'•■.-:*V:' 
 
 f^r-^;.- 
 
 
 W^ 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^^^MfSBF^^ ' 
 
 "^
 
 ^
 
 Fifty Years of London Lfe 
 
 MEMOIRS 
 
 OF A 
 
 MAIT OF THE WORLD 
 
 By EDMUND YATES 
 
 "Much have I seen and known: cities of men 
 And manners, climates, couucils, governments 
 And drunk delight of battle with my peers" 
 
 Tennyson's Ulysset 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1885
 
 EDMUND YATES'S NOVELS. 
 
 BLACK SHEEP. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 DR. WAINWRIGHT'S PATIENT. 8vo, Paper, 30 cents. 
 
 KISSING THE ROD. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 LAND AT LAST. 8vo, Paper, 40 cents. 
 
 WRECKED IN PORT. Svo, Paper, 35 cents. 
 
 PuBLisHUD BY HARPER & BROTHERS, N«w York. 
 
 IC^ Any of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaidfto any part 
 of the United Stata, on receipt of the price.
 
 ( 
 
 TO 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 MY CONSTANT COMPANION, MY WISEST COUNSELLOR 
 MY BEST FRIEND 
 
 
 W'^
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This book is the product of a good memory, a collec- 
 tion of interesting letters from well-known persons, part- 
 ly inherited, partly formed by myself, and a few diaries, 
 kept in a vague and desultory fashion. 
 
 Whether it was or was not worth writing will soon be 
 known: I thought it was, and I knew that no one could 
 write it so well as myself. Neither, as it seems to me, 
 is there any reason why its publication should be de- 
 ferred until after my death. I have said in it nothing 
 which I am ashamed of, and I do not think I have said 
 anything absolutely harsh of any person, alive or dead. 
 
 It seems to me that it comes fittingly from me now, 
 when I am giving up my London habitation and my 
 London habits. When Dr. Johnson said that a man who 
 was tired of London must be tired of life, because Lon- 
 don contained all that made life agreeable, he uttered a 
 sentence more epigrammatic than truthful. Thirty years' 
 experience has taught me what London can and cannot 
 give ; and there comes a time of life when fresh air, sun- 
 shine, early hours, and a minimum of convivial tempta- 
 tion are important elements as regards happiness and
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 health. To "keep touch" of London is always necessary; 
 to keep house in it after one has lost youth, and what 
 youth brings, is, to my thinking, unadvisable. 
 
 Brighton in the winter and the Upper Thames in the 
 summer are good enough for, at all events, one 
 
 Man of the World.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAKENTAGK AND CHILDHOOD. 
 1831. 
 
 Birth.— Father's Family. — Dr. Yates. — Uncles. — My Father : At Charter- 
 house ; in the Commissariat ; Amateur Acting ; Meeting with the Elder 
 Mathews ; his Imitations ; Personal Appearance ; his Portraits. — My 
 Father as an Actor. — He goes into Partnership with Terry. — Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott's Letter of Advice. — My Mother : Her Family ; her Portrait ; 
 Charles Dickens's Admiration and Regard for her. — My Christening: 
 Letter from Theodore Hook ; My Godfathers ; Hook's Joke. — Our 
 Place of Residence. — The Adelphi Theatre. — Adelphi Dramas. — Adap- 
 tations of Dickens's Books ; John Forster Thereon ; Charles Dickens 
 on " Nickleby " at the Adelphi ; Dickens Proposes to Dramatize " Oliver 
 Twist." — 0. Smith. — My Father's Correspondents : Dr. Maginn, Edmund 
 Kean, Miss Jane Porter, Miss Mitford, Count d'Orsay, Miss Pardoe. — 
 A Child's Recollections : The Elder Mathews, Tiieodore Hook, Lord A. 
 Paget, the Giant, " The Gnome Fly," James and Horace Smith, Ains- 
 worth, Bunn, Braham, Three Charming Actresses. — Tiie Duke of Well- 
 ington.— O'Connell. — Liston. — Visitors at the Adelphi House . Page 1 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 YOUTH AND KDUCATION. 
 
 1836-1847. 
 
 My First Teacher. — My Grandmother. — An Unprofitable Engagement. — 
 Struggle for Novelty. — Sam Warren. — Buckstoue's Dramas. — Buck- 
 stone's Prices. — Fees Paid Nowadays.— My Preparatory School.— Preju- 
 dice against Actors. — The Church and the Stage.— Boys' Thirst. — My 
 Grandfather : Happy Days with him. — Low Tastes. — Newspapers of 
 those Days. — Spring-heeled Jack. — Noble Escapades. — Notorious Mur- 
 derers. — Story-telling. — Snuffers, Rush-lights, and Tinder-bo.xes. — Uni- 
 forms of Police, Private Soldiers, and Postmen. — Fashionable Costume 
 of the Period. — Vanished ! — Cabs, Omnibuses, and Stage-coaches. — Why 
 Shave? — Chimney-sweeps.- Changes in London Streets. — The Farring- 
 don Range and Mountain-pass. — Ichabod. — I go to Highgate School. —
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 Where I " Board."— A Great Character.— My Father's last Illness ; " The 
 Ruling Passion." — Mr. Macready's Letter. — My Father's Death ; his 
 Funeral; Newspaper Comments; his Character. — Resting. — "Robs- 
 perry." — An Old-fashioned Pedagogue. — My Studies. — My School-fel- 
 lows. — Charles Lamb's Book. — T. E. Gahagan. — Other School-fellows. 
 — Prize-day. — What will Become of me ? — To go to Germany. — We 
 Start; en Voyage. — At Diisseldorf. — How I Learned German. — The 
 Artists. — Freedom. — Progress. — English Settlers. — No Christmas Din- 
 ner. — American Settlers. — The Kneipe. — A Practical Joke. — Lord Clan- 
 ricarde's Kindness. — I Begin Life in Earnest Page 19 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 EARLY DATS IN THE POST-OiUCK. 
 
 184Y-1865. 
 
 Small, but Certain. — Happy Days at St. Martin's. — My First Appearance. 
 — The Chief Clerk. — No Fun now. — A Practical Joker. — The Bananas. 
 —A Wonderful Cure.—" Reported."— Rowland Hill.— A Cure for Ex- 
 cessive Animal Spirits. — My Omnibus. — A Dangerous Accomplishment. 
 — John Strange Baker : What he Taught me. — James Kenney. — Colonel 
 Maberly : His Peculiarities ; how he Transacted Business. — Storm-warn- 
 ings. — " Are ye Williams ?" — Assisting the Surveyor. — Deserting my 
 Post. — Lord Clanricarde's Kindness. — Introducing the P.M.G. — " The 
 Bo'sun." — Lord Hartington. — A Tyrannical Old Gentleman. — A Dis- 
 agreeable Job.— The ConKdential Butler.— " Old Ben Stanley."— The 
 Turning of the Worm. — I Show Fight. — Sir Rowland's Sympathy. — 
 Good for the Messenger. — " In Charge :" The Journey ; the Two Cour- 
 riers ; on Board; the Voyage. — Lord Lyons. — Trollope's Letter. — To 
 Cairo. — An Egyptian Fair. — Egyptian Convicts. — Lights of the Harem. 
 — I Arrive at Shepherd's. — A Restlet^s Night. — Homeward Bound. — To 
 Hamburg. — 111. — Genial Mr. Tilley. — Luncheons. — Chop-houses. — Grati- 
 tude " to Scale." — City Refectories. — "Alton Ale-houses." — Penny Steam- 
 boats. — Popular Notions of our Work. — Small Salaries. — Sympathetic 
 Colonel Maberly. — Nearly Lost to England! — The Commission of In- 
 quiry 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THK A.MUSKJ4ENT3 OF MY YOUTH. 
 
 1847-1852. 
 
 In the Alpha Road. — Mr. Edmund Byng: His Liking for Me; his Din- 
 ners. — " Jim" Macdonald. — .lolin Cooper. — The Cabman's Triumph. — 
 The Baron. — Almack's. — Dancing Diversions. — The Adelaide Gallery. 
 — The Polytechnic. — Laurent's Casino. — Tlie Holborn Casino. — Mott's 
 and Weippert's. — Vauxhall Gardens : Amusements there ; too dear. — 
 Crcinornu. — The Coliseum. — A Small Audience. — The Cyclorama. — The 
 Diorama.— "The Overland Route."— Burford's Panoramas. — The Chi- 
 ncfle Junk. — Celebrities in the Park: Lady Blessington ; D'Orsay ;
 
 CONTENTS. xi 
 
 Louis Napoleon ; Beauties and Beaux. — Park Riders. — Park Whips. — 
 Social and Political Celebrities. — Eating-houses. — Foreign Restaurants. 
 
 — Bertholliiii's. — "Slap-bangs." — City Taverns. — West End Restau- 
 rants. — A Revelation. — " Simpson's." — Imitations. — Fish Dinners. — 
 Greenwich Dinners. — Richmond Dinners. — Supper-houses. — Oyster- 
 houses. — Night-houses. — The Blue Posts. — Bob Croft's. — Gambling- 
 houses. — French Hazard. — Song-and-Supper Taverns. — The Coal-hole. 
 —The Cider Cellars.— The "Back Kitchen."— Ross : His Song of "Sam 
 Hall."— Evans's.— " Paddy " Green.— A Change for the Better.— The 
 Annexe. — The Garrick's Head. — The Judge and Jury. — Equestrianism. 
 — Rowing. — Sparring Page 83 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DATS. 
 
 184'7-1862. 
 
 Number of Theatres in '47. — Her Majesty's : Saved by Mile. Lind. — Mile. 
 Lind's Debut : The Struggle for the Gallery ; nearly Crushed. — A State 
 Performance. — Mile. Lind's Success. — The Ballet. — Royal Italian Opera : 
 " Lucrezia Borgia." — Bunu's Operas. — JuUien. — Promenade Concerts. — 
 Bals Masque. — JuUien's Season of English Opera. — Debut of Mr. Sims 
 Reeves. — Drury Lane. — Mr. James Anderson's Management. — Mr. E. T. 
 Smith's Regime. — The " Monte Cristo " Row. — The Haymarket. — Mrs. 
 Nisbett. — My Introduction to her. — Comedies. — James Wallack. — The 
 Lyceum. — Dickens Dramatized. — Burlesque. — The Vestris Regime. — My 
 First Appearance in Public. — Planche's Extravaganza.s. — Charles Math- 
 ews. — Mr. Maddox : His Stock Author ; his Revenge. — The Princess's. — 
 Mrs. Fanny Kenible Butler. — Stars at the Princess's. — Charles Kerrison 
 Sala : Macready's Hatred of him ; Cardinal Campeius. — The Adelphi. 
 
 — Wright: His Comic Powers. — Paul Bedford. — Half-price. — Buck- 
 stone's Dramas. — Madame Celeste. — Adelphi Farces. — The Green-room. 
 — The Olympic. — G. V. Brooke : His Success ; his Death. — Leigh Mur- 
 ray. — Mrs. Stirling. — Lysander Thompson. — Mr. Walter Watts: His 
 Frauds; his Suicide. — The St. James's. — Lemaitre. — Boufife. — C. L. 
 Kenney. — Rachel. — Old William Farren. — Mrs. Glover. — Mr. George 
 Bennett. — Mrs. Mowatt. — "The Admiral Crichton." — Mr. Shepherd's 
 Delicacy 114 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1851-1853. 
 
 My Mother's Disappointment. — Government Service not Incompatible with 
 Literary Career. — Desultory Reading. — What "the Dear Bishop" would 
 have said to it. — I Study Macaulay. — And Household Words. — The " Man 
 in the Moon." — The Theatrical Critics. — Longings for Fame and Money. 
 — I read "Pendennis." — My Fate is Sealed. — Mere Business Aptitude 
 not Enough.— Composition in Church. — "My Dear Braithrcn." — Poem,
 
 xii CONTENTS. 
 
 in Progress : Mr. Ainsworth Accepts it ; the Proof ; the Printer. — Ha ! 
 ha ! — Indignation at Delay. — Albert Smith. — Dinner at Horace Twiss's. 
 — My Talk with Albert Smith. — We swear Friendship. — Mont Blanc En- 
 tertainment. — Albert Smith's Appearance ; his Home ; Contents of his 
 Study. — Arthur Smith : His Original Fun. — J. H. Robins : His Imitations. 
 — The Keeleys. — Actors in Brompton. — J. L. O'Beirne. — My First En- 
 gagement. — The Court Journal. — Pendennis at Last ! — The Fielding 
 Club : Members ; a Delightful Resort. — Opening of " Mont Blanc." 
 — Visit to Paris. — The " Dame aux Camelias." — The Keepsake. — The 
 Illustrated LoJidon Kews. — My Marriage Page 139 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 
 1853-1857. 
 
 A New Berth Offered : Declined. — I become a Householder : The 
 ''Grounds;" the Premises; our Menage. — Sunday Excursions. — Mrs. 
 Milner Gibson's Receptions. — Judge Talfourd's Hospitality. — Fresh 
 Ground. — My First Book : Critical Opinions. — I Call on Dickens : His 
 Personal Appearance ; his Kind Reception of me ; First Letter from 
 him. — My Eldest Son's Birth and Christening. — Cruikshank's Magaz'me. 
 — Jly Ideal Picture of Frank Smedley: The Reality. — Frank Smedley's 
 Characteristics. — Cruikshank and Smedley. — Tlie Magic Wheel. — 
 " Mirth and Metre." — Mr. J. R. Robinson.— Doughty Street Worthies. 
 — Our Doughty Street House : Drawbacks ; a Dull Locality. — Angus 
 Reach. — An Amateur Pantomime ; Repeated before her Majesty ; Dis- 
 position of Funds Raised. — The Illmf rated Times. — Mr. H. Vizetelly. — 
 Personal Journalism. — " The Lounger at the Clubs." — Amateur Per- 
 formance at Tavistock Hoflse. — Birth of Twin Sons : Thackeray's Let- 
 ter of Congratulation. — Madame Sala. — Dickens to be Godfather. — Din- 
 ner to Thackeray. — Shirley Brooks: Ills Cleverness and Determination ; 
 Attack on the Whitefriars Stronghold ; its Success. — Brooks's Value to 
 Punch. — "Slunnning " with Dickens. — An Attempt at a Novel. — The 
 Iniferness Courier. — Am Appointed Dramatic Critic for the Daily Neivs: 
 An Enjoyable Position. — Some of the D.N. Staff. — First Appearance in 
 Hou.»ehoid IFo>y/s.— "Our Miscellany."— My First Farce— Mr. J. L.Toole. 
 — Another Farce. — Mrs. Bancroft. — A Comedietta. — Miss Ellen Terry. 
 — Douglas Jerrold : Unpublished Jeux de Mots; Last Time of Seeing 
 him ; his Death ; his Funeral. — For the Jerrold Fund. — Among the 
 Editors. — Bedford's Brother. — "Sundays Out." — Among the Artists. — 
 Mr.J. M.Levy 163 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 KARLY KDITORSniPS. 
 
 1856-1858. 
 
 British Bohemia: Thackeray's Description of it; an Outsider; my Intro- 
 duction to it; "It's ail 111 Wind,'' etc. — Mr. Ingram. — My Doubts. —
 
 CONTENTS. xiii 
 
 Mark Lemon. — I Consult Albert Smith. — Edward Draper. — Godfrey 
 Turner.— F. I. Scudamore.— W. P. Hale.— E. L. Rlanchard.— John Ox- 
 enford : His Genius ; why he " let People down easily ;" Irresponsibility ; 
 where his Real Genius comes out. — Mr. G. A. Sala : My First Sight of 
 him. — The Brothers Brough. — " Literary Men." — Robert Brough's Start 
 in Life : At Liverpool ; his Character ; his Radicalism ; a Remarkable 
 Production, "Songs of the Governing Classes." — William Brough. — 
 Artists of the Staff. — The Comic Times : Short-lived. — Our Almanack. 
 — Alnaschar. — Mark Lemon's Device. — The Basket of Eggs falls! — 
 Death of the C.T. — Determination. — Search for a Capitalist. — The 
 Train is Started. — An Erratic Brother : What is to be Done ? — Robert 
 Brough fills the Breach. — Contents of No. 1. — Tli,e Idler. — James Han- 
 nay. — "Idlers." — Literary Amenities. — Mr. Sala in Paris: His Work 
 for The Train ; his Journey to St. Petersburg. — Newspaper Criticism 
 on No. 1. — Later Contributors. — Mr. John Hollingshead. — Mr. Moy 
 Thomas. — Thackeray on one of our Artists. — The Train stops. — Poor 
 Pillicoddj Page 197 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1858. 
 
 Clubs in London in '48. — The Old Garrick. — President and Vice-president. 
 —J. R. Durrant. — "Bardolph." — " Papa." — Arts and Barts. — Other 
 Members. — The Dane. — Actors. — Guardsmen. — Regular Frequenters. — 
 An Important Dinner. — A Proposal. — " Short " Copy. — Judas. — Inade- 
 quate Outburst. — My Reply. — " Rubbing it in." — Not Albert Smith. — I 
 Consult Dickens. — The Reply sent. — W. M. T. Appeals. — Special Meet- 
 ing of Committee called. — My Contention. — The Committee has a High 
 Opinion of its Own Functions. — "Young Grub Street." — I Decline to 
 Apologize. — I must not be Present. — More Correspondence. — General 
 Meeting. — My Supporters. — Beaten. — Law. — Legal Opinions. — Action 
 Brought. — Too Costly. — Edwin James, Q.C. — A Scapegoat? — Jealousy 
 between C. D. and W. M. T. — Letters between them. — Why I have Told 
 thia Story 223 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 
 
 1858-1872. 
 
 At Seaton: Primitive; Quiet Enjoyment. — G. A. Sala on "Polyphemus." 
 — The Welcome Guest. — More Dramatic Work. — Miss Ellen Terry. — The 
 New Adelphi Theatre : Delightful Mr. Bedford. — An Entertaiument : Mrs. 
 Case. — The Volunteer Movement: E.xtends to the P. 0.; Literary Of- 
 ficers. — Our Drill : Poor Brethren ; " Codd Colonel ;" the Populace Sar- 
 castic. — The Levee. — The Review. — Very Wet Summer. — Amateur Per- 
 formances. — Pleasant Memories of the C. S. V. R. — Albert Smith : Much 
 Altered ; very Brusque ; a Tiff ; we Agree to Differ. — Relations Re-
 
 xlv CONTENTS. 
 
 newed : Albert Smith evidently out of Health ; a Long Talk with him ; 
 seized with Illness, and Dies ; a Great Shock ; his ruueral. — My Moth- 
 er's Illness: Her Patience; her Death. — Deaths of Robert Brough and 
 Herbert Ingram. — Still Working for the Daily News and lUustrated 
 Times. — Mr. F. C. Burnand's First Dramatic Attempt. — Frank Talfourd's 
 Jokes. — My Abridgment of Mrs. Mathews's Big Book. — An Important Call. 
 — Mr. Thackeray Wrongly Judged. — First Hint of Temple Bar : I am 
 made Sub-editor; Contents of No. 1. — Mortimer Collins sees me for the 
 First Time. — Robert Buchanan. — J. M. Bellew. — Contents of No. 2. — 
 Sala in Chambers. — Our Contributors. — Alfred Austin. — Miss Braddon. 
 — An Early Effort. — A Swiss Tour: I am Knocked Over, and Very 111 ; 
 the English Doctor. — My First Lecture. — Charles Fechter: His Home 
 Life ; his Characteristics. — J. M. Bellew : Much Misunderstood : his Own 
 Fault ; his Good Qualities ; his Weakness ; best Fitted for the Pulpit ; 
 very Popular ; his Decadence. — Fechter as Stage-manager ; a Business 
 Letter. — A Self-sacrificing Father. — Exhibition of '62. — First After-din- 
 ner Speech. — Visit to Stratford. — New Work. — Tlie Golden Dagger's. — 
 Lecturing. — I Determine on the " Show." — Harold Power. — The " Show " 
 Criticised by John Forster. — John Parry's Kind Letter. — Close of the 
 " Show." — Arrival of Princess Alexandra. — I meet Lord Cardigan ; at- 
 tacks on him. — Sir George Womb well on the Balaclava Charge. — Lord 
 Cardigan's Bravery. — Captain Nolan. — Death of Tluickcray : My Obitu- 
 ary Notice. — Mapesbury House : Difficult to Find ; lost in Willesdeu. — 
 Fate. — A Novelist Wanted : I Volunteer. — A New Character ; Advan- 
 tages of Local Color. — I Begin my Novel : Criticisms on it. — My Pretty 
 Horse-breaker. — Dickens's Praise. — Offers for More. — Death of Frank 
 Smedley. — Work on the Morning Star. — Tinsleys' Magazine . Page 248 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 
 
 My Intimacy with Dickens. — Nineteen Years my Senior. — Dickens's Re- 
 gard for Forster as Friend rather than Companion. — To me always Af- 
 fectionate; always Interested. — Easily Bored, and Imperious to Out- 
 siders. — First Invitation: A Delightful Day. — Strained State of AfiFairs. 
 — Not an Emotional Man. — Publishes his " Statement :" Badly Advised ; 
 no Necessity for Recalling Details. — First Paid Reading: Calm and Com- 
 posed; the "Carol" essentially a Christmas Book; the "Cricket;" a 
 Great Success. — Provincial Tour. — Gadshill Place : Life there ; the Cha- 
 let. — Long Walks. — The Murder in Cobham Park. — Dogs. — Talk about 
 his Books. — Correcting a Quotation. — "In the Name of Charity." — Heat 
 in Paris. — Liking for Actors. — A Holiday with Dickens. — Presence of 
 Mind. — Asleep? — The Trained filcphant. — The IJosjcsmen. — Dickens as 
 Editor, as After-dinner Speaker ; his Readiness ; Saved ! — Farewell Ban- 
 quet to Dickens. — "The Young Lions." — With Dickens to Liverpool. — 
 A Testimonial: Tiiorougli. — Dickens Home from America. — We Meet 
 at Leeds. — Change in iiis Appearance ; he tries to Rouse ; Stricken 
 Down; Better. — His Hatred of being thought 111. — Bad Symptoms:
 
 CONTENTS. XV 
 
 Will not have Gout; his Self-deception. — Last Meetings. — His Public 
 Farewell. — His Last Dinner in London. — Always Considerate. — His 
 Death : What Hastened it ; why ? — His Fame. — ^His Fortune. — My Ideas 
 on the Subject. — The Author and the Man Page 283 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 
 
 Sir A. Cockburn : A Model Host ; the Palmer Trial ; getting up the Case ; 
 Compliment paid him ; Impudent but Amusing ; Sir A. Cockburn at 
 Dickens's Readings; a Dinner in Hertford Street; Story of Sir R.Beth- 
 ell ; a Good Horse Story ; a Prosy Advocate ; Mr. Rufus Rightly ; Musi- 
 cal Visitors and Habitues; Smartness in Repartee ; Devotion to Work; 
 Death. — Introduction to Lord Beaconsfield ; Changes in Brighton ; Mr. 
 Delane's Successor ; Dickens and Lord Beaconsfield ; Authors less In- 
 teresting than their Books ; Lord Beaconsfield's Opinion. — Tiie Birth of 
 Funch ; Original Staff. — Mark Lemon: As Funny Man; an Excellent 
 Editor. — Shirley Brooks : Early Days ; First Literary Plunge ; Summa- 
 ry-writer; Special Commissioner; his Value to Punch; "What's a 
 Pound ?" Brooks's Humor ; his Appearance and Manner of Life ; Last 
 Days. — Tom Taylor. — F. C. Burnand. — John Leech : His Friends ; his 
 Kindness to me ; Stories of Leech ; his Death. — Horace Mayhew. — Two 
 Stories of Thackeray. — J. R. Planche. — The Two Dukes of Wellington. 
 — Abraham Hay ward : I Introduce Myself to him. — Sam Rogers. — Bish- 
 op Wilberforce. — Hay ward on the Garrick Case. — Lord Melbourne. — Sir 
 Robert Peel. — The " Inside Track." — John Forster : Characteristic Sto- 
 ry; his Interest in The World; his Life of Swift. — Charles Rcade : A 
 Friend in Need ; how he Worked. — Martin Tupper at Albury : His Won- 
 derful Book. — Lord Tennyson. — Carlyle and the "Puir Creatur." — 
 George Eliot. — J. T. Delane : His Sensitiveness ; will not be a " Celebri- 
 ty." — Robert Keeley : Two Stories of him. — J. B. Buckstone. — Miss 
 Braddon: Her Letters. — Jules Janin: Story of the Two Dumases ; Janin's 
 House ; Account of his Death ; Dislike to being Pitied ; French Cus- 
 toms; his Work-room; Anecdote; Janin's Funeral; Celebrities Pres- 
 ent. — E. A. Sothern: Practical Joking; Last Days. — C.J. Mathews: At 
 Home ; a Letter from him. — Mortimer Collins : A Poem by him . 308 
 
 CHAPTER XHL 
 
 LATER DAYS IN THK POST-OFFICE. 
 
 Quietly Happy Days. — Promotion. — The Missing Letter Branch. — My Staff. 
 — A Disbeliever : Teaching a Lesson. — " Test Letters ;" Grandfather's 
 Money. — Mr. W. Peacock's Method. — The Old Bailey : Leaders ; Juniors. 
 — City Detectives. — A "Sell." — Interesting Experiences. — How it was 
 Done. — Purchase of the Telegraphs. — F. I. Scudamore. — Mr. Tilley. — 
 New Use for my Services. — Necessary Qualifications; Sounds Well; I 
 Accept. — My New Career and its Duties. — I "Orate." — The Little Man; 
 1 am Denounced ; an Ugly Customer ; why the et cetera ? my Defence ;
 
 XVI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Victory ; '' Yates !" — I occasion Surprise. — Lord Lonsdale : at Lowthei ; 
 his Comments ; Anecdote. — My Official Journeys : Devon and Cornwall, 
 Boscastle, Helston. — Literary Work : Two Novels. — The Lake Country. 
 — Dublin, Killarney, Galway. — End Approaches : Consultations ; Scuda- 
 more's Advice. — Uncomfortable Doubts ; a Serious Outlook. — I am Pen- 
 sioned. — Farewell Dinner to me. — Two Well-known P. 0. Officials. — 
 Their Mutual Dislike. — Sir Roland Hill : My Move ; TroUope Winged ; 
 Sir R. Hill's Sarcasms ; his Dry Humor ; his Later Days ; his Character- 
 istic Caution. — Anthony Trollope : His Roughness and Roarings ; his 
 Goodness of Heart ; Love for his Office ; why he Retired ; no Humor. — 
 A Good Story Page 346 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 
 
 18'72-18'73, 
 
 A Little Rest.— Not Wholly Idle.— Doubts. — A Suggestion.—" The Cheva- 
 lier :" His Appearance. — First Idea of America : Suggestion Approved ; 
 Accepted. — At Work for America. — Winding up. — Farewell Festivities. 
 — Night before Sailing. — Off. — Cuba Passengers. — "A Scrape." — Mis- 
 taken Identity. — Arrival. — A Doubtful Welcome. — Interviewers. — Busi- 
 ness Talk. — Hearty Reception. — Decline Chicago Debut. — First Appear- 
 ance in New York : Success ; Criticisms. — Good Offer for a Story. — To 
 Chicago. — Dine with Liberal Club. — Women's Mass -meeting. — Mr. 
 Marsh. — Miss Blake. — Rev. Olympia Brown. — Pogram 1 — The Veteran 
 Susan B. — Am Hospitably Entertained. — Further Lectures in New York. 
 — New Haven. — Boston. — Longfellow. — Boston Fire — An Enthusiastic 
 " Boss." — Philadelphia Friends. — Funeral of General Meade. — In Wash- 
 ington. — Long Journeys. — Work in the Train. — Manner of Life. — On 
 Grand Tour. — Desperate Weather. — Snowed Up. — Christmas-day. — Miss 
 Cushman. — Niagara. — Montreal. — End of Tour. — Kindness Everywhere. 
 — "The Future." — Dislike of Public Appearances. — I engage with Mr. 
 Bennett. — To New York. — A New Task. — To the Inaugural Ceremonies. 
 — I Describe them. — Give Satisfaction. — Farewell Entertainments in 
 New York. — Home. — What America did for me. — My Gratitude . 376 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE "herald's" TAHAKD. 
 
 Homeward Voyage. — Arrive. — Off to Paris. — Return. — Looking up Ar- 
 rears. — Dr. Hosmer. — My Intended Colleagues at. Vienna. — Great Things 
 to be Done. — Our Rivals. — Mr. Aicliibaid Forbes in Vienna: We are to 
 "Cliuni." — Off lit Last. — Our Vit-nnt'se Lcnlgings. — A Pleasant Cama- 
 radet'ie. — South Kensington Rcpresenlation. — Our Mess at the Tnube. — 
 Conconliii niiincr. — Presented to the Prince of Wales. — Opening of the 
 Rxhibilioti. — Our Cable Messages: Victory. — A Dinner in Honor of our 
 Success. — Full War-paint. — To Buda-Pcsth. — Another Prince learning
 
 CONTENTS. xvii 
 
 his Business. — Home. — Off Again. — I Note the Downfall of Thiers. — 
 In Attendance on the Shah. — Mark Twain and the British Man-o'-war's- 
 man. — Still after the Shah. — With him to Paris, Versailles, the Old 
 Opera-house, Auteuil, and the Troeadero. — Back to Vienna. — Glorious 
 Time. — Tour through Germany : Gmiinden, Ischl, Munich, Nuremberg. 
 — To Dublin. — Old Friends. — To Galway. — The Virginhis Difficulty. — I 
 go to Madrid : Horrible Journey ; a Kindly Magnifico ; Quarantine and 
 Robbery. — At Madrid. — General Sickles. — Sir A. H. Layard. — Count 
 Maffei. — A Bull-fight. — A Dangerous Voyage: My Intercession Im- 
 plored ; the Value of Quick Hearing. — A Long Journey in Prospect. — 
 Americans and Russians. — I am to go to St. Petersburg. — Forbes in In- 
 dia. — I meet Two Distinguished Medicos. — In Berlin. — Dr. Strousberg. — 
 En route. — At St. Petersburg. — Journalists there. — Mr. Napier Broome's 
 Work. — The American Minister. — Eugene Schuyler. — Entertainments 
 and Rejoicings. — The Scotsman. — Preparations. — Telegraph Arrange- 
 ments. — The Wedding Ceremony. — The Anglican Service : A Wonder- 
 ful Crowd; a Veteran Embarrassed. — I Send my Message; all Right! 
 — I am Complimented. — Other Herald Work. — John Mitchel. — Have no 
 more Time at Mr. Bennett's Disposal. — I Retire .... Page 3*76 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "the world." 
 
 Enforced Travel. — Somewhat too Much of it. — Again in Doubt. — My Par- 
 ticular Work. — An Ideal "Blend." — Grenville Murray: His History. — 
 " Sir Hector Stubble." — Murray at Odessa. — I Visit him in the Albany. 
 — The Queen's Messenger. — In Court. — Murray Departs. — His Work in 
 Paris. — He Approves of my Idea, and Suggests Partnership. — Making 
 Arrangements for Starting a New Journal : Its Title ; Finance. — Editor. 
 — My Word of Warning. — Arbitration if Necessary. — The Prospectus. 
 — An Announcement. — Contributors : Mr. Escott ; Mr. Labouchere ; other 
 Contributors. — Issue of No. 1. — Attempt at Introducing the Reclame. — 
 Notable Articles. — Unappreciated. — Just in Time. — A Lucky Prosecu- 
 tion. — Mr. George Lewis's Triumph. — My Foresight. — Dissolution of 
 Partnership. — The Series " Celebrities at Home." — Boswell's Work. — 
 " Royalties " at Home. — Cause of our Success. — The Prophets at Fault. 
 —Become a Necessity 424
 
 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF 
 A MAN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 PAKENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 
 
 I WAS born on the 3d July, 1831, in a street called, I 
 believe, Howard Place, off the Calton Hill, Edinburgh. 
 The fact that my birth took place in Scotland, or indeed 
 anywhere out of London, where my parents habitually 
 resided, was accidental. It was indeed due to the circum- 
 stance that my mother was accompanying my father, who 
 was engaged on a professional tour, and that I arrived in 
 this world some little time before I was expected. 
 
 My father and my mother belonged to the theatrical 
 profession. The former, Frederick Henry Yates, was 
 born on the 4th February, 1797, the youngest son of 
 Thomas Yates, a wholesale tobacco manufacturer, who 
 lived in Russell Square, and had a warehouse in Thames 
 Street. Of my father's three brothers, the eldest, Thomas, 
 studied medicine successfully, was accounted very learned 
 and prosperous, and lived for many years at 57 Regency 
 Square, Brighton, esteemed as one of the wisest and most 
 trustworthy of the numerous physicians who in the first 
 half of the century aided in establishing the reputation 
 of that growing 'watering-place. There are Brightonians 
 yet alive who talk to me of my uncle Dr. Yates, remem- 
 bering him with his white hair, snowy shirt-frill, Hessian 
 boots or black gaiters, long black coat, and gold-headed 
 cane ; a man of importance in the town, senior physician 
 to the Sussex County Hospital, and principal medical 
 attendant on Harriet Duchess of St. Albans, who visited 
 
 1
 
 2 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Brighton frequently in those days, driving along the 
 King's Road in state, or walking on the Steine with her 
 coffee-colored pugs. He was the sternest -looking and 
 the kindest-hearted of men, to me was always prodigal 
 of good advice and half-sovereigns, and must have had a 
 large practice, for he lived in good style ; and one of my 
 childish recollections is hearing my aunt say that " she 
 never bought black silk for aprons, for the doctor went 
 to so many funerals, and always brought away his silk 
 scarf and hat -band." The other brothers, Walter and 
 Charles, neither of whom I ever saw, were in the military 
 service of the Honorable East India Comjiany. The for- 
 mer lived to be a brigadier-general ; the latter, known in 
 the array as "Kemindine" Yates, from his gallant de- 
 fence of some pass of that name, died a major, compara- 
 tively young. 
 
 My father, the youngest of the family — he had two sis- 
 ters, to one of whom I shall have afterwards to refer — re- 
 ceived his rudimentary education at a preparatory school 
 at Winchmoro Hill, where he met John Reeve, subse- 
 quently his actor-colleague, then a tiny boy. His second 
 school was the Charter-house, where he had Dr. Raine, and 
 later on Dr. Russell, known as "Paw" Russell from his 
 enormous hands, for his head-masters, and Henry Have- 
 lock, the future savior of India, for his contemporary and 
 friend. He always spoke pleasantly of his school-days. 
 My friend, the late Mr. W. P. Hale, son of Archdeacon 
 Hale, Master of the Charter-house, told me that when a 
 school-boy he once addressed a letter to my father at the 
 Adelphi Theatre, asking him, on the plea of his having 
 formerly been a Carthusian, for some free admissions to 
 the play. These came by the next post, enclosed in a 
 half-sheet of paper, on which was written, " Florcat a^ter- 
 num Carthusiana domus. — F. II. Y." 
 
 On leaving school ray father obtained an appointracnt 
 iti the Commissariat Department, and was sent out to the 
 army then tigbting under the Duke of Wellington in th(> 
 Peninsula. I have always understood that he was j»resent 
 at the battle of Waterloo, though of this I have no direct 
 proof; but ho was certainly ou duty with the array of oc-
 
 PAKENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 3 
 
 cupation at Valenciennes, in November of the Waterloo 
 year, for the late Dr. Quin and the late Lord AVilliam Pitt 
 Lennox have frequently spoken to me of his being there 
 with them, a most delightful comrade. It was there that 
 he first gave evidence of the possession of any histrionic 
 ability, and his adoption of the stage as a profession had 
 its origin, doubtless, in the success which attended his 
 amateur performances with his military friends. 
 
 His determination to make some practical use of his 
 talents was arrived at in a somewhat curious way. In- 
 vited to a fancy-dress ball, he went as "Somno, the sleep- 
 walker," a character then being played by Charles Math- 
 ews the elder, in which the great mimic introduced his 
 celebrated imitations. To my father's surprise, Mathews 
 appeared among the guests ; but nothing daunted, the 
 young man sustained his impersonation, and, on being 
 requested, gave his own imitations of the actors usually 
 imitated by Mathews, winding up with one of Mathews 
 himself. The great actor was so struck by the ability — 
 and possibly by the impudence — of the amateur, that he 
 requested to be introduced, and begged my father to call 
 on him the next day. At this interview he inquired 
 about his young friend's profession and prospects, and 
 most strongly urged him to take to the stage. 
 
 "Commissary!" testily repeated the comedian, after my 
 father had named his avocation, " commissary ! drome- 
 dary! Carrying about other people's provisions and get- 
 ting none yourself! Feeding fat soldiers and dying of 
 starvation! No, no; give it up, young man, and let your 
 real talents find their proper channel." My father took 
 the advice thus warmly urged upon him, and made his 
 first appearance as a professional actor in the year 1817. 
 
 The conference was described by my father in one of 
 his entertainments, and afforded scope for the introduc- 
 tion of a very effective and not illegitimate " gag." He 
 told how Mathews complimented him on his performance, 
 and especially on his imitations. "They were excellent, 
 excellent — except one! You can't imitate me !" As my 
 father repeated the words he raised his shoulder, twisted 
 his mouth, and limped up and down the stage, the very
 
 4 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 double of Mathews. It was a wonderful piece of mim- 
 icry, and always brought down the house. 
 
 In the following year (1818) he made his debut in Lon- 
 don at Covent Garden, appearing as lago to the Othello 
 of Charles Young, the Cassio of Charles Kemble, and the 
 Desdemona of Miss O'Neil. He told my mother with 
 great glee in after-years that one of the newspapers, crit- 
 icising his first appearance, described him as " a small 
 man of Jewish aspect, by no means pleasing." Whether 
 the critic was right can be judged by the portrait prefixed 
 to this volume. Besides a full-length water-color sketch 
 by Doighton in my possession, there are three portraits 
 of my father which I know. The original of the frontis- 
 piece is by Lonsdale, in the Garrick Club gallery ; an- 
 other, by Ambrose, belongs to me; while the third is the 
 property of my friend Mr. J. C. Parkinson, and was ac- 
 quired by him in rather an odd way. It had originally 
 belonged to "Paddy" Green, forming one of the theat- 
 rical collection on the walls of Evans's, and was included 
 in the sale of that collection at Christie's. Mr. Parkinson 
 had noted the picture in the catalogue, and, being one of 
 my most intimate friends, desired to buy it. Ho accord- 
 ingly attended the sale, bought three other lots, but before 
 the " Frederick Yates " was put up he was called away by 
 a telegram. When he returned, the portrait had been 
 sold. A year or two afterwards another theatrical col- 
 lection, that of Lacy, the dramatic publisher in the Strand, 
 came to the hammer at Christie's. Again Mr. Parkinson 
 was present; again he saw in the catalogue "Portrait of 
 Fred. Yates," which eventually he bid for and bought. 
 When he got it liome, he found, from a label on the back, 
 that it was the same portrait which he had previously 
 missed, and whicli Lacy had secured during his tempo- 
 rary absence. 
 
 I may say here that from persons who knew him well 
 and who had seen liim often, Cliarles Dickens and many 
 celebrated actors among them, I have heard the highest 
 j)raise of my father's histrionic ])owers. Notably of his 
 versatility: he i)layed no part badly, and he could ])lay 
 more parts and more diverse i)art8 than most of his com-
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 5 
 
 rades. He was the " stock " lago of Covent Garden while 
 engaged there, and was reckoned to i^lay it specially well ; 
 he was a wondei'ful Jew, an excellent Frenchman, an im- 
 passioned lover, and excelled equally as a cool dandy or a 
 reckless dare-devil. As a proof of this versatility, I note 
 that his second appearance at Covent Garden was as 
 Falstaff, on which occasion Macready played Hotspur 
 for the first time. Dickens, writing to me after seeing 
 Henry Irving, in his early days, as Rawdon Scudamore, 
 in " Hunted Down," says : " He reminded me very much 
 of your fatlier." Dickens also thought Fechter very like 
 my father in many respects. Of Dickens's general opin- 
 ion of the acting of my father and my mother we shall 
 see more farther on. 
 
 In 1825 he went into management on his own account, 
 taking the Adelphi Theatre, with which his name was af- 
 terwards so largely identified, in conjunction with Dan- 
 iel Terry, a clever actor, but who is now best known, if 
 known at all, by his having been honored with the friend- 
 ship of Sir Walter Scott. Although great success was 
 achieved by the dramatization of popular novels, such as 
 " The Flying Dutchman" and Fenimore Cooj^er's " Pilot," 
 neither of the partners was a good business man, and the 
 speculation ended in a large loss, Terry's share of which 
 was paid by Scott, who was his surety. I find among 
 my father's jjapers the following admirable letter from 
 Sir Walter. It has never before been published, and it 
 proves, as Lockhart points out in the famous " Life," how 
 very much easier it was for Scott to give excellent ad- 
 vice than to practise what he preached. 
 
 "3 Walter Street, 17th January [no year]. 
 
 " My dear Terry, — I duly received your letter, but am a little alarmed 
 at the subject. My good fellow, you will have hard swimming, though 
 wiud and tide be with you, considering the large sums which you have to 
 pay up, and that any check which may occupy a great share of your funds 
 may make that hopeful undertaking precarious. 
 
 "I doubt greatly whether the Paris undertaking can succeed. The 
 French (sic) have shown a disinclination to English actors; and for the 
 British, they are, generally speaking, persons who care little about their 
 own country or language while they sojourn in a foreign country. There 
 are about twenty-five or thirty theatres in Paris already, and I fear it
 
 Q • FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 would be a very rash speculation to erect or open another. I have no 
 doubt you have taken better advice than muie ; but having undertaken 
 one good adventure, chiefly on credit, I think you should pame before being 
 too sanguine in undertaking atiother. 
 
 " After all, if you do determine on this, I will send you an introduction 
 to tlic secretary of our Ambassador ; but I would have you reflect seriously 
 that there is no royal road to riches any more than to wisdom, and that 
 ' Catch is a good dog, but Holdfast a better.' Your fine family ought to 
 make you cautious. If you can clear the Adelphi, you will establish their 
 future ; but a failure which might be brought about by an outlay of capi- 
 tal elsewhere would be an irremediable misfortune, anything short of ab- 
 solute certainty of success (sic). 
 
 " I am sure you will not suppose that I would knowingly dissuade you 
 from any beneficial plan for securing or hastening your advancement in 
 life. But I must say, with General Tom Thumb, 'King Arthur, beware !' 
 Many a thing good in itself becoines ruinous to individuals who have not 
 provided the funds necessary; and a London and Paris theatre sounds very 
 like playiug for a gammon, which may be the noblest, but is seldom the 
 wisest game. Kind love to Mrs. Terry. I write in haste, so make d- 
 lowance for errors of expression. Yours truly, Walter Scott." 
 
 Readers of Lockhart will see how exactly Terry and 
 Scott were running on parallel lines. After Terry's re- 
 tirement in 1828, my father was joined in management 
 by liis friend and tutor Charles Mathews, and the palmy 
 days of the Adelphi commenced then and there. 
 
 Four years previously Frederick Yates had married 
 Miss Elizabeth Brunton, a young actress holding a good 
 position at Covent Garden, and coming from a well-known 
 theatrical family. Her grandfather, John l>runton, and, 
 after him, her father, also John Brunton, had for very 
 many years had the management of what was known in 
 theatrical i)arlance as "the Norfolk circuit"— a number 
 of towns in tlic eastern counties, witli Norwich for their 
 principal centre; her aunt. Miss Louisa Brunton, a hand- 
 some and clever actress, was married in 1807 to the sev- 
 entli Earl of Craven ; and her uncle, Richard Brunton, 
 was in the army, was present at Waterloo, and died colo- 
 nel of the i:Uh Hussars, then Light Dragoons. 
 
 A miniature of my nndher in her youth, painted by 
 Stump of Cork Street, admirably reproduced in this vol- 
 ume, shows her as a lovely girl; but in my recollection 
 of the last half— thirty years— of her life, her diarm lay
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 7 
 
 rather in the softness and sweetness of her expression than 
 in regularity of feature. Her eyes were bhie and rather 
 hard, her complexion was dark; but her mouth, furnished 
 with beautiful teeth, was singularly winning, her laugh 
 infectious, and her voice one of the sweetest ever heard. 
 In 1858, years after she had retired from the stage, 
 Charles Dickens wrote to her in reference to her coming 
 to one of his Readings: "Whenever you can come, your 
 presence will give me a new interest in that evening. 
 No one alive can have more delightful associations with 
 the lightest sound of your voice than I have ; and to give 
 you a minute's interest and pleasure, in acknowledgment 
 of the uncountable hours of happiness you gave me when 
 you were a mysterious angel to me, would honestly grat- 
 ify my heart." And again, after her death in 1860, 
 Dickens wrote to me : " You know what a lovimr and 
 faithful remembrance I always had of your mother as 
 a part of my youth, no more capable of restoration than 
 my youth itself. All the womanly goodness, grace, and 
 beauty of my drama went out with her. To the last, I 
 never could hear her voice without emotion. I think of 
 her as of a beautiful part of my own youth, and the 
 dream that we are all dreaming seems to darken." She 
 was an excellent "all-round" actress^ and raised the her- 
 oines of melodrama, or " domestic " drama, into a spe- 
 cialty, playing the characters with genuine pathos, wholly 
 unaccompanied by exaggeration. In her private life she 
 was one of the best of women, truly and unaffectedly 
 pious, cheerful, and charitable ; a loving, forgiving, and 
 long - suffering wife, a most self - sacrificing and devoted 
 mother. 
 
 I do not know the date of my christening, bnt the 
 record is in the registry of Brompton Church, and the 
 ceremony was performed by the Rev. Thomas Speidell, 
 rector of Crick in Northamptonshire, a friend of Charles 
 Mathews and Theodore Hook. The latter, who was in- 
 timate with my father — I can perfectly recollect seeing 
 him at our house — was present at some little festivity on 
 the occasion, as I have in my possession the following 
 note to my mother:
 
 8 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 "Falham, Monday. 
 " Mt dear Mrs. Yates, — Your invitation for the 20th is so very agre- 
 able (sic) to me that, unlike your Victorine,* I'll not ' sleep upon it,' but 
 say, Yes, with all my heart, at once. I have a great fancy for making 
 Christians, and have already twice this year assisted at similar ceremo- 
 nies. That our excellent friend Speidell is to be oflSciating minister on 
 the occasion makes the affair more agreable (sic). Believe me, with 
 sincere regard to Monsieur Fr^deriqne pere, yours most sincerely, 
 
 "Theodore Hook." 
 
 My godfathers were the Honorable Edmund Byng, 
 second son of the fifth Viscount Torrington — of whom I 
 shall have much to say hereafter — and Frederick Hodg- 
 son, M.P. for Barnstaple, known as "Brown Stout," from 
 his size and dark complexion, and the fact that he was 
 the owner of a famous brewery at Bow, whence issued 
 that "Hodgson's India Pale Ale" which, long before the 
 days of Bass and Allsopp, had an enonnous sale in the 
 East, and realized a splendid fortune for its proprietor.! 
 The names given to me at my baptism were accordingly 
 Edmund Hodgson, which evoked a joke from Theodore 
 Hook, "Fred, what are you going to call the boy?" he 
 asked my father. "Edmund Hodgson, after his godfa- 
 thers, Byng and Hodgson." " What, big Hodgson, IBrown 
 Stout, the brewer?" "Yes." "Humph !" said Hook, 
 "then you'd much better call him Bingo Stingo!" 
 
 At that time, and during all my early childhood, we 
 lived at No. 411 Strand, forming part of the Adelphi 
 Theatre premises, a house which, during its previous 
 tenancy by Terry, had been visited by Sir Walter Scott, 
 and which is described in one of his letters as " a curious 
 dwelling, not larger than a squirrel's cage, which he (Ter- 
 ry) has contrived to squeeze out of the vacant space of 
 the theatre, and which is accessible by a most complicated 
 combination of staircases and small passages." A small 
 
 * " Victorine ; or, I'll sleep on It," a drama by Buckstonc, with my 
 mother as the heroine, was played at tlic Adelphi with very great success. 
 
 f " For you never were in India, 
 
 Tliat you know not IIonosoN's Ale." 
 
