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 OUR MISCELLANY, 
 
 (waiCH otroHT lo hatb comb ottt, but didb't); 
 
 Contaimng Coitirilrations h^ 
 
 w, HABisBTire PAnranRTosTH, 
 
 6. p. B. JACOBUS, 
 
 T. B. UA^crmrr, 
 joiris HAirwAT, 
 
 ALBBXI SKirF, 
 
 If. rrrrri, 
 CHABLBS BioenrB, 
 
 BOOABDO FOOH, 
 (■AXrBL WABBIIfT, 
 BBOBBSROB BTBOFflTlttOW. 
 
 AKD OTHBB BJtlTBTT ArTHOBB. 
 
 EniTKD BT 
 
 E. H. YATES AND R. B. BROUGH. 
 
 LONDON: 
 G. ROUTLEDGE & CO., r.UlRINGDON STREET. 
 
 ITEVf TOBK : 18, BKBKMAIf STREET, 
 
 1S.5G.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 BLUEACRE. A Romakce. By AV. IIahassing Painsworth . 16 
 
 JOHNSON. A Lay of Moder:^ London. By Thomas 
 
 Blabbington Macavley 30 
 
 THE PAGE. A Romaunt from English History. By 
 
 GusTAvus Penny Royal Jacobus 46 
 
 POEMS. Br Edgardo Pooh 63 
 
 JIGGER, OF THE "DODO." By Jonas Hanway, Esq. . 72 
 
 MAUD, AND other Poems. By A T (D.C.L.) . . 80 
 
 ALFRED DE MUSSET IN LONDON. Ballade a la Lune 85 
 
 THE SILLY AND THE SEA. An Apologue of Brighton. 
 
 By Sasiuel Warrink 89 
 
 GEMS OF BIOGRAPHY. By Mr. P— ff, of " The Ckitic," 
 
 London Literary Journal 93 
 
 A LIFE DRA3IA. By Alessandro Smiffini 98 
 
 THE C0STER3I0NGER'S FANCY. A Humorous Ballad . 101 
 
 eOLOMON IMPROVED. By Martinuzzi Fuppeb, A.M. . lOi 
 
 THE BALLAD OF PEREA NENA. Found among the 
 
 Papers of the late J. G. Lockhart, Esq 112 
 
 THE LAY OF THE HENPECKED, By Lady Sufferin . 119
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 KOBIN HOODE AND YE DETECT YVE OFFYCERE . . 121 
 
 LONGFELLOW IN PARIS 132 
 
 CAMP COOKERY. By Alicksus Sawder 135 
 
 FRAGMENT, attribiited to Alexander Smith . . . , 141 
 
 HARD TIMES. By Charles Diggins 143 
 
 MR. HARDUP'S ASCENT OF THE MONT DE PIETE. By 
 
 Albert Smiff 157 
 
 THE FUTURE OF THE PAST. By the Englishman . . 169 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. By A T T- '77- ' ^''^ 
 
 THE SONG OF "OVER THE WATER." By Professor 
 
 Strongfellow 174 
 
 A CHARACTER. By A T 177 
 
 AN EXTRACT (NOT) FE03I TENNYSON'S " MAUD" . . 179 
 
 STANZAS FOR OPERATIC BIUSIC. By Bath Bunn, Esq. 181 
 
 "DOWN EAST." By Mrs. Barrett Brownwig .... 182 
 
 THE LIFE OF CHARLES SPLEEN. By Douglas Jeerall 184
 
 OUR MISCELLANY. 
 
 |nt.robitt.t.iou: 
 
 SHOWING HOW THESE STORIES CAME INTO MY 
 POSSESSION. 
 
 So they all agreed to come and dine with me. 
 " Thursday, half-past five — sharp !" that was the 
 invitation. I did not send any cards, partly be- 
 cause I had not got any, and partly because some 
 of my friends had not any particular addresses, but 
 had their letters left at clubs and news-rooms, 
 whence they were often not reclaimed until the 
 ink was faded and the paper yellow with age. All 
 understood they were to come, and knowing there 
 would be enough to eat, plenty of good fellowship, 
 and no formality, determined to keep the engage- 
 ment. The powers of Mrs. Flanagan were taxed 
 to their utmost. Charley Ferrars, who shares my 
 chambers in Raymond Buildings, wrote down to
 
 6 OUR MISCELLANY. 
 
 his people in the country^ and from them received 
 as a contribution a turkey and sausages, a tongue 
 and some apples; Frank Fairlegh contributed a 
 hare and some birds from the paternal estate ; 'while 
 I had bought a stupendous leg of mutton, knowing 
 the partiality evinced by Causton and Billy Bales 
 for that joint, when properly boiled and trimmed. 
 These were confided to Mrs. Flanagan, with strict 
 injunctions as to care and cleanliness; and an im- 
 mense amount of authority was requisite to compel 
 that lady to refrain from the preparation of a dish 
 called " toad-in-the-hole," at which she declared 
 herself an adept. So much for edibles. In the way 
 of drink we purchased a nine-gallon cask of All- 
 sopp, and stowed it in the clerk's room ; about a 
 dozen of the old Port which Jack Cookson gave me 
 when he left for India, to sub-edit the Calcutta 
 CJiwgacJtgooJc, was remaining : there were two 
 bottles of brandy, and a stone jar of Kinahan's 
 own. Townley, of the Bed Wafer Office, who 
 thinks himself a swell, sent a bottle of Cura9oa, 
 with his compliments; but Charley Ferrars, de- 
 nouncing it as sweet-stuff, only fit to be taken after 
 medicine, hid it away in a cupboard.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 The day came^ and the company^ and the dinner. 
 Mrs. Flanagan was punctual, and we were hungry. 
 
 le covers were uncovered, not by a slipshod 
 laundress, but by a man-servant, if you please ! 
 Tim Egan, who had served with one of our party. 
 Jack Laffan, as his batman, in the Spanish Legion, 
 and who now holds horses in the neighbourhood of 
 Tattersall's, had been pressed into our service. The 
 turkey was a sight, and so was the manner in 
 which Causton carved it. 
 
 " Tim, you thief, go fetch me a bit of the breast !" 
 said Jack Laffan. 
 
 "'Tis here, yer honour," says Tim, returning 
 quickly; " av we'd had a bit of that on the 5th of 
 May, 1836 " 
 
 *' Silence, you villain '/' roars Jack. " This 
 turkey's so good, Charley, 111 drink your people's 
 good health V 
 
 Agreed, ncm. con. We drank Mr. Fairlegh 
 senior's health with the hare, and Allsopp's 
 health in his own beer, and success to Jack 
 Cookson and the Calcutta Chhujachgoolc ; and the 
 last morsel was scarcely in our mouths before we 
 saw that Causton had slipped off, and was already
 
 8 OUR MISCELLANY. 
 
 lighting a pipe. We all followed and did the same 
 — all except Jack Laffan, who was entrusted with 
 the manufacture of the whisky punch, which he 
 accomplished in an enormous white hasin, originally 
 purchased by Charley Ferrars, for cleansing photo- 
 graphic apparatus, hut never used. When he 
 produced this we all filled, and drew round the fire. 
 It was very jolly. My old coUahorateur, Frank 
 Fairlegh, was comfortably placed in the chimney- 
 cornei', with a kind word for everybody ; near him 
 were Causton, with his broad back and large black 
 whiskers; Billy Bales, restless and worn-looking, 
 fagged to death in the preparation of his forth- 
 coming burlesque; Tom Doland fresh as a rose, 
 and active as a young colt, in high spirits after a 
 slight morning's work of five-and-forty rounds 
 in the gloves with the Bolton Nobbier; Jack 
 Laffiin, with a face all bronzed and seamed, but 
 good humoured and impudent, as only an Irish 
 face can be. Others were there, good fellows 
 enough, but needing no particular description, 
 classing as the '' servants, guests, retainers, 
 masquers, &c.," in theatrical bills. Most of us 
 were scribblers, outsiders in the literary world.
 
 INTRODUCTION. \) 
 
 men who added to their incomes by newspaper and 
 magaznie writing", and the conversation at length 
 turned upon the various periodicals which served 
 as the vehicles for our lucubrations. The prospects 
 were rather gloomy. '' The time for magazines is 
 gone by, and past !" said Billy Bales, the misan- 
 thrope ; '^ and quite right it sliould be ! They are 
 effete, slow, useless lumber ! '^ 
 
 " Question !" roars out Jack Laffan, who was 
 for some time a gallery reporter, and has picked 
 up several parliamentary phrases — " question !" 
 
 "Well?" says Billy, sharply. 
 
 " Look at the ^shillings' — some of them have a 
 good sale." 
 
 " Quite right," says Billy, ^' and they deserve 
 it ; they're generally well conducted, employ clever 
 men (and he bows to two or three of us who are 
 engaged on the Train), and are well worth the 
 money. It's of the ^ half-crowns' I was think- 
 ing !" 
 
 " Ah, there you're right, sure enough !" chimes 
 in Causton; "they're not worth an — {jniproper 
 expression.) Who would give half-a-crown for 
 Cokeblaze's Old Monthly j Gently's Melee, Pains-
 
 10 OUR MISCELLANY. 
 
 worth's " But here a shout of derision stopped 
 
 the speaker. 
 
 " Well/' he returned, " I'll give in Painsworth, 
 hut as for any of the others, when JlouseJiuld // ords 
 can be bought for twopence, and Chambers' Journal 
 for three-halfpence. The half-crown mags are 
 overstocked by young lady and young gentleman 
 contributors, whose offerings are accepted by the 
 editors, because they do not require to be paid 
 for them. I suppose no man here is satisfied with 
 that ? We've seen ourselves in print often enough 
 for the novelty to wear off! A laudatory review 
 in the Fost or the Chronicle don't pay for our 
 paletots, our washing, or our dinners and pipes. 
 It's a bad look-out, depend upon it ! '^ 
 
 " Why not start a new magazine ?" says Charley 
 Perrars; and the suggestion sent a thrill of ac- 
 quiescence through the room. I will not weary 
 my readers' patience with our discussion of the 
 project, — how we canvassed publishers and titles ; 
 how we arranged the various departments ; how 
 Fairlegh was to write a tale, Causton to contribute 
 reminiscences of Oxford life, Bales to do the savage 
 reviews. Jack LaflPan the wild and improbable
 
 INTRODUCTION. 1 1 
 
 stories^ and I the facetious verse and the " about- 
 town sketches ;" how the public was to be tickled, 
 the town hit, and the lasting success insured; but 
 that all these were perfectly determined upon, I 
 can safely say. There was an enormous consump- 
 tion of whisky ; five dijfferent titles were suggested 
 for the new comer, and his health was drunk under 
 each new name in brimming tumblers ; finally, at 
 about 3 a.m., we separated, my companions melted 
 into a haze before my eyes, there was a scuffle of 
 depai'ting and drunken boots, a violent slamming 
 of my outer oak, and I was alone. I rather think 
 I went to sleep ; I know I shut my eyes, nor did I 
 open them until my attention was roused at 
 hearing a gentle cough. I started upright in my 
 chair, looked round, and opposite me, in the chair 
 lately occupied by Charley Ferrars, whose cheerful 
 nasal horn was now rousing the echoes of the 
 adjoining bedroom, sat a tall melancholy-looking 
 stranger, dressed from head to foot in black. I 
 was staggered, but would not let him see it, so I 
 bowed and enquired his pleasure. 
 
 "I am come," said he, in an O'Smithian voice, 
 " on business. I am a spirit ! "
 
 12 OUR MISCELLANY. 
 
 "That's rum!" said I. 
 
 "Thauk you, no!" he replied, mistaking my 
 meaning, and imagining I had motioned him to the 
 bottle, which, however, happened to be whisky ; " I 
 never drink, and have now but little time to stay. 
 You are about to set up a magazine, conducted by 
 the gentlemen who have been here to-night?" 
 
 I bowed in acquiescence. 
 
 "It won't do!" he continued. "You are all 
 young men, and not sufficiently known to the 
 world to bear the weight of such an undertaking 
 on your unassisted shoulders. You are, however, 
 earnest and persevering, and it would be a pity 
 that your design should fail. Here is a packet," 
 producing a small parcel from under his cloak, 
 " that may be of use to you. It contains contri- 
 butions from all the celebrities of the day. Take 
 it — 'tis yours !" 
 
 He drew himself up, and looked so like Zamiel 
 in mourning, that I should not have been an atoni 
 surprised at finding the skull circle, and the ser- 
 pents, and the blinking owl of Der Freischiitz all 
 arranged in my chambers. I however recovered
 
 INTRODUCTIOX. 13 
 
 myself, and ventured to mutter something about 
 " the copyright." 
 
 " Copyright !" he exclaimed. " Fool — idiot — 
 ha-ha ! Be not afraid — they're all paid, or — com" 
 pounded for P^ He gathered his cloak round him, 
 rose up, and vanished up the chimney.' 
 
 I am bound to state that when I repeated this 
 conversation the next morning, and described my 
 visitor, I was met by incredulous shouts of 
 laughter. " No go, old fellow," said Charley 
 Ferrars ; " don't believe in him ! Old Mrs. Flana- 
 gan, the laundress, found you lying under the table 
 fast asleep, with the whisky bottle firmly grasped 
 by the neck, in your right hand ! You were 
 * mops and brooms' to an extent when the other 
 fellows went away; and I was rather too far gone 
 to be of much assistance to you." 
 
 " Pray stop, Charley," I said. " I must deny 
 the truth of your statement ! Intoxication is a 
 vice which " 
 
 "Yes, all right; — we know!" he interrupted. 
 " J. B. Gough, Exeter Hall Temperance Associa- 
 tion, &c. — Cut it short !"
 
 14 OUR MISCELLANY. 
 
 ''But the parcel?" said I. " Here it is^ and it 
 does contain " 
 
 " I know. I met a fellow in Dublin who once 
 edited a mag. which failed, and he gave me these 
 papers which had been sent to him, and didn't 
 suit. — ' Rejected communications cannot be re- 
 turned.' You know the stereotyped answer. He's 
 given up business now, and thought, by a little 
 turning and twisting, something might be made 
 of 'em ; but we won't have 'em in the nev/ mag. 
 ■ — that's positive !" 
 
 His opinion influenced my other friends, and 
 they would not allow me to publish the stories in 
 the magazine. I accordingly locked them away 
 and forgot them, and it was only the other day, 
 in clearing out an old closet, that I came upon the 
 parcel, and read its contents. The thought then 
 struck me that the world might like to see the 
 earlier and cruder style of many of its favourite 
 authors, — nay, that perhaps the authors them- 
 selves, who have no doubt forgotten the existence 
 of these children of their fancy, might like to 
 recognise their little bantlings, and compare them 
 with more recent and healthy progeny.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 Under this idea I sought out my friend, Mr. 
 Kohert Broug-h, and begged Kis assistance and co- 
 operation^ which he at once readily promised. 
 Having, then, carefully gone through the MSS., 
 we took them to JNIessrs. Houtledge, and through 
 their kind instrumentality, Oar Miscdlanij is now 
 given to the world. 
 
 Edmund H. Yates. 
 
 43, Doughty Street, 
 August, 1856.
 
 BLUEACRE. 
 
 ^ %amnncz. 
 
 By W, HAKASSING PAINSWORTH. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 THE CHURCHYAED. 
 
 " 'Tis now the very witching time of night, 
 When churchyards yawn and graves give up their dead." 
 
 Shakspeake. 
 
 In a London churchyard at midnight two persons 
 were seated. The churchyard was roomy and of 
 considerable extent. Through the niches of the 
 vaults might be seen piles upon piles of coiSns, 
 some of which had burst open^ through age and 
 decay^ and revealed mouldering skeletons and pieces 
 of decayed shrouds. The flickering flame of a 
 lantern, which rested on a tombstone, fell upon the 
 figures before alluded to, and enabled the observer, 
 had there been such, to gaze upon the lineaments 
 of the mysterious twain. The elder of these was 
 a man of deep marked features and sunken eyes.
 
 BLUEACUE. •I? 
 
 with which, glimmering like marsh meteors in the 
 light of the lantern, he instituted a searching 
 glance into the countenance of his companion. 
 The object of his scrutiny seemed lost in reverie, 
 but from as much of him as could be perceived in 
 the waning light of the lantern, he Avas a young 
 man, short and thick set. Attired as a bricklayer's 
 labourer of the mode of 1850, his flannel jacket 
 and corduroy trousers of the roughest make would 
 have determined his rank as sufFiciently humble in 
 the scale of society, had not his flashing eye, his 
 exuberance of hair, which escaped from beneath 
 his cap, and fell in natural clusters over his 
 shoulders, marked him as one of nature's lords. 
 
 " There is not much merriment in you," said 
 the elder man, after a long silence ; '' you were 
 never born to be a true corpse hunter. Here," he 
 added, putting his hand into his breast and 
 drawing forth a curiously-shaped flask, " here's a 
 drop of right Nantz drink, ^twiil revive you." 
 
 " I need not drink to be a man !" exclaimed 
 the other, pushing aside the proffered bottle. " But 
 repeat to me in full the story you have just hinted 
 fit, and I warrant you the blood will flow freely 
 
 B
 
 18 • W. HAKASSING PA1KS-\V0RTH. 
 
 enouj^h t]iroiii2,li my veins. Wheii^ say you^ did 
 Lord Robinson die?" 
 
 "Last night, at the eleventh hour! The warn- 
 ing came the day before yesterday." 
 
 ^'IVhat M'arning?" 
 
 ''Neither more nor less than that given to all 
 of the family. You look astonished ? Have you 
 never heard of the Two Black Cats ? Never does 
 one of the House of Robinson pass away without 
 their appearance, which is a true sign of death. 
 But you shall hear the legend." And in an eldritch 
 screech, which harmonized well with his subject, 
 the old man chanted the following ballad : — 
 
 STj^e dTtoo 33 lack (Cats. 
 
 " Fill high the bowl, the jokes resound, loud mirth press 
 
 through the air, 
 And brilliantly the torches flash o'er knights and ladies 
 
 fair, 
 The jester rises in his scat, and every yeoman tall, 
 Shouts, ' Health to Lord de Eohinson, the bravest of us 
 
 all!' 
 
 With doublet opened for his ease, Cue form and noble 
 
 face. 
 Each feature showing noble blood, each action fraught 
 
 with grace,
 
 BLUEACRE. L9 
 
 Sits E-obiuson ; upon liis cheek there is no sign of care : 
 Why comes that pallor o'er his brow — that lixed and fear- 
 ful stare ? 
 
 The mirth is at its loudest, when, through the opened 
 
 door, 
 Two huge Tom Cats of sablest hue, come gliding o'er the 
 
 floor, 
 With arching spine and fiery eyes, fixed ears and bushy 
 
 taU, 
 Each stands by Lord de Eobinson, and thus begins to 
 
 ■wail : — 
 
 " ' Ho ! man of pride and arrogance, thj^ eartlily course is 
 
 run; 
 Thy lust of power, thy cruelty, all ended are and done ; 
 Within this night, within an hour, cold Death shall claim 
 
 his prize. 
 Shall stiffen that now threatening hand, shall dull those 
 
 fiery eyes.' 
 
 " ' Now, by my mother's sacred head, my father's blessed 
 
 beard,' 
 Screamed Robinson, * by man or beast ne'er yet have I 
 
 been jeered, 
 'Die, lying brutes, infernal imps,' he slirieked in accents 
 
 hoarse, 
 Then fell exhausted on the floor, a swollen, livid corse ! 
 
 " And ever since that hour, whene'er the icy hand of Death 
 Is laid on a De Robinson, to rob him of his breath, 
 
 B 2
 
 20 W. HARASSING PAINSWORTH. 
 
 With noiseless step, and scarce-liearcl purr, amid the 
 
 deepening gloom, 
 Those two demoniac Black Cats are seen •within the room!" 
 
 "And did these cats appear last night T' asked the 
 3^oung man, who was called Gaveston Montmorency. 
 
 " They did/^ answered the elder. " I was re- 
 turning home last night past Robinson's house, 
 when I heard a fearful screech, as of children in 
 agony : I turned and beheld two large black cats, 
 their tails erect, their eyes flashing, and fire stream- 
 ing from their nostrils, rush across the road. — 
 Listen, Gaveston ! Of all the Robinsons lying in 
 the first-class bricked and stuccoed family vault 
 beneath us, not one male branch of the house but 
 has been suspected " 
 
 " Of what ?" 
 
 " Of murder, robbery, treason, arson, burglary, 
 forgery, infanticide, rape, coining, piracy, sheep- 
 stealing," said the elder, in a hissing whisper. 
 
 " Yes !" said Gaveston. 
 
 " Yes, but come now to the vault !" 
 
 They descended into the catacombs, and the old 
 man, opening the door with a rusty key which 
 hung at his girdle, led the way into a vault.
 
 BLUE ACHE. 21 
 
 Gavestou, in following liim, stumbled, and falling 
 against a pile of coffins, knocked them down, and 
 the floor was strewn with their ghastly occupants, 
 clad in the hideous apparel of the tomb. The old 
 man turned, and pointing to one at Gaveston's 
 feet, said, " Touch not that, — 'tis your mother \" 
 
 " Great heavens V shouted Gaveston. 
 
 " Ay, and look what sparkles on her hand ! — a 
 wedding ring ! Then she was Lord Robinson's wife ! 
 justice shall yet be done. Run off as quickly as 
 possible to the ' Sun and Stomach Pump,' seek for 
 Blueacre, ask his advice, and be guided by it ! 
 And, look you " 
 
 He turned round to address his companion, but 
 Gaveston had already vanished. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 THE BOOZING KEN. 
 
 " Fibbing culls, Common- garden hoskins, 
 Prigs, milling coves, and country joskins." 
 
 Lcujs of the Hue and Cry. 
 
 Darting away from the side of his ominous com- 
 panions, Gaveston Montmorency quitted the church-
 
 23 W. HARASSING PAINS-tt-ORTII. 
 
 yard, and plunginr^ into the evci'-flowing tide of 
 London life, crossed Wliitechapel, anciently called 
 " L'Eglise Blanche/' and proceeding* through 
 various lanes, streets, and rookeries, only known to 
 the initiated in those quarters, stopped at length 
 before an old house, the frowning porch of which 
 overhung the street, and seemed to threaten de- 
 struction to the passers-by. At the door of this 
 ancient mansion Gaveston knocked three times,— ^ 
 not the " rat-tat" of the postman, the " rat-tat- 
 tat" of the " swell cove" (or gentleman), nor the 
 humble " rat" of the dun ; but a peculiar, and evi- 
 dently significant knock. Immediately the door 
 was swung open, Montmorency was seized, gagged, 
 and blindfolded, and led away between two men, 
 whose heavy hands rested on his shoulder. 
 
 " A word, and this blade penetrates your en- 
 trails,'' said the man on the right. 
 
 " A sound, and two leaden pills are driven through 
 your knowledge-box," said the man on the left. 
 
