ^nite 
 only on one question at a time : I can tackle fifty. When 
 the public bear in mind that I read every journal of the 
 habitable globe, Avithout ever missing a paragraph, and 
 that I have daily communication with nearly every editor 
 in Christendom, the necessity of reading and writing at one 
 and the same time, will be obvious. Nothing escapes me, 
 from a misdemeanour to murder ; from tittle-tattle to high 
 treason. I am, it is well kno-^Am, competent to discuss the 
 merits of every ([uestion that ever engaged the attention of 
 mankind. I have been kno^wn to be writing simiiltaneously, 
 a solemn remonstrance to the editor of the ' New Zealand 
 Champion;' a letter to the 'Tunes' on Aldermanic Polish:; 
 
 o 
 
194 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 a denunciation of a Board of Railway Directors ; a Word 
 of AVarning to the Protectionists ; a Solemn Rebuke to 
 Free Traders ; a Suggestion for the Better Government of 
 Her Majesty's Colonies ; a Mild Hope that we should have 
 War to the Knife with Russia ; and a Word in Defence of 
 the Czar. WHiile my pens (I write vnih all my fingers at 
 once) are employed on all these subjects, I read the 'Times,' 
 the ']\Iorning Chronicle,' the 'Daily News,' the 'Examiner,' 
 the 'Pekin Gazette,' the 'Antipodes Daily Advertiser,' 
 * Punch,' a file of Indian journals, the ' Chop-away Toma- 
 hawk,' and all other American prints, and every one of 
 the Paris papers. There is not a journal in existence of 
 -which I am not a constant reader, and to which I have not 
 contribiited. 
 
 In the course of the year I wear oiit the sleeves of 
 three hundred coats ; my paper-makers supply me by the 
 ton ; I keep a large flock of geese on my premises to supply 
 me with quills ; my inkstand is the size of an ordinary 
 bucket ; my wafers are brought to me in a clothes-basket ; 
 and I employ a Strong horse and cart to convey my \\Titings 
 to the post. When all my pens are in full Avork, the 
 scratching is so offensive to the neighl^ours, that they have 
 threatened indictments. I keep a flock of carrier-pigeons, 
 on the roof of my house, to convey my eflVisions to distant 
 parts. I stack my papers, as farmei's stack hay. Some- 
 times I refer to a very old number of a journal ; on these 
 occasions fifty men are employed to search after the par- 
 ticular passage I require. I drink gallons of strong tea, 
 night and day, to prevent the least tendency to drowsiness. 
 It is now about fifteen months since I have risen from my 
 seat. I am here, a fixtiire, with a little pipe in my mouth, 
 through which I imbibe the best Pekoe. Without all 
 these arrangements (which may at first appear strange to 
 the uninitiated), how coidd I go through all my Avork? 
 How cordd I, without some attempt at order and economy 
 of time, correspond Avith every ncAA'spaper in the known 
 Avorld, on cA'ery conceivable subject? 
 
 Having, modestly and moderately, I trust, stated the 
 nature and extent of my labours, I may perhaps be for- 
 aiven for adchng my testimony to the base ingratitude of 
 
THE CONSTANT READER. 195 
 
 the public. I am known, certainly, Avherevcr an alphabet 
 is known. I have written on all subjects — and treated all 
 subjects from every possible point of view. I have agi-eed 
 and disagreed with every editor under the sun. I have 
 been referred to in Parliament ; the printers of my effu- 
 sions have been indicted for libel; I have been printed in 
 every language that commands type ; I have been re- 
 produced for private circulation ; I have been favourably 
 criticised a thousand times; and yet am I a neglected, 
 forlorn individual. 
 
 This is the iirst time that anything like a histoiy of my 
 labours has been made public. People have read my 
 effusions imder every cLrciimstance and through every 
 channel ; and no person has heen sufficiently curious to 
 institute inquiries respecting me. Yet the agony I have 
 suffered is incalculable. Papers which no other person 
 Avould approach, I have patiently perused and written for ; 
 •subjects the most iininviting have ' engaged my serious 
 -attention for years;' and I have 'ventured to trespass' 
 upon 'valuable coliuiins,' of which it was given to me 
 alone to understand the value. Then, who has not noticed 
 the ' feelings of unmixed regret,' or the " deep satis- 
 faction,' -with which I have 'ventured to address' the 
 editors of countless journals ? Nobody. I am even more 
 forlorn than the gentleman who had an obliging echo 
 to answer his queries — in the affirmative. My boundless 
 knowledge — my intunacy "with the private concerns of the 
 Sidtan and the iniquities of the Xizam — my correct infor- 
 mation as to the prices of starch in the Prussian markets 
 imd the probal^ility of receiving monies on account of the 
 Pcnnsylvanian Bonds, only aggravate the hardship of my 
 obscure position. Even now, while I am Aviitino- this 
 account of mj-self with my first finger, my second is 
 emplo3^ed upon an urgent remonstrance with the discon- 
 tented party at the Cape ; while my thumb is upon the 
 South Western Railway. I have long niu'sed the hope of 
 finding a finger imemployed, that I might write my auto- 
 biography ; but the pressiu-e of events ; the bubble rising 
 in the South of Eiu-ope, upon which I liave the one-and- 
 tweutieth part of my eye; the doings of the Americans in 
 
 o 2 
 
196 CHBONICLES OF THE CKFTCH. 
 
 California, iipon wliicli anotliei* fraction of my eye reposes ; 
 the anger simmering in France, upon -vvliich anotlier small 
 proportion of my optic rests : — these, and many other- 
 events, warn that unhappy elf, the Constant Reader (who 
 is as constant a ■^^Titer) to giA'e np his long-cherished 
 idea, and be content with the most cursory record of his^ 
 career. 
 
 Posterity will do me justice. My -wi-itings would fill 
 one hundred thick octavo volumes ; whereas (such is the 
 fate of genius in this country) they now fill the shops of 
 cheesemongers, and weigh down the scales of grocers>. 
 AMio has not read a few of my works ? Yet who knows 
 anything about me ? — whether I am grey with age, or in 
 the prime of life ; whether I am five or six feet high ; 
 ■whether I Live like a prince or Hke a beggar ; Avhether I 
 adopt any extraordinary costume, or dress simply like any 
 ordinary English gentleman. Ah I it is hard to have per- 
 formed gigantic labours, and yet to remain personally 
 unnoticed. I have had my imitators, like most great men. 
 There is that base knave, the ' Subscriber from the Begin- 
 ning.' But, compared mth mine, what are his perform- 
 ances ? I remember his letter to the editor of the ' Sledge 
 Hammer' (in the second number of that inoifensi-\-e 
 journal), but there was nothing in it. The measure of 
 public contempt will be filled to the l)rim, when I declare 
 that he could write only on two subjects at once. ' A 
 Constant Admirer,' too, was one of my hnitators, but he 
 soon died off. 'Veritas' has tried to disturb my status, 
 and the ' Enemy to Humbug' has endeavoured to jostle 
 nic out of the field. And here I am at last, stdl hard at 
 work, and still without pul.ilic acknowledgment of my ser- 
 vices. A few sagacious people, only, have deigned, from 
 time to time, to express some wonderment with regard to 
 the variety of my reading and A\Titing, and my constant 
 appearance in eA'ery joiu-nal, both English and foreign. 
 
 It is for the satisfaction of these in particular, that T 
 have employed the short leisure of one of my fingers, in 
 giving a description of the pains I have been at, and the 
 devices I have found it necessary to adopt, to contribute 
 daily articles of some importance towards the newspaper 
 
THE COXSTAXT RKAPKK. 197 
 
 litovaturo of my countiy. The iuvrcr I liavc been usiiip; 
 upon this sketch is now called npon to poifonn anothej- 
 duty ; — the nineteenth section of one of my eyes havinp; 
 eunght an erroneons report (-which the finger nmst correct 
 on the spot) published in the '• War AVhcwp," a New 
 Zealand paper, published by the natives for the snppression 
 of cannibalism, and to disconntenance, — particvilarly, tlie 
 consumption of ' [Missionary Pie.' " 
 
 '•Even the Constant Reader must rest, friends," said tlu? 
 "^faster, rising; "and there is lead upon my eyelids now. 
 Will any Brother dip into my pouch, licfore I put it into 
 my pocket? No! Tlien sunny dreams for all. Good 
 night!" 
 
 " Aye," said Horrocks, '* an open sea and a fair 
 wind — with the ship making for hojne — that shall lie my 
 dream." 
 
 " Mhie," said Seesaw, '• that everything is at a premium." 
 
 " And mine," cried Balder, looking reproachfully at 
 Seesaw — •* that I haAHi't an enemy in the Avide Avorld." 
 
 And after a few minutes, lights shone through the 
 ■windows of the Brothers' bed-rooms. 
 
198 CHKONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " We dedicate this niglit, gentlemen,'' said the Master, . 
 as he took the chair to preside on the tenth meeting of 
 the Brothers — " we dedicate this night to two of our city 
 Friends: — to Brothers Phoenix and Seesaw — ^with just a 
 lively little paper from Brother Balder — as a night-cap. 
 I call upon Brother Phoenix to begin. His subject is 
 interesting just now, when Ave are talking about commer- 
 cial treaties Avith France."' 
 
 "Commercial treaties AA-ith IMounseer," cried Horrocks, , 
 " ugh ! " 
 
 Brother Phoenix, modestly, began : — • 
 
 "the queen's bazaar." 
 
 "The articles displayed for sale at the Queen's Bazaar 
 arc brought together under pecidiar circumstances. Sunie. 
 of them are handed over by Her Majesty's Revenue offi- 
 cers, who ol)tain them from passengers as they step ashoi-t; 
 from foreign steamers. Some are thus unwillingly contri- 
 buted by full -figured dowagers ; by young ladies carrying 
 poodles ; by well-cloak(-d gentlemen ; or by obese indi- 
 viduals encumbered witli protuberating brandy-l)ottles, 
 formed like the ' stuffing' adopted by actors when tliey 
 play Falstaff. 
 
 it is, hoAvever, a pity that the smuggling propensities of 
 Mrs. Brown, ^Nliss Robinson, or Mr. Bombigs, should be a 
 cause of annoyance to the thousands of passengers Avho 
 land Aveekly on our coasts. ■ It is a pity, that because Miss 
 Bumble cannot resist the temptation of secreting a l)ottli'. 
 or two of Eau de Cologne between the folds of lier ])acked- 
 
THE queen's bazaar. 199 
 
 up draperies ; that because Mr. Fitz-Fink must put 
 Galignani's edition of ' Astoria' in his hat-box ; their fel- 
 low-passengers should be subjected to the annoyance of 
 having their wardrobes tumbled out upon a counter, for 
 the amusement of the curious. It is distressing to A^-itness 
 the perlbrmance of the searcher's duties. ]SIrs. TipHp's 
 boxes are thi'own upon the counter, uncorded, unlocked. 
 The searcher commences by removing huge piles of sUk 
 dresses ; ]SIrs. Tiplip looking on in a state of the greatest 
 excitement. The searcher vigorously rams his arm to the 
 bottom of the trunk, and by a dexterous twist tumbles 
 its contents into a condition of the most picturesque con- 
 fusion.- Mrs. Tiplip feels that she will faint, if the man 
 does not desist at once. But, he regards neither her con- 
 fusion nor her expostulations. He rolls a dozen pairs of 
 stockings upon the counter ; he rattles her jewel-case and 
 asks for the key ; he minutely inspects her supply of Kncn ; 
 he brings to pubHc hght all kinds of little secret cosmetics 
 and artiiices, which gentlemen are not usually pri\-ileged 
 to see. He hopes that there is no contraltand article 
 secreted in her needlecase. He trusts that there is nothing 
 but cotton in her work-box ; and having chalked a huge 
 hieroglyphic upon the trunk, pushes the whole tumbled, 
 exposed heap from before him, and turns to another A'ic- 
 tim. Now and then he ruthlessly seizes a bottle of brandy, 
 a few yards of lace, or a pair of new shoes ; but generally, 
 he finds nothing worth touching. The value of his contribu- 
 tions to the Queen's Bazaar scarcely covers the amoimt of 
 liis salary. 
 
 In another part of the Custom House are officials 
 keeping up the Queen's Bazaar stock, by mulcting the 
 merchants. It is necessary to prevent importers from 
 understating the value of goods upon Avhich an ad 
 valorem duty is charged. To check this tendency, a sys- 
 tem has been adopted of buying those goods which the 
 Custom House officers hold to be undeiTalued. Thus, when 
 a merchant declares the value of a bale of goods, and the 
 officer believes the declaration to be understated, he pays 
 the valae the merchant has declared, to the owner, and 
 retains the goods. This course furnishes the chief articles 
 
200 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 wliicli figure at the periodical Custom House sale. Very 
 often, Her Majesty loses by these transactions. Thus, a 
 merchant imported a quantity of soiled goods lately, which 
 he declared at the value he honestly believed they Avould 
 fetch. This declaration being, to the mind of the officials 
 (who disregarded the damaged condition of the goods), 
 understated, they paid the merchant his price on the part 
 of Her Majesty, and subjected them to the hammer, iu 
 the expectation that a round svim would be realised by 
 the bargain. It turned out, however, that the merchant 
 had rather overstated the value ; and, the consequence 
 Avas, that the goods Avere sold for about one hundred and 
 fifty pounds less than the Custom House authorities had 
 paid for them. As a large proportion of the goods sold 
 under the authority of the Customs' Commissioners are 
 detained and paid for as undervalued, the bazaar is in some 
 sort a Government speculation ; and one, probably, that 
 does not return a large per centage of profit. The pick- 
 ings from trunks, form items which it is easy to trace : — the 
 articles wrenched from the grasp of professional smugglers 
 are for the most part either tobacco or spirits. 
 
 Having thus briefiy reviewed the systems Avhich fill Her 
 ^lajestv"s Bazaar with all kinds of valuable commodities, 
 we may enter the Queen's Warehouse, situated on the 
 gi-oundiloor of the Custom House. The Queen's Ware- 
 house is not an imposing apartment, either in its decora- 
 tions or extent. It is simply a large square room, lighted 
 by an average number of windows, and consisting of four 
 bare Avails, upon Avhich there is not the most distant ap- 
 proach to decoration. Counters are placed iu dili'erent 
 tlirections, Avith no regard to order or effect. Here and 
 there, masses of drapery for sale, are hi^ng suspended from 
 cords ; or, to all appearance, are nailed against the Avail. 
 Across one corner of the room, in the immediate vicinity 
 of a very handsome inlaid cabinet, two roAvs of dilapi- 
 dated Bath chaps are slung upon a rope. Close under 
 these delicacies, stands a rosewood piano, on Avhich a 
 foreign lady, supported by a foreign gentleman, is playing 
 a shoAvy fantasia. The efl:ect of her brilliant and vehe- 
 ment performance is, however, uidiapplly marred by the 
 
THE queen's UAZAAU. 201 
 
 presumption of a young gentleman who, is trying a gross 
 of accorilions (situated at the further end of the row of 
 chaps), by playing the first few notes of the National 
 Anthem iipon each, with utter disregard of time and tune. 
 At the elbow of this young gentleman an old gentleman 
 is rubbing some raw silk — as though ho longed to wash 
 it — and then stroking it Avith a touching fondness. He 
 carries a catalogue in his hand, and when he has 
 completed his inspection, hastens to make some hierogly- 
 phics in it. 
 
 Advancing a little more into the baxaar, and edging our 
 wav between all kinds of men in earnest conversation : — who 
 'think one and a quarter enough,' or who ' wouldn't mind 
 taking the damaged with the sound,' or Avho are confident 
 'there is no longer any home market for such goods' — we 
 reach the first long counter. Here, we discover a rich 
 assortment of objects, piled about in hopeless confusion. 
 
 Eighty-nine opera glasses: three dozen 'companions' — 
 more niimerous than select, perhaps. Forty dozen black 
 brooches — ornamental mourning, sent over probably by 
 some foreign manufacturer, relying in the helplessness of 
 our old Woods-and-Forests-ridden Board of Health, and 
 in the death-deaKng fogs and stenches of our metropolis. 
 Seventeen dozen daguerreotype plates, to receive as many 
 pretty and happy faces. Eighty dozen brooches ; nineteen 
 dozen piurs of ear-rings ; forty-two dozen finger-rings ; 
 twenty-one dozen pairs of bracelets ! The quantities and 
 varieties are bewildering, and the ladies clvister about in a 
 state of breathless excitement, or give way to regrets that 
 the authorities wiU not sell less than ten dozen tiaras, or 
 half a dozen clocks. 
 
 The French popidar notion, that every Englishman has 
 an exhaustless store of riches, seems to hold as firmly as 
 ever ; for, here we find about three hundred dozen potto, 
 7nonttaies, and countless piu'ses, evidently of French manu- 
 facture. Presently we are shown Avhat Mr. Carlyle would 
 call a ' gigantic system of shams,' in five liundred and 
 thirty-eight gross of imitation turquoises. We stroll on, 
 amused by the variety of the scene — the intent looks with 
 which men are peering into all kinds of packages, testing 
 
CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH- 
 
 all kinds of manufactures in all sorts of ways, and making- 
 notes eagerly, in tlieir catalogues. We pause before seven 
 crosses, and nine crucifixes, 'mounted.' A particular 
 interest attaches to these gaudy ceremonial trinkets of 
 Berlin ware. They Avere put up to auction Avith a cigar- 
 holder, and eleven finger-rings, for the sum of three pounds 
 fifteen shillings. At the farther end of the long counter 
 before which we haA"e been pausing, are some A^ery finely- 
 executed bronzes, and Dresden, and other A'ases, marked 
 at exceedingly Ioav prices. Yet, according to the catalogue, 
 they have all been underA-alued, and the sale of them is a 
 Government speculation. 
 
 To realise an idea of the Queen's Bazaar on the morning- 
 of sale, it is necessary to ha\-e a AaA'id sense of the un- 
 pleasantness of hearing every imaginable air played at 
 short intervals, on CA'ery kind of instrument, by performers 
 of various degrees of skill. We Avere suddenly attracted 
 to the second counter in the room by a fcAV loud notes 
 piped upon an oboe, l)y a short gentleman Avith a long 
 moustache. The counter Avas loaded Avith brass instru- 
 ments, lying in confused heaps : some packed in papers, 
 some bursting through their covers, and others glittering 
 in the sun, in all the nakedness of polished brass. We 
 began to think that a lirass band had been seized by the 
 ruthless searchers of the Custom-house; but, on referring 
 to our catalogvie, Ave learned that this heap of cornopeans, 
 clarionets, ophicleides, trombones, clarions, A'ioloncelli, and 
 guitars, had been underA'alued, according to the Custom- 
 house authorities, and had been bought on behalf of 
 Government. An organ Avith sixteen barrels had also 
 fallen into the hands of GoA^ernment, for something under 
 fifty-three pounds. A soHtary drum had been resigned 
 to the authoi'ities, as an undervalued article : it A\'as the 
 only instrument which remained untouched. 
 
 Near these musical instruments, lay a great A'aricty of 
 china, from all parts of the world. Designs the most grace- 
 ful, and distortions the most grotesque, Avere huddled 
 together. Two salt-cellars, Avhich had been imderA'alued, 
 Avere inside tAVO butter-boats, tliat had l)een similarly 
 treated ; while two egg-cups, detained by the majesty of 
 
THE queen's bazaar, 208 
 
 English laws, stood modestly beside some of the splendid 
 pottery of Dresden. Near all this china, were about one 
 hundred and twenty party-coloured Chinese lamps, in the 
 immediate neighbourhood of twenty-eight cottages (dolls'), 
 napkin-rings, pincushions, nut-crackers, paper-knives, &c., 
 all of the celel)i'ated Swiss carving, of which some splendid 
 specimens appeared in the Great Exhibition. 
 