 Vide " Jupiter and the Indian Ale " in tlic " Ballads of Bon Gaultier."
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD, 9 
 
 side-door, immediately inside the street-door, and at the 
 foot of a long and steep flight of stairs, gave access to 
 the public lobby of the theatre; and through that door 
 I used to take furtive peeps at all I was permitted, until 
 after I was seven years old, to sec of the fairy world 
 beyond. I remember well the bright paper on the walls 
 and the brilliant gasaliers, which I had occasionally had 
 the rare happiness to see alight; but I knew of nothing 
 further. I thought this lobby was " tlie theatre " of which 
 I heard such constant mention, and thoroughly believed 
 that "the boxes," so frequently referred to, were actual 
 chests, on which, or in which, people sat while the mys- 
 terious "performance" took place. My parents had no 
 great liking for their calling, and I was not merely never 
 allowed to visit the theatre, but was kept in as much 
 ignorance, in regard to it and its surroundings, as was 
 possible with my position. 
 
 This distaste for his profession on my father's part 
 assuredly arose from no want of success, for under him 
 and his coadjutors the " little Adelphi " had become one 
 of the most popular places of amusement in London. It 
 had its specialty as the home of melodrama, a class of 
 entertainment which, having almost fallen into desuetude, 
 seems now to have been successfully revived by Mr. G. 
 R. Sims;* and it was a great "half-price" house — "half- 
 price," now entirely obsolete, being the reduced admis- 
 sion-money taken after nine o'clock. It was very cramped 
 and stuffy and inconvenient, but it had always enjoyed 
 a very large share of public favor. In its early days the 
 town had gone mad over "Tom and Jerry; or, Life in 
 London," when produced there; in it Mathews had given 
 his most celebrated "At Home" entertainments, Buck- 
 stone's dramas, " Victorine," " The Wreck Ashore," " Isa- 
 bel," etc., with my mother as heroine, my father in some 
 eccentric part, John Reeve f and the author himself as 
 
 * " Or in the Adelphi sitting, half in rapture, half in tears, 
 
 Saw the glorious melodrama conjure up the shades of years." 
 
 Boil Gauliicr^s Ballads. 
 
 f John Reeve was the principal " low comedian " of the theatre, a man 
 of much humor and an enormous favorite. So popular was he that his 
 
 1*
 
 10 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 the fun-makers, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, O. Smith, Wilkin- 
 son, Lyon, Hemming, Cullenford, and many long-forgot- 
 ten names. 
 
 Plays adapted from popular novels were favorite sub- 
 jects for pi-esentation at the Adelphi, Bulwer's "Last 
 Days of Pompeii," with my father as Arbaces, and Mrs. 
 Keeley — still happily alive, and in wonderful bodily and 
 mental vigor at seventy-nine — as the blind girl Nydia. 
 I have heard my mother speak of this impersonation of 
 Mrs. Keeley's as singularly graceful and pathetic, and of 
 her singing of a ballad, " The Wind and the Beam loved 
 the Rose," as simply j^erfect. In later years the same 
 actress achieved great notoriety as the hero of a drama 
 made out of a very different kind of novel — Harrison 
 Ainsworth's "Jack Sheppard," in which Mr. Paul Bedford 
 first made any special mark by his performance of Blueskin. 
 
 The genius of Charles Dickens seems from the first to 
 have been the prey of the dramatic " adapter," who cut 
 and hacked, excised and even added, to suit the require- 
 ments of his clients. "Pickwick" was, I believe, put 
 upon the stage, with John Reeve as Sam Weller ; but it 
 could not have made any mark, and was probably only 
 dramatized for the sake of presenting living semblance 
 of characters which were then in every shop - window 
 and on every drawing-room table ; but " Nickleby " and 
 "Oliver Twist" were, at the Adelphi, exceptional suc- 
 cesses. That they were so seems to have given great 
 offence to that worthy but very prejudiced gentleman, 
 Mr. John Forster. Dickens himself, as I will shortly 
 show, was greatly pleased with the "Nickleby" play ; 
 but Forster, Dickenso tpso Dickefisior, treats the subject 
 
 frequent appearance on the stage, when considerably overcome with drink, 
 was generally good-naturedly condijned by the audience. On one occa- 
 sion, however, and when he happened to be playing a supposed scene of 
 intoxication, he was really so far gone that he could not keep his balance, 
 and fell down. This was too much, and the spectators lustily hisse'd. 
 John Reeve raised himself with difficulty, advanced to the footlights, and, 
 in thick tones of virtuous indignation, asked, "What's the meaning of 
 this? Don't all of you know that I'm a drunken individual?" The un- 
 conscious double entendre delighted his hearers, and peace was restored.
 
 Parentage and childhood. h 
 
 with extorted patronage or hearty grumbling. " He 
 (Dickens) has been able to sit through 'Nickleby,' and 
 see a kind of merit in some of the actors. Mr. Yates had 
 a sufficiently humorous meaning in his wildest extrava- 
 gance, and Mr. O. Smith could put into his queer angular 
 oddities enough of a hard dry pathos to conjure up shad- 
 ores at least of Mantalini and Newman Noggs ; and even 
 Dickens, in the letter that amazed me by telling of his visit 
 to the theatre, was able to praise the skilful management 
 and dressing of the boys, the capital manner and speech 
 of Fanny Squeers, the dramatic representation of her 
 card-party in Squeers's parlor, the careful making-up of 
 all the people, and the exceedingly good tableaux formed 
 from Browne's sketches. . . . Mrs. Keeley's first appear- 
 ance beside the fire, and all the rest of Smike, was ex- 
 cellent." This, pace Mr. Forster, is surely high praise 
 from an author in Dickens's position ; but that he not 
 merely was sulkily content, as Mr. Forster would have 
 us believe, but was really heartily gratified by the man- 
 ner in which the play was produced and acted, the fol- 
 lowing letter, written by him to my father, and now in 
 my possession, will prove : 
 
 " 48 Doughty Street, Thursday Morning. 
 
 "My dear Sir, — I am very glad indeed that ' Nickleby ' is doing so well. 
 You are right about the popularity of the work, for its sale has left even 
 that of ' Pickwick ' far behind. 
 
 " My general objection to the adaptation of any unfinished work of mine 
 simply is that, being badly done and worse acted, it tends to vulgarize the 
 characters, to destroy or weaken in the minds of those who see them the 
 impressions I have endeavored to create, and consequently to lessen the 
 after-interest in their progress. No such objection can exist for a moment 
 where the thing is so admirable/ done in every respect as you have done it in 
 this instance. I felt it an act of common justice, after seeing the piece, 
 to withdraw all objection to its publication, and to say thus much to the 
 parties interested in it without reserve. If you can spare us a private box 
 for next Tuesday, I shall be much obliged to you. If it be on the stage, 
 80 much the better, as I shall be really glad of an opportunity to tell Mrs. 
 Keeley and 0. Smith how much I appreciate their Smike and Newman 
 Noggs. I put you out of the question altogether, for that glorious Man- 
 talini is beyond all praise. Faithfully yours, Charles Dickens." 
 
 If Mr. Forster was " amazed " by a letter from Dickens 
 mentioning his visit to the Adelphi, how much more
 
 12 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 would lie have been "amazed" had he seen the preceding 
 letter of praise, in which a second visit is suggested? 
 and to what pitch would his amazement have reached 
 if he had known that I have a further letter from Dick- 
 ens to my father, offering himself to dramatize " Oliver 
 Twist " for the Adelphi? The letter runs thus : 
 
 " Supposing we arrange preliminaries to our mutual satisfaction, I pro- 
 pose to dramatize ' Oliver Twist ' for the first night of next season. 
 
 " I have never seen Mrs. Hounor, to the best of my recollection ; but, 
 from the mere circumstance of her being a Mrs., I should say at once that 
 she was ' a many sizes too large ' for Oliver Twist. If it be played by a 
 female, it should be a very sharp girl of thirteen or fourteen, not more, or 
 the character would be an absurdity. I don't see the possibility of any 
 other house doing it before your next opening night. If they do, it must 
 be done in a very extraordinary manner, as the story, unlike that of ' Pick- 
 wick,' is an involved and complicated one. I am quite satisfied that no 
 one can have heard what I mean to do with the different characters in the 
 end, inasmuch as, at present, I don't quite know myself; so we are toler- 
 ably safe on that head. I am quite sure that your name as the Jew, and 
 mine as the author, would knock any other attempts quite out of the field." 
 
 Surely the inference from this is, that Dickens was by no 
 means displeased by his dramatic treatment at the Adel- 
 phi, Dickens had so very frequently spoken to me in 
 enthusiastic terms of my father's acting as Mantalini, as 
 Fagin, and as Quilp, and had so often praised the manner 
 in which, under difficult circumstances, the various plays 
 liad been produced at the Adelphi, that I was highly 
 amused on the publication of Mr. Forstcr's statement, 
 and determined at my own time to take an opportunity 
 of refuting it. 
 
 O. Smith, the actor referred to in this correspondence, 
 was a singular man. His name was Richard Smith, but 
 winning renown in the commencement of his career by 
 liis performance of Obi, in a drama called "Three-Fin- 
 gered Jack," he was dubbed O. Smith, to distinguish him 
 from the multifarious ])ossessors of his patronymic, and 
 remained thus known throughout his life.* Condemned 
 
 * It was SluMJdan Knowios who, in his half -blundering, half -witty, 
 wlioily Irisli way, Ujld 0. Smith he was "always mialakiug lilm for bia 
 namesake, T. P. Cooke."
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 13 
 
 by an odd fate to the perpetual portrayal of murderers, 
 robbers, pirates, etc., in private life " he was the mildest- 
 mannered man," well read and informed, a clever water- 
 color artist, with an air of old - fashioned courtesy not 
 detracted from by a slight deafness. He played demons 
 and gnome-kings as well as villains, and once based an 
 application to my father for increase of salary on the fact 
 that, owing to his being so constantly in dangerous posi- 
 tions, in the midst of fire, going up and down traps, etc., 
 the life-insurance companies would only accept him at a 
 " hazardous " premium. His demoniac laugh, a deep bass 
 " Ho, ho !" was very effective — 
 
 " He laughed, as Mr. 0. Smith laughs, 
 An inward double-knock." 
 
 Gilbert d BeckcVs Almanack of the Month. 
 
 The visitors to the Adelphi in those days would seem 
 to have been not only numerous, but distinguished. 
 Among my father's correspondence I find many letters 
 from Miss Mitford, Miss Jane Porter, Lady Morgan, Mrs. 
 Norton, Miss Pardoe, L. E. L., Lady Blessington, George 
 Colman, Rev. G. Croly, Haynes Bayly, Sheridan Knowles, 
 Maginn, Sam Warren, Theodore Hook, Thomas Hood, 
 Barham, Talfourd, Moore, Luttrell, James and Horace 
 Smith, Edmund Kean, Charles Kemble, Macready, PI.R.H. 
 the Duke of Sussex (with a present of a gold snuffbox), 
 Count d'Orsay, Lords Chesterfield, Clanrlcarde, Adolphus 
 Fitzclareuce, Fitzhardinge, Castlereagh, etc., all express- 
 ing their thanks for gratification received or expected at 
 his hands. 
 
 Here is Dr. Maginn's note, sent with a pear : 
 
 " A Pear fresh gathered from Nelson's pear-tree presents its compli- 
 ments to Mrs, Yates. 
 
 " Though not inviting to the eye, 
 
 Take me as plucked from off the tree 
 
 Planted by him whose battle-cry 
 Was herald still of Victory. 
 
 Fit offering therefore, as I ween, 
 
 For her who is the Victorine.^^
 
 14 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 Kean's letter is very characteristic : 
 
 "January 4, 1831. 
 " Dear Yates, — Can I have my usual box to-night ? I stay in London 
 but a couple of days, and it will be an indulgence. I detest mixing with 
 the canaiUe. I like tJie public^ s money, but despise tliem. 
 
 " Yours truly, Edmund Kean." 
 
 Miss Jane Porter, possibly not much read by the pres- 
 ent generation, but greatly admired by Scott and loved 
 by our fathers and mothers for her " Thaddeus of War- 
 saw " and " Scottish Chiefs," wants " an engagement for 
 a person in whom I am greatly interested. She was a 
 leading comic actress in a small but respectable company, 
 which used to come annually to Thames Ditton (!), and 
 perform there during five or six years of our residence in 
 the neighborhood. My venerable mother, and other most 
 excellent heads of the families about, always patronized 
 the company because of the Worthiness of character as 
 individuals." Miss Porter's description of her protegee's 
 personal appearance is delightful : " She is now a middle- 
 aged woman, of a slight, airy form, a quick and pleasing 
 countenance, though not liandsome, a pleasant and clear 
 voice and genteel enunciation. She would be capable to 
 undertake all old or elderly female characters in comedy, 
 or, indeed, from the still juvenile appearance of her figure 
 and lively countenance, chambermaids and the like would 
 not come amiss to her. She could also lead choruses of 
 peasantry, etc." 
 
 Miss Mitford asks : " What would be the remuneration 
 for a draina such as you wish ? , . , Supposing we agree 
 as to terms, would the enclosed Incendiary story answer 
 for the serious i)art of a jtiece? I think it would ; that is 
 to say, I tliink it miglit admit of souje good scenes for 
 Mrs. Yates, wliom 1 have never liad the pleasure of seeing 
 perform, but who is said by every one to be a most sweet, 
 affecting, and natural actress. ... I saw a i)art of the 
 'Wreck Ashore' at Reading, but could not sit it out. I 
 was so terriljly nervous that tlie motion of the latch and 
 Grampus's face through the window seemed to me like 
 actual house-breaking, of 'which I have great dread. I
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 15 
 
 have an equal aversion to guns and explosions of all 
 kinds, which may account for ray never having been to 
 any small theatre except the Haymarket." 
 
 Every one seems to have had what the Americans call 
 "an axe to grind." Count d'Orsay writes: "J'ai un 
 melodrarae en deux actes a vous offrir, ecrit par un des 
 mes amis : I'histoire est tiree d'un ouvrage de George 
 Sand, un des raeilleurs auteurs Franyais de notre epoque : 
 c'est intitule ' L'TJscocco.' Les caract^res sont bien adaptes 
 h la reunion des bons acteurs que vous possedez k I'Adel- 
 phi ; et si vous pensez que cela puisse vous convenir je 
 vous enverrai le manuscrit." 
 
 Miss Pardoe writes, offering to translate a play which 
 has just been produced in Paris by Mile. Mars, and which 
 is exactly suited to my mother's style : " I am certain that 
 in the role of Mile, Mars you will turn all the heads in 
 London, as she turned all those in Paris." The piece was 
 called "Louise de Lignerolles," and was, I fancy, played 
 at the Adelphi. Another play by Miss Pardoe, which I 
 recollect seeing, was called " Agnes St. Aubyn, the Wife 
 of Two Husbands." I think my friend Mr. Dion Bouci- 
 cault must have seen this piece before writing "Hunted 
 Down." 
 
 My memories of that queer little private house over 
 the theatre, and the visitors to its drawing-room, from 
 the window of which I saw the Guards — I think in white 
 fatigue -jackets — marching through the Strand on their 
 way to embarkation for Canada in 1837, and was shown 
 the reflection of the flames of the burning Royal Ex- 
 change in the following year, are very clear. I remember 
 the elder Mathews, a wizen dark man, with one high 
 shoulder, a distorted mouth, a lame leg, and an irritable 
 manner. He took little notice of me save on one occa- 
 sion, when a pet little black dog, which always accom- 
 panied him, sprang up and bit me on the cheek, and then 
 nothing could exceed his remorseful interest. I remem- 
 ber Theodore Hook, bald and bluff, given, it was under- 
 stood, to bumptiousness and swagger in some houses, but 
 always pleasant in ours. He never needed pressing, but 
 would sing his impromptu songs and cut his jokes with
 
 16 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 boyish glee. One of these, and a hitherto unpublished 
 one, I think, my mother used to tell. A few friends were 
 seated round our dinner-table when a certain Mr. Rosen- 
 hegen called to see my father. He looked into the room, 
 but, seeing the company, withdrew at once. "There, 
 Hook," said a great friend of his, W. S. Streatfield, " you 
 couldn't make a rhyme to that man's name!" "Couldn't 
 I?" said Hook J and with scarce a moment's delay he 
 called out : 
 
 " Mr. Rosenhegen ! 
 Pop your nose in again !" 
 
 Hook, however, must have been a desperate snob, and the 
 sketch of him as Wagg, in " Peudennis," would not seem 
 to be over-colored. One day at a dinner-party at the 
 Adelphi, my mother overheard him say to his neighbor, 
 "I wonder whether they've iced the claret?" She at 
 once addressed him laughingly, "Don't be afraid, Mr. 
 Hook ; Mr. Hodgson's butler has charge of the wine !" 
 Mr. Hodgson was one of Hook's " patrons," and a friend 
 in many ways, so Hook collapsed. 
 
 I remember my good friend Lord Alfred Paget, then 
 a very young man, standing, measuring heights, back to 
 back with M. Biliin, tallest, best - uatured, and stupidest 
 of Belgian giants, then playing an engagement at the 
 theatre. I remember wandering into the room and shriek- 
 ing with terror at seeing a singular creature creeping over 
 the chairs and tables Avith wondrous agility. This was a 
 Mr. Harvey Leach, professionally known as Signor Hervio 
 Nano, a dwarf, or rather a truncated being, with hand- 
 some head, fine torso, immense muscular strength in the 
 arms, and no legs to speak of. He played in a piece 
 called "The Gnome Fly," in which, made u\) as a fly, be 
 crawled over the proscenium, and, I think, journeyed on 
 wires from the gallery to the stage. I remember James 
 Smith, with an ivory-handled crutch-stick, and his brother 
 Horace, coming to read the dramatic version of his novel, 
 "Jane Lomax," whicli he had jirejiared for my mother. 
 Aiiisworth, then a singularly liandsome man of the 
 D'Orsay order, was a frequent visitor in the "Jack Shep- 
 pard " days, and Alfred Crowquill. I can also remember
 
 PARENTAGE AND CHILDHOOD. 17 
 
 Alfred Bunn, and always thought that Thackeray must 
 have sketched the portrait of Mr. Dolphin, the manager, 
 which appears in " Pendennis," from him.* John Bra- 
 ham, a very small Jewish man in a black wig, I remem- 
 ber as a visitor ; and I have seen Miss Romer, the original 
 " Bohemian Girl," there. I have heard Mrs. Honey — a 
 very lovely woman — Mrs. Waylett, and Mrs. Keeley " try- 
 ing over " their songs at the little piano. 
 
 Walking with my father in the neighborhood of the 
 Houses of Parliament, he was spoken to, on the same after- 
 noon, by the great Duke of Wellington and Daniel O'Con- 
 nell. He bade me remember the circumstance when I 
 "grew up." The appearance of each of these men — the 
 duke with his buttoned blue coat, white duck trousers, 
 and high stock, with a buckle showing at the back of his 
 neck, and O'Connell, with a round, good-humored, thor- 
 oughly Irish face, and a springy, jaunty walk — is perfectly 
 vivid in my memory. Mr. George Jones, R. A., a painter 
 of battle-pieces, etc., who died some years ago, specially 
 prided himself on his resemblance to the Duke of Wel- 
 lington, and used to " dress up to the character." Some 
 one mentioned the likeness to the duke, and added, " It 
 must be great, for people in the street often speak to him 
 for your Grace." "Very strange," muttered the great 
 man; "no one ever spoke to me for Mr. Jones !" 
 
 Connected with the Adelphi house are my recollections 
 of Liston, with his face like a grotesque mask, pendulous 
 cheeks, snub nose, and fishy eyes — a very dull man, as he 
 
 * Here is a characteristic letter from Bunn to my father : 
 
 " My dear Fred, — With taste and judgment ' both strong against the 
 deed,' I have resolved on coming down to the blackguard level to-morrow, 
 and the wonders of old Drury Lane, the glories of its pageantries, the 
 splendor of its decorations, aristocracy, dancers, foreigners, etc., are all 
 going, going for the small sum of 4s. to the boxes, 2s. to the pit, and Is. to 
 the gallery. 
 
 «' To Mr. Garrick, Mr. Sheridan, Mr. John Kemble, Mr. Kean, et hoc genus 
 omne, I cry, ' Thou canst not say I did it.' Ever thine, A. Bunn." 
 
 On the back of this letter is pencilled in Bunn's hand, " George Robins 
 was yesterday walked out of both the general and sub-committees of Drury 
 Lane. He will call it resigning, but they call it kicked."
 
 18 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 seemed to me; of George Rodwell, the composer of much 
 beautiful music, but who gained his barrel-organ celebrity 
 by "Jolly Kose " and "Nix my dolly, pals," two songs in 
 "Jack Sheppard;" of M. Sola, a strange, blear-eyed old 
 foreigner, in some way connected with music, but who was 
 principally engaged in selling bargains of all kinds to his 
 friends. He sold a watch to my mother, with the curious 
 recommendation, "He ver' good vatch; you vear him two 
 year, and then sell him again," And I can distinctly rec- 
 ollect meeting him in the Strand, vainly trying to conceal 
 a full-sized drawing-room looking-glass under the folds of 
 his scanty blue cloak. 
 
 To us would come across, from the house on Adelphi 
 Terrace, Miss Maria B. Hawes, then in the first flush of 
 her success as an oratorio singer ; and from her pretty 
 cottage ornee, The Rosery, in Old Brompton — now pulled 
 down, and with a row of stucco houses standing " where 
 once the garden smiled " — would arrive my earliest liter- 
 ary friend, Mrs. S. C. Hall, bringing for my delectation a 
 copy of her annual, " The Juvenile Budget," in which she 
 and Mrs. Hofland, Miss Pardoe and Miss Jewsbury, wrote 
 most charming stories for children. To a hurried consul- 
 tation would come Charles Tomkins and Tom Pitt, the 
 scene-painters, in their canvas clothes, splashed with dabs 
 of color; or Gallott the prompter; or Sam Lover, with a 
 ballad for Mrs. Fitzwilliam or Miss Fortescue, now Lady 
 Gardner, on whose performance of Barnaby Rudge Dick- 
 ens used "to dwell with a thorough liking;" or Edmund 
 Byng, my eccentric godfather ; or Lord Clanricarde, who 
 in after-years proved in the kindest and handsomest man- 
 ner that he had not forgotten the old days of fun and 
 frolic iu " the little Adelphi."
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 19 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 
 
 It was in the " old Adelplii house," as we used to call 
 it, the private portion of the theatre-premises. No. 411 
 Strand, that I received the elementary portion of my edu- 
 cation, being taught " my letters " by my aunt. Miss Eliza 
 Yates, my father's unmarried sister, who lived with us, 
 and in whom I found my chief playmate and companion. 
 What with incessant acting and very frequent rehearsals 
 — for the " runs " of pieces, now so common, were abso- 
 lutely unknown in those days, and the entertainment was 
 constantly changed — my mother had in a great measure 
 to delegate her household and maternal duties to her 
 sister-in-law, who fulfilled them with much affectionate 
 devotion. My " aunt Eliza " is associated with my earliest 
 recollections; under her supervision I learned my alphabet 
 from a collection of large capital letters furnished by the 
 printer of the theatre, and spread out on the floor, where 
 I lay. When I had arrived at the dignity of spelling, I 
 used to check my newly-acquired accomplishment by en- 
 deavorins: to read the words on the omnibuses which 
 passed the window in such numbers; my great desire, as 
 well as that of my kind instructress, being that I should 
 acquit myself well in the eyes of my grandmother, a rather 
 severe old lady, who was also a resident member of the 
 family. My recollections of her are of the faintest; but 
 I have an idea that she rather sat upon the little house- 
 hold, that she was in the position of one who had seen 
 better days, and that she despised the theatre, while liv- 
 ing on its proceeds. I remember, too, that frequent card- 
 parties had to be given for her amusement, and that she 
 did not scruple to express her astonishment and displeas- 
 ure at the singular conduct of my father and mother, who,
 
 20 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 coming in utterly exbaustecl from their work, preferred 
 going to rest to taking a "hand at cards" with the old 
 lady's friends. 
 
 There was, in truth, but little chance of rest for my fa- 
 ther in those days, and there can be no doubt that his 
 early death was mainly attributable to the perpetual 
 work, worry, and excitement in which his life was passed. 
 To be foremost in the race, to beat his compeers in the 
 production of any novelty was his great object, and many 
 a time had he to pay for his rashness and want of delib- 
 eration. On one occasion a rumor reached London that 
 a great success had been achieved in Paris by the per- 
 formance of a set of Hindoo dancers, called "Les Baya- 
 deres," who were supposed to be priestesses of a certain 
 sect; and the London theatrical managers were at once 
 on the qui vive to secure the new attraction. Three of 
 them — Laporte, of the Italian Opera ; Alfred Bunn, of 
 Drury Lane ; and my father — set out for Paris much 
 about the same time ; it was cUU(/€nce-tra,\e\lmg or post- 
 ing in those days, and the man with the loosest purse- 
 Rtrings went the fastest. My father had concluded his 
 arrangement with the " Bayaderes " before his brother 
 managers arrived in Paris. Shortly afterwards, the Hin- 
 doo priestesses appeared at the Adelphi. They were ut- 
 terly uninteresting, wholly unattractive. My father lost 
 £2000 by the speculation ; and in the family they were 
 known as the " Buy-em-dears " ever after. 
 
 Novelty was imperative, no matter what shape it might 
 take. I have already mentioned Bihin the giant and Har- 
 vey Leach the dwarf, but have said nothing of the "real 
 water," which at one time was contained in an enormous 
 tank under the flooring of the stage, and, like Mr. Crum- 
 mles's pump and tub, had a drama written for it : "Die 
 Hexen am Rhein " (The Witches of the Rhine), a medi- 
 seval, romantic play, in the course of which the hero 
 plunged into the tank, and swam about in sight of tho 
 audience. Possil)ly in coiinccttion witli the tank of real 
 water, and certainly in search of novelty, my father seems 
 to have offered an engagement to Grace Darling of the 
 Longstone light-house, the lieroine of the wreck of the I^or-
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 21 
 
 farshire, as a letter from her, among his papers, thanks 
 him for his proposals, which she is compelled to decline, 
 as acceptance would be against the wishes of the Duke 
 of Northumberland and the "ladies and gentlemen" who 
 have subscribed to purchase her "a comfortable annuity." 
 
 Another proof of my father's readiness to seize on pop- 
 ular topics is to be found in his production of a version 
 of " Ten Thousand a Year," a novel then creating consid- 
 erable sensation, dramatized by its author, Samuel War- 
 ren, Q.C., from whom there is a very characteristic letter, 
 mentioning that "notwithstanding his engagement in 
 three most important cases at Westminster," he hopes to 
 be in time for rehearsal. 
 
 But there is no doubt that the success which attended 
 the little Adelphi Theatre in those days was the adapta- 
 bility of its company for developing its " great special- 
 ity," melodrama, and more especially of the "Adelphi 
 drama," which was compounded by Buckstone out of in- 
 gredients, some of which were original, but most derived 
 from pieces of the Ambigu or the Porte St. Martin. 
 Chief in interest and attraction among these were"Yic- 
 torine" and "The Wreck Ashore." "Victorine" was 
 the first of those pieces in which a large portion of the 
 action occurs during a dream, and which — modern play- 
 goers will remember "Uncle Dick's Darling" as an ex- 
 ample — have always been successful. But of all melo- 
 dramas which I have seen, " The Wreck Ashore " bears 
 away the palm. There was one scene, where two fright- 
 ened sisters, played by my mother and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, 
 in a lonely cottage on the marshes, see the latch of the 
 door slowly lifted, where the absorbing interest was pos- 
 itively painful. " The Rake and his Pupil," * " Henriette 
 
 * " The Rake and his Pupil " was before my theatre-going time ; but I 
 had heard the name when a child, and it was brought to my mind many 
 years afterwards in a very singular way. I was going to dine with Cliarles 
 Mathews in the early spring of 1869, and was making my way from the 
 Gloucester Road Station, where I had alighted, and which had not been 
 long opened, across a new and unformed district, as a short cut to Pelliam 
 Crescent, where C. J. M. resided, when I saw a man pacing up and down 
 before a small tavern. He was muttering aloud ; and as I came upon liiiu
 
 22 FIFTY YEAUS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 the Forsaken," " Isabel ; or, Woman's Life," were all of 
 the same category, and written by the same author, whose 
 most successful work of all, " The Green Bushes," was 
 not produced until ten years later, and for quite a differ- 
 ent group of actors. 
 
 In connection with this subject, it will be interesting to 
 note the extraordinary difference between the prices re- 
 alized by dramatic authors for their work in the present 
 day and fifty years ago. I make the following extract 
 from a letter of Buckstone's to my father : "As we have 
 had no decided arrangement about 'The Rake,' and as 
 whatever terms we can agree upon about that piece Avill 
 influence my future doings, I wish to state a few matters 
 for you to think about : £50 was mentioned by you for 
 it, and afterwards an additional £10 for securing the act- 
 ing copyright in the provinces for twelve months. I was 
 allowed £60 for ' Henriette,' and really, with the pi'ices 
 I can now command, I am working at a very low rate in 
 letting you have three-act dramas at that sum. For a 
 successful three-act play you ought, I think, to afford me 
 £70, such sura securing to you the sole acting right for- 
 ever in London, and to you alone for one year, or, say, to 
 the 1st October following its production." And in an- 
 other letter, in 1839 : "I will do your piece for the open- 
 ing, and a new three-act drama for Mrs. Yates, company, 
 and self, for ray old terms for the pair, viz., two seventies. 
 I really cannot say less. I now get £100 for a three-act 
 
 I distinctly heard him pronounce the name "Frederick Yates." I stopped, 
 and asked him wlmt name he had mentioned. lie at once repeated " Fred- 
 crick Yates ;" then added, " the cleverest actor I ever saw, sir ! By far 
 the cleverest! You never saw him, sir; you're too young! But at the 
 Adelphi Theatre, in 'The Hake anil iiis Pupil,' to see him act, to hear 
 him repeat ' The Baron Somehody with his hump, and the Baroness Some- 
 body a frump,' it was magnificent !" A little further conversation proved 
 that the poor fellow was a lunatic. He enlarged upon the subject of his 
 wrongs, specially his having been incarcerated, and would not revert to 
 the theatre. But it was a most wonderful thing that I, who alone of all 
 living people would liave had the slightest interest in Freilerick Yates, 
 should have been passing as he uttered the name. I told the story the 
 next day to Dickens, who was very much struck by the coincidence, and 
 uaed frequently to refer to it.
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 23 
 
 piece, when it only runs a few nights. I bring out a full 
 tbree-act comedy at the Ilaymarket immediately on the 
 close of Covent Garden, and am now cogitating a farce 
 for Power and myself." 
 
 So we see that at his increased rates Buckstone re- 
 ceived £70 for a three-act drama, and 4^10 for the pro- 
 vincial rights for twelve months. Now I have been fur-_ 
 nished by a worthy friend of mine, a writer of melodrama 
 of the present day, w4iose name, for obvious reasons, I 
 shall not mention, with a return of the fees which he has 
 received for one piece alone, which at the time of writing 
 are within £150 of a total of ten thousand pounds, and 
 which are still rolling in at the rate of £100 a week ! In 
 this return, America, really unknown in earlier days as a 
 money - producer for the English dramatist, figures for 
 £800 more than London ; the provinces, valued by Buck- 
 stone at a £10 note, yield nearly £3000 ; while Australia, 
 at that time chiefly known as a receptacle for convicts, 
 yields more than double the amount originally paid by 
 my father for the whole acting copyright. Buckstone's 
 mention of Power in his letter reminds me that I once 
 accompanied my father when he went to call on Tyrone 
 Power on some business matter, and that when in Liver- 
 pool, during our holidays, we went over the President, 
 the American steamer, whicli was ultimately lost, with 
 Power on board. I remember a line in a newspaper of 
 the day : " America has lost her President, and England 
 her Power." 
 
 I do not suppose I could have been more than five 
 years old, when it was determined to send me to a pre- 
 paratory school at Highgate, which was strongly recom- 
 mended by my godfather, Mr. Hodgson, whose nephews 
 had been pupils there. It was kept by an English lady, 
 married to a German merchant named Kieckhofer, which, 
 I need scarcely say, in boys' mouths at once became 
 "Kickover"; and to her house I was taken one afternoon 
 by my Aunt Eliza, in a hackney-coach, among the mouldy 
 straw at the bottom of which — and which even now I 
 seem to smell — I cast myself down on our journey up 
 Highgate Hill, and implored to be taken home. A state-
 
 24 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ly but kindly lady was Mrs. Kieckhofer, presiding over 
 an admirably-kept school ; and a jolly old German was 
 "old Kick," her husband, who would call me into his 
 dressing-room and give me pears or rose -lozenges, and 
 talk to me of my father, and specially of my mother — 
 the sweetest woman that ever lived. 
 
 Do you remember in " Nicholas Nickleby " where the 
 newly - arrived little boy is sitting on his play - box ? 
 "'That's Belling,' said Mr. Squeers. 'He's a Taunton 
 boy, he is.' ' Is he, indeed ?' said Mr. Snawley, looking at 
 him as though he tcere a natural curiosity.'''' I have so 
 often thought of this passage in later life, when reflecting 
 on my own early school-days. From the earliest I was 
 always regarded as a natural curiosity. It is, of course, 
 very different now, when Thespis Major is the captain of 
 the boats at Eton, and Tommy Roscius plays in the Har- 
 row Eleven ; but in those days actors, if not a proscribed 
 race, were very seldom met with out of such literary or 
 fast-fashionable circles as were brought more immediate- 
 ly into connection Avith them; and their children were 
 not likely to be found at any upj^er or middle class school. 
 To a previous genei'ation belongs the story of the alarmed 
 village through which ran the cry, " The lakers [actors] 
 are coming ! take the linen off the hedge !" for fear it 
 should be stolen. And I have heard my grandfather 
 mention his father being followed by an excited crowd 
 through the streets of Newcastle with the cry, "Play- 
 actor ! jjlay - actor ! Smash his head agon the wall !" 
 Such amenities as these were out of date ; but actors 
 were so seldom seen off the stage as to make any of their 
 belongings special objects of half -comical, half -compas- 
 sionate interest ; and to this minute I can see the nudge 
 given, and hear the whispered "son of" — "Adclphi,"as 
 I was pointed out to the friends of other boys who had 
 come to sec them. Most of these people — one of the first 
 of them was old Mr. (irillinan llie surgeon, the friend of 
 Coleridge, who died at Highgale in his house — most of 
 these people seemed ])leased at the idea of looking at 
 such an exceptional little ])ersonage, and spoke a few 
 kind words to me ; but others would rather recoil, as
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 25 
 
 though the taint of the stage might be contagious. In 
 this place I may mention, as characteristic of the times, 
 that a well - known clergyman, the Rev. Henry Blunt — 
 whose work on the " Pentateuch " still survives, and who 
 was an intimate friend as well as a patient of my uncle, 
 Dr. Yates — declined to meet my father and mother on 
 account of the wickedness of their calling. 
 
 I was for four years at Mrs. Kieckhofer's preparatory 
 school, where, I think, all things considered, I must have 
 been tolerably happy, and where I certainly picked uj) a 
 fair grounding of education. The disagreeables which 
 remain in my mind were connected with the smallness 
 of the playground and the length of the walks : a long 
 file of boys, two and two, perambulating the country in 
 the hot summer's afternoons, baked by the sun and mad 
 with thirst. Often and often on those occasions havo I, 
 lagging behind on some pretext, furtively lapf>ed the wa- 
 ter from the horse-trough in front of a tavern door, to 
 the horror of the poor lady - attendant who had us in 
 charge. Our guardians and instructors at Mrs, Kieck- 
 hofer's, with the exceptions of the wi"iting - master and 
 the drill-sergeant, were all ladies; even our dancing Avas 
 acquired under female tuition, our teacher being a nice 
 brisk old lady — a Miss Dennet, who, with her sisters, had 
 once belonged to "His Majesty's Theatre," and who, I 
 think, made a special favorite of me in consequence of 
 my connection with " the profession." 
 
 Pleasantest among these recollections are those of the 
 " Saturday till Monday " holidays, spent with my mater- 
 nal grandfather, John Brunton, to whom I have before 
 made allusion. A retired actor, living on a small pension 
 allowed him by his sister. Lady Craven, he had not the 
 faintest trace of his former calling, but more resembled 
 a hearty old veteran of the Navy, for which profession he 
 had always had a love, and in which two of his sons had 
 distinguished themselves, one having been second lieuten- 
 ant of the Ilecla in Sir Edward Parry's Arctic Expedi- 
 tion, Sedulously attended by an unmarried daughter, 
 the old gentleman was perfectly happy in his little cot- 
 tage at Kentish Town — then one of the prettiest and 
 
 2
 
 26 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 most rural subnrbs, and very conveniently situated near 
 Higligate — engaged in the cultivation of his garden, 
 where he had a specialty for dahlias, in reading his 
 newspaper, and in holding his own against a few neigh- 
 bors at whist or cribbage. To me he was the kindest and 
 most indulgent of men; the cheeriest, jolliest, most lova- 
 ble of friends. He was full of wonderful stories, he had 
 the heartiest laugh, he smoked a church-warden pipe — 
 in itself a laxity of morals which commanded ray highest 
 childish admiration. 
 
 We dined early — two o'clock — in Kentish Town, and 
 had the most delightful hot suppers at nine ; suppers of 
 sprats or kidneys, or tripe and onions, with foaming por- 
 ter and hot grog afterwards — grog which I used to sip 
 in a teaspoon from the old gentleman's tumbler as I sat 
 on his knee. Years afterwards, when I might have been 
 of the mature age of twelve, at a Christmas gathering at 
 our house there was some talk about what wei*e the 
 strongest or the pleasantest "nightcaps;" and I frightened 
 most of the company by giving my vote for gin. " Gin, 
 sir!" exclaimed an old maiden lady — my god -mother; 
 " what a horrible idea ! and from a child, too ! Where 
 did you ever taste gin?" The old gentleman was present; 
 but even in those days I had some savoir /aire. I saw 
 the appealing look on his face, and somehow got out of 
 the difficulty. 
 
 In the long summer evenings, and when his rheuma- 
 tism pei'mitted, my grandfather and I, accompanied by 
 his terrier " Vic," would walk across the fields to Copen- 
 hagen House — a kind of tea-gardens situated somewhere 
 near Pentonville — or farther afield to the Hornsey Sluice- 
 house, a similar resort, which had, I fancy, some connec- 
 tion with the New River, and stood somewhere in the lo- 
 cality of the present Finsbury Park. Both these places 
 have long since been taken down. 
 
 In the Kcntisli Town cottage I made my first acquaint- 
 ance with the journals of my native land. There was no 
 penny jjress in those days, and the finances of the grand- 
 paternal establishment were not in the condition to afford 
 a high-priced daily paper. The old gentleman used to
 
 YOUTH AXD EDUCATION*. 27 
 
 console himself with the Morning AcJvertiser, which was 
 " lent " from the adjacent Tally - ho tavern, and came 
 round with the early dinner -beer. But my newspaper 
 reading was confined to Sundays, when I devoted my- 
 self to the Sunday Times and the WeeTdy Dispatch. I 
 suppose the latter was at the height of its fame just then; 
 but the political letters of " Publicola " and " Gracchus " 
 had naturally no attraction for me, and I was far more 
 taken with the glimpses of life revealed in the fashiona- 
 ble novels of Lady Blessington, instalments of which were 
 published by the Sioiday Times. I have a recollection, 
 too, of seeing that notorious journal, the Satirist, at Kent- 
 ish Town, and of having read from it an accoimt of a duel 
 between Lord Castlereagh and the husband of Madame 
 Grisi, the opera-singer, whose name has escaped me. The 
 editor of this journal, one Barnard Gregory, a clever man, 
 but a desperate scoundrel, afterwards attempted to appear 
 on the stas:e as Hamlet, but was hissed off bv the audi- 
 ence, not on account of his histrionic shortcomings, but 
 of his private character. 
 
 A strange medley of reminiscences of the events which 
 happened in my youth remains in my mind, incongruous 
 and disjointed, and of so diverse a character that I often 
 wonder how I heard of them. The marriage of the Queen 
 and Prince Albert I recollect well ; and remember the 
 M-indows of the stationers' shops at Highgate filled with 
 a mild pictorial joke, "The "Windsor Pear" — a represen- 
 tation of a fine specimen of the fruit, with what theatrical 
 people would call a " practical " rind, which, being lifted, 
 discovered portraits of the Queen and Prince inside. In 
 the same shops the portrait of Cocking, an aeronaut, who 
 was killed attempting to descend in a parachute. Almost 
 my earliest terror was excited by the narrative of the ad- 
 ventures of " Spring-heeled Jack " — a ghost which had 
 been playing up its pranks, springing on to the backs of 
 women and nearly frightening them to death, and the 
 scene of whose adventures some of the naiTators, know- 
 ins: the advantasje of local color, had laid in Hisrhcrate. 
 I believe there was no foundation for this statement, 
 though it caused a perfect panic among the little boys
 
 28 FIFTY YEAKS OF LOXDOX LD'E. 
 
 at Mrs. Kieckliofer's; and it certainly was not borne out 
 by another contemporary rumor that the real perpetrator 
 of the practical joke was the Marquis of Waterford, who 
 was not likely to choose that quiet, and very inaccessible, 
 suburb as the place for his nightly exploits. 
 
 But at that time Lord Waterford occupied a remarka- 
 ble position in the public eye as a daring and dangerous 
 practical joker, and every unexplained exploit was accred- 
 ited to him. He was, it was said, rather more than eccen- 
 tric — the result of a crack on the head which he had re- 
 ceived from a morgenstern, the heavy club ^\\th. which 
 the Stockholm watchmen were armed, while carrying on 
 his nocturnal vagaries in the Swedish capital. He had, 
 it was said, sworn that he would catch and shave Mr. 
 Muntz, the member for Birmingham, the only English- 
 man in those days who wore a large beard. Mr. Muntz, 
 on hearing of this threat, bought a huge stick, without 
 which he was never seen in public. The Earl of Cardi- 
 gan Avas another nobleman whose personality was much 
 impressed on my childhood, owing to the notoriety which 
 he obtained in consequence of his quarrels with his broth- 
 er officers, and the duels arising therefrom. He would 
 seem to have been a man of violent temper and offensive 
 hauteur; but he was an intimate friend of my great- 
 uncle, Colonel Brunton, who had brought him to our 
 house, and consequently I was his sworn and only cham- 
 pion at the school. Another theme of discussion among 
 us cliildren was the adventures of the "boy Jones" — a 
 lad who was found secreted under a sofa in Buckinirham 
 Palace, and whose real reason for being there, unless it 
 was mere childish curiosity, could never be discovered. 
 
 Murders, too ! How we would lie trembling in our 
 little beds as we talked them over ! The dreadful (Treen- 
 acre, who cut up the body of his viftiin, carrying the 
 head wrap])ed up in a handkerchief on his knees in the 
 omnibus, and who was supposed to have nearly fainted 
 with fright when, on asking the conductor the fare, the 
 man replied, "Si\']K'Uf'C a /h'(((IP^ — at least, so ran the 
 story; the horrible Daniel (iood, who had special interest 
 for me from his being a coachman at Koehampton, where
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 29 
 
 we had friends ; and above all, the monster Courvoisier, 
 the S\vis8 valet, who murdered his master. Lord William 
 Russell, whose atrocities are impressed upon me from 
 my having heard them much discussed, more particularly 
 the style of defence adopted by his counsel, Charles Phil- 
 ips, at the house of Mr. Clarke, senior partner of my fa- 
 ther's solicitors, Messrs. Clarke, Finmore & Fladgate, of 
 Craven Street, Strand, who resided on Highgate Hill, and 
 -wdth whom I often spent the Sunday afternoons. Mr. 
 Clarke, who was afterwards solicitor to the Ordnance Of- 
 fice, was a man very well known in legal circles, and en- 
 tertained largely ; he and his family were very kind to 
 me, and I used hugely to enjoy listening to the talk of 
 the guests, with whom the house was filled. The Eglinton 
 tournament, in which Louis Napoleon, afterwards Emper- 
 or of the French, took part ; the Chartist riots at New- 
 port, headed by Frost and Williams ; and the frightful 
 accident on the Paris and Versailles Railway, when all 
 the passengers in a long train were burned to death, the 
 doors on both sides of the carriages being locked, so that 
 escape was impossible, are all well-remembered events. 
 
 Even in those my juvenile days I was a kind of news- 
 provider for my schoolmates, and my return from a cas- 
 ual visit home, or to my grandfather's, were days looked 
 forward to by them, as I was sure to bring back some 
 stories which I had heard or read. I was an eager de- 
 vourer of all kinds of literature from my earliest years, 
 and used to read, stretched on the hearth-rug, with my 
 book between my elbows, on which I rested, or at night 
 curled up in a chair, with a candle and the snuffer-tray 
 in close proximity. 
 
 The casual mention of the snuffer-tray, an article never 
 seen by modern readers, brings to my mind a thousand 
 and one changes in things, manners, and customs between 
 the present time and the days of my childhood, forty 
 years ago, which Avill properly find mention in this chap- 
 ter. In those days, though there was gas in the streets 
 and shops, and wax - candles for the great ones of the 
 earth, those who could not afford such luxuries were com- 
 pelled to seek their illumination in tallow-candles, which
 
 30 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 required snuffing — i. e,, the removal of their burnt wicks 
 — about every quarter of an hour, "Require no snuff- 
 ing," was the boast in the advertisement of the Palmer's 
 composite candles, which were the first improvement, 
 and one variety of which was, I remember, burned in a 
 lamp, forced down on a spring into a socket, and liable 
 to shoot out like a rocket. Mention of Pahner's name 
 reminds me that there were no so-called " night-lights," 
 only a long " farthing rush-light," set up in the middle of 
 a huge tin light-house perforated with round holes, the 
 reflection of which on the walls and ceiling was ghostly 
 in the extreme; no lucifers, but a round tinder-box, with 
 a flint, and a bit of steel on which to strike it, and a bun- 
 dle of long sulphur-tipped slips of wood called matches. 
 The lucif er, or congreve-match as it was called, as origi- 
 nally produced, was ignited by friction on sand-pape*', and 
 had a very unpleasant smell. 
 
 In those days the "new Police," as they were still 
 called — for they had not long been invented by Sir Rob- 
 ert Peel in supersession of the old watchmen — were very 
 different in appearance from our present guardians. They 
 wore swallow-tail blue coats, with bright metal buttons, 
 and, in summer, white duck trousers and white Berlin 
 gloves. In lieu of helmet they had an ordinary chimney- 
 pot hat, only of extra strength and stiffness, and with a 
 glazed oil-skin top. Their rivals in the affections of do- 
 mestic servants, the Household troops, were also very dif- 
 ferently costumed: in place of the tunic they Avore a scar- 
 let swallow-tail, with ridiculous worsted epaulettes, a huge 
 stock under the chin, white ducks, and a bear-skin shako 
 almost twice the height of that now carried. Neither po- 
 liceman nor ]>rivatc soldier Avas permitted to grow mus- 
 tache or beard. The " general " or country postman 
 wore a scarlet swallow-tail coat ; the " twopenny " or 
 London district man a blue uniform; a collection for the 
 night mails was made at 5 p.m., by men who paraded the 
 streets, each armed Avilh a bell, Avhich he rang lustily ; 
 and many of the despatches of letters from the head- 
 oflice, then in Lombard Street, to the various sub-offices 
 were made by horse -post, the letters being enclosed in
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 31 
 
 leather valises, which were strapped behind the post- 
 boys. 
 
 The dress of the men and women of that time can be 
 studied in the illustrations to "Nicholas Nickleby," and 
 other contemporary publications; " dandies " wore high- 
 collared coats and roll-collared waistcoats, short in the 
 waist; round their necks were high stiff stocks, with " an 
 avalanche of satin " falling over the chest, and orna- 
 mented with a large and a small pin connected with a thin 
 chain; and high, sharp - pointed — almost Gladstonian — 
 shirt-collars. No gentleman could wear anything in the 
 daytime but Wellington boots, high up the leg, over 
 which the trousers fitted tightly, covering most of the 
 foot, and secured underneath by a broad sti'ap. The 
 great-coats of those days were no misnomers. They were 
 really enormous garments, adorned with several capes and 
 deep pockets ; they were Chestei'fields, Petershams, Tag- 
 lionis, Sylphides; and well I recollect some splendid driv- 
 ing-coats, ornamented with enormous mother-o'-pearl but- 
 tons as big as crown-pieces, with pictures on them of 
 mail-coaches going full speed, which were exhibited to 
 admiring crowds in the tailor's window in Regent Street. 
 Afterwards came the neat paletot, the blanket-like pon- 
 cho, the blue pilot, and the comfortable Inverness. Some 
 old gentlemen wore cloaks, too, in my youth ; and I have 
 a dim recollection of one kind, properly, I believe, called 
 roquelaure, but known to the London public as a " rocke- 
 low." 
 