 Obeying these hints, and relying perfectly on 
 that insensibility to fear which had never deserted 
 him in time of need, Gaveston proceeded. He felt 
 himself conveyed as through some subterranean
 
 BLUEACRE. 23 
 
 passaj^e ; presently he heard a heavy noisCj as of a 
 swing door; and the next instant his eyes were 
 unbound, and he gazed with a scrutinizing glare 
 round the apartment. 
 
 The scene that greeted him was an extraordinary 
 one. It was a large hall, down the centre of which 
 was a long table, covered with a profusion of viands 
 and liquids, pipes, tobacco, and snuff-boxes. Round 
 this table were seated the choice spirits of London 
 — the highwaymen, the mufflers, the area sneaks, 
 the prigging princes, the gonophs, the magsmen, 
 and the fences of the day. Scarce one could you 
 point out who was not the hero of some glorious 
 action. 
 
 Towards the top of the table sat Mat Mulligan, 
 alias Mat the Scrimper, a swarthy, dark-com- 
 plexioned man, who had shown his brave contempt 
 of the ignominious laws of his country by dispatch- 
 ing a troublesome wife, and thereby escaping the 
 weighty costs of a divorce. Next to him sat 
 Smiling Sammy, a '' queer cuffin," who had taken 
 more vipes, fogies, tickers, sneezing-traps, and 
 readers, than any man of his day. Here, too, M'as 
 Mephibosheth Moss, of the fragrant valley of the
 
 24} W. HARASSING PAINSWORTH. 
 
 Houndj whose melting-pot was ever on the fire; 
 and Ezra Jacohs, who was a better swearer of an 
 alilji than any man in Europe. 
 
 They are gone, these brave men — these noble 
 fellows! — these persevering^ industrious, warm- 
 hearted workmen ! Cursed policemen, villauous 
 detectives, have put down and extinguished this 
 noble race. It is to iis a matter of wonder and 
 regret that, while the newspapers are daily teem- 
 ing with advertisements of every species of want — 
 while young men from our Universities are to be 
 found employed in Australia in the most menial 
 capacities — while the army and navy are so 
 overstocked and so badly paid — while so many 
 jDoor curates are starving, — it is to us a matter of 
 W'Onder, when bludgeons are so cheap, garott- 
 ing ropes so easily procured, and dark lanterns, 
 jemmies, centrebits, and files, so much improved in 
 manufacture, that no band of gallant desperadoes 
 has been got together, who could infest the suburbs 
 of London, and gain for themselves a glorious im- 
 mortality. 
 
 We have been led away from our subject. To 
 return to it. The principal character in this won-
 
 BLUEACllE. 25 
 
 drous scene has not yet been limned — and what 
 pencil could do justice to his noble exterior? At 
 the top of the table — ''in the chair/' in fact — sat 
 that prince of rapparees, murderers_, and good 
 fellows, Thomas Blueacre. Of a stature not re- 
 markable for its height (in fact what would in 
 another man have been called stumpy — but how 
 could such a term apply to Blueacre ?), with hair of 
 light brown, locks which, though not luxuriant, yet 
 were admirably adapted to show off the bullet 
 shape of his head (they had been thus cropped by 
 the hairdresser of Newgate), with a short whisker 
 reaching half down his cheek, a Belcher handker- 
 chief round his neck, an elaborate and elegantly-cut 
 suit of fustian, and with feet encased in boots 
 named after the immortal Blucher, he stood — the 
 model of a gentleman and a cracksman. 
 
 Tom Blueacre, at the period of which we treat, 
 had nearly reached the zenith of his reputation. His 
 deeds were in every policeman's mouth, his fist had 
 been on many of their noses, and a reward of fifty 
 pounds for his apprehension was stuck on every 
 station-house wall in London. Blueacre was the 
 ultinms liomanorum, the last of a race, which (we
 
 26 W. HARASSING PAINSWOIITII. 
 
 were almost about to say we regret) is now alto- 
 getlier extinct. Several successors he hud, it is 
 true, but no name worthy to be regarded after 
 his own. Daniel Good, Hooker, Barthelemy, all 
 of these asserted their claims, but all fell far short 
 of the great original. Oh, the good old days — 
 woe for them ! Where are now your men of might 
 and fancy ? Gone, all gone ! Where is D'Olyndais, 
 where the high tobyman lounged elbow to elbow 
 with the peer of the realm, and dipped his exquisite 
 digits into the diamond-covered snuff-box of the 
 beau? Where are the matchless steeds which 
 conveyed their gallant owners from one lonely 
 heath to another still more lonely, and never turned 
 a hair of their sleek and shining coats ? Where 
 are the yellow post-chaises, the heavy York coaches, 
 the grey roadsters ridden by meek city merchants, 
 Avith thousands in their saddle-bags? Gone, all 
 gone ! But we are digressing. Enamoured of his 
 vocation, Blueacre delighted to hear himself desig- 
 nated as the Stunning Cracksman, and it was with 
 rapturous triumph that he found his nightly feats 
 the theme of the daily newspapers ; and when 
 seated at the head of the table in the Boozing Ken,
 
 BLUEACRE. 27 
 
 he listened to the uproarious mirth of his comrades, 
 chanting the praises of his various burglaries, he 
 felt himself indeed a man ! 
 
 When Gaveston Montmorency found himself in 
 the presence of this great creature, he hesitated for 
 a moment, overcome by the sense of his exalted 
 situation ; but quickly recovering himself, he drew 
 himself up to his full height, and looked proudly 
 round on the assemblage. 
 
 Gaveston's external man, we have before said, 
 was prepossessing, and the effect it produced on 
 those around him was electrical. At once he saw 
 his advantage. Your true tobyman has ever a 
 passion for effect. Gaveston was an example of 
 this. He saw at once the feeling he had produced; 
 and thrustiug his tongue in his cheek, he winked 
 his eye, gave a leap in the air, and, shouting " Pop 
 goes the weasel \" dame down upon the platform in 
 the attitude of Jim Crow, amid a rapturous peal of 
 applause. 
 
 " He's a rank scamp !" said one — a gentleman 
 sitting near to the chairman. 
 
 " A wicked dummy hunter V said a second. 
 
 " A fly mizzler V said a third.
 
 28 W. HARASSING PAINSWORTH. 
 
 " What is the queer cull's business here ?" asked 
 the rich»-toned voice of Blueacre ; and all sunk into 
 silence. 
 
 " I hear a private message to the downiest of 
 downy birds, the rummest of rum padders, the 
 leariest of leary coves. Listen ! all you high pads 
 and low pads, rum gills and queer gills, patricos, 
 palliards, priggers, whipjacks, and jackmen, from 
 the arch rogue to the needy mizzler. Listen ! I 
 bear a message to King Cly-faker, to Prince Crib- 
 cracker — in a word, to Blueacre \" 
 
 A shout rent the roof as an acknowledgment of 
 this speech. 
 
 "Come up here, then, and Til patter with 
 you at once," said the silvery tones of Blueacre. 
 " Bing avast, there, my merry men ; bing 
 avast there, and leave us together." The crowd 
 rose from their seats in obedience to this man- 
 date, and left Gaveston standing by the great man. 
 
 "And now," said the latter, "now that all's 
 plummy and slam, let's have your jaw. Whence 
 come you?" 
 
 " From old Jabez, the sexton of St. Sepulchre's," 
 answered Gaveston.
 
 BLUEACRE. 29 
 
 " All ! a queer old cufiin — I know him well. 
 Aud what's old Jabez xip to now?'' 
 
 " He sends to inform you of a discovery he has 
 made." 
 
 "Ah ! a crib to crack, a wizen to slit, — what is it?" 
 
 "Not that — not that. He has discovered that 
 Sally Smith " 
 
 "Ah, that name!" shrieked Blueacre, in an 
 unearthly voice ; " the girl I so long kept com- 
 pany with ! Well — speak — patter — give your 
 tongue a gallop !" 
 
 *^ That Sally Smith was married to Lord Robin- 
 
 son 
 
 V' 
 
 " Hell and furies !" mildly remarked Blueacre ; 
 " married to that old bloke ! And who are you 
 who've been told this ?" 
 
 " I am her son, and in consequence " 
 
 " In consequence, my kid ! Come to my bosom. — ■ 
 No, wait ! There's a boozing bout to-night, after 
 which we'll start for Robinson House, and be 
 avenged !" Then, raising his voice, he continued, 
 " Come, my crushing coves, — to the booze, to the 
 
 booze !" 
 
 ******
 
 JOHNSON. 
 
 ^ Hag of fHotiern ILantifln. 
 
 By THOMAS BLABBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 I. 
 Stout Johnson; of Saint Thomas^ 
 
 By George and Jingo swore 
 That the street door of Watkins 
 
 Should hold its own no more. 
 By George and Jingo swore he. 
 
 And named a trysting day. 
 For all his trusty friends on town 
 To meet to tear the knocker down. 
 
 And bear the bell" away. 
 
 II. 
 Prom East-end and from West-end, 
 
 His missives prompt entreat, 
 Assistance (at his rooms resolv'd 
 
 On making both ends meet). 
 Shame on the craven spirit 
 
 Who sends a poor excuse. 
 And smokes his pipe at home or strolls 
 
 Ignobly on the loose !
 
 JOHNSON. 31 
 
 III. 
 
 The staunch allies in clusters 
 
 Are dropping in apace. 
 From many a lofty " chambers/' 
 
 From many a lowly " place/' 
 From " cribs," and " dens/' and " quarters/' 
 
 And vague mysterious " rooms/' 
 Whose whereabouts to specify, 
 
 No daring mind presumes. 
 
 From Guy's across the water, 
 
 From Strand adjacent Kings', 
 From Charing, (which a shadow o'er 
 
 The mourn'd Casino flings !) 
 From Bartlemy's in Smithfield, 
 
 Of accidents bereft ! 
 And Middlesex, whose course we trace 
 From Oxford-street up Rathboue-place, 
 
 By turning to the left. 
 
 V. 
 
 From wall-encircled Temple, 
 
 Shut out from London's noise, 
 "Where apron'd porters guard the way, 
 
 And keep in awe the boys ;
 
 32 THOMAS BLABBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 From Gray's and dingy Clement's, 
 (Where rents so mod' rate run !) 
 And Lincoln's Inn, where stands, alas ! 
 Th' Insolvent Court, — besides a mass 
 Of others of a noisome class 
 (Requiring far more nerve to pass). 
 Where no whitewashing's done. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Rich are the chops whose gravy 
 
 Exudes o'er Rhodes's"^ bars ; 
 And sweet, at Evans's, the notes 
 That issue from the singers' throats 
 
 In spite of the cigars. 
 Beyond all bands the waltzer 
 
 Loves Laurent's (when in tune) ; 
 Best of all grounds the bowler loves 
 
 The American Saloon. 
 
 * This and subsequent allusions to the Valentino, the Poic& 
 PlciHtiques, Brixton Treadmill, and other familiar objects of our 
 youth, since swept away by the broom of Time, would fix the 
 authorship of this ballad at a date anterior to the present genera- 
 tion. For instance, in stanza xiv. the students are described as 
 singing now obsolete melodies of Ethiopian origin. In the pre- 
 sent day the chosen chorus under similar circumstances would 
 have been the " Ratcatcher's Daughter," or possiblj'', " Villikins." 
 The allusion to Cowell in stanza viii., reads like an interpolation.
 
 JOHNSON. 
 VII. 
 
 But now no chop or kidney 
 
 Emits its soft perfume ; 
 No voice is heard suggesting that 
 " The waiter's in the room." 
 In vain the sylphs at Laurent's 
 
 Their palms in kid have dressed ; 
 The howls may wait^ and Rhodes's grate 
 
 Enjoy a few bars rest. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The comic songs of Cowell, 
 
 To-night old men shall hear, — 
 To-night young boys and greenhorns 
 
 Shall have the Argyle clear ; 
 And parsons from the country. 
 
 To-night sole audience be. 
 To hear Sam Hall or Baldwin's call, 
 
 " Attention for a glee !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 A score of chosen spirits 
 
 In Johnson's rooms are met. 
 
 And Johnson sees his birdseye 
 Diminish with regret ; 
 c
 
 34; THOMAS BLABBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 And from the round stone bottles 
 
 Too fast the liquids flow; — 
 He sees (and feels) his spirits sink. 
 And inwardly begins to think — 
 'Tis time for them to o-o. 
 
 X. 
 
 " Ho ! friends and fellow-students, 
 
 'Tis fit we should prepare 
 For action (Fibbetson, you brute, 
 
 Don^t interrupt the Chair!) 
 The enterprise before us 
 
 Must fraught with danger be ; 
 Will you go in through thick and thin 
 
 To win the spoil with me? 
 
 XI. 
 
 " For Watkins the plebeian, 
 
 Whose door we go to sj^oil 
 (By past unskilled attempts enraged) 
 A private watchman has engaged, 
 
 Our cherished schemes to foil. 
 Therefore let no man join us
 
 JOHNSON. 35 
 
 Who fears to break the peace 
 And go the undivided hog. 
 E'en to (should they our footsteps dog) 
 
 Assaulting the police." 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then up spake Robert Simpson, 
 Of Middlesex was he : 
 " Lo ! I'll go in through thick and tliiiij 
 To win the spoil with thee !" 
 And up spake Brown of Charing 
 (Pluck' d but last week was he) : 
 " No man am I for saying die — 
 
 Lul-liet-iet-y ! • 
 
 xiir. 
 
 " That accidents will happen, 
 It stands a fact confest. 
 In families which, by" their heads, 
 
 Are regulated best ; 
 And if to-night's adventures 
 Result in fines and quods, 
 So long as you are happy. 
 Inform me where's the odds." 
 c 2
 
 36 THOMAS BLABBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 And now the dauntless phalanx 
 
 Stand ^neatli the gas-light's glare, 
 And many a pipe and ancient hat 
 Hui'l'd at a scared and flying cat. 
 
 Goes whizzing through the air. 
 With Ethiopia's music 
 
 They rend the welkin now, 
 Telling of Blane and Tucker's fate, 
 Till stern policeman " Twenty-eight" 
 Steps forward to expostulate 
 
 'Gainst such a jolly row. 
 
 • XV. 
 
 The restless Strand behind them 
 
 They leave, and quickly gain 
 The corner where Saint Martin's Church 
 
 Prowns grandly up his lane. 
 Through danger-fraught Cranbournia 
 
 Unscath'd they make their way 
 (Protected by the evening's shade, 
 For syrens in the bonnet trade 
 That spellTbound district long have made 
 
 Unsafe to pass by day) .
 
 JOHl«fSON. 37 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Up through the Court of Ryder ! 
 
 Nor idly pause to sigh 
 O'er the crushM Valentino's fate_, 
 Nor Wharton's bills investigate 
 
 Above the lamps hard by. 
 On ! through the Cretan mazes 
 
 Of Newport Market go. 
 They're past, and now the warlike train 
 A yell of joy can scarce restrain 
 As bursts in sight the proud domain 
 
 Of Watkins of Soho ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Back, Simpson ! back, Carruthers ! 
 
 Back, Blatherwick ! — be cool ; 
 Be quiet. Brown ; keep Davis down ; 
 
 And Jones ! — don't be a fool. 
 Wait till the private watchman 
 
 Shall round the corner wind ; 
 He will directly, to inspect 
 
 The premises behind. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " There, now, you see, — I told you : 
 He's hidden by the wall.
 
 38 THOMAS BL^VBBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 Haste^ Jones ! — engage him in a chat^ — 
 Insult his capes, or chafF his hat. 
 Or treat him to some coffee at 
 
 The early breakfast stall : 
 Anything to engage him 
 
 For minutes two or three, 
 By which time he, I dare be bound, 
 
 Shall see what he shall see." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Like telegraphic message 
 
 Jones on his errand flies ; 
 And Blatherwick and Simpson 
 
 Go with him as allies. 
 (And, of those last-named heroes 
 
 ^Tis whisper'd since on town. 
 They thought the watchman-chaffing game 
 A less precarious road to fame 
 
 Than pulling knockers down). 
 
 XX. 
 
 But Johnson of St. Thomas, 
 
 No craven droopings knew; 
 Up to the frowning knocker, 
 
 With tiger spring he flew ;
 
 - JOHNSON. 39 
 
 And mirthful e'en in danger^ 
 Said, with a joyous grin, 
 " Walk up ! — the exhibition's just 
 A-going to begin V 
 
 O/i'i XXI. 
 
 Then thrust he through the knocker 
 
 His stick of British oak ; 
 But Brown of Charing, from the throng. 
 Quoting a Social Progress song. 
 
 Thus, with a purpose, spoke : 
 " Just wait a little longer. 
 
 There's work for me as well ; 
 You from its clamps the knocker tear — 
 I from the door, your fame to share, 
 
 Will please to wring the bell." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 But of that gang the stoutest 
 
 Felt their hearts sink to see 
 In progress what, in planning, 
 
 Had merely seem'd a " spree ;" 
 And from the dread adventure. 
 
 So rashly undertaken.
 
 40 THOMAS BLABBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 All shrank, like boys who, ere they strip, 
 Intend to plunge o'er head and hip 
 In Father Thames, but when they dip 
 In his cold flood a toe-nail's tip. 
 Scared — dress themselves again. 
 
 Xxiii. 
 But meanwhile Jones and Simpson, 
 
 And Blatherwick have tried. 
 In vain, to keep the watchman 
 Round on the other side. 
 " Run, Davis ! run, Carruthers !" 
 
 Loud cried the students all ; 
 " Slope ! and to him who hindmost lags, 
 The usual fate befal !" 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Back darted Brown of Charing, 
 
 Letting the bell-pull go, 
 "With startling clang, and all the gang 
 
 Retreated from the foe ; 
 But when they saw brave Johnson 
 
 Still tugging at the door. 
 Under the very watchman's nose. 
 
 They would have turn'd once more.
 
 JOHNSON. 41 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But, with a crash like thunder 
 
 (Such thunder as one hears 
 At minor theatres, when the ghost 
 
 Or maniac appears). 
 Round on its well- used pivot 
 
 The watchman's rattle sprung; 
 The band set up a frightened cry. 
 And (Jones in front) began to fly. 
 E'en Brown, averse to saying die, 
 
 Scorn'd not to cut and run. 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 Yet, like himself in practice 
 
 (" Teeth drawn for half-a-crown," 
 Stands graven on his bus'ness card). 
 The furious Johnson struggled hard 
 
 To wrench the knocker down. 
 And with Herculean prowess. 
 
 At length perform'd the feat ; 
 And oaken splint, and nut and screw. 
 With bits of paint and dried-up glue, 
 
 Flew scattered o'er the street.
 
 42 THOMAS BLABBINGTON MACAWLEY. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 With one huge stride he bounded 
 
 Adown the steps in glee, ' '^ ' 
 
 Waving his hard-earned prize ori'high,' 
 But stopp'd — he was corapell'd to — by 
 Policeman '^Twenty -three/' 
 "Off with him !" cried the watchman. 
 
 With a smile on his pale face ; 
 " Now, blow me !^' "Twenty-three" exclaimed; 
 " This here's a Brixton case." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Bound turn'd he somewhat stagger' d, 
 
 These myrmidons to see, 
 But he took the M'atchman's measure, 
 
 And the weight of " Twenty-three." 
 And, ere " Robinson" you'd summon 
 
 He had laid the former Ioav, 
 By tripping up his heels, and dealt 
 To " Twenty-three" (above the belt) 
 
 A firm left-handed blow. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Bereft of speech and breathing, 
 Awhile was "Twenty-three,"
 
 JOHNSON. 4S 
 
 (For, thanks to kitchen maidens fair, 
 Who bought his love with viands rare, 
 
 Of habit full was he); 
 And Johnson, by his valour 
 
 Freed from judicial grab. 
 In safety gainM the neighb'ring stand. 
 And with the knocker in his hand, 
 
 Plung'd headlong in a cab ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Never, I ween, did driver 
 
 With such a style of horse, 
 Urge o'er the stones at such a rate, 
 To save a patron from the hate 
 
 And fury of the Force. 
 But his sympathies went greatly 
 
 With the large heart within. 
 Who half-a-crown beyond his fare 
 
 Had promised — and some gin. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And now they near his chambers, 
 
 Where, waiting his return. 
 Stand his false-hearted comrades 
 
 Joy'd his escape to learn j
 
 44 THOMAS i3LABBINGT0N MACAWLEY. 
 
 Whom, for their craven conduct, 
 
 As from the cab he leaps. 
 The high-soul'd Johnson scruples not 
 
 To stigmatize as " sweeps." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And now they press around him. 
 
 And now they soap him down j 
 And with emollient sawder 
 
 His just reproaches drown ; 
 Now on the back they slap him. 
 
 Thumbs in his ribs they stick. 
 And now they dub him " Trojan," 
 
 And now proclaim him " Brick." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 They gave him songs and speeches. 
 
 They drank his health with glee. 
 And (heedless of the lodgers) 
 
 It was done with three times three. 
 And they took the rifled knocker. 
 
 And hung it up on high. 
 And there it stands in Johnson's rooms. 
 
 To witness if I lie.
 
 JOHNSON. 45 
 
 XXXTV. 
 
 And in the nights of winter^ 
 
 When things are rather slow. 
 And men (the gardens being shut) 
 
 Uncertain where to go ; 
 To Johnson's humble chambers. 
 
 In little knots drop in. 
 To smoke his soothing blrdseye. 
 
 And quaff his cheering gin ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 When the bottled stout is opened. 
 
 And the meerschaum pipe is lit. 
 And the guests on trunks and tables 
 
 (Chairs at a premium) sit. 
 When flags the conversation. 
 
 Revert they to the " go," 
 How Johnson tore the knocker down 
 
 Of Watkins of Soho.
 
 TPIE PAGE. 
 
 a IRomaunt from €nglisl) l^wtorp. 
 By GUSTAVUS PENNY EOYAL JACOBUS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A SULTRY summer's day was slowly drawing to its 
 closGj when two travellers might have been per- 
 ceived wending their way along one of those 
 fertile plains which are to be found in " the 
 Garden of England," as with truth it may be 
 called, — the county of Kent. 
 
 The elder of the twain was a man of middle age, 
 whose grizzled hair, chafed and worn by the pres- 
 sure of the helmet, and whose gaunt cheeks, 
 bronzed by the burning suns of Palestine, spoke 
 of the returning warrior of the Crusades. The 
 steed he bestrode was a jet-black charger, heavily 
 encumbered with the horse-armour of the period, 
 but who, despite his trappings, from time to time 
 raised his head aloft, champed his bit, and dis- 
 tended his glowing nostrils, as though glad once
 
 Tin: PAGE. 47 
 
 more to siiufF up the air of freedom^ which is alone 
 to be found in merry England. His joyous feelings, 
 however, did not appear to be shared by his rider, 
 who continued his journey with bent head and 
 abstracted air, preserving a moody silence, and 
 paying no attention to the conduct of his fellow- 
 traveller. This personage, over whose fair head 
 scarce eighteen summers had yet passed, was a 
 bright-skinned stripling, attired in the garb of a 
 page; his complexion was of that dazzling red 
 and white which is never encountered but among 
 our Saxon race ; his eye was of the deepest blue, 
 set off by long-fringed lashes that swept his damask 
 cheek ; his lips were ruddy and rather full ; and the 
 hand with v\diich he checked the caprioles and 
 boundings of his high-bred Jennet was of the 
 smallest size and most delicate hue. Occasionally 
 his glance rested on his companion, and instantly 
 his eye would fill with tears ; but hastily brushing 
 them away and muttering, '^A truce to such 
 weakness," he would plant himself more firmly in 
 the saddle, and essay, by feats of equitation, to 
 hide his overcharged feelings. 
 