 Tired with the endless variety of the Government 
 Bazaar, w^e must pass over — seventy-six dozen scissors, 
 seventeen dozen bellows, and even ninety -five coffee biggins; 
 to say nothing of nineteen larding-skewers, thirteen scoops, 
 fifty thousand tickets in sheets, and one thousand box tops 
 — to come to a few parcels over which we saw many gen- 
 tlemen pause, and to Avhich ladies hastened with eager 
 steps. Here they are ; — sixty thousand gross of buttons ! 
 Two hundred and fifty-two dozen inkstands ; himdred and 
 fifty gross of hair pencils ! Of the stacks of shawls, 
 bareges, and handkerchiefs, we do not pretend to say any- 
 thing ; but it appears rather trifling to squabble over the 
 value of two embroidered aprons, and one scarf. How- 
 ever, the authorities appear to be excellent judges of the 
 value of a light crust, and the cost of confectionary ; inas- 
 much as they thought fit to detain, as undervalued, no 
 less than fifty-five jxite's de foie [/ras, and a very promising- 
 consignment of caviare. 
 
 Among the seizures Avhich we find in the Queen's Bazaar, 
 is a muslin dress skirt, embroidered ; one robe Avith body; 
 one scarf ; twelve collars ; innumerable dress pieces ; and 
 three bonnets. The agony of the respective owners of 
 these elegancies need not be dwelt upon. But, perhaps 
 the most melancholy lot in the Government Bazaar was a 
 packet of pamphlets, 'Aveighing one hundred-Aveight, tAA'O 
 quarters, tAventy-one pounds,' according to the catalogue, 
 to be sold for the ' benefit of the CroAvn.' This direct 
 appeal from the Commissioners of Customs to the trunk- 
 makers of the country, cannot be contemj)lated by any 
 lover of literature Avith other than feelings of strong anti- 
 pathy. Various old trunks, boxes of old clothes, hundreds 
 of tattered A-olumes, scores of pairs of dice, clocks in- 
 numerable, countless Avatches, rivers of Avine, spirits ; tons 
 
204 cirROxrcLEs of the crltch, 
 
 of tobacco, may be added to oiu* list of the stock wliicli 
 Her Majesty has periodically on sale. On the particular 
 occasion to Avhich we have been all along referring, three 
 hundi'ed gross of lucifer matches hgiu'ed in the Bazaar, 
 beside several acres of East India matting ; forty-nine 
 gallons of Chutney sauce : eighteen gallons of curry paste ; 
 thirty millions of splints; seventy-seven hundred- weight 
 of slate pencils ; sixty-eight gallons of rose-water ; one 
 package of visiting cards ; one ship's long-boat ; and ^four 
 pounds ' of books in the English language I 
 
 Tridy, the gentlemen who test the prices of these various 
 articles of ccimmerce — who can hit upon the precise value 
 of slate pencils and caviare, dolls' liouscs and fat liver pat- 
 ties — must have extraordinaiy experience! That they 
 ai"e, after all, human, and are suject to mistakes like the 
 rest of us, is indisputable. 
 
 The Queen's Bazaar is a specimen of the profitableness 
 and pohcy of the whole system. iSniuggling, of which it 
 is the parent, is not looked upon by the community with 
 much horror; on the contrary, by some, as rather a 
 meritorious means of making bargains. 'To pretend to 
 have any scruple about buying smuggled goods,' Adam 
 Smith tells lis, ' would in most countries be regarded as 
 one of those pedantic pieces of hj-j^ocrisy which, instead of 
 gaining credit "with anybody, serve only to expose the 
 person Avho pretends to practise them, to the suspicion of 
 being a greater knave than the rest of his neighbc.urs.' 
 
 The danger of maintaining laws which it is held by 
 many well-meaning persons, not inglorious to break, has 
 forced itself upon the govenmients of most countries, and it 
 may be safely stated that the reduction of duties on foreign 
 goods has done more to put down smuggling, than ileets of 
 revenue cutters, armies of coast guards, and tlie quick 
 eyes of searchers. It is now believed that ' whenever 
 ■duties exceed thirty per cent, ad valorem, it is impossible 
 to pi'event a contraband trade.' The experience of the 
 present time points to this conchision, and further tends 
 to show that, economicallv, high duties are less productive 
 to tlie revenue than low duties ; inasmuch as to levy high 
 duties, a large protective force must be maintained, where- 
 
Tin: (illCKX'.S 15AZAAII. 20.> 
 
 as, witli low duties, smuggling sinks to a losing game, and 
 is quickly al:>andoncd. In I80I, Lord Congleton estimated 
 the cost "of protecting the revenue, at from seven hundred 
 thousand to eight hundred thousand pounds. In 18:52, 
 upwards of one hundred and eighty-one thousand pounds 
 were expended in building cottages for the officers and 
 men of the Coast Guard in Kent and Sussex. Yet, Avliile 
 duties are imposed, however paltry in amoiuit, people of 
 an economical turn will do a little smuggling on their own 
 account — as much for the popular glory of defrauding 
 the revenue, as for the irresistible impulse of saving a fev.- 
 shillings." 
 
 " Good, good," cried the Master. 
 
 " Let us hear Mr. Seesaw," growled Horrocks. " Hang 
 the smugglers ! Many's the squally nights I've been kept 
 out of my berth for them. Smuggling Frenchmen's brandy 
 too ! As old Cap'n For'top used to say, time out of mind : 
 — ' AVliy can't the damn'd rascals drink rum, like 
 Englishmen.'" 
 
 The Brothers laughed, and the ale went round — the 
 " humming ale ; " and Brother Seesaw opened his paper- 
 (commercial foolscap), and read : — 
 
 "SI'IDEES' SILK." 
 
 " Urged by the increased demand for the threads which 
 the silk- worm yields, manj' ingenious men have endea- 
 voru'ed to turn the cocoons of other insects to account. In 
 search of new fibres to weave into garments, men have 
 (lived to the bottom of the sea, to Avatch the operations of 
 the pinna and the common mussel. Ingenit)us expei'i- 
 mentalists have endcavoiired to adapt the threads whicli 
 hold the mussel firmly to the rock, to the purposes of the 
 loom ; and the day will probably arrive when the minute 
 thread of that duninutivc insect, known as the money- 
 spinner, will be reeled, thrown, and woven into fabrics^ 
 fit for Titania and her court. 
 
 In the early part of last century, an enthusiastic French 
 gentlemen turned his attention to spiders' webs. lie dis- 
 
206 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 covered that certain spiders not only erected tlieii- webs to 
 trap unsuspecting flies, bvit that the females, when they 
 had laid theu* eggs, forthwith Avove a cocoon, of strong 
 sUken threads, about them. These cocoons are knoAvn 
 more familiarly as spiders' bags. The common webs of 
 spiders are too slight and fragile to be put to any use; 
 but the French experimentalist in question, ]\Ionsieur Bon, 
 was led to believe that the cocoons of the female spiders 
 were more solidly built than the mere traps of the fero- 
 cious males. Various experiments led M. Bon to adopt 
 the short-legged sUk spider as the most productive kind. 
 Of this species he made a large collection. He employed 
 a number of persons to go in search of these spiders ; and, as 
 the prisoners were brought to him, one by one, he enclosed 
 them in separate pajjer cells, in which he pricked holes to 
 admit the air. He kept them in close confinement, and 
 he observed that their imprisonment did not appear to 
 affect their health. None of them, so far as he coidd 
 observe, sickened f)r Avant of exercise. As a gaoler, 
 he appears to have been indefatigable; occuppng himself 
 catching flies, and deliA'cring them over to the tender 
 mercies of his prisoners. After a protracted confinement 
 in these miniature Bastiles, the grim M. Bon opened the 
 doors, and found that the majority of his prisoners had 
 beguiled their time in forming their bags. Spiders exude 
 their threads from papilla? or nipples, placed at the hinder 
 part of their body. The thread, AAdien it leaves them, is a 
 glutinous Hquid, Avhich hardens on exposure to the air. 
 It has been found that, by squeezing a spider, and placing 
 the finger against its papilla?, the liquid of Avhich the thread 
 or silk is made may be draAvn out to a great length. 
 
 M. Eeaumur, the rival experimentalist to M. Bon, dis- 
 covered that the papilla? are formed of an immense number 
 of smaller papilla?, from each of Avhich a minute and dis- 
 tinct thread is spun. He asserted that, with a microscope, 
 he counted as many as seventy distinct fibres proceeding 
 from the papilla? of one spider, and that there Avere many 
 more threads too minute and numerous to compute. He 
 jumped to a result, howcA^er, that is sufficiently astonishing, 
 namely, that a thousand distinct fibres proceed from each 
 papilla? ; and there being five large papilla^, that every 
 
spiders' silk. 207 
 
 thread of spider's silk is composed of at least five thousand 
 fibres. In the heat of that enthusiasm, with which tho 
 microscope filled speculative minds in the beginning of last 
 <;entury, M. Leuwenhoek ventured to assert that a hundred 
 of the threads of a full-grown spider were not equal to 
 the diameter of one single hair of his beard. This assertion 
 leads to the astounding arithmetical deduction, that if the 
 spiders threads and the philosopher's hair be both round, 
 ten thousand threads are not bigger than such a hair ; and, 
 computing the diameter of a thread spun by a young 
 spider as compared with that of an adult spider, foui- 
 millions of the fibres of a young spider's web do not equal 
 a single hair of jNI. LeuAvenhoek's beard. The enthusiastic 
 experimentalist nuxst have suffered horrible martyrdom 
 under the razor, with such an exaggerated notion of his 
 beard as these calcidations must have given him. A clever 
 writer, in Lardner's Cycloptedia, notices these measure- 
 ments, hoAvevcr, and shows that JNI. Leuwenhoek went far 
 beyond the limits of reality, in his calcidation. 
 
 'M. Bon's collection of spiders continued to thrive ; and, 
 in due season, he found that the greater number of them 
 had completed their cocoons, or bags. H(' then dislodged 
 the bags from the paper-boxes ; threw them into warm 
 water, and kept washing them until they were quite free 
 from dirt of every kind. The next process was to make a 
 preparation of soap, saltpetre, and gum-arabic, dissolved in 
 water. Into this preparation the bags were thrown, and 
 set to boil over a gentle fire for the space of three hours. 
 When they were taken out and the soap had been rinsed 
 from them, they appeared to be composed of fine, strong, 
 ash-coloured silk. Before being carded on fine cards, 
 they were set out for some days to dry thoroughly. The 
 carding, according to M. Bon, was an easy matter ; and he 
 affirmed that the threads of the silk he obtained were 
 stronger and finer than those of the silk-worm. ^M. 
 Eeaumur, however, Avho was dispatched to the scene of 
 M. Bon's investigations by the Royal Academy of Paris, 
 gave a diff'erent version of the matter. He found, that 
 whereas the thread of the spider's bag will sustain only 
 thirty-six grains, that of the silkwonn wU support a 
 weicht of two drachms and a half — or foxir times the 
 
208 CIIKOXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Aveiglit sustained by the spider-thread. Now while M. Bon 
 was certainly an enthusiast on behalf of spiders, ^L, 
 Eeaumur undoubtedly had a strong predilection in favour 
 of the bombyx ; and the result of these contending- 
 prejudices Avas, that ^I. Bon's investigations were over- 
 rated by a few, and utterly disregarded by the majority of 
 his coiuitrjanen. He injured himself by rash assertions. 
 He endeavoiired to make out that spiders were more pro- 
 lific, and yielded a proportionably larger quantity of silk, 
 than silkworms. These assertions were disproved, but in 
 no kindly spirit, by IM. Eeaumur. To do away with the 
 impression that spiders and their webs were venemous, 
 M. Bon not only asserted, with truth, that their bite was- 
 harmless ; but he even went so far as to subject his 
 favourite insect to a chemical analysis ; and he succeeded 
 in extracting from it a volatile salt Avhich he christened 
 Montpelier drops, and recommended strongly as an ethca- 
 cious medicine in lethargic states. 
 
 M. Bon undoubtedly produced, from the silk of his 
 spiders, a material that readily absorbed all kinds of dyes, 
 and was capable of being worked in any loom. With his 
 carded spider's silk the enthusiastic experimentalist wove- 
 gloves and stocldngs, Avhicli he presented to one or two 
 learned societies. To these productions several eminent 
 men took particular exceptions. They discoA-ered that the 
 fineness of the separate threads of the silk detracted from 
 its lustre, and inevitably produced a fabric less refulgent 
 than those woven from the silkworm. ]\I. Reaimiur's most 
 conclusive fact against the adoption of spider's silk as an 
 article of manufacture, Avas deduced from his observations 
 on the combatiA'cness of spiders. Pie discovered that they 
 had not arrived at that state of ciAalisation when com- 
 munities find it most to the general advantage to liA^e on 
 terms of mutual amity and confidence ; on the contrary, 
 the spider-world, according to IM. Reaumur (avc arc writing- 
 of a himdred and forty years ago), Avas in a chronic state 
 of Avarfare — nay, not afcAV spiders Avere habitual cannibals. 
 Having collected about Hxc thousand spiders (enoiigh to- 
 scare the most courageous old lady), M. Eeaumiu- shut 
 them up in companies, A'arpng in number, from fifty to one 
 hundred. On opening the cells, after the lapse of a few 
 
spiders' silk, 209 
 
 Jays, ' Avhat was the horror of our hero,' as the graphic 
 uovcUst writes, ' to behold the scene whicli met his gaze ! 
 Wliere fifty spiders, happy and full of life, had a short 
 time before existed, only about two bloated insects now 
 remained — they had devoured their fellow spiders ! This 
 horrible custom of the spider- world accounts for the small 
 proportion of spiders, in comparison with the immense niun- 
 ber of eggs which tliey ]n-oduce. So formidable a difficulty 
 could only be met by rearing each spider in a separate 
 cage ; whether this separation be practicable — that is to say, 
 whether it can be made to repay the trouble it would 
 requii-e — ^is a matter yet to be decided. 
 
 Against M. Bon's treatise on behalf of spiders' sillc, 
 M. Eeaumui- urged further objections. He asserted, that 
 when compared -wnth silkworm's silk, spider's silk was defi- 
 cient both in quality and in quantity. His calculation 
 went to show that the silk of twelve spiders did not more 
 than et^ual that of one bombyx ; and that no less than 
 rifty-five thousand two hundred and ninety-six spiders 
 must be reared to produce one pound of silk. This calcu- 
 lation is now held to be exaggerated ; and the eAddent 
 spirit of partisanship in Avhich ^M. Reaumur's report was 
 concocted, favours the suisposition that he made the most 
 of any objections he could bring to bear against M. Bon. 
 
 M. Bon's experiments are valuable as far as thev go. 
 Spider's silk may be safely set do-wTi as an untried' raw 
 material. The objections of I\I. Reaumur, reasonable in 
 some respects, are not at all conclusive. It is of coiu'se 
 und(miable that the silkworm produces a larger quantity 
 of silk than any species of spider ; but, on the other hand, 
 the spider's silk may possess certain quahtics adapted to 
 particular fabrics, which would justify its cultivation. 
 The idea of brushing do\\ni cobwebs to convert them into 
 ball-room stockings, forces upon us the association of two 
 most incongruous ideas ; but that this transformation is 
 not impossible, the Royal Society, who are the possessors 
 of some of M, Bon's spider-fabric, can satisfactorily 
 demonstrate," 
 
210 CHRONICLES OF THE CKUTCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "Bkother Balder is now to give us a night -cap," said 
 the blaster. 
 
 " Is the paper so very sleepy ?" asked Brother Enougli. 
 " If so, it cann't be Balder's own writing.'' 
 
 " If we're going to throw sugar-plums about, like children,, 
 we had better fetch oiu' pinafores." It is hardly necessan; 
 to add that this protest was entered by Brother Horrocks. 
 
 " We are listening. Brother," the Master interposed. 
 " It's a bit of obsei'vation — iU-natured perhaps : — but, 1 
 believe, in the main, not far from the tnith. 
 
 "^VHY PEOPLE LET LODGINGS." 
 
 "The contrivances and struggles of what the vulgar call 
 ' gentility' to make two hundi-ed pounds a-year pass for 
 five hundi'ed per anniun, rank with the tragedies of large 
 towns. Starvation for a month, and a sumptuoixs festival 
 foui- times a year ; a white satin dress for the mother of 
 ragged children : a bone of mutton for the family, and 
 grouse and truffles for visitors : hired plate for state occa- 
 sions, and Britannia metal for ordinaiy ser\'ice. Such are 
 among the shifts and contrivances of ' poor, but genteel" 
 establishments. The cold mutton is contentedly swallowed, 
 Avhen seasoned with the comforting conviction that the 
 Tomkinses over the way, believe three coiu'ses and a des- 
 sert, are the daily comforters of the family. The Genteel 
 do CA'erything for other people. They never see with 
 their own eyes, but through those of their neighbours. 
 AVhen Mrs. Jones siu'veys her best carj:)et, it is not with 
 her own sight, but with that of the Prescotts next door, 
 
WHY PEOPLE LET LODGINGS. 211 
 
 and the rest of her habitual visitors. ' Insatiate vanity' 
 and a fooUsh fear of the worhl are the mainsprings of this 
 iniseral)ly false condition of things. It is one of the worst 
 results of an adoration of gokl : — it is a consequence of 
 that stigma which is too generally attached to poverty, in 
 this country. It is a result of that tendency of money- 
 worshippers to look at a man's waistcoat rather than to his 
 actions — to his material possessions rather than to his 
 moral worth. He is a more considerable person in the 
 esteem of the world who possesses fifty estates, than he 
 who is a pattern of fifty virtues. This being so, we cannot 
 wonder when wc detect the existence of an universal 
 system of h}-pocricy on the subject of riches ; and a -wish 
 to appear well before the Avorld — whatever the world's 
 standard of excellence may be — will always be a marked 
 trait in the national character. 
 
 There is a fashion in virtue as in dress, and now, iin- 
 happily, the virtue in vogue is — wealth. To be fashion- 
 able in this respect, a thousand sacrifices are daily made ; 
 glossy clothes are lined Avith sackcloth. Everything is 
 made for show — to counterfeit wealth. It is a race to 
 escape from the stigma of poverty ; and, in the crowd, the 
 millionaire is not distinguishable Irom the begging-letter 
 writer. The advertising columns of the daily papers are 
 crowded with painful instances of domestic suffering ; but 
 in no part of these columns do we find such unequivocal 
 symptoms of the struggles of poor 'gentility,' as in that 
 where people who let lodgings advertise the attractions of 
 their respective households. 
 
 It is observable, that not two in a hundred of the people 
 Avho let lodgings, receive lodgers for the sake of adding to 
 their income. They scorn such a mercenary consideration. 
 Their house is too large for them; they are anxious to 
 add 'a few companions to their social circle;' — or they 
 let their apartments, ' not for the sake of emolument, but 
 to meet with a respectable tenant.' People who let 
 lodgings are invariably accustomed to the highest society, 
 and can give the most impressive references. The attrac- 
 tions they offer are overwhelming : Elysium can be 
 nothing in comparison with the comforts to be had in an 
 
 p2 
 
212 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Islington first floor, at fifteen shillings per week. The most 
 fastidious must speedily be accommodated. It must be a 
 real pleasure to appropriate one's first-floor to a genteel 
 tenant, since emolument is never sought by ' people of the 
 highest respectability.' 
 
 How happy people in lodgings must be ! They may be 
 ' surrounded with all the comforts of home without its 
 cares' at a nominal rate of payment ; they are at liberty 
 to join ' a cheerful musical circle,' where ' rent is a minor 
 consideration ;' they may direct their luggage to a serene 
 establishment ' where there are no children, or any other 
 nuisances,' upon promising to pay ' the quiet and serious 
 lady of the house' no more than the mere weekly sum of 
 twelve shillings ; and it is their own fault if they do not 
 catch at ' an opportunity wdiich seldom occurs' of enscon- 
 sing themselves in a family Avhere there are ' no other 
 lodgers, and where a man-servant is keyjt.' 
 