 Other personages of the streets, common in those days, 
 have long since disappeared: the dustman, with his call 
 "Dust O !" and his ever-ringing bell; the " buy-a-broom " 
 girl, with her Dutch garb and jodling voice ; the thin 
 Turk, turban-topped, and vending rhubarb from a tray 
 suspended from his neck; the Jew boys who hung about 
 the coach-offices, with their nets of lemons or oranges, 
 and were closely elbowed by the peripatetic cutler, the 
 blades of whose knives were always open, and constantly 
 being polished and sharpened on a tattered leather glove. 
 Gone is the three-hatted, bag-bearing Jew, with his never- 
 ceasing cry of " Old clo', clo' !" gone are the Quakers —
 
 32 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 the men broad-brimmed, shovel-hatted, stiff-collared, and 
 gaitered ; the women generally pretty, with hideous bon- 
 nets and pretty dove-colored raiment. 
 
 Well do I recollect the introduction, simultaneously, I 
 imagine, of the hansom cab— then called " patent-safety " 
 — and the four-wheeler. Before them we had the lum- 
 bering musty pair-horse hackney-coach, which was the de- 
 cayed and disused " chariot " of former greatness, or the 
 two-wheeled cabriolet — a dangerous vehicle, with a hood 
 for the fare, and a tiny perch by his side for the driver, 
 and which is to be seen in the illustrations to "Pick- 
 wick," where Mr. Jingle first appears on the scene. Peo- 
 ple nowadays will smile to hear that for years after their 
 introduction it was considered "fast" to ride in a han- 
 som, and its use was tabooed to ladies. There were om- 
 nibuses, but nothing like the present commodious vehi- 
 cles ; narrow, cramped, with a seat across the end, with 
 flat roof, and no "knife-board" accommodation outside. 
 In those early days of railways the carriages had not at- 
 tained their present amount of comfort: the first-class 
 was, of course, an immense improvement on the cramped 
 and stuffy mail-coach; but the second-class had no linings 
 or cushions ; and the third-class was little better than a 
 cattle-truck. Of the mail-coaches themselves I have not 
 much recollection, though, as the " Great North Road " 
 lay through Highgate, I must have seen them very often. 
 But I well remember the Brighton coaches, and my aston- 
 ishment at my father shaking hands with the coachman, 
 who was Sir Vincent Cotton; and the laughter at my god- 
 father, Edmund Byng, when he told us that, ])assing by 
 the White Horse Cellar, a coachman had familiarly ta])ped 
 him on the shoulder with his whip, and, looking u}» in a rage, 
 he had recognized his " rascally nejihew, Edward Tliynne." 
 Clean-shaven faces were uncommon ; a pair of " mut- 
 ton-cho}>" whiskers was de rigueur; but a "pair of mus- 
 tachios," as they were called, was never seen, save on a 
 cavalry officer, a dancing-master, or a "snob," and tlie cul- 
 tivation of a beard was wholly confined to foreigners.* 
 
 ♦ In isno, wlien All)ert Sniitli luid just, ictdrncfl from his Nile trip and 
 hia month at Coustantiuoplc, with a Uywiug beard, he was a candidate for
 
 YOUTH AJSD EDUCATION. 33 
 
 In those days it was no uncommon sight, on looking up 
 at the cry of " Sweep!" to see a sooty imp protruding from 
 a chimney-pot, and waving his brush. This was the ver- 
 itable " climbing-boy," who was popularly supposed to be 
 the slave of a tyrannical master, whose ascent of a diffi- 
 cult chimney was said to be hastened by the burning 
 straw in the grate beneath ; who wore a brass plate, with 
 his master's name and address, on the front of his cap; 
 who danced in the streets on May-day in company with 
 Jack-in-the-Green, "my lord," and the girl who rattled 
 the ladle as a suggestion for donations; and who — the 
 little sooty imp — was, in all our childish minds, the hero 
 of the story in which the tired-out little sweep lay down 
 on the bed in Montagu House, and being found there, 
 was recognized as the child who had been stolen thence 
 some years previously. 
 
 What a change in the aspect of the streets of London 
 since those days ! Gone is the colonnade over the shops 
 in the Quadrant, which extended from the County Fire 
 Office to Glasshouse Street, which was taken down, partly 
 to give more light to the shopkeepers, but mainly at the 
 pertinacious insistance of one of them, a stationer named 
 Dolby, who denounced the covered way as affording a 
 retreat for " dissolute persons." Poor " dissolute per- 
 sons," ever hunted into the hard, cold streets! Gone is 
 the Rookery, a conglomeration of slums and alleys in the 
 heart of St, Giles's, a resort of really desperate charac- 
 ters, which was pulled down and smashed up when New 
 Oxford Street was made. Before that, all the vehicular 
 traffic, and every pedestrian who did not care to run the 
 risk of being mobbed and hustled, turned off to the right 
 on reaching the commencement of Tottenham Court Road, 
 where stands Meux's Brewery, and, making a considera- 
 
 the Garrick Club. It was unofficially notified to him from the committee 
 that his beard was most objectiouable. A. S. distinctly refused to be ter- 
 rorized into shaving, but declared he would have no objection to modify 
 the hirsute adornment after his election. The " beard movement," as it 
 was called, by which w, ot rid of the imperative necessity for the appall- 
 ing razor, did not take place until after the Crimean War. It was im- 
 mensely assisted by an article in Household Words, entitled " Why Shave ?"
 
 34 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ble detour, passing St. Giles's Church, and through Broad 
 Street, Bloomsbury, came out into Holborn just by the 
 top of Drury Lane. That was the regular north-western 
 route to the City when I first went there in '47, and now 
 it is almost a desert. Gone are Holborn Hill and Snow 
 Hill and Skinner Street, the mountain-pass of the great 
 Farringdon range, done away with by the great engi- 
 neering triumph of the Holborn Viaduct, The L.C.C. or 
 London Conveyance Company, which owned many omni- 
 buses in those days, used to have a man stationed at the 
 top of Holborn Hill to jerk the skid under the wheels of 
 the omnibuses, and another at the bottom to jerk it off; 
 and in bad weather these poor wretches were scarcely 
 recognizable as human beings from their incrustations of 
 mud. On Snow Hill was the Saracen's Head, where Mr. 
 Squeers used to put up. 
 
 Gone is Smithfield, with its very wide open pens and 
 cattle-hutches ; and gone with it is a good deal of the 
 scandal of driving the wretched beasts through the streets, 
 and whacking and torturing them in the most dreadful 
 fashion. Enormous hordes of cattle for Smithfield Mon- 
 day market, then — not as now, sent up by rail, but driven 
 long and tedious journeys — used to arrive at Highgate on 
 the Saturday, and pass the Sunday in the fields let out for 
 the purjjose. Gone is Cranbourn Alley, the home of the 
 bonnet-makers, and Leicester Square such as I first remem- 
 ber it — a howling wilderness, with broken railings, a re- 
 ceptacle for dead cats and every kind of abomination ; 
 then covered over by the hideous building for Mr. Wyld's 
 great Globe; and lastly in its ])resent pretty and cheerful 
 condition. Gone is pleasant Brompton, transformed into 
 South Kensington, and now absorbing dear Old Bromp- 
 ton, with its broad acres of market - garden, its green 
 lanes, pretty cottages, and general rurality. And gone, 
 too, is a bevy of terraces and streets and places, rejoicing 
 in the generic name of " Ui)per Eaton," and situate be- 
 tween Grosvenor Place and the Victoria Station. The 
 magnificent Grosvenor Gardens stand on the site which 
 tliey occupied — cheery homes of the St. George's medical 
 students, always redolent of pi])es and beer.
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 35 
 
 When I had achieved the age of nine it "was consid- 
 ered that I had sufficiently drained the Pierian spring, 
 as supplied by Mr. Kieckhofer, and that I should be re- 
 moved to some establishment where a better quality of 
 the article was on tap. My father had a strong wish that 
 my ultimate destination should be Holy Orders, and that 
 I should at once go to his old school, Charter-house, and 
 thence to Oxford. But there were many difficulties of 
 various kinds against taking even the first step in that 
 direction; and after some discussion it was decided that 
 I should be sent to Sir Roger Cholmeley's Foundation 
 School at Highgate, now known as Highgate School, an 
 endowed foundation of Elizabeth's reign, which, after a 
 long unacknowledged existence, was beginning to pros- 
 per under its newly-appointed head-master, the Reverend 
 John Bradley Dyne, of Wadham College, Oxford. It was, 
 of course, a "day-school," and though boarders were re- 
 ceived at one or two of the masters' liouses, it was arranged 
 that I should go to live with some friends of Mrs. Kieck- 
 hofer, resident in Highgate, who had just fallen into finan- 
 cial trouble, and who proposed thus to increase their means. 
 
 They were singularly nice people — I will call them 
 Steere — and exceptionally unfitted for the duties which 
 they had taken iipon themselves. It was all very well 
 when I was their only boai'der ; and, being constantly 
 either at school or in the playing-fields with their eldest 
 son, a lad of my own age, I made little difference in their 
 arrangements. But when their ambition increased, and 
 they took more boarders, and removed from their pretty 
 little villa to a huge ramshackle house in the village, in 
 which they had only a little oasis of decent furniture and 
 appointments in a desert of school-room and play-room, 
 and bare floors and forms and trestle deal-tables, where 
 they could seldom escape from the perpetual noise and 
 racket and discomfort of a dozen strong, hot, sturdy boys, 
 with all the selfishness, insensibility, and obstinacy which 
 characterize the race, they must have thought their money 
 hardly earned indeed. Mrs. Steere was a charming little 
 woman, faiidy young, pretty, accomplished, ladylike; she 
 used to work like a slave, and we scoundrel boys used
 
 36 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 to tyrannize over her like Turks, find out her weak points 
 — which were, of course, her children — and attack her 
 through them, worry her life almost out of her, and she 
 never rei^ined. 
 
 I am not sure that, with all her gentle kindness, she 
 was as much liked by most of the boys as her husband; 
 I know that with me he was the greater favorite. This 
 was because, even with the difference in our ages, we had 
 many tastes in common: he often said I was more like 
 him in my ideas than his own son, who was a studious, 
 practical, earnest fellow, and who now holds one of the 
 most important commercial positions in London. Mr. 
 Steere was a bit of a Bohemian and a great character ; 
 and I suppose, even in those days, character study had a 
 fascination for me. He was a young man still — only a 
 little over thirty, I should say; but we never could clear- 
 ly make out what had been his previous career. He never 
 actually said it, but he certainly insinuated that he had 
 been a cavalry officer, in some regiment of Dragoon Guards, 
 we thought; a sword and sabre-tache were suspended on 
 the wall of his dressing-room; an "Army List" and a 
 handsome book of colored plates of the uniforms of the 
 different regiments were among his treasures; and he had 
 a habit of throwing himself into a fencing attitude, and 
 delivering himself of a " pass " with his stick at any post 
 or tree we might meet with. And yet my firm belief is 
 that he had not the faintest connection with the army, 
 but had been a clerk to hi& father, who had failed as a 
 banker. But, for an eager enthusiastic boy, he was the 
 most delightful of friends. He was the bright side of 
 Micawber, the constant anticipation of something good 
 about to " turn up ;" he was full of good stories — not 
 merely anecdotes and jokes, though he had a supply of 
 those, but long dramatic stories, whioli he told admirably. 
 Ho was a believer in ghosts, about which he had innu- 
 merable legends. Best of all, he was the first who told 
 me of Walter Scott and Dickens, lending me the treas- 
 ured volumes, and sometimes reading out whole scenes 
 of *' Pickwick," interrui)ting himself with his convulsions 
 of hearty laughter.
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 37 
 
 When I was within a fortnight of my eleventh birth- 
 day, I experienced my first genuine grief — the death of 
 my father. I do not know whether he was constitution- 
 ally consumptive — there were stories that he had been 
 internally injured by an elephant which had been exhib- 
 ited in some piece at the Adelphi, and into whose den he 
 had rashly ventured ; but the fact remains that, some five 
 years previously, while playing "Robert Macaire," he had 
 broken a blood-vessel. He was so ill that his life was 
 despaired of; and even on his convalescence he was warned 
 that he ought never to act again. Such a warning to 
 such a man was, of course, absurd ; his natural energy, 
 not to say irritability, rendered it impossible to abide by 
 any rules he might prescribe for himself; and, moi*eover, 
 his means of existence depended on his exertions. He re- 
 sumed the exercise of his profession as soon as he thought 
 he could do so with comparative safety. 
 
 In the winter of '41-42, while playing at the Adelphi 
 in " Agnes St. Aubyn," he again ruptured a vessel, but 
 recovered sufficiently to play till the end of the season. 
 Immediately at its close, on the night before Passion 
 Week, my father and mother, with Wright, Paul Bed- 
 ford, and one or two more of the company, started to 
 play an engagement in Dublin. My father suffered con- 
 siderably during the voyage, but rallied on reaching the 
 shore. On the Saturday before Easter Sunday he was 
 rehearsing Lord Skindeep in Jerrold's "Bubbles of the 
 Day," when he suddenly felt ill, and, putting his hand- 
 kerchief to his mouth, found he had ruptured another 
 vessel, and was spitting blood. With great presence of 
 mind he avoided giving any alarm to my mother, who 
 was on the stage at the time ; but merely saying, " Bess, 
 I shall go away now," turned and went off to Morrison's 
 Hotel, where they were staying. There he lay for some 
 weeks, incapable of being moved, attended by the famous 
 physician, Sir Philip Crampton, a certain Dr. Joy, after- 
 wards well known in London as a factotum of Mr. Charles 
 Kean's, and an ajDothecary, whose name escapes me, but 
 of whom, to show " the ruling passion strong in death," I 
 tell this anecdote.
 
 38 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 The apothecary was a very strange-looking person, -with 
 odd features, peculiar hair, an enormous white neck-cloth, 
 and a singular way of carrying his cane. Now, the mo- 
 bility of my father's features, and his power of reproduc- 
 ing facially as well as vocally the persons whom he imi- 
 tated, was a frequent theme among his admirers. He had 
 evidently, illness notwithstanding, been much struck by 
 the ajDpearance of his medical attendant, and one day when 
 my mother and Dr. Joy — I have heard the story from both 
 — were coming into the room, he asked them to wait a mo- 
 ment. When he called, they entered, and found him sitting 
 up in bed: he had arranged his hair, twisted his face, put on 
 a towel for a cravat, got hold of a stick, and sat there the 
 living image of the man he intended to represent. 
 
 The illness was evidently very serious this time, and it 
 was decided, as soon as he was sufficiently strong to bear 
 the journey, to get him to London, where he could be un- 
 der the care of his old friend Dr. Billing, and his brother. 
 Dr. Yates, both of whom were well acquainted with his 
 constitution and idiosyncrasy. The well-known tragedian, 
 Mr. Macready, was acting in Dublin at the time, and sent 
 my mother the following note, which I give in proof, de- 
 spite of too many recorded instances of temper, egotism, 
 and vanity, of his real goodness of heart and kindly feel- 
 ing: 
 
 " Gresham's llotel, June 8, 1842. 
 " My dear Madam, — I will make no apology lor iutriuiiiig thiri hurried 
 note upon you, as it will bear its own excuse with it. Let rac, in as few 
 words as possible, assure you of my deep sympathy in your late anxieties, 
 and offer you my congratulations on the progress towards recovery which 
 Mr. Yates has made, to whom I beg you will present my continued wishes 
 for liis perfect restoration. Uaving heard that you purpose setting out 
 for London to-night, I have thought it only right to api)risc you of tiio 
 necessity there is, if Mr. Yates travels in one of the railway-carriage beds, 
 to provide yourself in Liverpool with a very soft feather-bed to lay upon 
 (he nmhioiui of tlic common carrkiyc-bcJ, and also adihtional soft pillows. 
 I Jtnow, from several night journeys, that the shaking of the carriage is 
 /(U viurh more in the reeuml)ent than in the sitting posture, unless well 
 cased by additional cushioning. There will be no diiliculty in airanging 
 this, and, well guarded iu this respect, I have no doubt he will be able to 
 reach London without inconvenience. With my best wishes accompany- 
 ing your journey, I am, dear madam, very faithfully yours, 
 
 " W. C. Macready."
 
 YOUTH AXD EDUCATION. 39 
 
 They arrived in London on Friday, the 10th June, and 
 my father was first taken to the Euston Hotel; but the 
 noise and bustle being too much for him, he was removed 
 to a furnished house, No. 4 Mornington Crescent, Hamp- 
 stead Road, in the immediate neighborhood. There he 
 lay for ten days, with my mother and my aunt, Miss Yates, 
 in constant attendance on him. On the tenth day my 
 aunt, seeing my mother breaking down with fatigue, urged 
 my father to use his authority in getting her to forego her 
 watch, and get some rest. " Let her give me one more 
 day," he said; "I won't ask for any more!" and the next 
 day, at twenty minutes past three p. m., he passed away, 
 perfectly sensible, and, with his last breath, blessing his 
 wife, and commending her to the care of those who loved 
 him. 
 
 He was buried on the following Sunday morning in the 
 vaults of the parish church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. I 
 can see the ceremony now, with myself as chief mourner, 
 and my kind uncle, Dr. Yates; Mr. Gladstane, my father's 
 partner in the Adelphi ; my godfather, Frederick Hodg- 
 son ; and Charles Manby, my father's executor and my 
 guardian, who only died at the end of July this year (1884). 
 On the steps of the church were some of the Adelphi com- 
 pany — Wilkinson and Lyon, a well-known character, John 
 Saunders, and some of the old servants of the theatre. So 
 he left us : only forty-five, full of energy and enthusiasm, 
 and just beginning to shake himself free from pecuniary 
 trammels, and to take his proper position in that art of 
 which he was so decided an ornament. 
 
 Extracts from the obituary notices of the journals of the 
 day are before me, and in them I find willing tribute to 
 his genius. " It may be truly said," says the Standard^ 
 " that Yates was one of the most versatile performers on 
 the stage, which may, perhaps, account for his having had 
 no decided forte. In tragedy, comedy, farce, and melo- 
 drama he was occasionally capital, and always respectable. 
 His extraordinary talent as a manager has been universally 
 acknowledged, and his loss will be severely felt by the 
 play-goers of the metropolis. The command he possessed 
 over the audience has been frequently exemplified; by one
 
 40 FIFTY TEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 word addressed in his peculiar way he could quiet the most 
 uproarious gallery, and secure the good-will of his hear- 
 ers under the most embarrassing circumstances." * The 
 Morning Herald says : " As an actor he exhibited won- 
 derful versatility. At the Adelphi he played whatever 
 was wanted in the pieces produced; that is to say, not the 
 best parts in the piece, but the parts he found it most dif- 
 ficult to get portrayed." The Sunday Times, recalling 
 his early days at Covent Garden, says : " He played 
 Frenchmen, Jews, Scotchmen ; tragedy, comedy, farce ; 
 old men and walking gentlemen ; and obtained the sou- 
 briquet of 'Kill Devil.' What nobody else would act 
 was sent to Yates." The Times "regrets exceedingly to 
 announce the demise of this most popular performer and 
 manager ;" and the Morning Post gives a long biography 
 and laudatory notice of his labors. 
 
 My father was a man of extraordinary irritability, partly 
 natural, partly induced by having to deal with such pre- 
 ternaturally stupid people as the lowest class of actors, the 
 " supers," are found to be. I have seen him at rehearsal 
 standing on a bench in the pit, and thence directing the 
 movements of a crowd or a procession or some congrega- 
 tion of " supers " on the stage. " No, no ! that's not a bit 
 like it ! Don't you hear what I say? When Mr. Lyon 
 says, ' Behold your king !' you — " Then came instructions 
 in detail. "Now try again!" Tliis would happen over 
 and over again, until at last he would send his hat flying 
 among them, and descend from his bench quivering with 
 rage. But to his friends, male and female, he had many 
 lovable qualities : he was an immense favorite with the 
 public, and the grief at his death was very Avide-spread. As 
 to my mother, all thought the shock of her husband's loss 
 
 * There is a good story told of my father in connection with hia power 
 of (luelling uproar among the audience. One night a tremendous row oc- 
 curred at the end of the first act of a new piece. Loud cries for " Yatea " 
 brouglit my fatlior on to tlie stage. " Wliat is all this ?" he asked, per- 
 emptorily. Unintelligiijle yells and shouts from all parts of the house. 
 " Look here !" said my father, on the first approach to silence, shaking 
 his finger menacingly at the audience generally, " if there is any more of 
 this disturbance, you shall have your orders backP^
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 41 
 
 would have killed her. To her dying day, eighteen years 
 after, she cherished his memory, and kept the anniversary 
 of his death in solitude and prayer. 
 
 Immediately after the funeral, my mother removed to 
 a furnished house in Grove Terrace, Kentish Town, which 
 she had taken for a few months, where the sweet air and 
 perfect quiet — for in those days Kentish Town was a 
 very pretty suburb, surrounded by broad fields, and per- 
 meated by the fresh air from Highgate and Hampstead — 
 did her much good, and where I joined her in my mid- 
 summer holidays, then close at hand. Suddenly stricken 
 down, my fatlier had left his affairs in some confusion, 
 and it was not known whether my mother would have 
 sufficient income to enable her to retire wholly from the 
 stage, a profession which she had always detested, and 
 which had become more hateful to her since her hus- 
 band's death, an event which she imagined, rightly or 
 wrongly, had been hastened by his pursuance of it. 
 Meanwhile she and my godmother, Miss Fernyhough, a 
 maiden lady of good Gloucestershire family, who had 
 long had great affection for her and my father, and who 
 proved herself a true friend, decided upon keeping house 
 together. A very pretty villa with a huge garden was 
 taken in the New Road running from Hammersmith to 
 Shepherd's Bush, and there they remained for some time. 
 
 That Hammersmith house was the scene of a very fun- 
 ny incident, which impressed itself on my youthful mind. 
 Hoping never to have to return to the hated theatre, and 
 desirous of banishing as much as possible all memory of 
 it, my mother desired me never, in any intercourse with 
 the new servants, to refer to the Adelphi, or to hint at 
 what had been my father's calling. Of course I obeyed, 
 and we imagined our former state was wholly unknown 
 to the household. But one day as I was standing in the 
 garden, watching the factotum man-servant at work, he 
 looked up and said, " Lord, sir, how you do remind me of 
 your pa !" I was very much taken aback, and asked him 
 if he had ever seen my father. " Seen him ! Bless you !" 
 he cried, in tones of genuine admiration, " shall I ever for- 
 get him as Robsperry at the Adelphi ?" Then I ran off,
 
 42 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 and narrated what had happened to my mother, who, in 
 the midst of her dismay, could not help smiling as she 
 told me that Thomas had probably referred to a piece 
 founded on certain incidents of the French Revolution, 
 in which my father had played Robespierre. 
 
 I may here state that my mother's hope of quitting the 
 stage was not destined to be fulfilled just then. The 
 Adelphi property was sold to Mr. Benjamin Webster, the 
 lessee of the Haymarket Theatre, who placed Madame 
 Celeste at its head, and engaged an excellent company, 
 in which my mother took a prominent position. 
 
 I look back to the six years which I passed at the High- 
 gate School with very little pleasure. The head-master, 
 Dr. Dyne, was a capable pedagogue enough, but more 
 than usually narrow-minded, priggish, and conventional. 
 He was a type of the old-fashioned pedantic school, which 
 looked upon Oxford as the "hub of the universe," thought 
 the study of Latin and Greek the primary object of our 
 creation, despised modern languages and foreign coun- 
 tries, and believed thoroughly in the virtues of corporal 
 punishment. A desperate " swisher " the doctor, as I had 
 cause to know, and not overburdened, I fully believe, 
 with tact, judgment, or impartiality. He never liked me, 
 and there was no particular reason why he should, for I 
 had the theatrical taint ; I was not a show-boy ; I was 
 not going to the university, where I could reflect credit 
 on my teaching; and I was idle, mischievous, independent. 
 
 I must have learned something, for I was at the head 
 of the fifth form when I left, at fifteen years of age ; but 
 I do not suppose what I acquired did me much good. I 
 could read, construe, and parse the principal Latin and 
 Greek poets — I am sure I could not do so now — but of 
 English classics I was wholly ignorant : they formed no 
 jiortion of the "curriculum." Th: study of modern lan- 
 guage, though not absolutely tabooed, was minimized as 
 much as possible. I do not imagine that the head-master 
 or any of his satellites had ever crossed the Channel, or 
 knew a syllable even of French, for which languagi' their 
 contempt was as great as Mr. Lilly vick's. Tlie learning 
 of French and German was an " extra " not supposed to
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 43 
 
 be in the least necessaiy to an ordinary education, but to 
 be paid for separately, and to be undergone by the boys, 
 whose foolish parents insisted on their acquiring it, at 
 times when the rest of the school was at play. A snuff- 
 taking old French gentleman came once a week, and sat 
 at the end of a table, while a dozen boys fought round it, 
 larked, and shot paper pellets into his frizzy hair. He 
 had no authority, poor old fellow, and there was no one 
 to keep order ; the whole thing was a farce ; and had I 
 not had a natural inclination for French study, and an 
 interest in my "Telemaque" and my "Ilenriade" suf- 
 ficient to induce me to read them in my play-hours and 
 ray holidays — interest such as I never could feel in my 
 Homer, Virgil, or Herodotus — I should have left High- 
 gate as ignorant of modern language as did most of my 
 compeers. But though I got little good from it, it is not 
 to be denied that Highgate School, under Dr. Dyne's man- 
 agement, was very successful. Its pupils took scholar- 
 ships and exhibitions, and good positions later on in the 
 class-lists ; and the tone of the school, which under the 
 doctor's predecessors had suffered terribly, was entirely 
 restored by him : a greater feat, it will be allowed, than 
 the quintupling the number of pupils, which Dr. Dyne 
 also accomplished during his regime. 
 
 I think I was tolerably popular among my school-fel- 
 loAVS. I was in the first eleven at cricket, and, being tall 
 and strong, was a tolerable performer at foot-ball and 
 hockey. The two elder sons of Mi\ Bethell, Q.C., after- 
 wards, as Lord Westbury, the Lord Chancellor — Richard, 
 who succeeded his father, and is dead, and Slingsby, who 
 is reading-clerk in the House of Lords — were at High- 
 gate, where their father then lived, and both were friends 
 of mine. On Richard Bethell's dun-colored pony I had 
 my first experience of equitation. Mr. Bethell had been 
 acquainted with our head-master since their college-days. 
 They were both Wadham men, and we boys Avere much 
 interested in the career of the great lawyer, and hunted 
 for his name in the newspaper reports of the courts. I 
 can see hilu now, in his pew in the church, which directly 
 fronted ours, bald - headed, with well - cut features and a
 
 44 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 general air of distinction, and I can hear the mincing 
 tones, " Rich - ard, my dee- ah !" in which I often heard 
 him address his son. 
 
 Closer in my intimacy was Thomas Keith, now Ac- 
 countant of the India Office, whose father and uncle at 
 that time held good positions in its forerunner, the old 
 East India House in Leadenhall Street. My friend's un- 
 cle, the elder of the brothers, who Avas for a long time the 
 head of his office, had in his early days been a fellow-clerk 
 with Charles Lamb, of whom he would tell good stories. 
 I remember also his showing me a book which had been 
 given him by Lamb, with a very Lamb-like inscription. 
 It was a " Table of Interest," and on the fly-leaf was writ- 
 ten, "William Thomas Keith, from Charles Lamb. In 
 this book, unlike most others, the farther you progress 
 the more the interest increases." 
 
 More intimate still, my close chum, such as every school- 
 boy worth anything must have, was Theodore Emilius 
 Gahagan, of an Irish family well known in Anglo-Indian 
 military life. A bright, charming fellow, very clever, with 
 a real appreciation of the ludicrous, and wonderfully fun- 
 ny himself, a capital draughtsman, a clever caricaturist, 
 with a knack of verse-writing and an early inclination to 
 literature. He and I were inseparable at school and in 
 the holidays. When we left Ilighgate — we entered and 
 left the school on the rjamc day — he went to Addiscombe, 
 then the military training-school for the H.E.T.C.S., 
 whence, taking the highest honors, he passed into the En- 
 irineers. He was wounded in the Burmese War of 1852, 
 and died some years afterwards in India of dysentery. 
 
 Other scliool-fellows and friends of mine at Ilighgate 
 were G. H. To<l-H('atly, well known in London society ; 
 Chark^s Marsliall (Griffith, Q.C. ; Thomas Warakor, LL.D., 
 of Cambridge; J, Cotter Morison ; B. B. Rogers, the trans- 
 lator of Aristo])hanes; Richard Goodliall Smith, former- 
 ly librarian of the Middle Temple ; and General J. F. 
 D. Donnelly, of the South Kensington Museum. Pliil- 
 ip AVorsh-y, known for liis adinirabUi translations of the 
 "Iliad" an<l the "Odyssey," was also at Highgate, but 
 immediately after my time.
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 45 
 
 Our yearly examinations were conducted by Dr. Rus- 
 sell, who had been my father's head-master at Charter- 
 house ; and our prizes were distributed on speech-day by 
 the Bishop of London — not the present bishop, who was 
 at that time incumbent of Muswell Hill, a neighboring 
 parish, but the great Charles James Blomfield, a fine, 
 handsome man, whom I recollect seeing in the pulpit, 
 shorn indeed of his episcopal wig, for those monstrosities 
 had just been given up, but decked out by an enormous 
 pair of lawn sleeves. The Duke of St. Albans, who lived 
 then on Highgate Hill, at Holly Lodge, now occupied by 
 the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, was another speech-day vis- 
 itor, and an unfailing sleeper during the greater portion 
 of the entertainment. 
 
 At this period of my life the important question of 
 what I was to do in the way of earning my living had 
 been pretty well left to take care of itself. My mother's 
 income, independent of her profession, was lamentably 
 small. It was her greatest wish, and mine too, that she 
 should retire as soon as possible from the stage, where, 
 no longer a young woman nor a manager's wife, she found 
 her position each year less tolerable ; and it was j^lainly 
 impossible for her to make me the allowance necessary for 
 my maintenance at college, even if I had had the small- 
 est inclination to go there. The idea of the Church had 
 not been mooted for years ; but I think my mother would 
 have been very pleased could she have seen her way to 
 insure my proper preparation for the Bar. This, however, 
 even if it had not involved a University career, would 
 have been impossible. Prudent friends, who knew the 
 narrowness of our means, wisely insisted that I ought, in- 
 stead of spending money, to be put to earning it as soon 
 as possible, and that efforts should be made to obtain for 
 me a nomination to a Government clerkship — appoint- 
 ments which in those happy days went, like kissing, by 
 favor, and needed no superlative talent to win them from 
 a struggling host of competitors. But I was only fifteen, 
 full yoiing to think of being settled for life, and sixteen 
 was the lowest age at which one could enter the Govern- 
 ment service ; so, to my great delight, my mother deter-
 
 46 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LITE. 
 
 rained that I should at once leave High gate, and have a 
 year's instruction in German and French, to be acquired 
 in their respective countries. Her wisdom was approved 
 by the friends whom she consulted, and in the summer of 
 '46 I bade farewell to Highgate School. 
 
 Some friends of ours had connections residing, for econ- 
 omy's sake, at Dusseldorf, a pleasant town on the Lower 
 Rhine, from whom we had information of a certain Herr 
 Holthausen, a professor in the Gymnasium — it must be 
 remembered that a German Gymnasium is a place of 
 mental, and not muscular, exercise — who was willino- to 
 receive an English pupil into his house, I rather shied 
 when I heard of the school, as I had decided that my term 
 of pupilage, so far as going to school was concerned, was 
 over. I represented warmly to my mother that the one 
 object of my going to Germany was to learn the language, 
 and that there would be but little chance of my doing that 
 if I were to take my share in the ordinary curriculum of a 
 large public-school ; and if that were expected, I had better 
 have remained at Highgate. Finally, it was arranged that 
 I was to have nothing to do Avith the school, only to be a 
 private pupil of the professor's, resident in his house. 
 
 My mother had determined upon accompanying me to 
 Dusseldorf, as nothing would have induced her to part 
 with me without seeing the place where, and the people 
 with whom, I was to be left. So she and her maid and I 
 started off together. It was not my dear one's first ex- 
 perience of foreign lands. She had frequently been to 
 Paris — which in tliose diligence days meant seeing a great 
 deal more of France and French life than we do now in 
 our five hours' whirl from lioulogne — and she and my fa- 
 ther, snatching a brief holiday, had once made a ra]>id 
 tour of the Rliiiie. I do not know whether Mr. Murray's 
 famous hand-books were extant in those days, but I well 
 remember my mother's telling me of the assistance and 
 comfort they liad obtained from tlie hints given in a vol- 
 ume, either in MS. or ])rivatcly printed, by a young man 
 who had recently been over the ground, and who was the 
 son of some intimate friends — "young Martin Tuj)per," 
 the venerable Proverl)ial Pliilosopher of later times.
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 47 
 
 We travelled slowly, for we had no occasion for haste, 
 and my mother delighted in my delight at the novelty 
 and the freedom from scholastic restriction. We stopjsed 
 first at Dover, shunning the stately Ship, notorious for its 
 immense charges, and going to a hotel (then just estab- 
 lished), the Dover Castle, which still exists ; crossing to 
 Ostend, where we remained a day or two ; on to Verviers 
 for a night ; and then to Cologne, where we put up at a 
 second-rate but capital inn in the middle of the town, to 
 which we had been recommended, the Briisseler llof — it 
 has been long since done away with — where no one spoke 
 English or French, and where we had to endeavor to ex- 
 plain our requirements by pantomimic signs. I must have 
 traversed that ground nearly thirty times since, but the 
 incidents of that first journey are fresher in my mind 
 than those of last year's trip. The thick white cups and 
 saucers ; the inevitable and omnipresent, from Petersburg 
 to Paris, " mossoo " smell ; the blue - bloused men, the 
 bonnetless women, the shovel - hatted priests, the rope- 
 girdled friars — even now, when first seen again, invaria- 
 bly recall to my mind the little Hotel de Flaudre at Os- 
 tend, where I first found myself " abroad." 
 
 I look back upon my time at Diisseldorf with the same 
 affectionate regret with which Tennyson's Cleopatra re- 
 garded her " life in Egypt," although " the dalliance and 
 the wit, the flattery and the strife," which she apostro- 
 phized, were but small factors in my German career. The 
 chief cause of my happiness was that I was, for the first 
 time in my life, my own master, fearing no dominie, un- 
 accountable to any authority ; I had cast the school-boy 
 
 shackles, 
 
 " and began 
 
 To move about the house with joy, 
 
 And with the certain step of man." 
 
 I was only fifteen, it is true, but I was a tall, stalwart 
 youth, looking much older, and most of my ways and 
 thoughts were those of a young man of twenty. I was 
 the dear old professor's only private pupil, and as most 
 of his time was passed at the Gymnasium, and what he 
 called his leisure found him in a gray Schlafrock, with .-
 
 48 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 pipe hanging from his mouth, engaged in some very ab- 
 struse reading, I had my time pretty well to myself. 
 
 At first the professor made some attempt at giving me 
 regular lessons, but he was compelled to admit the sound- 
 ness of a theory which I propounded — that, as I had come 
 there to pick up the language, my best chance of accom- 
 plishing my end was by going about as much as possible, 
 thrown entirely on my own resources. This suited the 
 professor perfectly, and thenceforth I had perfect liberty. 
 I soon made innumerable acquaintances of all kinds, with 
 whom I soon quickly managed to make myself under- 
 stood ; and having a quick ear, I made rapid progress. I 
 avoided the " Plattdeutsch " of the lower classes,! picked 
 up artistic slang among the painters, oaths and free ex- 
 pressions from the officers, and plenty of small-talk from 
 everybody. As I have said, there and then commenced 
 my manhood ; from that time, and for five-and-twenty 
 years afterwards, I had no friends who were not consid- 
 erably ray seniors. My time at Dusseldorf was absolute- 
 ly and entii-ely my own. I might be absent from meals 
 whenever I chose — and I think Madame Ilolthausen rath- 
 er preferred my absence, for economical reasons, for in 
 those days, like Launcelot Gobbo, I was " a huge feeder" 
 — and I carried about with me the key of the street-door, 
 a huge and cumbrous piece of ironmongery. 
 
 Dusseldorf was then — what it had been for years, and 
 what it is now perhaps more than ever — renowned as one 
 of the most famous of the Continental art-schools. It 
 was the abode of hundreds of painters of all kinds — real, 
 true Bohemians, such as were drawn by Murger and sung 
 by Bt'ranger— poor, jolly, im])r()vidont, careless, delightful 
 felUnvs ; the most fascinating company in the world for 
 a lad with youth and health, and the keenest possible ap- 
 preciation of the delights of existence, then commencing 
 to dawn uj)on him, I was kindly received and welcomed 
 among them all — by Lessing, one of the finest artists of 
 modern days, our next-door neighl)or in the Oriiuc-Strasse ; 
 by Karl Iliilmer, by Andreas and Oswald Aclienbach, now 
 world-renowned, then young fellows with whom I have 
 skated all day and half the night ; by Camphausen, the
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 49 
 
 German Landseer ; and by fifty others, unkempt, un- 
 washed, never likely to win any renown, very poorly 
 dressed, very warm - hearted, ever ready to share their 
 viertel of Varinas tobacco with a friend ; ever ready to 
 knock off work, and go round to the nearest ^nei^ye for a 
 grand consummation and many glasses of beer. 
 
 After years of Dr. Dyne and " I will now take the fifth 
 form with their Euripides ;" after tight-reining and reg- 
 ular hours ; after having to hide behind a hay-stack to 
 smoke a penny cigar, with constant anticipation of being 
 caught and swished, I revelled in my newly-acquired free- 
 dom, in my nianhood (precocious though it were), and in 
 the knowledge that I had put away childish things. And, 
 even if I would have admitted it, there was no occasion 
 why my conscience should have pricked me ; for all this 
 time I was carrying out the object with which I was sent, 
 and acquiring an excellent conversational knowledge of 
 the language. When I first left Dusseldorf, and for some 
 years after, having had only nine months' experience, I 
 doubt whether there were many English people who could 
 speak German with equal felicity of expression and pur- 
 ity of accent. Constantly in Germany I passed for a 
 native ; and even now, though years of want of practice 
 have rusted my tongue and dulled my ears, after a week 
 or two in the Mheingegend my old facility seems in a 
 measure to return. I could write the language, too, fair- 
 ly, though my style could not have been called strictly 
 commercial, as the demands upon it were in quite another 
 strain ; and those demands having long since ceased, the 
 power of correspondence has entirely vanished. 
 
 Dusseldorf — which has now, I believe, a considerable 
 English colony — was at that time but little known to our 
 countrymen; but even then there were three or four resi- 
 dent families, from whom I received the greatest kind- 
 ness. There was Captain Flint — quaintest and most ec- 
 centric of half- pay artillerymen, the source of constant 
 Avonder, not unmixed with dread, to the simple Germans, 
 who called him "der toller Englander" (the mad Eng-- 
 lishman), and was looked on in open-mouthed astonish- 
 ment when, with a battered straw hat on his head and a 
 
 3
 
 50 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 linen jacket on his back, he would carry a chair into the 
 middle of the public Platz, and there sit down and peruse 
 an ancient copy of the Times; or stroll along the Casta- 
 nien Allee, chucking every passing girl under the chin 
 with his shaking hand, leering at her with bloodshot eyes, 
 and grunting his admiration in some unknown tongue — 
 for having only been in the place twenty years he could 
 not, of course, speak the language. He had a daughter, 
 a bright cheery little woman, who taught English in sev- 
 eral families, and more than half supported the household 
 by her exertions ; and a son, a kind, good fellow — half- 
 Bohemian, half-sportsman, whole idler — with whom I used 
 to go out wild-duck shooting. There was a charming 
 Jewish family named Liudo — a father and mother, two 
 daughters, and a son Philip, an artist, my great chum, in 
 whose atelier I used to spend half my time, and Avith whom 
 I used to ride in the afternoon — for my dear mother al- 
 lowed me the use of a horse. 
 
 Perhaps of them all I was most constantly associated 
 with the family of a retired captain in the navy, an Irish 
 gentleman of good birth, with a hospitable wife, two stal- 
 wart sons, and a remarkably pretty and charming daugh- 
 ter-in-law. One of the hearty laughs which memory can 
 even now evoke is in connection with these worthy peo- 
 ple. I was to spend the whole of Christmas-day in their 
 company, and we were to have the conventional beef and 
 pudding for dinner — mainly, I believe, out of kindness to 
 me; for the day, I think, is not much of a festival among 
 the Irish of the north. We had all been to service in the 
 Lutheran church, Avhich was occasionally lent to us, lis- 
 tening to the ministrations of a nomadic divine who had 
 j>itched his tent among us for a few days, and who osten- 
 tatiously oxhi])ited a soup-])late with a napkin, on which 
 lay a thaler and a lialf as a decoy at the cliurcli-door ; 
 and when we reached liiuue tlie house was tiglitly closed, 
 and no knocking or ringing could procure admission. At 
 lengtli, Avhen tlie police were about to l)e sent for, the 
 do(»r was opened by ihe cook, red- faced and agitated, 
 who announced that thieves li:ul been in the house during 
 our absence, and that everything was slojcii. 'I'liere Avas
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 61 
 
 nothing very comic in this, especially to a very hungry 
 youth; but the joke lay iu the facial and verbal expres- 
 sions of dear old Mrs. Trotter, who, it must be premised, 
 knew very little German, and to whom the excited ser- 
 vant (doubtless the culprit) addressed herself, with the 
 words, " O madame, madamo, ein Dieb ist in's Haus gewe- 
 sen !" (A thief has been in the house !) "Ah !" said the 
 old lady, slowly, and smiling; then, turning to us — "A 
 Dieh! And hwat's a Biebf'' When she was told, the 
 explosion was terrific. 
 
 There were some half-dozen Americans living at Diis- 
 scldorf at that time, among whom I remember a very 
 handsome cou2)le named Woodville, the husband a j^ainter, 
 and father of Mr. R. Caton Woodville, who contributes 
 such spirited sketches to our illustrated journals, and who 
 has made a great mark with more ambitious work; and a 
 strange fellow named Fink, who had lived a long time 
 among the Indians, and who at the Schwimm-Schule on 
 the Rhine — made by railing off a portion of the river — 
 showed us some extraordinary feats in diving and remain- 
 ing under water. 
 
 Shooting — we got large red-legged partridges, hares, 
 and wild -duck in abundance — riding, skating under the 
 pleasantest circumstances, under a bright sun or moon, 
 and on the firmest and most unyielding ice, and lounging 
 and chaffing at the ateliers of painter-comrades, I man- 
 aged to most agreeably while aAvay the day; and at night 
 there were occasionally informal receptions at the houses 
 of English or German friends, and always the Kneipe, 
 Come in with me and look at the curious scene — at least, 
 as much of it as you can distinguish through the tobacco- 
 smoke up-curling from every mouth : it is as fresh in my 
 mind as it was in my sight more than five-and-thirty years 
 ago. 
 
 A room, long, low, and dingy, with tables running 
 down the centre and sides; wooden settles, and other fur- 
 niture of the commonest description ; undecorated, save 
 by chalk caricatures of the members, some by themselves 
 and by each other, and admirably portraying the peculi- 
 arities of all. Listen to the awful noise — the shouting,
 
 62 PIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 screeching, joking, blaspheming uproar, that begins with 
 sunset, and with many ends not until drunkenness has 
 taken away the possibility of further altercation. Their 
 fun is mostly of a quiet, decorous, and, truth to tell, some- 
 what dull and heavy kind, though it sometimes breaks 
 out into ribaldry and riot. The life is quite amusing 
 while you are leading it, while you are going through the 
 regular routine of it ; but when you have left it for a 
 time — when the spell, whatever it may have been, is bro- 
 ken — you look back with astonishment to think you could 
 have ever passed through such a phase of existence. 
 There was a good deal of childish nonsense indulged in 
 among us, and a tendency to practical joking, one exam- 
 ple of which still lives in my memory. 
 
 We had all been sitting one evening — singing, shouting, 
 chaffing, according to our wont — when the president of 
 the night noticed that one of the company had fallen into 
 a deep and drunken sleep, his head reclining on his arms, 
 which were crossed upon the table. He immediately 
 proposed this as a favorable opportunity for trying the 
 strength of mind on which Eckhardt, the sleeper, so much 
 prided himself. He told us to go on with our different 
 occupations. Some were to talk, some to play dominoes, 
 some billiards ; others were to be drinking together. 
 Meanwhile, he would extinguish the lamps; but we were 
 all to continue our amusements as though the room were 
 still lighted, and, if called upon, to declare that such Avas 
 the case. He then turned out the lanips, and, by a sharjt 
 kick, awakened the drunken man. The clamor, tlie 
 smoke, the shouting, in which this wretched being had 
 closed his eyes, all greeted him on his arrival; one thing 
 alone, the light, was absent; and he commenced to attack 
 us for having left him in the dark. 
 
 " What the deuce are you at," he asked, " to be sitting 
 here in the darkness of Hades ?" 
 
 "Ah, bah!" said the president. "Sleep off thy drunken 
 fits, Franz, and leave us alone. Come, Kraus, there's a 
 cannon !" and a sharp stroke on the billiard-balls rang 
 tlirough the room. 
 
 " I>rnvo!" shouted another of the conspirators, "Point,
 
 YOUTH AND EDUCATION. 53 
 
 quintc ct quatorze ! The game's mine !" and the cards, 
 throwu exultingly into the air, fell with a crash upon the 
 table. 
 
 "Stop!" cried the wretched Eckhardt, "one moment, 
 stop! Why have you thus darkened the room?" 
 
 " Thou art drunk !" roared another. " 'Tis thou art 
 dark, and not the room. The room is as light as day ! 
 Here, Schimmel-IIase, thou hast not the double six ? Then 
 I am out!" and he rattled the dominoes as he spoke. 
 
 "What!" shrieked the victim, in a yell of agony never 
 to be forgotten, " say you the room is lighted, and you are 
 all playing, while I cannot see you ? O Almighty God, 
 I am struck blind !" 
 
 He fell down in a heap across the table, and it was 
 weeks before he fully recovered. 
 
 Meanwhile, though I was, like Mr. Gray's young Eton 
 friends, "unmindful of my doom," with no thought of 
 anything to come, and no care at all, my dear mother was 
 seeing what interest she could exert in order to obtain for 
 me a Government appointment; and finding my father's 
 old friend, the Marquis of Clanricarde, had joined Lord 
 John Russell's recently-formed Ministry as Postmaster- 
 general, she ventured on writing to him, reminding him 
 of old Adelphi days, and asking his assistance. Lord 
 Clanricarde replied instantly, speaking in the warmest 
 terms of my father, and of his desire to befriend us. At 
 the immediate moment he could do nothing, but a consid- 
 erable increase was about to be made to the strength of 
 the Secretary's office, the best in respect of pay and po- 
 sition in the Post-office, and he would certainly not forget 
 my mother's application when the proper time arrived. I 
 am afraid my mother was a little sceptical as to a patron's 
 memory; but Lord Clanricarde was as good as — nay, bet- 
 ter than — his word. A few months afterwards he sent 
 for my mother, and asked for more particulars concerning 
 me, my age, education, etc. When he heard I was not yet 
 sixteen, he shook his head, fearing I should be too young 
 for a berth " on the establishment " such as he had pur- 
 posed for me, but in any case he promised to make me
 
 54 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 an "extra" clerk. He thought it better I should re- 
 turn home at once, and come with my mother to see 
 him. 
 
 So, summoned to return at once, I left Diisseldorf and 
 its delights, and arrived in London, going the next day 
 with my mother to call on Lord Clanricarde in Carlton 
 House Terrace. I see him now, as at that first interview, 
 a tall, thin, aristocratic man, bald and bland, wearing — 
 novelties in my unaccustomed eyes — tight pantaloons, 
 striped silk socks, and pumps. He received us most 
 kindly, took my hand, saying — as every one used to say — 
 "How wonderfully like your father!" and, after a little 
 chat, turned to my mother with his pleasant smile, and 
 said, "It will be all right, Mrs. Yates; the boy is so big 
 and strong, no one will guess he is not sixteen, so we'll put 
 him on the establishment at once." Not by very many 
 the only time that my thews and sinews have stood me in 
 good account, but perhaps the most important. A week 
 later I received my appointment as No. 8 in a list of thir- 
 teen clerks added to the establishment of the Secretary's 
 office, St. Martin's-le-Grand.
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 55 
 
 CHAPTER m. 
 