 They had not proceeded far on the Common,
 
 48 G. p. R. JACOBUS. 
 
 when the charger of the elder traveller got his 
 foot entangled in one of the numerous holes which 
 in England are everywhere dug and left open by 
 order of the Commissioners of Sewei'Sj and nearly 
 threw his rider to the ground. 
 
 " Nay, then — a murrain on thee, for a stumbling 
 steed. Bethinkst thou not whose neck were in 
 danger an thy treacherous feet forsook thee? 
 Marry! an thou placest not to the fore the best leg 
 which thou canst boast of, we shall scarce reach 
 the hostelry by eventide \" 
 
 " Oh, my lord/' exclaimed his companion, " I 
 trust not that. Men say that after curfew the 
 clerks of St. Nicholas do ride abroad I" 
 
 *^ 'Gad so! thou smooth-faced boy, what then?'^ 
 replied the knight (for such we may imagine he 
 was) ; " an they beset us they will take little for 
 their toil, save shrewd knocks. Hast thou not 
 heard, too, that from these villain outlaws nought 
 is now to be apprehended? Good Daniel the 
 Forrester and stout Sir Buckette Field have, I 
 trow, made good head against the robbers." 
 
 " Nay, but — under your favour, fair sir? " 
 
 " But me no buts, else will I make a butt of
 
 THE PAGE, 49 
 
 thee^ and send an arrow quivering to tliy licart I" 
 exclaimed the knight ; then^ seeing his companion 
 turn deathly pale, he added, in a softer tone, " Nay, 
 Walter, I did hut jest ! I prithee think no 
 more on^t. Good lad, good lad! Come, rouse 
 thee, hoy. I near my own ancestral home, 
 and gladly will I show thee to my dame — my 
 Alice ! Oh, Alice ! yet yearns my hosom^s lord 
 for thy companionship, although no gentle mis- 
 Bive didst thou send me, when in the East all 
 fever-struck I lay ! Had it not been for that 
 Bweet Nightingale, and for thy watchful care, 
 my Walter, my poor bones had bleached ^neath 
 an eastern sun !" 
 
 " Marry ! gadzooks ! i'fachins ! good my lord, let 
 not thy Walter see thy tears. Thou'lt find thy 
 dame at home, and the bright eye of beauty will 
 at thy coming be bedewed. Forward, my lord ! I 
 follow thee.'' 
 
 ^rt Encouraged at these words, the elder traveller 
 fetruck the long rowels of his gilt spurs into the 
 reeking flanks of his gallant but almost exhausted 
 steed. Bounding forward, the noble animal broke 
 into a long luxurious gallop, and sped so merrily 
 
 D
 
 50 G. p. 11. JACOBUS. 
 
 tliat the page found it no slight matter to keep his 
 Jennet by his master's side. 
 
 The sky overhead was just beginning to be 
 tinged with the rays of the declining sun when the 
 knight^ who was riding in advance, turned his 
 steed from the main track across the plain^ and 
 made for a large clidteau which stood on the right 
 hand. At this moment the evening breeze bore to 
 the ears of the travellers the faint sound of a 
 distant horn, winded according to the tra-lira-la 
 gamut, then in vogue amongst the masters of the 
 joyous art of woodcraft or venery, and after a few 
 minutes' riding they came upon a man attired in a 
 tunic of Lincoln green, with a baldrick slung at his 
 waist, a quiver containing many a good clothyard 
 shaft on his back, and in his hand a bow of tough 
 old English yew. Scarcely had this personage cast 
 eyes upon the knight, than he burst forth with — 
 
 '^ By the holy St. Beowulpli ! an mine old eyes 
 deceive me not (and they were ever good at track- 
 ing game), I do behold mine honoured lord! 
 Kight welcome back, — returned again with honour, 
 too, although thy name was mentioned not in 
 Count Ragsliland's despatch. A scurvy knave ! a
 
 THE PAGE. 51 
 
 pestilence on him for his neglect^ say I. But 
 didst get the birdseye?^^ 
 
 " Thou speakest riddles^ good Hubert/^ said the 
 knight ; " what birdseye mean'st thou ? " 
 ^T^'Na.y, an thou got'st it not^ will I to London 
 straight. List^ then ! hearing of the misfortunes 
 of our brave men^ I, with these aged hands^ did 
 pack four pounds of right good Bristol birds- 
 eye, and with a gross of fresh-baked cutty pipes, 
 did send them to thee. The agent's name was — 
 ay, marry was it — Wardroper. I'll to Loudon 
 straight, and slit his knavish ears !" 
 
 '' Nay, prithee tarry V exclaimed the knight. 
 " Tell me, how fares it mth thy lady ?" 
 
 As his master pronounced these words, a deadly 
 change came over the hitherto joyous countenance 
 of the stalwart forester. He remained for some 
 moments gazing pensively on the ground, and two 
 large round tears, quitting the secret recesses of his 
 eyes, darted swiftly down his bronzed and manly 
 nose, chased each other over the broad expanse of 
 chest covered by his Lincoln green jerkin, and 
 finally took refuge in his russet boots. The knight 
 marked his agitation. '' Speak, for the love of 
 D 3
 
 52 G. p. E. JACOBUS. 
 
 Heaven I" he exclaimed. " Hubert, thy mistress ! 
 by the rood, an thou answer'st not ; — eh, what ! 
 no ! yes ! it cannot — it can — it may, might, should, 
 AYOuld, or could " 
 
 " Heavens !" exclaimed the page, " his senses 
 leave him !" 
 
 '^No, Hubert, I prithee speak; I can bear all \" 
 
 " Oh, ray good lord," returned the forester, " I 
 thought thou knewst the dark history, or my old 
 lips had been the last to tell thee. Two days after 
 thou hadst started for Palestine — '■ — " 
 
 " "VYell, well, — speed thee V interrupted the 
 knight, dashing the huge drops of sweat from his 
 grizzled forehead, and vainly searching in the in- 
 terior of his helmet for his bandana, ijp,^ .nsjs atu 
 
 " Two days, then, after thou startedst for Pales- 
 tine, the Lady Alice was nowhere to be found. 
 Every spot of ground was searched, every nook 
 and cranny in the cMiecm, the terrace, the gay 
 pleasaunce, ay, gramercy ! the very wood itself, 
 but all in vain " ,id woii'iy 
 
 " By my halidame !" angrily interrupted the 
 knight ; " dost mean to say that thy lady is not 
 here?"
 
 THE PAGE. OD 
 
 "Alas^ my lord^ ^tis so '/' 
 
 " Craven and serf, go to ! Look to't, Hubert, 
 thou wert the most trusted of all my vassals ; to- 
 morrow^ ere the sun gilds yonder copse, thou 
 hang'st, and may Heaven rest thy soul \" Frown- 
 ing moodily, he crossed his arms over his mail-clad 
 breast, and dismounting from his steed, strode 
 towards the clidteau, followed at a respectful dis- 
 tance by the page. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The sun had gone down to rest in his briny bath, 
 but the day was still warm and bright. It passes 
 my honest comprehension to understand the change 
 that has taken place in the weather of this our 
 country. Summer is summer now no longer. True, 
 we have the harebells, the modest shrinking daisies, 
 the yellow buttercups, — still the change is visible. 
 Perhaps one cause of this change may be that 
 which has brought about many another evil in the 
 land, namely, the giving up those helms and
 
 54 G. p. R. JACOBUS. 
 
 hauberks^ those tough old yew hovvs^ those gor- 
 geously slashed trunk hose and pourpoints^ which 
 were the glory of our ancestors, but are now, alas ! 
 fallen into disuse. 
 
 It was in the great hall at Rosherville, — that 
 splendid hall_, which still remains, attesting, like 
 many other monuments, the magnificent ideas of 
 an age which we perhaps justly term barbarous, 
 but which displayed, amongst many rude and 
 uncivilized things, a grasp of execution which we 
 seldom can attain even in these days of Mr. Cole, 
 C.B., and the School of Design. — In the great 
 hall at Eosherville, about an hour after sunset, 
 was laid out a banquet, which, in profuse luxury 
 and splendour, might have equalled the strongest 
 eiforts of Messrs. Bathe and Breach. The table 
 not only groaned, but actually cursed and swore 
 under the weight of quaint and curious plate. 
 Many of the cups and dishes were so ornamented 
 with jewels, that it was rather a nuisance than 
 otherwise ; and oft did a gallant knight find a 
 large ruby or carbuncle sticking in his stewed 
 steak ! 
 
 Although the guests themselves, the actual
 
 THE PAGE. 55 
 
 family of the host_, only amounted to seven 
 lumdred, and the broad table at which they sat 
 looked small in the centre of the hall^ yet the 
 number of attendants^ carvers,, cupbearers, butlers, 
 and sewers,* was not less than two thousand, 
 without including the harpers, the trumpeters, the 
 minstrels, the sauvage-men, the morris dancers, the 
 jongleurs, the mummers, and the spectators, who 
 were admitted within certain limits. Every imagi- 
 nable dainty was on the table, wines of the choicest 
 vintages of France and Spain, metheglin, hippo- 
 eras, iced punshe sent from the Joyeuse ^Societe of 
 y'' Garricke, and a curious pleasant liquid in long- 
 necked flasks, labelled "LL,'^ procured at vast 
 expense from stout Patrick Kinahan, king of 
 Munster. 
 
 At the head of the table sat the Baron de 
 Authorme, w^hose acquaintance was made by our 
 readers in the last chapter. His brow was mood}', 
 and the beaker before him stood unheeded. His 
 wC>rthy jester, Tommathews, vainly endeavoured to 
 
 * N.B.— Not Mr. Cliadwick or Dr. Southwood Smitli;— but 
 attendants so called.
 
 56 G. p. R. JACOBUS. 
 
 rouse him from his melancholy. Many and various 
 were the means he adopted for this end. Occa- 
 sionally he would put his mouth to his master's 
 ear and shout, " I saw you do it V ox, " There's a 
 policeman V Once did he hie him to where some 
 brands were burning, and under pretence of shaking 
 hands with one of the retainers, did place the 
 lighted stick on his extended palm. But seeing 
 all his efforts fruitless, he clapped the stern war- 
 rior on the back, and after saying, " Come, Nunks, 
 wake up !" burst into the following chant — 
 
 " This mornynge verrle handie, ' 
 My malladie was ysoche — 
 I in my tee toke brandie, 
 Butte toke a coppe too muche." 
 
 " A pestilence on thee for a mad rogue !" in- 
 terrupted the Baron. '^ Stop tliis. Gadzooks ! an 
 thou put'st not a stopper to thy prate thyself, 
 I'll slit thy wizen as I would a foul gerfalcon's !" 
 
 *'What ails thee, good coz?" asked Tom- 
 mathews. 
 
 " Fool thou art in name and nature too !" re- 
 turned the Baron. "Why ask'st thou? When I 
 left this house, I left '^
 
 THE PAGE. 57 
 
 bif Ay, marry ! gossip/^ said the jester^ in the witty- 
 fashion of the period, " left is not right; and that 
 which is left cannot be said to be taken ; and the' 
 left side of a plum-pudding is that which is not 
 eaten \" 
 
 " Go to, go to \" exclaimed the Baron, smiling in 
 spite of himself at this brilliant sally. " Leave me 
 now ; my mind is not attuned to mirth." 
 
 " Nay, rouse thee, Nunks ! here's that to raise 
 thy spirits;" — and Tommathews beckoned to two 
 jongleurs, who came forward, and after placing on 
 the upraised dais several thousands of eggs, exe- 
 cuted, with nimble feet, and without the slightest 
 impediment, that celebrated dance which was in- 
 vented by their liege lord. Immediately on the 
 conclusion of this saraband, cries of " A Nathanne ! 
 A Nathanne \" rung through the vast extent of the 
 hall. Seeing the frov\ni still on the countenance of 
 his lord, the merry jester Tommathews gave an- 
 other sign, and two minstrels, bearing in their 
 hands golden harps, advanced, made obeisance, and 
 commenced singing. Their chant was much ap- 
 plauded, and could their strains be written down in 
 the exactness in which they were sung, they would
 
 58 G. p. R. JACOBUS. 
 
 be regarded as invaluable specimens of the Englisli 
 poetry of that early age. In modern days, how- 
 ever, a so-called refinement has sprung up, which 
 regards with horror the fine freespoken language 
 of bygone times, — language in which at least a 
 spade was called a spade, and not known under any 
 foreign appellation. To the minstrels succeeded a 
 sauvage man, whose rude figure, but scantily 
 covered with strips of ivy and green boughs 
 twisted into a species of apron, was calculated to 
 strike dismay into the minds of the spectators. In 
 his hand he carried a large club, formed of the 
 trunk of a young tree, which he wielded with the 
 utmost ease, whirling it round his head, and beat- 
 ing time with it to the various cadences of the 
 music, — a pitch-pipe, played by one of the at- 
 tendants, being his sole accompaniment. Not- 
 withstanding all this junketing, however, the mind 
 of the Baron was obviously ill at ease. Reclining 
 back on his seat, his eye wandered vacantly over 
 the forms of the mummers ; the rhymes of the 
 minstrels echoed on his ear, indeed, but found no 
 response in his heart ; his hand occasionally grasped 
 the jewelled sword-hilt at his side, as though his
 
 THE PAGE. 59 
 
 brain were busy with thoughts of evil^ and at 
 length he sprang to his feet, and shouted — 
 
 " Busk ye, busk ye, my merry men ! away, one 
 and all ! A gracious Providence be thanked, that 
 once more I am safe among ye. To-morrow's sun 
 will find ye all ranged in order due upon the up- 
 land slope. This war among the unbelievers hath 
 from my pouch too much of rowdy ta'en ; it needs 
 replenishing ! To-morrow, to that end Pll com- 
 mune with ye.^' 
 
 He waved his hand, and each retainer and mem- 
 ber of the family, making a courteous salute, retired 
 from the Baron's presence ; — for in those early days 
 of merry England, even when the subject of cash 
 was mooted, man stood by man, and joyfully ac- 
 corded a helping hand. Would it were thus in 
 these so-called days of enlightenment ! 
 
 Quitting the noble hall, as soon as they had 
 departed, the Baron emerged upon the gay plea- 
 saunce, and paced up and down as though rapt 
 in meditation. The wind sighed softly through 
 the trees, the moon had risen and shed her mild 
 and placid light on the guards on castled heights 
 and lonely shepherds watching their flocks on lofty
 
 60 G. p. E. JACOBUS. 
 
 mountains. Few clouds were in the sky, and those 
 that were were light and fleecy. It was one of 
 those sweet evenings which even now occasionally 
 visit us, when our greatest delight is to wander 
 among ivy-clad ruins, and through romantic dells 
 with the " fayre ladie of our love,'^ and think upon 
 the glories of the past times. Left alone, the 
 Baron gave himself to the sorrowful emotions which 
 possessed his soul; he paid no attention to the 
 notes, or, as they were then called, neots, of the 
 shepherds' horns, heard in the distance ; he looked 
 not at the beauty of the moonlight ; but leaning 
 against the wall, while the large tears coursed each 
 other down his wan cheeks, he at length gave vent 
 to his pent-up feelings in a fit of sobbing. 
 
 " Oh, Alice V exclaimed he, " my life, my love, 
 my bride, where art thou ? I left thee two short 
 years since in the spring of youth and health ; I 
 return to find thee — or rather not to find thee. 
 The current of my life is stopped — my sun has set 
 — my hopes are blighted — my heart broken — my 
 
 days Ah ! a footstep ! Great Heaven, that any 
 
 of my varlets should see these signs of weakness. 
 Who goes there ? Ha ! boy, speak ! "What hast
 
 THE PAGE. ei 
 
 seen ?" And rushing forward he seized the page, 
 who had emerged from the shadow of the huilding. 
 The youth flung himself on his knees. ^^Oh, 
 good my lord, spare me, I prithee \" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Nay, by the soul of St. Egbert, nay \" returned 
 the Baron; 'Hhou hast seen my tears, and now 
 prepare for death !" He seized him by the scruff 
 of his delicate neck, when a shriek rang in his 
 ears, and a well-known voice cried " Reginald !" 
 The Baron looked in amazement ; — it was the page 
 who had spoken ! " Oh, Reginald, I can play this 
 part no longer ! take thine Alice to thy heart !" 
 
 " St. Egbert ! St. Beowulph ! do mine eyes and 
 ears deceive me ? What, Alice, thou ? — and thou 
 hast " 
 
 "Ay, Reginald!" exclaimed Alice, removing 
 her jewelled cap, and letting her chestnut ringlets 
 ripple to her knee ; " I — thy wife — thine Alice, 
 have, in this humble garb, followed thine every 
 movement on the tented plain ; have tended thy 
 sick couch and washed thy wounds ! and now,^^ 
 she added, with an arch laugh — " and now thou 
 wouldst strike me V 
 
 '^An I would, m:.y my sword-arm drop from
 
 (j2 g. p. r. jacobus. 
 
 its socket ! Heaven bless thee, Alice ! Once more 
 is thy Reginald happy!" 
 
 More need not be said. The next day witnessed 
 a repetition of the banquet, — only on a scale a 
 thousand times more gorgeous ; and hereafter, 
 until death called them away, Alice and Reginald 
 lived happy in merry England.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Br EDGARDO POOH. 
 
 Once, as through the streets I wandered, and 
 
 o'er many a fancy pondered, 
 Many a fancy quaint and curious, which had filled 
 
 my mind of yore, — 
 Suddenly my footsteps stumbled, and against a 
 
 man I tumbled. 
 Who, beneath a sailor's jacket, something large 
 
 and heavy bore. 
 "Beg your pardon, sir!" I muttered, as I rose up, 
 
 hurt and sore; 
 
 But the sailor only swore. 
 
 Vexed at this, my soul grew stronger: hesitating 
 
 then no longer, 
 " Sir," said I, '' now really, truly, your forgiveness 
 
 I implore 1
 
 64 EDGARBO POOH. 
 
 But^ in factj my sense was napping " Then 
 
 the sailor answered^ rapping 
 Out his dreadful oaths and awful imprecations by 
 
 the score, — 
 
 Answered he, " Come, hold your jaw ! 
 
 " May my timbers now be shivered" — oh, at this 
 
 my poor heart quivered, — 
 " If you don't beat any parson that I ever met 
 
 before ! 
 "You've not hurt me; stow your prosing" — then, 
 
 his huge peacoat unclosing. 
 Straight he showed the heavy parcel, which beneath 
 
 his arm he bore, — 
 Showed a cage which held a parrot, such as Crusoe 
 
 had of yore. 
 
 Which at once drew corks and swore. 
 
 Much I marvelled at this parrot, green as grass 
 and red as carrot. 
 
 Which, with fluency and ease, was uttering sen- 
 tences a score ; 
 
 And it pleased me so immensely, and I liked it so 
 intensely,
 
 THE PAREOT. 65 
 
 That I bid for it at once; and when I showed 
 
 of gold my storc^ 
 Instantly the sailor sold it ; mine it was, and hig 
 
 no more ; 
 
 Mine it was for evermore. 
 
 Prouder was I of this bargain, e'en than patriotic 
 
 Dargan, 
 When his Sovereign, Queen Victoria, crossed the 
 
 threshold of his door ; — 
 Surely I had gone demented — surely I had sore 
 
 repented, 
 Had I known the dreadful misery which for me 
 
 Fate had in store, — 
 Known the fearful, awful misery which for me 
 
 Fate had in store, 
 
 Then, and now, and evermore ! 
 
 Scarcely to my friends I'd shown it, when (my 
 
 mother's dreadful groan ! — it 
 Haunts me even now!) the parrot from his perch 
 
 began to pour 
 Forth the most tremendous speeches, such as Mr, 
 
 Ainsv/orth teaches —
 
 CG EDGARDO POOII. 
 
 Us were uttered by highwaymen and rapparees of 
 
 yore ! — 
 By the wicked; furious, tearing, riding rapparees 
 
 of yore; 
 
 But which now are heard no more. 
 
 And my father, straight uprising, spake his mind- 
 It was surprising 
 
 That this favourite son, who'd never, never so trans- 
 gressed before. 
 
 Should have brought a horrid, screaming — nay, 
 e'en worse than that — blaspheming 
 
 Bird within that pure home circle — bird well 
 learned in wicked lore ! 
 
 While he spake, the parrot, doubtless thinking it a 
 horrid bore. 
 
 Cried out " Cuckoo V barked, and swore. 
 
 And since then what it has cost me, — all the wealth 
 
 and friends it's lost me. 
 All the trouble, care, and sorrow, cankering mj^ 
 
 bosom's core. 
 Can't be mentioned in these verses ; till, at length, 
 
 my heartfelt curses
 
 TJiE PAIUIOT. G7 
 
 Gave I to this cruel parrot_, who quite coolly scanned 
 
 me o'er — 
 Wicked, wretched, cruel parrot, who quite coolly 
 
 scanned me o'er. 
 
 Laughed, drew several corks, and swore. 
 
 " Parrot V said I, " bird of evil ! parrot still, or 
 
 bird or devil ! 
 By the piper who the Israelitish leader played 
 
 before, 
 I will stand this chaff no longer ! We will see 
 
 now which is stronger. 
 Come, now, — off! Thy cage is open — free thou art, 
 
 and there's the door ! 
 Off at once, and I'll forgive thee ; — take the hint, 
 
 and leave my door." 
 
 But the parrot only swore. 
 
 And the parrot never flitting, still is sitting, still 
 is sitting 
 
 On the very self-same perch where first he sat in 
 days of yore; 
 
 And his only occupations seem acquiring impreca- 
 tions 
 
 E 2
 
 68 EDGAEDO POOH. 
 
 Of the last and freshest fashion, which he picks up 
 
 by the score ; 
 Picks them up, and, with the greatest gusto, bawls 
 
 them by the score, 
 
 And will swear for evermore. 
 
 See the Gardens with the swells^ 
 Noble swells ! 
 What a power of foolery their presence here foretels ! 
 How they chatter, chatter, chatter, 
 
 To each other left and right. 
 What to them is any matter ? 
 Since their tailor and their hatter 
 
 Are their sole delight. 
 Kunning tick, tick, tick. 
 And hastening to Old Nick, 
 By expending time and money on dancing, dicing, 
 belles, 
 
 Are the swells, swells, swells) swells, 
 Swells, swells, swells,-— 
 Are the foolish and profligate young swells.
 