 People who let lodgings, in addition to their high 
 respectability and carelessness as to the payment of rent, 
 .are frequently prodigies of learning. Conceive the culti- 
 vated state of that circle whence our native language is 
 banished, and 'French is the tongue daily spoken at 
 table.' Lodgings may not luifrequently be secvired in a 
 house that is attended by the best professors of every 
 distinct branch of learning, where lessons in Hebrew and 
 ((Jreek — ^together with boot-cleaning — are included in the 
 xmusually low terms of one guinea per Aveek. This mag- 
 nificent ofler is usually made for the sake of securing 'a 
 fellow student for the advertiser's son ; ' of coiirse the 
 fTuinea per week is merely a nominal matter. 
 
 Some people let lodgings only to present advantages to 
 happy bachelors and maidens ' deprived of a home.' F(n- 
 thirty shillings weekly, it is possible to rent a first floor in 
 a highly respectable neighbourhood, of parties whose 'reli- 
 gious principles are in strict conformity with the Established 
 Church.' The beatitude of occupying parlours underneath 
 High Church people, is too evident to need a syllal^le of 
 elucidation. There are also lodging-letting widows, Avhose 
 only wish is to lift tlie responsibility of housekeeping off 
 the shoulders of ' a respectable bachelor or widower,' and 
 
■\VUT TEOPLE UCT LODGINGS, 213 
 
 with a toricliing self-sacvifice to place the bui-den upon 
 their oAvn back; benevolent housekeepers, who devote 
 their entire attention to their lodgers, to the exclusion of 
 every other earthly consideration; and mothers, at the 
 lowest possible charge, for respectal>lo young ladies 'of 
 limited incomes.' 
 
 Words cannot adequately describe the splendour and 
 the beauty of some of these homes. They ' are oifered to 
 a homeless public because, lieing furnished in the hand- 
 somest manner, with particular regai-d to comfort,' they 
 are too got)d for tlie occupant ; who is too well off, and 
 benevolently ^\-ishes to share his domestic bliss with a less 
 fortunate individual, ' Avhose reference will bear the strict- 
 est investigation.' Such domiciles often command extensive 
 and varied scenery ; they are, without exception, in the 
 most fashionable locality ; they are lofty and well-ventila 
 ted ; they have all been recently fitted up ; omnibuses 
 pass the "door every five minutes ; and they are through- 
 out, scrupulously clean. They are Utopias of elegance, 
 comfort, learning, morality, and respectability. No wonder 
 marriages are on the decrease in a country where a bache- 
 lor may hire a paradise, kitchen fire included, for a mere 
 trifle. 
 
 T\liat a devoted, self-sacrificial race must the lodging- 
 house keepers of London be ! Their virtues defy com- 
 putation. They offer s])lendour, the highest respect- 
 ability, morality, music, French, and natural soUcitude, at 
 the lowest possible figure ; tor ' money is no object.' They 
 are too genteel — too easy in their circumstances — for cash 
 to be to them, of the slightest consequence. No, they 
 advertise; their virtues and their splendoiu-, for the Sama- 
 ritan pleasure of admitting strangers to be partakers of 
 their good fortime. 
 
 AVe have gathered this little history of people who let 
 lodgings from their own modest autobiographies, as we 
 find them in the advertising columns of the morning papers. 
 It may, perhaps, vindicate this maligned class of persons 
 from certain prejudices very generally entertained against 
 them. People to whimi rent is no object, vnll not purloin 
 port : a serious family will not appropriate a lodger's. 
 
214 CHRONICLKS OF THE CRriCH. 
 
 pomatum ; no cheerful musical circle can entertain a par- 
 ticular regard for their lodger's lumps of sugar ; no High 
 Church family would peep int(-t their lodgers tea-caddy ; 
 and certainly no houscAvife Avhose maternal solicitude can 
 be had a bargain, Avoukl think it proper to appropriate 
 her adopted child's bread-and-butter. Therefore the calum- 
 nies circulated to the prejudice of people who let lodgings, 
 should be exposed, and the authors of them be held up to 
 public oblocpiy. People who give and exchange the high- 
 est references, and who let their best rooms for the pleasure 
 of living in the kitchen, and not Avith any idea of emolu- 
 ment, would not stoop to petty thefts of the above mean 
 and detestable description. 
 
 Thus the cause of people who let lodgingsmay be Aandi- 
 cated. Their lodgings are let, and their gentility is not 
 compromised." 
 
 "A fig for gentility," cried Ilorrocks. 
 
 " It has ruined many a man,"' said Ph(rnix: and Plioenix 
 hiew vrhat he was talking aliout. 
 
 "Ay, Avliat dirty things are done, every hour of each 
 day, by your genteel people,'" Brother Frowde inter- 
 posed. " The shabbiness, the wretched subterfuges, the 
 little dishonesties, the bankruptcies and insolvencies tliat 
 lie at the door of ]\Iistress Grundy, shouhl make tliat lady 
 tremble." 
 
 "All will come right in due time," Brother Enough 
 chirped. 
 
 " Perhaps that is the best way of looking at it. I can- 
 not keep my eyes off my taper, yonder," said the ^Master. 
 
 The Brothers took the hint; and their lights flitted 
 about the old cloisters, and disappeared, one by one. 
 From one chamber the Inunming of an old air stole out 
 into the darkness; and from another, the voice of an old 
 man saying his prayers, sounded solenudv. 
 
SCIESrCE AT SEA. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 '* I CLAIM precedence," cried Brother Horrocks, to-night. 
 I cann't road late in the evening. It's a yarn supposed to 
 have been -wTitten hy a landlubber — giving his experi- 
 ments for the prevention of sea-sickness. I call it — 
 
 *' SCIEXCE AT SEA."' 
 
 Mind — till! landlubber, not I, is speaking : — 
 " It is impossible for any sea to affect me. The boat 
 may be * lively', the sea * chopping', and the most adipose 
 of mutton chops may be presented to me, when Ave are in 
 mid-channel. I and the steward have jiartod company 
 for ever. The deck may be obli([ue, perpendicular and 
 Avet ; water may pour down the cabin stairs, and the ves- 
 sel may shudder in the trough of the sea, yet shall I 
 serenely smoke my Havannah, peacefully watch the swoop 
 of the sea-gull, and oliserve the land advancing to the 
 ship's prow. Tlierefore shall I invest myself in the 
 acknowledged uaiitical fashion. I am no longer one of 
 those ignoble travellers whom seamen sagaciously warn to 
 mndAvai'd. I shall certainly not dine before land is out 
 of sight. "Wliat so delicious as a snug dinner at sea! 
 WTiat so droU and amusing as a dancing dinner table ! 
 I have learned 'A Wet Sheet, &c.', and feel convinced 
 that I shall be able to sing that eminently nautical 
 ditty, as steadily and vociferously, in a ' whole gale' oil' 
 the North Foreland, as I now sing it at the pianoforte 
 of my neat little cousin and accompanist. 
 
 How have I acquired this sudden affection for nautical 
 habiliments ; this enviable defiance of the dancing Avaves, 
 and the roiling, pitching steamer ? Hoav ? I oAve it to the 
 
216 CHRONICLES 01' THE CRUTCH. 
 
 British Association for the Advancement of Science, and 
 to tlie French Academy of Sciences. I owe it to Monsieur 
 M. J. Curie, who, in the ComjJtes Houlus, has explained 
 that sea-sickness arises from the upward and downward 
 movements of the diaphragm, acting on the nerves of the 
 brain, in an unusual manner. I owe it especially to the 
 cure he recommends. — He instructs me to draw in my 
 breath as the vessel descends, and to exhale it Avheu the 
 vessel ascends each billow — to keep in exact time and time 
 Avith the sea and the ship. Such is my tirst lesson. My 
 second, I derive from the paper of .Mr. J. Atkinson, read 
 before the British Association at its last meeting. That 
 gentleman declares that the chief reason of sea-sickness is 
 because one's motions on board of ship, instead of 1>eing 
 voluntary, are invokmtary. Swinging, and riding in a 
 carriage, often produce nausea, because the body, he says, 
 is made tomoA'e about, in despite of itself ; while the volun- 
 tary operations performed by mechanics and labourers, 
 involving the same kind of movements of the diaphragm, 
 do not cause similar unpleasant results. If, then, we can 
 introduce the voluntary system afloat, Ave shall obA"iate 
 tlie most detestable incident of a sea \'oyage. Let, instructs 
 Mr. Atkinson, a person on shipboard, Avhen the Aessel is 
 bounding OA-er the AvaA^es, seat himself, and take hold of ;i 
 tumbler nearly tilled Avith Avater or other liquid; and at 
 the same time make an etfort to preA"ent the liqidd from 
 running over, by kee])ing the mouth of the glass horizontal, 
 or nearly so. When doing this, from the motion of the 
 A^essel, his hand and arm Avill seem to be draAvn into dif- 
 ferent positions, as if the glass Avere attracted by a poAver- 
 fnl magnet. Continuing his efforts to keep the mouth of' 
 the glass horizontal, let him alloAV his hand, arm, and body 
 to go through the various moA'cments — as those obserAcd 
 in saAving, planing, pum})ing, throAving a (]uoit, &c. — Avliich 
 they AA'ill ])e impelled, Avithout fatigue, almost irresistil.)ly 
 to perform ; and he Avill find that this has the eflect of 
 preventing the giddiness and nausea that the rolling and 
 tossing of the A'essel haA"e a tendency to produce, in inex- 
 perienced voyagers. If the person is suffering from sick- 
 ness at the connnenccment of his experiment, as soon as 
 
SCIENCE AT SEA. 217 
 
 he grasps the glass of liquid in his hand, and snffers his 
 arni to take its coiarse, and go through the proscribed 
 movements, he feels as if he were performing them of his 
 own free will : the nausea abates immediately, very soon 
 ceases entirely, and does not return so long as he suffers 
 liis arm and body to assume the postm-es into which they 
 seem to be draA\ni. Should he. however, resist the free 
 course of his hand, he instantly feels a thrill of pain of a 
 peculiarly stunning Idnd, shoot through his head, and he 
 experiences a sense of dizziness and returning nausea. 
 
 'The reading of this paper,' sa}s the report of it, 
 ' caused a short discussion on the nature of sea-sickness ; 
 and some of the members promised to give it an early 
 trial.' 
 
 Permit me modestly to state that I was one of the num- 
 ber who performed this promise. 
 
 Behold me on board. "We are steaming do^ra the river 
 in gallant stvle ! There is a fresh but gusty Avind. I and 
 the man at the helm have agreed that it ysill be smart work 
 in the C'hanneh ^Vll the better. The boat behaves well 
 in a rotigh sea, I should think. Dear me ! we are only 
 half-a-mile beyond the Nore, and the ladies Ijegin to make 
 precipitate retreats into the cabin. It is time to look after 
 my sou'-wester ; for ahead I see the crisp waves with 
 fringes of foam — a sure sign of a chopping sea. Now, the 
 vessel heaves a little. Xow, she shakes and recovers 
 herself, ashamed of being disturbed by a wave so insig- 
 nificant. The flag at the mast-head stands out as stiff as 
 a board. The men are closing the ports. I tliovght it was 
 time to set that sail. Her head dips now, decidedly. That 
 Frenchman has thrown his cigar overlioard ; I thought he 
 would. Pshaw I — brandy-and- water already 'f AA'hat a 
 l)ale and consumptive set of passengers we have on board? 
 They must be exoui->innists fn)m the Hospital for Con- 
 sumption. A lady in a pink bonnet implores me to sec 
 her down the cabin-stairs. My head is very bad; the 
 voyage wUl do me good, decidedly. I am vi'ry awk^vard 
 with the pink bonnet. JIow she stumbles ! .She begs my 
 ptirdon — she thought I was a sailor. She is quite right ; 
 I mn thoroughly ' ship-shape ; ' but my arm is weak, and 
 
23-8 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 I find it difficult to hold her. That weak ankle of mine 
 begins to trouble me ; how I stumble ! It is as well to 
 take up my position near the helmsman, and prove myself 
 a sailor. Now, the vessel dips; I must draw in my breath. 
 Now, she rises ; I must exhale it. The helmsman wants 
 to know what I am about, and calls my attention to ' a 
 brig, that is behaving capitally to wind'ard ; ' but our 
 vessel dips again, and agam I must draw in my breath : 
 she rises, and again I must exhale it. 
 
 Monsieur Cime is quite right ; the upward and down- 
 wtu'd movements of the (haphragm act on the phrenetic 
 nerves in an unusual manner. Yet I feel that I must take 
 care of myself, lest I belie the anchors on my buttons. I 
 think it would have been better to put to sea in a less 
 noticeable costume. She dips again. Again I draw in 
 mv breath. She rises; once more I eject every 'pufT of 
 breath out of my lungs. Now, she has settled into the 
 trough of the sea, and I begin a survey of the brig. We 
 rise, then sink to a terrible depth all in a minute, and I 
 exhale my breath as we go down. That is decidedly a 
 mistake. Our ship is too fast, and I cannot keep time. 
 My constitutional giddiness — that giddiness which has 
 never left me many hours from my early childhood — is 
 returning to me. Again we descend, and again I exhale 
 my breath, instead of drawing it in. The helmsman 
 assures me that there is no danger. Who said there was ? 
 Who talked about danger ? 'W\iy did he Avear that sar- 
 donic smile? Am I not manfidly trying the first part of 
 * A Wet Sheet, &c. ? ' though I am, I own, in sxich 
 bad voice, that I cannot get on Avith it. Can it be ? Yes. 
 I am holding the seat with both hands. I hope I don't 
 look frightened. Here is the steward. Dinner is ready. 
 Very well. AVlio cares ! Will I walk do\vn ? I think it 
 is too early to dine, but will take a snack presently, if the 
 steward will oblige with a glass of water at once. AVhy 
 did he laugh as he left me ? There is nothing extraordi- 
 nary in the request ; it is not uiuxsual to drink water. 
 How does he know that I am not a teetotaller ? It wovdd 
 be easy enough to have the laugh of /////(. He is not a 
 scientific man. He couldn't distinguish the diaphragm 
 
SCIENCE AT SEA. 210 
 
 from tlic phrenetic nerves. How is it possible to prove to 
 him that I cannot be affected by the tossing of the vessel : 
 how can I demonstrate to him that my present paleness is 
 not the natural effect of the sea upon my nerves, but the 
 deserved resvdt of my carelessness V 
 
 The cruel eye of the helmsman is upon me : I have 
 evidently liillen sixty per cent, in his estimation. I dare 
 say he feels incUned to tear my anchor buttons from my 
 jacket, and to pluck the sou'-wester from my ignoble head. 
 I wish the steward would come with that water. The 
 captain is approaching. He looks civil enough. He wants 
 to know whether I had not better sit on the other side, 
 with my face to the sea, and the wind at my back. What 
 does he mean? I think I cut him short: — he will not 
 open his mouth to me again. Here comes the steward 
 A\dth the water : — now it will be my tvu*n to laugh. He 
 waits for the glass : he cann't have it. I am not going to 
 <lrink the water ; I want it for a scientific purpose. Let 
 me grasp it firmly, and endeavour to prevent the liquid 
 running over, by keeping the mouth of the glass as 
 nearly horizontal as possible. Now, it nearly touches the 
 deck — now my face is reclining upon a coil of rope to my 
 right — now, my arm is working to and fro — now, I dash 
 it forward — now, I have it before the compass-box. I feel 
 decidedly better, but at the expense of a performance, not 
 unlike that of a person labouring under a severe attack 
 of St. Vitus's dance. Now, the vessel descends tumultu- 
 ously, and I throw myself almost on my back — ruow, she is 
 I'limbing a very steep billow, and my nose threatens to test 
 the smoothness of the deck. That helmsman is convulsed 
 Avith laughter ; but the recollection that Mr. J. Atkinson 
 believes that the stomach is primarily affected through the 
 ■cerebral mass, rather than tlirough a disturbance of tlie 
 thoracic and abdominal viscera, and that the involuntary 
 motion communicated to the Ijody by tlie rolling and tos- 
 sing of the vessel is, by the means he adopts, apparently 
 converted into voluntary motion — the recollection of this, 
 nerves mo to continue my novel performance. My giddi- 
 ness is gone — forgotten in the concentrated attention ffiven 
 
220 CHRONICLES Ol' THE CRUTCH. 
 
 to the tumbler. As yet I have not spilt a cli-op of the 
 liquid. This is decidedly a triumph. 
 
 This rolling is a bore. The A\'ilduess of my motions Avill 
 attract general attention. A man near me wants to know 
 why I don't drink the water at once : — he says I have had 
 a thousand opportunities, and that I am making myself 
 ridiculous. But it is too late to expostvdate. The tumbler 
 has assumed the power of a magnet, and draws my nose 
 after it, Avherever it pleases. Koll I must, Avith the glass.. 
 My eyes are rivetted upon it ; my body follows it, now to 
 the deck, now tOAvards the steersman, and noAV I lie upon 
 my side Avildl}^ staling at it — ^l:»ut not a drop of the water 
 has touched the deck. This is Avai'm Avork, hoAveA'er. We 
 shall be fi\'e hours before Ave make the port. For fi\-e 
 hours, then, must my ca'cs be fixed upon the tumbler — 
 for fiA'e hours must I roll about like a drunkard ; for I am 
 imformed that, shoidd I resist the free course of my arm 
 and body, I shall instantly feel 'a thrill of pain of a pecu-, 
 liarly stunning kind ' shoot through m\- head, and liiwe a 
 return of dizziness and nausea. SaAv, diA^e, rock, and 
 phuige, I must, then, Avithout a momentary intermission, 
 during fiA^e long hoiu's. At the expense of these gigantic 
 labours, only, can I purchase a sailor's reputation ; and, 
 after all, I shall be regarded as a verA' eccentric seaman — 
 as one not altogether right about the head. Any torture, 
 hoAvever is to be preferred to the sarcasms of that dreadful 
 man at the helm, and that grinning stcAvard. I feel A'erv 
 tired, though : I am in a gloA\ang heat. I begin to feel 
 that I shall ncA'cr be able to drink a glass of Avater again. 
 I begin to regard the tumbler as my personal enemy, and 
 feel an almost irresistible inclination to dash it doAvn iipim 
 tlie deck. Here comes that stcAvard. He wants the glass: 
 it is impossilile to do Avithont it. I SAving about ; — 1 am 
 saAving the air Avith it — now I nearly dash the entire con- 
 tents into his face. Will I drink the Avater, and give up 
 the glass V I tell him to begone — that I shall require the 
 use of the tiunbler till Ave reach our destination ; Avhcre- 
 upon he seizes my hand and removes my enemy. 1 stagger, 
 nnd allow that Mr. Atkinson is right : I do feel a pain ' of 
 
AN OLD POllTRAIT FROM THE IIAfiUK. 221 
 
 a peculiarly stunning kind ' in my head. Lav;j,e black spots 
 iioat bcluro nie ; the steward becomes a dim monster : 
 voices that are growling near me, sound as from a great 
 (.listance, I make a plunge, rub my eyes hard, spas- 
 jnodically drag doA\ai my waistcoat, shake back my liair, 
 draw my cap firmly upon my head, and make an attempt, 
 to walk. 
 
 A few more ignominious moments, and tlie steward 
 <;laims nie as liis own." 
 
 A shoiit of laughter greeted tlie old sailor's paper. 
 
 ''Now then, Avho comes next?" said Horrocks, as he 
 plugged his pipe. 
 
 " I think Ave're going abroad again," answered the 
 Master, and he bowed towards Brother Lebord. 
 
 " 1 can give you a painting of ourselves, from the 
 Hague," Lebord answered. 
 
 '■ We are all attention," was the Master's answer. 
 
 Brotlaer Lebord unfolded an elegant manuscript, and 
 read as follows : — 
 
 "an old I'OUTRAIT FROM TITE IL\(;rE." 
 