 EAELY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 
 
 I ENTERED the Post-officG service on the 11th March, 
 1847, and remained in it exactly twenty-five years. I was 
 not quite sixteen when I received my appointment, and I 
 was nearly forty-one when I resigned it; so that I suppose 
 the best years of my life were passed in the Government 
 employ. Looking at what has happened since, I feel that 
 I might very possibly have employed this time far more 
 profitably. There were several occasions on which, had I 
 chosen to give up the small certainty, I could have ob- 
 tained valuable literary and journalistic appointments, the 
 holding of which was incompatible with my daily attend- 
 ance at St. Martin's -le- Grand. The double work was 
 heavy, and not unfrequently harassing. On the other 
 hand, the routine of a public ofiice, in which certain things 
 have necessarily to be done at certain stated times, gave 
 me business habits and appreciation of the necessity of 
 punctuality, which have been of great value to me in my 
 other career. 
 
 I am by no means sure that the change in the work, 
 from the dry official records of facts to the light essay or 
 ianc'dnl feuilleton, did not enable me to get through more 
 work than if all the hours of labor had been devoted to 
 one kind of subject. And I am quite sure that, though 
 the pay was small, and the work not particularly conge- 
 nial ; though I was generally poor and always anxious ; 
 though my health was not very good, and my cares were 
 perpetually increasing, I extracted as much happiness out 
 of my position as was possible — more, probably, than I 
 could have found in most other stations in life, where the 
 responsibility would have been greater. I grumbled at 
 my lot, as we all do, but I know that I never returned
 
 56 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 from my annual holiday without a half-pleasurable sensa- 
 tion at being back. My animal sjnrits were excellent. I 
 was, I am pleased to think, very poi)ular with most of my 
 comrades ; and the authorities, if not entu'ely in sympa- 
 thy with some of my eccentricities, were, on the whole, 
 indulgent, and inclined not to see anything that was not 
 specially brought under their notice. In my earliest offi- 
 cial days I formed one or two intimate friendshijas which 
 exist to the present hour, having never known a shadow. 
 And generally in the course of every two or three months 
 I find my way to St. Martin's — not, however, to the build- 
 ing in which my time was passed; that has been given up 
 entirely to those engaged in letter-sorting, etc. — and have 
 a chat with old colleagues over old times. 
 
 A superstitious person might possibly have thought it 
 an unfavorable omen for my future career that the pole 
 of the omnibus on Avhicli I journeyed into the City broke 
 as we were descending what in those days was a very 
 steep hill between Hatton Garden and Farringdon Street, 
 and that we nearly were upset ; but one is not super- 
 stitious at sixteen, and I was only a little nervous when I 
 presented myself at the lobby of the Secretary's office. 
 My godfather, Edmund Byng, had mentioned my ap- 
 pointment to two young fellows of his acquaintance who 
 were in the office, and they speedily introduced tliem- 
 selves to me and set me at my ease. There was no ex- 
 amination in those days ; I had not even t(i Avrite from 
 dictation, or do a rule-of-three sum, as had Antliony Trol- 
 lope thirteen years before. 
 
 After a few days' probation in the Registry, where the 
 receipt and disjjosal of the various communications ad- 
 dressed to the dei)artmont were recorded in huge ledgers, 
 I was i)laced in tlie money-order department of the Sec- 
 retary's office — i.e., where the corresj)ondence relating to 
 money -orders with the public and tlie postmasters was 
 carried on ; and there I remaiiu'd .about two years. Two 
 years of almost unalloyiMl official ]iaj)piness ! We Averc 
 about twelve or lifteeii (clerks altogether, disjKTsed in 
 three or four rooms. Our principal Avas a bald-he.aded, 
 middle-iiged man, given to taking siniff .and imbibing a
 
 £arly days in the post-office. gv 
 
 cheap Marsala— .1 man full of strange oaths ^vithout any 
 modern instances, but of a kindly nature, and disposed to 
 make allowance for youth. There Were three or four 
 fellows not much older than myself, and we were always 
 telling the most ridiculous stories and playing the wildest 
 pranks. Our room had a door of communication with 
 that of the chief clerk, an old gentleman who had the 
 reputation of being a little thick and cloudy after lunch- 
 eon. One day some of the fellows, while larking, upset 
 a huge screen, which fell with a resounding bang. I had 
 had nothing to do with it, but was advancing to pick up 
 the screen, Avhen the chief clerk entered, flushed with 
 lunch and rage. "What the devil's this row?" he called 
 out ; then, seeing me — he had scarcely ever noticed me 
 before — he graciously said, "Oh, it's you, is it, sir? 
 Please recollect you're not now on the boards of the 
 Adelphi !" Again the old reproach of the school-days 
 cropping up ! It seemed as if it were never to be got rid 
 of! 
 
 I am sure, from all I hear, that the young gentlemen 
 by Avhom the Secretary's oflice is now junior - officered, 
 and who are mostly, I believe, graduates of the universi- 
 ties or scions of the aristocracy, would scarcely believe 
 the details of the audacious fun which used to be perjie- 
 trated by their predecessors just before the year 1850, so 
 I will relate one or two special instances. 
 
 My great chum in those days was a man about ten 
 years older than myself, whom, for distinction's sake, I 
 will call Pitt, and who was the most audacious practical 
 joker I have ever met. Ho had the most charming man- 
 ners and the most perfect sang-froid ; nothing ever upset 
 his balance, and he could perpetrate the most daring 
 hoax without altering a muscle of his face. Two of his 
 exploits I remember well. At the corner of one of the 
 streets running from the Strand to the river, near St. 
 Mary's Church, was a well-known Italian warehouse. 
 One day, as Pitt and I were walking westward after of- 
 fice-hours, we saw hanging at the shop-door a bundle of 
 bananas, with an inscription, "The last bananas we shall 
 receive this season." Pitt stopped and read the placard. 
 
 3*
 
 58 FIFTY TEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 " That is very curious," he said, " and must be inquired 
 into !" I followed him up the shop, a long, low addition 
 to the original house, until we reached the counter at the 
 far end, where two or three shopmen were busy serving 
 
 customers. "Could I speak to Mr. '?" asked Pitt^ 
 
 mentioning the name he had read on the shop-door, and 
 speaking with the greatest earnestness. "He's in, sir, 
 but he's having his tea ; but if you particularly want him, 
 I'll call him." " Thank you, I do want a word with him." 
 The proprietor came out of his parlor, wiping his mouth, 
 and, rounding the counter, was immediately laid hold of 
 by Pitt, who took him by the elbow and led him, aston- 
 ished, to the door. Arrived there, Pitt pointed to the 
 bananas. "Are these positively the very last bananas 
 that you will receive this season ?" " Yes," said the man, 
 "they are. What of it?" "Is there no probability, 
 then, of your having another batch ?" " Xo — not that I 
 know of. What of it ?" said the man, with a dawning 
 suspicion of being hoaxed, but still impressed by Pitt's 
 excellent manner. " What of it ? Well, I think it a 
 most interesting circumstance ! Deeply olDliged to you. 
 Good-morning!" And he took off his hat with an air, 
 and left the man, purple and speechless, on his own 
 threshold. 
 
 Another of his practical jokes was even more auda- 
 cious. Middle-aged readers will possibly remember that 
 the original shop for Holloway's patent medicines was at 
 the extremity of the Strand, a few doors west of Tem])le 
 Bar. It was a long shop, with a narrow counter running 
 the length of it, at which sat a number of men, occupied 
 in rolling the pills, spreading the ointment, etc. Pitt had 
 often told me he felt curiously attracted to that shop ; 
 and one day, as we were passing, he said, "Can you keep 
 grave for live minutes?" I told him I thought I could, 
 little guessing to what test my gravity was to be subject- 
 ed. " Then come along !" And the next minute he 
 sprang from my side into the shop, where, in the open 
 space before the counter, he began lea]>ing about and 
 tlirowing up his legs witli an agility which, in those pne- 
 Vokes days, was unknown. The shopmen stared in won-
 
 EABLT DAYS IX THE P«>ST-OPFICE. 59 
 
 der, and one of them was adTancing, when Pitt bounded 
 in front of him, and askei. " You don't know me ? you 
 don't recognize me?" The shopman, evidently taking 
 him for a lunatic, was mutterincr somethins about not 
 having the pleasure, when Pitt, pointing to the others, 
 asked, "Do none of those recognize meP A general 
 chorus of "Xol" "I don't wcTnder at it I" said Pitt. 
 '• When I was last in this shop, I was carried in on the 
 cabman's back — couldn't walk a step — ^bad legs of forty 
 yeare' standing ! But now, thanks to your invaluable 
 pills and ointment — ^l«>3k here ! and here I*' Once more 
 he bounded and danced up and down the shop, and then 
 we ran for our lives. 
 
 It was my prominent share in the perpetration of these 
 jokes that first pr«jcure<i me the honor of an interview 
 with Mr. — afterwartis Sir Rowland — Hill, who ^ ^ -" 
 kind and friendly with me so long as he liveL 
 meeting, however, scarcely bode«i well for the f 
 There had been a tremendous row, not unconnected with 
 the peppering, with peas and peUets of saturatei blotting- 
 paper, of the passers-by in Foster Lane, a thoroughfare 
 on which our windows lo^jked : and L who had been 
 cauffht bv one of the authorities in the verv act, had been 
 ** reporte<L'' 
 
 Rowland Hill was then in a transition state; he had 
 carried out his penny-p«:»stage scheme, and received some 
 of his rewards; but he had many bluer, fH^werfuL and 
 unscrupulous enemies, who had succeeded in having him 
 removed from a berth at the Treasury, to which he had 
 been appointed, on the plea that his services were no 
 longer required. There had. however, been a loud ex- 
 pression of public feeling ; Mr, Hill had been present- 
 ed with a testimonial raise^i by public subscrif>tion, and 
 amounting to nearly fourteen thousand pounds; and in 
 the vear before I ioined the service he had been pitch- 
 forked into the department in a somewhat anon - 
 
 sition. He was not made Secretary of the Pc;. .-- — 
 that important berth had been for years held by Colonel 
 Maberly ; Mr. Hill was called secretary to the Postmas- 
 ter-general, a ritiieulous title for a sham and non-existent
 
 60 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Ijosition. The Post-office bad its secretary, the Post* 
 master -general had his j)rivate secretary, and no other 
 was required. But it was necessary to find a berth at 
 St. Martin's - le - Grand for Mr. Hill, and he did not of 
 course care what it was called, provided he got recog- 
 nized status and sufficient salary. His duties were ar- 
 ranged, so far as possible, not to clash Avith Colonel 
 Maberly, who was exceedingly jealous of the new arrival, 
 and hated " the man from Birmingham," as he always 
 called him, with a holy hatred. Mr. Hill, with two or 
 three clerks, prepared statistical returns, suggested econo- 
 mies, and also had the supervision of that secretarial 
 money -order department in which I worked. So that 
 when, one morning, I was told " Mr. 'Ill " wished to sjjeak 
 to me, I felt as I had not felt since Dr. Dyne's invitation 
 to his sanctum at Highgate School. 
 
 I found him seated at his desk, a middle-aged man of 
 medium height and slight build, bald-headed, Avith deep- 
 set gray eyes, wearing spectacles, and with a grave but 
 not unkind expression. After exchanging bows, he com- 
 menced by saying that my name had been mentioned to 
 him by his old friend Charles Manby, who was, he be- 
 lieved, my guardian. I admitted the fact, and began to 
 tliink I was getting on pretty well, not having been sum- 
 marily dismissed, as I had half anticipated. "I have 
 been making some inquiries about you, Mr. Yates," he 
 continued, " and I find you're very popular, and have 
 plenty of energy and ability, and can do very good work 
 if you choose, but that you suffer under a sujierfluity of 
 animal spirits." He stopped, and looked at me keenly 
 through his glasses, while I muttered something about 
 "not being aware of it." "So I'm told," he said, "and 
 I'm going to ask you one or two questions. Where do 
 you live':"' "With my mother, sir, in St. John's Wood 
 — the Alj)lia Road." "Ah," said he, "a very nice part, 
 though a little too far away. Now, how do you come 
 down to the Otlice?" "Generally on the toj) of the omni- 
 bus, sir." "Ah, I thought so. Now, if in future you 
 would walk down to the Office, Mr. Yates, I think you'll 
 find it would bring those animal sj)irit8 to a proj)er level."
 
 EARLY DAYS IN TUE POST-OFFICE. 61 
 
 And I bowed myself out, too delighted at having escaped 
 so easily. 
 
 I am afraid that I never followed my chief's well-meant 
 advice, but to the end of my career persisted in riding 
 down to the Office. In later days, and in the summer, I 
 would come on horseback through the parks, and putting 
 up my horse in Westminster would go on into the City 
 by boat. These, however, were my omnibus days. On 
 the morning journey the vehicle was completely filled by 
 " regulars," i.e., passengers who invariably occupied the 
 same seat, which they retained by a weekly payment. 
 My place Avas next the driver. Jack Harris, a wonderfully 
 humorous fellow, whose queer views of the world and 
 real native wit afforded me the greatest amusement. A 
 dozen of the best omnibus sketches in Punch were founded 
 on scenes which had occurred with this fellow, and which 
 I described to John Leech, whose usually grave face 
 would light up as he listened, and who would reproduce 
 them with inimitable fun. 
 
 I only had one other interview with Mr. Hill in those 
 early days, though in later official life I was constantly in 
 personal communication with him. It was the custom in 
 those days — which were, I suppose, before the invention of 
 copying-machines — to copy into various enormous books 
 every official document, whether minute to the Postmas- 
 ter-general, instructions to the officers of the staff, or 
 letter, and even simple acknowledgment of receipt of 
 their communication to the public. The duty devolved 
 on the juniors, who took it in turn to remain after the 
 close of the official hours, ten till four, and discharge it. 
 One day I not merely copied a letter which had been 
 written at Mr. Hill's instance, but, having rather an imita- 
 tive pen, I succeeded in producing a very fair copy of his 
 signature at its close. Some time after, I was again sum- 
 moned into his presence. " Is that your copying ?" asked 
 Mr, Hill, pointing to the letter. I acknowledged it. 
 "And is that also your work?" with his finger on the 
 signature. With cheeks aflame I bowed in acquiescence. 
 " It's very clever," he said — " very clever indeed ; but 
 don't you think," he added, quite quietly — "don't you
 
 62 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 think, Mr. Yates, Ws rather a dangerous accomplish- 
 ment?'''' He emphasized his words with a keen glance 
 through his spectacles, and I have never copied a signa- 
 ture since. 
 
 At the end of two years I was transferred to another 
 branch of the Secretary's office, and placed under the 
 care of John Strange Baker, to whom I owe my busi- 
 ness training, my love for English literature, and many 
 of the happiest hours of my life. It was a critical peri- 
 od with me just then; for though during my school-days 
 I had imbibed a taste for reading in a small way, the 
 fact of becoming my own master, and the introduction 
 to the grosser pleasures of London life, had almost extin- 
 guished it, and I was degenerating into rather a rowdy 
 farceur, a senseless, sensuous, funny-story-tolling, practi- 
 cal-joke-playing kind of cub, when I was rescued by my 
 official apprenticeship to John Baker. 
 
 I knew my Byron and Moore and Scott tolerably 
 well, but very little of Wordsworth, and had never heard 
 the name of Tennyson. With my new friend I made ac- 
 quaintance with Macaulay as a prose- writer ("The Lays 
 of Ancient Rome" had been favorite spouting-pieces at 
 Highgate), and after the Essays went through the " His- 
 tory of England," then just in course of publication. 
 Goldsmith, Boswell, Lamb, De Quincey, Coleridge, and 
 ILizlitt are all associated in my mind with those days, 
 whence also I date my first real appreciation of the worth 
 of Shaksjjoare, thougli I had lived in a world of Shak- 
 spearian appreciation and quotation from my childhood. 
 My friend, who hapj)ily still survives as one of the prin- 
 cijjals at St. Martin's-le-Grand, was an admirable master 
 of official style, and had the power of marshalling liis 
 facts and exjiressing liiinsolf in concise sentences, whicli 
 must have been Hj)ecially grateful to our cliief, Colonel 
 INIaberly, who abhorred what he called "slip-slop." Gift- 
 ed witli a large stock of ]>atience and toleration ; gentle, 
 kindly, full of fun himst-lf, and with a keen ajjpreciation 
 of liiinior; an excellent official guide and a charming ]»ri- 
 vate friend, he was essentially a man to obtain intiuence 
 over a youth of my earnest eager temperament, an influ-
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 63 
 
 ence which was always wholesomely and beneficially ex- 
 ercised. 
 
 Of very different calibre in mind and body and brain 
 was another companion of those days, James Kenney, the 
 eldest son of Kenney the dramatist — a strange, weird lit- 
 tle man, witli bright eyes and shaven cheeks and stubbly 
 black hair, looking something between an actor and an 
 abbe. There was, however, considerably more of the act- 
 or than the abbe about him. He had lived much in 
 France, his mother was a Frenchwoman, and he spoke 
 with a strong foreign accent, in which he would give 
 forth the funniest stories, the quaintest sayings, which 
 for a long time imj^ressed us deeply with his talent and 
 wit, imtil we discovered that stories, sayings, the very 
 tones in which they were narrated and the gestures with 
 Avhich he embellished them, were borrowed bodily from 
 his younger brother, Charles Lamb Kenney, who achieved 
 some distinction with his pen, and as an oral wit was 
 among the first flight. James posed as a scientific and 
 mechanical genius, and always carried about with him 
 a black bag in which he had portions of a brass machine, 
 which he would take out during the pauses of the oflicial 
 work and commence to scrape, hammer, and file at, send- 
 ing us into paroxysms of teeth-on-edge discomfort. He 
 had an actual substratum of cleverness, but it was wholly 
 unavailable in a public ofiice, and his life was frittered 
 away without his making any mark. 
 
 In my new position I saw for the first time the virtu- 
 al head of my ofiice, the Secretary, Colonel Maberly,* and 
 was frequently brought into communication with him so 
 long as he remained with us. I cannot understand how 
 Anthony Trollope, as he narrates in his "Autobiography," 
 found Colonel Maberly cruel and unjust ; he may have 
 had a personal dislike to Trollope, whose manner, I fear, 
 was not conciliating; but though he was always pleasant 
 
 * The Postmaster-general is, of course, the real head of the Post-office, 
 but to most of the clerks he is a veiled Mokanua ; besides, Postmaster- 
 geuerals " come and go " with Ministers, while the Secretary, until death 
 or resignation releases him, " goes on forever."
 
 64 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 to me after a fashion, his chief characteristic was, I think, 
 indifference. He liked his status at the Post - oltice, he 
 liked the salary which it gave him, he was fond of mon- 
 ey, and he went through the work ; but he was an Irish 
 landlord — a very different position then from what it is 
 now; and his mind was running on whether Tim Mooney 
 would pay his rent or Mick Reilly the bailiff would get 
 a good price for the heifer. He Avas married to a beau- 
 tiful and brilliant lady, who wrote fashionable novels and 
 went into society, so he had much besides the Post-office 
 to occupy his thoughts. 
 
 He used to arrive about eleven o'clock, and announce 
 his arrival by tearing at the bell for his breakfast. This 
 bell brought the head messenger, whose services he arro- 
 gated to himself, who, being a venerable-looking and em- 
 inently respectable personage, probably well-to-do in the 
 world, was disgusted at having to kneel at the colonel's 
 feet, and receive the colonel's dirty boots into his arms 
 with the short adjuration, "Now, Francis, my straps!" 
 He Avrote a most extraordinary illegible hand, and per- 
 haps for that reason scarcely any holograph beyond his 
 signature is to be found in the official records. The cus- 
 tom was for certain clerks of recognized status, Avho had 
 a distinct portion of the official work in their charge, to 
 submit the reports which had been received from the 
 postmasters or district surveyors, on complaints or sug- 
 gestions of the public, to the Secretary, and receive his 
 instructions as to the course to be i)ursued or the style 
 of reply to be sent. This performance we used to call 
 "taking in ]>apers to the colonel," and a very curious 
 performance it was. 
 
 Tlie colonel, a big, heavily -built, elderly man, would 
 sit in a big chair, witli his liandkerchief ovt'r his knees 
 and two or three i)rivatc letters before liiiii. Into a 
 closely -neighboring seat the clerk would droj>, placing 
 liis array of official documents on tlie table. Greetings 
 exchanged, the colonel, rcruliiig his private lelters, Avould 
 dig his elbow into the clerk's ribs, saying, " Well, my 
 good fellow, what have you got then; — very inii)ortaiit 
 ]iapers, eh?" "I don't know, sir; some of them are,
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 65 
 
 perhaps — " "Yes, yes, my good fellow; no doubt yo%t 
 think they're very important ; I call them d d two- 
 penny-ha'penny ! Now read, my good fellow, read !" 
 Thus adjured, the clerk would commence reading aloud 
 one of his documents. The colonel, still half engaged 
 with his private correspondence, would hear enough to 
 make him keep up a running commentary of disparaging 
 grunts : " Pooh ! stuff ! upon my soul !" etc. Then the 
 clerk, having come to the end of the manuscript, would 
 stop, waiting for orders ; and there would ensue a dead 
 silence, broken by the colonel, who, having finished his 
 private letters, would look up and say, " Well, my good 
 fellow, well?" "That's all, sir." "And quite enough 
 too. Go on to the next !" " But what shall I say to this 
 applicant, sir ?" " Say to him ? Tell him to go and be 
 
 d d, my good fellow !" and on our own reading of 
 
 those instructions we had very frequently to act. 
 
 With all this. Colonel Maberly was a clear-headed man 
 of business ; old-fashioned, inclined to let matters run in 
 their ordinary groove, detesting all projects of reform, 
 and having an abiding horror of Rowland Hill. As I 
 have said, he was with me generally easily good-natured, 
 but he could assume an air of hauteur and be uncom- 
 monly unpleasant sometimes ; and I remember that when 
 on a little slip of written memoranda which used to be 
 kept on the edge of his green slope -desk we saw the 
 words, "Kate — money," we might generally expect to 
 find the colonel's temper rather short that morning. 
 
 Among those clerks who were not brought much into 
 communication with him he was supposed to be very high 
 and haughty, and in connection with this trait there was 
 a good story told of him shortly after I joined the ser- 
 vice. It appears that one of Lord Clanricarde's recent 
 appointments, a strapping Irish lad fresh from Galway, 
 wished to effect an exchange of duties with a brother 
 clerk named Williams, whose exact whereabouts he did 
 not know. lie roamed through the unfamiliar passages 
 until he met a young fellow, of whom he inquired where 
 Williams was to be found. The young felloAv was a 
 practical humorist, and at once comprehending the situ-
 
 66 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ation, pointed to the door of the Secretary's room and 
 disappeared. In went the neophyte without an instant's 
 hesitation, and found the colonel writing at his desk. 
 " Is it Williams ye are ?" asked the Galwegian. " Eh ?" 
 cried the astonished colonel, raising his head. "Are ye 
 Williams, and will ye take me waithin' duty — " But 
 here the outraged colonel flung down his pen, and waving 
 off the intruder with both arms, called in a hollow voice, 
 " Go away, man !" 
 
 The Postmaster-generalship being one of those berths 
 which are vacated on a change of ministry, my kind 
 friend Lord Clanricarde did not remain very long in of- 
 fice. While at the head of affairs, he took several oppor- 
 tunities of showing that he had not forgotten me. He 
 had me sent out to assist one of the district surveyors in 
 his travels of inspection round the country offices, a duty 
 which, as it provided "per diem" and travelling allow- 
 ances in addition to the salary, and gave one the chance 
 of becoming acquainted with much of the internal work- 
 ing of the department, Avas in every way a really good 
 thing for a young man. I am afraid, however, that, just 
 launching as I was into the pleasures of London life, I 
 scarcely appreciated his kindness as I ought ; and I know 
 that Avhen, later on, I was occasionally sent out to " take 
 charge" of a country post-office — i.e., to represent the 
 postmaster, Avho through some dereliction of duty had 
 been temporarily susi)cnded from exercising his functions 
 — I used to groan in spirit at my exile from all I loved, 
 though of course I could make no open demonstration. 
 Tlie ghastly days and nights I have passed in such places 
 as Stony Stratford and Sittingbourne, with a dull, me- 
 clianical duty to iicrform, and without a congenial soul 
 with whom to exchange an idea, are still present to my 
 memory. 
 
 A year after I first entered the service I was sent to 
 Wiiuhfield, a desolate railway-station on the Soutli-west- 
 crn Railway, near IJasiiigstoke, where it liad l>een decided 
 to open a post-olliei' for the eonveiiienee of tlie Sjteaker, 
 Mr. Shaw-Lefevre, wlio lived in the neiglil^orliood, and 
 other local magnates. I was selected to instruct in Ids
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 01 
 
 duties the young man who had been appointed postmas- 
 ter ; and while I was inculcating the very small amount 
 of official lore which I myself possessed, the news came 
 of the intended Chartist demonstration of the 10th of 
 April, 1848. I was not going to be left out of such a 
 chance of excitement ; so I rushed up to London for a 
 couple of days, got myself sworn in as a special constable 
 for Marylebone, mustered with my division at what iised 
 to be Captain Hall's riding-school, at the top of Albany 
 Street, and then turned out to enjoy the fun of the streets 
 on my own account. 
 
 Lord Clanricarde's kindness continued while he lived, 
 though we only met occasionally; he always wrote to me 
 when anything special in regard to me had occurred; and 
 on my quitting the service, in 1872, I thought it right to 
 acquaint him with the fact, and at the same time to thank 
 him for his early kindness. His reply was in the most 
 genial spirit. " I assure you," he wrote, " I feel very 
 sensibly your kind recollection. It must enhance the 
 pleasure I have often felt and feel in observing your dis- 
 tinguished and well- deserved success in literature, gained 
 while you did not fail to earn official credit likewise. 
 That I have been at any time able to serve you, and to 
 gratify your excellent and admirable mother, will always 
 be to me a happy reminiscence." 
 
 After the retirement of Lord Clanricarde, the holders 
 of the Postmaster -generalship, in my time, were Lords 
 Colchester, Elgin, and Canning ; the Duke of Argyll ; 
 Lords Hardwicke and Stanley of Alderley; the Duke of 
 Montrose ; and the Marquis of Hartington. Save in some 
 special instances, the general body of the clerks knew lit- 
 tle about their Great Panjandrum. On his accession to 
 office he used to be " brought round ;" that is to say, 
 Colonel Maberly would open the door of each room and 
 say, " Gentlemen, the Postmaster-general !" then, turn- 
 ing to his lordship, "This is the such-and-such branch;" 
 and we would rise and bow, and our new master would 
 return the salutation and depart. 
 
 This was the usual style of performance; but I remem- 
 ber two exceptional cases, in both of which the late Lord
 
 68 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 HarcTwicke was concerned. He was a blunt, eccentric, 
 mannerless person, Avith an overweening sense of the im- 
 portance of his position; he had previously served in the 
 navy, which fact, coupled with the peculiarity of his ways, 
 caused him to be known among us as " the Bo'sun." His 
 first genial inquiry on his appointment, when the " list of 
 ofKcers of the department" was submitted to him, was, 
 " Now, can I dismiss all these men ?" And his general 
 idea was that late attendance, or any other shortcoming 
 on the part of the clerks, should be punished by keel-haul- 
 ing or the "cat." On the occasion of his being "brought 
 round," it happened that a couple of dozen of Guinness's 
 bottled stout — a pleasant beverage, which at that time I 
 was sufficiently young and strong to take with my lunch- 
 eon — had arrived for my consumj^tion, and had been tem- 
 porarily stowed away in a corner of the room. As the 
 Bo'sun was about retiring, the bottles caught his eye. 
 "Hullo !" he roared, in a Jack Bunsby-like voice, " whose 
 are those?" I meekly acknowledged the proprietorship. 
 I do not know what punishment Lord Hardwicke would 
 have decreed me for the inexpiable offence of drinking 
 beer, for Colonel jMaberly hurried liim away. In the next 
 room they were not so fortunate. There one of the men 
 was so absorbed in his Times that he had not heard the 
 entrance of the Secretary and the new chief, but, with his 
 back to tlie door, sat immersed in his reading. Tlie wily 
 Bo'sun marked this at once, and stealing uj) behind the 
 preoccupied man, gave him a dig in the ribs, exchiiming, 
 "Hullo, you sir, if you can find time to read the news- 
 l)aper, we can spare a clerk !" 
 
 With only one other of the Postmasters-general — Lord 
 Stanley of Aldcrley — was I ever brought into contact, 
 though towards the close of my ollicial career I was treated 
 with kindness and consideration by Lord Hartington, at a 
 time when I re(juired l)oth. I had not, nor liave I, any 
 ]»erKonal acquaintance with Lord Hartington, but I desire 
 to jilace on record jny ajqirceiation of his friendliness. 
 Lord Hartington lias, I l)(licve, a character for hauleur 
 and want of sympathy; but his interest in the service and 
 his inij)artiality won him great respect in the Post-office;
 
 EARLY DAYS IX THE POST-OFFICE. 69 
 
 whereas liis predecessor, Lord Stanley of Alderlcy, known 
 as a bon-vivant and a joker, "old Ben Stanley" among 
 his friends, was heartily detested by most of the officials 
 whose ill-luck it was to have to see him. That he was 
 cross-grained and tyrannical, stingy to the letter-carriers 
 and messengers, a ruthless jobber where his own interests 
 were concerned, I knew from his treatment of official mat- 
 ters; that he was insolent and overbearing to his subordi- 
 nates I had heard, but little thought I should ever have 
 any personal experience of the fact. 
 
 One day, however, I was sent for by Sir Rowland Hill. 
 I was at that time the head of the Missing Letter branch, 
 and as such it had devolved on me to carry out a pet 
 scheme of Sir Roland's — the reduction of the fee for reg- 
 istering letters from sixpence to fourpence, by which it 
 was hoped that, as the opportunities for obtaining almost 
 certain security were made cheaper, the chance enclosure 
 of coins and valuables would be proportionately dimin- 
 ished. The measure had taken many months' close atten- 
 tion to elaborate, but at last it had been worked out in 
 every detail, had received the sanction of the Treasury, 
 and only required the Postmaster-general's signature to a 
 certain deed to become law. This deed had been pre- 
 pared and forwarded to Lord Stanley, and we were await- 
 ing its return. Obeying his summons, I found my chief 
 rather anxious. 
 
 " I am afraid I have rather a disagreeable job for you, 
 Yates !" was his salutation. 
 
 " Indeed, sir ?" 
 
 " Ye — es. In connection with the registration-fee. The 
 papers are with the Postmaster - general, are they not ? 
 I've just been told by the solicitor, Mr. Ashurst, that it is 
 absolutely necessary his lordship's signature should be at- 
 tached to the M^arrant before twelve o'clock to-night, or 
 the whole thing will lapse as informal, and all our trouble 
 will be lost. It will be necessary, therefore, that some one 
 should see his lordship at once, explain the matter to him, 
 and get his signature. Now you are the only person in 
 the Office who understands all about the question, and 
 therefore you must go."
 
 70 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 " Very well, sir. Can you tell me where I am likely to 
 find Lord Stanley ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that's just the point. I miderstand that Lord 
 Stanley is at Newmarket Races, with — with rather a fast 
 party of friends. You'll have to go to him there." 
 
 This was horrible. To have to drag an irritable elderly 
 nobleman away from his fun — bother him about business ! 
 
 "Dear me, sir," I said, "that is a disagreeable job, in- 
 deed !" 
 
 "Yes," he said; adding instantly, in his peculiar hard 
 manner, "but you'll have to do it. I don't exactly re- 
 member the name of the house or hotel where Lord Stan- 
 ley is staying, but you'll get that from his confidential 
 butler in Dover Street. So be off as quickly as you can, 
 and be sure to get the signature before midnight. Here 
 is a letter of introduction for you to present to Lord Stan- 
 ley, in which I have told him who you arc. Good-day !" 
 
 Sir Rowland nodded me my dismissal, and, though I 
 detested the mission, there was nothing for me to do but 
 to go. I drove off in a cab to Dover Street, was admitted 
 by a footman, saw the confidential butler, and learned 
 from him that Lord Stanley had just arrived from New- 
 market, and was at that moment actually in the library, 
 I gave the man Sir Rowland's letter of introduction, and 
 in a few moments was bidden to follow him. 
 
 I can see that room and the scene which occurred per- 
 fectly, plainly, at the ])resent moment. Standing on the 
 hearth-rug, with his back to the fireplace, and facing me 
 as I entered, was a thick-set elderly man of middle height. 
 On the table close by him was a yellow, paper - covered 
 French novel which he had evidently just thrown down, 
 and on a furtlier table were three or four of the heavy 
 leather pouches in wliich ofiicial documents were forward- 
 ed to the Postmaster-general. 
 
 As tlie butler closed the door behind me I made the 
 gentleman a bow, of which he took not the smallest no- 
 tice. He did not offer me a seat, so I remained standing, 
 plant(',-l(l. 
 
 " What do you want?" was his gracious query. 
 
 " I have coitie about the reduction of the registration-
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE rOST-OFFICE. 71 
 
 fee, my lord. I thought Sir Rowland Hill had explained 
 in his letter. It is necessary that your lordship's signa- 
 ture — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know all about that," he interrupted. " I 
 
 have signed the d d thing !" going to one of the official 
 
 pouches, and rummaging in it. "It's here somewhere — 
 no, that's not it. I can't find it ; hut I know I've signed 
 it. Look here, have you got a cab outside ?" 
 
 " Yes, ray lord." 
 
 "Then," pointing to them, "just take these pouches 
 back to the Office ; you'll find it when you get there." 
 
 It was just too much. I am of a hot temper, and I 
 boiled over. 
 
 " What !" I cried, in a tone that made my friend jump 
 again. " What ! do you expect me to carry those bags to 
 the cab ? If you want that done, ring the bell and tell 
 your servant to do it. I'm not your servant, and I won't 
 carry bags for you or any man in London !" 
 
 He looked petrified; but he rang the bell. 
 
 "What's your name, sir?" he asked. 
 
 " My name is Yates, my lord," I replied. 
 
 " I don't like your manner, sir," said he. 
 
 " And I don't like yours, my lord," I rattled out. " I 
 came here properly introduced by the Secretary; I made 
 you a salutation, which you had not the politeness to re- 
 turn; you have never asked me to take a seat — " 
 
 " Wasn't I standing myself ?" he interpolated. 
 
 " That is no affair of mine. Your business as a gentle- 
 man was to ask me to be seated. And now you think I 
 am going to do your servant's work !" 
 
 Here the servant entered the room, and was ordered by 
 his master to carry off the bags. I was preparing to fol- 
 low him, when Lord Stanley said, 
 
 " You shall hear more of this, sir !" 
 
 " Whenever you please, my lord; I shall be quite ready;" 
 and off I went. 
 
 I was desperately upset, and I suppose I showed it; for 
 when I arrived at the Office I made straight for Sir Row- 
 land's room. His face, on seeing me, expressed more 
 astonishment and concern than I had ever seen there.
 
 72 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 "What, back so soon!" he said. "Why, what's the 
 matter with you, my good fellow? You're trembling, 
 and — tell me, what has happened ?" 
 
 I told him shortly. The old gentleman was greatly ex- 
 cited and very sympathetic. He rose from his seat, and 
 laid his hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " I'm very sorry you've been exposed to this, Yates," 
 he said; " but you mustn't mind. He's a d d rude fel- 
 low ; he's been very rude to tne before now. Don't you 
 be afraid of his threats — I'll take care of that ; and he will 
 think better of what he said when he's a little cooler. 
 Depend upon it, you'll hear no more of it." 
 
 I did not hear any more of it in the way I anticipated. 
 But the story got wind, and another one was speedily 
 improvised to the effect that Lord Stanley had been so 
 frightened by ray display of independence that the next 
 time one of the messengers was sent to him with some 
 official pai)ers, he rushed at the astonished man, seized him 
 warmly by the hand, and insisted on his stopping to 
 luncheon. 
 
 To my being able to converse in French and German I 
 owed, during my life in the Post-office, several delightful 
 special trips — one to Hamburg, to ascertain how quickly 
 the mails could be conveyed thither by a certain route ; 
 one to Brindisi, when, in consequence of the outbreak of 
 the Franco-German War, and the consequent danger of 
 continuing our Indian mail-service from Marseilles, I had 
 the honor of pioneering the route over the Brenner, and 
 thence to Brindisi, which was followed until the comple- 
 tion of the Mont Cenis tunnel. My first special journey, 
 however — first and most important — was merely due to 
 my position in the Secretary's office. It was in the year 
 1858, and the terril)le Indian Mutiny was at its height. 
 Submarine telegraj^hy was in its infancy then, and the 
 number of letters passing between this country and India 
 was 80 enormously increased that supplementary mails 
 were continually being desjiatclied. Tlie ordinary Indian 
 niail, made up in air-tight cases, was always sent in cliarge 
 of special officers appointed for the purpose, and discharg-
 
 EARLY DAYS IX THE POST-OFnCE. 73 
 
 ing no other duty than that of travelling, with the mails 
 in their custody, from London to Marseilles, and from 
 Marseilles, on board one of the steamers of the P. and O. 
 Company, to Alexandria, where the charge was transferred 
 to the officers of the Indian Post-office, who had travelled 
 so far, bringing the homeward letters. Xo mails were 
 despatched without an officer in charge : so during the 
 Mutiny the supplementary mails were sent in care of 
 some of us junior clerks of the Secretary's office, who were 
 delighted to get the chance of the change. 
 
 As soon as I heard when my turn was likely to come, 
 I wrote to Anthony TroUope — who had been sent out to 
 Egypt on a special mission from the General Post-office 
 — ^telling him I was coming, and asking him to look out 
 for me. I started from the London Bridge Station of the 
 South-eastern Railway (there was no Charing Cross Sta- 
 tion in those davs) one wild niorht in the besrinninor of 
 March, 18-5S, with seventy-six boxes or cases of letters in 
 my care. These boxes were counted at Dover, counted 
 on board the boat, counted, again on landino' at Calais — I 
 in a mortal fright on each occasion — ^and counted, at the 
 gave of Calais, where they were deposited in a huge/bur- 
 gon, one end of which was fitted up like a little room, 
 with shelves, a lamp, and two h.u^Q faicteuiU — one for me, 
 M. le Courrier Anglais (for snch designation I at once re- 
 ceived), and the other for my confrere, M. le Courrier 
 Frangais, by whom I was joined; snch a pleasant fellow, I 
 remember, and such a raconteur I As we started he put 
 himself bodily — legs, feet, and all — into an enormous bag 
 lined with sheepskin, which he looped round his neck, lit 
 a pipe, flung himself on X^q fauteuil, and began to talk. 
 
 I can still smell the sancisson de Lyon and th^ fronuige 
 d< Brie, still taste the sound red wine, which his wife 
 brought him at the Gare du JVord in Paris, just before 
 we rattled over the stones with our boxes to the Marseilles 
 railwav, and which he generouslv shared with me: there- 
 by, I verily believe, saving my life, as I was famished, 
 and we had not an instant allowed us to get out and pro- 
 cure food. The weather was bitterlv cold throucrhout 
 the joumev; and when we arrived at Marseilles the peo- 
 
 4
 
 74 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 pie were thronging the streets, looking at the thickly-fall- 
 ing snow, a sight which had not been seen for years. I 
 bade adieu to my travelling companion, and got my bcxxes 
 safely on board the P. and 0. steamer Euxme, commanded 
 by one of the best and noblest fellows that ever breathed, 
 Captain Thomas Black, with whom I then and there com- 
 menced an intimate friendship, which lasted for twenty 
 years, and was only terminated by his death in 18V9. 
 
 That delightful trip will always remain vividly im- 
 pressed on my memory, for in it not merely did I see scenes 
 and places which I had longed to visit, but I enjoyed, for 
 the first time for several years, a sense of perfect rest and 
 repose, a freedom from the receipt of letters and calls 
 upon my time. I can perfectly call to mind at the present 
 moment the keen sense of enjoyment in lying outstretched 
 on the deck in the lovely weather, my first realization of 
 Tennyson's " blue unclouded," with the knowledge that 
 there was no need to hurry to the Ofiice, no accursed " at- 
 tendance-book " to sign, no theatre to visit, no subsequent 
 criticism to write. We had twelve hours for coaling at 
 Malta, which I spent with a former colleague, the Post- 
 master-general of the island, through whom I had the 
 honor of an introduction to Admiral Lord Lyons, father 
 of the present diplomatist, who was then in command of 
 the Mediterranean Squadron, and whose personal appear- 
 ance struck me as so remarkably resembling the pictures 
 of Nelson, whom he so worthily emulated ; and, after a 
 further delightful voyage of three days, arrived at Alexan- 
 dria, where I made over my troublesome charge of mail- 
 boxes to the agent, and found I had two or three days at 
 my disposal before the homeward mails were likely to 
 arrive. 
 
 T liad expected to find Anthony Trollope here, but the 
 following characteristic letter was handed to me : 
 
 "Alexandria, llth March, 1868. 
 "Mt dkar Yates, — It in a mattor of great regret to iiic that I sliould 
 miss you. Hut were I to stay now I .sliould lose my only ojiportunity of 
 going to Jerusalem. I had hoj>etl to have got there and back before you 
 came out, and it has been impoHsililo for me to start till to-day. I shall 
 probably still see you on 22d. At Cairo see (above all) the newly-opened
 
 EARLY DAYS IN TUE POST-OFFICE. 75 
 
 catacombs of Sakhara — by taking a horse and mounted guide you may see 
 tliat and tlie Pyramids of Gliizeli in one day. Hear the howHng dervishes 
 of Cairo at one on Friday. They howl but once a week. Go to the cita- 
 del of Cairo, and mosque of Sultan Hassan. See, also, the tombs of the 
 Cahphs. Heliopolis is a humbug, so also is the petrified forest. At Alex- 
 andria see the new Greek church they have just excavated. Go to the 
 Oriental Hotel at Alexandria, and Shepherd's at Cairo. 
 
 " Yours ever, Anthony Trollope." 
 
 The mail-agent warned me that my time in the East 
 was likely to be very short; so, on his advice, after a cur- 
 sory glance at Alexandria, I hurried off by rail to Cairo. 
 The journey, which, I see, is now performed in five or six 
 hours, then took the whole day; and we were even an ex- 
 tra time in getting through it, as in those days, there being 
 only one line of rails, our train was shunted at Tantah to 
 enable a train containing the Pasha's troops to pass by. 
 
 But the time there employed was not wasted ; for a fair 
 was going on at Tantah, in which I found a strange ef)ito- 
 me of Egyptian life, even to the incident of the Bedouin 
 bringing in his horse for sale, as related in Mrs. Norton's 
 channing verse. The Bedouin in this instance, however, 
 seemed to be a remarkably 'cute customer, not unversed 
 in the mysteries of " coping " and " chaunting," and with 
 altogether more of the London mews than of the Libyan 
 desert about him. There was a Punch, too, and a buffoon 
 who danced, and another who told stories, and was sur- 
 rounded by a rapt and eager audience, quite a reminis- 
 cence of the "Arabian Nights." At Tantah, too, I saw a 
 band of convicts, horrible-looking ruffians, many of them 
 grievously afflicted with ophthalmia, handcuffed and leg- 
 ironed, and linked together by a long chain passing over 
 their shoulders. They growled and cursed freely as they 
 passed us, but the guards in charge prodded them pleas- 
 antly with their muskets, and drove them on. There, 
 too, did we find drawn up on the siding three large green 
 saloon-carriages, in which were, we were told, some mem- 
 bers of the Pasha's harem. Up and down in front of 
 these vehicles paced some very hideous black slaves — 
 " Arabian Nights " again ! — who scowled on any one dar- 
 ing to approach, and motioned the would-be intruders
 
 76 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 away. But a fellow-passenger and I stole to the back of 
 the carriages, while the Pasha's troop-train was passing in 
 front, and the guardians' attention was thus engaged, and 
 were rewarded for our temerity by a momentary glimpse 
 of a pair of lustrous eyes and a white yashmak. 
 
 It was night when we reached Cairo; the station was a 
 long way from the town, and I made a triumphal entry 
 on a donkey, followed by its driver, and jireceded by a 
 boy with a torch, both boys yelling at the top of their 
 voices. I was deposited at the door of Shepherd's Hotel, 
 where my arrival was sufficiently ignominious ; for the 
 sudden cessation of the donkey's gallop sent me flying 
 over his head, to the great delight of several of John 
 Company's officers, military and civil, who were congre- 
 gated in the veranda. Shej^herd's was full — I am told it 
 always is, even in its present enlarged and improved form 
 — it was crammed that night, and I was about to be turned 
 away. But on my making an emphatic representation to 
 Mr. Shepherd, and mentioning the name of Albert Smith, 
 who had done the hotel good service in his "Month at 
 Constantinople," I was told I might, if I chose, take posses- 
 sion of a large sofa, which stood in a corner of the coffee- 
 room. I was too thankful even for this accommodation ; 
 and after a meal I laid myself down without undressing. 
 The room was quite dark, and I had not been long asleep 
 Avhen a man, whom I made out to be a French waiter, and 
 who was rather drunk, plumped himself down by my side. 
 Ilira I kicked into the middle of the room, and heard no 
 more of; but I Avas again awakened later by a fresh visit- 
 or, in the shape of a huge clog, Avho had evidently been 
 accustomed to pass the night there, and Avith whom I 
 shared my couch. 
 
 When I woke I found the liomeward-bound mails had 
 ])een telegra))]ied as having left Suez, so tliat my visit to 
 Cairo Avas considerably abbreviated. Of tlie Pyi^'in^ids I 
 may say, vuU tantum: I actually saw them in (he distance 
 from the top of the citadel, and that was all. I rejoined 
 tlie old Etixine at Alexandria, made my return journey 
 across France much as I had coiue, and Avas home in Lon- 
 don within three Aveeks of having (juitted it, Avhich in
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 77 
 
 those days was considered good travelling. A couple of 
 articles descriptive of my journey, under the title "In 
 Charge," appeared in one of the early numbers of All 
 the Yea?- Mound. 
 
 My other official trips had no incidents particularly 
 worthy of record, though in connection with my run to 
 Hamburg and back occurred one of those amenities of 
 official life which it is as well to preserve. The journey, 
 which was undertaken at the express desire of Mr. Fred- 
 erick Hill, the assistant secretary, was made in the month 
 of January, in exceptionally severe and trying Aveather, 
 the Elbe being frozen over, my instructions being to 
 prove in how little time the out-and-home journey could 
 be accomplished. I took but a very few hours' rest be- 
 fore starting on my return. The consequence was that on 
 my arrival at home I was completely knocked up. I had 
 signs of erysipelas on my forehead, desperate pains and 
 numbness in my head, and a thorough all-overish sense 
 of illness. I got to bed at once, and sent for my old friend 
 Mr. Skey of Bartholomew's, who pronounced me suffer- 
 ing under a complete chill, with serious complications in 
 the future unless I succumbed at once. 
 
 I was anxious to make my report, and to give personal 
 explanation of the results of my journey; but the doctor 
 insisted on my remaining in bed, and wrote a certificate 
 of my state, which I forwarded to the Office, asking for 
 indulgence for two or three days. I do not know Avhether 
 the certificate was couched in professional, and conse- 
 quently apparently pompous, terms, Avhich grated upon 
 the simj^le susceptibilities of the secretary, Mr. Tilley; 
 whether he was annoyed at my having been employed by 
 one of the Hills, with whom he M'as always at variance; 
 or whether it was the natural benevolence and geniality 
 of the man which caused him to send me the following 
 reply to my application : 
 
 "Sir, — In reply to j-our letter of yesterday's date, I have to inform 3'ou 
 that, as it appears i/ou have a headache, leave of absence for two days lias 
 been granted you. Your obedient servant, 
 
 "John Tilley."
 
 78 ^ITTY YEAES OF LONDON LITE. 
 
 This was my return for having faithfully performed a 
 service Avhich did not lie within my ordinary duty, and in 
 the discharge of which I had been nearly frozen to death 
 and narrowly escaped rheumatic fever ! 
 
 But no cynical insults from a Tilley, or any other grim 
 humorist, rankled long in those days of youth and gener- 
 ally good condition, and, despite Rowland Hill's warning, 
 wonderful animal spirits. The luncheon-time alone was 
 fruitful of delights. When I first joined the service the 
 luncheons were procured from neighboring taverns; but 
 Colonel Maberly's sense of the fitness of things was an- 
 noyed by encountering strange persons wandering through 
 the lobbies, balancing tin -covered dishes and bearing 
 foaming pewter-pots. Rumors were cui-rent of his hav- 
 ing been seen waving his arms and " hishing " back a stal- 
 wart potman, who, not knowing his adversary, declined 
 to budge. Anyhow, these gentry were refused further 
 admission, and a quarter of an hour — a marvellously elas- 
 tic quarter of an hour — was allowed us in which to go 
 and procure luncheon at a neighboring restaurant. 
 