 THE SWELLS. 69 
 
 See the dressy little swells — 
 Snobby swells ! 
 What a world of happiness that Moses'* paletot tells! 
 Through the murky air of night, 
 How they shout out their delight. 
 From their Cashmere-shawled throats, 
 
 And out of tune. 
 What a drunken ditty floats 
 To the gas-lamps shining on policemen's coats, 
 On their shoon ! 
 Oh, from out the Bow-street cells. 
 What a gush of harmony uproariously wells ! 
 How it smells ! 
 How it knells — 
 For the morrow ! how it tells 
 Of the folly that impels 
 To the laughing and the quaffing 
 Of the swells, swells, swells, 
 . Of the swells, swells, swells, swells. 
 Swells, swells, swells. 
 Of the dining and the fine-ing of the swells ! 
 
 See the literary swells — 
 Writing; swells !
 
 70 EDGARDO POOH. 
 
 What a tale of envy now their turbulency tells, 
 How they quarrel, snarl, and fig-ht 
 With each other as they write ! 
 Much too dignified to speak, 
 They can only shriek^ shriek, 
 With their pen, 
 In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the 
 
 buyer. 
 In a mad expostulation with the dazed and doubt- 
 ing buyer ! 
 
 And they leap high, higher, higher, 
 With a desperate desire. 
 And a resolute endeavour 
 Now — now to sit or never — 
 
 On a throne above all other men. in'. 
 
 See the venerable swells — 
 Bygone swells ! 
 What a world of solemn thoughts their gaiety 
 compels ! 
 
 In their ancient fashioned coats, 
 In their stiff cravatted throats.
 
 THE SWELLS. 71 
 
 How we recognise the Regent and his eor2)s ! 
 There remains now not e'en one — 
 All, all the set are gone, 
 lis sont morts ! 
 
 Save the few men — ah ! these few men ! 
 Who are left among the new men 
 All alone ! 
 And who, toiling, toiling, toiling. 
 Through their days, mere skin and bone, 
 
 Feel a pleasure now in spoiling 
 Each hearty healthy tone — 
 
 Do these swells, swells, swells, 
 
 These swells, swells, swells, swells. 
 
 Swells, swells, swells, — 
 
 These worn-out, used-up, godless, ancient swells ! 
 
 "I(i0ffi13 f;
 
 JIGGER, OF THE "DODO." 
 
 By JONAS HANWAY, Esq. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SANGSTER'S HISTORY OP THE UMBRELLA," 
 
 "sketches in sky blue," "dietriohsen's almanack," 
 "singleton glo'ster," etc.' 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 
 The Mediterranean ! There is music in the word 
 to the ear of the schohir and gentleman^ which I 
 fear the somewhat coarser textile fabric of my highly 
 respectable friend Blugg's auricular economy would 
 hardly appreciate. Don't be offended, Blugg. You 
 are a most estimable bagman — and your general 
 conduct to Mrs. Blugg and the corduroyed and 
 pinafored Blugglings, is doubtless in all its bear- 
 ings irreproachable. But you are no gentleman, 
 Blugg. I diverge, parenthetically, into this out- 
 burst of good breeding to prove to you that I am 
 one myself. 
 
 The Mediterranean ! Washing the shores of 
 Carthage, where old Hannibal lived when he was 
 at home. Glorious old Hannibal ! And of Sicily^
 
 JIGGEEj OF THE DODO. 73 
 
 where that magnificent stunner, Dionysius, held 
 potent sway. Glorious old Dionysius ! Ultimus 
 Tp'cinnorum ! And of Na])les : which my plebeian 
 acquaintance. Higg, will be astonished to learn, for 
 the first time, (never mind, Higg, old boy — it's 
 never too late to learn — stick to your Mechanics' 
 Institute, and there is no knowing what may 
 happen,) was known to the ancients by the 
 high sounding name of Neapolis.* Glorious old 
 Neapolis ! 
 
 And Rome ! What shall we say of Rome ? The 
 Tiber flowed through it. Glorious old Tiberius ! 
 It was there that Julius Caesar (the greatest and 
 noblest gentleman that ever lived, though even 
 he could not keep the Scotch out of England,) 
 published his Commentaries. "What did you say, 
 Huggins ? " You have not read the work ?" It is 
 a matter for regret, rather than surprise, Huggins. 
 Nevertheless, there are people cognizant of the 
 existence of such a publication. Floreat Btona ! 
 
 The Bodo was bound for Malta. In a few 
 
 * Juvenal. In. verb. pers. non. nom. hah. Blokes, Cam- 
 bridge, 1651^.
 
 71' JONAS HAN WAY. 
 
 hours Valetta would be in sio^lit. Jiffg-er stood on 
 tlie quarter-deck watching the poop lantern as it 
 iluttered in the cool south-westerly breeze. It 
 would be his turn to take charge of the watch in 
 half-an-hour. A tear swelled up into his blue 
 Saxon eye as he was reminded of a wat'ch that the 
 reduced circumstances of his family had compelled 
 him to leave in charge of another. How he 
 cursed his father ! the miserable grocer, but for 
 whose officious intervention, the blood of the 
 Mac Taggarts (of Castle Taggart, Inverness), 
 would be flowing unpolluted through his veins. 
 He drew his mother's miniature from his bosom. 
 The noble face smiled upon him. AVith the same 
 calm smile of resignation the beloved original had, 
 doubtless, endured the hardships of her early life — 
 which the inhumanity of a Mammon-worshipping 
 age had compelled her to spend in the Glasgow 
 poorhouse. With a like smile of trusting gratitude 
 she would have received the humiliating but well- 
 intentioned prospect of emancipation held out to 
 her in the ignoble tradesman's kindly, if un- 
 grammatical proposal of marriage. Well, well ! 
 Jigger would not be hard on his father-r-deep.as
 
 JIGGEE, or THE DODO. 75 
 
 was the injury he had experienced in the con- 
 tamination of his family connexion. He would 
 forgive him ; but he would cut his acquaintance as 
 soon as he should obtain his lieutenancy ! 
 
 This nobly-resolved reconciliation of conflicting 
 duties partially calmed his troubled spirit. How- 
 ever, he thought it advisable to go on weeping. A 
 light hand was laid on his shoulder; he turned 
 round. Ossian Mac Toddie stood behind him : a 
 book was in one handj a stiff glass of rum-and- 
 water in the other. Between his teeth he held a 
 short pipe, from which the odour of the best bird's- 
 eye unmistakeably emanated. 
 
 Jigger dried his tears. He was an ofScer and a 
 gentleman ; moreover, his pocket-handkerchief had 
 just come home from the wash; so he stood un- 
 daunted. 
 '"V " Well, younker V said Mr. Mac Toddie,— not 
 unkindly, as our hero felt. He was always sus- 
 ceptible to kindness, (a# I have no doubt you arc, 
 also, Higg ; and if I were to invite you to dinner, 
 in the fulness of your gratitude, I am convinced 
 you would come — so I wont, Higg, which is a sell 
 for you.) He wept again.
 
 76 JONAS HANWAY. 
 
 '' What's the row ?" said Ossian, poking him in 
 the ribs, and winking. 
 
 Jigger's heart had always warmed, without his 
 knowing why, towards this studious and rarely ap- 
 proachable 3^oung officer. He had endured his 
 kicks with less repugnance than those of his brother 
 oldsters; (it may be that the instinctive high 
 breeding of our hero taught him the distinction 
 between a patent-leather and a highlow.) But this 
 delicate sj^mpathy, veiled under a surface of un- 
 wonted bonhomie, was almost too much for him. 
 He remembered, however, that he was sprung from 
 the Mac Taggarts, and so far mastered his emotion 
 as to ask his new friend — 
 
 '^ What are you reading ?" 
 
 '' Carlyle." 
 
 "Is it good?" 
 
 " Did you never read him ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " I'll lend you his work*" ^ 
 
 Our hero could have kissed him for this offer ; 
 but he didn't. Ossian continued — 
 
 " Have you read Emerson ?" 
 
 " Never."
 
 * JIGGEE, OP THE DODO. 77 
 
 ''Oil! you should." 
 
 Jigger had promised to settle his bootmaker's 
 bill out of his next remittance; but he mentally 
 resolved to invest the money in a copy of Emerson's 
 collected works instead. 
 
 There was a pause of some minutes, during which 
 our hero watched the intellectual countenance of 
 his companion intently. He, however, forbore to 
 intrude on the majestic serenity of his thoughts. 
 
 Ossian's pipe fell overboard during his reverie. 
 
 " There/' he said, laughing, " there's a warning 
 for me to give up smoking, though I am afraid I 
 shall find it rather difficult at this time of day." 
 
 " Sera ntmquam est ad bonos mores via,^' said our 
 hero, with that excusable eagerness for quotation 
 which is the characteristic of the educated gentle- 
 man. 
 
 '' So, you are a scholar, younker," said the elder, 
 with an approving laugh ; '' I thought so. Well, 
 now we can understand each other. What a thing 
 is learning !" 
 
 Jigger listened breathlessly. 
 
 The master's mate continued — " Do you remem- 
 ber what jolly old Seneca — or it may have been
 
 78 JONAS UANVVAY. 
 
 Martial — says about the blessings of intellectual 
 cultivation?" 
 
 " I Jo not." 
 
 " Emollit mores nee sinet esse feros. There 
 were men in those days, younker !" 
 
 " I believe you, my messmate," sighed our hero. 
 
 '^ Yes, it is something in these times, when the 
 guinea carries everything before it. — By the way, 
 you don't happen to have one about you, do you?" 
 
 " Quite the contrary," said our hero, with the \ 
 impetuous alacrity of a candid nature. 
 
 " I think the better of you for it," said the 
 other, his voice and countenance dropping a little. 
 " I said it to try you, I feared you might belong 
 to the Plutocracy, by which the service is being 
 rapidly ruined. Fortunately, they cannot rob us of 
 our learning. You remember old Juvenal or some- 
 body's line about perishable riches V 
 
 " Pray repeat it." 
 
 " Effodiuntur ojjes irriiamenfa malornm,'' 
 
 " How witheringly true !'^ 
 
 " Possibly ! But in the meantime Bright is 
 member for Manchester." 
 
 Our hero clenched his fists.
 
 JIGGER, OF THE DODO. 79 
 
 " What is to be done?" he cried. 
 
 Ossiau leant over the bulwarks, and tried to 
 spit in a dolphin's eye. He missed. 
 
 " Never mind, younker," he said, half laughing, 
 half annoyed at the misadventure. " However un- 
 promising the age, the poet has left us one enduring 
 consolation." 
 
 "Which?" 
 
 " Ars longa, vita hrevis. Good night, younker, 
 I want some more rum-and-water." 
 
 Jigger watched him down the hatchway. He 
 felt that, with such a friend, life would be pleasant 
 indeed. B.
 
 
 MAUD, 
 
 AND 
 
 T H E E 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 By 
 
 A T 
 
 - p.C.L.). 
 
 FRAGMENTS WRITTEN TOO LATE FOR THE FIRST EDITION, AND 
 WHICH THE AUTHOR COULDN't FIND IN TIME FOR THE 
 SECOND, AND DIDN't THINK IT WORTH WHILE BOTHERING HIS 
 HEAD ABOUT FOR SUBSEQUENT EDITIONS ; BUT WHICH WILL 
 PROBABLY COMB IN SOMEHOW — OR IF SOI, II DOESS'T MUCH 
 MATTER. 
 
 CHmEiJP, chirp, chirp, chirp, twitter, 
 
 Warble, flutter, and fly away ; 
 Dickey birds, chickey birds — quick, ye birds, 
 
 Shut it up, cut it up, die away. 
 
 ■ ii'l £ lo'l 
 Maud is going to sing ! ■ ...n-, 
 
 Maud with the voice like lutestrings, 
 (To which the sole species of string 
 
 I know of that rhymes is bootstrings.)
 
 MAUD, AND OTHER POEMS. 81 
 
 Still, you may stop if you please ; 
 
 E-oar us a chorus sonorous, 
 Robin, bob in at ease ; 
 
 Tom-tit, prompt it for us. 
 Rose or thistle in, whistlin', 
 
 (What a beast is her brother !) 
 Maud has sung from her tongue rung ; 
 Echo it out, 
 From each shoot shout. 
 From each root rout — 
 " She'll oblige us with another." 
 
 A SOLILOQUY. 
 
 I am a hearth-rug. 
 Yes, a rug — 
 Though I cannot describe myself as snug ; 
 Yet I know that for me they paid a price 
 For a Turkey carpet that would suffice 
 (But we live in an age of rascal vice). 
 
 Why was I ever woven. 
 For a clumsy lout with a wooden leg 
 To come with his endless Peg ! Peg ! 
 
 F
 
 83 ■ A T (d.C.L.) 
 
 ; Peg ! Peg ! 
 With a wooden leg, 
 Till countless holes- I'm drove in. 
 ("Drove'' I have said, and it should be'' driven :" 
 A hearth-rug's blunders should be forgiven, 
 For \\T.'etched scribblers have exercised 
 
 Such endless bosh and clamour, 
 So improvidently have improvised, 
 That they've utterly ungrammaticised 
 Our un grammatical grammar) . 
 And the coals 
 Burn holes, 
 Or make spots like moles, 
 And my lily-white tints, as black as your hat turn; 
 And the housemaid (a matricide, will-forging 
 slattern) 
 
 Rolls 
 The rolls 
 From the plate, in shoals. 
 When they're put to warm in front of the coals ; 
 And no one with me condoles. 
 For the butter-stains on my beautiful pattern. 
 But coals and rolls, and sometimes soles,
 
 MAUD^ AND OTHEE POEMS. 83 
 
 Dropped from the frying-pan out of the fire, 
 Are nothing to raise my indignant ire 
 
 Like the Peg ! Peg ! 
 Of that horrible man with the wooden leg, 
 That crushes ray pile like the shell of an egg. 
 The Peg ! Peg ! 
 
 Of that wooden leg, 
 Mercy from whom it were vain to beg, 
 (If the rugged voice of a rug coicld beg). 
 Less human than soles, or coals, or rolls. 
 For wooden legs have got no soles. 
 
 This moral spread from me. 
 
 Sing it, ring it, yelp it — 
 Never a hearth-rug be. 
 
 That is, if you can help it. 
 
 %\mp m §mml 
 
 MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE AGE WE LIVE W. 
 
 What's the odds, so long as you're happy, so long 
 as you're not ? 
 
 f2
 
 81 A T (U.C.L.) 
 
 Never say die, when you know there's nothing to 
 
 live for at all. 
 Who is who, in an age when nobody knows what's 
 
 what, 
 And the way to Westminster lies through Pimlico 
 
 over Vauxhall? 
 Truth is the greatest liar I ever knew in my life ; 
 Soyer was never known the plainest dinner to dish. 
 Black is your only white — Peace is your only strife. 
 Rothschild's as poor as Job, and Cruikshank drinks 
 
 like a fish.
 
 ALFRED DE MUSSET IN LONDON 
 
 BALLADE A LA LUNE. 
 
 There's the Nassau balloon. 
 No ! it's (somebody's drunk) 
 
 The moon ! 
 Like a nail in a trunk ! 
 
 Come, be steady : you won't ? 
 Mother Moon, if you please 
 
 Now don't. 
 For it's not the green cheese. 
 
 Don't keep winking at me. 
 There, I saw you again. 
 
 Two — three ! 
 By the Pope, there are ten. 
 
 What ! you're there all alone ! 
 What's become of the nine ? 
 
 Come, own. 
 (Pshaw, it wasn't the wine) .
 
 86 ALFIIED DE MUSSET IN LONDON. 
 
 Moon, what are you ? Declare. 
 A white wafer, to dry 
 
 Stuck there ? 
 Or a hole in the sky. 
 
 With a light shining through. 
 Like a tin rushlight-shade. 
 
 Quite new. 
 With no second hole made ? 
 
 Or a big silver ball, 
 With which Jupiter plays 
 
 At mall 
 On his high holidays ? 
 
 People say you are chaste, 
 But such scenes as I vow 
 
 You've faced— 
 Why, you're kissing me now ! 
 
 Once a month you come out. 
 Who's your editor ? Say. 
 
 No doubt 
 You have silver to pay
 
 ' ALl'RED DE MUSSET IN LONDON, 87 
 
 Your contributors all : 
 
 Stocks of gold for each dun 
 
 Not small. 
 You receive from the sun. 
 
 Oh, you cold, careful jade ! 
 Let alone such as you. 
 
 In trade 
 To look after your dew. 
 
 You're attractive, no doubt. 
 And poor devils like me, 
 
 Keep out 
 When in bed we should be. 
 
 And you drive us all mad, — 
 
 For your beams, though so light, 
 
 (Too bad !) 
 Tall, upsetting us quite. 
 
 Fm as drunk as a lord. 
 
 I say. Moon, chuck us down 
 
 A cord, 
 And ril climb for a crown ., i
 
 88 ALFKED DE MUSSET IN LONDON. 
 
 To your summit right up. 
 Or suppose you descend 
 
 And sup. 
 By tlie way, who's your friend ? 
 
 What ! another ? — one more ? 
 Well, then, bring 'em all three. 
 
 What! four? 
 Well, it's all one to me. 
 
 Five — six — seven moons ! Oh ! 
 This is stretching the fun. 
 
 Halloo ! 
 Why, there's not even one ! 
 
 Policeman, my friend, 
 I'll move on if you wish ; 
 
 But lend 
 Me your lantern to fish 
 
 For the moon in the sky ; 
 
 There she is — no, that's not her ; 
 
 My eye ! 
 Then some scoundrel lias shot her !
 
 THE SILLY AND THE SEA. 
 
 ^tt ^polocjuc of J5rt5!)tcin. 
 
 By SAMUEL WARRINK. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the DAIRT OF A SURGEON," " SIXPENCE A WEEK," 
 "now OR NEVER," ETC. 
 
 " Here comes one, serenely unconscious that lie is a fool." 
 
 The Lihj and the Bee. 
 
 One standeth by the sea, 
 LARGE, VAST, INFINITE,— 
 The sea, the main, the ocean, 
 It is blue, it is green, it is deep. 
 
 Watery, — 
 Salt, not fresh watery, — 
 
 Salt, salt, salt; 
 What thoughts are passing 
 Through thy translucent bosom, 
 O sea? 
 Thinkest thou 
 Of people connected with thee, 
 Mentioned to us in song ? 
 Of Taylor- 
 Billy !
 
 SAMUEL WAURINK. 
 
 Who, by the two score of young fellows, — 
 
 Stout — ay ! 
 And goodly to be seen ! 
 Blue as to their array, — blue, blue. 
 Was carried off, 
 Unresisting, — 
 Ay, pressed, pressed by a gang. 
 Torn from his home, home, 
 Bulce Domum ! 
 Tempiis est Ivdendi, 
 Venit hora ! — his hour was come, and away 
 
 To the sea ! 
 To the blue ! to the fresh ! 
 
 To the EVER FREE ! ! ! 
 Do you recollect the captain 
 Who was our commander ? also. 
 
 The crew ? Ah, Boreas ! cease, 
 Blustering railer ! 
 Railer ! blustering, storming. 
 Screeching, blaspheming, 
 
 Shrieking RAILER ! ! 
 List ! 
 To me ye landsmen, be so 
 Excessively kind
 
 THE SILLY AND THE SEA. 91 
 
 As to give me for one minute 
 
 Yom' kind 
 
 ATTENTION ! 
 Sail, sir ! boat, sir ! 
 The weatli^r is fine for Rottingdcan ! 
 
 Come — the sails, 
 
 Canvas, floorcloth, — 
 Big, large, potential, see ! 
 
 The boatman is prepared. 
 Large whiskered, deep voiced, hairy faced. 
 
 Who 
 Setteth the sail. 
 
 His comrades 
 
 Shove her 
 Off! 
 And then, running by the side. 
 Leap in ; the big 
 
 Waves rise : 
 Ah ! the cold pork 
 
 I had for 
 
 LUNCHEON ! 
 Rises in my stomach ! 
 Also, my stomach itself 
 Rises — my boots jump
 
 93 SAMUEL WAHRINK. 
 
 In the air, and the 
 SOLES 
 Look down upon me and laugh ! 
 
 j\Iy head grovelleth 
 
 Beneath the seat, t 
 
 Ah ! once more ! where ? — what 
 
 Shall I do ? What word can I 
 
 Use to express my feelings ? 
 Ah, I have it ! Come, gentle steward,- 
 ■ BASIN !
 
 GEMS OF BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 Ey Mr. P— FF, of the CR—T—C, LONDON LITERARY 
 JOURNAL. 
 
 [Living authors and artists are respectfully informed that (for 
 a consideration) they can have their names, addresses, and 
 biographies, with complete lists of their works, published in this 
 Journal. Printed fonns, for supplying us with the necessary 
 information, may be had on application to the publisher.] 
 
 '- Alison (Sir Aechibald)_, Author, 298, Queer- 
 street, and Daft Castle, Ayrshire; born April ]st, 
 — year forgotten ; son of old Alison and old jNIrs. 
 Alison. Vaccinated within a few weeks of his 
 birth, and weaned the year following, on asses' 
 milk — the donkey being still in the family. Had a 
 severe illness in his youth, and lost the use of his 
 brains. His friends succeeded in getting him 
 into Blachoood's Magazine, — an asylum charitably 
 endowed for the reception of persons so afflicted. 
 Was also enabled, by the peculiar nature of his 
 calamity, to take high honours at College. !Made 
 a baronet in 1852, during the administration of
 
 94 :mii. p — vv, ov the cr — t — c. 
 
 Lord Derby, decorated witli the Order of the 
 Tiiistle, and created Knight Commander of the 
 Rack and Manger. Prophesied the downfall of 
 England in 1853 ; and has been several times 
 detected in a mischievous, though unsuccessful, 
 attempt to set the Thames on fire. Author of 
 T/ie Histori/ of Europe in Two Sections. The 
 grave of the man who read the first through, for 
 the purpose of correcting the press, and actually- 
 survived it three days, is still shown at Edinburgh. 
 
 Bopps (Michael Angelo)) Artist, 198, Little 
 Britain. Born 1825 of poor but dishonest parents. 
 In 1836 entered himself as a student in the atelier 
 of Snobbins, in whose family his first effort (a 
 deal chest of drawers, after mahogany) is still pre*- 
 served. In 1837 exhibited two pictures — '^ Prime 
 Ginger Pop" and "Mangling done here," — the 
 first, at an apple-stall in Aldersgate-street ; the 
 second, an admirable representation of still life, 
 from a mangle in the possession of his mother 
 (who has since sold it), in the maternal laun- 
 dry, where it was hung on the line. In the 
 following year aspiied to history, and exhibited
 
 GEMS OF BIOGRAPHY. 95 
 
 " The Royal Oak." As, however, it was only 
 exhibited at a private view to the landlord of a 
 public-house bearing that name, who declined to 
 become a purchaser on the plea that he was not 
 going to have such a daub disfigure his premises, 
 its reception cannot be said to have been flattering. 
 Turned his attention to letters, in whioli he suc- 
 ceeded in making a name for himself (on his own 
 signboard), but the pursuit of which he was 
 induced to abandon on finding he had spelt 
 '^'decorator" with a K. llesumed his former 
 studies, and has since been frequently before the 
 public (house) as a painter, generally in his shirt- 
 sleeves, and mounted on a step-ladder. His most 
 successful works have been the " Fox and Hounds" 
 (1843), for which he got the money in advance, 
 and the "Red Lion" (1844), for which he suc- 
 ceeded in getting paid twice over. His " Pig and 
 Whistle" (1852), though much admired, was con- 
 sidered by his friends to have done him no good, 
 as, having to take the price of it out in malt liquor, 
 he acquired a taste for that fluid which has since 
 materially interfered with his progress as an artist. 
 Attempted to get into the Royal Academy last
 
 96 MK. P — m', OF THE Cll — T — C. 
 
 year, but, the shilling he offered at the door turn- 
 ing* out to be a bad one, was refused admittance. 
 