 *' Here is an old portrait of our old friend the English- 
 man, painted by an unknown hand at the Hague, and 
 given to the public in the year seventeen hundred and 
 forty-seven. Strolling aboiit the narrow streets, near the 
 great library of 8te. Genevieve in Paris, noticing the 
 slovenly stxidents making their way to and from the Ecole 
 <lu Droit, and glancing at the books arranged upon shelves 
 along the dead walls, a satmterer (himself an Englishman) 
 was suddenly stopped by two little yellow A'olumes in 
 veiy bad condition, labelled ' Lettres svu- les Anglois ot 
 Francois.' He invested seventy-five centimes, and became, 
 the happy possessor of two very cimous portraits painted 
 one hundred years ago. It is most probable that when 
 these volumes were first distributed in Paris, from the 
 library a la Plume d'or of the elder David, they created 
 some sensation. 
 
^22 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 It appears from tliem, tliat our great great grandfathers 
 had a reputation abroad for magnificence among the 
 nobility, and for the abundant supply of necessaries 
 enjoyed by the community. They were also held to be 
 proud to a detestable pitch, to be insolent to strangers, 
 and to be generally rude and gross in their manners. 
 They were brave, yet so disinclined to engage in war that 
 the title of captain was with them one of reproach, signify- 
 ing usually an adventurer — as the title of abbe was given 
 to any loose hypocrite in France — yet they had the courage 
 to perform a good action, and to follow their own good 
 sense, even when it was at war with conventional usage. 
 The liberty Avhich they enjoyed made them independent 
 in all affairs, and prevented them from exhibiting a slavish 
 deference towards the nobility. In this way the broad 
 outlines of our great great grandfathers' portraits Avero 
 drawn by the imknown artist at the Hague. But his 
 details, drawn from personal obsen^ation, form the most 
 curious part of his picture. It must be remembered that 
 the portrait painter s brush is a hundred years old. 
 
 The happy character of an Englishman is a mixture 
 of common sense and idleness. He has generally some 
 imagination ; but his imagination is like the hard coal he 
 burns — it gives out more heat than light. He seldom goes 
 abroad to seek his fortune ; and it may be said, to the 
 credit of the few who do venture, that not one of them 
 ever succeeds. There are, however, excellent scientific^ 
 men, and fine writers in England ; and the Englishman 
 pretends that his countrymen are more advanced in scien- 
 tific pursuits than any other nation. In business he has 
 neither the vivacity of the French merchant, nor the 
 parsimony of the Dutch dealer ; and, what is astonishing 
 to a foreigner, he will often retire to the coimtry when he 
 has made a good fortune, even though he might double it 
 by remaining at his counting-house. As a workman, he 
 has, and justly, a good reputation. He excels in clock 
 making, in upholstery, in saddle-making, and in other 
 trades which I cannot at the moment call to mind ; but hi? 
 does not excel in the making of cutlery — being clumsy 
 and inelegant. As an agriculturist lie is always to be seen 
 
AS OLD PORTRAIT FROM THE irAGUK. 223 
 
 in a close cloth coat, plush bi-eeches, top-boots, -well 
 covered with spurs, ridiug invariably at full gallop. The 
 Englishman is, however, ahvays well dressed — a proof of 
 his prosperity, since his clothing is, Avith him, a secondan' 
 consideration to his food. 
 
 I (that is to say, I the Portrait Painter at the Hague) 
 must own one fact at once — the beauty of the EngUsh- 
 woman does not touch me. She is ahvays fair — almost 
 white. Hers is a beautiful face without expression. It is 
 never animated. I see a hundred bcaiitiful women, but I 
 do not know ten pretty ones. To me the Englishwoman's 
 great chami is that modesty or sweet timidity, which sends 
 the blood to her cheek at every turn, and lowers her eye- 
 lid constantly. She is always tall, has a noble presence, 
 and enjoys the advantage of being, generally, richly 
 dressed. But she has one great fault, that is, the neglect 
 of her teeth — a neglect the more to be deplored, suace she 
 Is accustomed to cat a great quantity of meat and verv 
 little bread. The patches she wears give her a coquettish 
 look, though she is not a coquette. She has the reputation 
 of a SAVcet disposition and a tender heart ; but her want of 
 occupation Aveakens her understanding, making her curious 
 and credulous, and fond of astrology. 
 
 She has the brusquerie of her ra^e ; so that she will 
 suddenly make a voav to many the first man she meets in 
 the street, and this man she will absolutely accept as her 
 husband. In this kind of Anolence may be yet seen a 
 remnant of that ferocity Avhich is the chai'acteristic of her 
 blood. 
 
 To return to the Englishman. It may be said of him 
 that he has the characteristic of the A^arious races mixed 
 up in liis veins. He drinks like the Saxon ; he loves hunt- 
 ing like the Danes ; he cheats and plays false Avitness lilce 
 the Normans, and he oaa'cs his love of bloody spectacles, 
 and his fearlessness of death, to the Eomans. lliis fero- 
 cious spirit is exhibited in the cock-fighting, and the baiting 
 Avith bull-dogs, Avhich delight him exceedingly. 
 
 At the theatre, he delights in pieces Avhere broad allu- 
 sions stand in the place of wit ; and the translations he ha.s 
 made from MoUere, show hoAv utterly deaf he is to the 
 
224 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 finer points of di-amatic art. But then, in tlie place of 
 French wit, lie boasts that he has something which he calls 
 ' Houmoiu'.' Then this ' houmour' appears to me to be 
 only the exercise of a perverted imagination that can dis- 
 place ideas, giving to vice the mask of \irtue, and making 
 all that is good, ludicrous. It is a pity that instead of his 
 'lioumoiu'' the Englishman has not had a native Moliere 
 to cxu'e him of some of his absurdities ; — for instance, of 
 his contempt for the rest of the world. Yet there is some 
 excuse for the sombre character of the Englishman, since 
 Ms histoiy is so full of hoiTors, that his greatest poet, 
 Shakspeare, has l)een aljle to dramatise most of it in 
 tragedies. The Englishman has not much taste for music. 
 He is dehghted with the noise of trmnpets, and it is 
 amusing to watch him at one of his fashionable concerts. 
 He looks grave and awkward : being in a place where lie 
 can neither play nor drink, and where only modest women 
 are to be seen ; but at his chocolate house (which is more 
 distinguished than the coffee-house), he is moody and silent 
 also. He drinks for the pleasure of drinking, and some- 
 times he remains at a drinking party so long, and becomes 
 so wild, that he Avill make a bet to kill the first man he 
 meets in the street ; and he vfill take care to Avin his Avager. 
 Two young men have been hanged lately for indulging in 
 this kind of sport — ^yet, occasionally, he is a ' civil and 
 sobre gentelmen.' 
 
 The Englishman always walks fast ; and a walk is one of 
 the chief pleasures of an Enghshwoman. She wallvs 
 straightfoi'Avard with two or three female friends, seldom 
 speaking, never looking aside. I have never seen an 
 Englishwoman sit upon the grass or pick a flower ; nor 
 have I ever heard the faintest murmur of a song escajx' 
 from her lips. She always walks oxit in broad daylight— 
 probably because she can be best seen then ; yet, notwith- 
 standing this habit, and her love of wearing patches, slie 
 appears to be perfectly ignorant of coquetry, and nevoi- 
 to understand for a moment that she can be beautiful. So 
 modest does she appear, that I often feel inclined to tell 
 her she is pretty, for tlie simple pleasure of giving her a 
 bit of news. The EnofUshraai) does not accustom her to 
 
AN OLD POUTUAIT FROM THK HA(JL'K. 225 
 
 that gallantry avIucIi Frenchmen pay to women, — therefore 
 she is not so keenly on the look-out for comi)liments. I 
 have knoAvn a distinguished English gentleman call for 
 pipes and tobacco immediately after dinner, and allow the 
 ladies to make their way out of the room, while the gen- 
 tlemen were filling their first pipe. But this Avant of 
 ceremony has its better side, since it humanises the Eng- 
 lishman's intercourse with his serA-ants. You may sec the 
 English gentleman playing at foot-ball with artisans ; and 
 at a country dance he will call in his servants to make up 
 the number of dancers. 
 
 I have hinted at the EngUshman's loA'e of the pleasures 
 of the table. These pleasures he enjoys daily. They con- 
 sist, for the most part, of different ' poudins,' of 'gulden- 
 pepins,' (an excellent kind of apple), raw oysters — which 
 are delicious ; and of roast beef, which is the great dish 
 upon the King's tal)le, as upon the artisan's. While 
 speaking of the Englislmian's pleasures, I may add that 
 Avhich he enjoys immensely, and Avhich consists in rowing- 
 about the Thames, saying rude things to passers-by. These 
 rudenesses are freely exchanged amongst all classes ; and 
 are indulged in even by the EnglisliAVoman. Any French- 
 man who appears, is certain to be called a ' French dog,' 
 but this appellation greets him Avhereverhe shows liimself. 
 The Englishman hates Frenchmen so intensely that to call 
 a man a dog, and a French dog, is, I believe, to vent the 
 full measure of a man's spite. While on the subject of 
 dogs, I may mention the fact that the EngHshman's bull- 
 dog is perhaps the bravest animal in existence. He sel- 
 dom barks ; but he fights to the death. It is said that he 
 has been knoAvn to suffer the amputation of his four legs, 
 A\-ithout leaving his hold of his enemy. The Enghsliman- 
 is proud of this courage, as he esteems it in himself, ancE 
 A\dll take his wife and daughter to see a prize-fight. If he 
 be insulted in the street by a Ioav fellow, he Avill instantly 
 throw doAvn his wig and sword, and fight him Anth hfs 
 fists. I think I may noAV add the public execiitions to the 
 list of the Englishman's amusements. His reputed ferocity 
 is gratified by this pleasure, every six Aveeks regularly. 
 
 On the day set apart for this diversion the criminals: 
 
 Q 
 
226 CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH. 
 
 parade the to^vn in carts. They are dressed in their best 
 clothes ; they wear -white gloves, and, if it l^e the fine 
 season, sport nosegays. Those Avho die gaily are said to 
 die like gentlemen ; and to gain this encomium, most of 
 them go to their death with the most terrible insensibility, 
 sometimes even playing the fool by the way, to divert the 
 crowd. An instance of bvifFoonery occurs to me. One 
 man on his way to the gibbet lately, stopped tlie cart at the 
 door of a public-house, called out the landlord, and asked 
 him whether he had not once missed a silver tankard. 
 The landlord replied that one had been lately stolen from 
 his house. ' Give us something to drink,' said the crimi- 
 ual, ' and I Avill tell you about it.' The landlord, de- 
 lighted at the opportunity of recovering his property, 
 complied. The criminal took a draught, gave refreshment 
 to his comrades ; and then, as the cart moved Ibrward, 
 said to the landlord, ' I stole your tankard ; on my return 
 I will give it back to yovi.' Some of these condemned men 
 have been seen to put their white gloves in their pocket, 
 while on their way in the cart, lest the rain shovild soil 
 them, and spoil their appearance upon the scaffold. Alto- 
 gether, these are singular exhibitions. I hear that some- 
 times the friends of the criminals go and pull their legs 
 when they are hanging, to shorten the period of torture. 
 Insensibility to the terror of death appears to me, indeed, 
 to be the characteristic of the English race. 
 
 Lately three young Avomen hanged themselves — being 
 crossed in love. I expressed surprise at this ; but the 
 English were only astonished to hear that the lovers of the 
 unhappy trio were Irishmen, who are very much despised 
 in England. The Englishman destroys himself as quietly 
 as he sees life destroyed in others. Lately, a gentleman 
 hanged himself to vex his A\nfe, by having his property 
 thereby confiscated. 'He was tired of life,' said an 
 English fiither not long since, Avhen he Avas told that his 
 son had drowned himself in the Thames. 
 
 With all these peculiarities, the Englishman has sound 
 and good qualities. You Avill hear him use the word 
 * simple,' with pleasure, and he loves those he calls ' good- 
 natured ' people, who are, according to him, pecidiar to 
 
 I 
 
THE OLD POKTRAIT FROM THE HAGUE. 227 
 
 Ilis country. I think it woiild not be difficult to jii-stify 
 even his ' How d'ye do.' The EngHshniau never talks 
 Avitliout having something sensibly to say; so that often, in 
 society, long intervals of silence occur. It is the habit of 
 the Englishman to break these silences by frequent ' How 
 d'ye do's,' which people address to one another from time 
 to time. These frequent *■ How d'ye do's,' signify that the 
 host is thinking about his guest, although he has nothing, 
 at the moment, to say to him. The Englishman's books 
 are like his conversation, full of somid sense, and generally 
 iree from quotations. He reads his laws — not in the spirit 
 which dictated them — but to the lettei-. An instance of 
 this habit occurred not long ago. The law of England 
 tbrbids marriage Avith two Avives. On this pomt it was a 
 <'ommon saying that a man had only to take three wives 
 to be beyond the reach of the statute. And this view was 
 connuon enough, till a fellow travelled throiigh the country, 
 marrying all the pretty girls he met by the way ; Avhere- 
 upon the jurisconsults met, and declared that it was im- 
 possible to marry a third -wife without having been guilty 
 of marrying two, and that, therefore, the Avording of the 
 statute Avas sound. The Englishman's laAvs are generally 
 mild enough, but AvayAA^ard and AVTongly severe ; so that 
 some of the greatest rascals are punislied only Avith the 
 pillory, Avhile debtors suffer the most horrible tortures — 
 ] )eing cast into prison, and left, often, to die of hunger. No 
 man, hoAvcA^er, is condemned to death Avithout having been 
 foimd guilty, first, by tweh'e judges, or grand jurj-men, 
 and, in the second place, by tAvelve judges (the common 
 jury) of his OAvn condition. All these judges must be of 
 one mind. A singular instance of the Avorking of this 
 system occurred lately. A man Avas tried for murder ; 
 and the proofs of his guilt were so convincing that eleven 
 of his judges found him guilty, Avithout hesitation. One 
 judge, hoAvever, persisted in his opinion that the prisoner 
 Avas innocent, '^he president tried to reason Avith the 
 dissentient man, but he aams inflexible. At length, the 
 eleven judges, being unable to support the pangs of hunger 
 any longer, acquitted the prisoner. The president, asto- 
 nished at the obstinacy of the judge, asked him in priA'^ate 
 
 Q2 
 
228 CHRONTCLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 liis reason for believing the prisoner to be innocent. The 
 judge or juryman, having bound the president by oath, 
 not to reveal the secret, declared that he himself was the 
 murdei'er ; and that he would not add to his crimes, by 
 hanging an innocent man. It is principally in the English 
 man's laws regarding death pimishments and his executions 
 that I find hun gre\dously at fault ; for to judge as a 
 stranger, you would say that he perseveres in his system of 
 pubhc hanging only to pro\-ide agreeable spectacles for the 
 people ; and that he encourages thieves, to pro-^dde con- 
 victed criminals. 
 
 I will now txani my attention from the Englishman to 
 the city of which he is proud. London consists of long 
 straight streets, which are, however, badly paved. It is 
 now the largest city in Europe, yet it is continually in- 
 creasing ; and houses are built in half the time they take 
 to build abroad. ' Whitehal,' situated on the banks of 
 the Thames, is a commodious, but an iiglyold house, the onlv 
 really palatial chamber of which is the ' Banquetinhouse.' 
 The King lives in a little house at ' Kengsington,' to avoid 
 the thick air and smoke of the city. The park, however, 
 is very fine. Charles the Second sent for the ingenious 
 man who laid out the Tuileries in Paris, to lay out his 
 park ; but tliis man, on arriving, declared that he could 
 not unprove upon the natural picturesqueness of the 
 ground, and persuaded the I\ing to leave it as it was. 
 After the park, I hke the Thames as my place of diversion. 
 A private house called in London, ' a thing to see,' is the 
 mansion of my Lord ^lontaigu. All that this house requires 
 are — furnitiu-e and company ; it appears to be the palace 
 of a prince who never lives in it. The Tower of London, 
 fidl of crowns and .sceptres, hatchets and chibs, lions and 
 leopards, is Avorth seeing; but the most interesting building 
 is the Temple of St. Paul, which is not yet finished, Imt is 
 already in a forward state. In five or six years, this vast 
 Avork will be completed. It is one of the largest edifices 
 in Eiu'ope, and is capable of arresting all the A-ice of Lon- 
 don, if the eflicacy of the sermons be in proportion to the 
 capacity of the temple. ' Westminster ' is curious for its 
 antiquity. Then there is the Monument. On tlie base- 
 
AN OLD PORTRAIT FROM THE HAGUE. 229 
 
 mcnt there Is an inscription, in which the Papists are 
 accused of being the authors of the gi-eat fire. King 
 James caused this inscription to be erased ; but the stem 
 EngUshnien had it, aftenvards, cut deep into the stone. 
 The people being addicted to revokitions, it nppears to me 
 tliat this monument is hkely to fall at last, by having its 
 Ijase cut through in this way. 
 
 London contains a prodigious niunber of ill-smelling 
 coffee-houses : here persons loiter and waste their time ; 
 and here men of business carry on their affairs, so that 
 people ask for a man's coffee-house, instead of his office. 
 Coffee is not the only beverage sold in these houses. 
 
 Here also people smoke, drink, play, read the papers, 
 and not seldom, write them. Here verdicts are passed upon 
 the Prince, and the government, and the honour of hus- 
 bands. Here a foreigner, if he can stand the atmosphere 
 of a guard-house, may study the Englishman's character, 
 observe his deliberate manner, and notice that he never 
 interrupts his neighl>our's speech. The pxibHc-houses are 
 known by magnificent painted signs, some of which are 
 •equal in value to the rest of the establishment. London 
 shops are m:ignificent, and the shopkcepei's are remarkable 
 for not pressing their customers to buy articles they do 
 not want, as the custom is iu France and Holland. Public 
 carriages are cheap and abundant ; and in this respect 
 London is far in advance of Paris. The streets are dark : 
 a few lanterns have been hung up lately, but they are of 
 little or no use. 
 
 The country iu England is very verdant ; but then the 
 Englishman, in his himiid climate, has leaves instead of 
 fruit. All the fruit he has is almost tasteless, with the ex- 
 ception of his ' golden pepins.' English flowers have only 
 the faintest perfumu ; and English game is insipid. There 
 are no vinos in England, so that the Englishman has to 
 trust to the foreigner for his wine. The Englishman's 
 habits in the country, are rude enough. He gets only half- 
 drunk at his host's tal )k' ; so that he may have the plea- 
 sure of completing his inebriation with his host's servants. 
 
 Here the details of the old portrait of the Hague may 
 be closed, and the Englishman of to-day may be left to 
 
230 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 make his comparisons — to sec himself as others saw him in 
 the early days of the Georges. The picture is not without 
 its instructive passages, as Avell as its ludicrous points. It is. 
 left exactly as it was drawn at the Hague, for the reader's 
 examination." 
 
 " D — n this Dutch painting !" cried Horrocks. " Some 
 of these days I shall let my brush loose upon Mounseer." 
 
 "Aye, aye!" cried Brother Lebord, "You may — upon the 
 Mounseers, as you are pleased to call them, Captain ; but 
 there are points about them — there are institutions flour- 
 ishing among them, which we might copy Avith advantage." 
 
 " AVhat !" derisively from Horrocks. " Shall we copy 
 their sailors ; or give up our sailors for their ^7e^s ?" 
 
 " Come, come, gentlemen, Ave have another paper from 
 Brother Lebord to enjoy. He has been silent so long at 
 our meetings, that he owes us another paper to-night." 
 
 " If Captain Horrocks will listen to my next little paper? 
 I think he Avill agree Avitli me, that the law which it illus- 
 trates, might be adopted Avith advantage, in England." 
 
 " Ugh ! " surlily, from Horrocks. 
 
 Brother Lebord then read : — 
 
 "the milky and avatery A^^^.Y." 
 