 There were plenty of these to choose from. For the 
 aristocratic and the well-to-do there was Dolly's Chop- 
 house, up a little court out of Newgate Street : a wonder- 
 ful old room, heavy-panelled, dark, dingy, with a female 
 portrait which we always understood to be " Dolly " on 
 the walls ; with a head-waiter in a limp white neck-cloth, 
 with a pale face and sleek black hair, who on Sundays 
 was a verger at St. Paul's ; but with good joints and 
 steaks and chops and soups served in a heavy, old-fash- 
 ioned manner, at a stiff, old-fashioned price. 
 
 Almost equally grand, but conforming more to modern 
 notions, was the Cathedral Hotel at the corner of St. 
 Paul's Church-yard, where there was a wonderful waiter 
 with a graduated scale of gratitude, on which we were al- 
 ways experimenting and imitating. Tlius, for the dona- 
 tic^n of a penny, lie, looking uncomfortable, would mut- 
 ter, " Thenk, sir ;" for twopence he would audibly remark, 
 " Thank yoii^ sir ;" for tlireepence he would make a grand 
 1)0W, and say, " 'I'liank yoti, sir; I'm 'blaiged to you." lie 
 never varied his programme, though we often tried him.
 
 EAELY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 79 
 
 Only last year I saw him, very little changed, walking on 
 the esplanade at Worthing, and looking at the sea as 
 though he regarded it rather as a penny customer. At 
 the Cathedral, too, was an old gentleman, a regular ha- 
 hitue, who, as I am afraid he was, a Radical, delighted in 
 the perpetration of one mild joke. He would secure the 
 Morning Herald, the Tory organ of those days, and when 
 he had perused it would hand the paper to his opposite 
 neighbor with a bow, and the observation, " Would you 
 like to read any lies, sir ?" 
 
 We impecunious juniors, however, ventured seldom into 
 these expensive establishments. For us there were cheap- 
 er refectories, two of which achieved great celebrity in 
 their day: Balls's Alamode Beef House in Butcher Hall 
 Lane — I believe Butcher Hall Lane has disappeared in 
 the City improvements, but it used to run at right angles 
 with Newgate Street, near the eastern end of Christ's 
 Hospital — where was to be obtained a most delicious 
 " portion " of stewed beef done up in a sticky, coagulated, 
 glutinous gravy of sur2:)assing richness ; and Williams's 
 Boiled Beef House in the Old Bailey, which was well 
 known throughout London, and where I have often seen 
 the great Old Bailey advocates of those days, Messrs. 
 Clarkson and Bodkin, discussing their "fourpenny plates." 
 Williams's was a place to be " done " by any one coming 
 up for the London sights ; and there were always plenty 
 of country squires and farmers, and occasionally foreign- 
 ers, to be found there, though the latter did not seem to 
 be much impressed with the excellence of the cuisine. 
 
 In those days, too, we used to lunch at places which 
 seem entirely to have disappeared. The "Crowley's 
 Alton Ale-house " is not so frequently met with as it was 
 thirty years ago. The " ale-houses " were, in fact, small 
 shops fitted with a beer-engine and a counter; they had 
 been established by Mr. Crowley, a brewer of Alton, on 
 finding the difticulty of procuring ordinary public-houses 
 for the sale of his beer; and at them was sold nothing 
 but beer, ham sandwiches, bread-and-cheese, but all of the 
 very best. They were enormously popular with young 
 men who did not particularly care about hanging round
 
 80 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 the bars of taverns, and did an enormous trade ; but that 
 was in the prge-Spiers & Pond days ; and, I am bound to 
 say, all the facilities for obtaining refreshments, and gen- 
 erally speaking the refreshments themselves, have enor- 
 mously improved since then. There was also another 
 luncheon-house which we used to frequent on Addle Hill 
 — not a bad name for the Doctors' Commons of those 
 days, in which it was situate — and on our way whence 
 we would look in at "the Commons," where the bench, 
 bar, and general arrangement were supplied at that time 
 by a family of the name of Fust — look in with additional 
 interest, aroused by the associations of the place with 
 " David Copperfield," then in course of publication. 
 
 I knew Doctors' Commons, too, as a short cut to the 
 river, by Paul's Chain to Paul's Wharf, and thence by 
 penny steamboat to Hungerford Bridge (long since pulled 
 down and carted off bodily to Clifton by Bristol, where 
 it spans the Avon) ; by halfpenny steamboat at one time, 
 for in the fury of competition, three, the A7it, JBee, and 
 Cricket, were started at that price, but the last - named 
 blew up — it was proved at the inquest that the stoker 
 tied down the safety-valves with strings to increase the 
 speed — at a time when it was loaded Avith business-men 
 coming into the City ; and the news being received at 
 the Post-office, caused the eager inquiry from one of our 
 rascals, " Any seniors on board ?" 
 
 It was a somewhat grim jest, but we were like the mid- 
 shiinnen who drank the toast, "A bloody war or a sickly 
 season." We Avere wretchedly paid, and promotion was 
 desperately slow. When I first entered the service the 
 Post-office was one of the worst paid of the public depart- 
 ments and one of the lowest in rank. There seemed to 
 ])e a general accejjtance of idea that the duties there were 
 entirely confined to sorting letters ; and I have often been 
 seriously asked by my friends of the outer world whether 
 I had noticed such and such a letter in the course of its 
 transmission. So far as llie Secretary's office was con- 
 cerned, all the letter-sorting, etc., might liave been a hun- 
 dred miles off for wliat we saw of it; but the public — for 
 as all nations were Gentiles to the Jews, so, to an official,
 
 EARLY DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 81 
 
 all non-officials are " the public " — the public never seemed 
 to give any heed to the huge amount of ability, patience, 
 experience, and technical knowledge required to insure 
 the prompt and proper ti'ansmission of their mails ; the 
 postal intercourse with foreign countries and the colonies ; 
 the contracts with the great ocean steam-companies ; the 
 discipline of the enormous staff, with its representatives 
 in every city, town, and village of the United Kingdom ; 
 and a hundred other minor details, any friction in the 
 working of which might have thrown a huge j^ortion of 
 the machine out of gear, and caused indescribable confu- 
 sion among the great commercial circles. 
 
 All this work was done in the Secretary's office, the 
 staff of which then numbered about fifty men, all told, 
 who were paid according to the following rate : On en- 
 tering the service a salary of £90 a year ; no increase for 
 three years, when the pay was made £110; no increase 
 for another three years, when it was raised to £140 ; but 
 this involved admission into the body of " clerks in wait- 
 ing," who took it in turn to sleep at the office, and had 
 to pay for the meals consumed there without any extra 
 allowance. In this, the "assistant," class the salaries 
 advanced by £10 a year until they reached the sum of 
 £260 a year, where they stopped. So that unless he man- 
 aged to get, through a death - vacancy, into the senior 
 class, which was limited in number, where the salaries 
 commenced at £350 and advanced to £500, a man after 
 twenty-five years' service would receive £260 a year, and 
 might never get beyond it. In those days, too, a deduc- 
 tion was made for " superannuation allowance " — that is 
 to say, we were mulcted in a contribution to future pen- 
 sions, which we might or might not receive. Thus, when 
 I was supposed to be getting £90 a year, my quarterly 
 receipt was £21 18s. Ocl. This cruel tax was afterwai'ds 
 abolished, mainly through the influence of Mr. Disraeli. 
 
 It was desperately poor j^ay, and various efforts had 
 been made to obtain an improved scale, but without ef- 
 fect. £Jsprit cle corps, so far as in any way assisting his 
 official inferiors, was wholly lacking in Colonel Maberly's 
 composition. I recollect mentioning, parenthetically, to 
 him once that I had been ny> noarly all the night in con-
 
 82 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 nection mth some of the elerks-in-waiting duties. " Well, 
 my good fellow, you're paid for it !" was his sympathetic 
 remark. Thus the colonel, having just arrived at eleven 
 o'clock, munching his breakfast in easy comfort — the 
 colonel with his £1500 a year salary, his half -pay, his 
 Irish rents and private fortune — to me, tired out, blind 
 with want of sleep, and passing rich on £140 a year ! 
 
 Just about this time — i. e., soon after I reached the " as- 
 sistant" class — the Postmaster-general of Malta died or 
 resigned, and the ajjpointment being in the gift of our 
 Postmaster-general, with a salary of £500 a year, at that 
 time, to me, an income beyond the dreams of avarice, I 
 applied for it. Colonel Maberly good-naturedly agreed 
 to recommend me for the vacant berth, which I believe I 
 should have obtained, when news came that our last peti- 
 tion for a revision of salaries had been favorably received, 
 and that a Treasury commission would be appointed to 
 inquire into our grievances. 
 
 This news materially altered my plans. I had already 
 doubted the wisdom of my course in exchanging the de- 
 lights of London life, even in poverty, for such an exist- 
 ence as Malta could offer, and I determined to hang on 
 and hope for better times. I accordingly waited on the 
 colonel, and told him I wished to withdraw my appli- 
 cation, "What for?" "Because, sir, I hear there is a 
 chance of improvement here. They say that we are to 
 have a Commission of Inquiry." " A commission !" he 
 cried, testily. "My good fellow, do you know Avhat a 
 commission is? A commission is an official machine for 
 cutting down salaries !" However, to my own subse- 
 quent deliglit, I i^ersisted, my application was withdraAvn, 
 and another appointment made to Malta. The commis- 
 sion, consisting of Sir Stafford Northcote, Lord Elcho 
 (now P]ar] Wcmyss), and a Treasury official, connnonced 
 tlieir labors, which extended over many months, with re- 
 sults startling to us. We got a very much improved 
 scale of pay ; what was called, in delightful officialese, 
 "the double Secretariat" was abolished ; Colonel IMaber- 
 ly was made an extra Comniissionor of Audit, with liis 
 existing salary, and Rowland Hill was ajipointed sole 
 Secretary to the Post-office.
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. y^ 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 
 
 1847-1852. 
 
 At the time of my joining the Post-oiRce service my 
 mother was living, as she had been for some years previ- 
 ously, at No. 12 Alpha Road, a thoroughfare which, with 
 its extension of Church Street, connects that portion of 
 the Regent's Park lying betAveen Clarence and Hanover 
 Gates with the Edgeware Road. I am afraid from w^hat 
 I see that of late years it has somewhat deteriorated, but 
 in those days it was a very pretty place. The houses had 
 large gardens, and the respectability of the locality was 
 unimpeachable, my kind old friend, Mr. Thomas Harrison, 
 Commissioner of Inland Revenue, and the family of the 
 late Mr. Sergeant Bompas being our immediate neighbors. 
 Our house was a cosy and comfortable one, and had near- 
 ly an acre of garden, which I need scarcely say has now 
 been built over, but which then, despite the London 
 " smuts," produced a fair crop of flowers, and was always 
 green and pleasant to look upon. The one drawback, so 
 far as I was concerned, was the distance from the centre 
 of London and from all places of amusement. There was 
 a good omnibus service to the Post-oflice, and the ride in 
 the early morning was pleasant enough ; but returning 
 home from some festivity late at night, I constantly 
 wished Fate had caused my mother to pitch her tent in 
 some less remote district. For I began to dine out, to go 
 into society, and generally to enjoy myself, almost imme- 
 diately after my return to the maternal nest, greatly to 
 my mother's amazement, and a little, I fear, to her sorrow, 
 though she was certainly proud of the way in which I 
 was "taken up." The nine or ten months' absence had
 
 84 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 done wonders. I left her a gauche school-boy ; I returned 
 a young man, not encumbered with an excess of bashful- 
 ness, with plenty to say for myself, and with a strong de- 
 termination to get on in the world. 
 
 One of the earliest and most efficient promoters of this 
 desire on my part was my godfather, the Hon. Edmund 
 Byng, of whom I have already made casual mention, then 
 nearly seventy, a bachelor, living at No. 10 Clarges Street, 
 and one of the most eccentric of human beings. He was 
 a very handsome and particularly distinguished-looking 
 old gentleman, with fresh complexion and well-cut feat- 
 ures, but suffering greatly from an affection of the eyes, 
 which compelled the wearing of colored glasses. "Until 
 very late in life he never wore a great-coat, but was al- 
 ways dressed in a dark blue tail-coat, with plain, flat, gold 
 buttons, brown trousers, rather tight, brown gaiters, and 
 shoes. His hat was always a very bad one, and he was 
 never seen in the street without a large gingham um- 
 brella, which he carried horizontally tucked under his 
 arm, and which was always coming into violent contact 
 with animate and inanimate objects. His friends used to 
 say that his defective eyesight never precluded his recog- 
 nizing the difference between a pretty and an ugly wom- 
 an, and his great predilection for beauty, which had been 
 a feature in his youth, was one of the few disagreeable 
 characteristics of his old age. He was very clever, well 
 read — his knowledge of Shakspeare was extraordinary 
 — a confirmed cynic, with, as is so often the case, a great 
 deal of practical benevolence, but full of that bitter satiri- 
 cal liumor which is so captivating to youth, and in which, 
 wholly imchecked and outspoken as it was in my old 
 friend, I used to revel. He was known to all sorts and 
 conditions of men, and delighted in gathering those most 
 likely to be diametrically oi)posed in their views at his 
 table, and egging them on to argument, which, on occa- 
 sion, would wax tolerably wann. He had been in his 
 youth very fond of the theatre, and his was one of the 
 very few houses in those days where actors were in- 
 vitcfl. 
 The old gentleman took a great fancy to mc, invited
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 85 
 
 me two or three times a week to his table, where he al- 
 ways placed me opposite to him — a rather trying position 
 for a lad of seventeen, where the guests were nearly all 
 distinguished men — and was always pleased if, after leav- 
 ing my office, I would call for him, and give him my arm 
 for a tour of visits or card-leaving. He was a somewhat 
 trying companion on such occasions, for his outspoken- 
 ness and irritability were excessive. I recollect taking 
 him one day to the door of a very great house, and 
 knocking. "Her Grace at home?" asked Mr. Byng, 
 "Her Grace has gone to Chiswick, sir," replied the hall 
 porter. "What the devil do you mean, sir," burst out 
 the old gentleman, "by telling me your mistress's move- 
 ments ! I don't want to know them ! I asked if she 
 were at liome, and all I wanted was a plain answer to that 
 question." Then, with a thump of his umbrella on the 
 doorstep, he pulled me away, and we left the man gazing 
 after us, petrified with amazement. 
 
 The dinners in Clarges Street were very plain and sim- 
 ple, but very good in their way. Potatoes of extraordi- 
 nary size and excellence were always served in their "jack- 
 ets " and in a huge wooden bow'l ; jiort and sherry were 
 the only wines ; and most of the decanters had their necks 
 filed, the " lip " having been knocked off. The guests 
 varied, but among the most regular were Lord John Fitz- 
 roy, a very high - bred - looking old gentleman, a great 
 whist-player, and reminding one altogether of a Thack- 
 erayan creation ; the late Lord Torrington ; John Wood- 
 ford, of the F.O. ; Dr. Dickson, author of "Fallacies of 
 the Faculty ;" Mr. Loaden, a smart solicitor in large 
 practice ; my colleague, George Harrison ; another col- 
 league, Ilaughton Forrest, a connection of the host ; the 
 Hon. and Rev. Fitzroy Stanhope ; and John Cooper, the 
 actor. The Earl of Scarborough, Lord Gardner ; Horace 
 Pitt, afterwards Lord Rivers ; Sir William de Bathe ; Mr. 
 Norton, the police magistrate ; " Billy " Bennett, actor, 
 and father of Miss Julia Bennett ; Planche, Charles 
 Dance, and Robert Keeley came occasionally. 
 
 There, too, I met for the first time the Hon. " Jim " 
 Macdonald. He arrived, I remember, after we were all
 
 86 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 seated at table, and this, I suppose, annoyed the old gen- 
 tleman ; for when Colonel Macdonald, as he was then, in 
 his airy manner, said, " How d'ye do, Byng ? sorry I'm 
 late !" and proffered his hand, our host said, " Sit down, 
 sir ! I never shake hot hands ! get on with your dinner." 
 Colonel Macdonald smiled and took his seat ; but later 
 on, Mr. Byng asking him if he liked the particular dish 
 he was eating, he said it was " very good." " God bless 
 my soul, sir," cried Byng, " what do you mean by that ? 
 Of course it's good, sir ; everything that comes to this 
 table is good. What I asked you was whether you liked 
 it!" 
 
 Mr. Byng was also always very much " down " upon 
 John Cooper, a tragedian of the old school, pompous, sol- 
 emn, pretentious, and dull. Cooper was a bit of a miser, 
 and Byng was always delighted when the exercise of this 
 niggardly spirit brought the actor to grief. On one oc- 
 casion, a close summer's evening, when Cooper was ex- 
 pected to dinner, a violent rain-storm came on, and Mr. 
 Byng confided to me his joy that Cooper, who lived in 
 St. James's Place and generally walked across, would be 
 compelled to take a cab. Presently a cab stopped at the 
 door, and Cooper's sonorous voice was heard from the in- 
 side, bidding the cabman to knock at the door. " Not I," 
 said the driver, calmly remaining on his box. " What 
 do you mean ?" asked Cooper ; " I have paid you your 
 fare already." " Fare !" growled the man, still enthroned ; 
 " y^^^ gi^'<^ ^^^^ ^ shillin' when you got in : that Avas for 
 drivin' of you, not for knockin' ; get out and knock your- 
 self !" And the man remaining obdurate. Cooper had to 
 get out in the pouring rain and knock at the door, which 
 the servant, acting under his delighted master's instruc- 
 tions, did not hurry liiiusclf to open. 
 
 The most rcguhxr habitue of Clarges Street, however, 
 was a very old German gentleman, a certain Bax'on de — 
 really, I suppose, von — Feilitzer, a bent, shrunken, wiz- 
 ened old fellow, over eiglity years of age, who had, ac- 
 cording to the generally received legend, been a page to 
 Frederick the Great, but who was only known to us as 
 Mr. Byng's princijial butt and luady. Notwithstanding
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 87 
 
 his ago, he liacl an enormous appetite, which he used to 
 indulge without stint, his host observing him from time 
 to time, and keeping up a running commentary on his 
 proceedings, which was intended to be sotto voce, but 
 which was distinctly audible round the delighted table. 
 " Look at him, filling his baronial stomach ! God bless 
 my soul, was there ever seen anything like it ! why, he 
 eats more at one meal than I do in a month ! Look at 
 him putting it away !" And the object of his remarks, 
 who knew perfectly what was going on, would look slyly 
 up from his plate, and, without discontinuing operations, 
 chuckle and say, " Ja, der Byng ! der is fonny man !" and 
 take no further heed. The baron lived in lodgings over 
 a celebrated baker's in Great Russell Street, Covent Gar- 
 den — the shop is still there — and from time to time we, 
 who, I suppose, must have been considered our patron's 
 henchmen, were expected, after a heavy dinner in Clarges 
 Street, to go off with Mr. Byng in a body to the Baron's 
 lodgings in Covent Garden, where a large and thoroughly 
 British supper of oysters, lobsters, and cold beef was 
 awaiting us, which we were expected to eat. In defer- 
 ence to Mr. Byng's wishes we used to struggle hard to 
 swallow something, but he always declared that as soon 
 as we were gone the old baron would set to and clear the 
 board. 
 
 I owed a great deal to the kindness of ray eccentric old 
 godfather, at whose house and through whom I made 
 many useful acquaintances at that time. He did not go 
 to Court, owing to some slight in connection with a dis- 
 pute in which his intimate friend. Sir John Conroy, was 
 involved, and it was always understood that he had had 
 the temerity to refuse a Royal invitation, which is, of 
 course, a Royal command ; but he was remembered by 
 many great ladies, and through one of them, a patroness 
 of Almack's, he obtained for me a card for one of the last 
 balls of that expiring institution of exelusiveness, which 
 was then held in Willis's Rooms. I did not know more 
 than two people in the place, and passed a miserably dull 
 evening ; but I was accounted remarkably lucky to have 
 obtained such an entree, and rather fancied myself accord-
 
 88 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ingly. Edmund Byng, who must not be confounded with 
 his brother Frederick, well known as "Poodle" Byng, 
 with whom he had little in common, died at an advanced 
 age in 1854 or '55. 
 
 I went occasionally to dinner-parties and frequently 
 to balls in my early days, when the deux temps valse had 
 just been imported into England, and we used to dance 
 it to the inspiriting strains of Jullieu's or Weippert's band; 
 but I am afraid my real amusements were of a less sober 
 and more Bohemian character. Dancing was just then 
 commencing to be recognized in England as a national 
 pursuit. The public balls of former days had been con- 
 fined to the dreary " assemblies " of provincial towns, and 
 in London there was nothing of the kind in winter; while 
 in summer, Vauxhall, the ancient and grievously over- 
 rated, and Cremorne Gardens, the creation of which as a 
 place of amusement out of the old finely-timbered pleas- 
 aunce I can well remember, were our al fresco resorts. 
 But in the year 1846, while I was in Germany, I had in- 
 formation from friends that one Emile Laurent, a French- 
 man, had taken the old Adelaide Gallery, converted it 
 into a paradise, and called it the Casino. 
 
 The Adelaide Gallery, which was situated at the north- 
 ern, or St. Martin's Church, end of the Lowther Arcade 
 (where as a child I used to eat buns at INIiss Ehrhardt 
 the confectioner's, and buy toys of John Binge, who com- 
 bined toy-selling in the daytime with theatrical singing 
 at night, and who was called "The Singing Mouse," ow- 
 ing to the smallncss of his sweet tenor voice), was started 
 as a science " show." Its principal attractions were Per- 
 kins's steam-gun, which discharged a shower of bullets, 
 but was never adopted in serious warfare ; and the gyra- 
 notus, or electrical eel, a creature which emitted shocks 
 on its back being touched. Parents and jiorsons in cliarge 
 of youth were great patrons of the Adelaide Gallery, 
 which flourished until a rival institution appeared in the 
 shape of the Polytechnic, in Upper Regent Street, which 
 speedily and completely took the wind out of the sails of 
 the original establishment. 
 
 Ah me! the l*olytechnic, with its diving-bell, the de-
 
 TUE AMUSEMENTS 01' YOUTH. 89 
 
 scent in wliicli was so pleasantly productive of imminent 
 head - splitting ; its diver, who rapped his helmet play- 
 fully with the coppers which had been thrown at him ; 
 its half-globes, brass pillars, and water-troughs so charged 
 with electricity as nearly to dislocate the arms of those 
 that touched them; with its microscope, wherein the in- 
 finitesimal creatures in a drop of Thames water appeared 
 like antediluvian animals engaged in combat ; with its 
 lectures, in which Professor Bachhoffner was always ex- 
 hibiting chemistry to " the tyro ;" with its dissolving 
 views of "A Ship," afterwards " on fi-er," and an illus- 
 tration of — as explained by the unseen chorus — "The 
 Hall of Waters — at Constant — nopull — where an unfort — 
 nate Englishman — lost his life — attempting — to discover 
 the passage !" — with all these attractions, and a hundred 
 more which I have forgotten, no wonder that the Poly- 
 technic cast the old Adelaide Gallery into the shade, and 
 that the proprietors of the latter were fain to welcome 
 an entire and sweeping change of programme. 
 
 Such an entertainment as that afforded by Laurent's 
 Casino had never been seen before in London. The hall 
 was fairly large, and handsomely decorated ; the band, 
 led by young Laurent, and with a wonderful performer 
 on the cornet, named Arban, played the liveliest tunes, 
 and kept superb time; and among the light refreshments 
 Avas to be found the then recently-imported sherry-cob- 
 bler — in itself a source of delight to thirsty dancers, who, 
 as ball beverages, had hitherto found nothing between 
 nasty negus and fiery champagne. Laurent's Casino, no 
 doubt for its novelty's sake, was visited by all kinds and 
 conditions of men; it was altogether a quieter and more 
 respectable place than the flaring, flaunting Argyll Rooms 
 into which it afterwards developed. Meanwhile, encour- 
 aged by its success, another concern of a somewhat sim- 
 ilar character had been established. 
 
 What is now the sorcreous Holborn Restaurant was in 
 those days the dingy Holborn Swimming-bath — a very 
 gloomy and, truth to tell, a very dirty and smelly place 
 of recreation. I remember once, being mad about swim- 
 ming — an art which I had just acquired in the delicious
 
 90 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Brill's Bath at Brighton — coming to the Holborn estab- 
 lishment full of pleasurable anticipation ; and I remem- 
 ber, as soon as I had seen and — well, smelt the water 
 into which I proposed plunging, putting on my jacket 
 again, and sacrificing the shiiUng which I had paid for 
 my bath. Later, the dirty water was drained off, the 
 shabby dressing-boxes done away with, the bath covered 
 with a flooring of springy boards, and the whole place 
 painted and renovated, and an excellent band, under the 
 direction of a Mr. Parker (who maintained his position 
 for years), engaged. There, too, as principal master of 
 the ceremonies, was a curious old fellow called Gourriet, 
 who, with Signor Venafra — who used to spend his days 
 at Davis's, the tobacconist's in the Quadrant — had for 
 years been one of the leading hallerinos at Her Majesty's 
 Theatre, and whose rapt enthusiasm in beating time to 
 the music, or pantomimic extravagance in soothing any 
 little dispute, was equally delicious. The Holborn Casino 
 was a much quieter place of resort than its rival, and was 
 frequented by a different class; there was some element 
 of respectability among its female visitors, while among 
 the men the genus " swell," which predominated at the 
 other place, was here almost entirely absent, the ordinary 
 attendants being young fellows from the neighboring 
 Inns of Court, medical students, Government clerks, with 
 a sprinkling of the shopocracy. 
 
 There were one or two other and superior temples of 
 Terpsichore — the Portland Rooms, generally known as 
 " JNIott's," from the proprietary, Mr. and Mrs. Mott, who 
 had some connection with the ballet department of the Op- 
 era, and where, in consequence, one generally found some 
 ]»rc'tty members of the corps among the dancers. The 
 rooms were in Avhat was then called Foley l*lace — a broad 
 thoroughfare opi)Osite the chapel in Great Portland Street 
 — the admission-fee was half a crown, and there was a 
 fair five-shilling suj)per, served in an oddly-shaped, low- 
 ceiliiiged room like the cabin of a ship. To shout "Pol- 
 kar !" after the manner of Mr. Frere, the M.C. of the 
 I'ortland Rooms, was in those days a very humorous 
 performance. More aristocratic, but nothing like so pop-
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 91 
 
 ular, was " Weippert's," a weekly reunion held at the 
 Princess's Concert - rooms, at the back of the Princess's 
 Theatre, where dancing was carried on from late till ear- 
 ly hours, to the music of Weippert's at that time cele- 
 brated band. 
 
 Travelling by the South-western Railway, I often look 
 out, in passing the Vauxhall Station, at a large, square, 
 brick house, the sole landmark of the famous Vauxhall 
 Gardens, long since covered with houses. This individ- 
 ual house was the residence of Mr. Wardell, the lessee of 
 the Gardens, and the square space in front of it used to 
 be filled all night with cabs waiting for hire. The palmy 
 days of Vauxhall were, of course, long before my time, 
 when Simpson, the renowned master of the ceremonies, 
 flourished, and Jos Sedley got drunk on rack-punch, and 
 large parties of the highest aristocracy visited the place 
 and supped in the queer little arbors and supper -boxes 
 with which it was dotted. The arbors and supper-boxes 
 were there in my time, and facing the pay-place was a 
 great sticking-plaster transparency of Simpson executing 
 his celebrated bow, and with the words, "Welcome to 
 the Royal Property !" in a ribbon surroimding his head ; 
 but the aristocracy had deserted it, and no wonder. 
 
 It was a very ghastly place : of actual garden there 
 was no sign; long covered arcades, gravel-strewn and lit 
 with little colored oil-lamps ; an open-air orchestra, the 
 front covered with a huge shell-shaped sounding-board, 
 under which the singer stood ; a few plaster statues dot- 
 ted here and there ; a hermit in a false beard, dwelling 
 in a "property " cave, who told fortunes; a built-up scene 
 in "profile" on the firework ground, representing some- 
 times Vesuvius, sometimes a town to be bombarded (the 
 "Siege of Acre" was, I recollect, popular at one time), 
 but always utilized for firework purposes. One year it 
 was, I recollect, the Piazza of St. Mark at Venice ; and 
 an acrobat, calling himself Joel il Diavolo, made a " ter- 
 rific descent" from the top of the Campanile, coming 
 head-first down a wire surrounded by blazing fireworks, 
 and with squibs and crackers in his cap and heels. In 
 our uncertain climate an open-air place of entertauiment
 
 92 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 must always be a doubtful speculation, aud vast sums of 
 money were lost in Vauxhall, though Mr, Gye, afterwards 
 impresario of the Royal Italian Opera, was said to have 
 made it pay. The liveliest time of the Gardens in my 
 recollection was when its chief attraction was a circus, 
 with Madame Caroline, who first introduced into England 
 the ordinary habit-and-hat riding now so popular as the 
 haute ecole, and Auriol, the prince of French clowns, 
 whose merry, self-satisfied cry of "Houp-la!" is a house- 
 hold word in ring matters to the present day. 
 
 But certainly during my recollection Vauxhall Gar- 
 dens was never a popular place of recreation. The charge 
 for admission was high — seldom less than half a 'crown — 
 and the journey there was long, diflicult, and expensive; 
 for, to add to the cab -fare, which was large, there was 
 the bridge-toll and a turnjHke — together ninepence. The 
 refreshments partaken of by the " quality " — the skinny 
 fowls, transparent ham, oleaginous salad, the champagne 
 and rack-punch — were, of course, also enormously dear; 
 but there was a sly spot at the back of the orchestra 
 where were dispensed to the knowing ones huge, healthy 
 sandwiches, and foaming stout served in earthenware 
 tankards, the pleasant memory of which abides by me 
 yet. It may therefore be readily imagined that the im- 
 pecunious youth of the period, among whom I was num- 
 bered, were much more in favor of Cremorne, which was 
 opened as a public garden just about this time, and which, 
 in comparison with Vauxhall, at least was cheap and 
 cheery. 
 
 The gardens were large and well laid out ; some of 
 the grand old trees had been left standing, and afforded 
 ]iU'asant relief to tlie town eyes which had been staring 
 all day at brick and stucco, wliile their murmuring rustle 
 was j»k'asant to the ears aching with the echo of city 
 trallic. There were plenty of amusements — a circular 
 dancing-]»latform, with a capital band in a large kiosk in 
 the middle ; a lot of jeiix i7inocens, such as you find at a 
 French fair ; once a week a balloon ascent and a very 
 good firework display. The admission-fee was one shil- 
 ling ; there was a hot dinner for half a crown, a cold
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 93 
 
 supper for the same money ; and it was not considered 
 necessary, as at Vauxhall, to go in for expense ; on the 
 contrary, beer flowed freely; and it was about this time, 
 I think, and at Cremorne, that the insidious "long" 
 drinks — soda and "something" — now so popular, first 
 made their appearance. Occasionally there were big ban- 
 quets organized by certain " swells " and held there, when 
 there would be heavy drinking, and sometimes a row — 
 on Derby night once, when there was a free fight which 
 lasted for hours, involving the complete smash of every- 
 thing smashable ; and I mind me of another occasion, 
 when a gigantic Irishman, now a popular M.P., sent 
 scores of waiters flying by the force of his own unaided 
 fists. But, on the whole, the place was well and quietly 
 conducted, and five minutes after the bell for closine; 
 rang — just before midnight — the gardens were deserted. 
 There was a general rush for the omnibuses and cabs, 
 which were in great demand, and for one or two seasons 
 there was a steamboat which left the adjacent Cadogan 
 pier at the close of the entertainment, and carried pas- 
 sengers to Hungerford Bridge, and Avhich was very pop- 
 ular. 
 
 I have mentioned the Adelaide Gallery and the Poly- 
 technic Institution, and there were many other exhibition 
 places eminently respectable and po^mlar in my youthful 
 days, which have since been done away with, and the 
 very names of which are now scarcely heard. Foremost 
 of these was the Coliseum, on the east side of the Re- 
 gent's Park, covering the space now occupied, I should 
 say, by Cambridge Gate to the front and Coliseum Ter- 
 race to the rear — an enormous polygon, a hundred and 
 twenty - six feet in diameter, and over a hundred feet 
 high, built from the designs of Decimus Burton, whose 
 best -known work nowadays is the Marble Arch. The 
 industrious John Timbs, in his " Curiosities of London," 
 tells us that the Coliseum — or Colosseum, as he spells it — 
 was so called from its colossal size, and not from any sup- 
 posed resemblance to its namesake in Rome. But this 
 spoils the story of the not too cultured cornet in the 
 Blues, who from Rome wrote to his friend, "I see they've
 
 94 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 got a Coliseum here, too ; but it is not in such good re- 
 pair as that one near our Albany Street Barracks." I 
 remember it well — my father, in partnership with John 
 Braham, once owned it, to his sorrow — with its wonderful 
 panoramas of London by day and London by night, best 
 things of the kind until eclipsed by the " Siege of Paris " 
 in the Champs - Elysees ; its glyptotheca, full of plaster 
 casts ; its Swiss chalet, with a real water-fall, and a mel- 
 ancholy old eagle flopping about its " property " rocks ; 
 its stalactite cavern, prepared by Bradwell and Telbin ; 
 and its sham ruins near the desolate portico.* Li a small 
 dark tank in the interior of the building I once skated on 
 some artificial ice ; and there was a lecture - theatre, in 
 which I found myself, just before the final doom of the 
 establishment (I had come in for shelter from a rain- 
 storm), one of an audience of three listening to an enter- 
 tainment given by a little gentleman, who was nothing 
 daunted by the paucity of his appreciators, and Avho sang 
 and danced away as if we had been three thousand. This 
 plucky neophyte, then very young, has since developed 
 into that excellent actor, Mr. Edward Righton. 
 
 To the Coliseum, some years before its final fall, was 
 added the Cyclorama — an extraordinarily realistic repre- 
 sentation of the earthquake of Lisbon. The manner in 
 Avhicli the earth heaved and was rent, the buildings top- 
 pled over, and the sea rose, was most cleverly contrived, 
 and had a most terrifying effect upon the spectators ; 
 frightful rumblings, proceeding apparently from under 
 your feet, increased the horror, which was anything but 
 diiiiinislied l)y accompanying musical performances on 
 that awful instrument, the apollonicon. Never was bet- 
 ter value in fright given for money. The Diorama, on 
 the east side of Park Square, Regent's Park (a clia]iel 
 now stands on its site), was memorable from the fact that 
 the room in wliicli (lie spectator of the picture sat was 
 
 * The gallery fmni which tlic vnst pntionunns of Loiulon were inspected 
 woH reached liy ii npiral staircase, niid also by the "ascending room," the 
 precursor of the "lifts," "elevators," and " aaccnscurs," now to be found 
 in every European and American hotel.
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 95 
 
 made to revolve at intervals, so that the two scenes of 
 which the exhibition consisted were brought into view 
 without persons quitting their seats. 
 
 But far the best of all these panoramic shows was the 
 series exhibited at the Old Gallery of Illustration in Wa- 
 terloo Place, called "The Overland Route," and repre- 
 senting all the principal places between Southampton and 
 Calcutta. This was the work of those admirable scene- 
 painters, Thomas Grieve and William Telbin, and was 
 executed in their painting-rooms in Charles Street, Drury 
 Lane, a notorious thieves' quarter. The human figures 
 wei*e by Absolon, the animals by Herring and Harrison 
 Weir. Such a combination of excellence had never been 
 seen, and a clear, concise, and most pleasantly delivered 
 descriptive comment on the passing scene by Mr. Stoc- 
 queler, an author and journalist of the day, enhanced the 
 success, which was tremendous. In those days, too, there 
 was always to be found on the north side of Leicester 
 Square a clever panorama of some beautiful European 
 scenery, painted, or at least owned, by a gentleman named 
 Burford, of whom it was said that he could never be an 
 orphan, as he was never without a pa-nor-a-ma. Also 
 among daylight and respectable places of amusement of 
 my youth were the Chinese Exhibition at the St. George's 
 Gallery, Hyde Park, on the site where the " tap " of the 
 Alexandra Hotel now is — an extraordinary collection of 
 the details of Chinese life, with some admirable wax fig- 
 ures representing the different ranks and classes (a diora- 
 ma of the Holy Land, a visit to which had a great effect 
 on my life, as will be subsequently shown, was afterwards 
 exhibited here), and the Chinese junk, a veritable Chinese 
 vessel, manned by a Chinese crew, " without," as Dickens 
 said, " a profile among the lot," which sailed from Hong- 
 Kong and anchored in the Thames off gloomy Babylon. 
 One of the petty officers of this junk, presenting himself 
 at the ceremonial of the opening of the Great Exhibition 
 in '51, with pigtail and national costume, and being mis- 
 taken for a grandee, was received with the greatest honor, 
 and had one of the best places in the show. 
 
 Walking in the Park and perambulating the leading
 
 96 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 West End thoroughfares was a cheap and never -failing 
 source of amusement to me in my youth. I soon learned 
 ,to recognize the celebrities of the day of all kinds, and I 
 generally had as companion some one who had served as 
 ajfd)ieur much longer than myself, and who enabled me 
 to add to my list of acquaintance by sight. In those days 
 the fashionable drive and promenade were along the north 
 side of the Serpentine — just previously they had been 
 from the Marble Arch to Apsley House — and there were 
 as many carriages on Sundays as on any other day — per- 
 haps more. I can well remember Lady Blessington, a 
 fair, fat, middle - aged woman, in a big, heavy, swinging 
 chariot, glistening — the chariot, not her ladyship — with 
 varnish, and profusely emblazoned with heraldry, and with 
 two enormous footmen, cane-carrying, powder-headed, and 
 silk-stockinged, hanging on behind.* One of the Misses 
 Power, her nieces, and remarkably pretty girls, generally 
 accompanied her ladyship. 
 
 There, in a hooded cabriolet, the fashionable vehicle 
 for men-about-town, with an enormous champing horse 
 and the trimmest of tiny grooms — "tigers," as they wei-e 
 called — half-standing on the foot-board behind, half swing- 
 ing in the air, clinging on to the straps, would be Count 
 d'Orsay, with clear-cut features and raven hair, the king 
 of the dandies, the cynosure of all eyes, the greatest 
 *' swell " of the day. He was an admirable whip — he is 
 reported on one occasion, by infinite spirit and dash, to 
 have cut the wheel off a brewer's dray which was bearing 
 down upon his light carriage, and to have spoken of it 
 afterwards as "the triumph of mind over matter" — and 
 always drove in faultless white kid gloves, with his shirt- 
 wristbands turned back over his coat-cuffs, and his whole 
 "turn-out" was perfection. By his side, occasionally, 
 
 * The late J(jlin Ilcncage Jesse, " Jack Jesse " to his intimates, the 
 well-known atithor, liad an aversion, amountinf; to a positive 'phobia, for 
 tlie British Jcarnes. lie has l)ccn known to stand in St. James's Street on 
 a Drawinp-room day, at the edge of the curb, and with the end of his stick, 
 wliicli he dipped into the road-piiddio, dan)) the immaculate stockings of 
 the passing llunkeys, who, as he will kn(;w, dare not move from their 
 Btalions, accompanying the act with much opprobrious language.
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 97 
 
 Prince Louis Napoleon, an exile too, after his escape from 
 Ham, residing in lodgings in King Street, St. James's — he 
 pointed out the house to the Empress Eugenie when, as 
 Emperor of the French, on his visit to Queen Victoria, he 
 drove by it — and a constant visitor of Lady Blessington's 
 at Gore House. Albert Smith, in later years, used to say 
 he wondered whether, if he called at the Tuileries, the 
 Emperor would pay him "that eighteenpence," the sum 
 which one niolit at Gore House he borrowed from A. S. 
 
 CD 
 
 to pay a cabman. 
 
 There were no jihotographs in the shop-windows in 
 those days, but the lithographed likenesses of beauties 
 appearing in Albums and Keepsakes, and dear to Mr. 
 Guppy and Mr. Jobling, enabled us to recognize some of 
 the ladies we saw in their carriages or opera-boxes. The 
 Duchess of Sutherland, Mistress of the Robes to the Queen, 
 was then in the full splendor of her matronly beauty; the 
 Duchess of Wellington, Lady Constance Leveson-Gower, 
 afterwards Duchess of Westminstei*, Lady Clementina Vil- 
 liers, and her sister Lady Adela Ibbetson, Lady Otway, 
 Mrs. Norton, Lady Duflferin, Lady Pollington, Lady Duff- 
 Gordon, were among the best known and the most re- 
 nowned. There were handsome men in those days : Horace 
 Pitt, afterwards Lord Rivers ; Cecil Forrester, now Lord 
 Forrester ; Manners Sutton, afterwards Lord Canterbury; 
 Lincoln Stanhope; a knot of Guardsmen — Henry de Bathe, 
 Charles Seymour, Cuthbert Ellison, "Jerry" Meyrick, 
 " Hippy " Damer, Henry Otway, Henry CoUingwood Ib- 
 betson, and his brother Captain Charles. Among the 
 Park riders — a regimental band played twice a week, 
 Tuesdays and Fridays, in Kensington Gardens, close by 
 the Magazine, where the people promenaded, and the 
 equestrians formed in a long line, Avith their horses' heads 
 facing the sunken wall — I remember Lord Cantilupe, 
 a tremendous swell, always lounging about and half-re- 
 clining on his horse's back, as he was inimitably portrayed 
 by Doyle; Matthew Higgins, "Jacob Omnium," an enor- 
 mous man, gray-Avhiskered, stern-featured, but with soft 
 oyes, riding an enormous horse ; Lord Palmerston ; the 
 Duke of Wellington, acknowledging all salutations with 
 
 5
 
 98 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 his lifted forefinger, and closely attended by his groom ; 
 Dr. Billing, on an old white nag ; Frank Grant, afterwards 
 P.R.A.; Lord Cardigan, very stiff in the saddle; Lord 
 Lucan, looking pretty much as he does now ; Sir Belling- 
 ham Graham, a mighty hunter ; and Jim Mason, the stee- 
 ple-chase rider, whose seat and hands surely have never 
 been surpassed. 
 
 Coaching was at its lowest ebb just then, and though I 
 suppose the Four-in-hand Club actually existed, I have only 
 a remembrance of one " drag " which went about London, 
 driven by a common-looking man named Savage, of whom 
 the legend ran that he had been a butcher, and had money 
 left him by his wife on condition of driving so many miles 
 daily. But there were plenty of vehicular notabilities in 
 the Park : the Hon. and Rev. Fitzroy Stanhope, easiest 
 and most courteous of divines, in the four-wheeled trap 
 called after his name; Lord Clanricarde, in a hooded 
 phaeton with one horse, but that one a wonder ; Lord 
 ITuntingtower, in a great, banging, rattling mail-phaeton ; 
 Mr. Tod-Heatley, in the first private hansom cab ever seen 
 in London. Gigs are now relegated to country doctors' 
 use. Tilbury s, with a spring behind, britskas, with a back 
 seat called a " rumble " for servants, chariots, with cane- 
 bearing footmen, have all disappeared ; and broughams, 
 dog-carts, tea-carts, and victorias have come in their place. 
 Li those days smoking in the street was an unpardonable 
 solecism ; a lady driving a pony would have been consid- 
 ered to have unsexed herself, while the man seated by her 
 side and passively allowing her to drive would have been 
 voted a milksop and a molly. 
 
 Sir George Wombwell and Lord Adoli)hus Fitzclarence 
 were social celebrities of those times; the Damon and 
 Pythias of clubland, they were scarcely ever seen apart. 
 Constant companionship seemed to have made them alike 
 — two red-faced, cheery, kindly, bell-hatled, frock-coated, 
 wide-trousered old Itoys. A stroll in l*arliament Street 
 in the afternoon wouhl always produce its crop of politi- 
 cal celebrities : Sir Robert Peel, a demure-looking man, 
 in a white waistcoat ; Lord John Russell, very stnall, with 
 too Tuuch hat and an unpleasant curl of the lij* ; Lord Kl
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 99 
 
 phinstone, very good-looking ; Mr. Cobden, very common- 
 looking ; the Marquis of Lansdowne, a venerable person- 
 age ; Mr. A. H. Layard, then just becoming known as the 
 discoverer of Nineveh ; a wild-eyed, thin, gesticulating 
 creature, Chisholm Anstey, who impeached Lord Palm- 
 erston ; and the eccenti'ic Colonel Sibthorp. These were 
 prominent persons whom I remember; but the introduc- 
 tion of photography and the pul)lication of portraits and 
 caricatures by the illustrated journals have given noto- 
 riety to a vast number of persons who thirty years ago 
 would have remained unknown. 
 
 Few places are more changed, and changed for the bet- 
 ter, in the period of my memory, than the dining-rooms 
 and restaurants of London. In the days of my early 
 youth there was, I suppose, scarcely a capital city in Eu- 
 rope so badly provided with eating-houses as ours ; not 
 numerically, for there were plenty of them, but the quali- 
 ty was all round bad. And this was not for lack of cus- 
 tom, or of customers of an appreciative kind; for, as I shall 
 have occasion to point out, there were comparatively few 
 clubs at that time, and those which were in existence had 
 not nearh' so many members, nor were nearly so much 
 frequented, for dining purposes at least, as they now are. 
 There was not, it is true, in any class so much money to 
 spend as there is now : young men who to-day sit down 
 to soup, fish, entrees — then called "made dishes"— a 
 roast, a bird, a sweet, a savory, and a bottle of claret, 
 would then have been content with a slice oif the joint, 
 a bit of cheese, and a pint of beer ; but everything was 
 fifty per cent, cheaper in those times, and there was an 
 ample profit on what was supplied. 
 
 The improvement, as I shall show, came in suddenly.. 
 There were no Spiers & Pond, and of course none of the 
 excellent establishments owned by them ; no St. James's 
 Hall, Cafe Royal, Monico's, Gatti's, Bristol or Continental 
 restaurants, scarcely one of the now fashionable dining- 
 houses. Verrey's was in existence, to be sure, but it was 
 regarded as a " Frenchified " place, and was very little 
 patronized by the young men of the day, though it had a 
 good foreign connection. Dubourg's, in the Haymarket,
 
 100 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 opposite the theatre, was in the same categoi'y, though 
 more patronized for suppers. The Cafe de I'Europe, next 
 door to the Haymarkot Theatre, originally started by 
 Henry Hemming, who had heen jeune j^remie)' at the Adel- 
 phi, was, notwithstanding its foreign name, a purely Eng- 
 lish house, as far as its cooking was concerned. All these 
 places, however, were far beyond the means of me and 
 my friends. If we wanted foreign fare — and truth to 
 tell, in those days of youth and health, and vast appetite 
 and little money, we were not much given to it — we 
 would go to Rouget's in Castle Street, Leicester Square ; 
 or to Giraudier's in the Haymarket ; or, best of all, to 
 Berthollini's in St. Martin's Place, I think it was called 
 — a narrow thoroughfare at the back of Pall Mall East. 
 A wonderful man Berthollini : a tall, thin Italian in a 
 black wig — there was a current report that many of the 
 dishes were made out of his old wigs and boots ; but this 
 was only the perversion by the ribalds of the statement 
 of his supporters, that the flavoring was so excellent that 
 the basis of the dish was Immaterial — who superintended 
 everything himself and was ubiquitous; now flying to 
 the kitchen, now uncorking the wine, now j^ointing with 
 his long skinny forefinger to specially lovely pieces in the 
 dish. There was a story that some rash man once asked 
 to be allowed to inspect the kitchen, and that Berthollini 
 had a fit in consequence. I have no doubt that the culi- 
 nary prejiarations were mysterious ; luit they were well 
 flavored, higlily seasoned, and much relished by us. They, 
 and the pint of Chablis or claret — all red wine which was 
 not port was claret in those days — were a pleasant change 
 from the eternal joint, the never-to-be-avoidcd chop or 
 steak, to which the tavern-diner was then condemned. 
 
 The "Sla]»-bang" — so called from the rate at which 
 its meal was devoured, or from the easy manners of those 
 who served it — was, in truth, not a very appetizing place : 
 it is admirably (lescril)e(l in " Bleak House," where Mr. 
 Giipj)y entertains the hungry J()l)]ing and the preternat- 
 iirally - knowing Sinaliweed. At " Shij) - bang's " napkins 
 were unknown ; the forks were steel-pronged, the spoons 
 battered and worn, the table-cloths ring-stained with pew-
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 101 
 
 tcr pots Jind blotched with old gravy and by-gone mustard. 
 The room was partitioned off into "boxes," with hard 
 and narrow seats, and a narrow slip of trestle-table be- 
 tween them ; attendance was given sometimes by females, 
 fat and bouncing, like the "Polly" of Mr. Guppy's ban- 
 quet ; or dirty and slatternly ; or by men in the shiniest 
 and greasiest of black suits. I used frequently to dine at 
 Izant's in Bucklersbury, where, indeed, everything was 
 well done, mainly for the pleasure of being quit of these 
 wretches, and being waited on by men dressed in whole- 
 some clean linen blouses. 
 