 James (G. P. R.), Author. — It was towards the 
 close of a lovely evening, in the early part of the 
 present century, when two travellers were seen 
 wending their way on the top of an omnibus 
 through the rich and fertile valleys of Peckham. 
 The elder, whose cheeks were bronzed by the 
 scorching sun of Islington, and above whose left 
 whisker was a frightful scar, which he had made 
 that morning with shaving, was a man in the 
 prime of life. — (This is the commencement of a 
 description of James, senior, taking his son to 
 school. Want of space prevents us giving the 
 remainder of Mr. James's biography. We shall 
 publish a list of his works in a six-volume supple- 
 ment.) 
 
 NoKEs (Petrarch Scott Montgomery Shake- 
 spear), Author. — Two-pair back, Mrs. Johnson's, 
 Grub-street, Borough. Born 1828 j bound appren- 
 tice to the haberdashery business 1840 ; ran away 
 from his indentures 1845 ; elected member of the
 
 GEMS OF BIOGRAPHY. 97 
 
 Whittington Club 1850. Author of Theojpliilm 
 and Angelina ; a Love Story; — Oliver Cromwell; or^ 
 the Massacre of St. Bartholomew ; an Historical 
 Romance of the Rhine in the Tenth Century ; — 
 Hold's 1/our Mother ? a Farce, in One Act. 
 
 9lJ' 
 
 Ih. 
 
 \awsi a&[ :
 
 A LIFE DRAMA. 
 
 By ALESSANDRO SMIFFINT. 
 
 A CUij Street. ISlgJit. — Buowivsmitit, alone. 
 Brownsmith. 
 
 Johnson has hastened to the omnibus^ 
 
 And now towards Fulham's world of greenery 
 
 Bears rapidly away ! And I am left^ — 
 
 To ponder o'er my woes and my great wrong ! 
 
 Here with great thrusts and thumpings of the 
 
 hearty 
 Hot ear-tips, burning soles and scalding eyes, 
 Bursting brace-buttons and unripping gloves, 
 I stand and think ! 
 
 Robinson, {entering^ 
 Hast thou no solace, then ? 
 
 Brownsmith. 
 
 Yes, one, — but one, indeed ! The sun has sunk. 
 And like a clerk, who hearing six o'clock
 
 A LIFE DRAMA^ 99 
 
 Strike from the clock which frowns o'er Lincoln's 
 
 Inn, 
 His dip extinguishes, his throat enwraps 
 In comforter of woollen, various dyed. 
 Sallies home Camdentown- wards through the dank 
 And muggy air But now no more of this ! 
 
 Robinson. 
 
 My Brownsmith, thou art troubled and perplexed. 
 Hither and thither tossing in thy mind, 
 As when the vexing equinoctial gales 
 Harass the sea. 
 
 Brownsmith. 
 
 Ay, thou art right ! hard spooming has my heart, 
 
 Spit on, insulted by the brutal world ; 
 
 The still great thoughts are rising in my mind. 
 
 And all my soul, that greatest, purest part. 
 
 Is planning poesy, such poesy as e'en 
 
 Would make great wealth for Routledge or for 
 
 Bogue ! 
 Why dou't I publish ? even as the youth 
 Who on the ladder's highest topmost round. 
 Which to the bathing-machine tightly is attached, 
 g2
 
 100 ALESSANDRO SMIFFINI. 
 
 Stands all unclothed^ as stood the Phrygian Jove, 
 
 Waiting in hope, yet fearing all the while. 
 
 Ere yet he seeks the bosom of the sea ; 
 
 So, lo I stand ! ere to the world I give 
 
 My treasured volume ; but to thee, my friend. 
 
 My own dear friend, who so believes in me, 
 
 Fll tell a portion. — Listen — 
 
 (T/ie remainder of the M8. is fortunately/ lost.)
 
 THE COSTERMONGER^S FANCY. 
 
 "a l|umorous ISallatt 
 
 IN ACCOKDANCE WITH TUE PREVAILING TASTE. 
 
 [Written by a difificlently-ambitious bard, who, being much 
 struck by the enthusiastic reception of the Ratcatcher's 
 Daughter at a popular assembly, thought he might be able to 
 do something pretty nearly as good, in the same graceful and 
 high-toned manner, if he were to try his hardest, and did so 
 accordingly. The following is the result.] 
 
 Oh ! it's of a Costermonger bold, 
 Who dealt in greens and carrot. 
 Which, as only in a barrow he sold, 
 
 We can't say he kept a char'ot. 
 He fell in love with a sweet pooty gal. 
 
 Her name I'm told was Nancy, 
 And the Prince of Wales would have given his eyes 
 For the Costermonger's Fancy. 
 
 Gibbery gosh ! swaddleham slosh ! 
 
 Ri fum ! ti fum ! Gollikins ! 
 Jiggery crack ! sNviggery whack ! 
 Sillikins! Vallikins ! Frolikins ! 
 
 To church they went, and were married straight, 
 But Fortune^s smiles will shirk us,
 
 102 THE COSTEllilONGEU's FANCY. 
 
 They had. five small kids^ which^ as trade 
 went bad, 
 They had to send to the verk'us. 
 The Coster' he took to drinking hard. 
 
 As likewise did fair Nancy, 
 And the flat-irons all and the clothes was 
 pawned, 
 By the Costerraong-er's Fancy, 
 Gibbery gosh ! &c, 
 
 But of course things couldn't last like this. 
 
 So the Coster' he swore he'd leave her, 
 Which he did — and soon his pooty little bride 
 
 Was took with the typhus fever. 
 The parish dookor green bottles sent, 
 
 " The mixture as before, for Nancy," 
 She recover'd, but lost the use of her limbs. 
 
 Did the Costermonger's Fancy. 
 G ibbery gosh ! &c. 
 
 Well, Bill (that's the Coster's name) one day 
 Came home in a state of liquor. 
 
 And finding his wife had got no tin. 
 Took it into his head to kick her.
 
 THE COSTERMONGEll's FA^CCY. 103 
 
 She called him a brute — the poker he took, 
 And knocked on the head Miss Nancy. 
 
 And a case for ISlv. Wakley soon 
 Was the Costermonger's Fancy. 
 Gibbery gosh ! &e. 
 
 Oh ! the coroner's inquest soon was held, 
 
 And the foreman (a terrible joker) 
 Was for letting Bill off, as he had but tried 
 
 To instruct his wife in the Po'/ici ! 
 But the others said " Xo ; he deserves to go 
 
 To the drop for murdering Nancy." 
 So a drop too much, for killing, he got, 
 
 The Costermonger's Fancy. 
 Gibbery gosh ! &c. 
 
 So they hanged poor Bill on a frosty morn. 
 
 Just right in front of Newgit; 
 Raving mad he died — such a fate, I hope. 
 
 May ne'er either I or you get. 
 But there's an end of my costermonger friend. 
 
 As likewise of Miss Nancy ; 
 And I hope by the tale you've been edified. 
 
 Of the Costermonger's Fancy, 
 Gibbery gosh ! &c.
 
 SOLOMON IMPKOVED. 
 
 By MARTINUZZI FUPPEE, A.M. 
 
 "A man that speaketh too much, and museth but little and 
 liyhtly, wasteth liis mind in words, and is counted a fool among 
 
 Proverhial Philosophy. 
 PREFATORY. 
 
 Thoughts that I have read in books, and gathered 
 
 from many sources ; 
 Treasures of ancient lore, mixed up with platitudes 
 
 and truisms ; 
 Caverns and grottos of science, illumined by a 
 
 rushlight of simile ; 
 Wisdom from David's son, and folly from mine 
 
 own noddle; — 
 These sell I imto thee, O feeble haunter of 
 
 bookstalls ; 
 These commend I to thy open purse, O liner of 
 
 portmanteaus. 
 What thouo-h the Athenmim is loud and coarse in 
 
 its abuse.
 
 SOLOMON IMPROVED. 105 
 
 Calling unpleasant names, such as " Sweet Psalmist 
 
 of Beadledom I" 
 Beadles are even as we, — our hearts can commune 
 
 together ; 
 Brains are beneath their hats, though cocked and 
 
 bedizened with lace ; 
 And strong the Berlin-gloved hand that graspeth 
 
 the pliant cane. 
 To meanest matters will I stoop, drawing on mine 
 
 own resources : 
 I will rise to noblest themes, extracting from the 
 
 works of others. 
 Thoughts are the products of the mind, the clear- 
 running stream of conviction, 
 Fouled by the mud of prejudice and the weeds and 
 
 rushes of jealousy. 
 Words are the efforts of speech, which a dumb 
 
 man never can accomplish ; 
 Fettered is his tongue in his mouth, — he muttereth, 
 
 — look, none can understand him ! 
 To write is to speak with a pen, an instrument of 
 
 Gillott or goosequill ; 
 And though the dumb are silent, yet writing is not 
 
 denied to them.
 
 106 JIARTINUZZI FUPPER. 
 
 I have the power of writing — one am I among a 
 
 thousand. 
 Greatest of living- men ; a fact easy of explanation. 
 An author is the greatest of mortals, a poet the 
 
 greatest of authors ; 
 I am the greatest of poets — quod demonstrandum 
 
 erat ! 
 
 6f Cljnstntits. 
 
 Christmas is a season of the year : it arriveth once 
 
 in a twelvemonth ; 
 It Cometh to the wise and good, alike with the 
 
 wicked and foolish ; 
 For there is no person so strait-laced but hath in 
 
 him some hankerings for pudding. 
 Nor is any boy so absurd as to deny the pleasures 
 
 of mincemeat. 
 A sage is a man of wisdom ; but a fool lacketh un^ 
 
 derstanding ; 
 And though a rose is scented, its stem is surrounded 
 
 with bi-iars. 
 Go to, ye who say that Christmas cometh in the 
 
 summer.
 
 SOLOMON IMPROVED. liOfl 
 
 Apples grow not on oaks^ nor arc oysters made of 
 
 granite ! ^ 
 
 A soul travelleth through space, and our mental 
 
 monitors are in us. 
 Though Deucalion flingeth pebbles which rise in 
 
 array against him. 
 Christmas is a time for fun — the clown's gi'imaces 
 
 are pleasant. 
 His face and dress are fantastic — he useth ochre 
 
 and bismuth ; 
 Despise not thou a small thing ; a gnat can hurt 
 
 thy proboscis. 
 And a needle inserted in a chair maketh an unj)lea- 
 
 sant seat. 
 Friends gather at this season, for Christmas is a 
 
 winter guest. 
 And the fire, shunned in June, ofttimes is welcomed 
 
 in December. 
 The grasp of a friendly hand is the sign of a good 
 
 understanding — 
 And as the kiss of palmer is palm diving into 
 
 palm — 
 Yet sometimes is the grasp deceitful, inane, and 
 
 meaning naught.
 
 108 MAUTIXUZZI rUPPER. 
 
 C(' ■ 
 
 As a nut instead of a kernel containeth but dust 
 
 and ashes. 
 Are you surrounded by children ? Think that they 
 
 must have once been infants, 
 And as such unable to talk or to dance a lively 
 
 measure. 
 Look how the bud becometh a flower, the pip an 
 
 orchard ; 
 And though there is a sun at noonday, at eve is 
 
 the gas lighted. 
 Christmas is soon past away, and such may be con- 
 sidered life. 
 Which is likewise the end of all things, according 
 
 to the immortal Sarah. 
 
 Sleep is a function of the body ; a pleasant rest to 
 
 the system. 
 In which we cease to move or to transact our daily 
 
 business.
 
 SOLOMON IMPROVED. 109 
 
 Sleeping, we are not awake, nor can we distinguish 
 objects. 
 
 Though the mind stirreth ever within us with ;i 
 f keenness to carve out evil. 
 
 Seest thou yon man on his couch, supine, and 
 stretched at full length ; 
 
 Hearest thou the sounds from his nose reverbera- 
 ting through the hushed echoes. 
 
 Startling by their intensity, like the distant boom- 
 ing of the cataract. 
 
 And grinding on the ear of night like a dewdrop 
 in an Ethiop's crown ! 
 
 He may be considered asleep, for his senses are 
 steeped in slumber. 
 
 And as he is not awake, the chances are that he 
 sleepeth ! 
 
 Judge not of things by their events, neither by 
 their outward seeming, 
 
 And count not a man a negro because he has a 
 blackened skin, — 
 
 For the judicious mixer of rum-punch combineth 
 acidity and sweetness. 
 
 And the best melodist of Ethiopia is ofttimes a 
 native of the Dials.
 
 no MARTINUZZI FUPPEH. 
 
 Sleep hath connexion with counterpanes, and stand- 
 
 eth in relation to Llankets, — 
 Coverings pleasant to the body when pierced with 
 
 frigidity of winter. 
 For every existence in the universe leaveth room 
 
 for progression in bliss ; 
 And where sheets are not made of linen, there 
 
 lacketh possible good. 
 Nevertheless, O sleeper, pride not thj^self on thy 
 
 four-post, 
 Nor plume thee in imaginary triumph, because 
 
 thou art tucked in and curtained. 
 Come, and I Avill show thee an affliction, where- 
 
 unto nought can be likened. 
 Sharp, actual, and constant, embittering the hours 
 
 of night : 
 This is the domestic flea ! he skippeth over thee 
 
 prostrate ; 
 Behold what fire is in his eye, what fervour on 
 
 his cheek ! 
 Steady and stern of purpose he quenches his sting 
 
 in thy life blood. 
 Battening on thy ruddy cheek, and leaving his 
 
 traces behind him.
 
 SOLOMO^■ IMPROVED. Ill 
 
 Come,, and I will tell thee of a joy which most of 
 us have experienced — 
 
 When at the door of the chamber^ the hand- 
 maid announceth the hour. 
 
 Knowing it is Sunday mornings serene we turn on 
 our pillow. 
 
 Taking an extra doze, undistiu'bed by the troubles 
 of business.
 
 THE BALLAD OF PEREA NENA. 
 
 rOUND AMONG THE PAPEES OF THE LATE 
 J. G. LOCKHART, ESQ., 
 
 (without any explanation as to how it got there.) 
 
 Would ye hear the wondrous ditty 
 
 Of the Spanish maiden won. 
 Tempted from the groves of Seville, 
 
 Far from Andalusia's sun. 
 Brought to dance in northern England, 
 
 In the Market of the Hay? 
 If you seem to care about it, 
 
 Give attention to my lay. 
 
 Baldovino Juan Buckstone ! 
 
 Man of mettle, heart of oak ; 
 Dauntless as Augustus Mayhew 
 
 Cribbing some one else's joke ! 
 Soul as large as the moustaches 
 
 Over Bridgeman's lip that fall. 
 Though in point of stature humble 
 
 As the wit of Howard Paul !
 
 THE BALLAD OF PEREA ISENA. 113 
 
 Baldovino Juan Buckstone ! 
 
 Man of mettle, man of stuff — • 
 Downy as tlie beard that bristles 
 
 On the chin of William Brough. 
 Man of many vast attainments, 
 
 As to which, in point of fact, 
 Seems there not the least occasion 
 
 That the bard should be exact. 
 
 He has been to Paris city 
 
 (Dramas British seeks he there) ; 
 He has sought the Gymnase Theatre, 
 
 Paid his franc to the Parterre ; 
 He has seen the Spanish Dancers 
 
 Homeward wending, — winketh he 
 (O'er SL petit-vene of absinthe), 
 
 " That's the sort of thing for me 1" 
 
 " Brown Perea ! dark Perea ! 
 
 Wilt thou come to London town ? 
 Pounds a week beyond thy dreaming 
 
 I will give thee — money down. 
 In the snug Haymarket Theatre — 
 
 Don't be nervous — try your luck ;
 
 lid' J. G. LOCKHAUT, KSQ. 
 
 Something novel's really wanted. 
 Strike the bargain, there's a duck." 
 
 :{ 
 
 She has crossed the briny ocean, 
 
 She has got her luggage out, 
 Through the Custom House at Dover, 
 
 And her ticket seen about. 
 She has made the railway porters 
 
 Think the English women plain. 
 And the master of the station ' 
 
 Has enquired the way to Spain. 
 
 •^^ Brown Perea ! dark Perea ! " 
 
 Shouts the call-boy up the stair, 
 " Act the fourth is nearly over — 
 
 Look alive and do your hair." 
 Down she comes, the green-room enters, 
 
 Seats herself upon a bench ; 
 Much the authors there assembled 
 
 Grieve they've only studied French. 
 
 Brown Perea ! dark Perea ! 
 
 Planche clad in patent boots 
 Much regrets he hasn't master'd 
 
 Of tho Spanish tongue the roots.
 
 THE BALLAD OF PEREA NEXA. Hi 
 
 " Coyne^ what's ^How d'ye do,' in Spanish ?" 
 Coyne is very much engaged, 
 Wond'ring if in Dublin Jaekeen 
 A flirtation miji^ht be wajred. 
 
 Brown Perea ! dark Perea ! 
 
 Ne'er such light on green-room broke, 
 As thy beauty : Sidney Cooper 
 
 Even makes a decent joke. 
 E'en the stoic Morton dazzled 
 
 By the captivating glare. 
 Rushes out to buy a collar. 
 
 And is seen to comb his hair. 
 
 Chippendale is lost in wonder, 
 
 Compton has forgot his part ; 
 Howe, as far us " habla ustecl /" 
 
 (All his stock), has made a start. 
 Talfourd treads upon his gilus, 
 
 Kenney — Taylor, gaping stand : 
 Reade forgets, in his amazement. 
 
 E'en the charms of Madame Sand. 
 
 Brown Perea ! dark Perea ! 
 
 They have call'd thee on to dance ; 
 H %
 
 116 J. G. LOCKHART, ESQ. 
 
 Look the ladies of the theatre 
 At thee with a scornful glance. 
 
 Reynolds thinks her " rather pretty^ — 
 Somewhat dusky though in hue/' 
 
 Buckiug^ham^ the mirror seeking, 
 " Really hopes the thing will do.'^ 
 
 Up the curtain — ranged the ballet — 
 
 Southern damsels plump and brown, 
 (Walter Lacy, in the boxes. 
 
 Is implored to sit him down) ; 
 Cavaliers, in tights and jackets, 
 
 Seek their hands — they don't resist — 
 (^'"alter Lacy in the boxes 
 
 Knits his brows and shakes his fist). 
 
 Comes the Senorita Giulio, 
 
 (Fifteen pounds a week she gets,) 
 Dances she the light bolero. 
 
 To the clinking castanets. 
 Comes the brave Antonio Ruiz, 
 
 Light of limb, but swart of brow. 
 Makes he pantomimic gestures 
 
 ("Walter Lacy's quiet now).
 
 THE BALLAD OP PEREA NENA. 117 
 
 Leads he off (not Lacy — Ruiz) 
 
 All the corps de ballet straight 
 To the fair Perea's dwelling 
 
 (First grooves forward) — there they wait. 
 And in actions most expressive, 
 
 Help'd by tones of music low. 
 Her, request to-night to come out. 
 
 Like a maid of Buffalo. 
 
 Down she comes — but who can picture 
 
 With his pen the lightning's glance ? 
 Who can trace Perea Nena 
 
 Through the windings of the dance? 
 Who can fix the passing sunbeam. 
 
 Catch the fleeting rainbow's haze ? 
 Who can trace Perea Nena 
 
 Through the Seguidilla's maze? 
 
 Who can ? — but it doesn't matter. 
 
 And besides we haven't time. 
 Asks the boy for heaps of copy. 
 
 And he says there's lots of rhyme. 
 On the stairs we can't detain him, 
 
 Being somewhat short of pelf —
 
 lis J. Gf. LOCKHAET, ESQ. 
 
 Ha]:)ly had the reader better 
 See the lady dance himself. 
 
 Pause we merely, just to mention 
 
 How that Buckstone wink'd his eye, 
 And remark'd he thought heM done it. 
 
 As delighted crowds passed by; 
 And that when the bard approach'd him 
 
 With congratulations, he 
 Ask'd the bard to come and liquor-— 
 
 Favourable sign to see ! 
 
 And that through proud London's city, 
 
 From the palace to the mart. 
 Nought is named but Spanish Dancers ; 
 
 Taper waist and ankle smart. 
 Gay cachuca, glad bolero. 
 
 Light guitar and Castanet, — 
 With the fact that Walter Lacy 
 
 Hasn't quite recover'd yet. 
 
 B.
 
 .Q^-i • ^n 
 
 THE LAY OF THE HENPECKED. 
 
 By lady SUFFERIN. 
 
 Fm sitting in a style, Mary, 
 
 Which doesn't coincide 
 With what Fve been accustom'd to 
 
 Since you became my bride ; 
 The men are singing comic songs. 
 
 The lark gets loud and high, 
 For Fve ask'd — since you're from home, Mary,- 
 
 A party on the sly. 
 
 The place is rather chang'd, Mary, 
 
 Of smoke it slightly smells. 
 And the table and the floor are strewn 
 
 With heaps of oyster shells ; 
 And the men have mark'd your damask chairs 
 
 With many a muddy streak, 
 And they've drawn burnt cork moustaches on 
 
 Your mother's portrait's cheek.
 
 120 LADY SUFFERIN. 
 
 I^m very jolly now, Mary, 
 
 'Midst old and valued friends, , ^ 
 
 (Though they've in the carpet burnt some holes 
 
 With their Havannahs' ends) . 
 For thou wert somewhat cross with me, 
 
 And ever apt to chide. 
 But there's nothing left to care for now 
 
 You're gone to the sea-side. 
 
 And yet I fear when all you've learnt. 
 
 This ev'ning's work I'll rue ; 
 And I'll not forget it, darling, for 
 
 You won't allow me to. 
 In vain they sing, '' The Pope he leads — ■" 
 
 Likewise, " Begone dull Care ;" 
 For at thought of you, I vow I can't 
 
 Sit easy in my chair.
 
 Ilodnii pooto nii^ f Jlctediibe ©ffnccre. 
 
 (from the ripstone collection.) 
 
 FYTTE I. 
 
 Bold Robin he stood in Barnsdale Wood, 
 
 And he leant him under a tree. 
 When he was aware of a stranger knight 
 
 A-riding athwart the lea. 
 