 " Wlaen the eastern sky flushed, on a certain autumn 
 morning of last year, and the Avhite caps of the farm- 
 Avomen looked very cold in the grey light, little did the 
 surly farmers think, as they ruli])ed the lingering sleep- 
 from their heavy eyelids, that they might be Avide aAvake 
 to see the donkeys and horses loaded — little did they think 
 that in the little tOAvn six miles off", certain angry men had 
 laid a plot against them. The ])road pans of rich milk 
 sweetened the air, as the Avhite fluid passed tlirough it, 
 into the shining buckets strapped to the sheepskin saddles, 
 of the patient donkeys. The milkwomen counted the eggs,. 
 and folded the chrome Initter in damp clotlis. And avc 
 thought that, amid the babble of the servants, the shrill 
 
THE MILKY AND AVATEKY AVAY. 231 
 
 cries for Cesar, Antoine, Louis, Josephine (who -wore boot* 
 that Avere a reasonable load for any donkey), and Clemen- 
 tine (who Avas Awarding off the amatorj' ad\'anccs of Cesar 
 Anth a pitchfork), Ave certaiidy heard the AA'ell-knoA\-n creak 
 of the Avell-piilley. The farmer, Avho, by the time the 
 farm-serA'ants Avero fairly on the moA'e, had fully resumed 
 his daily remarkable AA^de-aAvake appearance, seemed also, 
 to haA'e A'cry curious bu;<iness in hand. It had appeared 
 to us that the Sieur Moineau made, as forcible ladies 
 express it, 'more fuss than enough' OA-er the milk: and so 
 it appeared to his enemies, as Ave shall presently sIioav. 
 Those sturdy legs of his AA'ould haA-e failed him, even in 
 those stiff leather gaiters, could he haA-e peered, Adth those 
 little grey eyes of his, into the future that lay but tAA'o 
 hours a-head of the present. But as our friend Paleyan- 
 Avater (a A'ery old family) reminds us, at least tA\dce in 
 every tAA-enty-four hoxirs ; it is a blessing that aa'c cannot 
 tell AA-hat the next fiA-e minutes may bring forth. 
 
 The Sieur Moineau, on the morning Avhen Ave first made 
 his acquaintance, Avent through his regular number of 
 oaths at his men and Avomen sen-ants ; rolled his potent K s 
 up and doAvn the dairy AA-ith his accustomed Aigour, and, 
 at last, saAA' his milk off for the market just as the sun 
 had fairly left the horizon ; Avith the firm couA-iction that 
 Cesar, Josephine, Antoine, and Clementine Avould return 
 to their midday meal, loaded Avith that strange jumble of 
 bell-metal and copper, that, in France, CA-en last year, in 
 country districts, represented the hiunbler currency of the 
 imperial dominions. IJoimd about, in the hamlets dotted 
 OA^er the SAvell and fall of the land near the little toAA-n to 
 AA'hich Ave haA'e already alluded, and for Avhich the SieiU' 
 Moineau's milk procession Avas bound, simihir preparations 
 to those Ave haA-e faintly indicated, had taken place. A 
 bird's-eye a-Icav of five or six miles aroiuid the toA\-n (let 
 us call it RomauA-ille) Avould haA-e discoA'ered a series of 
 roads running into it, like needles into a circular pin- 
 cushion. And upon one and all of these roads Avould 
 haA-e appeared su.ndry dark gray spots, relicA-cd, as thc^y 
 neared the town, CA-ery moment, by flashing light. These- 
 spots Avere mUk equipages : the flashing lights, the bright 
 
232 CHRONICLES OF THE CKUTCH. 
 
 brass-lioops of the milk-pails. The chirp of the birds — 
 birds that were evidently sharp searchers for the early 
 worms — was occasionally drowned by the shriller music of 
 the milkwomen, who were indulging in reminiscences of 
 Normandy, and, taking, to musical ears, a very unpleasant 
 means of communicating to any person who might be at 
 liand, their ardent desire to see it again ; it being theu' 
 deliberate opinion, after a comprehensive tour, that there 
 was nothing like it. Barricaded in their scats by baskets 
 of eggs and butter, their head and caps protected from the 
 breeze by ample handkerchiefs, their substantial ankles 
 cased in deep blue stockings, these parties of inilk vendors 
 were jolted on their Avay to Romauville. Occasionally 
 their animals woidd loiter to gather a more than usually 
 attractive thistle — a giving way to temptation Avliich these 
 rough Amazons punished by the prompt incision of a very 
 substantial pin near the culprit's hind-quarters. ISIerrily 
 ^-nough many of these ladies gossiped along the road — about 
 Baptiste, the ploughman who had jilted Jeannette, and 
 ]aad married Elise instead, to his cost, as he found out, and 
 serve him right. About the pi'odigious number of litres 
 yielded by the black cow ; about the garde champetre, who 
 had spied a hare's foot peeping out of Adolphe's capacious 
 pockets ; in short, about the scandals in general of the 
 village from vdiich they were being jolted. And Avhy 
 not, pray ? My lady, Avho spends her mornings revicAving 
 her long list of friends — Avho yaAvns Avhen they are praised, 
 ^nd exhibits animation only Avhen something may be 
 lieard of to their disadvantage, is alloAved her malignant 
 pleasure by all the Avorld, and is permitted as the subject 
 of sharp revicAvs by all the Avorld also. Why, then, should 
 Virginie, the ruddy-cheeked dairyAvoman, as she rides to 
 market, be condemned to love her neighbours, or be 
 forced to be good-natured ahvays, even to her bosom 
 friends? Simple people, tied to the dust and smoke of 
 tOAvns, groAV sentimental over rural life. They believe 
 that there can be no lieart-burning behind the ivy of a 
 I'oadside cottage. Tliey imagine that cottagers are neces- 
 sarily better people than the spare fellows Avho throAV the 
 shuttle, in the gloomy lanes of great cities. 
 
THE 5IILKY AXD WATKnY VTXY. 233 
 
 The autlioritics of Kornanville had given it as their 
 <Iecided opinion that the rural entourage of their aneient 
 city, -was, in no respect better, but in every respect worse, 
 than it shovdd be. This had been the conviction of the 
 inhabitants a long time, before the eventful morning, on 
 which we enjoyed the honour of an introduction to the 
 Sieur Moineau. The cooks who met twice a week on 
 the Grand Place to buy vegetal)les, gossip about their 
 mistresses, and realise their fair per ccntages on their 
 .purchases; had one and all declared that, in the long course 
 of their protracted experience, they had never seen cheats 
 •so audacious as the villagers roiuid about llomanville. 
 Opinions travel rapidly in a provincial town ; Init, then 
 this rapid travelling finds, perhaps, a wholesome check, in 
 the proverbial slowness of the sous-prefet and his sub 
 ordinates. The half-dozen dozen policemen who sauntered 
 about the triumphantly ill-paved streets, and bronzed 
 themselves valiantly under the fierce rays of the sun at 
 some curiously Ioav salary, could not reasonably be expected 
 to do more than this. They Averc only mortals after all, 
 though they wore the cocked hats, so reverenced by 
 Frenchmen generally; and insisted on, in Paris, when the 
 new police was established. The new corps wore caps for 
 a short time ; but, we are assured, the people would pay 
 no respect whatever to the kepis. The cocked liat is some- 
 thing to reverence, or, at any rate to fear. 
 
 It was on the eve of the day when Ave first intrusted our 
 hand to the aAS-ful grasp of the Sieur ^loineau, that a 
 meeting took place at KomanviUe, in a little close bureau, 
 originally forming one of the door-keeper's residences, 
 under the archway of the local museum and college. In 
 this little bureau, were those long green books : that 
 ■coarse, brown tea-paper upon which French underlings 
 write; that ample pan of sand for letter-drying; that 
 curioiis inkstand, Avith a lump of avooI in the ink ; that 
 sqiiare, red eartheuAvare receptacle in the corner, Avhich 
 proved that the expectorators Avho paid their attentions to 
 it, Avere not artiUeiy officers ; and finally that series of 
 green card -board boxes, piled to the ceiling, Avhich gene- 
 rally make up a French bureau of modest pretensions. The 
 
234 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 pens, sharp as needles, and the bhie-grcen ink, should not 
 be forgotten. Everything looked greasy, of course. First, 
 the men who were in the bureau, then the stools, then the 
 broad black space around the door-handle. A not very 
 acute olfactory nerve might have gathered from the atmo- 
 sphere a distinct odour of garhc. 
 
 In this delightful retreat from the turmoil of the town, 
 the entire body of the Eomanville police was gathered on 
 the eve of that eventful morning, which gave a shock to. 
 the nei'ves of the Sieur Moineau, under Avhich he i* 
 labouring at the present moment. The cocked hats of the 
 six policemen were piled upon the desk ; and • the shiny, 
 closely cropped heads of the men wei'e packed together, 
 pressing around their chief. This chief was a very serious 
 man indeed ; a man, you saw it at a glance, with a curious 
 story. He wore the silver star of the legion, for services- 
 performed far away from Romanville. Gossips said that 
 his present position as chief of the RomauA-iUe constabu- 
 lary, Avas given to him when he Avas disgraced. But, 
 nobody knew what his antecedents were. He did his duty 
 stiictly, but not harshly ; still, although a kind, he was 
 not acompassionable man. You never met him Avalking in 
 the streets Avith a fellow townsman. His right arm held 
 behind his back in his left ; his eyes Avandering calmly 
 and coldly oA-er the prospect ; he Avould take his solitaiy 
 Avalk round the ramparts any cA'ening ; read the Constitu 
 tional afterAvards (it Avas ahvays reserA-ed for him at the 
 cafe, on its arrival from Paris) ; and retire to rest pimctnaliy 
 at ten o'clock. He Avas a man reduced to the um'arj'ing 
 precision of a timepiece. He Avalked round the ramparts 
 the same nmnber of times eA'ery evening. It Avas at eight 
 o'clock precisely CA'ery evening, that he opened the door of 
 the Cafede la Grande Place, and ordered invariably a choppe 
 of Strasbourg beer. 
 
 At the meeting of his forces, in his greasy little bureau, 
 he gave his orders in the calm, methodical speech Ave ex- 
 pected to hear from him. A sergeant of the local gendar- 
 merie, Avas also of the meeting ; and to him the chief more 
 particularly addressed himself He told him to j)lace a 
 mounted patrol at CAcry octroi gate around the city, as. 
 
THE MILKY AND WATEKY WAY. 235 
 
 early as four o'clock the following morning, and to prevent 
 every market man or woman, who carried a pail of any 
 kind, from entering the town. The patrol woukl detain 
 all pail-bearers who might present themselves till he ar- 
 rived. These orders were to be communicated to the 
 mounted patrols, on their arrival at the scene of action. 
 The policemen were enjoined to keep the matter secret, on 
 pain of dismissal. 
 
 We left the milkmaids merrily singing and gossiping on 
 their Avay to Komanville. 
 
 ' Tliis is a droll affair,' said the gendarme posted at the 
 octroi gates, towards which the Sieur Moincau's procession 
 was advancing, addressing a very peppery specimen of the 
 line, whose bayonet towered over his glazed shako. 
 . ' Very droll,' replied the little Avarrior, as he planted 
 himself firmly in the middle of the road, and prepared, if 
 necessary, to charge the entire column of !Moineaix's milk- 
 maids and donkeys. 
 
 ' You cannot pass,' cried the gendarme to the women 
 as they reached the gate, ' and you are detained, till the 
 autliorities have dealt with you. Get down, and enter the 
 octroi office.' 
 
 The reader who has not seen the French aiithorities 
 deal Avith the French people, will be unable to realise the 
 consternation this order created among the Moineau ser- 
 vants. The women grew ashy pale, and shrieked, and 
 clasped their hands, and called upon their favourite saints, 
 and begged for explanations from the peppery little man, 
 who looked his sternest, and was possibly disappointed be- 
 cause he had not had an opportunity of poking his bayonet, 
 at least, into a donkey. The women went chattering 
 into the dark greasy octroi room, Avhere they sat upon the 
 forms and wrung their hands, and implored the octroi 
 official to give them some clue to the mystery. But, tlie 
 official was silent. Other milk parties arrived in rapid 
 succession ; and were treated, as the Moineau cavalcade 
 had beeii. On each occasion the screams, and prayers, 
 and violent gestures })eculiar to French excitement, wen- 
 repeated. In an hour the little bureau was full of ruddy 
 Avomen, and bronzed countrymen in tlieir blue blouses, 
 
236 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 •who vented their indignation in a series of oaths, in -which 
 the letter /■ seemed to predominate. 
 
 Presently the chief of the police, accompanied by two or 
 three ofhcials, and tAvo policemen, was seen approaching 
 the barriere. The excitement in the octroi biireau became 
 intense. The white caps of the women could be seen, in 
 stages, one above the other, as they raised themselves on 
 tiptoe, to catch a glimpse of the aA\iid procession. The 
 chief looked more than usually serious ; but, on arri\'ing 
 before the bureau, he took no notice whatever of the 
 crowd of country-people gathered within, it. It Avas 
 evident that his business was not with them. They were 
 not, however, left in a state of suspense ; since the officials 
 proceeded, "wdth remarkable \"igour, to drag the donkeys 
 from the roadside, the animals' heads, and necks, stretching 
 to a wonderful length, before their bodies yielded to the 
 tugs of the authorities. In a few minutes the pads were 
 vmtied, and arranged in a row, against the hedge. It was 
 now obvious that the Sieur INIoineau's milk was about to 
 rmdergo, in company AA-ith that of his neighbours, the 
 severe test that was thenceforth to be applied to it, from 
 time to time, l)y the representatives of the law. A veiy 
 serious looking gentlemen proceeded with the chemical 
 analysis. It must have been highly inisatisfactory. Had 
 the Sieur ]\Ioineau mixed floui", or emiilsion of almonds, 
 or the brown extract of chicory witli his milk, that he 
 might, ■without fear of detection by his customers, add 
 gallons of Avater ? The babble of tongues under Avhich the 
 analysis was conducted, preA'^ented us from learning the 
 precise reason Avhy, pailful after pailful of the farmer's 
 mUk Avas sent AA'andering, in a broad Avhite line, along the 
 open seAver of the road. There Avas hardly a pailfid that 
 escaped. The Sieur Moineau's neighbours Avere not less 
 ctilpal")le ; and their milk, too, floAved in a broad Avhite 
 Avay through the streets of the toAvn. In A'ain the 
 AA'omen appe;iled to the policemen; in A'ain they assured 
 the chief that the milk Avas as it came from tlie coavs ; the 
 official cliemist kncAV l^etter, and tipped their pails oA-er, 
 one after tlie other, Avithout appearing to take the least 
 notice of their protestations. In lialf an liour the Moiucau 
 
THE 5IILKY AND AVATKRY AVAY. 237 
 
 servants were on their way back to their master, their 
 empty pails jingUnp; at tlieir sides, and their tongues doing 
 their utmost to drown this jingUng. 
 
 From tlie barriere, where the Moincau procession was 
 stopped and reheved of its burden, the chief and his officials 
 repaired in succession, to the remaining barrieres around 
 Romanville. At each barriere the scene akeady descrilxKl 
 was faithfully copied. The women chattered, and prayed, 
 and gestictdated ; the pails were arranged in rows, and the 
 milk was sent bubbhng along the open sewer. Before 
 seven o'clock, the rich iiuid — rich even Avith its aihnixture 
 of water, and flower, and chicory — whitened the long line 
 of open sewerage across the city : a milky and watery way 
 drami by the authorities as a prompt and very impressive 
 lesson to the farmers round about. 
 
 And then, when the servants with jugs, and pans, and 
 pitchers, darted into the streets to the accxistomed gate- 
 way, under Avhich their milk-vendor usually sat, sur- 
 roiinded by her snow-white pails, and foimd that she was 
 not there ; when the rubbish carts were in the streets, and 
 the chiiFonniers were investigating the worth of the cast- 
 away vegetables, and rags and dirt piled in neat heaps 
 before every house ; when the shutters were lieing taken 
 down from the tobacco-shops and the grocers' windows, and 
 when the air was scented Avith the morning rolls; the excite- 
 ment among the towifolk became really dangerous. The six 
 policemen walked iip and down the streets, looking appro- 
 priately fierce and uncompromising. They gave no heed 
 to the stories of the mirses who Avere bringing up babies 
 by hand, and Avere consequently in despair. They Avere 
 unmoved by the f\ict that a certain old lady Avould be dead 
 if s-lie didn't get her milk-soup before ten o'clock. They 
 disregarded the sorroAvs of the children, who Avould have 
 to go Avithout puddings; and of the restaurateurs who Averc 
 in despair about their day's sauces. They had done their 
 duty, they said ; even their chief had been compelled to 
 drink black coffee, and there Avould be pure milk for every- 
 body to-morroAv ! Pure milk for everybody, at the cost of 
 oneday's milk for none ! A day of fast Avas to procure a 
 
238 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 year of festival. Could London milkmen only live in 
 dread of galactometers, as now the Paris milkmen do ! 
 For, one of these days, Paris will be in like manner taken 
 by surprise ; and the produce of the forty-eight thousand 
 three hundred and seventy cows, whose milk she con- 
 sxunes, will flow in curls, like Avedding favours, along the 
 Boxxlevards ! " 
 
 " A veiy good plan," cried Brother Babbicomb. " Think 
 of the harm done to thousands of little children, wlio 
 are poisoned by the unblushing adulteration of London 
 mUk!" 
 
 " I think, gentlemen, we have time for another glass of 
 iile, and a short paper from Brother Hartopp ; — who has 
 not favoured us lately," said the Master. 
 
 " Let it be English, then," cried Horrocks. 
 
 Brother Hartopjp assured the old captain that his con- 
 tribution referred to his native comitry. " I call it," said 
 the Brother, 
 
 *' FATE DAYS." 
 
 Peads : — 
 
 " It is difficult to reconcile the existence of certain 
 superstitions that continue to have wide influence, AX'ith 
 the enlightenment of the nineteenth century. "NVlien 
 we have read glowing paragraphs about the wonderful 
 progress accomplished by the present generation ; Avhen 
 we have regarded the giant machinery in operation for the 
 culture of the people — moved, in great part, by the col- 
 lective power of individual charity ; when we have 
 examined the stupendous results of human genius and 
 ingenuity which are now laid bare to the loAvliest in the 
 realm ; Ave turn back, it must be confessed, AA-ith a mourn- 
 ful despondency, to mark the debasing influence of the 
 old superstitions Avhich hai'e surATiA-cd to the present time. 
 
 The superstitions of the ancients fomied part of their 
 religion. They consulted oracles as noAV men pray. The 
 
FATE DAYS. 239 
 
 Stars were the arbiters of their fortunes. Natural plieno 
 mena, as lightning and hurricanes, were, to them, awful 
 •expressions of the anger of their particular deities. They 
 had their dies atri and their dies albi ; the former were 
 marked down in their calendars Avith a black character, 
 to denote ill-luck, and the latter Avere painted in white 
 <:haracters to signify bright and propitious days. They 
 ibllowed the tinger-posts of their teachers. Faith gave 
 dignity to the tenets of the star-gazer and fire-worshipper. 
 
 The priests of old taught their disciples to regard six 
 particular days in the year as days fraught vnXh. unusual 
 danger to mankind. Men Avere enjoined not to let blood 
 on these black days, nor to imbibe any liquid. It was 
 devoutly believed that he who ate goose on one of these 
 black days would surely die Avithin forty more ; and that 
 any little stranger who made his appearance on one of the 
 dies atri would surely die a sinful and violent death. Men 
 were further enjoined to let blood from the right arm on 
 the seventh or fourteenth of ^Nlarcli ; from the left arm on 
 the eleventh of April ; and from either arm on the third or 
 sixth of May, that they might avoid pestilential diseases. 
 These barbaric observances, when brought before people 
 in illustrations of the mental darkness of the ancients, are 
 considered at once to be proof positive of their abject 
 condition. We thereupon congratulate ourselves upon 
 li\dug in the nineteenth century ; when such foolish super- 
 stitions are laughed at ; and perhaps our vanity is not a 
 little flattered by the contrast which presents itself, between 
 our own highly cultivated condition, and the wretched 
 state of our ancestors. 
 
 Yet Mrs. Flimmins -will not imdertake a sea-voyage on a 
 Friday, nor woidd she on any account, allow her daughter 
 ;Mary to be married on that day of the week. She has 
 great pity for the poor Red Indians who will not do certain 
 things while the moon presents a certain appearance, and 
 who attach all kinds of powers to poor duml) brutes ; yet 
 if her cat purrs more than usual, she accepts the warning, 
 and abandons the trip she had promised herself on the 
 morrow. 
 