 In the City, Tom's, Joe's, and Baker's ; Dolly's Chop- 
 house, the Daniel Lambert on Ludgate Hill, the Cheshire 
 Cheese, the Cock, the Rainbow, Dick's, Anderton's — all 
 in Fleet Street — the Mitre in Fetter Lane, the Southamp- 
 ton in Southampton Buildings, Rudkin's Salutation Tav- 
 ern in Newgate Street, and a house in Brownlow Street, 
 Holborn, where w^onderful Burton ale was on draught, 
 were much frequented. 
 
 More westerly places were Short's, the well-known wine- 
 shop in the Strand, where at that time dinners were served 
 in the upper rooms ; its neighbor, the Edinburgh Castle ; 
 Campbell's Scotch Stores in Duke Street, Regent Street, 
 where Mr. Blanchard, the founder of the celebrated Res- 
 taurant Blanchard, learned his business ; Sinclair's Scotch 
 Stores in Oxford Circus ; and the American Stores near 
 the Princess's Theatre : there were also some " Shades " 
 under what is now the Empire Theatre, and what I have 
 known variously as Miss Linwood's needle-work exhibi- 
 tion, the Walhalla iov 2)0ses plastiques, Saville House for 
 athletic shows, etc., etc. In these underground " Shades" 
 a fair dinner at eighteenpence a head could be had in 
 cleanliness and quiet ; and Albert and Arthur Smith and 
 I used frequently to dine there while the Mont Blanc en- 
 tertainment was in embryo, and discuss its chances of 
 success. 
 
 I well remember the excitement with which we young 
 fellows about town received the rumor that a dining- 
 place would shortly be opened where things would be 
 done as at the clubs, and the eagerness with which we
 
 102 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LITE. 
 
 tested its truth. This, which was the pioneer of improve- 
 ment, was the Grand Divan Restaurant, or, as it was bet- 
 ter known, " Simpson's," in the Strand. The name of 
 Simpson was at that time a power in the hotel and restau- 
 rant world. There were two brothers, one of whom had 
 the well-known fish ordinary at Billingsgate — a tremen- 
 dous repast for eighteenpence, where the water stood on 
 the table in old hock bottles, where everything was of the 
 best, and where, after the cloth had been removed, there 
 was much smoking of long pipes and drinking of grogs. 
 The other brother at that time owned the Albion, oppo- 
 site Drury Lane Theatre, principally in vogue as a sup- 
 per - house, and was afterwards the lessee of Cremorne 
 Gardens. Rumor, for once, had not exaggerated ; the 
 whole thing was a revolution and a revelation. Large 
 tables and comfortable chairs in place of the boxes and 
 benches ; abundance of clean linen table-cloths and nap- 
 kins ; plated forks and spoons; electro - plated tankards 
 instead of pewter pots; finger-glasses; the joint wheeled 
 to your side, and carved by a being in white cap and 
 jacket ; a choice of cheeses, pulled bread, and a properly 
 made-out bill : all these were wondrous and acceptable 
 innovations. The edibles and potables were all of first 
 quality; the rooms were large and well ventilated ; the 
 attendants were clean, civil, and quick ; and the superin- 
 tendence of "Charles" — formerly of the Albion, but who 
 had now blossomed into Mr. Daws — was universal. Of 
 course every well-conducted restaurant nowadays is con- 
 ducted on these principles — " all can grow the flower now, 
 for all have got the seed ;" but the honor of originating 
 the now style belongs to Sinii)Son. 
 
 A want of a similar establishment at the West End was 
 speedily supplied by the conversion of the fine building 
 in St. James's Street— which, originally Crockford's Club, 
 had been utilized as a duncing-shop and a picture-exhibi- 
 tion — into the Wellington Restaurant, which, carried out 
 on SinijtHon's model, flourished for a time. The rent, how- 
 ever, was 80 enormous as to swallow up all the profits, 
 and the concern was abandoned. Simpson's also served 
 as the j.rototype for a more easterly imitator: Messrs.
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 103 
 
 Sawyer & Strange, great refreshment contractors of that 
 day, started the "London dinner" in the upper floors of 
 the house in Fleet Street, the corner of Chancery Lane, 
 and for some time were successful. 
 
 Fish dinners at Greenwich and Blackwall were, I think, 
 more in vogue then than they are now ; indeed the latter 
 place, where Lovegrove's, the Brunswick, and the Arti- 
 choke flourished, is quite extinct as a dining -place. It 
 was, I recollect, at Lovegrove's that the directors of the 
 then existing General Screw Steam Shipping Company — 
 of which Mr. J. Lyster O'Beirne was secretary — gave, 
 after the launch of one of their vessels from Rolt & Mare's 
 yard, a great lunch, at which Shirley Brooks was present, 
 and which he utilized for descriptive purposes in the 
 opening chapter of " Miss Violet and her Ofl'ers," his first 
 c<mtribution to Punch. The only Green^nch house of 
 that day now remaining is the Trafalgar, little altered 
 since it was owned by Mr. Hart, whose rival — Mr. Quar- 
 termaine, who established the present Ship — then con- 
 ducted the Crown and Sceptre, now extinct or very much 
 diminished. 
 
 In those days there were two smaller fish-dinner houses 
 at Greenwich called, I think, the Yacht and the Ship Tor- 
 bay. In those days people drove to Greenwich — the rail 
 was comparatively little used by the luxurious — and every 
 summer evening, and especially on a Sunday, there would 
 be a serried phalanx of fifty or sixty horseless carriages, 
 drags, barouches, cabriolets, broughams, and hansoms out- 
 side the principal hotels. The laying of the tram-rails on 
 the principal roads put an end to all possibilities of pleas- 
 ant driving : the charioteers and owners of private vehi- 
 cles declined to submit them to the unavoidable twists 
 and w^renchings; and the result to the Greenwich tavern- 
 keepers is, it is said, a loss of seven thousand a year. 
 Richmond, as a dining -place, occupied then much the 
 same position as now. The view was always better than 
 the dinner. The old Star and Garter, since burned down, 
 was a much more modest hostelry than the enormous edi- 
 fice which stands on its site, and competed for custom 
 with the Castle, recently closed. The Roebuck and the
 
 104 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Talbot "were as they now are; and at Hampton Court, 
 beside the still existent Mitre and Greyhound at either 
 end of the gardens, there was a famous hotel not far from 
 the river called the Toy. Toton's — afterwards Wilcox's 
 — at Mortlake, the Swan at Staines, the Bells of Ouseley, 
 the Cricketers at Chertsey, were well known to the com- 
 paratively few men who took interest in the river ; while 
 below bridge Waite's Hotel at Gravesend was largely 
 patronized by eastward - bound passengers who joined 
 ship there. 
 
 Those were the days of supper, for at that time a be- 
 neficent Legislature had not ordained that, at a certain 
 hour, no matter how soberly we may be enjoying our- 
 selves in a house of j)ublic entertainment, we were to be 
 turned into the streets. There were many houses which 
 combined a supper with a dinner business ; there were 
 some which only took doAvn their shutters when ordinary 
 hard - working peoj^le were going to bed. Among the 
 former were the oyster-shops : Quinn's in the Haymarket; 
 Scott's, facing that broad - awake thoroughfare ; a little 
 house (name forgotten) in Ryder Street — not Wilton, 
 who closed at twelve ; Godwin's, with the celebrated 
 Charlotte as its attendant Hebe, in the Strand near St. 
 Mary's Church. Godwin's was occasionally patronized 
 by journalists and senators who lived in the Temple pre- 
 cincts — the beaming face of Morgan John O'Connell was 
 frequently to be seen there, and Douglas Jerrold would 
 sometimes look in. Charlotte was supposed to be one of 
 the few who had ever silenced the great wit : he had 
 been asking for some time for a glass of brandy -and- 
 water ; and when at length Charlotte })laced before him 
 the stcamiTig jorum, she said, "Tliere it is, you trouble- 
 some little man; mind you don't fall into it and drown 
 yourself." Jerrold, who was very sensitive to any re- 
 marks upon his small and bent figure, collapsed. 
 
 Other famous oyster-houses of that day, as they are of 
 this, were Linn's in the Strand, Pimm's in the Poultry, 
 and Sweeting's in Clieapside; but they were all closed at 
 night. Restaurants where tlie i)resencc of ladies at sup- 
 ]»<•!• was encouraged rather than objected to were the
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 105 
 
 Caf6 de I'Europe, in the large room at the back (the 
 front room, entered immediately from the street, was re- 
 served for gentlemen, and will be mentioned elsewhere), 
 and Dubourg's, already mentioned, the proprietor of which 
 — a fat elderly Frenchman, his portly presence much girt 
 with gold watch-chain — was a constant attendant at the 
 Opera, and was well known to the roues of the day. Then 
 there Avere the regular " night-houses," the company and 
 the doings at which were, I imagine, equivalent to those 
 at "The Finish," as depicted in the career of Tom and 
 Jerry by George Cruikshank. There were many ; but 
 the two best known and most frequented were the Blue 
 Posts and "Bob Croft's." 
 
 The Blue Posts — not to be confounded with the well- 
 known tavern of the same name in Cork Street — in the 
 lower portion of the Haymarket, was, I suppose, an ordi- 
 nary public-house, though it never struck any of its fre- 
 quenters to regard it in that light. For a vast number 
 of people it was the regular place of adjournment on the 
 closing of the theatres and the dancing-halls. At mid- 
 night the passage from the outside door, the large space 
 in front of the bar, the stairs leading to the upper rooms, 
 tlie upper rooms themselves, were closely packed by a 
 dense mass of men and women, through which no man 
 but one could have forced his way. This was a waiter, 
 a great favorite, owing to his imperturbable good-humor, 
 and well known from his peculiar cry of "Mind the 
 sauce, please ! mind the sauce and the gravy!" with which 
 he, heavily laden with supper-trays, would steer his way 
 through the throng. The house, taken for what it was, 
 was exceedingly well conducted; and though the conver- 
 sation might have been more choice and more subdued, 
 any rowdyism was at once put down. This was, in a 
 measure, due to the respect felt by the regular frequent- 
 ers for the landlord and landlady, an old Scotch couple 
 named Dick, shrewd and business-like, but withal kindly, 
 quiet, respectable people, Avho did many a good turn to 
 some of their customers when out of luck. They lived 
 at Hampstead, going up there in the early morning, com- 
 ing doAvn into London late at night; and I often thought
 
 106 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 of the strange contrast between their daylight existence, 
 among their flowers and birds, in fresh air and perfect 
 quiet, and the thick atmosphere reeking with spirits and 
 tobacco, the roar and din and confusion of the strange 
 company in which their nights were passed. 
 
 " Bob Croft's " was a much later house, and one of a 
 different stamp — no one ever accused its landlord of re- 
 sjjcctability, though he too lived in the daytime in the 
 country, in a j^retty cottage at Kingston Hill. He was 
 a burly, red-faced, jolly-looking fellow, in a white waist- 
 coat, not without humor of a very broad kind, and fa- 
 mous for much undiluted repartee. When the balloon in 
 which Albert Smith and others ascended from Vauxhall 
 came to grief, and Albert was spilt into the road, he was 
 picked up by Croft, who used to nan-ate the story as a 
 strange meeting of two celebrated characters. Bob Croft's 
 daughter married a baronet, and afterwards appeared with 
 fair success on the stage. 
 
 Although the palmy days of public gambling were over, 
 there were several private, very private, establishments at 
 which the interesting games of roulette and French haz- 
 ard were nightly played, and where the stakes varied from 
 a five-pound note to a humble half-crown. The Berke- 
 ley in Albermarle Street, and Lyley's ; Morris's in Jermyn 
 Street, over a boot-maker's shop ; " Goody " Levy's — the 
 gentleman who came to grief over the Running Rein case 
 — in Panton Street : these and several others flourished 
 at the time, ])rototypos of " Tlio Little Nick," where read- 
 ers of "Pendeniiis " will rcnu'iiil)er Sir Francis Claverina: 
 wooed fickle Fortune. The modiis operandi was pretty 
 much the same everywhere. You pulled a briglit-knobbed 
 bell, which responded with a single muflled clang, and the 
 door was opened silently by a speechless man who closed 
 it quickly behind you. Confronting you was another 
 door, generally sheeted with iron covered with green baize; 
 in its centre a small glazed aperture, through which the 
 visitor, in liis temporary (juaraiitine, was closely scruti- 
 nized. If the survey was unsatisfactory — if, that is to 
 say, he looked like a spy, or a stranger merely prompted 
 by ciirio>;!ity — he was bid<leii to be off, and in case of need
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 107 
 
 he was thrust out by the strong and silent porter. If he 
 were known, or " looked all right," the door was opened, 
 and the visitor passed up richly carpeted stairs into the 
 first floor. The front room was set apart for play: a long 
 table covered with a green cloth, divided by tightly 
 stretched pieces of string into the spaces for the " in " 
 and the " out " — the game being hazard — and a few chairs 
 for the players; the croupiers, each armed with a hooked 
 stick, instead of the usual rake, for the collection of the 
 money, faced each other in the middle of the table ; the 
 shutters were closed and thick curtains were drawn. The 
 back room was given up to a substantial supper of cold 
 chickens, joints, salads, etc., which with sherry, brandy, 
 etc., was pi'ovided gratis. In the places I have named the 
 play, taken for what it was, was perfectly fair, so that 
 there was no occasion for the presence of sham players, 
 "bonnets," as they are called, who act as decoys ; the 
 company was mostly composed of men-about-town, the 
 majority of them middle-aged, with occasionally a law- 
 yer, a West End tradesman, and almost invariably a well- 
 known usurer, who came there, however, to play, not to 
 ply his trade. 
 
 Money was lost and won without display of excite- 
 ment ; I never saw anything approaching a " scene " in 
 a London gaming-house. The greatest excitement was 
 once, when about 2 a.m., in the middle of play, after a 
 sharp whistle outside which caused the croupiers at once 
 to cut and clear away the strings dividing the table, and 
 to cover it with a white cloth, swallowing, as some said, 
 the dice — at all events instantly hiding them — we heard 
 a tremendous crash below, and found the police were 
 breaking down the iron door with sledge-hammers. The 
 scene was very like that so cleverly portrayed in " Artful 
 Cards :" when the inspector and his men entered, they 
 found a few gentlemen peacefully supping, smoking, and 
 chatting. We had to give our names and addresses, but 
 never heard any more of it. 
 
 The most popular places of resort for such young men 
 as kept late hours were, however, the supper-and-singing 
 taverns, which were always respectably conducted, though
 
 108 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 in my early days there was an element of ribaldry in the 
 amusement provided which was afterwards suppressed. 
 The best known of these were the Coal Hole, the Cider 
 Cellars, and Evans's. The Coal Hole was in a court out 
 of the Strand, near the Cigar Divan — Fountain Court I 
 think it is called. It has long since been appropriated to 
 other purposes, and is now the Occidental Tavern. The 
 landlord was one John Rhodes, a burly fellow Avith a bass 
 voice, who sat at the head of the singers' table and joined 
 in the glees, which were sung without instrumental ac- 
 companiment. From my recollection of Rhodes and his 
 room, I imagine that he was Hoskins, the landlord of the 
 Cave of Harmony, where Costigan sang the outrageous 
 song which caused Colonel Newcome to rate the com- 
 pany. It is certain that "little Nadab, the improvisa- 
 tore," of whom Thackeray speaks, was a certain Mr. 
 Sloman, who called himself "the only English impro- 
 visatore," who used to sing at the Coal Hole, and the 
 outpourings of whose improvisations were remarkably like 
 the specimens given in " The Newcomes." Only, in my 
 time at least, the singing at the Coal Hole was confined 
 to professionals, and no visitor would have been allowed 
 to volunteer a song, as did the colonel. The celebrities 
 of the place were Rhodes himself, a young fellow called 
 Cave — the first, I believe, to introduce to England the 
 American banjo as an accompaniment for the voice — and 
 a dreadful old creature called Joe Wells, who used to 
 since most disfrustinor ditties. The Coal Hole never had 
 the reputation or the ])c)sition of either of its rivals, and 
 was the first to succumb to the alteration in public taste. 
 Tlie Cider Cellars, next to the stage-door of the Adeljihi 
 in jMaiden Lane, now converted into a Jewish synagogue, 
 had deservedly a far wider renown. It was described, 
 under its own name, l)y Albert .Smith in the "Medical 
 Student" and "Mr. Ledbury," and was the prototype of 
 the Back Kitchen, immortalized in "Pendennis." Thus 
 Thackeray chronicles its com])any : " Healthy country 
 tradesmeti and farmers in Loudon for their business came 
 and recreated llicmsclvcs with the jolly singing and sup- 
 jM-rs of the Back Kitchen ; scpiads of young ai)prentice8
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 109 
 
 and assistants — the shutters being closed over the scene 
 of their labors — came hither, for fresh air doubtless ; rak- 
 ish young medical students, gallant, dashing, what is called 
 loudly dressed, and, must it be owned ? somewhat dirty, 
 came here, smoking and drinking and vigorously applaud- 
 ing the songs ; yoimg University bucks were to be found 
 here too, with that indescribable simper which is only 
 learned at the knees of Alma Mater ; and handsome 
 young guardsmen, and florid bucks from the St. James's 
 Street clubs ; nay, senators — English and Irish — and even 
 members of the House of Peers." Thackeray goes on to 
 say that all these sorts and conditions of men assembled 
 to hear a bass singer named Hodgen, who had made an 
 immense hit with his song of the "Body-snatcher." The 
 singer from whom Hodgen was drawn was a man named 
 Ross, and the song which he sang and which had the 
 enormous success which Thackeray describes was called 
 " Sara Hall," the chant of a murderous chimney-sweep of 
 that name just before his execution. It was a good bit 
 of realistic acting : the man, made up with a ghastly face, 
 delivered it sitting across a chair, and there was a horrible 
 anathematizing refrain. The effect produced was tre- 
 mendous, and for months and months, at the hour when 
 it was knoAvn that " Sam Hall " would be sung, there was 
 no standing - place in the Cider Cellars. When I first 
 knew the place its landlord was William Rhodes, brother 
 of the Coal Hole proprietor ; but he died before the " Sam 
 Hall" mania, and the person who profited by that was his 
 widow, a clever managing woman, who conducted the 
 general business with great success. The entertainment 
 provided was of the same class as at the Coal Hole : in 
 the early days I remember a comic singer named Pen- 
 nikett, another named Labern ; later on, a man named 
 Moody, who sang well and gave excellent imitations. 
 
 But of all these places, the most celebrated, undoubted- 
 ly, in its time, and the most likely to be remembered here- 
 after, was Evans's, at the western corner of the Covent 
 Garden Piazza, under the building which was then a 
 hotel and is now the New Chib. This room, as well as 
 the Coal Hole, has figured as the " Cave of Harmony " in
 
 110 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Thackeray's writings ; to it little Grigg conducts Mr. 
 Spec — " So we went tbrough the Piazza, and down the 
 steps of that well-remembered place of conviviality " — in 
 the course of their " night's pleasure," and there they en- 
 counter Bardolph of Brasenose. "Evans's late Joy's" 
 was the imintentionally punning inscription on the lamp 
 when I first knew it ; but even then Evans had departed, 
 and the presiding spirit was John, better known as " Pad- 
 dy," Green — a worthy fellow, who had been a chorus- 
 singer at the Adelphi, and whose courtesy and good tem- 
 per won him vast popularity. For the first few years of 
 my acquaintance with it the concert-room was small and 
 low-pitched, with a bit added on at right angles at its ex- 
 treme end. But even then it had a good reputation for 
 music. John Binge the tenor, S. A. Jones the basso, the 
 host himself, were well known as singers ; Herr von Joel 
 — a queer old German, who sang jodling ditties, played 
 tunes on what he called a " vokingshteeck," and gave 
 capital imitations of the birds and beasts of a farm-yard — 
 was a great attraction ; while the comic element, as sup- 
 plied by Sharp and Sam Cowell, was unapproachable else- 
 where. No man in my recollection, as a broadly comic 
 vocalist, has been such a favorite as was J. W. Sharp : at 
 Vauxhall and Cremorne in the summer, at public dinners 
 in the winter, and at Evans's always, he was fully em- 
 ployed. But he fell into bad ways, took to drinking, lost 
 his engagements, and was finally found dead from starva- 
 tion on a country road. Cowell was an actor as well as a 
 singer, and had a certain amount of success on the stage. 
 It was in this small room that Bardolph of Brasenose 
 signalled his desire for more drink by whack-whacking 
 with tlie jiewter noggin, and that Thackeray heard the 
 sentimental and the ))iratical ballad which he parodied so 
 dcliciously. After a time a change took ])lace in the style 
 of entertainment: all ribald songs — and often P^vans's 
 liad been quite as profan*; as its rivals — were stopped for- 
 ever, and the choruses were sung l)y trained young lads, 
 whose sweet, fresh voices were lieard with charming ef- 
 fect in the old glees an<l madrigals. The little room was 
 too small for the audience ; it was pulled down, and a
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OP YOUTH. HI 
 
 vast concert-room Luilt on its site, with a stage where the 
 singers stood, and an annexe — a comfortable kind of hall, 
 hung with theatrical portraits, etc. — where conversation 
 could be carried on, and it was by no means necessary to 
 listen to the music. 
 
 The public thronged to the concert-room — there was a 
 private supper-room in the galleiy, looking down on the 
 hall through a grille, where ladies could hear the songs 
 and could see without being seen — and the annexe be- 
 came, and continued for several years, a popular resort 
 for men-abouttown. Thackeray Avas constantly there ; 
 Sergeant Murphy, Sergeant Ballantine, Jerrold, Lionel 
 Lawson ; sometimes Sala, Hannay, and some of the 
 younger men ; Albert and Arthur Smith, fresh from the 
 " Show ;" Horace Mayhew, very occasionally Leech. 
 Chops and potatoes — never to be equalled — were the 
 ordinary supper ; as Mrs. Prig says, " the drinks was all 
 good ;" and some of the smartest talk in London was to 
 be heard at Evans's about the years '58 to '60, when the 
 old night clubs had ceased to be, and the present ones 
 had not been thought of. Through concert -room and 
 annexe Paddy Green wandered, snuffbox in hand, God- 
 blessing his "dear boys" — i.e., every one to whom he 
 spoke — and getting more and more around him as the 
 night wore on. lie prospered for many years and ought 
 to have made a fortune ; but he did not, and the intro- 
 duction of music-halls, Avhere women formed the larger 
 portion of the audience, was the signal for his downfall. 
 
 One other place of public entertainment, though nei- 
 ther singing nor supper house, must be mentioned here. 
 The Garrick's Head was a large tavern in Bow Street, 
 facins: Covent Garden Theatre ; its landlord was one 
 Renton Nicholson, a clever, versatile, Avholly unprincipled 
 fellow, who had been connected with the turf, connected 
 with the stage, had owned and edited an atrociously 
 blackguard weekly journal called nie Toion, and at the 
 Garrick's Head had instituted a new kind of dramatic 
 performance, in which he played the principal character. 
 The entertainment was called "The Judge and Jury 
 Society," and was a parody on the proceedings in those
 
 112 FIFTY TEARS OF LONDOK LIFE. 
 
 law-courts where actions of a certain character were tried; 
 was presided over by Nicholson himself as the Lord Chief 
 Justice, in full wig and gown; the case being argued out 
 by persons dressed as, and in some instances giving also 
 imitations of, leading barristers, and the witnesses being 
 actors of more or less versatility and mimetic ability. 
 The whole affair was written and arranged by Nicholson, 
 who deported himself on the bench with the most solemn 
 gravity, the contrast between which and his invariable 
 speech on taking his seat — "Usher ! get me a cigar and 
 a little brandy-and-water " — was the signal for the first 
 laugh. The entertainment was undoubtedly clever, but 
 was so full of grossness and indecency expressed and im- 
 plied, as to render it wholly disgusting. In the window 
 of the tavern was a large painting representing the mock 
 trial, Avith Nicholson on the bench, and all the celebrities 
 of the day ranged round the room ; underneath this pict- 
 ure was a set of verses, supposed to have been written in 
 honor of the place by Tom Moore, and beginning, as I 
 recollect : 
 
 " Oh, where can you better enjoj' your late glasses 
 Than under that fane, where the genius of wit 
 Illumines each grain of our sand as it passes ?" etc. 
 
 Among the amusements of my youth I must not forget 
 my athletic exercises, from which I derived so much ben- 
 efit and delight. I first rode in Rotten Row — having 
 made previous experiments at Brighton — in the year 
 1849, on a horse hired for the season from Peter Ilowden, 
 job-master of York Terrace Mews ; the yard is there still, 
 though Peter's last job — a black one — was long since 
 done. With very little intermission, 1 have ridden there 
 every succccwling year up to the jiresent. I began rowino- 
 on the Thames in the year 1847, and ccmtinued the jirac- 
 tice, off and on, until the year 1878, when I chajiged my 
 skiff into a steam-launch. In the early days I and two 
 Post-otfice colleagues had a randan gig built for us by 
 Searic of Putney, where, under the charge of the head 
 man, Miller, we tised to keep her. Our usual evening's 
 ])ull was up to Iliclimond— if we had time — and back to
 
 THE AMUSEMENTS OF YOUTH. 113 
 
 the White Hart at Mortlake, kept by old Toton, where 
 we had supper off ham and eggs and shandy-gaff. 
 
 I was also exceedingly fond of sparring, which I learned 
 first from old Nat Langham, in an empty room of a tavern 
 in the Strand, where the barracks of the Commissionaires 
 now are, and afterwards from young Alec Keene, a mighty 
 pretty fighter. I never had much science, but being 
 strong and very long in the reach, and being able to take 
 a good amount of "punishment," I was rather an awk- 
 ward customer. Years after I had given up the gloves, 
 I was looking on at a wrestling exhibition in Leicester 
 Square, and was thinking how savagely it was conducted, 
 and what frightful concussions the thrown men received, 
 when I felt my arm touched by Alec Keene, whom I had 
 not seen for ages, but who said, with a smile, "You and 
 I used to knock each other about at one time, Mr. Yates, 
 but I don't think we could either of us have stood much 
 of this !»
 
 114 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 
 
 1847-1852. 
 
 The number of theatres in London in the present year 
 of grace is, according to that excellent authority on all 
 dramatic matters, the " Era Almanack," thirty-seven ; in 
 the year 1847 it was thirteen, including Her Majesty's 
 and Covent Garden, which were both devoted to Italian 
 opera, and the St. James's, where, daring the brief season 
 in which it was open, French plays were performed by 
 French players. In this number I reckon the transpon- 
 tine Surrey and Victoria, and the suburban Sadler's 
 Wells, but not the far-eastward Pavilion, nor the Grecian 
 and Britannia, which, though in existence, called them- 
 selves in those days " Saloons ;" indeed, the former was 
 then still known as the Eagle Tavern. The theatres of 
 which I speak were Her Majesty's, Covent Garden, Drury 
 Lane, Ilaymarket, Lyceum, Princess's, Adelphi, Olympic, 
 St. James's, Sadler's Wells, Marylebone, Surrey, Victoria; 
 and of these, according to my knowledge of them, I pro- 
 pose to speak in detail. 
 
 To Her Majesty's I had already been introduced in my 
 school-boy days by the kindly daughter of Mr. Williams, 
 a friend of my motlior's and a )»artner in Cockburn's 
 li.ank, at the corner of Wliilehall IMace, where she ke})t 
 her 1)ank account. This worthy lady, herself passionately 
 fond of music, im.agined every one else must be in a simi- 
 lar condition ; but tliougli I was glad enough to accom- 
 ]»any her, the chief atfracf ions lo nic then were the lights 
 and the c()nij)any ; later on, the charms of the ballet as- 
 serted their sway. 
 
 The o]»ening of tho season of '17 at Her Majesty's was
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 115 
 
 exceptionally dull ; the great feud between Mr. Luraley, 
 the lessee, and his conductor, Signor Costa, and principal 
 singers, Madame Grisi and Signor Mario, had been fol- 
 lowed by the secession of the best part of the troupe, and 
 the conversion of Covent Garden Theatre into an opera- 
 house, under the management of Messrs. Delafield and 
 Gye. "Bones," boxes, and general admissions were to 
 be had for the asking at Her Majesty's, until the appear- 
 ance — long heralded and eagerly expected — of Mile. Jenny 
 Liiid, in the early days of May, had an immediate effect in 
 not merely restoring the failing fortunes of the theatre, but 
 brought with it an amount of pecuniary success hitherto 
 unknowm. 
 
 I do not know how I could have received a hint of the 
 importance of that debut, for I certainly was not in any 
 musical circle — I suppose I derived my impression from 
 the general talk ; but it is certain that I made up my 
 mind to be present on the night when Mile. Jenny Lind 
 should make her first bow to the English public, and 
 equally certain that I carried out my intention. Every 
 retainable seat had been retained for weeks ; that made 
 no difference to me — even a place in the pit was beyond 
 my small means ; but I was young and strong and active, 
 and at a few minutes before noon on Tuesday, the 4th 
 May, I took my place among twenty persons then gathered 
 round the gallery-door of the opera-house in the Hay- 
 market. 
 
 The twenty soon swelled into two hundi*ed, into five 
 hundred, into uncountable numbers ; and there we stood, 
 swaying hither and thither, joking, chaffing, panting, 
 groaning, until the doors were opened at 7 p.m., and away 
 we went with a rush. I had brought some sandwiches 
 and a pocket-flask with me, and was in good condition 
 luckily ; for anything like that crowd I have never ex- 
 perienced. There were women among us, and just as I 
 neared the door I heard a feeble whisper in my ear, "For 
 God's sake, help me ! I'm fainting !" I could not move 
 my arms, which were pinioned to my sides, but I turned 
 my head as best I could, and said, " Catch hold of me, 
 and I'll pull you up." The woman — I never saw her face
 
 116 FIFTY YEARR OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 — put her arms i-ouiid my waist — I had a waist in those 
 days — and thus Lurdened I struggled on. I reached and 
 mounted the staircase ; I put my hand, with the exact 
 admission - money in it, into the hole in the pay box, 
 whence at first it was swept out, with a score other 
 hands, by the maddened money-taker ; but I succeeded : 
 I got my pass-check, and, still burdened, I fought to the 
 top of the staircase, where my check was demanded. It 
 was then discovered that my unfortunate passenger had 
 not paid her money, and had received no check. She 
 released me ; she v/as refused admittance, and was literally 
 carried off on the human tide. I heard no more of her. 
 When I reached ray goal — the third row in the gallery — 
 I sat down there, perspiring and exhausted, and follow- 
 ing the example of all round me I took off my coat. The 
 first notes of the overture to " Robert le Diable " found 
 the gallery in its shirt-sleeves ; but we were clothed and 
 in our right minds before the opera began. 
 
 The next time I heard Mile. Lind Avas from the same 
 coign of vantage, about a month later, on her first appear- 
 ance in " Norma," and as this performance was attended 
 by the Queen in state, I had equal difficulty in getting in. 
 This was the first pageant I had ever beheld, and I per- 
 fectly remember the gorgeous appearance of the Royal 
 box, with the Beef-eaters on the stage below. The per- 
 formance itself was unquestionably a failure : the ad- 
 herents of the theatre tried to talk about a " new read- 
 ing" of the character of the Druidical priestess ; but the 
 public would have none of it ; and it was generally al- 
 lowed that Grisi's Norma remained untouched. 
 
 Of Mile. Jenny Lind's extraordinary and unequalled suc- 
 cess here and in America, of her quarrel with jNfr. Bunn, 
 of her domestic virtues and social triumphs, there is no 
 need to say more in these pages. She had two admirable 
 supporters in the sweet-voiced Gardoni and the splendid 
 Lablaclie ; but, with two exceptions, the o]>eratic trou])e 
 was weak. It was to his ballot tliat Mr. Lumley looked 
 for his ])rincipal attraction, independently of Jenny Lind. 
 
 And well lie might; for surely neither before nor since 
 was that style of entertaininrnl bi-oiight to such a pitch
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 117 
 
 of perfection. I have seen the famous pas de quatre 
 danced by Taglioni, Cerito, Carlotta Grisi, and Lucille 
 Grahn, the last one of the tallest of women, but extraor- 
 dinarily graceful. I have seen more than a score of times 
 — for it was my favorite ballet — " Esmeralda," with Car- 
 lotta Grisi, bright, audacious, supple, and piqicante to a 
 degree, with Perrot — a little, ugly, pock-marked man, but 
 a marvellous pantomimist — as Pierre Gringoire. The 
 witchery of a pas called " La Truandaise," as danced by 
 this couple, is quite inexpressible. Mile. Plunkett, sister 
 of Madame Doche, the French actress, was also a famous 
 dancer of those days. 
 
 This was the first season of the Royal Italian Opera 
 House, into which old Covent Garden Theatre had been 
 metamorphosed, and the rivalry between it and the lyric 
 establishment in the Haymarket was intense. It may be 
 said generally that Her Majesty's was supported by the 
 older, the Royal Italian by the younger, section of opera- 
 goers; and I remember it was the fashion of the younger 
 men to wear, in evening dress, black ties, in contrast to 
 the large double - folded white cravats which were de 
 rigueur at the Haymarket house.* What productions 
 were those under Costa's bdton, and with the executants 
 whom he had lui-ed from their old allegiance ! So long as 
 I live I shall, T suppose, remember my first experience of 
 " Lucrezia Borgia," with Grisi's entrance on the gondola, 
 the sleeping Mario, the " Com' e bello," the trio between 
 these two and Tamburini, Orsini's drinking-song as inter- 
 preted by Alboni, and the horror of the finale. What a 
 company ! In addition to these, Madame Persiani, Sign- 
 
 * As I was revising this chapter in proof I received a letter from Cap- 
 tain Dawson Darner, who says : " I have lost an old friend in Hayward. I 
 only heard from him a short time ago ; it was in regard to ' white ties.' 
 I asked him when they came into fashion. He replied, ' One night, about 
 1850 (?), about the very last night of Vauxhall, the elder Miss Berry, aged 
 eighty-five, Horace Walpole's flame, asked me to escort her there, and she 
 .suddenly, on entering the Gardens, looked at my white tie, and she said to 
 me, "The last time I was here I came with Beau Brummcll, who wore a 
 white neck-cloth for the first time ; and it attracted much notice, and ther^ 
 rose an inquiry whether B. B. had taken orders." ' "
 
 118 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 or Ronco«i, Tagliafico ; later on, Formes, whom I recol- 
 lect as sexton at Miililheim am Ruhr, not far from Diis- 
 seldorf, Madame Dorus Gras, Miss Catherine Hayes, M. 
 Massol, Mile. Angri, and Mile, de Meric. The London 
 world went quite mad over the production of "Les Hu- 
 guenots," almost as mad over the production of " Le Pro- 
 pliete," in which, by-the-way, roller-skating was first in- 
 troduced. 
 
 At Drury Lane, in my boyish days, English opera, 
 composed by Balfe or Wallace and written by Alfred 
 Bunn, had been the great attraction, and often had I 
 listened to Miss Romer's narration of her dream of dwell- 
 ing in marble halls. Miss Rainforth's charming contralto, 
 Mr. Harrison's reedy tenor, and Mr. Borrani's (ne Borri- 
 gan) nasal barytone, his songs, "The heart bowed dowd " 
 and " Hear be, gentle Baritada," being favorite subjects 
 of imitation among the musical young men. But at the 
 time of which I write, Drury Lane was almost wholly 
 given up to the great JuUien, whose promenade concerts 
 were by far the greatest success of their day : a little 
 man, with a pale face and bright, beady eyes, always at 
 night elaborately dressed, with a Avorked shirt-front and 
 huge white waistcoat and turned -back cuffs. He had 
 been, according to some, a waiter at a cafe, according to 
 others, a bandsman in a regiment ; but all were agreed 
 that he was a charlatan. That was visible to every naked 
 eye in his puffs and programmes, in his posters and ad- 
 vertising vans, in the manner in which he led his musi- 
 cians — dancing a-tiptoe, softly soothing, with outstretched 
 palm, wildly exciting with whirling bdt07i, driving to fury 
 with maniacal gesticulation, then, spent and exhausted, 
 falling back, panting and breathless, into his gilded chair. 
 
 He was a charlatan, I will admit; but as a man — I knew 
 him w(!ll — he was kindly, cheery, generous, and loyal, and 
 as a musician he was perhaps the greatest benefactor this 
 country has ever had; for to him, more than to any one. 
 else, is to be ascribed the j)Opulari/.ing of music among 
 the English peoj)le. To this end he got together a splen- 
 did band — which, for numbers and excellence, at that 
 time had never bei'u ejjualh'd, and since has never been
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 119 
 
 excelled — wherein Koenig played the cornet, Richardson 
 the flute, Lazarus the clarionet, Baumann the oboe, and 
 Prosp^re the ophicleide ; engaged solo singers, foremost 
 among tliem being Mile. Jetty Treffz, whose ballad, 
 "Trab, trab," created a furore, and Miss Dulby; solo in- 
 strumentalists like Sivori and Vieuxtemps. Jullien's own 
 polkas and valses — the " Olga " and the " Bridal," the 
 " Row " and " Drum " polkas?, the " British Army Qua- 
 drilles " — and Koenig's " Post-horn Galop " were common- 
 place enough, no doubt, but tlicy took the taste of the 
 town. Happetit venait en niangeant; and when the pub- 
 lic was ready for it, JuUien provided, from time to time, 
 a better kind of musical pabulum. 
 
 The regular annual series of concerts was invariably 
 wound up by a hal mai^que, which was conducted with 
 more spirit than is usually to be found in England in 
 COTinection with such an affair. One of the principal pro- 
 moters of fun was Horace May hew, who, dressed in a 
 Robespierre garb, and accompanied by some of his broth- 
 ers, and a select band of followers, pervaded the salle. 
 His English chaff and French badinage were equally flu- 
 ent and excellent, full of fun, without the least coarseness, 
 and his presence was a looked-for and welcome feature 
 of the entertainment. Hitherto masquerades in England 
 had been very ghastly gatherings : the solemn Charles 
 the Seconds, Spanish noblemen, Leporellos, knights in ar- 
 mor, friars, and bewigged barristers had been supplement- 
 ed by a would-be comic crew of clowns, pantaloons, and 
 "romps" — young females in short petticoats, with hoops 
 or skipping-ropes, with which they belabored the by- 
 standers. "Under Jullien's regime — or rather under Mr. 
 F. Gye's, for the arrangements were under the superin- 
 tendence of that gentleman — all these objectionable char- 
 acters were excluded, and the bal masque became so much 
 of an institution as to be described in all its ramifications 
 in a very smartly written shilling book, in that style of 
 which "The Gent" was the precursor, professedly written 
 by " the Count Chicard," but really, I imagine, the work 
 of Horace Mayhew. 
 
 In the year 1847, however, M. Jullien undertook for
 
 120 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 himself at Drury Lane a far more ambitious task — noth- 
 ing less than the production of operas in English, on a 
 far more complete scale tluin had been yet attempted, 
 and supported by artist? hitherto unknown to the English 
 public. In the beginning of December he carried his 
 project into effect with infinite spirit. His band, under 
 the direction of the famous Hector Berlioz, was excellent, 
 and the chorus, probably the largest and the most com- 
 plete ever heard in an English theatre, was admirably 
 disciplined and under perfect control. The first produc- 
 tion was " Lucia di Lammermoor," and the next day the 
 town was ringing with the praises of the new tenor, Mr. 
 Sims Reeves, who had proved himself more than worthy 
 of the great expectations which had been raised concern- 
 ing him. I perfectly recollect the tumultuous roars of 
 applause evoked by his great scene at the end of the sec- 
 ond act, and have a remembrance of roars of anot^ier 
 kind, occasioned by the very comic manner in which, 
 under the influence of great excitement, he persisted in 
 shaking his head. His " Fra poco " — rendered, I remem- 
 ber, " From these fond arms they tore thee " — was enor- 
 mously effective ; and when the curtain fell, Mr. Sims 
 Reeves was enrolled as a first favorite with the public, 
 which for more than thirty-five years has never deserted 
 him. Another successful debut of that night was that of 
 Mr. "Whitworth as Colonel Ashton — a handsome man, 
 whom I see about London to this day. I am afraid that 
 the poor Mons., as Punch used to call him, from the way 
 he always heralded himself on his posters, "Mons. Jul- 
 lien," came to financial grief over his English opera ex- 
 periment. It did not, if I remember rightly, last very 
 long, though during its course he produced without much 
 success a new opera of his own composition called " Peter 
 the Great," as well as various standard works. 
 
 And then Drury Lane fell back into being a home for 
 any kind of entertainment, no matter wliat. In a very 
 smartly written hrochnrr, C'liarles Mathews once called it 
 a huge theatrical omnibus ; and so it was. What have I 
 seen and heard within its walls ? Franconi's circus troupe, 
 witli Caroline and Mathilde in the haxite ecole, and the fas-
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 121 
 
 cinating Palmyre Anato in the " leap of streamers," which 
 used to draw all the youth of London ; German opera, 
 with Pischek ; James Anderson's regime; Shakspeare, 
 with the manager, Vandenhoff, and lovely Miss Lam-a 
 Addison ; " Azael the Prodigal," a tolerably close version 
 of the Scripture story, in which John Cooper played a high- 
 priest with much pompous unction; and "Ingomar" — 
 Mr. James Anderson, a manly and vigorous actor, one of 
 Macready's favorite lieutenants, being still alive, a hale 
 and heart}^ gentleman, 
 
 Charles Mathews himself, all his delicate finesse and 
 admirable by-play swallowed up in the enormous stage, 
 played engagements here under the management of Mr, 
 E, T, Smith — a strange jjerson, said to have been origi- 
 nally a policeman, a shrewd, uneducated, good - natured 
 vulgarian, of a dreadful back-slapping, Christian - name 
 calling familiarity, who in his time entered on theatrical 
 lesseeship on a large and varied scale. The days when 
 Halliday was the stock author of the house, the produc- 
 tion of " The Great City," partly plagiarized from " Great 
 Expectations;" "Amy Robsart," and dramatic versions of 
 the Waverley novels, in which the lovely Adelaide Neil- 
 son was the great attraction ; successive seasons of Italian 
 opera ; the Chatterton dynasty ; and finally, after the 
 " marvellous boy " had "perished in his pride," the advent 
 of Mr. Augustus Harris, who seems to be more capable or 
 more fortunate than any of his predecessors, 
 
 I forgot to mention the great " Monte Cristo " row, 
 which occurred at Drury Lane in the summer of 1848, and 
 at which I was present. The troupe of the Theatre His- 
 torique from Paris was announced for a short series of 
 jjerformances, but on the opening night a band of oppo- 
 nents took possession of the pit, and prevented a syllable 
 being heard throughout the evening. The riot was re- 
 newed the next night, and one of the leaders of the mal- 
 contents being arrested proved to be Sam Cowell, an 
 actor and comic singer already mentioned. There was a 
 good deal of free fighting, and as one of the incidents I 
 remember a huge strawberry pottle being hurled at Albert 
 Smith, who had just issued a sixpenny book called "A 
 
 6
 
 122 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LITE. 
 
 Pottle of Strawberries," and who was conspicuously active 
 on the side of the Frenchmen. 
 
 My experience of good acting and sound English com- 
 edy is more due to the Haymarket than to any other the- 
 atre. As a boy I had seen there "London Assurance," 
 "Old Heads and Young Hearts," "Time Works Won- 
 ders," " Bubbles of the Day," and " Money," played by 
 old William Farren, Sti'ickland, David Rees, James Vin- 
 iug, Walter Lacy, Webster, Charles Mathews, Harley, 
 James Anderson, and Macready ; Mrs. Glover, Mrs. Nis- 
 bett. Miss P. Horton, and Madame Vestris. On my re- 
 turn to England in 1847, Mr. Webster, the lessee, very 
 kindly placed my name on his free list, and for years I 
 went to his theatre once or twice a week. Not to the 
 dress-circle, though ; there was no entrance-money to be 
 paid, but for a seat in the dress or upper circle I should 
 have had to tip a box-keeper, and I could not afford that. 
 So I used to scurry up the stairs to the "slips," in those 
 days a row of seats on either side the house on the gallery 
 level, and from the slips of the old Haymarket Theatre, 
 before the Bancroft renovation, I have seen some of the 
 finest acting of my day. 
 
 Comedies, for instance: Mrs. Nisbett as Constance in 
 "The Love Chase," with Webster as Wildrake, and Mrs. 
 Glover as Widow Green. This was on the occasion of 
 Mrs. Nisbett's return to the stage, after the death of her 
 second husband, Sir William Boothby. She was a, very 
 lovely woman of the ripe-peach style, large eyes and pout- 
 ing lips. One night, about this time, I went behind the 
 scenes and was presented to her by my mother, " Lady 
 Boothby, this is my boy !" "How wonderfully like his 
 father !" and her ladyshij) incliiu'd her lovely face and 
 gave me a kiss. "Lucky fellow," said Webster, who was 
 standing by; "you'll remember in after-years that you've 
 kissed Mrs. Nisbett!" "I've forgotten it already," I said, 
 lifting up my face for a reminder. Mrs. Nisbett laughed 
 ami acceded; and Webster, turning to lier so that my 
 mother couhl not hear, niutteri'd, " Veri/ like his father." 
 
 There I first saw Charles Kean in " The Wife's Secret," 
 one of the best acting plays of modern days, with Welv
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 123 
 
 ster as the steward and Mrs. Kceley as the waiting-maid; 
 in a most preposterous piece called " Leap Year," in which 
 Kean, the hero, to win his love, disguised himself as a 
 footman in livery, and spouted Coleridge's "Genevieve;" 
 and in Shakspeare. Webster, the manager, was the hero 
 of " The Roused Lion," in which a beau of the old school, 
 roused into competition with a coxcomb of the new, ex- 
 hibits in every point his superiority ; of "Lavater ;" and 
 of "The Serious Family," a rendering of "Le Mari a la 
 Campagne," which afterwards served Mr. Burnand as the 
 groundwork of his " Colonel." The wife, in this piece, 
 was played by Miss Reynolds, one of the most delightful 
 actresses of our time, whether in comedy or, teste " The 
 Invisible Prince," in burlesque. 
 
 The Irish Major in " The Serious Family " was the fa- 
 mous James Wallack, in his day untouchable as a roman- 
 tic actor, handsome, gallant, dashing, almost an English 
 Fechter, without the fascinating earnestness in love-mak- 
 ing, but with a strong dash of humor, which Fechter, on 
 the stage, never showed. Wallack's Don Csesar de Bazan 
 was a splendid performance, so was his Brigand, and his 
 Rover in " Wild Oats." I have seen him attempt Othello 
 with but a small amount of success, but he was a fair 
 lago and a most admirable Benedick. 
 
 Then there were the delightful Keeleys, with their 
 combined efforts in such farces as "Dearest Elizabeth" 
 and the "Pas de Fascination," and Keeley's stolid comi- 
 cality in such burlesques as " The Sphinx " and " Cama- 
 ralzaman," in which he had the assistance of Miss Reyn- 
 olds's sweet voice and charming presence, and Mr. James 
 Bland's magnificent pomposity. An actor of Irish char- 
 acters named Hudson, e'entlemanlv, but of somewhat thin 
 humor, was a light of the Haymarket in those days. 
 
 My earliest recollection of the Lyceum is under the 
 management of the Keeleys, when with their daughter. 
 Miss Mary Keeley, Miss Louisa Fairbrother (Mrs. Fitz- 
 george), Miss Woolgar, Messrs. Emery, Wigan, Frank 
 Matthews, Leigh Murray, Oxberry, and Collier. Those 
 were the days of the dramatization of Dickens's books : 
 " Martin Chuzzlewit," Avith Keeley as Mrs, Gamp, and his
 
 124 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 wife as Bailey, F. Matthews a wonderful Pecksniff, Emery 
 an excellent Jonas ; " The Cricket on the Hearth," with 
 Mrs. Keeley as Dot, Keeley as Caleb Plummer, Emery 
 as Peerybingle, and Mary Keeley 's debut as Bertha ; of 
 the sparkling burlesques concocted by Albert Smith and 
 Tom Taylor, while Charles Kenney would sit by and oc- 
 casionally throw in a joke or a suggestion ; " Aladdin," 
 where Keeley played the magician, and imparted such 
 peculiar emphasis to the line, "Yes ! here's the place, and 
 there's the blasted cedar !" as to bring down the house ; 
 "Ali Baba," with Miss Fairbrother as the leader of the 
 Forty Thieves ; " Valentine and Orson," Mrs. Keeley as 
 the Knight, her husband the Wild Man ; and others. 
 Shirley Brooks won his dramatic spurs here with an ex- 
 cellent melodrama, " The Creole " — the hero finely played 
 by Emery, a most excellent actor, never suflSciently ap- 
 preciated — and a novel and sparkling farce, "The Wig- 
 wam." 
 