 And Robin he chuckled and rubbed his hands, 
 And his heart was lightsome glad, 
 
 For of late the trade in the greenwood glade 
 Had been exceeding bad. 
 
 There was never a joint in the larder cave. 
 
 And the Malvoisie was out, 
 The nut-brown ale was beginning to fail. 
 
 And they'd tapp'd the last of the stout. 
 
 The Friar grew thin upon lenten fare 
 
 Of pulse and woodland roots ; 
 And Little John couldn't go to town 
 
 For want of a pair of boots.
 
 122 PROM THE RIPSTONE COLLECTION^ VT/SOa 
 
 While Marian May in dudgeon kept ,fn bmi] 
 Her bower of leaves so green; ,; x,iu;a <j'ft^ 
 
 For she hadn't a hood that was not in ragSiiU 
 Or a Idrtle fit to be seen. 
 
 WUl Scarlet was gone to Nottingharae Fair, 
 
 With his thimbles and his pea. 
 To try and ease of their surplus cash 
 
 The Thanes and Franklyns free. 
 
 And Midge the Miller was with him goncj 
 
 As a simple yeoman dress' d, 
 To decoy the green ; but his garb, I ween, 
 
 Was none of the very best. 
 
 But little money he had to sport ; 
 
 And, alack ! his face was known 
 To the vigilant Nottinghame police; ;\\ 
 
 So the scheme was well-nigh " blown.'' 
 
 Their only source of income sure 
 Was the minstrel Allan-il-Dale ; 
 
 Never, I wis, that minstrel's art 
 To loosen the purse might fail.
 
 EOBYN HOODE AND Y^ DETECTYVE OFFYCEllH. 123 
 
 " Read me my riddle^ and tell me my tale/' 
 So sang a bard of old ; 
 But the genuine "craft" of Allen-k-Dalo 
 Has never been truly told. 
 
 'Twas this — ^he would smirch his visage o'er 
 
 With lampblack^ oil, and soot. 
 And a hideous collar of paper white 
 
 About his cheeks would put. 
 
 And a kerchief stiff around his neck, 
 
 In a ghastly bow tied he. 
 Twelve inches wide upon either side, 
 
 An ogglesome sight to see ! 
 
 And a batter'd hood of undressed felt. 
 
 With band of funeral crape. 
 He wore, with a pair of hosen striped. 
 
 Of a weird unearthly shape. 
 
 On a deadly instrument he play'd, 
 
 A banjo it was hight. 
 At its dismal tones, with shrieks and groans. 
 
 The villao;ers lied in frio-ht.
 
 I2i I'llOM THE RIPSTONE COLLECTION. 
 
 To the sick man's door, and the schohir's cell, 
 
 With this machine he'd prowl, 
 And accompany its melody 
 
 With a suicidal howl. 
 
 And never a churl, to purchase peace 
 At a shilling's price would shrink — 
 
 But the worst of it was, young Allan-a-Dale 
 Would spend it all in drink. 
 
 So you'll understand why Robin was pleased. 
 
 And rubbed his hands with glee. 
 When he was aware of a stranger knight 
 
 A-riding athwart the lea. 
 
 PYTTE II. 
 
 " Oh which is the way to Nottinghame Town?" 
 
 The stranger knight he cried. 
 " I have lost my way in the twilight gray, 
 , And know not where I ride." 
 
 " Oh ! the path is vex'd," bold Robin he said, 
 *' And your way you sure would lose. 
 
 I've nought to do for an hour or two, 
 A guide you will scarce refuse."
 
 EOBYN HOODE AND Y'' DETECTYVE OFPYCEIIE. 125 
 
 " Now, gi-ammercy, for thy courtesy," 
 
 The stranger answered he, 
 " And a flagon brown, with a silver crown, 
 
 Thy guerdon fair shall be." 
 
 " At a flagon brov/n," bold Robin replied, 
 
 " I shall not wince or chafe ; 
 But your crowns, I fear, for to own them here 
 
 Were neither wise nor safe." 
 
 '^Now what dost thou fear, thou timid hind?" 
 
 The stranger laugh'd in scorn, 
 (While Eobin he chuckled in secret glee 
 The jeweird hilts of the knight to sec. 
 
 And his silver bugle horn) . 
 
 " Oh ! I fear the outlaws of merry Sherwood, 
 
 Those daring, reckless thieves ;" 
 (Here Robin he acted a comic start 
 
 At the sound of crackling leaves). 
 
 " The outlaws ! ^faith I would give one car. 
 
 To meet those gallant men ; 
 I will make thy silver crown a pound 
 
 To lead me to their den."
 
 I'lQ PllOM THE IIIPSTONE COLLECTION. 
 
 " Dost mean it, knight ?" " In faith do I/' 
 
 " But the outlaws rob and kill" — 
 " The pamperM priest and the usuring- knave — 
 They^ll respect the spoils of a brother brave" — 
 Said Robin — " Perhaps they will. 
 
 " But mindj you have sought the risk yourself. 
 And should anything be wrong — 
 
 'Tis true I know where the outlaws haunt" — 
 The knight said, " Cut along." 
 
 Then E/obin he took the jewell'd rein, 
 ' The stranger humm'd a tune. 
 While Robin he rated that silver horn 
 As worth full many a spoon. 
 
 And noted the suit of Milan steel. 
 
 Its rare and costly work, 
 And thought of the sum he would get for it 
 
 At Isaac's fence in York. 
 
 Through brake and briar they bent their way, 
 
 Still Ilobin frighten'd seem'd. 
 And the stranger rallied him playfully 
 
 That he of danger dream'd.
 
 ROBYN HOODE AND Y^ UETECTYVE OFFYCEEE. 127 
 
 ^^Oh ! prithee turn back while yet there's time. 
 
 The scheme is with clanger rife ;" 
 Said the stranger " No/' he would through it go, 
 — He wanted to see some life. 
 
 " Then see it now !" bold Robin he cried, 
 ^1 , As they halted under a tree ; 
 And he drew a horn from his surcoat torn, 
 And blew him a blast of three. 
 
 Quick crowded round his merry men all, 
 
 (Excepting Allan-il-Dale, 
 Who having made an uncommon haul, 
 Had broken the peace in a godless brawl, 
 'And lay in Nottinghame Jail). 
 
 They bent their bows and rais'd their staves. 
 
 The stranger wond'ring stood. 
 Said Hobin, " Lo ! I have earn'd my gold. 
 These are the Sherwood outlaws bold. 
 
 And I am Robin Hood." 
 
 FYTTE III. 
 
 " Well play'd, i'faith !" the stranger laugh'd ; 
 " An artful scheme, and deep ;
 
 12S PROM THE EIPSTO^vE COLLECTION. 
 
 Yet do not hold I am utterly sold. 
 For I deem the honour cheap. 
 
 " For what is a suit of Milan steel. 
 
 And a purse with nobles fill'd, 
 To the privilege rare, the sports to share, 
 
 Of the Sherwood outlaws skill'd ? 
 
 " Take all I have, as a merry toll. 
 For the right to join your games ; 
 
 But let me know, of this goodly show, 
 Of heroes, all the names. 
 
 " For in London town, in ball-rooms gay. 
 
 And supper hostels late, 
 I mean to brag of my loss of ' swag,' 
 
 To a company so great. 
 
 " And let me say I have drain'd a bowl. 
 With the men of njerry Sherwood, 
 
 And grasp'd the hand of each of the band 
 Of the famous Robin Hood." 
 
 "Well pleased were they with his kindly mood, 
 (But more with his golden spurs), 
 
 Will Scarlett told him at once his name, 
 And Marian told him hers.
 
 ROBYN IIOOUK AND Y* DKTECTYVE OFFYCLRE. 129 
 
 " But where is the goodly Friar Tucli?" 
 
 The Friar answered^ " Here !" 
 "Let me, at least, partake thy cup/' 
 
 And he pledg'd the Friar in beer. 
 
 And the ]\Iiller came, and Arthur h Bland, 
 
 The Tanner of Nottinghame, 
 And never a wight of that company, 
 (Save the hapless Allan, 'neath lock and key), 
 
 But answer' d to his name. 
 
 "Enough !" the stranger knight exclaim'd; 
 
 "And now the spoil to yield," 
 (The jNIiller and Tuck were quarrelling now 
 For the bugle horn ; there was also a row 
 
 As to who was to have the shield) . 
 
 The golden chain of his silver horn, ' 
 
 Off from his neck he threw. 
 The outlaws' toes were upon their tips. 
 When, lo ! he put it up to his lips. 
 
 And a ringing blast he blew. 
 
 From briar and shrub, from brake and scrub, 
 A band of armed men, 
 I
 
 loO FROM THE EIPSTONE COLLECTION. 
 
 In jerkins blue, with cudgels true, 
 And badges « A," '' B/' " One" and '' Two/' 
 Swarm'd o'er tlic outla^Ys' den. 
 
 " Your warrants serve !" the stranger's voice 
 
 Bang through the startled vale. 
 " I've got the names of eVry one, 
 Nor may they prompt confinement shun 
 
 Without sufficient bail." 
 
 FYTTE IV. 
 
 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in gay Sherwood, 
 Where the birds their songs are dinning. 
 
 But not so merry in Nottinghame Jail 
 Where the treadmill-wheel is spinning. 
 
 Bold Kobin is doom'd to labour hard 
 For six months out of the twelve. 
 
 And Scarlett Will for the Lincoln Docks 
 Is doom'd the shore to delve. 
 
 The Friar pines in a lonely cell. 
 
 In a suit of hodden gray. 
 With a tonsur'd head, and his drink consists 
 
 Of cocoa twice a-day;
 
 ROBYN nOODE AXU Y'^ DETECTYVE OFFYCERE, 131 
 
 And all that band of outlaws bold. 
 
 In vilest durance grieve, 
 With the base exception of Little John, 
 Who the penitent dodge has well tried on, 
 
 And earned a ticket of leave. 
 
 Fair Marian's fingers oakum pick, 
 
 For her wicked comrades' crimes. 
 The month of Allan-k-Dale is out. 
 But they're writing indignant letters about 
 His banjo to The Times. 
 
 B. 
 
 I ii
 
 LONGFELLOW IN PARIS. 
 
 THE GARgON. 
 91 StutiB. 
 
 The Gar9on is a wondrous man. 
 
 He answers to Baptiste ; 
 His waistcoat sleeves are calico^ 
 
 His slippers are of list. 
 He scrubs the chamber with his feet 
 
 Instead of with his fist. 
 
 He wears a cotton velvet cap. 
 
 Which deftly he removes 
 When summon' d to my room, and in 
 
 An apron pocket shoves, 
 Containing letters, countless keys. 
 
 His pipe and cleaning-gloves. 
 
 He wakes me in the morning up. 
 He hopes I've slumbered well, 
 
 He envies folks, he says, not doom'd 
 To drudsre for an hotel.
 
 LONGFELLOW IN PARIS. 133 
 
 The Gar9onj I^m inclined to think, 
 Would like to be a swell. 
 
 He takes an interest in me, 
 Will dainties recommend ; 
 
 He chides me when I stop out late, 
 He knows how that must end ; 
 
 Is hard upon my morning draughts : 
 He treats me as a friend. 
 
 He lingers with the breakfast things. 
 
 Discoursing at the door. 
 Or, warming with his subject, stops. 
 
 And puts them on the floor : 
 It never enters in his head 
 
 That he can be a bore ! 
 
 His philosophic creed is based 
 
 Upon the Cynic school. 
 Women he thinks amusing toys. 
 
 But worthless as a rule ; 
 His mistress is an arrant shrew. 
 
 His master is a fool.
 
 134 LONGFELLOW IN PARIS. 
 
 He watches late^ and labours hard, 
 
 He loiters when he dares ; 
 They always want him in the court 
 
 When up six flights of stairs ; 
 " Voi-la!" he screams, and hurries down. 
 
 And on the way he swears. 
 
 He has two hundred boots to clean. 
 
 Eight staircases to wipe ; 
 I know not when or where he sleeps, 
 
 Or takes his wine and tripe. 
 His only solace seems, at eve, 
 
 A contemplative pipe ! 
 
 B. 
 
 ri'irr
 
 CAMP C Iv E E Y. 
 
 By ALICKSUS SAWDER. 
 
 To boil Cabbage — it is necessaiy to procure a 
 cabbage. Wash in cold water; whicb^ throw 
 down a gutter, or outside a tent if no gut- 
 ter be procurable. Be careful not to splash 
 trousers, especially in frosty weather. Stick a 
 two-pronged fork boldly into the cabbage (a 
 bayonet will do equally well), and plunge it 
 into a saucepan of water just at boiling point. 
 When it has boiled for eight minutes, twenty- 
 five seconds, throw eleven-fifteenths of a tea- 
 spoonful of salt into the water. Let the cabbage 
 boil till it is tliorouglily done. At that moment 
 be on the watch to take it out of the saucepan 
 (taking care to avert the face from the steam), 
 and place in a vegetable dish. Put the cover 
 on, and serve up with roast beef, ortolans, veni- 
 son, pickled pork, or whatever may come handiest.
 
 136 ALICKSUS SAWDEE. 
 
 All old helmet will supply the place of a saucepan. 
 Cauliflowers may he cooked in the same manner ; 
 and; indeed; most things. 
 
 To frif Bacon, — Cut your bacon into long strips, 
 or rashers. Wipe your frying-pan out with a 
 coarse towel, or lining of old dressing-gown. 
 Then place it gently (so as not to knock the 
 bottom out) over a brisk fire. Place the rashers 
 iu; one by one. When they are done on one side, 
 turn them over to do on the other. When they 
 have attained a rich brown, take them out and 
 arrange them on a dish, or slice of bread, or any- 
 thing. Watch your rashers, so that the sentinel 
 outside doesn't get at them ; and eat when you feel 
 inclined. The gravy may be sopped up from the 
 frying-pau with crumbs of bread. If only biscuit 
 is to be obtained, use the fingers, which lick care- 
 fully. The rind may be preserved in the waistcoat, 
 pocket, for sucking while on duty. 
 
 Roast Potatoes. — Put your potatoes under thCj 
 stove, and rake hot embers over them. While 
 they are cooking, get as much butter as the com-
 
 OAMP COOKEUY. 1^7* 
 
 missariat will allow jou, and put it on a clean 
 dish, or, a dirty one, with half a sheet of writing- 
 paper on it (indeed, in an extreme case, the writ- 
 ing-paper will enable you to dispense with the 
 disM altogether) . Taste the butter, but don't eat 
 it all up till the potatoes are done. Great care 
 will be required for the observance of the latter 
 regulation. Cut the butter into dice of from six 
 to seven-eighths of a cubic inch. When the pota- 
 toes are done, cut them open and insert a dice of 
 butter in each, closing the potato rapidly to pre- 
 vent evaporation. Eat with pepper and salt, or 
 whatever you can get. 
 
 y- Another Method, — If you can't get any butter, 
 do without it. 
 
 Potatoes and Point. — This is a very popular dish 
 in Ireland, and one which I have frequently par-^' 
 taken of in that country. The method of prepar-{ 
 ing it in the Crimea is as follows : — Boil a dish of 
 potatoes, and serve up hot, with a watch-glass full 
 of powdered salt. When they are ready for eat- 
 ing, point, with the fore-finger of the right hand/
 
 138 ALICKSUS SAWDER. 
 
 in a north-westerly direction, where the regions of 
 beef are supposed to exist. 
 
 Bread and ]aull-%t — is a dish somewhat resembling 
 the last, but of English origin. Take a loaf of 
 bread (previously having obtained permission to 
 do so) and pull it in half; eat with sardines or 
 rum-and-water. This dish requires little or no 
 study. 
 
 Churchwarden Souj). — Go round to the doors of 
 the various tents and collect all the egg-shells you 
 can find ; boil them for two hours, and on the 
 scale of two quarts of water to half-a-dozen egg- 
 shells; drink hot, but not too much at a time. 
 A little fresh beef, a bunch or two of sweet herbs, 
 an onion, and some vermicelli (half a pound to the 
 quart) would be found an improvement, but are by 
 no means indispensable. 
 
 Fromage a VccoUer Anglais. — I learnt how to 
 prepare this j[)lat on the occasion of a recent visit to 
 a charity-school, where a young relative of mine is 
 completing his education, and who, indeed, showed
 
 GAMP COOKERY. 139 
 
 me the entire process. He performed it as fol- 
 lows : — He took the largest lump of cheese on 
 the supper-plate (thrashing a smaller boy who 
 attempted to dispute its possession with him), and 
 proceeded to cut it up into dice (this form is indis- 
 pensable on all occasions whatsoever) with his 
 pocket-knife. He then, from the satchel of the 
 youngest boy in the school, selected a slate, which 
 he immediately broke over the proprietor's head 
 into several small pieces, on one of which he placed 
 his cheese. He then informed his schoolfellows, 
 assembled round the evening candle, that if they 
 did not get out of the way he would punch their 
 heads into the middle of next week. This left him 
 an open field for his culinary operations. I observed 
 that he held the cheese, carefully balanced on the 
 bit of slate, over the candle, and allowed it to 
 frizzle till the heat of the slate burnt his fingers, 
 and caused him to howl. This was a signal that 
 his cheese was done enough, or, at all events, that 
 he had better not try to do it any more. He ate it 
 served up on a desk, garnished with candle-snuff, a 
 little ink, and a tablespoonful of tears. I think I 
 also noticed a wafer, which would, no doubt, give it
 
 110 ALICKSUS SAWDEE. 
 
 a zest. I have not tasted the dish myself, but the 
 accuracy of the recipe may be relied on. 
 
 Green, Peas in a Crimean Winter. — Boil half a 
 pint of white peas, and put on green spectacles, — 
 the peas will appear green. Mock turtle may be 
 procured by the same expedient. Cut up a bit of 
 salt pork (into dice, of course), and the coloured 
 vitreous medium above-mentioned will give it the 
 appearance of green fat. 
 
 Camp Asparagus. — None but a Londoner can 
 enjoy this dish thoroughly. It consists merely of 
 a slice of pork converted into asparagus by the 
 force of imagination, aided by the reflection that 
 " all jksh is grCtss." 
 
 B.
 
 FKAGMENT, 
 
 ATTBIBUTED TO ALEXANDER SMITH. 
 
 The sobbing beef 
 Writhes like a martyr on tli' impaling spit, 
 Moaning and heaving piteously ; and now 
 In speechless suiFeringj with Promethean strength 
 Enduring all ; then_, madden'd with despair 
 That the slow burning torture which consumes 
 His mighty sides will, spite of him, wring forth 
 Big scalding tears of anguish — with a scream 
 01" baffled impotence he spits and foams 
 At his grim conqueror, the tyrant Fire, 
 Who, clad in iron mail, with helm of flame 
 And nodding plume of smoke, with ashy face 
 Glares at the captive giant through his bars. 
 ******** 
 
 * * * The beef is done !
 
 .r.T I- 
 
 HARD TIME S.*" ". 
 
 ,fJr,T, 
 
 (refinished.) 
 By CHARLES DIGGINS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 They coovered poor Stephen BlackpooFs face ! 
 
 The crowd from the Old Hell Shaft pressed 
 around him. Mr. Gradgrind ran to look at the 
 sufferer's face, but in doing so, he trod on a daisy. 
 He wept : and a hundred and sixty more of his 
 
 * It would seem that the striking -want of poetical justice in 
 the usually-received teiinination of this otherwise excellent story, 
 wherein none of the good people were made happy, and the 
 wicked were most inadequately punished, had caused the author 
 to tremble for his popularity among the female portion of the 
 community — who, it is well known, will stand no liberties of 
 that description. He has therefore (apparently) re-written it on 
 more orthodox principles ; or (not improbably) got somebody 
 else to re-write it for him ; or (as is barely possible) somebody 
 else has re- written it for him without asking his leave. We have 
 no means of ascertaining the exact state of the case. The 
 reader is requested to form his own opinion, and let us know at 
 his earliest convenience. Our business hours are from twelve to 
 half- past, but our address is a profound secret. — Eds. 0. M,
 
 HA"RD TIMES. 143 
 
 hairs turned gray. He would tread on no more 
 daisies ! 
 
 He was not^ however^ to be baulked in his 
 humble, honest purpose of self-reform. As he 
 passed over the common, a donkey kicked him. It 
 reminded him that facts were stubborn things : 
 and he had done with facts and stubbornness. He 
 wept again. 
 
 " Rachel, beloved lass, art thou by me ?" 
 " Ay, Stephen ; how dost thou feel ?" 
 " Hoomble and happy, lass. I be grateful and 
 thankful. I be obliged to them as have brought 
 charges o' robbery agin me ; an' I hope as them as 
 did it will be happy an' enjoy the fruits. I do 
 only look on my being pitched down that theer 
 shaft, and having all my bones broke, as a mercy 
 and a providence, and God bless ev'rybody !" 
 7,. " Stephen, your head be a wandering." 
 ,?' " Ay, lass; awlus a muddle." 
 " WUl you take anything, Stephen ?" 
 " I do hoombly thank thee for a good and trew 
 lass thou hast awlus been to me ; and I dunnot 
 care if I do take a little soomut warm — wi' a little 
 suffar."
 
 144.1 CHAllLES iJlGGlNS. 
 
 The sobered man had still credit at the ncigli- 
 Louring tavern. In two seconds he appeared with 
 a steaming glass of rum-and-water^ scarcely stop- 
 ping to sip it by the way. 
 
 '' Can thou drink rum^ Stephen ?" asked Rachel, 
 taking the tumbler from the hands of the sobered 
 man for fear of accidents. , ^^ ^x^^^^ ^<,^j[ 
 
 "I do hoombly and kindly thank thee, lass/^- 
 said poor Stephen; "I can drink anything." j ^^ 
 
 Rachel placed the goblet to his parched [^J^y 
 quivering lips. i,.^"^/^ 
 
 There was a moment of breathless silence. Mr. 
 Bounderby rattled three-and-sixpence in his 
 breeches pocket, and finding his ostentation was 
 unnoticed, kicked a little boy down the Old Hell 
 Shaft. Mr. Gradgrind purchased a pennyworth 
 of violets from a blue-eyed flower-girl, and true to 
 his new and trusting creed, accepted two counterrg 
 feit farthings as change for a sovereign withouiy 
 looking at them. The Whelp glared fiercely §,|iQ 
 the rum-and- water, and barked, ,-,,■. -,. ,i r 
 
 Stephen drank it, every drop, ^^jjjfis!^!^^ i^AWP^ 
 to the dregs. No heel-taps. ,r - ., ^.../ 
 
 " I do hoombly thank thee, Rachel,, good and
 
 HARD TIMES. 145 
 
 trew lass as thou hast been to me ; but I do feel 
 much better/' 
 
 " Oh, here \" Mr. Bounderby blustered forward : 
 " I'm not going to stand this. If a man suspected 
 of robbing Josiah Bounderby, of Coketown's 
 Bank, is to feel ' much better,' I should like to 
 know what's the use of Old Hell Shafts. There's 
 a touch of the gold-spoon game in that ; and I'm 
 up to the gold-spoon game — rather ! And it wont 
 go down with Josiah Bounderby. Of Coketown. 
 Not exactly. Here ! Where's a constable ?" 
 