 Miss Nippers subscribes largely to the fund for eradica- 
 
240 CHKOXICLES OF THE CKUTCH. 
 
 ting superstitions from the minds of the wretched inhabi- 
 tants of Kamschatka ; and while she is calculating the 
 advantages to be derived from a mission to the South Sea 
 Islands, to do away -with the fearful superstitioi;s reverence 
 in which those poor dear islanders hold the native flea ; a 
 eoal pops from her fire, and she at once augurs from its 
 shape, an abundance of money that will enable her to set 
 her pioiis undertaking in operation ; but on no account 
 will she commence collecting subscriptions for the anti- 
 drinking-slave-grown-sugar- in-tea society, because she has 
 always remarked that ^londay is her unlucky day. On a 
 Monday her poodle died, and on a ^Monday she caught that 
 severe cold at Brighton, from the effects of which she is 
 afraid she ■\vill never recover. 
 
 ^Irs. Carmine is a veiy strong-minded Avoman. Her 
 imlucky day is Wednesday. Oh a Wednesday she first 
 caught that flush which she has never been able to chase 
 from her cheeks, and on one of these fatal days her Maria 
 took the scarlet fever. Therefore, she will not go to a pic- 
 nic on a Wednesday, because she feels convinced that the 
 day Avill turn out wet, or that the wheel will come ofi^ the 
 carriage. Yet the other morning, Avhen a gipsy was caiaght 
 telling her eldest daughter her fortune, ISIrs. Cai-mine very 
 properly reproached her first-bom for her weakness, in 
 gi\-ing any heed to the silly mumblings of the old woman. 
 Mrs. Carmine is considered a Avoman of uncommon 
 acuteness. She attaches no importance whatever to the 
 star under which a child is born, — does not think there is 
 a pin to choose between Jupiter and Neptune ; and 
 she has a positive contempt for ghosts ; biit she be- 
 lieves in nothing that is begun, continued, or ended on 
 a Wednesday. 
 
 !Miss Crumple, on the contrary, hns seen many ghosts, 
 — in fact, is by this time tpiite intimate with one or two of 
 the mysterious brotherhood ; but at the same time she is 
 at a loss to understand how any woman in her senses, can 
 believe Thursday to be a more fortunate day than Wednes- 
 day, or why Monday is to be black-balled from the ^Irs. 
 Jones's calendar. She can state, on her oath, that the 
 ghost of her old schoolfellow, Eliza Artichoke, appeared 
 
FATE DAYS. 241 
 
 at her bedside on a certain niglit ; and she distinctly saw tlie 
 mole on its left cheek, whicli poor Eliza, during her brief 
 career, had vainly endeavoured to eradicate, with all sorts 
 of poisonous things. The ghost, moreover, lisped, — so 
 did Eliza ! This Avas all clear enough to ^liss Crumple, 
 and she considered it a personal insult for anybody to 
 suggest that her vivid apparitions existed only in her own 
 over-wrought imagination. She had an affection for her 
 ghostly visitors, and AvovUd not hear a word to their 
 disparagement. 
 
 The unearthly warnings which ^Mrs. Piptoss had received 
 had Avell-nigh spoilt all her furniture. AVhen a relative 
 dies, the fact is not announced to her in the commonplace 
 form of a letter, — no, an invisible sledge-hammer falls upon 
 her Broadwood, an unseen power upsets her loo-table ; all 
 the doors of her house unanimously blow open ; or a coffin 
 flies out of the fire, into her lap. 
 
 Mrs. Grumple, is a very economical houseAvife, and looks 
 forAvard to the day Avhen the moon re-appears, — on Avhich 
 occasion she turns her money, taking care not to look at 
 the pale lady through glass. This observance, she devoutly 
 believes, aaoII bring her good fortune. Wlien Miss Caro- 
 line has a knot in her lace, she looks for a present ; and 
 Avhen ^Miss Amelia snuiFs the candle out, it is her faith that 
 the act defers her marriage for a twelvemonth. Any 
 young lady Avho dreams the same dream tAvo consecutive 
 Fridays, Avill tell you that her visions Avill ' come ti'ue.' 
 
 Yet these are exactly the ladies, Avho deplore the 
 * gross state of superstition ' in Avhich many ' benighted 
 saA\ages ' live, and Avillingly subscribe their money for its 
 eradication. The superstition so generally connected Avitli 
 Friday, may easily be traced to its source. It, undoubt- 
 edly and confessedly, has its origin in scriptiu'al histoiy : 
 it is the day on Avhich the Saviou suffered. The super- 
 stition is the more revolting from this circumstance ; and 
 it is pamfid to find that it exists among persons of education. 
 There is no branch of the public service, for instance, in 
 Avhichso much sound mathematical knoAA'ledge is to be found, 
 as in the NaAy. Yet Avho are more superstitious than sailors, 
 
242 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 from the admiral doAvn to the cabin boy? Friday fatality" 
 is still strong among them. Some years ago, in order to 
 lessen this folly, it was determined that a ship shoidd be 
 laid down on a Friday, and launched on a Friday ; that 
 she should be called ' Friday,' and that she should com- 
 mence her first voyage on a Friday. After miich diliiculty 
 a captain was foimd who o-\vned to the name of Friday ; 
 and after a gi'eat deal more difficidty men were obtained^ 
 so little superstitious, as to foi-m a crew. Unhappily, this 
 experiment had the effect of confirming the superstition it 
 was meant to abolish. The ' Friday ' was lost — was 
 never, in fact, heard of from the day she set sail. 
 
 Day-fatality, as Miss Nippers interprets it, is sunply th& 
 expression of an undisciplined and extremely Aveak mind ; 
 for, if any person A\ill stoop to reason mth her on her 
 aversion to Mondays, he may ask her whether the death of 
 the poodle, or the catching of her cold, are the two greatest 
 calamities of her life ; and, if so, whether it is her opinion 
 that Monday is set apart, in the scheme of Natiu-e, so far 
 as it concerns her, in a black character. Whether for her 
 insignificant self there is a special day accursed ! ]Mrs. 
 Carmine is such a strong-minded woman, that we approach 
 her Avith no small degree of trepidation. Wednesday is 
 her dies uter, because, in the first place, on a AYednesday 
 she imprudently exposed herself, and is suffering from tho 
 consequences ; and, in the second place, on a Wednesday 
 her ^Nlaria took the scarlet fever. So she has marked 
 Wednesday down in her calendar ■with a black character ; 
 yet her contempt for stars and ghosts is prodigious. Now 
 there is a consideration to be extended to the friends of 
 ghosts, which Day fatalists cannot claim. Whetlier or not 
 deceased friends take a more airy and flimsy form, and 
 adopt the invariable costume of a sheet to visit the objects 
 of their earthly affections, is a question which the sluewd- 
 est thinkers and the profoundest logicians have debated 
 very keenly, but without exov arriving at any satisfactory 
 conclusion. 
 
 The strongest argument against the positive existence of 
 ghosts, is, that they appear only to people of a certam 
 
FATE DAYS. 243 
 
 temperament, and under certain exciting cii-cumstances. 
 The obtuse, matter-of-fact man, never sees a ghost ; and 
 "\ve may take it as a natural law, that none of these airy 
 visitants ever appeared to an attorney. But the attorney, 
 Mr. Fee Simple, we are assured, holds Saturday to be an 
 unlucky day. It was on a Saturday that his extortionate 
 bill in poor Mr. G.'s case, was cut down by the taxing- 
 master ; and it was on a Saturday that a certain heavy bill 
 was duly honoured upon which he had hoped to reap a 
 large sum, in the shape of costs. Therefore, Mr. Fee 
 Simple believes that destinies have put a black mark 
 against Saturday, so far as he is concerned. 
 
 The Jew who thought that the thunderstorm was the 
 consequence of his having eaten a shce of bacon, did not 
 present a more ludicrous picture, than Mr. Fee Simple 
 presents with his condemned Satvirday. 
 
 We have an esteem for ghost-inspectors, which it is 
 utterly impossible to extend to Day-fatalists. Mrs. Piptoss, 
 too, may be pitied ; but Mog, turning her money when 
 the moon makes her re-appearance, is an object of ridicule. 
 We shall neither be astonished, nor express condolence, if 
 the present, which Miss Caroline anticipates from the knot 
 in her lace, be not forthcoming ; and as for jNIiss Amelia^ 
 Avho has extingmshed the candle, and to the best of her 
 belief, lost her husband for a twelvemonth, we can only 
 wish for her, that when she is married, her lord and 
 master will shake her faith in the prophetic poAver of 
 snuiFers. But of all the superstitions that have sur\-ived 
 to the present time, and are to be found in force among 
 people of education and a thoughtful habit, Day- fatalism 
 is the most general, as it is the most unfounded and pre- 
 posterous. It is a superstition, however, in which many 
 great and powerful thinkers have shared, and by which 
 they have been guided ; it owes much of its present 
 inlluence to this fact ; bixt reason, Christianity, and all we 
 liave comprehended of the great scheme of which we form 
 part, alike tend to demonstrate its absvuxlity, and utter 
 want of all foundation." 
 
 " Amen," said the Master. 
 
 R 2 
 
244 CHRONICLES OP THE CRUTCH, 
 
 "True," said Horrocks: "but, he'd be a bold man wlio 
 stepped to the fo'castle and told Jack, that all his favorite 
 superstitions were so many evidences of crass ignorance." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Mr. Frowde, as the Brothers wan- 
 dered towards the Hall-door — " perhaps so ; but Truth is 
 ii mighty bold traveller, and will reach the fo'castle, before 
 she folds her -wings up." 
 
 U- 
 
THE IRON SEAJISTRE&S. 245 
 
 CHAPTER xn. 
 
 It was near Clii'istmas time when the Brothers assem- 
 bled to hokl their twelfth meeting. They had met, about 
 once a month — and they had begiui early in the year. 
 The Master had arranged to close the year with a Christ- 
 mas paper. More — he had a proposition to make at the 
 close of the evening ; Avhich shall be submitted to the 
 reader in its proper place. 
 
 " We have three papers for this evening, gentlemen," 
 said the ^Master, tapping the table to secure the attention 
 of his audience. " And then I have an important sugges- 
 tion to make to you. Holly-berries are over our heads ; 
 and we shall discuss this suggestion meri'ily — over a 
 pimchbowl. But, first, to business. Mr. Hartopp, I call 
 upon you to read your little paper about — 
 
 "the iron seamstress." 
 
 Mr. Hartopp read : — 
 
 " The tender stories which have gone abroad of the 
 flesh and blood seamstress — stoaies of which Hood's ' Song 
 of the Shirt ' is at once the most aifecting and the most 
 poetic — have often touched the hearts of all of us. They 
 were stories of hard work and scanty requital : of suffering 
 widows, and forlorn orphans, doomed by necessity to ply 
 the needle or starve utterly : of early deaths, bloodless 
 cheeks, fleshless fingers, and sightless eyes. To the least 
 sensitive of men these stories were often of that terrible 
 desolation which forces sympathy, which commands com- 
 miseration. A horrible little instrument of torture hsis. 
 
246 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 this little needle been to thousands of poor EnglisliAvomen ! 
 It has Avorn the flesh from their hands : it has driven the 
 blood from their cheeks : it has pierced their hearts ! 
 Soft-natnred people have wept abundant tears over the 
 pictures of misery, drawn by this sharp little instrument. 
 On all sides people asked Avhether the poor creatures 
 doomed to hold it could not be befriended : whether the 
 "wages of their labour could not be increased. The manu- 
 facturer answered, that he could employ only at those 
 prices, and that higher wages were incompatible -with rea- 
 sonable profits. Again, the Government contracts left so 
 little margin to the contractor, that seamstresses must work 
 on, and working to the last hour, find early graves. Com- 
 petition so harassed the manufacturers — drove them on so 
 relentlessly in the general race for cheapness — that they 
 could not possibly, without incurring a loss on every 
 manufactured article, afford their seamstresses an addi- 
 tional penny per day. And thus, the needle was left to do 
 its terrible work — to furnish for the happy and the gay the 
 embroidered robe and the flowery bonnet, while the worker 
 grew sick and blind. Yet, at intervals, tales of misery so 
 fearful, Avere forced upon public attention, that men cried 
 aloud, this state of things must cease to be. 
 
 Needlewomen's Benevolent Societies Avere formed, and 
 some few poor women Avere snatched from death. The 
 cry for wives, reaching England from Australia, also 
 brought good tidings to man}' faint hearts ; and hundreds 
 of seamstresses Avere helped to ships that Avould carry 
 them to comfortable homes. Some very delicate people 
 were shocked to think that Avives should be exported like 
 so many bales of printed cotton : though the same very 
 delicate people Avere not found to object to the genteel 
 custom of sending moneyless young ladies out to India, 
 to shed the brightness of domestic life around the per- 
 sons of many and divers Avealthy gentlemen Avith a consi- 
 derable derangement of the liver. Yet the system Avas 
 pursued. Many seamstresses did embark, and are noAV 
 happily married to prosperous colonists. 
 
 This change has operated for the general good in Eng- 
 land. Here, the seamstresses are fcAA^er, and have, of late, 
 
THE IRON SEAMSTRESS. 247 
 
 -commanded higher wages. Still, at the present moment, 
 their prospects and experience are not of the brightest. 
 Still the day's hard work brings only the coarsest food and 
 the coldest home. While the advocates of emigration 
 have been whispering seductive stories ; while aristocratic 
 patronesses have been forming themselves into committees 
 in aid ; the thinning (in a measiu'e) of the human sup- 
 plies has turned the attention of one or tAvo ingenious 
 men to the possibility of contriving some kind of scam- 
 stress that Avould show no pale cheeks, and demand no 
 morsel of bread. Flesh and blood seamstresses having 
 become insulHcient instruments, it was time to see whether 
 a seamstress covdd not be formed of solid iron. Accordingly, 
 so long ago as in the year eighteen hundred and forty-six, 
 IVIr. Ellis HoAve, of Boston, in the United States, saAv a 
 Avay of ' going ahead' in the matter. He adopted the 
 principle of the shuttle, and conceived that, by combining 
 this Avith a needle and a double thread, he could form an 
 iron seamstress who Avould be entirely free from the inter- 
 ference of any benevolent society, and aa'Iio would never 
 lose lier sight or her flesh. Mr. HoAve Avent vigorously to 
 Avork; spent much money in cranks and cog-Avheels, and 
 iron fingers, and ingenious needles, and in shuttles. He put 
 the anatomy of his iron seamstress together in A'arious Avays : 
 but she Avould not Avork. No school-girl Avas ever so lazy 
 as this iron AvorkAvoman. At last, fairly tired out Avith 
 the iron obstinacy of his seamstress, Mr. HoAve gave her 
 up as an incorrigible sloth and dunce. Other men ad- 
 A^inced to afford to the iron seamstress that paternal pro- 
 tection and improvement Avhich Mr. HoAve had Avithdi'awn 
 from her ; but all reformatory discipUne appeared to fail. 
 Her stitches Avere not good ; her needle Avas never in the 
 right place ; her threads Avere ahvays tangled. 
 
 Of all refractory seamstresses this ii"on seamstress Avas 
 the Avorst, until the year eighteen hundred and fifty-one, 
 Avhen Mr. C. T. Judkins took her in hand. He had 
 resolA'ed upon resorting to strong measures to subdue her 
 iron nature. He carefully examined the means Avhich his 
 predecessors had taken to reform her and make her an 
 ■effective seamstress. After considerable laboiu", he so cor- 
 
248 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH, 
 
 rected her revolutionary tendencies that she became docilcj. 
 and began to work her iron fingers admirably. 
 
 Possibly the reformer phmied himself not a little on his 
 cleverness : — but, certainly Mr. HoAve saw the goodness of 
 his follower's work. He forthwith laid a claim to part of 
 the seamstress. Part of the iron lady (said ^Ir. Howe) 
 might belong to Mr. Judkins ; but, undoubtedly, the lady's 
 hands — the needle and the shuttle — were the property of 
 Mr. Howe. How versus Judkins hereupon joined issue, 
 and the law decided in favour of Howe. What ! must the 
 seamstress then, but appear, like Miss Biffin, without anus !_ 
 These were terrible times in the history of the metallic 
 seamstress. But Mr. Judkins did not desert the lady in 
 these her dark days. He forthwith proceeded to consider 
 the possibility of adapting the seamstress to her work. 
 He, and others have succeeded. She now proceeds to do her 
 business in a curious, but effective Avay. She is, probably, 
 not good at involved crotchet patterns, and in other 
 mysteries of needlework; but give her plain work to- 
 sew, and you shall see her make more than five liundred 
 tight stitches in a minute. 
 
 The iron seamstress is composed of a flat metal surface,, 
 about twelve inches square (a very comfortable little l)ody, 
 as it will be seen), resting on four substantial legs. From 
 one side of the lady's flat iron surface, an arm rises to the 
 height of about ten incli.es, and then, bending the elbow, 
 passes over to the opposite side. From the end of the 
 arm, a movable finger descends; this movable finger holds 
 the needle. Btit the iron lady's needle is not hke the 
 instrument of a flesh and blood seamstress. Her needle 
 has its eye only half an inch from the pouit. The lady's- 
 needle being fixed in the lady's ii'on finger (somehow, this- 
 is like writing about a fcrruginoiis !Miss Kilmansegg), a reel 
 or boljbin filled with tlu-ead is placed above the lady's arm,, 
 and the thread is passed through the needle's eye ; — for, . 
 the iron seamstress cannot thread her needle herself. To- 
 move the iron seamstress, a Avheel is fixed to a main shaft ;., 
 this wheel may be turned, either by steam or by hiuuan 
 hands. Once in motion, it has instantaneous eflect upon 
 a lever Avithin the arm; and the efl'ect of this lever is to« 
 
THK IRON SEAJISTKESS. 249 
 
 move the needle in the iron finger tip and do-\\-n, through 
 the cloth and buck again, leaving a loop of thread visible 
 under the cloth. Beneath the iron surface before de- 
 scribed, are a second reel of thread and another needle ; 
 this needle moves horizontally, backwards, and forwards 
 through the loops made by the vertical needle ; and in 
 this Avay the stitches are formed. But the horizontal needle 
 also leaves a loop through which the A'ertical needle passes 
 in its next descent ; and thus, at every- descent, a stitch is 
 completed by the iron seamstress. It is true that this 
 stern lady uses tAvo needles, whereas the human instru- 
 ment commands only one ; but she works at the pro- 
 digious rate of five hundred stitches a minute ! She cer- 
 tainly requires somebody to be constantly looking after 
 her. She does not even hold her Avork herself. A servant 
 must be in attendance to guide the cloth forward as the 
 stitches are made in it, caiasing the sewing to be straight, 
 angular, or ciixular, at his pleasure. 
 
 But Avith all these disadA'antagos, the iron seamstress 
 has imquestionable recommendations. Her fiA^e hundred 
 stitches per minute outnimiber those of the human seam- 
 stress beyond all hope of rivalry. In the delicate parts of 
 Avork — in those mysteries knoAA^l to the erudite as flounces, 
 gussets, frills, and tucks — in the learned complications of 
 the herring-bone system, and the homely art of darning — 
 Ave imagine that the iron lady is not proficient. We 
 belicA-e her to be able, at the present time, to take in only 
 the plainest needlcAvork. She must cede the graces of the 
 art, as yet, to her human riA-als : content to stitch and scav 
 anything put before her, at the goodly rate of five hundred 
 stitches per minute. 
 