 When my regular play-going days began, the Lyceum 
 had passed into the hands of Charles Mathews and Ma- 
 dame Vestris, who had a brilliant reign there. Their open- 
 ing j^ieces fell flat, but within a few weeks two new farces 
 were produced which filled the house and have proved 
 perennial favorites: they were "Box and Cox" and "The 
 Rough Diamond." Buckstone and Ilarley were the orig- 
 inal printer and hatter; but though every comedian for 
 the last tliirty-fivc years has played the farce, I have never 
 seen so thort)n<2;hly artistic a conception of Box as that 
 of Cliarles Mathews, who took the part when TIarley 
 left the theatre. Mrs. Fitzwilliam's Margery, in "The 
 Rough Diamond," has never iK^en surpassed. Shirley 
 Brooks was also successful here with a smart one - act 
 comedy calU^d "Anything for a Cliange," with Cliarles 
 3Iathews and a ]Miss "Polly" Marshall, who played a 
 servant -girl inimital^ly. And wlien my mother joined 
 the company in 1848 there was a ca])ital revival of "The 
 Critic," witli her as Tilbiiiina, Charles IVIathews, Frank 
 Matthews, Sclby, Roxby, and V. Cooke. 
 
 A far(;e called "An Appi'al to the Public" was mem- 
 orable to me, as in it I made my first ai^pearance on any
 
 THE DRAMA IX THOSE DAYS. 125 
 
 stage. A crowd was gathered under an archway in sup- 
 posed slielter from rain : one night I " went on " and 
 stood among the people ; hut Cliarles Mathews spying 
 me, ruslied up, exclaiming, " What ! young Mr. Yates !" 
 dragged me to the footlights, hoped I had not got wet, 
 and dismissed me. This was tlie time when Planche, 
 stanchest suj^porter of Madame Vestris, and founder of her 
 fortunes in her early managerial career at the Olympic, 
 again came to her help, and produced a series of extrava- 
 ganzas, the most noteworthy of Avhich were "The King of 
 the Peacocks " and "The Island of Jewels." These, with 
 the scenery painted by William Beverly, then new to 
 London and in the plenitude of his power, and admirably 
 acted, proved highly attractive. They served to intro- 
 duce two young actresses to the London stage — Miss Julia 
 St. George and Miss Kathleen Fitzwilliam. Both were 
 successful, but Miss Fitzwilliam, daughter of an old pub- 
 lic favorite, achieved quite an extraordinary success by 
 her charming manner and most effective singing; she cer- 
 tainly did not "lag superfluous," as in the height of her 
 triumph she married, and retired from the boards. 
 
 These, too, were the times of Charles Mathews's great- 
 est successes: "The Day of Reckoning," in which he for 
 the first time attempted a serious character, the second 
 being Avhen he played in the dramatized version of my 
 novel, " Black Sheep ;" Blanchard Jerrold's admirable 
 l)iece, "Cool as a Cucumber," which, done into French, 
 as "L'Anglais Timide," was afterwards played by Math- 
 ews in Paris; and, best of all, "The Game of Specula- 
 tion," adapted by G. H. Lewes, under the name of Slings- 
 by Laurence, from " Mercadet," possibly the most suitable 
 character ever written for Charles Mathews, and in the 
 acting of which he absolutely revelled. Much was ex- 
 pected from a drama which followed, " The Chain of 
 Events ;" but it was not successful, proving, as Douglas 
 Jerrold said of it, "a door-chain, to keep people out of 
 the house !" 
 
 The Princess's, at the time when I first knew it, and for 
 many years after, was under the management of a Hebrew 
 gentleman, whose name appeared at the head of his play-
 
 126 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 bills as J. M. Maddox, and whose short, stout figure and 
 very marked features, with a cigar always protruding 
 from under his prominent nose, was a constant source of 
 delight to the caricaturists. His real cognomen was, I 
 imagine, Medex — at least that was the name painted over 
 a tobacconist's shop immediately facing the theatre, which 
 was avowedly kept by the lessee's brother, and there, 
 seated on a tub or lounging against the counter, Mr. Mad- 
 dox was constantly to be found. And not merely to the 
 caricaturist, but to the anecdote-monger, was the Hebrew 
 imjiresario of much service. Stories of his meanness, 
 his avarice, his wonderful fertility of resource in saving 
 money and reducing the proper prices of labor, were rife 
 in theatrical circles. Among other things, it was said 
 that all the lighter pieces produced at the Princess's were 
 the work of a jobbing author, who was kept on the prem- 
 ises — some said chained by the leg to his desk — who for a 
 salary of a few shillings was compelled to produce two 
 French translations weekly. Some of the stories were 
 introduced by Albert Smith into one of his novels, in 
 which Maddox figured; and the manager took his revenge 
 by getting the jobbing author to write a parody, satirizing 
 his assailant as "The Fine Young Modern Dramatist." 
 It was rather smartly done, as may be judged from the 
 one verse which lives in my memory: 
 
 " ' Albata ' Smith they've christened him, for wicked wags have said 
 That as Albata now is used for silver plate instead. 
 So he has stolen the genuine wit that's found in Dickens's head, 
 And for it substituted his own literary lead — 
 
 Like a fine young modern dramatist, 
 
 All of the present time." 
 
 All were theatrical fish that came to Mr. Maddox's net: 
 opera, farce, tragedy, comedy, ballet, and pantomime, lie 
 tried them all. On my earliest visit to the Princess's I 
 saw a little opera called "The liarearolc," with a very 
 sweet tenor named Alien, ;i well-known barytone, Leffler, 
 and a man named Walton, whom I have never heard of 
 since, but who remainB in my memory from an odd trick 
 of twiddling his thumbs, and the manner in which he re-
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 127 
 
 peated a name, "Cafferini." I saw soon after, Mrs. But- 
 ler, now known as Mrs. Fanny Kemble, as Julia in " The 
 Hunchback," and conceived, rightly or wrongly, a holy 
 horror of her deep-voiced mouthings. She had, in par- 
 ticular, a manner of saying " Oh !" drawing the word out 
 to an enormous length, which was a fertile source of amuse- 
 ment and imitation to ribald young men. Here, too, I 
 had my one remembered experience of Macready — I know 
 my father took me as a child to Covent Garden to see 
 "Macbeth," but that is wholly indistinct — as Othello, 
 but I was not much impressed. Miss Cushman, whom I 
 was to meet twenty-five years later in America, was the 
 Emilia, and every one was talking of the extraordinary 
 resemblance in face, voice, and manner between the two. 
 Mr. Maddox relied greatly on the attraction of operas in 
 English, and brought out several stars of a certain magni- 
 tude. A Mile. Nau was the first prima donna of my 
 recollection; but there were also the charming Madame 
 Anna Thillon, whose performance in the " Crown Dia- 
 monds" created ^furore about this time, and young Miss 
 Louisa Pyne, then a debutante. Mr. Harrison, afterwards 
 to be associated with her in operatic management, and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Weiss were stars among the company. 
 Charles Mathews and his wife, Keeley and his wife, and 
 Alfred Wigan were occasional visitors in those times to 
 the Princess's, which, for its pantomime season, had the 
 advantage of an extremely agile — but to me wholly un- 
 humorous — clown, named Flexmore, who, with his wife, 
 Mile. Auriol, daughter of another famous clown, proved 
 highly attractive. 
 
 And here, too, under the Maddox regime, was a very 
 strange man, Charles Kerrison Sala, brother of the author, 
 largely endowed with the family talent, and with more 
 than an average sup})ly of the family eccentricity. One 
 of his peculiarities, and one which he carried out with the 
 strictest rigor, was never to be seen in public without a 
 flower in his button-hole ; winter or summer, night or 
 day, there was the flower, valuable or valueless, but al- 
 ways present. To the general public he was little known, 
 though, under his theatrical name of Wynn, he achieved
 
 128 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 a certain amount of success at the Princess's ; but his 
 quaint fancy and keen jaerception of the ludicrous wen' 
 highly esteemed by his friends. He wrote a queer ram- 
 bling poem called " The Fish," which was full of spark- 
 ling incongruity. But it is as the hero of two or three 
 stock satirical anecdotes that his memory will probably 
 survive. One of these may be narrated. For some rea- 
 son or other, Sala (Wynu) was most objectionable to Mac- 
 ready. Possibly want of reverence had something to do 
 with the feeling ; but the fact was that the great trage- 
 dian detested the eccentric actor. When at rehearsals 
 Wynn appeared on the stage, Macready's eyes were tiglit- 
 ly closed until he disappeared, when he would ask the 
 prompter, " Has it gone ?" Now it happened that on the 
 revival of Shakspeare's "Henry VIH.," with Macready 
 as Cardinal Wolsey, the part of Cardinal Campeius was 
 allotted to Mr. Wyun. It had been represented to the 
 manager that Mr. Macready's costume would be correct 
 and splendid, more especially as regards some magnificent 
 point-lace which he intended wearing, and it had been 
 suffsested that something extra should be done to make 
 the other cardinal respectabU'. But Mr. Maddox thought 
 some old scarlet robes fudged up from the wardrobe would 
 suffice ; and as to point -lace, silver tissue-paper, deftly 
 snipped and sewn on, would have much the same appear- 
 ance when viewed from a distance. At the dress re- 
 hearsal Macready, enthroned in a cliair of state, had the 
 various characters to pass before him ; he bore all calmly 
 until, clad in the scarlet robes bordered by silver tissue- 
 paper, and wearing an enormous red hat, AVynn ap- 
 proached. Then, clutching both arms of his chair and 
 closing liis eyes, the great tragedian gasped out, " Mother 
 
 Shipton, by !" 
 
 Of course I was on the free list at the Adelphi, where 
 I not merely had tlie right of entree, but generally man- 
 aged to get ]>asHed into one of the small, low, jtrivate 
 boxes immediately above the orchestra — I am speaking 
 of the old house — where my presence frequently produced, 
 to my intense di'light, a nuu-c or less apposite remark 
 from Wriirht, the low comedian. The low comedian, in-
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 129 
 
 deed, for never have I seen such a laughter-compelling 
 creature ; face, figure, manner, were irresistible ; without 
 uttering a word he would, across the footlights, give the 
 audience a confidential wink, and send them into convul- 
 sions. In words and actions he was broad, sometimes to 
 the verge of indecency, and to this baseness he Avas en- 
 couraged by a large portion of the audience ; but when 
 he chose there was no more genuinely and legitimately 
 comic artist. He was essentially an Adelphi actor : made 
 no mark before he came there, subsided into nothingness 
 after he left. Wright first joined the Adelphi company 
 in my father's management, played Dick Swiveller in the 
 "Curiosity Shop," Shotbolt the jailer in "Jack Shep- 
 pard," and gradually worked himself into prominence ; 
 but it was not until after my father's death, and under 
 Mr. Webster's rule, that he assumed the position which 
 he held so long. For many years he was the undoubted 
 attraction to the theatre, and was paid and treated ac- 
 cordingly. Never have I heard such laughter as that 
 which he evoked, never have I seen people so completely 
 collapsed and exhausted by the mere effect of their mirth. 
 In some of Wright's scenes in "The Green Bushes" I 
 have fallen helpless, spineless, across the front of the box, 
 almost sick with laughter. In this drama and " The 
 Flowers of the Forest," in his broad farces, " Did you 
 ever send your Wife to Camberwell ?" " How to Settle 
 Accounts with your Laundress," and others of that cali- 
 bre, he was riotously, preposterously, madly absurd ; but 
 there were other pieces I shall have to speak of, wherein 
 he played with all the subtle resources of which the art is 
 capable, and where it would have been impossible to have 
 exceeded the real merit of his impersonation. 
 
 Unlike his dramatic rivals, Keeley and Buckstone, both 
 of whom were men of natural smartness and cleverness 
 enhanced by education, Wi-ight, save in his profession, 
 was stupid, coarse, ignorant, and essentially common ; un- 
 doubtedly, too, he was most at his ease when the scene 
 admitted and the audience permitted his display of his 
 coarseness and commonness on the stage ; but he could 
 rise to great artistic heights. Constantly associated Avith
 
 130 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 him on the stage, half - feeder, half - butt, was Mr. Paul 
 Bedford, always in my time a big, jovial, red-faced, mel- 
 low-voiced, brainless comedian, but whom my mother re- 
 membered as a good - looking young man, a sweet tenor 
 singer. Paul Bedford's size and rotundity, his odd utter- 
 ances of slang sayings, his stolid imperviousness to the im- 
 pertinence with which in the due course of all the dramas 
 he was assailed by Wright, made him a favorite with the 
 Adelphi public, and gave him a raison d'&tre. Had he 
 lived later he would have been well placed in a music- 
 hall, on the platform or in the chair. He had not the 
 slightest claim to be considered an actor, played every 
 l^art in exactly the same fashion, had not the faintest no- 
 tion of impersonation, and was fundamentally stupid and 
 ignorant. But in his earlier days he sang ''Jolly Nose," 
 and in later years he said " I believe you, my boy !" and 
 these accomplishments, with his reputed jollity, his social 
 reputation for full - flavored anecdotes, and his position 
 as Wright's professional butt, carried him successfully 
 through a long life. 
 
 The entertainment provided at the Adelphi scarcely 
 ever varied : it commenced at seven o'clock with a melo- 
 drama in three acts, which was over before ten, after 
 which there were a couple of farces. About nine, or as 
 soon after as could be managed without too much disturb- 
 ing the performance, the " half-price " was admitted — that 
 is to say, a considerable reduction was accepted in the en- 
 trance-fee to the boxes and pit. In small theatres the 
 half-price was a very important consideration to the man- 
 agement ; for money was not so rife in those days, and 
 there were numberless young men who, while they would 
 have been bored by spending the entire evening in the 
 theatre, and would have grudged a large disbursement 
 for a comparatively short amusement, were willing to pay 
 the reduced price ; so tliat though the drama was the sta- 
 ple portion of the enterlainnicnt, the supplenicntary farces 
 were no mere affairs to (ill up tlic bill, but had their own 
 value and their own audience. The two most successful 
 dramas of that time were "The Green Bushes" and "The 
 Flowers of the Forest," and both were written by Buck-
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 131 
 
 Stone, who had succeeded so well in suiting my father 
 and his Adelphi company with dramas similar in style. 
 Of that company there still remained, in 1847, Mrs. Fitz- 
 william, my mother, Wright, P. Bedford, O. Smith, and 
 Cullenford, the original Ralph Nickleby. They were sup- 
 plemented by Miss Woolgar, a most charming and fasci- 
 nating young lady, who soon became a great favorite ; 
 Charles Selby, a better dramatist than actor ; Hughes, 
 who was said to have somewhat resembled my father in 
 his style ; Lambert, " first old man ;" Munyard, a very 
 excellent second low comedian, who died young ; Miss 
 Ellen Chaplin ; and Miss Emma Harding, who somewhat 
 recently returned to London after a long absence in Amer- 
 ica, appearing as a spiritualistic medium. 
 
 Mr. Webster, busied as manager and actor at the Hay- 
 market, had not much time to give to his new property ; 
 so he had installed Madame Celeste as his stage-directress, 
 while what is known in theatrical parlance as " the front 
 of the house " — i. e., supervision of the box-office, money- 
 takers, check-takers, play-bills, treasury, etc. — was con- 
 fided to my father's old friend and my guardian, Mr. 
 Charles Manby, who, though entirely unconnected by 
 birth and position — he was secretary of the Institute of 
 Civil Engineers — with theatrical matters, seems to have 
 always been mixed up in them. Celeste Elliott, popular- 
 ly known as Madame Celeste, was a very extraordinary 
 woman. Born in France, sent to America, married there, 
 when quite young, to a man named Elliott, she arrived 
 in this country a pantomimist and dancer by profession, 
 and played in a piece in which she had no Avord to utter, 
 called " The French Spy." To the day of her death, only 
 a year or two ago, her English was not merely broken, it 
 was smashed into fragments ; but by mere force of will 
 and great popularity she for years caused herself to be 
 accepted as an English-speaking actress, and to play the 
 heroines in a London theatre. Early in life she obtained 
 a great influence over Benjamin Webster, which, during 
 all the long years of its duration, was never exercised, I 
 believe, save for his good. Full of natural energy and 
 resource, full of French excitement and elan, knowing all
 
 132 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 the " inside life " of her profession as one vrho lias lived 
 in it from childhood only can, of indomitable will and nn- 
 tiriug working-power, she made a most admirable head of 
 the Adelphi establishment, which, nnder her direction, 
 flourished abundantly. 
 
 Besides the Buckstone dramas which I have mentioned, 
 " a real Adelphi success," as it used to be called on the 
 bills, was achieved by " Title Deeds," a play written by 
 Mr. R. B. Peake, who had scored previous successes, and 
 of whom Shirley Brooks used to tell a ridiculous non se- 
 quitiir story : " Who do you say is the author of this farce ?" 
 
 asked an elderly play -goer; "Dicky Peake? D d 
 
 nonsense ! he couldn't write a farce ! Ikneio his father P^ 
 —by "The Harvest Home" and "The Hop-pickers," by 
 Mr. Parry; and by a version of the " Closerie des Genets," 
 called " The Willow Copse," in which Mr. Webster played 
 with great effect. The extraordinarily attractive farces 
 of " Did you ever send your Wife to Camberwell ?" " How 
 to Settle Accounts with your Laundress," etc., were the 
 work of J, Stirling Coyne, an indefatigable Irishman, who, 
 by the aid of a French dictionary, and a knowledge of the 
 requirements of the stage and the tastes of a London audi- 
 ence, for a series of years provided managers with dra- 
 matic w^ares, more or less good, but nearly always popular. 
 His broad farces, full of quaint verbal and practical jokes, 
 were, taken for what they were, very amusing. Better 
 and higher work was done by Mark Lemon in " Domestic 
 Economy " and " The School for Tigers," in each of Avhich 
 farces Wright was provided witli a fresh, thoughtful, nat- 
 ural bit of character, worked out by him wnth inimitable 
 result. On these two farces, and another called " Who 
 lives at Number Nine?" and on his perforu\ance of l*aul 
 Pry, Wright's fame as a genuine comic actor will rest. 
 Will rest, I say, forgetting that he is already forgotten ! 
 Li those days the little Adeli)ln was a ])opular and well- 
 managed resort, its comjiany was united, and there was a 
 good deal of quiet fun and pleasant talk in the small and 
 diiwy green-room, hung round with portraits of the ])rinci- 
 pal members. To me it was fairy-land, and the memory 
 of it is yet fresh in my mind.
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 133 
 
 I think it was to the old Olympic that I was taken as a 
 child by my father to sec a strange man named George 
 Wild in a strange piece called "The Artful Dodge." It 
 was either there or at the Queen's, a dingy place off Tot- 
 tenham Court Road, where, long before it was metamor- 
 phosed by Miss Marie Wilton into the Prince of Wales's, 
 I saw, in company with Dickens, a piece in which the First 
 Napoleon reviewed the French army, consisting of three 
 dirty youths and a vivandUre, who, on the general's ap- 
 proach, presented arms, and saluted him with "Vive Em- 
 proo !" Certainly, I have no remembrance of the Olympic 
 in its palmy days of Vestris and Planche : my first regu- 
 lar recollection is of going there to the pit, to see a man 
 who had taken the town by storm as Othello, Gustavus 
 Vaughan Brooke was his name, and he remains in my 
 memory as the best representative of the character I have 
 ever seen : manly, soldierly, with all Salvini's gallantry 
 and pathos, without a suggestion of Salvini's coarse and 
 repulsive brutality, with a voice now capable of the soft- 
 est modulation in love or pity, now trumpet - toned in 
 command — such was G. V. Brooke when I first saw him. 
 He soon dropped away, poor fellow! — became a heavy 
 drinker, of stout and porter mostly, and lost his gallant 
 bearing, and his voice grew thick and muddy; and, though 
 he played for years afterwards — he went down in the 
 London, a ship which foundered in the Bay of Biscay on 
 her way to Australia, and when last seen, after most strenu- 
 ous exertions at the pumps, was leaning over the bulwarks, 
 calmly awaiting his coming doom — he was virtually a lost 
 man in his first season. Soon after his appearance I took 
 my mother to see him, and she, with all her experience, 
 was very much impressed by his powers. As for me, I 
 was infatuated, haunted the theatre, and saw Brooke in 
 all his characters — saw him in Sir Giles Overreach, where, 
 in the last act, he was splendid; saw him in Hamlet, where, 
 throughout, he must have been very bad. 
 
 I am not quite certain as to the way in which " Othello" 
 was cast, but I think Stuart, known as the "caged lion," a 
 fine old-crusted actor, full of mouthings and conventional- 
 isms, was the lago, and Stuart's daughter the Desdemona;
 
 134 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 and I have an idea of having seen Miss Glyn, afterwards 
 a celebrated tragic actress, as Emilia. Leigh Murray was, 
 I suppose, the Cassio: I know he was in the company, for 
 he often used to talk to me of Brooke, and bemoan his fail- 
 ings, with little idea, poor fellow ! that he himself, a few 
 years after, would fall into a worse state. Later on was 
 produced a play called " The Headsman," in which Leigh 
 Murray played the jeune 2>remier^ and first attracted to 
 himself the admiring attention of the public. It was 
 from the pit of the old Olympic, entrance to which I had 
 cheerfully purchased for eighteenpence, that I became 
 desperately enamored of Mrs. Stirling, whose acquaint- 
 ance I did not make for many years after, but whom I 
 then worshipped with all the loyal devotion of seventeen. 
 She was charming in everything; but in a little piece 
 called " Time Tries All," in which Leigh Murray also 
 appeared, and where she spoke a smart epilogue, which I 
 always used to consider specially addressed to me, she 
 was more than delightful. In "The Eton Boy," also with 
 Leigh Murray, and with the mirthful addition of Comp- 
 ton, driest of comedians, in " Cousin Cherry," and in many 
 another little drama of that day, she Avon my youthful 
 heart, Avhich she has, naturally, retained ever since. 
 
 At the old Olympic I saw a very clever man, named 
 Lysander Thompson, in a kind of character — a rustic full- 
 flavored Englishman, e.</.. Tiger in "The School for Re- 
 form," such as was played by the elder Emery — that was 
 very popular early in the century, but which has quite died 
 out. I imagine Mr. Lysander Thompson was ])ractically 
 its last exponent. I saw liim play Zekiel Homespun in 
 "The IIeir-at-Law,"butcainiot remember one other person 
 in tlie cast. But I j)erfeet]y well recollect the destruction 
 by fire of the old theatre and the opening of the new one; 
 for by that time, 1849,1 was a member of the Garrick 
 Club, and moving in "tlieatrical circles." The fire took 
 place on the night when a small actor named Bender was 
 about to take his benefit; and the new house, then thought 
 remarkably pretty and (uunmodious, was (){)ened on one of 
 the last nights of the year with a very strong company, 
 among them Frank Matthews, Alfred Wigan, Compton,
 
 THE DRAMA IN THOSE DAYS. 135 
 
 Meadows, Ryfler, Mrs. Seymour, Mrs. A. Wigan, Mrs. 
 Mowatt, Mr. Davenport, and Miss M. Oliver. The three 
 last-mentioned artists came from the Marylebone, where 
 they had been playing under the management of Mr. Wal- 
 ter Watts, under whose auspices the new Olympic had 
 been built, and was to be managed. 
 
 Who was Mr. Walter Watts? Personally, a cheery, 
 light - whiskered, pleasant little man, of convivial and 
 champagne - supper - giving tendencies. What was he? 
 Actors in those days were, as a rule, not very clear about 
 business matters : they knew he was not an actor ; they 
 thought he was "something in the City." He was an 
 excellent paymaster, very hospitable to all authors and 
 critics, drove in a handsome brougham, and made elegant 
 presents to the "leading ladies," whom he admired. 
 "Something in the City," it was opined, must be a good 
 berth. The position which Walter Watts really occupied 
 in the City was that of a clerk in the Globe Insurance- 
 office at a comparatively small salary, and the money on 
 which he had lived in luxury and carried out his theatri- 
 cal speculations was obtained by fraud. By ingenious 
 alterations in the pass-books and ledgers, aided, one would 
 imagine, by gross carelessness on the part of responsible 
 officials. Watts, when discovered and arrested in April, 
 1850, had robbed his employers of upward of £70,000. 
 There was some technical legal difficulty in framing the 
 indictment against him, and he was actually convicted of 
 stealing " a piece of paper." A point of law was reserved, 
 but afterwards given against him ; he was sentenced to 
 ten years' transportation, but committed suicide the same 
 night by hanging himself to the grating of his cell. He 
 was the precursor of Robson and Redpath, both of whom 
 swindled in a somewhat similar way, and on a similar 
 gigantic scale. 
 
 In my early recollection the St. James's was in the oc- 
 cupation of Mr, John Mitchell, the Bond Street librarian, 
 and was devoted to the production of French plays by 
 French actors. Through the interest of my guardian, 
 Charles Manby, I had the entree of the house, and con- 
 stantly availed myself of the privilege. There I saw with
 
 136 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 special interest — for I had heard of a certain resemblance 
 between him and mv father — Frederic Lemaitrc, even 
 then no longer young, but full of vivacity and fire, with 
 his high-pitched voice and odd, distorted mouth, deeply 
 impressive in " Le Docteur Noir," delightfully comic in 
 " L'Auberge des Adrets." I have seen Lemaitre in some 
 of his best characters — in the " Trente Ans de la Vie d'un 
 Joueur," where his wonderful performance forms the 
 subject of one of Dickens's letters ; years afterwards 
 in " Paillasse," a personation of great pathos ; and in 
 " Ruy Bias," where his age and physical disadvantages 
 were counterbalanced by his genius. There, too, I saw 
 Regnier, the first comedian of the Theatre Fran§ais ; 
 and Lafont, who lived to be a great age, and looked and 
 played inimitably to the last ; and fascinating Mile. Rose 
 Cheri, and Boufl:'e, a kind of refined Wright, in the " Gamin 
 de Paris." At the St. James's I first became intimate with 
 the late Charles Lamb Kenney, Avho in those days was 
 assisting John Oxenford in the dramatic criticism of the 
 Times, and who used to give me a seat in his box, where 
 I passed the evening listening to his remarks on the play, 
 and envying the lucky mortal who had sufiicient talent 
 to write in a newspaper ! It was from the Times box 
 that I first saw Rachel, by far the finest actress I have 
 ever seen. Her Camille in " Les Horaces," her Ph^dre, 
 her Adrienne Lecouvreur, are as fresh in my memory as 
 when I first saw them ; and there was another ])lay — was 
 it called " Valeric'?" — in which she sustained a double char- 
 acter. They talked of Ristori ; they talk of Sarah Bern- 
 hardt : I have seen them both in their best rdles, but, to 
 my mind, neither one nor the other is to be compared to 
 Rachel. 
 
 My first visit to the Strand was in very early days, 
 when it was called " Puiu'h's Playhouse," and the Keeleys 
 were acting there ; but beyond those facts I have no rec- 
 ollection of it. What T first clearly remember in con- 
 nection with the little theatre is a dramatic version of 
 ".Martin C'iiuzzlewit," witli a clever, jolly - looking man 
 named H. [Tall, who "doubled" the characters of Peck- 
 sniff and INFrs. Gamp, and one Roberts, who made an ex-
 
 THE DRAMA IX THOSE DAYS. \?,>J 
 
 ct'llent Tio-jr. Then I knew no more of it until it was in 
 the hands of old William Farren, who, as an actor of old 
 men, I have never seen suri^assed on any stage. lie had 
 an excellent company — Mrs. Glover, who enjoyed great 
 celebrity as an actress of old women ; Mrs, Stirling, 
 Corapton, and Leigh Murray. For them Mark Lemon 
 wrote an admirable drama called " Hearts are Trumps," 
 in which all were very well suited, and where Leigh 
 Murray, who played an aristocratic villain, for the first 
 time dared to represent a comparatively young man Avith 
 gray hair, being made up, in fact, after the well-known 
 "Jim" Macdonald. A version of "The Vicar of Wake- 
 field " was also very successful, and a little comedy called 
 " Poor Cousin Walter " was, I think, one of the earliest 
 dramatic productions of my old friend Palgrave Simpson. 
 I am afraid my youthful admiration of Shakspeare and 
 the legitimate drama was not sufiieiently strong to carry 
 me often to the remote regions of Sadler's Wells, a theatre 
 which the pluck and energy of worthy Mr. Phelps had 
 rescued from the lowest condition of a " penny gaff," and 
 where the best plays were then presented in a fitting man- 
 ner ; but I well recollect seeing a performance of " The 
 Tempest," in which I was struck not so much by the 
 manager's Prospero as by the Caliban of Mr. George Ben- 
 nett, which remains on my mind as a very grim fantastic 
 impersonation. Nor did I much affect the Marylebone 
 Avhile under Mrs. Warner's management, though I once 
 went there to see the " Winter's Tale." Later on, Avhen 
 the theatre passed into the hands of the peccant Watts, 
 who leased it before he took the Olympic, I was a more 
 frequent visitor. For there was first introduced to an 
 English public the fascinating Mrs. Anna Cora Mowatt, 
 an American actress, who was also a poetess and a very 
 charming woman. With her was her compatriot, Mr. E. 
 L. Davenport, who not merely played Shakspearian and 
 other heroes, but actually dared to appear as a British 
 sailor — William in "Black -eyed Susan," a character 
 created by the great "Tippy" Cooke. Mrs. Mowatt and 
 Mr. Davenport were very popular, both here and at the 
 Olympic.
 
 138 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 My reminiscences of the Surrey are a little mixed. I 
 went there first when my father was playing a short sum- 
 mer engagement under Mr. DaA'idge's management. And 
 my mother, in later years, used to speak of another en- 
 gagement which they played at the Surrey, under the au- 
 spices of a Mr. Levi. This gentleman, it seems, one day 
 asked my father what piece he proposed to produce next, 
 and my father mentioning " The Admirable Crichton," a 
 version of Ainsworth's novel, which had been successful 
 at the Adelphi, Mr. Levi said, " That's a capital notion, 
 *The Admiral Crichton;' and we've something in the 
 wardrobe that'll just do for it ! Jones, step up to the 
 wardrobe, and fetch that admiral's uniform I bought last 
 week !" When I visited the Surrey as a young man it 
 was under the joint management of Mi'. Shepherd and 
 Miss Vincent, " the acknowledged heroine of domestic 
 drama," as she used to be called in the bills, a lady whose 
 great part was Susan Hopley, a virtuous servant-maid. 
 On my being presented as the son of the late, etc., to Mr. 
 Shepherd, that gentleman affably remarked, " Oh, indeed ! 
 glad to know you, sir! Did your father leave your inother 
 •pretty xoell offf'' 
 
 These are my reminiscences of the theatres of my youth, 
 where some of my happiest hours were passed. I am not 
 so much of a theatre-goer now, but I should be ungrateful 
 indeed if I had aught but tlie kindliest feelings for the 
 "player-folk," from whom I sprang, among wliom I lived, 
 and from wliom I have received constant sj'mpathy and 
 consideration.
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 139 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE IJ^^FLUENCE OF " PENDENNIS." 
 
 I AM afraid that my mother was a good deal disap- 
 pointed at the non-fulfilment of the dream Avhich she had 
 imagined would be aceomplished when I returned from 
 Germany — a dream in which all the leisure portion of my 
 life was to be passed in her company, and in improving 
 my mind and making myself famous in some line not quite 
 decided upon. She had plenty of sound common-sense, 
 and ought to have known the proneness of youth to give 
 way to the temptations with which it is surrounded ; but 
 she seemed to have an idea that her one duckling was to 
 be different from the rest of the brood ; and when she 
 found him perpetually immersed in the pond of pleasure, 
 and never tired of diving down, loudly quacking his de- 
 light, upon any inducement to do so, she felt that the one 
 hope of her later life was not destined to be realized. 
 
 Her reproaches were not very many, and certainly not 
 very bitter. It had always been her desire that I should 
 do something to distinguish myself in some profession — 
 at the Bar, she had hoped ; and when circumstances 
 proved that such a career was impossible, she had accepted 
 Lord Clanricarde's appointment with special gratitude, 
 knowing as she did that the holding of a Government 
 situation was by no means incompatible with other em- 
 ployment — literary, for instance. Look at Charles Lamb 
 in the India House ; and there was Mr. Sara Anderson, an 
 old friend of my father's, who was Registrar of something 
 in Chancery Lane, and who had known Sir Water Scott, 
 and written some convivial songs, and been introduced 
 into Christopher North's " Noctes Ambrosiana? " under an- 
 other name. Thus my dear mother, who always laugh- 
 ingly declared there was a great deal of Mrs. Nickleby
 
 140 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 in her, would prattle on, particularly lamenting that, on 
 the rare occasions when I passed an evening at home, and 
 invariably passed it in reading, I should indulge in the 
 perusal of such very light literature, instead of devoting 
 myself to the acquisition of a store of valuable informa- 
 tion. 
 
 She had read somewhere that Sir Walter Scott had said 
 the curse of his life had been his " desultory reading." I 
 cannot tell whence she obtained this remarkable declara- 
 tion. I have never found it in Lockhart's Life ; and it 
 seems exactly the opposite of what Scott would have said, 
 and what must have been the truth. But that was my 
 mother's text, and on it she preached many a simple ser- 
 mon. Very different in her treatment of the same subject 
 was my godmother, a worthy old spinster lady whom I 
 have mentioned as livinor with us. " What with his 'Pick- 
 wick ' and his Punch " — these were the works always 
 selected as typical of my studies — she would remark, with 
 great asperity, "I wonder the boy hasn't softening of the 
 brain ! I'm only sorry my uncle Beilby is not alive to give 
 him a good talking to !" " ]\Iy uncle Beilby," who figured 
 perpetually in the old lady's conversation under this guise 
 or as " the dear Bishop," was Dr. Beilby Porteous, a for- 
 mer diocesan of London, whose portrait hung on our din- 
 ing-room wall, and whose name was to me anathema ina- 
 ranatha from the manner in which it was always being 
 held up to me as precept and cxanii)le. 
 
 Although the pursuit of pleasure was at that time my 
 most chosen avocation, and although both "Pickwick" 
 and Punch had a full share of my admiration, the old 
 lady's sarcastic condemnation of my literary tastes was 
 far too sweeping. I had become John Baker's pupil then, 
 and was well grounded in English poetry and standard 
 prose. In those days Macaulay's History was creating 
 much excitement and discussion, and I had brought it 
 back from one of my visits to the Continent in, I am 
 ashanu'd to say, a Tauclmilz edition, and was completely 
 fascinated by its brilliancy. And just about then ap- 
 jieared the first numbers of IFous^rhold Wordsy which I 
 devoured with extreme eagerness, and the early volumes
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF TENDENNIS." 141 
 
 of which still appear to me, after a tolerably wide expe- 
 rience of such matters, to be perfect models of what a 
 magazine intended for general reading should be. In 
 them, besides the admirable Avork done by Dickens him- 
 self — and he never was better than in his concentrated 
 essays — there were the dawning genius of Sala, which 
 had for me a peculiar fascination ; the novels of Mrs, 
 Gaskell ; the antiquarian lore of Peter Cunningham and 
 Charles Knight ; the trenchant criticism of Forster ; the 
 first-fruits of Wilkie Collins's unrivalled plot-weaving; 
 the descriptive powers of R. H. Home, who as a prose- 
 writer was terse and practical; the poetic pathos of Ade- 
 laide Procter ; the Parisian sketches of Blanchard Jer- 
 rold; the singularly original " Roving Englishman " series 
 of Grenville Murray; the odd humor of Henry Spicer. 
 
 Only vaguely in those days had I heard of these de- 
 lightful beings ; but of the writers engaged on the Man 
 in the Moon, a humorous illustrated monthly periodical 
 then appearing under the acknowledged editorship of 
 Albert Smith and Angus Reach, I had somewhat more 
 direct knowledge. I had seen Charles Kenney at the 
 French plays talking to an earnest - faced, long - haired 
 young man whom he called Angus Reach ; and at the 
 house of some friends I had met a delightful old lady 
 whom they and every one addressed as "Aunt Sally," and 
 who was actually the live aunt of that rollicking littera- 
 teur, Albert Smith, and dwelt in her nephew's cottage 
 in that very village of Chertsey about which he was al- 
 ways writing. " Aunt Sally " was not the rose, but she 
 had lived very close to it, and I venerated her accord- 
 ingly- 
 
 What an existence was that led by those men ! To 
 
 write, and to publish what you wrote, and to be paid for 
 writing it ! Tlie theatrical critics, too, with free .entree 
 everywhere, and wielding such enormous power! I knew 
 them all by sight, and used to sit gaping at them with 
 wonder and adniiration. John Oxenford of the Times, 
 enthroned in a box ; David Hastings for the Herald ; 
 Reach, and sometimes Shirley Brooks, for the Chronicle ; 
 Howard Glover for the Morniny Post ; Heraud, the long-
 
 142 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 haired epic poet, for the Atheficenm ; Stirling Coyne for 
 the Sunday Times; and Bayle Bernard for the Weekly 
 Dispatch. The last two I knew personally, as they had 
 been writers for the Adelphi in my father's time, and I 
 soon made acquaintance with the others. And the more 
 I saw of them, the more I envied them, and the strono-er 
 grew my desire to enter myself of their craft. It was a 
 most pleasant way, and the only way which occurred to 
 me, of gratifying two strong aspirations — to make myself 
 a name of some kind, and to earn some money in addition 
 to my official salary. I wanted to be something more 
 than a clerk in the post-office, to be known as something 
 else than the everlasting "son of — Adelphi, you know." 
 And though I have often been told, and though I believe, 
 that I should have done ver}' well as an actor, having 
 some mimetic faculty and dramatic power of narration, 
 I never contemplated an appearance on the stage. 
 
 To get admitted into the ranks of literary men, among 
 whom I might possibly, by industry and perseverance, 
 rise to some position, began to be my constant thought ; 
 and I was encouraged in the hope that I might succeed, 
 perhaps more than anything else, by reading the career 
 of "Pendennis," which, in its well - remembered yellow 
 cover, had then been appearing month by month for the 
 last two years, and in its complete form was just obtain- 
 able at the libraries. There is no ])rose story in our Eng- 
 lish language, not even the " Christmas Carol," not even 
 "The Newcomes," not even the " Scenes of Clerical Life " 
 or " Silas Marner " — and now I have named what are to 
 me tlie most precious — which interests and affects me like 
 "Pcndennis." It had this effect from the very first. I 
 knew most of it so thorougldy. The scenes in the pro- 
 vincial theatre — the Fotheringay, her father, the prompt- 
 er, the company — were such perfect creations (to this 
 day I have never seen any hint as to where Thackeray 
 got his study of these peojilo, who were quite out of his 
 usual line); the j)()sitioii of I'eiidennis and his mother was 
 so analogous to that of me and mine — her devotion, his 
 extravagance; the fact that I was personally accpiainted 
 with Andrew Arcedecknc, the original of I'^'okcr, in whom
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 143 
 
 he was reproduced in the most hidicrously lifelike man- 
 ner: all this awakened in me a special interest in the 
 book ; and when, in the course of Pen's fortunes, he en- 
 ters upon the literary career, writes his verses for the 
 Spring Annual, dines with Bungay, visits Shandon, is 
 engaged on the Pall Mall Gazette, and chums with War- 
 rington, who makes that ever-to-be-quoted speech about 
 the power of the press: "Look at that, Pen! There she 
 is, the great engine; she never sleeps," etc. — when I came 
 to this portion of the book my fate was sealed. To be 
 a member of that wonderful Corporation of the Goose- 
 quill, to be recognized as such, to be one of those jolly 
 fellows who earned money and fame, as I thought, so 
 easily and so pleasantly, was the one desire of my life ; 
 and, if zeal and application could do it, I determined that 
 my desire should be gratified. 
 
 But, as I have since had occasion to point out to many 
 scores of eager neophytes, the literary profession is the 
 very one in which, though zeal and application are after- 
 wards of great assistance, they are not the be-all and end- 
 all : something moi'e is absolutely requisite at the out- 
 set. It is of no use, as John Oxenf ord used to say, look- 
 ing over his spectacles in his inimitably dry, sententious 
 way — " It's of no use printing in italics if you've got no 
 ink;" and it certainly is of no use being remarkably prac- 
 tical and business-like in literature if you have no ideas 
 to express. I had, or thought I had, ideas about certain 
 small matters, but how to express them, and where to find 
 the opportunity for such expression, was the difficulty. I 
 had written tolerable verses at school, and had continued 
 the practice, off and on. I felt sure, though I had never 
 attempted it, that I could describe a play and fairly criti- 
 cise the acting ; equally, I could review a novel or a book 
 of travel, and could, I thought, narrate any personal ex- 
 perience which might be worth recording. But how and 
 when and where ? The desire for some such outlet was 
 becoming overwhelming, and was making me positively 
 ill. Thus, then, my Muse labored, and thus, at last, was 
 she delivered. 
 
 It was, I grieve to say, in church, in St. John's Wood
 
 144 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Chapel, facing down the Park Road, and well known to 
 all frequenters of Lord's. We had a pew there, and my 
 mother was a very regular attendant. The incumbent 
 was a most excellent but rather dry and prosy old gentle- 
 man, a Scotchman named Wharton ; and one Sunday 
 morning, while he was holding forth, my thoughts wan- 
 dered away to the frontispiece of a book I had read in 
 my boyhood, called " Lives of the Brigands," or some 
 such title, by a man named, I think, Macfarlane. The 
 frontispiece illustrated a story in the book. On the death 
 of a brigand chief, the command was claimed by a young 
 fellow who had recently joined the band, but had always 
 given evidence of cleverness and courage. The claim 
 was allowed, provided he consented, as a proof of his 
 devotion to the cause, to kill the girl to whom he was 
 engaged, and to this suggestion ho assented. Old Mr. 
 Wharton boomed above me in his wooden box, and my 
 thoughts began to work. It was a good subject. Pen's 
 first printed verses were suggested by a picture. Could 
 not I— ? in the same metre, too. No need of much effort 
 of memory to recall that— it was always in my mind : 
 
 " Although I enter not, 
 Yet round about the spot 
 Sometimes I hover." 
 
 Tliat was it. Now, let me see. " And, my dear braith- 
 ron—" Oh dear, that will never do ! We must shut Mr. 
 Wharton more completely out of this affair. Now, let 
 us suppose that the second in command addresses the 
 candidate, and names the terms on which the baud will 
 
 elect him : 
 
 "Thou hast churned to be our chief, 
 
 Thou art .strong in thy belief 
 
 Of thy powers : 
 Thou boaste.st nerve and skill 
 Enough to curb a will 
 
 Huch us ours !" 
 
 That Stanza, and one or two more, were in progress be- 
 fore the worthy old clergyman dismissed us. When I 
 reached home I worked away at my subject, and that 
 evening I read the verses to my mother, taking care not
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 145 
 
 to wound her by telling her where the original conception 
 had taken place. My dear critic's judgment was not 
 blinded by her maternal love, but she thought the little 
 poem good enough to pass muster in any magazine. 
 
 Then the question arose, Where to send it ? Several 
 periodicals were discussed and put aside as too grand, 
 too important, too serious. Finally, we resolved that Mr. 
 Harrison Ainsworth, the proprietor and editor of Ains- 
 loortJi's Magazine, should be the favored recipient. So I 
 sent the verses, with a modest letter, explaining who I 
 was, " the son of," etc., and anxiously waited the great 
 man's reply. It came almost before I expected it, and it 
 was delightful. Mr. Ainsworth had read the verses and 
 found them excellent; he was pleased to see that the son 
 of his old friend was at an early age exhibiting talent, 
 though in a different line from that in which his father 
 had shone ; he had great pleasure in accepting the poem, 
 Avhich would appear in an early number of the maga- 
 zine. Meanwhile, a proof would be sent me. 
 
 There was joy in our little household that day; there 
 was ecstacy two days later, when the proof arrived. I 
 shall never forget that proof: it had a printed ticket stuck 
 on to the left-hand corner, desiring that after it had been 
 revised it should be sent to Mr. Somebody at Beaufort 
 House, in the Strand. Save some small error in punctua- 
 tion, there was nothing to correct ; but I was not going 
 to trust the precious paper to the post, in which it might 
 have been delayed or lost ; so I set off with it myself to 
 Beaufort House, noticing as I passed down the Strand the 
 name of " Warrington," a seal-engraver, over a shop-door, 
 which, with my Pendennis worship, I took as a good omen. 
 I found Messrs. Whiting's printing-office — I had plenty of 
 experience of it afterwards, for it was there All the Year 
 Mound was printed, and it was burned down long ago ; 
 I found Mr. Somebody — the first printer, with the excep- 
 tion of the Fairbrothers in Bow Street, who did the theat- 
 rical-bill work, I had ever seen — in a long, low room at 
 the top of an enormous flight of stairs, and placed the 
 proof in his hand. He was a fat little man, in black cali- 
 co sleeves, and with a dirty white apron looped over his 
 
 7
 
 146 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 shoulders. He seemed rather surprised at my calling on 
 him, but received me with a half-pitying smile : he could 
 not say exactly when the verses would appear, but no 
 doubt, as Mr. Ainsworth, according to what I had told 
 him, had said it would be soon, why, it would be soon! 
 That was all I could get from Mr. Somebody — but what 
 did it matter ? Was I not already " one of them ?" — was 
 there not work of mine actually in type ? Let long-haired 
 Reach and comj^lacent Shirley Brooks look to themselves! 
 I had sta7*ted on my career, and ere long would come thun- 
 dering up alongside them ! 
 
 The verses about the brigands were not in the next' 
 number of Ainsioorth' s Magazine, at which I was sur- 
 prised; nor in the one succeeding, at which I was indig- 
 nant. I wrote a letter to Mr. Ainsworth — indeed I wrote 
 many, ranging from the urgent appeal to the sarcastic in- 
 vective ; he replied to one, but wisely ignored the rest. 
 And it maj' interest young authors, or would-be authors, 
 to know that these celebrated verses never did appear in 
 AinsioortK's Magazine, but saw the light a year or two 
 afterwards in a Keepsahe, when I was beginning to make 
 my way along the thorny path. It is only two or three 
 years ago that I told this story in the presence and to the 
 great amusement of Mr. Ainsworth, with whom I had a 
 pleasant acquaintance, at a banquet given in his honor at 
 Manchester. 
 
 About this time, towards the close of the year 1851, 1 
 made the personal acquaintance of All)ert Smilli, Avith 
 whom I speedily contracted an intimate fricndsliip — a 
 friendship the warmth and closeness of which were not 
 in the least affected by the fact that he was fifteen years 
 my senior. I had met him twice previous to this. Early 
 in '47, just after my ajipoinlnu-nt to the Post-otlicc, and 
 while I was still the rawest of youths, my mother, with 
 more affection than discretion, had asked for and obtained 
 permission for me to accom])any her to a dinner to which 
 she had been invited by Mr. and Mrs. Horace Twiss, at 
 their house in Park T'lace, St. James's Street. Mr. Twiss, 
 who was connected with the Keinhle family, was himself 
 alliliated to journalism and literature — he was the first
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 147 
 
 Parliamentary summary writer in the Times, and the au- 
 thor of the " Life of Lord Eldon," and had been an old 
 friend of my father's. The dinner was, oddly enough, 
 given on the day of a " general fast," which had been sol- 
 emnly fixed by proclamation of Parliament " on account 
 of the grievous scarcity and dearth of divers articles of 
 sustenance and necessaries of life." There was certainly 
 no dearth of luxury at Horace Twiss's table — no dearth 
 of wit around it. There was a large party, but I can only 
 recollect the famous editor of the Times, John Delane, 
 whose presence I had indeed forgotten, until he reminded 
 me of it years after ; Albert Smith ; and Thomas Knox 
 Holmes, who saw and pitied my " fish-out-of- water " con- 
 dition in such a gathering — I was only sixteen — and took 
 special pains to talk to me and set me at my ease. After 
 dinner, Arthur Smith, M. Hallett, and others of their set 
 came, and being joined by Albert, sang some of the Christy 
 Minstrel airs just coming into vogue, the words having 
 been parodied to apply to persons and matters of the day. 
 
 Albert Smith had always a great admiration and regard 
 for my mother, whom he met there for the first time, and 
 said a few kind words to me on my introduction to him. 
 Once afterwards I had met him in the green-room of the 
 Adelphi. But we had never really known each other until 
 one autumn night, when I found him dining late at the 
 Garrick Club. When his dinner was over he sat down at 
 my table, and talked so pleasantly that, instead of adjourn- 
 ing to the smoking-room — he was not a smoker — I re- 
 mained with him. We commenced pacing the room side 
 by side, up and down, and so we continued until nearly 
 midnight. I do not know what we talked about — possibly 
 I opened my heart to him, and told him how I envied and 
 longed for a literary life — but then and there commenced 
 a friendship which continued close and intimate, with but 
 one small break, until his death nine years after ; and to 
 this friendship I owe much of my life's happiness, among 
 other items of it my wife. 
 