 There was none. Of course not. There never is, 
 when wanted. 
 
 Mrs. Sparsit and Bitzer pressed officiously for- 
 ward, and volunteered to take Stephen into custody. 
 
 " Shame !" cried the populace. 
 
 '^Oh, I dare say," said Mr. Bounderby; '^I'm a 
 self-made man, and, having made myself, am not 
 likely to be ashajned of anything. There, take 
 him along." 
 
 There was a movement, as if for a rescue. The 
 sobered man had been sober quite long enough 
 without a fight, and tucked up his sleeves. 
 
 Stephen prevented this explosion.
 
 146 CHARLES DIGGINS. 
 
 '^ Noa^ lads," he said, in his meek broken voice ; 
 " dunuot try to resky me. I be fond o' consta- 
 bles. I like going to prison. As for hard labour, 
 I ha' been used to that long enough. Wi' regard 
 to law — it's awlus a muddle." 
 
 " OfF with him !" said Mr. Bounderby. " When 
 I used to commit robberies, I never had any rum- 
 and-water given to me. No, nor didn't talk 
 about muddles. And I'm worth sixty thousand 
 pounds, and have got ladies of family — ladies of 
 family;" — he raised his voice to call attention to 
 !Mrs. Sparsit, who was ambling gently along with 
 the submissive Stephen on her august shoulders — 
 '' acting as beasts of burden for me. Come up, 
 madam !" And he gave Mrs. Sparsit a gentle 
 touch of his whip, causing that high-nosed lady to 
 prance a little. 
 
 They moved on, towards Coketown. The lights 
 were beginning to blink through the fog. Like 
 winking. The seven o'clock bells were ringing. 
 Like one o'clock. Suddenly the tramp of horses 
 and the fierce barking of a dog were heard. 
 
 With a wild cry. Sissy recognised Sleary's com- 
 pany galloping towards them — all mounted ; Mr.
 
 HARD TIMES. 147 
 
 Slearj himself, grown much stouter, on his won- 
 derful trained Arab steed, Bolivar ; J. W. B. 
 Childers, who had apparently not had time to 
 change his dress, as the Indian warrior on the 
 celebrated spotted Pegasus of the Caucasus ; Kid- 
 derminster following, on the comic performing 
 donkey, Jerusalem. 
 
 A dog, far in adv^ince of the horse-riders, 
 dashed amongst the astonished crowd, and singling 
 out Mr. Bounderby, seized him by the scruff of 
 the neck. 
 
 " Thath wight, Mewwylegth," cried Mr. S., 
 coming up panting (in addition to his former lisp, 
 advancing age had afflicted him with a difficulty 
 in pronouncing his o-'s) . " Thath the vewy identical 
 cove : pin him ! Good dog I" 
 
 " Help ! murder V cried the bully of humility, 
 struggling with the animal. " Will you see a man 
 worth sixty thousand pounds devoured by a dog ?" 
 
 The prospect seemed to afford the bystanders 
 considerable satisfaction. 
 
 " Ith no uthe, Thquire/^ said Sleary, calmly ; 
 " the dog wont let go liith hold of you ;" and he 
 added, in a hissing voice, " xih Jupdh dog !" 
 k2
 
 148 CHARLES DIGGINS. 
 
 "It's a lie/' Bounderby faltered; "I didn't 
 murder him — he did it himself. I never saw the 
 man. He hit me first. I never spoke to a clown 
 in my life. Tear this hound off." 
 
 " Quite enough^ Thquire/' said Sleary. " I call 
 on everybody in the Queenth name to athitht me 
 in arethting thith man^ Jothiah Bounderby^ for the 
 murder of my clown, Jupe, thickthteen y earth ago." 
 
 Sissy fainted into the "Whelp's arms. From that 
 moment the latter quadruped resolved to lead a 
 virtuous life. 
 
 Mrs. Sparsit and Bitzer, with the alacrity of 
 timeservers, released Stephen, and seized on their 
 former patron. Stephen slipped quietly away in 
 the confusion of the moment, remarking, with a 
 wink of satisfaction to Eachel, "Awlus a mud- 
 dle !" 
 
 Merrylegs retained his hold on his victim's 
 throat. Like a vice. 
 
 " Murder !" cried Bounderby ; " release me from 
 this dog, or demon, and I will confess all." 
 
 "Mewwylegth, come here, thir !" 
 
 Merrylegs released his victim. 
 
 " Well, then," said the detected^mjsci;e,ant, des-
 
 HARD TIMES. 14^ 
 
 perately, — sixteen years ago I murdered the man, 
 Jupc_, to obtain possession of eighteen-pence,* with 
 which I entered Coketown, and set up in business. 
 And now, do your worst/^ 
 
 Tlie crowd recoiled in horror. The sobered man 
 picked up Mr. Bounderby's hat, that had dropped 
 off in the scuffle, and immediately pawned it. 
 
 " Off with him !" cried Sleary, in a tone of 
 theatrical authority, — " to jail V^ 
 
 To jail! to jail ! to jail! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 TowAiiDS town. The crowd gathering. Like a 
 snowball. Much dirtier, though. Rather. 
 
 '' Bitzer." 
 
 The whisper was so hoarse that the light-porter 
 scarcely recognised his master's tones. 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 * There is a trifling anachronism here. Bounderliy having 
 been represented as akeady prosperous at the time of Jupe's 
 disappearance. These little accidents, however, will happen 
 in the best regulated plots.
 
 150 CHARLES DIGGINS. 
 
 ^^I have twenty sovereigns in my pocket. Let 
 me slip away, and they are yours." 
 
 "Thank you, sir; but I have calculated that, by 
 letting you be locked up all night, and going back 
 and robbing the Bank, I shall make a much better 
 thing of it. You must please to remember that I 
 have my way to make." 
 
 " Will the key of the safe tempt you ?" 
 
 "Thank you, sir; — that might be a considera- 
 tion." 
 
 Bounderby slipped it into the light-porter's 
 hand. In an instant he was gone, into the dark- 
 ness, up an entry. In a few seconds, by a howl 
 resembling the cry of a pack of hounds baffled in 
 their sceut, he knew that his escape had been dis- 
 covered. 
 
 " There is no time to be lost," he muttered. He 
 entered a chemist's shop. 
 
 " A pint of strychnine !" 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; but what do you want 
 it for ?" 
 
 " For a dog," said Bounderby, gnashing his 
 teeth fiercely, as he thought of Merrylegs. 
 
 " Thank you ; — you can keep the change."
 
 HARD TIMES. 151 
 
 He seized the poison with avidity, and rushed 
 into the street. The cries of his pursuers came 
 nearer. It was a fearful night — just the sort of 
 nig'ht for a man to poison himself in. He placed 
 the potion to his lips. 
 
 What appeared an animated mass of rags darted 
 up from a dark corner^ and seized the bottle from 
 his hand. 
 
 " Aha !" said a drunken female voice, " a sly 
 drain_, eh, old hoy? Half shares, though. I 
 liavenH had a sup of anything good these two 
 hours. Here's your health." 
 
 Ere he could arrest her movement, the drunken 
 wife of Stephen Blackpool had drained the bottle 
 to the dregs, and lay a squalid, loathsome corpse at 
 his feet. 
 
 "Baffled, by Heaven!" cried Boundorby, spurn- 
 ing the lifeless object with his left highlow. 
 
 The pursuers were approaching. Their angry 
 mui'murs grew more and more distinq^. The 
 barking of the dog was terrible. 
 
 What was to be done ? 
 
 Give himself up. To justice? To be hanged — 
 by the neck — till he was dead ? No ! He had raised
 
 152 CHATILES DIGGINS. 
 
 himself from nothing, and he was not the man to 
 
 trample on his own origin, if he could help it. ju.i 
 
 Lights at the end of the street. ■■..it iiiot* 
 
 "Bow! wow! wow! G-r-r-r-r-r-r !" nf' o ' 
 
 The dog again ! How he wished the lights were 
 
 in an edible form, and might choke the infuriated 
 
 quadruped ! 
 
 " G-r-r-o-o-o-o-w ! Yap \" 
 
 " He is gaining on him. Good dog ! at hira,L 
 Merrylegs ! S — s — tt ! Murderers, boy, njur-r 
 derers !" y-vhlv^Az 
 
 " Bow-ow-ow-o-o-o-o-w ! Yap \" 
 There is scarcely an inch between the muzzle of { 
 the avenging Merrylegs and the seat of the inex-irt 
 pressibles that were considered, scarce an hour ago,a 
 worthy to press the highest judicial seat of Coke-*id 
 town. Another leap, and he has him by theio 
 trousers ! yd t^Iofid oxfi 
 
 A yell of exultation bursts from the infuriatedni 
 
 multitude. dd 
 
 « 
 
 Smash ! crash ! the head of Bounderby strikes ic 
 ao-ainst a door. The brave old oak resists thero 
 shock manfully. Ha ! it is the door of his owniid 
 mill — the Fairy Palace. There is yet hope j i theail
 
 HARD TIMES. 1513 
 
 latch-key quivers in the lock :— squeak ! creak ! — 
 the door yields. Bump ! thump ! It is barricaded 
 from within, and the baffled Merrylegs stands in 
 the street alone, with the yet palpitating seat of 
 Mr. Bouoderby^s trousers in his extended jaws, 
 .boiciiijim' 9x1 1 . 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 His melancholy-mad elephants were at work. 
 They were always at work — day and night. I 
 shouldn't like to be a melancholy-mad elephant, 
 to be always at work — night and day. Should 
 you ? Not that I don't now and then sit up all 
 night myself. But on those occasions I am not 
 melancholy. By no means. Nor in the elephan- 
 tine line. Quite the contrary. Mr. Bounderby 
 entered the engine-room. There was a window at 
 the back, by which he might let himself down 
 into the Warren^s Blacking river that supplied 
 the mill, and so swim as far as Liverpool. He was 
 alone, — the night-watchman of course had gone 
 out for the evening. He could hear the crowds 
 battering at the door below. In a few minutes 
 he would be in custody.
 
 151- CHARLES DIGGINS. 
 
 The melancholy-mad elephants occupied a good 
 deal of room. As Avill be the case with ill- 
 tempered asthmatic old gentlemeu, the building 
 that contained them seemed insufficient space for 
 them to wheeze and squeeze^ and groan and moan, 
 and mutter and splutter in. It required the 
 greatest precaution, on the part of Mr. Bounderby, 
 to step over the foaming cylinders, exhausted re- 
 ceivers, cranks, levers, and what not, to reach the 
 desired window in safety. 
 
 At length he opened it. 
 
 " Bow-ow-ow-ow ! Gr-r-r-r !" 
 
 The dog again ! Jupe's avenging angel ! In 
 at the window. Sixteen stories high ! But of 
 what is the dog not capable ? 
 
 Bounderby fell back. Into what? Into the 
 clutches of the melancholy-mad elephants. The 
 lly-wheel caught him. Whirr ! Burr ! Whiz ! 
 Fiz ! Round and I'ound he went ! He was a 
 self-made man, but he had not made himself of 
 sufficiently strong materials to resist the influence 
 of the melancholy-mad elephants. 
 
 •X- -x- ■^ -Jf ^ 
 
 In the morning, a mother-of-pearl shirt button
 
 HAED TIMES. 
 
 1.^; 
 
 and a fragment of a broad blue cloth coat-skirt 
 were all the remains of the once prosperous 
 Josiah Bounderbj, of Coketown ! 
 
 Little remains to be told. Rachel and Stephen 
 were married. The robbery of the bank was fixed 
 upon Mrs. Sparsit and Bitzer. As the house 
 of Bounderby, however^ had never issued any- 
 thing but forged notes, the culprits were soon 
 detected in the attempt to pass some of them. 
 Sissy married the reformed Whelp, and reared, a 
 large family of puppies. INIr, Gradgrind ended 
 his days as a clown to Sleary's troop. He had had 
 a lesson in the futility of facts, and during his en- 
 gagement could never be prevailed upon to accept 
 wages. He lived by borrowing sixpences of the 
 rest of the company — as a penance. 
 
 Mr. James Harthouse returned from Jerusalem, 
 determined to go in for the domestic virtues. He 
 proposed to Louisa, and was accepted. They were 
 happy. 
 
 Sleary's company went to America, and got 
 engaged by Barnum. Of course the}^ returned
 
 15<J CHARLES DIGGINS. 
 
 with fortunes. Sleary himself, in consideration of 
 his disinterested efforts to secure Bounderby, was 
 made Master of the Horse. 
 
 J. W. B. Childers won £150,000 upon the last 
 Derby. The horse had been trained to lose by 
 Sleary. 
 
 Kidderminster grew ten inches after the age 
 of twenty-seven, and was immediately appointed 
 to a colonelcy in the Scots Greys. The sobered 
 man, ashamed of his former conduct, never 
 became so again. Macchoakumchild was carried 
 off by a severe attack of his own name. 
 
 ]\Irs. Sparsit and Bitzer were transported. The 
 former, through her high connexions, was enabled 
 to obtain a ticket- of-leave before the customary 
 time had elapsed. She set up a boarding-house, 
 and lived by poisoning gold-diggers. As she had 
 amassed a considerable fortune by the time Bitzer 
 obtained his ticket, the latter assassinated her for 
 her property, and was executed. 
 
 And now, reader, let us love one another. If 
 
 you will, I will. I can't say fairer. And so, God 
 
 bless us all. 
 
 B.
 
 MR. HARDUP'S ASCENT OF THE 
 MONT DE PIETE. 
 
 By albert SMIFF. 
 
 From my earliest youth I have had a passion for 
 "ascents" of various descriptions. Long hefore I 
 had even seen a balloon, I had acquired great jDrac- 
 tice in that exciting species of aerial ascent known 
 as raising the wind. I was also a great adept at 
 running up shots of unprecedented elevation. I 
 was always fond of getting " up a tree." But 
 luiquestionably my favourite phm of ascent was 
 the process familiarly and expressively characterised 
 as "putting things up." 
 
 From this the reader will gather that I have had 
 a good deal of up-hill work in my time, and will 
 not be surprised to learn that, being sent by my 
 parents to study for the medical profession at the 
 Closerie dcs Lilas, in the Quartier Latin, Paris, my 
 attention was naturally directed towards the cele-
 
 158 ALBEllT SMIFF. 
 
 brated Mont de Piete. Several of my com- 
 panions had attempted to reach this redoubtable 
 emineuce_, some with a success that had surpassed 
 their expectations, others meeting with repulse and 
 discomfiture. The courage of many had failed 
 them on breaking- the first ice ; the success of the 
 former inspired me with emulation. By the 
 failures of the latter I was nothing daunted. As 
 I have indicated, I always had a passion for this 
 sort of thing. At a very early age my brother and 
 myself had made the tour of the metropolis, carr}^- 
 ing with us a very simple apparatus, being in fact 
 nothing more than a box containing an ordinary 
 magic-lantern and slides — which we had the honour 
 of exhibiting before some of the most distinguished 
 London pawnbrokers. The success of this under- 
 taking (two and nine-pence, deducting twopence 
 for the duplicate) encouraged us to further exer- 
 tion in the same field, on a wider basis. We 
 accordingly made the same circuit, accompanied 
 by our respected father's oxy-hydrogen micro- 
 scope. This was less favourably received ; in 
 fact, they wouldn't take it iii at all, and v;c got 
 wopped.
 
 ASCENT OP THE MONT DE PlElE. 159 
 
 I will pass over the various fluctuations of pur- 
 pose that intervened between my first conception 
 of the ascent I am about to describe^ and my reso- 
 lution to achieve it. I will not speak of the labour 
 it was represented it would cost me, and the little 
 I should gain by it ; suffice it that eventually the 
 Mont de Piete became an idee fixe with me, to 
 such a pitch of intensity that I found I could 
 neither eat, drink, nor sleep, unless I made the 
 ascent. 
 
 I accordingly resolved to do it, and hastened to 
 provide myself with the necessary guides and pro- 
 visions. 
 
 Two intelligent young Frenchmen, named re- 
 spectively Jules and Alphonse, were recommended 
 to me as the persons most intimately acquainted 
 with the various ins and outs of the exciting journey 
 I proposed taking. Both these gallant youths 
 had been up the Mont de Piete frequently, as 
 well on their own account as in the capacity of 
 ciceroni to others, and were not a bit deterred by 
 the prospect of another ascent. On the contrar}',- 
 they urged me to undertake it warmly, volunteer- 
 ing to act as my guides with the greatest alacrity;
 
 160 ALBERT SMIl'T. 
 
 — they would not even put any price on their 
 services ; they merely stipulated that I should pro- 
 vide them with refreshments on the way, declaring 
 that the prospect alone (that of going to a masked 
 ball at Prado in the evening, which none of us 
 could have a chance of seeing, except from the 
 eminence of the Mont de Piete) would amply 
 repay them for their trouble. f, 
 
 We met by appointment at an early hour one 
 lovely July morning, at my own apartment. 
 No. 316b, Eue St. Jaques au Septieme. After 
 a very slight repast (I should state that it is cus- 
 tomary to eat very little, immediately before 
 attempting the ascent) we commenced our prepa- 
 rations. Jules informed me it would be necessary 
 to provide myself with as much wearing apparel 
 as possible. It would be as well also to take a 
 few books with us. Seeing a silk umbrella in a 
 corner of the room, Alphonse recommended me on 
 no account to leave it behind, as we might want 
 it. I was advised also to take my instruments 
 with me, in case of accidents. 
 
 I accordingly made up into the form of a knap- 
 sack the followins: articles : —
 
 ASCENT OP THE MONT DE PIkTe. 161* 
 
 1 dress coat, ^ fl9T9 
 "^^ bi/Toj pcjir ditto trousers. 
 
 3 summer waistcoats. 
 1 pair Wellingtons. 
 
 1 ditto dress Alberts.* 
 ""fC" 2 volume Quain's Anatom?/. 
 
 4 ditto Paul de Kock's works. 
 
 2 ditto Spiers's Dictionary. 
 
 ^* Jules took charge of the instruments, AlphonsQ 
 of the umbrella, and with light hearts we set 
 forth on our adventurous undertaking, singing in 
 unison the appropriate melody of 
 
 Pop goes the Weasel ! 
 an independent version of which each of my com- 
 panions readily improvised, on the theme being 
 explained to them. 
 
 "Our course lay down the Rue de Mazarin 
 and across the Pont des Arts, which we reached 
 with comparatively few interruptions at the various 
 intervening wine-shops. On the bridge we held a 
 consultation as to the state of our finances, and 
 
 * A neat and economical species of chaussicre, which I regret 
 to see has fallen into disuse, through the abolition of straps. 
 
 L
 
 163 ALBERT SMIFF. 
 
 decided that they were sufficiently flourishing to 
 afford a sou to the stout, purple-faced, blind old 
 lady with the accordeon, who makes herself so 
 comfortable in that locality, and who having been 
 born blind, may alone be said, of all the female 
 population of Europe, to have some excuse for 
 wearing the hideous mushroom straw hat, of which 
 she is the acknowledged inventress. This work of 
 charity accomplished, we passed through the 
 Louvre, and crossed the perilous Rue de Rivoli in 
 safety, after little more than the average amount of 
 rows with the stone-cutters and cockers defacre. 
 
 The Mont de Piete, as the world well knows, 
 (that is, such portions of the world as have ever 
 visited Paris with a view to study), is situated on 
 the fourth floor of a house in the E-ue Richelieu, at 
 the back of the Palais Royal. We halted breath- 
 lessly, not without a feeling of awe, in sight of our 
 destination ! 
 
 As I placed my foot on the threshold, I confess 
 my resolution gave way. Jules slapped me on the 
 back and cried, " Bu courage!" Alphonse hit 
 upon the more practical expedient of dragging me 
 across to the opposite Commerce de vins, and ad-..
 
 ASCENT or THE MONT DE PI^TE. 163 
 
 ministering a j^^O't verre, for which (together with 
 one each for himself and comrade) he in the kindest 
 manner allowed me to pay. After this^I felt prepared 
 for anything, and bade my guides lead the way. 
 
 We commenced the ascent. Nothing of im- 
 portance happened till we reached the first land- 
 ing, when my spirits began to give way. The 
 view that presented itself was anything but cheer- 
 ing. I might ])e asked out to dinner in the course 
 of the week_, and what was I to do for a dress coat ? 
 I mentioned my scruples to my companions, who 
 laughed them away, assuring me that their ward- 
 robes were quite at my service. As I knew they 
 carried those valuable possessions on their backs, 
 this failed to satisfy me, and I was on the point of 
 turning back. Fear of ridicule, however, induced 
 i^e to proceed, and we reached the second landing. 
 .,,,,At the third landing I sat down completely 
 overcome, declaring I would proceed no further. 
 Jifjhad just occurred to me, that the uncle who had 
 made me a present of the Spiers' s Dictionaries (and 
 from whom I had further expectations) would be 
 in Paris in a few days. What could I say to him ? 
 I fairly bm-st into tears, overcome by the weakness
 
 16-1 ALBERT SMIFP. 
 
 of my situation. My guides assured me that this 
 was no uncommon symptom on tlie occasion of a 
 first ascentj and declared that I should soon get 
 over it. I refused, however, to budge a step, of 
 my own accord, and they had literally to drag and 
 push me up the remainder of the ascent. 
 
 At the FOURTH LANDING I forgot my fears, and 
 wholly recovered my self-possession. A small 
 green door stood before us, on which was an oval 
 brass plate inscribed with the words, 
 
 "MONT DE PI^T^. 
 
 Tournez le houton. 
 S. V. P." 
 
 Jules turned the button with the carelessness of an 
 JiaUtue, the door opened, and the splendour of the 
 Mont de Piete burst on my astonished sight. 
 
 I shall never forget the sight as long as I live. 
 We were in a spacious apartment, well lighted, 
 and containing a counter and shelves, with — 
 nothing on them. I was at once forcibly re- 
 minded of a shop in Holywell-street with an 
 execution in the house. This idea took possession 
 of me to the exclusion of all others.
 
 ASCENT OF THE MONT DE PIeTe. 165 
 
 " Jules/^ I whispered, " where do they put the 
 things that are au chon f"' * 
 
 "They go to the Depoi Central:' 
 
 " Bon." 
 
 A well-dressed lady-like person, of middle age, 
 advanced from a desk where she had been writing, 
 and held out her hand for my consignment. 
 
 I then iinderstood why the common relation 
 known as " my uncle " in this country, become 
 ma tante across the water. 
 
 " Votre nom ? said the lady. 
 
 " John Hardup." 
 
 " Etes vous etranger ?" 
 
 " Qui." 
 
 " Voire im88e-]}ort, s'il vous plait P 
 
 There was a difficulty that had not been fore- 
 seen. I had left my passport at home. I requested 
 my friends to wait while I ran back for it. This 
 they oj)posed with indecent alacrity, Jules insist- 
 ing that .1 should remain in the custody of Alphonse 
 while he went in search of the required document. 
 