 Yet, CA'en noAv, the friends of human seamstresses may 
 Avell begin to consider the effect this iron rival Avill ulti- 
 mately have on human labour. Will the iron seamstress 
 driA'e the seamstress of (not much) flesh and blood to more 
 remunerative employments ? The ansAver is not an easy 
 one. NeedlcAvork, though poorly paid, has long been the 
 drudgery to Avhich Avomeu have taken, AA'hen the strong 
 ann that shielded them has fallen suddenly aAvay. It Avas. 
 Avork easily learned and abundantly Avanted. Poor crea- 
 
250 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 tures whose prospect was so dark that any pittance was a 
 relief; could always, if they wovdd accept the hard price, 
 get the work. True, better times than those of forty- 
 eight have dawned : and in the future, hope is placed 
 most confidently by all men. But while we acknowledge 
 that it is for the good of everybody that the iron seamstress 
 shoidd ply her double needles, Ave may well look around 
 to see Avhat field of labour may be fairly laid open to help- 
 less Avomen. We are told that they Avould make tender 
 doctors for one another ; that in Avalks of science and 
 knoAvledge, there is room they may well fill ; that in the 
 broad Avays of the Avorld there are many honourable 
 employments for Avhich they are appropriately fitted. No 
 doubt. And if Ave look to it a little, Avhile the iron seam- 
 stress is practising her five hundred stitches per minute, 
 Ave may take that one eifective stitch in time, Avhich is said 
 to save nine." 
 
 "Ay, but, by my dear brother Hartopp," cried the 
 blaster, " there is a sad Avant of employment for Avomen." 
 
 "There is," sighed Brother FroAvde. "A poor, dear 
 little niece of mine is a nursery goA-erness, and I know it." 
 
 " Let them be doctors among their OAvn sex," said stir- 
 geon Babbicomb. " They haA'e as much firmness as men ; 
 and their patients Avould confide in them mere freely than 
 they can in strange men." 
 
 " Well, Avell," said Ilorrocks, " I expect Ave have little 
 time for discussion to-night. I don't Avant to find that Ave 
 liave spoiled our good Mastei''s brcAV by letting it stand too 
 long. So to the next paper." 
 
 " It is a peep at some boys, feeling their feet in the 
 Avorld," said Bi-other Sands, by Avay of introducing 
 
 "the budding chathams." 
 
 Mr. Sands began : — 
 
 " Not long ago, fiA'e or six young men, haA'ing arrived 
 at the conclusion that the eniinciation of their several 
 
THE BUDDING CIIATIIA5IS. SSl 
 
 opinions on various questions should, in common justice to 
 mankind, take effect within the hearing of a more numerous 
 auditory than they then commanded, resolved to assemble 
 a club for the discussion of questions 'affecting the social, 
 moral, and political condition of the human race.' The 
 field of speculation was extensive, including every theory, 
 and every range of subject. There was no bye-law in the 
 constitution of the club that could prevent an ambitious 
 member from dispiiting Newton's law of gravitation ; no 
 fine restricted him from exulting in the social and artistic 
 perfection of the middle ages ; he might attempt to prove 
 that the French won the battle of Waterloo, or that two 
 and two sometimes make five, with perfect impunity. 
 Neither, if he chose to hold forth on the perfectibility of 
 human reason, or on the relation of mind to matter in the 
 abstract, need he dread any Avorse punishment than the 
 loud dissent or the trancpiil sleep of his auditors. The 
 laws were framed to catch the eloquence of every member; 
 or rather to allow any number of hobbies to be ridden by 
 any number of members who were disj)osed for a ride. 
 
 The early days of the club were sad times. Young 
 gentlemen, with all the wish to make speeches of in- 
 terminable length, only kept themselves decently on their 
 legs for five minutes. In those green days of the ger- 
 niinatiiig orators, their rhetoric was so bound up in. 
 the bud, that it could not burst forth into flower. 
 They burned v.-ith the cacoijthes^ without having the vis 
 loquendi They had plenty to say, but could not say it. 
 They boasted of hosts of ideas, but Avant of practice denied 
 them the use of words. The consequence was, that the 
 law of primogeniture was reviewed in its effects, from the 
 Conquest up to the year 1850, in ten minutes: a republican 
 young man 'obtained possession of the floor' at a quarter 
 to eight o'clock, and proved, to his OAvn entire satisfaction, 
 that no head that had ever Avorn a croAvn had ever be- 
 trayed one sign of the commonest human virtue, before 
 the clock had struck the hour. Although great con- 
 fidence existed as \o the latent talent of the members, 
 and their capacity to deal Avith every A'ital question ; yet 
 after the experience of a fcAV evenings, the fact that prac- 
 
252 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 lice was -wanted by the majority present, became undoubted. 
 The two or three members Avho possessed greater fluency 
 than the rest were soon promoted to leaderships, and then 
 the disposition of parties became manifest. The Budding 
 Chathams soon foimd that they had a Liberal Party, a 
 ^Moderate Party, and a Toiy Party. For each party a 
 leader was found ; and then the usual business of a 
 debating club began in earnest. Young gentleman of 
 eighteen, with crimson blushes, stammered out towai'ds the 
 close of the debate, that they felt a great reluctance ' in 
 gi\'ing a silent vote on so important a question ; ' men 
 who in the ordinary concerns of life were Harr^' and 
 Tom, to each other became mutually 'my honourable 
 friend.' ' Mr. Chairman ' had often not attained his majo- 
 rity, and very often not his years of discretion ; law students 
 were referred to as ' the learned gentleman Avho has just 
 sat down ; ' and one or two clerks connected with manu- 
 facturing firms were known to the Budding Chathams as- 
 ' distinguished partisans of the Manchester School.' 
 
 As time wore on, and practice wore away the bashfulness 
 of imskilful members, instead of a couple of dozen speeches 
 per night, one evening was often too short for two or three. 
 The buds of eloquence burst into expansive flower. Dis- 
 cretion never told them now, when to stop. Like Baron 
 Munchausen's frozen trumpet when it thawed, all the pent- 
 up music of their minds' utterance burst forth. Various 
 men adopted various styles of speaking, and had their 
 acknowledged peculiarities. Mr. Pattens was the honour- 
 able member who divided e\evj question he touched into 
 three heads : ^Ir. Walkingame Cocker Avas the statistical 
 genius of the club, and could tell ofi' the number of com- 
 mittals in England, AVales, Scotland, and Ireland, for 
 eveiy year since 1815. Then there was the satirical 
 speaker, who was always listened to with profound atten- 
 tion. He had a reputation for reply. Throughout the 
 evening he would note the speeches of all the heaAy 
 men ; and then, just as the chairman was about to ' call 
 upon the honourable opener for his A'ply,' he would rise 
 ' to offer a few remarks on one or two points where gross 
 blunders had been made by previous speakers. He dis- 
 
THE BUDDING CIIATHAMS. 253 
 
 ^claimed all personality, and it was far from being his wish 
 to offend any honourable member ; but he must say that 
 he had never heard a speech more characterised liy flip- 
 pancy and an audacious disregard of facts, than that which 
 he had just been called upon to hear. If the honourable 
 gentleman who preceded him had been as accurate in his 
 grammar as he had been ponderous in his facts, the club 
 would have been more indebted to him ; and had the 
 Jionoui'able opener sho-\\Ti a Httle less confidence, and a 
 greater familiarity with the subject he had professed to 
 expound, the honourable members present Avould have 
 been better able to arrive at a fair decision upon the 
 merits of the case before them.' 
 
 Still, despite the not unusual tendency to loquacity, the 
 Budding Chathams managed, on * field days,' to despatch 
 a, Avonderful amount of public business ; and showed, as to 
 mere rapidity, an example worthy of imitation in another 
 place. 
 
 Statesmen have been discussing the excellencies of Free 
 Trade and Protective systems for years ; the Budding 
 Chathams opened the question at eight o'clock one 
 evening, and recorded their firm opinion upon it before 
 midnight. The Catholic titular claims, which have 
 long worried us, were negatived by the young 
 Chathams in four hours, stoppages (viz., ' Hear, hear, 
 hear ! ' ' Question, question ! ' ' Name, name ! ' ' Chair ! ' 
 &c.) included. So miich for the speed with which the 
 confidence of two -and-twenty deals with vital political 
 ■dogmas. These elements, mixed up with a large number 
 of Budding Chathams who observed a discreet silence on 
 all occasions, and voted with the best speakers, constituted 
 a club similar in aim to thoiisauds which exist in different 
 parts of England, 
 
 Instituted to afford practice in public speaking to a 
 ntimber of young men, the club was highly successfid in 
 this object ; but how far it strengthened and concentrated 
 the reasoning facidties of ' honoural)le members, ' is a 
 (question which woidd be an edifying subject for the dis- 
 cussion of some other club of Budding Chathams. 
 
 These clubs, it should be observed, are generally formed 
 
254 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 by young men of intellectual tendencies — law students 
 who burn with the hope of enjoying the softness of th& 
 woolsack — younger sons with hopes of political advance- 
 ment, and, in their hearts, vague longnigs for Dowuing- 
 street power — literary students with crude theories, the 
 entinciation of which is a relief to their young vanity. 
 These aspirations and faculties have a common sympathy, 
 and consequently mingle into a very fascinating common 
 body. The laugh with which a stranger hears the title of 
 ' honourable member ' given to his intimate associate, is 
 rebuked by the gravity of the young men ; who, in their 
 dream-land, seem to touch, for a brief time, the realization 
 of their ambition. At present, they are hard-working 
 students, with little enough money to spend, and without 
 power ; but even now it is painful to have the contrast 
 between their aspiration and their actual position ridiculed 
 in any way. They like to be ' honourable members,' and 
 'Mr. Chairman.' Here is a foretaste of the importtmce 
 and the power they are to win. They refer to the time 
 when Brougham and Macaulay were members of the 
 Edinburgh Speculative Society ; and from this reference 
 draw sundry very flattering and invigorating conclusions 
 as to their own prospects. ISIany consolations, many hopes, 
 many good resolves flow from these intellectual sparring 
 clubs. Much vanity is corrected ; for young men, particu- 
 larly, are less swayed in the formation of their friendships 
 by worldly consideiations, than their elders; and by 
 finding an immediate and considerate public ready to 
 applaud the student in his most wearisome and thankless 
 hours, the struggle is eased, and the loneliness and chill of 
 student life loses much of its repulsiveness. 
 
 The Budding Chathams include many men with pale, 
 haggard features ; who, worn with the studies of long days, 
 brighten as the Chatham discussion night approaches, Avheu 
 intellect will be pitted against intellect, and the strongest 
 without servility, or any base consideration, will carry the 
 majority with him. The decisions of the club, the votes 
 given by certain prominent members, the arguments used 
 by others, and the subjects proposed for future considera- 
 tion, afford continual gossip to a wide circle of men. Tlie 
 
THB BUDDING CHATHA5IS. 255 
 
 scorn with which ignorance of history is met ; the heat 
 with wliich rival schools of poetrj' and painting are advo- 
 cated ; the general acclamation with which a happy quo- 
 tation is received ; the imstudied respect paid to members 
 of great acqiiiremenis, are manifestations which generally 
 characterise those debating clubs which have ever shown 
 any vitality. 
 
 He would be. a bold man "who Avould openly establish a 
 school for the education of orators, after the fashion of 
 those who occupy the time of the House of Commons for 
 five hours at a stretch, or who make amendments at rail- 
 way meetmgs : but the spontaneous formation of debating 
 clubs in the various toA\nis of England argues, we are 
 incHned to think, a healthful intellectual progress in the 
 young men of the time. The Budding Chathams may not 
 send forth a member possessing the reputed eloquence of 
 the distinguished statesman after whom they are chris- 
 tened ; yet many wholesome advantages may accnie from 
 theu" meetings. In provincial towns, the traveller is often 
 surjirised to find a mechanic at a local meeting expressing 
 his ideas with logical order, and in easy Saxon English. 
 On inquiiy as to the cause of this precision, he learns that 
 the speaker is the member of a debating club — that he is 
 in the habit of siistaining a public argiunent. On Imther 
 inquiiy he wiU find that the mechanic has shrewd, well- 
 digested notions on the prevailing topics of the day ; that 
 he is not to be earned away by the false ghtter of a 
 voluble speaker ; and that he can place the men of the 
 time in their proper relative positions. He is often critical 
 even as to the turn of a period ; and talks not of 'rounding 
 a sentence,' but does it. He is an humble imitator of the 
 more ambitioiis Chathams. As he throAvs his shiittle in 
 the morning, he thinks of his evening's debate — what 
 reasons his friend Jones wiU bring to liear upon the ques- 
 tion ; and how the opener will be able to answer the array 
 of facts he has marshalled against him. At the worst, this 
 is hamiless mental exercise ; and, witlunit doubt, it is an 
 advance upon those amusements which working men 
 patronised some twenty years back. 
 
 Therefore, prosperity to provincial debating clubs ! 
 
256 CIIKONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 Success to ' Mr. Chairman,' Avith his incipient moustache. 
 Success to 'the honourable opener,' who has now seen 
 only twenty summers. Success to ' my learned friend,' 
 who has eaten two terms, and is already critical about the 
 Temple wine. Success to the young author, flushed with 
 the notices of his first work, and bright with all the gloiy 
 of hope about him ! " 
 
 *' Kindly written, ]\Ir. Sands," said the Master — ^liis face 
 dimpled with smiles. 
 
 Brother Horrocks was glancing at the punchbowl in the 
 distance, and sniflSng the pungent aroma of the lemons. 
 
 We now come to the reading of the evening ; and with it 
 we shall conclude this year's sittings. 
 
 " Mr. Frowde — the company is all attention." 
 
 "I've a Christmas incident, only, to offer you," said the 
 Brother. " I call it — 
 
 CHRISTJIAS IN LODGINGS. 
 
 Eeads : — 
 
 "A bachelor's life is not without its attractions. 
 Freedom of will and action are, at least, among a bachelor's 
 joys ; but experience has taught me that, after a certain 
 time, such absence from restraint resolves itself into that 
 species of liberty which IMacaulay touchingly likens to 
 ' the desolate freedom of the "wild ass.' 
 
 I came to London about ten years ago, to study for the 
 bar. I was entered at the Inner Temple, and as far as 
 the dinner-eating went, I can safely assert that I was an 
 ornament to the Hall. I adorned the margin of my copy 
 of ' Burn's Justice ' Avith caricatures of the benchers ; and 
 my friends appended facetious notes to my ' Blackstone.' 
 I Avent to the masquerade in my goAvn ; and strolled down 
 to my laAV-tutor's chambers for the ostensible puqjose of 
 reading, about two r.M., daily. In short, I Avent through 
 the usual routine of young gentlemen of ardent tempera- 
 ments and competent means Avhen they begin life ; liko 
 
CHRISTMAS IN LODGINGS. 257 
 
 most men, also, the pace of my fast days moderated in due 
 time. About the time of my call to the bar, I began to 
 study. My old companions, finding that I Avas becoming 
 wliat they Avere pleased to designate ' slow,' dropped ofi". 
 I entered into the solitude of lodgings, near Brunswick 
 Square, and read eagerly. Still I found it necessary to 
 relieve my legal studies with copious draughts from all 
 the great fountains of inspiration ; and I fear, that even 
 when I Avas endeaA'oiu'ing to crack the hardest passages of 
 ' Blackstone,' my ideas continually reA-erted either to the 
 grace of Montaigne, the Avit of Congreve and Pope, the 
 sparkle and depth of Shakspeare, or the massiA-e grandeur 
 of Milton. By degrees my books became my dearest, my 
 only associates. Although as a companion and friend I 
 had decidedly fallen off, I had improA-ed as a lodger. I kept 
 regular hours, and paid all my bills punctually. 
 
 My landlady grcAV confidential, in proportion as I grew 
 domestic. She faA'Oured me Avith her history from the 
 time of her birth. I kncAv hoAv she took the measles ; the 
 precise effect of her Adsit to a A-accine establishment ; the 
 origin of a scar OA'er her left eye-broAV ; the income of her 
 brother in Somersetshire ; the nimiber of kittens Avhich 
 her cat annually produced ; the character she gaA-e her 
 last servant ; and the fond affection she had laAdshed upon 
 a biiite of a husband. Tliese matters, hoAvcA'er, Avere 
 entrusted to me in confidence ; and, to iise an original 
 phrase, they shall be biu-ied with me in my graA-e ! I had 
 no occasion to repay my landlady's confidence Avith my 
 OAvn, because she paid herself. I cotdd keep no secrets 
 from her. She kncAV the contents of my trunks, desks, 
 and draAvers, as avcU as I did — better, for if I lost unv 
 little article, I never, perhaps, missed it. I Avas seldom 
 aUoAved to Avear a pair of dress gloA'es more than once r 
 Avhen a collar AA^as not to be had, ' them AvasherAvomen Avas," 
 I Avas told, ' ahvays a losing of something or other.' I ami 
 siu'e the flavour of my tea, the quality of my mutton, andi 
 the excellence of my coals,' were no secrets to my landlady ; 
 but she had many good qualities, so I ate Avhat she left me 
 in sUence and in peace. 
 
 Despite my but too prying landlady, however, I got oa 
 
 s 
 
258 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 very well by myself; and, like men who live alone, I 
 became egotistic and lazy. I thought of the Aveaver at his 
 loom ; the lawyer biirning the midnight composition over 
 his brief; the author, -vvith his throbbing temples, hard at 
 work ; and I rejoiced quietly by my fire and in my books. 
 There was a selfish pleasure in the conviction that my case 
 was so much better than that of thousands of the toilers 
 and strugglers of the earth. This I found a capital philo- 
 sophy for every day in the year — except one. On that 
 day my landlady entered my room, and, with a few words, 
 blighted my happiness, and made me miserable as the 
 veriest outcast. 
 
 ' Beg pardon for interrupting you,' the worthy soul said,. 
 * but I wish to know whether you dine at home on Christ- 
 mas Day. Though, of coui'se, you ■\\all be with your 
 friends — bxit I thought I might as well make sure.' 
 
 The good woman must have noticed my confiision. I 
 stammered out something in the most awkward manner ; 
 but contrived to make her understand, in the end, that I 
 should dine at home. 
 
 ' On Christmas Day, sir ? ' the woman repeated, Avith 
 particular emphasis. ' I'm talking aboiit Christmas Day, 
 when every gentleman dines with his friends and rela- 
 tions; leastways, all the gentlemen I ever had, have 
 done so.' 
 
 ' My friends live in Scotland, where Christmas is no 
 festival,' I repUed, rather reheved by the opportunity of 
 explaining my solitary condition. 
 
 ' Well, dear a-me ! ' my landlady went on to say, 'that's 
 very awkard, very awkard, sir, indeed. Dear, dear a-me, 
 what shall I do ? ^ly table, doAvn stairs, won't hold any 
 thing like fifteen ! ' 
 
 Fifteen persons to greet my landlady on Christmas Daj-, 
 and not a soul to break bread with me ! I saw, at once, 
 the tendency of her observation as to the size of her 
 table ; and Avillingly offered to. vacate my room for her 
 great anniial festivity. This offer was eagerly accepted, 
 and once more I was left to my solitude. From that mo- 
 ment my fortitude deserted me. I knew that the weaver 
 would enjoy his Christmas feast ; that the lawyer would 
 
CHRISTMAS IX LODGIKGS. 259 
 
 throw aside his brief, and abating his professional soknn- 
 nity, would, on Christmas Day, make merry ; and thai; 
 the author would leave the pen in the inkstand, to be jolly 
 during a great portion of those twenty-four happy hours. 
 Let me confess that I felt sick at heart — stupidly and pro- 
 foundly dejected. 
 
 On Christmas Eve the maid came into my room, and, 
 with a beaming face, begged that I Avould allow her to 
 decorate it with holly : — she said nothing about the 
 misletoe which she carried imder her apron, but I saw 
 her dexterously fasten it above the door- way. I was very 
 lonely tliat evening. The six square yards of space which 
 I occupied Avere the only six square yards in the neigh- 
 bourhood not occupied by laughing human ci-eaturcs. 
 The noise of my landlady and her relatives below made 
 ma savage ; and Avlien she sent up the servant to ask 
 whether I would like to step below, and take a stir at the 
 ipudding, my ' no !' was given in such a decided tone that 
 the poor girl vanished with miraculous celerity. 
 