 * "The Spout" is an institution unknown in France. It is 
 supposed that the present enterprising Emj^eror will introduce it 
 among his numerous improvements.
 
 16G ALBERT SMIFF. 
 
 I submitted with reluctance, and with still greater 
 intrusted the messenger with the key of my secre- 
 taire, which I knew contained half-a-dozen choice 
 Havannah cigars. There was also a bottle of 
 brandy in the chamber, barely half finished. 
 
 In about half an hour Jules returned, very red 
 in the face, and with a certain thickness in his 
 speech. He held in his hand a hout de cigarre, which 
 I at once recognised by its odour, — so widely dif- 
 ferent to that of the cabbage-leaf bolsters which 
 the Emperor Napoleon insists on your buying at 
 his establishment. 
 
 The passport was all right, and the lady chef de 
 bureau summed up on paper the different amounts 
 to which she considered me entitled for the custody 
 of my valuables. The items were as follow : — '• 
 
 Fr. Cta. '•' 
 
 Habit [ires vieuA') 4 
 
 Tantalon [decJiire) . . /.qxI^ atflilaiJQjrrjiJ 
 1 paire de boties {semelles tisces) . 2 Ojj..^ 
 
 1 Uvres ',^,-^iiX '^m. 3 50) 
 
 1 parapliiie {sans pomme): «g -^d I 50 '-^-r;. 
 Boite d' instruments . . .■:;tw:.T. 15 ,,[) 
 
 Total 2G 50
 
 ASCENT OF THE MONT DE PIkTK. 167 
 
 Alphonse pleaded eloquently for twenty francs 
 on the instruments, and five on the coat. The 
 lady treated his arguments with supreme indif- 
 ference. The dress Alberts and the gilleis (Vctc 
 were ignominiously rejected as of no pecuniary 
 value whatever. 
 
 Altogether I was greatly disappointed with my 
 first ascent of the Mont de Piete. 
 
 The necessary documents made out (which occu- 
 pied an immense deal of time, and apparently a 
 few quires of paper), and the money handed over, 
 we prepared for the descent. This was effected 
 with great rapidity — in fact, at the rate of six 
 stairs at a time, — but not without accidents ; in- 
 deed, it had nearly proved fatal to one of the guides, 
 Jules, who, not having the steadiest footing, slipped 
 on the second landing (recently y)-oiJ/t' by a careful 
 locataire), and was all but precipitated over the 
 banisters into the yawning chasm beneath. This 
 calamity was fortunately avoided. 
 
 On reaching the open air, we were enthusiasti- 
 cally received by a number of the inhabitants of 
 the Quartier Latin, who had been attracted by the 
 rumour of our intended ascent. They kissed me
 
 IGS ALBERT SMIFF. 
 
 all roundj and it \Yas witli difficulty I could prevent 
 them from carrying me on their shoulders to the 
 Commerce de vins already alluded to^ whither we 
 all adjourned. 
 
 In the evening a grand ball was given at Prado. 
 Keed I say that the hero of the fete was he who 
 liad so recently effected the perilous ascent of the 
 MontdePiete? 
 
 On summing up the expenses of the expedition, 
 I find they amounted to the following : — 
 
 Fr. Cts. 
 
 Pefiis canons for self and guides on 
 
 the way 
 
 Gratuity to musical professor . 
 JPetits rerres for self and guides 
 Cost of cognac and Havannah cigar 
 
 abstracted by messenger . . . 1 15 
 Regaling inhabitants of Quavtier Latin, 
 
 assembled to congratulate . 
 Six dinners, at Ifr. 10c. ... 
 Six billets de hal at Prado . . . 
 Sundries at Prado, and afterwards 
 
 Total .... 
 
 B. 
 
 1 
 
 20 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 . 4 
 
 10 
 
 . 6 
 
 60 
 
 . G 
 
 
 
 . 7 
 
 10 
 
 26 
 
 50
 
 THE FUTUKE OF THE PAST. 
 
 By the englishman. 
 
 Men are fools. I know it. I do not mean to 
 speak personally^ either of myself or of my readers. 
 When I write, I write strongly — that is, in feeling ; 
 and for that reason I prefer indulging in the 
 dream-land of the abstract, to chaining myself to 
 the dreary realities of the concrete, and perforce 
 remaining there like a modern Prometheus, with 
 a vulture (I meau my fancy, not my appetite) 
 gnawing my vitals. I have said that men are 
 fools — none will dispute my proposition in its 
 rationalistic idiosyncrasy. Look at the history of 
 the world : Marc Antony was a fool, or he would 
 never have fallen a sacrifice to the Egyptian who 
 crossed his path with her beauty, as Egyptians (or 
 gipsies, for it is all the same thing) cross our hands 
 now-a-days at Epsom and Ascot to steal our money. 
 Cleopatra was a fool. You say she was a woman, 
 not a man : I foresee your objection — I detect your
 
 170 THE ENGLISHMAN. 
 
 sophism, for if she made a fool of a man, I say she 
 showed pre-eminently masculine qualities. Cleo- 
 patra was a fool ; had she not been so, she would 
 have gone to Rome with Caesar, and done as Rome 
 did. I come nearer to our times : Don Quixote 
 was a fool. What had he to do with tilting at 
 windmills, if he had his hot rolls and butter every 
 morning ? — and there is nothing whatever in history 
 to show that he had not. Sir Christopher Hatton 
 Avas a fool, to be handed down to posterity as simply 
 an Elizabethan Baron Nathan. Then, what shall 
 I say, with such examples from the past before, 
 respecting our present hopes of the future ? Has 
 mankind changed ? I say No ! boldly. Are cre- 
 ditors more lenient ? I say No. Cab hire is cheaper, 
 I admit ; but are the drivers altered ? I say No. 
 Trousers are made for sixteen shillings; but are 
 tailors less punctual in sending in Christmas bills ? 
 No, no, no. — I repeat it. The truth is, that with 
 regard to the philosophy of society we stand in an 
 awkward predicament. Give me five minutes with 
 a man who predicates grandly of the future. What 
 will he say ? Let him speak. If he is silent, I 
 am sufficiently answered. How should I otherwise
 
 THE FUTURE OF THE PAST. 171 
 
 address him? I should simply say — "What are 
 you standing on ? A visionary cloud — away with 
 such metaphysical dreams ! Advance, and you arc 
 lost; retreat, and destruction awaits you. Move 
 on either side, and a bottomless abyss yawns 
 beneath your feet. What can you do ?" Practise 
 the goose-step, keep your head clear, and then you 
 will see as much of the Future of the Past as I do. 
 Go on ; I have done. I appeal to England ! 
 
 Ai: .. 
 
 flii ax J 
 Aim s 
 
 I v^rioL-^ r •r. 
 
 salv/'iorf}o 1 [ifr
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 KICHMOND, 1856. 
 By a T . 
 
 I HOLD it trutlij when I recal 
 
 Last Loudon season's joyous spell, 
 'Tis better to have danced not well, 
 
 Thau never to have danced at all. 
 
 He who for dancing only lives, 
 To staid academies may go — 
 May seek the lessons that Michau 
 
 Or Leonora Geary gives ; — 
 
 May study each harmonious hop, 
 By a Redowa partner's side ; 
 The spider-legged Cellarius slide. 
 
 The dead Varsoviana stop. 
 
 And when he so has learnt to dance. 
 And deftly used his twinkling feet. 
 He'll hand his partner to her seat. 
 
 And gaily with a fresh one prance.
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 173 
 
 I am a bachelor, I know j 
 
 But tell me not I can forget. 
 
 When in a polka with Lisette, 
 I chanced to tread upon her toe. 
 
 One little smothered scream — we stopped — 
 My thousand soft apologies 
 "Were met by one beam from her eyes, 
 
 That all my gloom with radiance topped. 
 
 We danced again, that I might learn 
 
 A truer step, nor failure make ; 
 
 Until I wished, for dancing's sake. 
 The day into the night would turn. 
 
 Heart-life how few can understand, 
 
 Great rivers from small fountains flow ; 
 At last that tread upon her toe 
 
 Turned to a pressure on my hand. 
 
 The season's past ; — alone at Basle 
 I sit ; but still, as truth I tell, 
 ^Tis better to have danced not well. 
 
 Than never to have danced at all.
 
 THE 
 
 SONG OF "OVER THE WATER." 
 
 By PKOFESSOR STRONGFELLOW. 
 
 ^Tis a Loudon summer evening j 
 Do you ask me where to pass it — 
 Do you ask me where to gambol. 
 Where to temper all its fervour 
 With a drink that's not expensive. 
 Where to soothe all irritation 
 With the blissful strains of music. 
 Where to puff a good regalia. 
 Sitting 'neath a tree or grotto ?— 
 I will answer, I will tell you. 
 Go we to the Surrey Gardens. 
 
 Call a cab, and o'er the water. 
 
 By the bridge sur named Blackfriars ; 
 
 (Waterloo avoid, for twopence 
 
 Are exacted there by tollmen) ; 
 
 Hie we down the road of Surrey,
 
 THE SONG OF "OVER THE WATER." 175 
 
 By the theatre whose glories 
 
 Range through long-protracted seasons, — 
 
 From " legitimate" of Creswick 
 
 To the " grand romance" of Shepherd. 
 
 By the Elephant and Castle, 
 
 Where stage-coaches once assembled. 
 
 Where did throng itinerant vendors 
 
 With their papers, fruit, and penknives; 
 
 By the hybrid homes of Walworth, 
 
 Semi-urban, semi-rustic. — 
 
 Where's your purse ? — the cab is stopping — 
 
 We are at the Surrey Gardens. 
 
 Enter — paying first a shilling ! 
 Soft and soothing falls the twilight ; — 
 O'er, the gardens and the gravel, 
 O'er the trees of all descriptions. 
 O'er the picture limned by Danton, 
 O'er the lake that lies before it. 
 Where the cockneys fish for minnows 
 Listen to the strains of music. 
 From the hall majestic wafted ; 
 There the magic wand of JuUien 
 Waves above his curls ambrosial ; —
 
 176 PEOFESSOE, STRONGFELLOW. 
 
 There the strains of dulcet singers 
 Mingle there with chords harmonious. 
 Drink we of the " Vin d'Epernay," 
 (Sixpence crowns the glass so creaming), 
 Smoke we ^ueath the Kiosk's awning, 
 (Tribute to our friends of Turkey) , 
 Feed the bear with buns of England 
 (Kindly deeds to former foemen). 
 Wander through stalactite caverns, 
 Gaze upon an alpine region. 
 
 Yet the wanderer starts, beholding 
 Myriad lamps around him gleam, 
 Gas light glow-worms by the pathways, 
 Classic columns topped with light, 
 By the paths and round the flow'r herds, 
 Wheresoe'er we choose to wander. 
 Gas-lamps gleam among the daisies, — 
 Is it not a cemetery 
 "With the graves illuminated ? 
 Never mind — the rain is coming, 
 Get a cab, and quickly hie we 
 Homewa ^ ^ )m the Surrey Gardens.
 
 A CHARACTER. 
 
 (JULLIEN. 
 
 Bv A T . 
 
 With half a glance upon the house, 
 Each night he said, " The gatherings 
 Of people underneath this roof 
 Teach me the paying sort of things. 
 And music, whence they'd stand aloof, 
 May in the ocean depths go souse." 
 
 He led a solo — ne'er perhaps 
 Floated a wheatstraw down the air 
 More softly than his baton's wave, — 
 So dulcet, and so debonair ; 
 And when 'twas o'er, a smile he gave. 
 And several applauding taps. 
 
 He led a polka — round his skull 
 He waved the rhythm of the charm, 
 And stamped, and shook his dT";^c^.f.oat's skirts, 
 With giant wavings of his an. 
 M
 
 178 A T . 
 
 And then — he went and changed his shirt ! 
 And said the house was very fulh 
 
 And so he drove a thriving trade, 
 With symphonies in classic way ; 
 With Drummers and with Zouaves call 
 Himself upon himself did play. 
 Each season ending with a Ball 
 Of Masques, his fortune thus he made.
 
 AN 
 
 EXTRACT (NOT) FEOM TENNYSON'S "MAUD." 
 
 Birds in St. Stephen's garden^ 
 Mocking birds^ were bawling — 
 
 '^Lord, Lord, Lord John!" 
 They were crying and calling. 
 
 Where was John ? In a fix ! 
 
 Gone to Vienna, whither 
 They'd sent him out of the way, — 
 
 Tories and Whigs together. 
 
 Birds in St. Stephen's sang, 
 
 Chattering, chattering round him — 
 
 " John is here, here, here. 
 Back too soon, confound him !" 
 
 They saw his dirty hands ! 
 
 Meekly he bore their punning; 
 John is not seventy yet. 
 
 But he's very little and cunning. 
 
 M 2
 
 180 AN EXTRACT. 
 
 He to show up himself! 
 
 How can he ever explain it ? 
 John were certain of place. 
 
 If shuffling could retain it, 
 
 I know the trick he played, 
 
 And his schemes ere he unwound ^em ; 
 His fingers he pricked with the four sharp points. 
 
 And he left 'em where he found 'em. 
 
 Look ! a cab at the door, 
 
 Dizzy has snarled for an hour ; 
 
 Go back, my Lord, for you're a bore, 
 And at last you're out of power.
 
 STANZAS FOR OPERATIC MUSIC. 
 
 By BATH BUNN, Esq. 
 
 Speak not again ! I've heard enough 
 
 To make the lowly peasant's heart, 
 As waves on hard rocks surge and sough. 
 
 Beat, till he thought his brain would part. 
 Speak not again ! The Boulogne boat 
 
 Will shortly bear you o'er the sea ; 
 The steward with you goes afloat, — 
 
 I would I could that steward be. 
 
 Speak not again ! No truthless word 
 
 Those coral lips e'er passed I know. 
 To hear you say 'twere quite absurd 
 
 That you have never loved me so. 
 And better is that silence drear. 
 
 Than tomes of eloquence to me ; 
 Oh ! Heav'n ! the shore-bell's sound I hear. 
 
 Oh ! would I could that steward be.
 
 " DOWN EAST." 
 
 By MRS. BAEEETT BEOWNWIG. 
 
 Would you know the sin and crimen that your 
 
 educated time 
 Endures within your clime unchecked, unceased ? 
 Take an omnibus with me ('tis a shilling carries 
 
 three), 
 And the scenes you shall see " Down East," '' Down 
 
 East." 
 
 Whitechapel has a road, where many a night has 
 
 flowed 
 The blood from knife or goad of a goodly beast. 
 But down the alley's gloom, in a miserable room, 
 A woman's met her doom — '^ Down East," " Down 
 
 East." 
 
 In a miserable shed, with an old rug for a bed. 
 As the dreary days on sped, her want increased. 
 And he who should have thought of the famine 
 
 that he wrought, 
 Had just another "quartern" bought "Down 
 
 East," " Down East."
 
 "do"\vn east." 183 
 
 He was of that wild drunken crew that prowl when 
 
 the day is new, 
 With whom we know not what to do from gaol 
 
 released ; 
 One of a dogged, sullen air, who beat his wife and 
 
 tore her hair, 
 And taught his childi-en how to swear, " Down 
 
 East," '' Down East." 
 
 One niffht — life's long-est needs but one — he struck 
 
 his wife, and all was done, 
 Frpm sorrow, ere the rise of sun, she was released ; 
 Oh ! you who talk of distant lands, of savages on 
 
 Afric's sands, 
 Stretch forth in Town your soothing hands " Down 
 
 East," " Down East."
 
 THE LIFE OF CHARLES SPLEEN. 
 
 By DOUGLAS JEERALL. 
 
 [The appearance of Mr. J , as a contributor to 
 
 these pages, will doubtless be a surprise to the 
 readers as startling as it cannot fail to be agreeable. 
 To ourselves, it is doubly a source of congratulation. 
 Apart from the pleasure we must feel at the enrich- 
 ment of our pages by so distinguished a pen, we 
 are proud to be the means of practically refuting 
 the libellous charges of petty jealousy and cliquerie 
 that have been brought against the literary men 
 of the period. 
 
 We have to apologise for keeping the reader from 
 the treat in store for him; but the unexpected 
 honour that has been conferred upon us must be 
 our excuse for a little harmless vanity and prelimi- 
 nary boasting. It may be wondered that Mr. J 
 
 should choose, for his first contribution to our pages 
 a biography — and that the biography of a living 
 
 actor. Into Mr. J 's motives for devoting 
 
 his talents to biographical literature, we do not 
 presume to inquire ; but, having done so, his choice 
 of a subject is eminently characteristic of the man. 
 As a hater of Wrong, as the only recognised casti- 
 gator of public and private Vice, what more natural 
 than that he should employ his powerful pen in 
 exposing the infamous career of the man whom he 
 considers, par excellence, the incarnation of all that 
 is fiend-like and criminal? 
 
 And now Mr. J shall tell his own story.
 
 THE LIFE OF CHAULES SPLEEN. 185 
 
 We must premise^ by the way^ that he has not 
 sent us a very large quantity of it as yet. Should 
 the reader find it suddenly discontinued (as we are 
 bound to state, from our knowledge of the writer's 
 habits of composition, is barely possible), he is re- 
 quested to attribute it to no fault of ours — that's all.] 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I HAVE written more good plays than any man 
 living. Of all sorts be they ! Five-act comedies — 
 long, but graceful and sparkling, like the five rosy 
 fingers of a jewelled duchess. Domestic two-act 
 dramas — snug little two-storied cottages, where 
 the household affections nestle, bill-somely and 
 coo-somely, among the roses and ivy. One-act 
 farces — crisp, short, and spicy; like sticks of pep- 
 permint rock. Comic pantomimes even — with 
 their wide, grinning cheeks all thickly plastered 
 with the rich red paint of humour. I never wrote 
 a tragedy that I remember. However, I could 
 have written several very good ones if I had liked. 
 Only I didn't. 
 
 Some — nay, a great many — in fact, most of my 
 plays have been damned — I own it without a 
 blush. But what then? Angels have been
 
 186 DOUGLAS JEERALL. 
 
 diimnecl. Only my plays — which are more iu the 
 Congreve than the Lucifer Une, have not fallen 
 through my own fault. In fact, they couldn^t — 
 having" none. They have been damned — invariably 
 — through the malice or imbecility of actors. 
 
 Actors — pigs ! I have shovelled troughs-full of 
 pearls before the beasts, and they have crushed 
 them beneath their dirty and (in a double sense) 
 cloven hoofs. I have sung heavenly music to them, 
 which they have drowned in their wretched grunting. 
 
 Let them grunt. Not another grain of Attic 
 salt do they get from me to save their lank sides 
 from putrefaction. Bacon, forsooth ! — as if there 
 were any possibility of curing an actor. I will 
 smoke a few of them, though, before I have done ; 
 and am not so old but I may live to see certain of 
 their number hung ! My match at epigram does 
 not exist — as the reader perceives. 
 
 I have been called a bitter man. So be it. 
 Tonics are bitter, but they are good for the diges- 
 tion. Any one who will swallow me cannot fail of 
 a strong stomach. Not that I mean to say I 
 agree with everybody — I should be very sorry (I 
 have been writing as well as this nigh thirty years.
 
 THE LIFE OP CHAllLES SPLEEN. l87 
 
 and am still plain Esquire. Bitter, i' fackins !) 
 Charles Spleen, for instance — who) is the worst 
 actor, and the ugliest man, I ever saw in my life. 
 AH actors are bad, and more or less ugly. 
 
 It may be said — spit at me rather — that I was 
 an actor myself once. I deny it. The cygnet 
 strayed among the ducks, and was laughed at 
 for his awkwardness. Ere I was a swan, and 
 knew the beauteous destiny in store for me, I may 
 have tumbled into the slimy duckpond known as 
 the stage. But I was so much out of place there, 
 that the neighbouring geese hissed at me. Nobody 
 dare say I was ever an actor. 
 
 I have been branded misanthrope; one who hates 
 and takes a gloomy view of human nature — from 
 miser, wretched, bad; and A)ithro])os, one of the 
 Farccc or Euries, supposed by the ancients to be the 
 deadly enemies of man. Two brave Greek words 
 arranged against me ! But wherein do I hate man ? 
 In his good fellowship ? in his hospitality ? in his 
 appreciation of wit? in his powers of patient en- 
 durance ? — No. In his over (and solitary) feeding ? 
 in his refusal to recognise merit (especially of an 
 epigrammatic character) ? in his besotted aristo-
 
 188 DOUGLAS JEERALL. 
 
 cratic tyranny; that shuts the man of genius from 
 his sovereign's dining hall 1 — Yes^ if you will. 
 Human nature in its barren swamps^ its loath- 
 some sloughs, andj most of all, in its carefully- 
 guarded preserves — I do hate. But in its rich 
 gardens, its laden orchards, and teeming vineyards, 
 where the word is " Enter and be filled, and 
 nothing for the waiter" — there I do love it. Did 
 
 anybody ever hear me say a word against B 
 
 and E ? Not in my most excited moments. 
 
 When did this venomed tongue of mine hiss a 
 
 syllable against my friend, Mr. L ; at any 
 
 rate, within the last two or three years? Have 
 I not always been the first to recognise the merits 
 
 of Sir J P ? and, rank democrat as I am, 
 
 do I not admit that there is good — ay, much good 
 — in the Duke of D himself? I am even per- 
 sonally attached to H D ! 
 
 Still that is no reason why I shouldn't hate 
 Charles Spleen, and write his life — which, by the 
 Ijye, is what I have undertaken to do. Where 
 was I ? Oh ! about the bitterness, and misan- 
 thrope. I have threatened the public that I will 
 write them no more plays. It is cruel, I admit.
 
 THE LIFE OF CHARLES SPLEEN. 189 
 
 Woe to the wretch who has forced me to the 
 cruelty, and brought me into fresh odium with the 
 race I love (on its benevolent side), but who will 
 not understand, nor indeed always read me ! That 
 wretch is Charles Spleen. So, as I said before, I 
 will write his life ; which it is, probably, high time 
 I commenced. 
 
 Charles Spleen was born on — • 
 
 But is Pegasus a pack-horse? Does Apollo 
 guide the sun, or wind up clocks ? Are author's 
 brains to be bought by the pound, like calves', 
 and sent home punctually, in time to be cooked 
 for the publisher's dinner ? If the editors of this 
 book think so, they will find out their mistake, 
 and I shall consider their little claim upon me 
 forfeited — utterly. 
 
 In the meantime, I will forth into the fields, 
 and, by calling at the different workhouses, ma}' 
 be al)le to glean the particulars of my heroes birth 
 in time for the next number. I have seen him 
 kick his grandmother, and have proof in my pos- 
 session that he steals barometers. — But this is 
 anticipating. 
 
 THE END.
 
 LOKBOIT: 
 
 savilTj and EDWAKBE, PKINTEKS, 
 
 CnAJTDOS STREET. 
 
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