 Tlie knocks at the street-door were incessant. First it 
 was the turkey, then the apples, oranges, and chestnuts, 
 lor dessert, then the new dinner-set, then the sirloin. 
 Each separate item of the approaching feast Avas hailed 
 Avith smothered welcomes by the Avomen, Avho rushed into 
 the passage to examine and greet it. Presently a knock 
 resounded througli the house, that had to me a solemn 
 ^nd highly unpleasant sound, although it could not have 
 differed from the preceding knocks. I listened to the 
 opening of the door, and heai'd my landlady, in a sympa- 
 thetic tone of voice, declare, tliat ' it Avas only the first- 
 floor's steak ; — poor felloAv! ' My loneliness, then, Avas a 
 theme of pitiful consideration Avith the people beloAv ! I 
 Avas A-ery angry, and paced my room Avith rapid strides. 
 I thought I Avould Avear cotton-AVOol for the next four-and- 
 twenty hours, to shut out the din of gencnd enjoyment. 
 I tried, after a short time, to compose myself to my book ; 
 but, just as I Avas about to take it doAvn from the shelf, 
 the serA'ant, haAdng occasion to enter my room, informed 
 me, in a high state of chuckHng excitement, that ' missis's 
 friends Avas a going to light up a snap-dragon I' — and the 
 
360 CHEOKICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 shouts that burst upon nie a few minutes afterwards, con- 
 firmed the girl's report. I was now fairly savage, and, 
 Laving called for my candle, in a loud, determined voice, 
 went to bed, Avith the firm conviction that the revellers 
 below were my sworn enemies, and with the resolution of 
 giving warning on the following morning — yes, on Christ- 
 mas Day. 
 
 Brooding over the revenge I promised myself for the 
 follo-\\ing morning, I went to sleep, and dreamed of the 
 Arctic solitudes and the Sahara Desert. I was standing 
 at a diy well, surrounded, on all sides, by endless sand, 
 when a loud riuubling noise broke upon my dream. I 
 awoke, and heard a heavy footstep passing my chamber. 
 I started from my bed, flung open my door, and shouted, 
 ' Who's there ? ' 
 
 ' It's only me, sir, a going for to put the puddin' in the 
 copper,' said an uncommonly cheerful voice. 
 
 Here Avas a delightful opening scene of my Christmas 
 Day. I believe I muttered a -wish, that my landlady's 
 pudding Avere in a locality where it might boil at any 
 time, Avithout disturbing any lodger. 
 
 That morning I rang four times for my hot Avater, three 
 times for my boots, and Avas asked to eat cold ham instead 
 of my usual eggs, because no room could be spared at the 
 fire, to boil them. I occupied my landlady's back parlour, 
 and AA-as intruded upon, every minute, because a thousand 
 things Avanted ' for up-stairs ' were left in odd nooks and 
 corners of the room. I had no easy chair. My books 
 Avere all ' put aAvay,' saA'e a copy of ' Jean liacine,' Avhich 
 I had taken doAvn by mistake for a volume of the ' Eacine.' 
 ;My breakfast-table coiild not be cleared for three lioui's 
 after I had finished my meal. I AA'as asked to alloAv a 
 saucepan to be placed upon my fire. It Avas suggested to 
 me that I might dine at tAVO o'clock, in order to have my 
 repast over and cleared aAvay before the feast up-stairs 
 becran, I assented to this proposition Avith iU-fcigncd 
 carelessness — although my blood boiled (like the pudding) 
 at the impertinence of the request. But I Avas too proud 
 to alloAV my landlady the least insight into the real state of 
 my feelings. Poor soul ! it Avas not her fault that I liad 
 
CIIRISTJLVS IX LODGINGS. 261 
 
 no circle -within my reach ; yet I remember that through • 
 out the day I regarded her as the impersonation of fiendish 
 maHcc. 
 
 After I had dined she came to ask me if there was any- 
 thing she could do for me ? I regarded her intrusion 
 only as one prompted by a vulgar wish to show me her 
 fine ribbons and jaunty cap; and I curtly told her that I did 
 not require her ser^vices. To relieve myself of the load of 
 vexation which oppressed me, I stroUed into the streets ; 
 but I was soon driven back to my landlady's little parloiu* 
 — the gaiety that rcsoiuided from every house, and the 
 deserted streets Avithout, Avere even more annoying than 
 her marked attention. I sat down once more, and doggedly 
 read the heavy verse of Jean. I called for my tea; and, 
 in reply, I was informed that I should have it directly the 
 dinner was over up-stairs. ]\Iy patience was giving Avay 
 rapidly. My tea was pi'oduced, however, after a consider- 
 able delay ; and I then thought I Avould make a desperate 
 attempt to forget the jovial scenes that were going forward 
 in every nook and corner of the country — save in my 
 desolate, sombre, close back parlour. I swung my feet 
 upon the fender, leisurely filled the bowl of my meerschaum, 
 and was about to mix my first fragrant cup, when that 
 horrible servant again made her appearance, holding a 
 dark steaming lump of something upon a plate. 
 
 ' Please, sir, missis's compliments, and p'raps you'd accept 
 this bit of Christmas puddin' ? ' 
 
 I could have hurled it, plate and all, into the yard be- 
 low. I saw myself at once an object of profound pity and 
 charity to the company above. Although I am extremely 
 fond of that marvellous compound of good things eaten 
 with brandy-sauce on Christmas Day, I coiild not have 
 touched my landlady's proffered plateful for any con- 
 sideration. I gave a medical reason for dccUuing the 
 dainty, and once more turned to my pipe and my tea. As 
 the white smoke curled from my mouth, a waking dream 
 stole over me. I fancied that I was Eobinson Crusoe : 
 my parrot dead, and my dog run away. I cursed the fate 
 that had consigned me to a solitude. I recited aloud a 
 few verses from Keats, and the sound of my voice seemed 
 
262 CHROXICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 strange and liarsh. I poked the fire, and whistled, and 
 hummed — to restore myself to the full enjoyment, or 
 rather to the misery, of my senses. The tea on that even- 
 ing only was green tea, I felt its effects. I grew nervous 
 and irritable. 
 
 The servant once more invaded my seclusion — what 
 could she want now ? 
 
 ' Please, sir, have you done with the tea-things ? I'm 
 a going to wash 'em for up-stairs.' 
 
 ' Take them ; ' I replied, not very gracefully. The ser- 
 vant thanked me, as I thought, A\ith impertinent good- 
 nature, and cleared the table. 
 
 About this time, sounds of merriment began to resound 
 from the Christmas party. The shrill laughter of children 
 was mingled A\'ith the hoarse guffiiws of their parents ; and 
 the house shook at intervals Avith the romps of both 
 parties. In the height of my desolate agony, it gave me 
 no little consolation to think that those children who 
 were at theii* games, would probably dance to the tune of 
 a tutor's cane at no distant interval. Such was my envy 
 at the exuberant mirth that reached me in fitful gusts, as 
 the doors were opened or shut, that I felt all sorts of lui- 
 charitableness. Presently there was a lull in the laughter- 
 storm. I began to hope that the party was about to 
 break up. A gentle footstep Avas audible, descending the 
 stairs. There Avas a smothered call for ]Mary. Mary 
 obeyed the siuumons ; and the folloAving dialogue Avas 
 Avhispercd in the passage : 
 
 ' Did he eat the pudding ? ' 
 
 ' No, mum — he Avas afraid of it : and he Avas so cross !' 
 
 ' Cross ! I Avas going to ask him to join us : do you think 
 he Avould, Mary?' 
 
 ' Bless you, no, mum ! Jle jine ! I think I see him a 
 jining ! Nothing pleases him. He's too high for any- 
 body. I never see the likes of him !' 
 
 The feet then ascended the stairs, and after another 
 pause of a fcAv moments, the din of merriment Avas re- 
 sumed. I Avas furious at the sympathy Avhich my loneliness 
 created, I could bear the huighter and shouting of the 
 Christmas party no longer, and once more, with a determi- 
 
CIIRISTHLVS IX LODGINGS. 263 
 
 nation of having my revenge, I went to bed. I lay tliore 
 for several hours ; and did not close my eyes before I had 
 vowed solemnly that I would not pass another Christmas 
 Day in solitude, and in lodgings — and I didn't. 
 
 In the course of the following year I married the lovely 
 daughter of Mr. Serjeant Shuttleface. My angel was a 
 most astonishing pianoforte performer, and copied high 
 art pictures in Berlin wool mth mar\-ellous skill ; but she 
 was ciuiously ignorant of housekeeping ; so, we spent the 
 beginning of our wedded bliss in furnished apartments, in 
 order that she might gaui experience, gradually. 
 
 On one point, however, I was resolute ; I would not 
 spend a second Christmas Day in lodgings. I took a 
 house, therefore, towards the close of the year, and re- 
 peatedly urged my -mfe to vacate our apartments, that we 
 might set up for ourselves. She shrank from this respon- 
 sibility with unremitting reluctance. There were, besides, 
 innumerable delays. Cai-pets wouldn't fit ; painters 
 woiddn't work above one day a week ; paper-hangers 
 hung fire ; and blacksmiths, charging by the day, did 
 no more than one day's work in six. Time wore on. 
 December came, advanced : and it seemed to be my fate to 
 undergo another Christmas torment. However, to my 
 inexpressible joy, everything was announced to be in 
 readiness, on the twenty-fourth. ^ly sposa had by this 
 tune, learned enough of housekeeping to feel ready for 
 its duties, and on Christmas Eve we left our rooms in 
 Bedford Square, and took our Christmas pudding, in a 
 cab, to my suburban villa near Fulham. And a merry 
 Christmas we made of it ! I don't think I ever ate a 
 better pudding, though I have eaten a good many since 
 then." 
 
 " John," said the Master, addressing the porter of the 
 Crutch, who stood respectfully behind him — " John, bruig 
 the punch." 
 
 "NYliile John was engaged, placing the fine old bowls 
 upon the table, and arranging the glasses daintily round 
 them, the Master made his suggestion. 
 
264 CHRONICLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said lie, " I think tlie time has arrived 
 when we may venture before the public. We've taken 
 our notes — and, faith, we'll print 'em ! What say you ?" 
 
 "Agreed!" cried the Brothers. 
 
 " Let Brother Frowde do the needful with proofs, and 
 all that botheration, if he's not tired of it, after the ugly 
 tricks the world has played him," said Horrocks. 
 
 Said the Master solemnly — 
 
 " Seven cities warr'd for Homer, being dead, 
 " Wlio, living, had no roofe to shrowd his head." 
 
 " Hear ! hear !" from all sides. 
 
 The Master lifted the punch-ladle (ebony-handled and 
 with a Queen- Anne sovereign well welded in the silver- 
 boAvl), and cried, as he turned it round and round in the 
 amber punch, " and now Ave drink success to oiu: first 
 volume of 
 
 'The Chronicles op the Crutch!' 
 
 May we all live — ^loiterers at the gates of Death, as we are, 
 my friends — may we all live, still to read to each other 
 of battles we have fought, through another circle of the 
 seasons." 
 
 *' In peace with all the world, I raise this glass to my 
 lips. God be with us all, Brothers ! " And the good Master 
 bowed his silver head, lifted his velvet cap, and sipped his 
 punch. 
 
 THE end. 
 
 LONDON : 
 SAVOr PRIKTING COMPANY, 3AV0T STREET, STEAND. 
 
 J. Last, Manager. 
 
i' 
 
 314, Strand, W.C, 
 Nov. 1, 18G0. 
 
 Mil. WILLIAM TINSLEY'S 
 LIST OF NEW WORKS. 
 
 ^QW READY, I'lUC'l:; FIVE SHILLINGS, 
 A NKW WORK 
 
 BY 
 
 MR. BLANCHARD JERROLD, 
 
 ENTITLED 
 
 CHROMGLES OF THE CRUTCH. 
 
 This work consists of a series of quaint stories and papers, contributed 
 hy Mr. Jen-old to "Household Words." 
 
 [Aoiy ready. 
 
 PREPARING FOR IMMEDIATE PUBLICATION, 
 A New, Revised, and Enlarged Edition of 
 
 THE NIGHT SIDE OF LONDON. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 BY J. K W I N a RITCHIE, 
 
 AUTHOR OP "ABOUT L0NT)0N," ETC, 
 
3Ir. William Tinsleys List of Neiv Worls. 
 
 NEW WOEK BY ME. EITCHIE. 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED: PRICE FIVE SHILLINGS, 
 
 ABOUT LONDON 
 
 BY 
 
 J. EWING RITCHIE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 " The Night Side of London.'' '' Here and there in London,'' 
 '• The London Puljnt," (fc. 
 
 Content* : — Xewspapcr People — Spiritualism — About Coal — Ilighgate 
 — Torn Tidler's Gi-ound — Westminster Abbey — London Charities — 
 Pedestiiauism — Over London Biidge — The House of Commons and 
 the Early Closing Movement — To^\ni IMorals— The same subject 
 <.•0ntin^^ed — London Matrimonial — Breach-of-Promise Cases — The 
 London Volunteers — Crimhial London — Concerning Cabs — Free 
 Drinking Foimtams — Conclusion. 
 
 " Mr. Ritchie ought to be a popular author, aud largely read bi" a numerons 
 and highlj- respectable class.'' — AthenePinn. 
 
 " They are all vritteu with such a knowledge of each subject as might be 
 expected from a perceptive and accurate obser\'er, who has gained his expe- 
 rience from himself, while the descriptive writing is that of a practised 
 hand." — lUustratid Londun Xeirs. 
 
 '•We cau give to this work our heartiest praise. 'About Loudon' is 
 written by one whose object is as much to instruct as to amuse, and who 
 succeeds without any apparent efi'ort in doing both. We say without any 
 apparent effort, because Mr. Ritchie's sketches are too bold to be stiff, his 
 style too fluent and natural to be laboured. NotwithstantUug this, • .\bout 
 London" diplays an amount of industrious research ven' rarely met with, 
 and a knowledge of men and manners which only experience — and active 
 experience, moreover — can supply." — Literary Gazette. 
 
 " The subjects for the most part arc familiar to us, and the easy aud mtaf- 
 fected style in which they are treated is always sure to gratify without 
 wearjTng the reader.' — Morning Aclrertiser. 
 
 " Mr. Ritchie has already given us various works devoted to metropolitan 
 subjects, such as ' The Night Side of London,' ' The London Pulpit,' • Hen; 
 and There in London.' His volume 'About London' will, no doubt, be as 
 widely circulated as its predecessoi-s. In it he communicates a vast mass of 
 information in a pleasant, gossiping style. — Illustrated Nexrs of the World. 
 
 •' Mr. Ritchie is well and favourably known as one of those writers who, 
 whilst possessed of a kceu and observant eye, remarks all the social incon- 
 sistencies of which human society in the great modem Babylon is composed, 
 and spares neither those who may be said to hold the language of the first 
 murderer—' Am I my brother's keeper ?' nor others, who grovel in the sen- 
 suality, which speedily dufomis man into little less than the beast of the 
 earth. In this, the last of the several books in which he has related the 
 doings (if London life, high and low, he does not enter so fully into the mys- 
 teries of the singular career of the Arabs of our streets, but touches matters 
 
Mr. WiUiani Tinskijs List ofXcw Works. 
 
 on a somewhat higher level with the same force and intellisfiice, which he 
 lias liitherto manifcsteil, coiiihined with a more genial ami pleasant lotine- 
 ment, which will commend its information to those who may have been dis- 
 posed to he somewhat hjTercritical as to the advisability of too closely 
 ' holding the min-or up to nature,' and showing vice its own deformity anil 
 horror. — BelVa Weekly Messenger. 
 
 '• The new book by Mx-. Ritchie, entitled ' About London," fullv sustains the 
 reputation of the author of ' The Night Side of London.' It is, Iioth in 
 ' matter and maimer, a most readable volume. In a series <if twenty cliapter.-. 
 the more conspicuous and characteristic places and persons alioiit London 
 are admirably sketched. The author indulges in all his ir.odes. He is 
 observant, penetrative, didactic, satirical, and reflective, licaltli, cheerful- 
 ness, and hope, however, arc the pervading tones of this work. Whether the 
 subject bo the ' Newspaper People,' ' Spiritualism,' • Loudon Gents.' or 
 ' Criminal London,' he has the happy disposition of educing good and ea- 
 nobling lessons and influence from each and all. — Pre»s. 
 
 NOW KEADY: 
 
 A Xe\v Edition, revi.-ed and gre.atly enlarged, w itli a fall Index, 
 
 DR. WARDROP'S VALUABLE WORK: 
 
 ON THE XATUl^E AXl) TPiEATME^T 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DISEASES OF THE HEART 
 
 COXT.IINIXG ALSO SOME 
 
 NEW VIEWS OF THE CIRCULATION OF THE 3LOOD, 
 
 WITH 
 
 AX ACCOUNT OF THE MUSCOLO-CAKDIAC, THE ]T[.Mn-( AIIDIA-. , 
 AND THE VENO-rrOlOXAKV IIXITKLNS. 
 
 BV 
 
 JAMES WAR DROP, M.D., 
 
 Surgeon to fhe iicrsoji of Georr/e II'.. Felhiw of the Uoiial Society, and of t'r 
 
 Royal College of Surgeom of Edinburgh : Fellow of'the Itoyiil Collene of 
 
 Surgeons of England ; Member of the Imperial Acadentu of Medic'ine 
 
 of Paris, Moscow, St. Petersburgh, and Wilna ; Member of the 
 
 Boyal Medical aiid Surgical Society of Scrlin, and of 'the 
 
 Medical Society of Lcipsic, 
 
 d'c. ttc. d'-c. 
 
 ^ |lt(u €i)ition, nuTfudn ilcbisrb, bitli tonsiftcrublr ^Jibitioits, 
 AND A COPIOUS INDEX. 
 
 \_L(vgc Octaro, 18* 
 
 ^- 
 
Mr. IVllUam Tinshij^ List of New Works. 
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 THE Wif/IBLEDON SKOOTINQ-WIATCH Af^D THE VOLUNTEER REVIEW. 
 
 Tliis clay is imblisliecl, the Second Ivlition, revised, coiTCcted, 
 and greatly enlarged, of 
 
 MR. GEO. AUGUSTUS SALA'S 
 NARRATIVE 
 
 OF THE GRAND 
 
 VOLUNTEER REVIEW. 
 
 TO AVHICII IS ADDED AN ACCOUNT OF THK 
 
 WIMBLEDON SHOOTING-MATCH. 
 
 *»* Tliis Etlition, which has been enlarged by Sixteen Pages, contains a 
 conect list of all the Volunteer Corps that were reviewed by Her Majesty, 
 witli the uurae of the Commander, description of dress, and number of each 
 Company; as well as a full account of the Grand Rifle-Match at Wimbledon. 
 
 PRICE SIXPENCE, POST FREE. 
 
 The Morning Advertiser, of June 29th, says: — 
 " Tv'e anticipate an immediate and extensive sale for tliis oi)i)ortune and 
 patriotic publication. It is a beautiful written and graphic narrative of one 
 of the greatest events — perhaps in its political and military bearings the 
 greatest event — of the present century. Mr. Sala has evidently written out 
 of the fulness of his heart, and the result is an eloquent and vivid literary 
 review of the greatest militaiy Volunteer Review which has ever been wit- 
 nessed in this or in any other country. Mr. Tinsley has done good service to 
 his country in periietuating the details of that gi-eat event by so able and 
 Xiopular a pen as that of Mr. George Augustus Sala, and in publishing the 
 little work at so moderate a price as to place it within the reach of all." 
 
 np:w novel, by >ir. vane st johx. 
 
 NOW READY, AT ALL THE LIBRARIES, 
 
 U N D E R C U R REN T S 
 
 A XOVKL OF OUR DAY. 
 
 BV 
 
 VANE IRETON ST. JOHN, 
 
 Author of " St. Eustace : or, the Hundred and One." 
 
 LONDON: W. TINSLEY, 31 J, STRAND; 
 
 And may be ordered of all Bookseller^, and at iUl KaUway Stations. 
 
^- 
 

 
 ' 'uHiii