 At this time Albert Smith was desperately busy in the 
 preparation of his new entertainment. In the previous 
 August he had made an ascent of Mont Blanc, in those
 
 148 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 days a very rare feat ; he liad written an account of it in 
 Blackioood; and, garnished with songs, "characters," and 
 splendid ilhistrative views by William Beverly, it was to 
 form the staple of a monologue to be given by him at the 
 Egyptian Hall, the principal room of which he had just 
 acquired, and which was being decorated for the purpose. 
 He was not a novice at the wo]'k ; two years previously 
 he had made his first appearance before the public at 
 Willis's Rooms, in an entertainment written by himself, 
 called "The Overland Mail," descriptive of the route to 
 India, relieved by sketches of character and "patter" 
 songs, also illustrated by Mr, Beverly, whose fame was 
 then dawning. 
 
 Let me picture him as he was in those days when our 
 intimacy commenced, A man of thirty-five years of age, 
 with large head, large body, short legs ; long hair, long, 
 reddish-brown beard and mustache ; small, keen, deep-set 
 gray eyes ; good aquiline nose ; small hands and feet ; al- 
 ways badly dressed : when at home at work he wore a 
 short blue blouse, such as is to be seen on all the Swiss 
 peasants, and an old pair of trousers; in the street he 
 was given to gaudy neckerchiefs, and had a festoon of 
 "charms" dangling from his watch-chain. He lived at 
 No. 12 Percy Street, Tottenham Court Road, the draw- 
 ing-room floor of which, and several of the bedrooms, 
 being at the service of his parents, one aunt, and a sister, 
 who were entirely dependent on him, and to whom he be- 
 haved with constant affection and liberality, while the 
 ground-floor he kept to himself. The front dining-room 
 was, save on the occasion of his not infrequent supper- 
 parties, but little used. The back room was his sanctum, 
 where he worked at a small carved - oak davenport, the 
 fac-simile of which has been in my possession for years. 
 The room was lined with books, which also covered the 
 floor, together with jjroof-shects, prints, play-bills, bits of 
 tapestry or silk-stnfl^, and all kinds of literary litter. On 
 the wall were an old dock which did not go, a water-color 
 ]»icture of the Manpiisc dc IJrinvillicrs hesitating between 
 d.'igger or ])oison ; on the door a Inuiied engraving, after 
 Horace Vernet, of the ghostly horseman in IJilrger's "Le-
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PEXDEXNIS." 149 
 
 nore," a ballad wliich Albert translated very successfully; 
 one of the Avindows was fitted with an aquarium, a novel- 
 ty in those days ; on the broad mantel-piece, hung with 
 faded stuff, was a figure of a Swiss j^easant, with a clock- 
 face in his waistcoat ; all kinds of small Swiss carved 
 toys, Turkish slippers, Egyptian small idols, Danton's stat- 
 uettes of Rubini and Lablache, Venetian glasses, goblets, 
 and flagons — rare then, in the prro-Salviati period — a 
 lady's black silk mask with a lace fall, an Italian stiletto, 
 and an old Roman lamp. On a small table, under a glass 
 shade, was a pair of female hands, beautifully modelled 
 in wax, the originals being Lady Blessington's. In an old 
 oak armoire, besides all kinds of rubbish, was a bottle of 
 sherry, which was constantly being produced Avith the 
 short invitation, "Have a drink?" one of the Venetian 
 glasses being brought down for the purpose, and duly 
 wiped on the host's blouse or a convenient duster. In a 
 case in the hall stood a skeleton, a memento of Albert's 
 student -days at the Middlesex Hospital, which I have 
 seen, after old Pagan fashion, propped in a chair at the 
 supper-table, with a chaplet of flowers round its skull. 
 
 I have never met any man more thorough in his whole 
 character, certainly no one more thorough in his likes and 
 dislikes, than Albert Smith : from the moment he " took 
 me up " he presented me, with glowing credentials, to his 
 immediate set, and I was at once cordially received by 
 them. Most prominent among them was his younger 
 brother Arthur, a man full of cleverness of a quaint kind, 
 of a remarkably sweet disposition and winning manner, 
 and of, as was about to be proved, singular aptitude for 
 business. He, too, had been a medical student, but up to 
 this period had made no particular mark in life, the only 
 incident in his career worth mention havino- been his mar- 
 riage with an heiress ; but he rose with the opportunity, 
 and in the organization of all the before - the - curtain ar- 
 rangements of the Egyptian Hall undertaking — the most 
 important provision for money - taking, check -taking, 
 money-payments, bill-posting, advertising, the comfort of 
 the audience, everything, in fact, save the actual delivery 
 of the lecture and songs— he developed a special ability
 
 150 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 which I have never seen equalled. Albert Smith was 
 never tired of acknowledging that a very large propor- 
 tion of the extraordinary siiccess attending his nine years' 
 tenancy of the Egyptian Hall was due to his brother's un- 
 remitting care and attention ; and Dickens, the first and 
 second series of whose public readings he planned and su- 
 perintended, had equal faith in his business talent, as well 
 as a deej) personal regard for him. " As for poor Arthur 
 Smith," Dickens wrote to Forster, immediately after A. 
 S.'s death in '61, "it is as if my right arm were gone." 
 
 Arthur was by no means " literary," had read very lit- 
 tle and written nothing ; but he had keen observation 
 and was very suggestive. Much of Albert's successful 
 fun had its origin in Arthur's droll ideas, and Albert used 
 to say that Arthur's riddle, "What is marmalade?" the 
 answer being a quotation from the description on the pot, 
 " An excellent substitute for butter at breakfast," was en- 
 titled to rank among the best conundrums of the day. Ar- 
 thur lived with his brother in Percy Street, and was with 
 him almost every hour of the day ; he received me at once 
 into his regard, and thenceforth I was almost as intimate 
 with him as with Albert. Just at this time I used to join 
 tliem after leaving my office, generally finding them 
 among the scaffolding and whitewash of the Egyptian 
 Hall, then under process of alteration ; then we would 
 adjourn to some cheap and quiet place for dinner, and 
 spend the rest of the evening together. 
 
 Prominent among the intimates of both the brothers at 
 that time was Joseph Ilulme Robins, known to every one 
 as "Joe Robins," also a quaint humorist, and in many 
 respects a very entertaining follow. Robins, Avho was a 
 ne]»hew of the well-known auctioneer, had boon a fellow- 
 student with All)crt at the Middlesex Hospital, had ac- 
 companied him on liis trij) to the East, and on liis return 
 had become assistant to Dr. Beaman, of Covcnt Garden, 
 whose daughter he afterwards married. One of his stories 
 of this exi>eri('iK'e was that, it being considered right lie 
 sliould attend tlie funeral of an infant ])atient, he was 
 walking n\) the eliurcli-yard of St. Paul's, his face in his 
 handkerchief, when a boy wlio recognized him called out,
 
 TUE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 151 
 
 "Who pisoned the babby?" and created much scandal. 
 Coming into a legacy shortly after, Robins abandoned 
 medicine, and put his money into a Manchester ware- 
 house in the City ; but he knew nothing of business, and 
 soon lost his all. He then went on the stage, but the ex- 
 traordinarily humorous perception and expression which 
 characterized him in private deserted him completely in 
 public, and he made little or no mark. He died a few 
 years since, after a long illness. 
 
 At his best he was ong of the funniest men I have ever 
 seen. He had a comic face, with pendulous cheeks, and a 
 stout figure, knew music, could sing fairly and imitate 
 excellently. He had several little scenes of his own ai*- 
 raugement, lasting two minutes, which were infinitely di- 
 verting : he would imitate an approaching train, the puff- 
 ing of the engine, its going under an arch, its stopping — 
 " Wolverton ! Wolverton !" the descent of a passenger, 
 the rush to the refreshment-room, demand of a cup of tea, 
 agony at its heat, blowing it frantically, ringing of bell, 
 whistle of engine, tea-consumer left behind ! He would 
 imitate the marching off of the band after trooping the 
 colors, the tuning of the instruments in a theatrical or- 
 chestra and the remarks of the performers, an operatic 
 scene between soprano, tenor, and bass, the feeding of 
 the animals at the Zoo, rocket -time at Vauxhall, and a 
 hundred other things. One of his favorite jokes was to 
 rattle an enormous chain on the street-door in Percy 
 Street, throwing it down and exclaiming melodramatical- 
 ly, " Friends to the prisoner !" He was thoroughly versed 
 in the mysteries of pantomime lore, and it was to this, 
 and to his personal qualifications, that he owed his selec- 
 tion to play Clown in the Amateur Pantomime, of which 
 more anon. 
 
 With the Keeley family — Mr. and Mrs. Keeley and 
 their two daughters, Mary and Louise — Albert Smith had 
 a long - existent friendship. He had written plays and 
 burlesques for the Lyceum when under their manage- 
 ment, and the elder daughter, who afterwards became his 
 wife, had made her debut in his version of " The Cricket 
 on the Hearth." For Robert Keeley's natural wit and
 
 152 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 shrewdness, and for his artistic impersonations, he had 
 great admiration. I was speedily presented to the Kee- 
 leys — Mrs. Keeley had, of course, known me as a child — 
 was made free of their house, and received from them 
 constant kindness. They lived at that time at No. 19 
 BromjDton Square, in that region which was once the 
 chosen spot for theatrical tents to be pitched. Farrens, 
 Keeleys, Buckstones, Wigans, and Miss Faucit have I 
 known in Brompton Square ; Planche in Michael's Grove ; 
 T. P. Cooke in Thurloe Square ; Charles Mathews and 
 Madame Vestris in Gore Lodge, Fulham ; John Reeve 
 and G. H. Rodwell in Brompton Row ; Wright in Chel- 
 sea ; Miss Woolgar — where she still lives — in the Vale, 
 Chelsea. The omnibuses were tilled with actors, and foot- 
 light celebrities were common as blackberries. Not many 
 of them were to be met at the Keeleys', however, whose 
 "connection" was strictly a private one, composed of 
 many pleasant elements, young and old, which were gen- 
 erally brought together on a Sunday evening. In the 
 week there was no time for festivity at No. 19, for re- 
 hearsals in the morning and acting at night kept the Kee- 
 leys constantly engaged, while the afternoon was rigidly 
 devoted to purposes of rest, all callers being tabooed. 
 
 Another friend of Albert Smith's to whom I was pre- 
 sented, and who was good enough to admit me to an in- 
 timacy which was greatly to my advantage, Avas James 
 Lyster O'Beirne, an Irishman but recently arrived in Lon- 
 don, connected with the law and the press, and secretary 
 of a public company. To Mr. O'Beirne I owe absolutely 
 ray first introduction to the public, my first actual ac- 
 quaintance with the delightful mysteries of a printing- 
 oftice, my first ai>prenticeslii}) to journalism. Thus it 
 came about : after reading some verses of mine, a little 
 skit tliat had especial interest to him and Albert Smith, 
 Mr. O'Beinu' informed me that, among other j)ress-work, 
 he edited the Conrt Jourrml, tlien the ])roi)erty of Mr. W. 
 Tliomas, a well-known news-agent in Catherine Street, 
 Strand, and that, if I chose, he could, he thouglit, get me 
 "on" to that organ. I need iu»t say I accepted the offer 
 with delight. I saw Mr. Thomas, and I was engaged at
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF " PEXDENNIS.'' isg 
 
 a salary of £1 a week, very irregularly paid — hear this, 
 all ye budding journalists ! — to contribute regular dra- 
 matic criticisms, occasional poems, and anything else I 
 liked to send in. My first poem — I have it before me at 
 the present writing, duly cut out, and pasted in a book 
 by my mother's proud care — was published in the Court 
 Journal of the Gth March, 1852, verses "On the Death 
 of Thomas Moore," an event which had happened at the 
 end of the previous month. 
 
 So I was Pendennis at last ! with my entree to the the- 
 atres, and my power of saying what I liked about them, 
 and my delightful visits to the printing-office, and my 
 proofs, and my colloquies with my colleague, Mr. Lum- 
 ley, now and for many years proprietor and editor of the 
 C J., the circulation and influence of which he has enor- 
 mously extended. James O'Beirne was very kind to me. 
 I had the run of his chambers at the corner of King Street 
 and St. James's Street, now a club, and the advantage of 
 his advice and experience. 
 
 Just about this time, too — the sj^ring of 1852 — was es- 
 tablished the original Fielding Club, of which I was a 
 constant attendant, and where I spent many happy hours 
 and made many pleasant and useful acquaintances. It 
 had a predecessor in the C.C.C, or Cider Cellar Club, 
 held at the tavern of that name, in a room at the bottom 
 of the stairs on the right, immediately facing the bar. I 
 was there once or twice as a visitor, but was not a mem- 
 ber ; it was, in fact, before my time. The establishment 
 of a night club — the "Fielding" was the name selected 
 by Thackeray, to whom the choice of title was delegated 
 — was decided on in consequence of the impossibility of 
 getting suj^i^er at the Garrick, or, indeed, of infusing any- 
 thing like liveliness into that temple, after midnight. It 
 Avas doubtless unreasonable to expect that the necessarily 
 small staff of a small club should be ready both for day 
 and night duties ; but the want of such a place of resort 
 had long been experienced, and it was determined it should 
 be supplied in the best way possible. " Oflley's," a fa- 
 mous tavern of former times, situate in Henrietta Street, 
 Coveut Garden, had fallen upon evil days, its custom was
 
 154 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOxV LIFE. 
 
 gone, its name almost forgotten ; the position for our pur- 
 pose was most desirable, and the premises were secured 
 for the "Fielding." 
 
 I shall best give an idea of the members of this once 
 famous club by quoting from a descriptive poem, written 
 by Albert Smith, Avith a little of my collaboration, about 
 the winter of '52. It was evoked by a little joke among 
 ourselves at the expense of one of our members, which 
 need not be recalled : 
 
 I. 
 
 There was high festival that night within Saint Offley's Hall 
 (For so they term a place where sons of night hold festival) ; 
 There was Sir Armytage ' of race ; and Archy ^ on the go 
 (He never stays long anywhere), and Albert ^ of the " show." 
 
 II. 
 
 J. W. D.'* was there, so great in operatic m^th, 
 And using the club note-paper was Arthur, known as "Smith ;"^ 
 And with the Maelstrom's wind-borne spray still glistening in his hair, 
 The bold Norwegian fisherman, great Pleasant,® took his chair. 
 
 III. 
 And Dan,' who cried in quick, sharp tones, that never seemed to stop, 
 " Here ! waiter ! when the divil are ye going to bring my chop ?" 
 
 ' Sir George Armytage, Bart., of Kirklees Hall, Yorks, and Cambridge 
 Square, well known in social, turf, and theatrical circles ; one of my oldest 
 and kindest friends, and almost the only survivor, save the principals, of 
 those present at ray wedding. 
 
 ' Andrew Arcedecknc, a quaint, kind - hearted oddity, of whom I shall 
 often have to speak. He was the original of Foker in "rendeuuis." 
 Dead. 
 
 3 Albert Smith. The Egyptian Hall entertainment was always spoken 
 of by us as " the show." Dead. 
 
 * J. W. Davison, for many years chief musical critic of the Times. 
 
 ' Arthur Smith, Albert's brotlicr. Dead. 
 
 « Sir Charles Taylor, Bart., of Hollyconibe, and King Street, St. James's, 
 who always rented a salmon-fi.^hing in Norway. Called "Old Pleasant," 
 from his invariable cynicism. Anthony Trollope has well described liim : 
 " A man rough of tongue, bruscpie in his manners, odious to those who 
 dislike him, somewhat inclined to tyniiinv, he is the prince of friends, hon- 
 est as the sun, and as open-handed as Cliarity itself." This, by-thc-way, is 
 an excellent de3crij)tion of the writer, Trollope himself. Dead. 
 
 ' Daniel O'Conuell, youngest son of the " Liberator," then M.]'. for Tra- 
 Icc, now a Special Conunissioner of Income-tax.
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 155 
 
 And gentle Jim,^ who tends the Screws, up fifty pairs of stairs, 
 And Collingwood,^ who never goes to bed but unawares. 
 
 IV. 
 
 There was the gallant Henry,'" and bold Brownlow " standing by. 
 Deep in a talk with the great Mons.'^ of Wagner and of Gye, 
 And good old Mac '^ — fair Strasburg's pride — who everybody knows, 
 And Vivian '■* of the flowing locks — so different to Joe's ! '* 
 
 There were four Williams there. First, he with voice of deepest miglit,'^ 
 Who says, " I'll tell you what it is " (and William tells you right) ; 
 And he of Willow-pattern fame," who ne'er was known to shout; 
 And he the leading journal's pet — terror of Ingram's trout.'* 
 
 * James Lyster O'Beirne, the secretary of the General Screw Steam Ship- 
 ping Company; frequently mentioned in this volume. 
 
 ' Henry CoUingwood Ibbetson, a great friend of mine, and one of the 
 gentlest and kindest of human beings. Dead. 
 
 1" Sir Henry Percival de Bathe, Bart., then Captain de Bathe, of the Scots 
 Fusilier Guards. 
 
 " Colonel Brownlow Knox, of the Scots Fusilier Guards, and M.P. for 
 Marlow. He was pecuniarily interested at that time in the fortunes of the 
 newly-established Royal Italian Opera. Dead. 
 
 "* Mons. JuUien. See ante. Dead. 
 
 13 Tom Macdonald, formerly of the 3Iorning Chronicle, then secretary to 
 the Canada Trust and Loan Company. The reference to Strasburg I have 
 forgotten. A line in Thackeray's "Ballad of Bouillabaisse," "And laugh- 
 ing Tom is laughing yet," referred to T. M. Dead. 
 
 " George Henry Lewes, at that time writing as "Vivian" in the Leader. 
 Dead. 
 
 '5 J. M. Langford, Messrs. Blackwood's London representative. Dead. 
 
 '^ William Bolland, son of Mr. Justice BoUand, a big, heavy, hand- 
 some man, of much peculiar humor. He always spoke of himself as 
 " William." He was the original of Fred Bayham in " The Newcomes ;" 
 and I ventured to reproduce him as William Bowker in " Land at Last." 
 Dead. 
 
 " William P. Hale, part author with Frank Talfourd of the burlesque 
 " The Willow Pattern Plate." Often mentioned herein. He was a very 
 loud talker. Dead. 
 
 "* William Howard Russell, LL.D., the doyen of special correspondents. 
 This was before he won his spurs in the Crimea ; and then he was only 
 known as a very clever graphic reporter and amusing Irish humorist. He 
 was a great fisherman, and had the run of some water belonging to Mr. 
 Ingram, M.P.
 
 156 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And he, again, the bright-hued Artist-king of Fairyland ; " 
 
 And with him was good brother Bob,-" just come up from the Strand ; 
 
 And Walter '■'• the Entluisiastic spoke, with figures rare. 
 
 To FOW ^'^ of the " bright water-jug " — he didn't use it there. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And Tom, whose pointed pen supplies the Stage and Board of Health,^^ 
 And Peter, 2-» from whose hand-book mines great Murray draws mucli 
 
 wealth ; 
 And Frank,''^ who made an awful pun, the whiles his grog he drank, 
 As Charley ^^ told how Kean that day had called him also " frank." 
 
 Tin. 
 
 And Cuthbert of the ringlets came '^'' (his namesake was not there, 
 With certain " cheerful snobs " tliat day he tasted City fare) ; '•'^ 
 And stout Sir Evan ^^ shook his sides ; witli him the culprit's friend, 
 Who saves "the prisoner at the bar" from many an awkward end. ^^ 
 
 '9 William Beverly. 
 
 "0 Robert Roxby, then acting at the Lyceum. Bead. 
 
 '■" Walter Lacy, the evergreen dealer in tropes and metaphors. 
 
 ^^ F. 0. Ward, familiarly known as Fow. A very brilliant man, leader- 
 writer on the Times, and a pioneer of sanitary reform. The " bright wa- 
 ter-jug" was one of his special hobbies. Dead. 
 
 '3 Tom Taylor, secretary of what was then the Board of Health, after- 
 wards the Local Government Office. Dead. 
 
 " Peter Cunningham, F.S.A., author of the " Hand-book of London," etc. 
 Dead. 
 
 2* Frank Talfourd, an inveterate punster. Dead. 
 
 '« Cliarles Lamb Kenney. He said one night at the Fielding, with an nir 
 of great simi)licity, " I don't think I can have made myself agreeable this 
 evening. I was dining with Cliarles Kean, who was in great force, and toUl 
 some excellent stories ; and I said, wliat a pity it w.as tliat lie, wlio was such 
 a capital fellow off the stage, sliould be .sueli a bad actor!" "And what 
 did Kean say ?" we asked. " Well," said Keimey, " I don't think Kean 
 liked it much ; but all he said was, ' You are pleased to be frank this 
 evening, Kenney.' " Dca/l. 
 
 " Cuthbert Ellison, barrister ; afterwards a London police-magistrate. 
 Dead. 
 
 "" Captain Cuthbert Ellison, of the Orenadier Guards. Dead. 
 
 ''* Sir Evan Mackenzie, Bart. Dead. 
 
 ^'i Either Sergeant Ballantiiie or Haron Iluddlcston. Botli were members 
 of the Fielding, and both at that time were of ten " Special " at the Old 
 Bailey.
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENXIS." 157 
 
 IX. 
 
 And "handsome Jack," to whose dear girls and swells Ins life Punch 
 
 owes ; "' 
 And Leigh, the sole jmne premier that our stage at present knows ; *' 
 And he, the pride of that great Sunday print whose columns range 
 From vestries of St. Pancras to what " novel " is " or strange." ** 
 
 X. 
 
 Another Artliur, too, of calm straightforward sense was there ; ^^ 
 And Toin, who licks the cabmen when they ask beyond their fare; ^* 
 And Tom again, whose soft dark curls the march of time disdain ; ^* 
 And he who is so well beloved by Morris and Delaue. *' 
 
 XI. 
 
 The silver-toned snuff-taking Dick of some young beauty spoke; ^* 
 The excellent " Glial Huant " laughed — good audience for a joke ^' — 
 At something wicked Shirley said, who has so much to do ^'^ 
 (He writes the Morning Chronicle each day, the whole way through). 
 
 XII. 
 
 And Edmund was instructing all, how that the old C.C.,'*' 
 Transported for their crimes, were wrecked with rocks upon their lee ; 
 
 2' John Leech. Dead. 
 
 ^2 Leigh Murray. Dead. 
 
 ^2 Thomas Behan, editor of the Observer. Dead. 
 
 ^ Arthur Pratt Barlo\v. 
 
 ^^ Tom Buckland, nephew of the Dean of Westminster, and very handy 
 with his fists. Now assistant-editor of the Calcutta Euyliskman. 
 
 ^^ Thomas Knox Holmes. 
 
 2' Thomas W. Bowlby, at that time a solicitor, and intimate friend of the 
 gentlemen named. A particularly agreeable, pleasant man. Mr. Bowlby, 
 afterwards, in the year '60, accompanied the allied English and French 
 expedition against the Chinese, as representative of the Times ; and being, 
 with others, taken prisoner, was barbarously murdered. Dead. 
 
 ^^ Richard Arabin, son of Sergeant Arabin, well known about London. 
 Dead. 
 
 '^'^ Edward F. Smyth Pigott, now her Majesty's Examiner of Plays. " Chat 
 Huant " was Mr. Pigott's nom de plume in his own journal, the Deader. 
 
 ^° Charles Sliirley Brooks. Political and social subjects, literary and art 
 criticism, jokes and verse-writing, all were within the range of this admi- 
 rable journalist. Dead. 
 
 *^ I used to give a kind of little entertainment, with imitations of various 
 members of the old Cider Cellars Club, who were supposed to have suffered 
 shipwreck.
 
 158 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 How one swell bullied " Mathew !" — he who haunts the Garrick Hall, 
 And hours for his master waits, who never comes at all. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And then there came a mighty man, who, 'tis but fair to state, 
 Among the small is Affable, though Great among the great — 
 The good Pendennis. ^^ 
 
 Other prominent members of the club were John Bidwell 
 and the Hon. W. Grey of the Foreign Office, the latter 
 attach^ at Stockholm ; Morgan John O'Conncll, nephew 
 of the Liberator and M.P. for Kerry ; John E. Jones, an 
 excellent sculptor and Irish humorist ; John C. Deane, 
 who held some position in regard to Great Exhibitions 
 generally, and who sang divinely ; Luard, a clever artist, 
 who died young ; G. L. Hall, also an artist ; J. C. O'Dowd, 
 now Deputy Judgc-advocate-general, at that time assist- 
 ant-editor of the Globe, then a Liberal organ ; and Cap- 
 tains Charles Seymour and Augustus (Jerry) Meyrick of 
 the Scots Fusiliers. 
 
 There must have been some peculiar attraction about 
 the place and its associations, for I do not think I ever 
 saw men work so heartily to achieve a success for any- 
 thing of the kind as did its members. For the first eigh- 
 teen months of its existence, save, of course, during the 
 autumn vacation, one was sure of finding a gathering 
 there of a night, small, perhajis, but always attractive ; 
 and it was eminently a place in which men cast aside 
 their ordinary work-a-day shell. There was very little 
 singing, and recitations wliich are now so common would 
 not have been endured for an instant ; but there was 
 abundance of good talk, both general conversation and 
 private chat. I well reeoUett coining in late one night, 
 when Charles Kenney and George Henry Lewes were the 
 only occupants of the room. They were chatting over 
 the fire, literally "i)layiiig at" — as children say — being 
 French peasants, and discussing the prospects of an a])OC- 
 ryphal vintage in a liurguudy y>r/<o/.s. Occasionally there 
 
 ** Of course, Tiiackcray. Dead.
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 159 
 
 would be a field-night, when a mock-trial Avould be im- 
 provised, or some rare story-telling ; but there was quite 
 enough amusement to make me a regular nightly visitor, 
 and it was not, I fear, till 1 a.m. that what we used to 
 call the "North-western Mail" was ready for departure ; 
 said North-western Mail being a four-wheel cab, which 
 first deposited Albert and Arthur in Percy Street, dropi)ed 
 me in Gloucester Place, and concluded its journey by 
 leaving Sir George Armytage in Cambridge Square. 
 
 The " Mont Blanc " entertainment was produced at the 
 Egyptian Hall on the 15th March, 1852, with an amount 
 of success which was totally unexpected. Since the days 
 of Mathews and my father the monopolylogue had fallen 
 into desuetude, and though an attempt at resuscitation of 
 it had been made by a Mr, Woodin, with a performance 
 which he called his " Carpet-bag and Sketch-book," his 
 claim to success lay rather in the rapidity of his costume- 
 changes than in the excellence of his impersonation. Al- 
 bert Smith's appeal to the public was made from a totally 
 different stand-point. He had a good circulating-library 
 renown as a novelist, " Ledbury " and " Christopher Tad- 
 pole " having been widely read ; his songs for John Parry 
 had introduced him to another section of the public ; 
 while his latest productions — shilling "Social Zoologies," 
 a natural history of " The Gent," then of " The Ballet- 
 girl," and then of " The Flirt " — had achieved vast popu- 
 larity ; so much so, indeed, that his publisher, worthy Mr. 
 Bogue, who had paid him £10 for "The Gent," a few 
 months after gave him £100 for "The Flirt." He was 
 popular in literary and theatrical circles, and the ascent 
 had been much talked of in " society," one of his col- 
 leagues in the adventure having been the Hon. Lionel 
 Sackville West, who is now our Minister at Washington. 
 Then the whole tone of the performance was good, pleas- 
 antly and convei'sationally given as a kind of one-sided 
 chat; the painted views by William Beverly were admi- 
 rable ; and lastly, the comfort of the audience had been 
 thoroughly attended to. They sat on good chairs, in a 
 room well carpeted and curtained, charmingly decorated, 
 and properly ventilated; and there were no "harpies," as
 
 160 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 Albert used to call them, catching at fees for cloaks, pro- 
 grammes, or what-not. The abolition of fees to attend- 
 ants, now so general, was introduced by Albert Smith. 
 
 Shortly after I had seen this success well assured, and 
 had shared in some of the festivities with which it Avas 
 celebrated, I started with Mr. O'Beirne for a ten days' 
 holiday in Paris. We put up at the then existing, but 
 since destroyed. Hotel des Princes in the Rue Richelieu, 
 and had what may emphatically be called " a good time." 
 There we were joined by Tom Macdonald, who knew his 
 Paris from the old Thackeray days. The famous house 
 in ''the New Street of the Little Fields" had indeed 
 vanished, but there were others famous then, but which 
 now 7i'existent plus, and of them we made frequent trial. 
 Among them were the old Cafe de Paris on the Italian 
 Boulevard; and Philippe's in the Rue Montorgueil, with 
 his oeicfs broniUes aux triiffes ; and his next-door neighbor, 
 the Rochers de Cancale ; and Brebant's— though that is, 
 of course, still going — where we met some journalists, 
 one of whom nearly made me faint with delight by al- 
 luding to me as " Monsieur notre confrere." There was 
 a Closerie des Lilas in those days, and a garden at Asni- 
 6res, the spring opening of which we attended, and joined 
 in a persistent chorus of " Des lamp-i-ons !" lasting for 
 hours, because the promised illuminations were not forth- 
 coming. 
 
 But what remains freshest in my mind in connection 
 with that Paris visit is going to see the "Dame aux Ca- 
 melias," which had l)eon produced three months before, 
 and was then in tlie full tide of its success at the Vaude- 
 ville, with Fechter and Madame Doche in the princij>al 
 characters. I read somewhere, a few days ago, that tliis 
 is a very dull and stupid old ])]ay, and I dare say it may 
 be ; but I know wlioii I first saw it I was more moved 
 than I ever had l)eon by a theatrical performance. I was 
 not twenty-one then, and the sad fortunes of a consump- 
 tive lorette were more likely to interest me than they 
 would now; and, again, such realistic acting, as exhibited 
 both l)y the man and woman, T had never seen. T caii 
 sec Docho standing lieforc tlie tirti)lace, achcvant la tol-
 
 THE INFLUENCE OF "PENDENNIS." 161 
 
 lette de ses angles, and listening with delight to Armand's 
 narration of his visits of inquiry during her illness ; I 
 can sec Fechter in the ball-roonx scene gliding to her side, 
 and pleading, " Marguerite, j'ai la fi6vre !" I can see him, 
 as the act-drop falls flinging the bank-notes before her, 
 and hear his bitter cry, "J'ai paye cette femnie !" My 
 companions were equally impressed, and we strode out 
 of the theatre in silence, each occupied with his own re- 
 flections. So that we were not best pleased when an ac- 
 quaintance, a chattering Englishman, tacked himself on 
 to us, and, first exclaiming that he " didn't think much 
 of it," wanted to know what that fellow was doing when 
 he threw the money about, as " he spoke so infernally 
 quick, I could not make out what he said." 
 
 I continued my contributions to the Court Journal 
 with perfect regularity and great pleasure to myself dur- 
 ing the year, before the end of which I had launched 
 out on to other literary seas. After the death of Lady 
 Blessington, the annual which she had established, the 
 Keepsake, Avas brought out by her niece, the lovely and 
 accomplished Miss Marguerite Power, who, for old friend- 
 ship's sake, was supported by the leaders among the 
 old Gore House set. Tennyson, Thackeray, and Bulwer 
 Lytton contributed to the first number published un- 
 der her editorship, so that, though there was no hono- 
 rarium, it may be imagined I was tolerably i)roud when 
 an Ingoldsby poem of mine was accepted by Miss PoAvcr, 
 to whom I had been presented by Albert Smith, and I 
 found myself in the Keepsake for '53, in company with 
 Thackeray, Monckton Milnes, Barry Cornwall, Landor, 
 Chorley, and other well-known names. Kindly Angus 
 Reach selected the poem for a few hearty encouraging 
 words in his review of the annual in the Morning Chron- 
 icle, and kindly Shirley Brooks, who had seen the notice 
 in proof at the Chronicle oflSice, told me of it at a supper 
 at Keeley's, and bade me look out for it next day. That 
 was the first time any work of mine was noticed by the 
 press. To the kindness of Albert Smith I also owed an 
 introduction to Mr. John Timbs, then sub-editing the Il- 
 lustrated London JVeios, who, in his turn, presented me to
 
 162 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 his chief, Dr. Charles Mackay, with the result that, when 
 the next Christmas number of the I. L. N". was being 
 thought of, two proofs of cuts were forwarded to me, 
 with a request that I would " write up " some verses ap- 
 plicable to them, which, of course, I did, and for which 
 I was very well paid. For several years I wrote verses 
 and stories for the Christmas Illustrated, 
 
 With the exception of the usual childhood's maladies 
 — measles, scarlet-fever, etc. — I enjoyed very fair health 
 up to this point ; but in the very early days of 1853 I was 
 laid up for six weeks with a carbuncle at the back of my 
 neck, which at one time threatened to be serious. As it 
 was, it caused the postponement — though not for long — 
 of an impending and important event, my marriage. Very 
 soon after making Albert Smith's acquaintance, we made 
 two of a large party which went to the evening exhibition 
 of a Diorama of the Holy Laud, at St. George's Gallery, 
 Hyde Park Corner. By him I was presented to a young 
 lady, one of the party, with whom I immediately fell 
 desperately in love. After an engagement of twelve 
 months we were married, before I had completed my 
 twenty-second year, at Holy Trinity Church, Brompton, 
 on the 14th April, 1853. Albert was my "best man/' 
 and my mother, Arthur Smith, T. Buckland, Sir George 
 Armytage, and J. L. O'Beu-ne were among my friends 
 present at the ceremony.
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 1G3 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EAELY MARRIED LIFE. 
 1853-1857. 
 
 From a brief honeymoon passed at Bath, Teignmouth, 
 and Torquay, I was recalled by a summons from one of 
 my brothers-in-law, who wanted to see me on special busi- 
 ness, I found, on seeing him, that he thought he had 
 sufficient influence to obtain for me the appointment of 
 secretary to an insurance office in the City, which had 
 just become vacant. This offer, after due consideration, 
 I declined. I should not have been fitted for the place ; 
 and though the salary would have been more than what 
 I was actually receiving at the Post-office, there were no 
 prospective advantages, while I should have had no chance 
 of pursuing my literary calling, from which I hoped to 
 derive both pleasure and profit. 
 
 When my wife and I returned to town, we took up our 
 abode in a small house where for the past year or two I 
 had lived with my mother, who, with that perfect unself- 
 ishness that characterized her life, made it over to us, and 
 agreed to pay the rent. Her intention was to spend some 
 time in the country, and before we came back she had 
 already settled herself for the summer at Heufield, a vil- 
 lage in Sussex, near Hurstpierpoint. 
 
 Our house was in what was then called Gloucester 
 Place, New Road, at immediate right angles to, but hav- 
 ing nothing in common with, Gloucester Place, Portman 
 Square, a far grander locality. The New Road has since 
 been subdivided into Marylebone and Euston Roads, but 
 then it was the New Road, stretching from Paddington 
 to Islington, and our house was about a mile from the 
 Paddington end. It was small, but so was the rent, sixty
 
 164 FIFTY YEARS OF LO^*DO^+ LIFE. 
 
 pounds a year, and it was quite large enough for my wife 
 and me and our two servants. It had a little garden in 
 front, between it and the road, with a straight line of 
 flagstones leading direct from the gate to the door-steps, 
 and bits of flower-beds (in which nothing ever grew) in- 
 tersected by little gravel-paths about a foot wide. This 
 garden was a source of great delight to my humorous 
 friends. Albert Smith would be seen carefully puttino- 
 one foot before the other, in order that he might not step 
 off the path, and, after vrandering in and out between the 
 little beds, would feign excessive fatigue on his arrival 
 at the house, declaring he had been " lost in the shrub- 
 bery." Arthur would suggest that we should have a guide 
 on the spot to show visitors the nearest way ; while Col- 
 lingwood Ibbetson hoped we intended giving some out- 
 door fetes in the summer, assuring us that the "band'of 
 the Life Guards would look splendid on that," pointino- 
 to a bit of turf about the size of a pocket-handkerchief. 
 When the street-door was opened wide back, it entirely 
 absorbed the hall, and we could not get out of the dinino-- 
 room door; but tlien we could, of course, always pass out 
 through the " study," a little room like a cistern, which 
 just held my desk and one chair. 
 
 There Avas a very small yard at the back, opening on 
 to a set of stables which had their real entrance in the 
 mews ; but we were compelled to cover all our back win- 
 dows with putty, imitative of ground-glass, on which Ave 
 stuck cut-out paper designs of birds and flowers, as these 
 looked directly on the rooms over the stables, inhabited 
 by a coachman and his family ; and the sight of a stalwart 
 man at the opposite window, shaving himself in ver}- 
 dingy shirt-sleeves, within a few feet of your nose, was 
 not wholly agreeable. AVe were rather stifled in the up- 
 stairs rooms, owing to low ceilings and a diflidencc avc 
 felt as to opening the windows ; for the New Road Avas 
 a dusty thoroughfare, and the immediate vicinity of a 
 cab-stand, though handy on some occasions, lets one into 
 ratlier a larger knowledge of the stock of expletives Avith 
 Avljich the P]nglish language abounds than is good for 
 jKjlite ears. But Avhen Ave kncAV that (lie edaclnnnn Avas
 
 EARLY MAKKIEIJ LIFE. 105 
 
 out, we used to open the back windows and grow very 
 enthusiastic over " fresh air from Hampstead and High- 
 gate," which, nevertheless, always seemed to me to have 
 a somewhat stably twang. 
 
 However, we were very happy in that little house, and 
 neither we nor our friends took much heed of its small- 
 ness or lack of conveniences. Our menage was humble 
 enough, and our "good plain cook" was not always to be 
 trusted. I recollect one day, when a boiled leg of mut- 
 ton had made its appearance in a very "gory" state, 
 Albert went down into the kitchen, and with his own 
 hands prepared an excellent broil. I could not afford 
 good wine, and would not give bad ; but there was an ever- 
 flowing barrel of Romford ale, and some Irish whiskey 
 which I procured through Mayne Reid — "Bushmills" 
 was its name — which was highly esteemed. All my old 
 Fielding friends — the Smiths, Ibbetson, Sir George Arniy- 
 tage, W. H. Russell, "Boldero" Goodlake, Peter Cun- 
 ningham, W. P. Hale, O'Beirne, and T. K. Holmes — would 
 look in from time to time ; as also Mayne Reid, W. W. 
 Fenn, who had known me years before, William Coxon, 
 of the 13th Hussars, brother of one of my colleagues at the 
 Post-office, and Herbert Harrington, with whom I after- 
 wards collaborated in dramatic work. 
 
 We went out a good deal ; there were frequent sud- 
 denly improvised suppers at Albert's rooms, or dinners 
 at Verrey's. Sundays we almost invariably spent in the 
 company of the Keeleys, either dining at their house at 
 Brompton Square, or joining with them in some excur- 
 sion to Richmond, Hampton, Thames Ditton, etc. We 
 had some delightful Sundays at Albert's cottage at Chert- 
 scy, whither we would drive on a private omnibus or 
 coach, and dine in a tent in the garden. One large party 
 there I remember, at which it had been whispered Kos- 
 suth, then in England, would be present, and there was 
 great disappointment at his non-arrival. In the middle of 
 dinner, however, there was a great stir, and Albert, making 
 his way througli the tent, returned witli the distinguished 
 Hungarian. It was, in reality, Tom Taylor, who, admi- 
 rably disguised with slouched hat and beard — at that time
 
 166 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 T. T. was clean shaven — delivered a niosi wonderful com- 
 posite speech, a few real German words mixed up with 
 much English, pronounced like and sounding like German, 
 to the general delight. We spent a few delightful days 
 with Ibbetson, who had taken a cottage at Hampton 
 Wick, and used to run down to Brighton, to a cheap little 
 lodging we had found, there, whenever we could spare 
 the time and the money. 
 
 One of our earliest and kindest friends was Mrs. Milner 
 Gibson, M'ho never had a reception without sending us a 
 card. A genuine instinct of hospitality, an innate good 
 feeling, the pleasure that arises from giving pleasure to 
 others, the happiness of seeing those around her happy, 
 were the sole end and aim of the lady who presided over 
 the miscellaneous company that used to meet together in 
 the corner house of Wilton Crescent. Louis Blanc, Maz- 
 zini. Sir Alexander Cockburn, Iluddleston, Q.C.; Phinn, 
 Q.C.; Planche, Mr. and Mrs. Torrcns, Sir Charles and 
 Lady Eastlake, Thackeray, Monckton Milnes, Doyle, Al- 
 bert and Arthur Smith, Landseer and Leech, Swinton,tlie 
 Charles Keans, Mrs. Sartoris, Costa, Benedict, Leighton, 
 the Henry Reeves, Pigott, Halle, Biletta, Palgravc Simp- 
 son, Chorley, the Alfred Wigans, Mrs. Proctor, Mrs. Dick- 
 ens — these, together with a troop of L-ishmen, Radical 
 members of Parliament, and foreign exiles, Avere represent- 
 ative guests. It was no mere affair of small-talk, ices, and 
 lemonade. A substantial supi)cr was a feature of the 
 evening, and the foreigners had a pleasant way of rushing 
 down directly that meal was served and sweeping the 
 table. It was here that Leech, returning flushed from an 
 encounter with the linkman, told me laughingly he would 
 not have minded if "I\Ir. Leech's carriage" had been 
 called, but that the fellow would roar out "The keb from 
 Nottin' '111 !" 
 
 Another house where we were made very welcome was 
 Mr. Justice Talfourd's, in Russell Square, where the com- 
 j)any was pretty much tlic same, with fewer foreigners 
 and more Bar, and wliere tlu^ kindly liost, with short- 
 cro])ped, iron-gray hair and beaming face, would ask his 
 friends, and s])ecially any strangers, to "do him the jileas-
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 167 
 
 ure of dwinking a glass of wine with him," from the 
 dumpy little Steinwein flagon he held in his hand. 
 
 Meanwhile I v;as not idle. I continued my regular 
 work for the Court Journal and wrote a few dramatic 
 criticisms for the Leader^ a brilliant but not very long- 
 lived journal, which my friend Pigott OAvned, and to 
 which George Henry Lewes, E. M. Wliitty, and other 
 clever men contributed, I had also found my way into 
 several periodicals, notably into Bentlerfs Miscellany, in 
 which appeared my first tale -essay, "My New-year's 
 Eve." I was much pleased at this, for Bentleifs Miscel- 
 lany had been portion of my earliest reading, almost as 
 a child ; and when I first went to the Post-oflSce I used to 
 lunch at a coifec-shop, long since pulled down, in the first 
 floor of which there was a large collection of greasy, well- 
 thumbed Miscellany volumes, which were my delight. 
 Mr. Bentley, to whom I was introduced by Albert Smith, 
 took two or three of my articles, and as many more 
 appeared in Chamhers's Journal, then, I think, under the 
 editorship of Leitch Ritchie. 
 
 I was very anxious that these sketches should appear 
 as a book, and when I thought I had sufliicient material, I 
 went, with an introduction from Albert, to Mr. Bogue, 
 the publisher, at 86 Fleet Street, and asked him if he 
 would undertake the little volume, Mr. Bogue received 
 me very pleasantly : I little thought while chatting with 
 him in his office at the back of the shop that, on that very 
 spot exactly twenty years later, the first numbers of the 
 World would be published. I left the "copy" with Mr. 
 Bogue, and when I next saw him he told me he was will- 
 in <r to undertake the venture at his own risk ; as I was 
 almost utterly unknown, he could not give me anything 
 for it, but he would produce it in such a way that it would 
 be useful as an advertisement for me. To this I agreed, 
 and he proved as good as his word: "'My Haunts and 
 their Frequenters,' by Edmund H. Yates," dedicated to 
 his "earliest and kindest literary friend, Albert Smith," 
 appeared in July, 1854, well printed on good paper, and, 
 for an illustration on the cover, a somewhat fancy portrait 
 of the author, seated at his oak davenport, draAVU by ray
 
 168 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 old friend, H. G. Hine, Avho has since won a very high 
 position among water-color artists. 
 
 The little book was kindly received by the press ; the 
 grave Athencenm said, "There is more bone in this con- 
 tribution to shilling light literature than we usually rec- 
 ognize. Some of the sketches are amusing, and neatly 
 finished off ;" the Atlas, then extant, and edited by Rob- 
 ert Bell, found it " a lively sketch of the life of a gay 
 man in town, written in a more gentlemanly tone than 
 is usual in such works ;" and the Era, the WeeJdy Dis- 
 patch, and, of course, the Court Journal, had all some- 
 thing pleasant to say, I could never learn anything about 
 the sale from Mr. Bogue, save that he " didn't complain," 
 so I imagine he recouped himself for the outlay. 
 
 That same year, '54, was memorable to me in many 
 ways. In it I made the acquaintance of Charles Dickens. 
 There was no one in the world for whom I had so much 
 admiration, or whom I so longed to know. I liad no 
 special object in calling upon him, certainly not the idea 
 of getting him to take my work, for I perfectly allowed 
 that that was not up to the Household Words standard ; 
 but I thought he Avould receive me kindly, for my name's 
 sake, and he did. I called at Tavistock House, gave in 
 my card, and was ushered into the draM'iug-room — a huge 
 room at the back of the house. After a few minutes a 
 lady entered. Miss Hogarth, Dickens's sister-in-law, and, 
 in his own words, "the best and truest friend man ever 
 had." She greeted me most pleasantly, with a winning 
 smile, and told me that Mr. Dickens was busily engaged 
 on work which he could not leave at that moment ; but 
 that if I was, as he supposed, the son of Mr. Frederick 
 Yates, formerly of the Adelphi, he would be delighted 
 to see me on the next Sunday, at two o'clock. Of course 
 I gratefully accejtted this ajjpointment, and went away. 
 Be sure I was punctual on Sunday, wlien I was ushered 
 straight into the presence of the great man, and found 
 hin> sitting at his desk in the window of the front room 
 on the first floor, looking on to the little enclosure in which 
 the hoiiHc stood. lie rose to greet nie, took my hand in 
 his hearty gri]», and placed me in a cliair opposite to his.
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 169 
 
 There were uo photographs of celebrities to be pur- 
 chased in those days, and I had formed my idea of Dick- 
 ens's personal appearance and the portrait of him, by 
 Maclise, prefixed to " Nickleby :" the soft and delicate 
 face, with the long hair, the immense stock, and the high- 
 collared waistcoat. He was nothing like that. Indeed, 
 my mother, who saw him shortly after this, and who had 
 not met him for fifteen years, declared she should not 
 have recognized him, for, save his eyes, there was no 
 trace of the original Dickens about him. His hair, though 
 worn still somewhat long, w^as beginning to be sparse; his 
 cheeks were shaved ; lie had a mustache and a " door- 
 knocker " beard encircling his mouth and chin. His eyes 
 were wonderfully bright and piercing, with a keen, eager 
 outlook ; his bearing hearty, and somewhat aggressive. 
 He wore on that occasion a loose jacket and wide trou- 
 sers, and sat back in his chair, with one leg under him and 
 his hand in his pocket, very much as in Frith's portrait. 
 *' Good God, how like your father !" were his first words. 
 Then he proceeded to talk of his old recollections of the 
 Adelphi, his great admiration for my mother ; told me 
 the news of my father's death was part of the budget 
 brought out by the Liverpool pilot on his return from 
 America ; asked me of my mother, of myself, my position 
 and prospects, all in the kindest way. He was off that 
 week with his family to spend the summer at Boulogne, 
 and hoped they should see me on their return. I asked 
 him about Broadstairs, where I had an idea of going for 
 a little holiday, and he praised the place warmly. I do 
 not think I mentioned my literary aspirations to him, 
 save, perhaps, in a very casual way ; but I must very 
 soon after have sent him " My Haunts," for the following, 
 his first letter to me, alludes to its receipt : 
 
 "Boulogne, Thirtieth July, 1864. 
 " My dear Sir, — I have brought your book away, with other pleasant 
 gifts of that nature, to read under a haystack here. If I delay thanking 
 you for it any longer, I am afraid you may think either that I have not 
 got it or that I don't care for it. As either mistake would be really pain- 
 ful to me, I send this small parcel of thanks to London in a Household 
 Worda packet, and beg to express a hope that I shall have the pleasure of 
 
 8
 
 170 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON Lll^E. 
 
 seeing you under my London haystack (metaphorical for ceiling) when I 
 return home for the winter ; and, in the mean time, I hope you may like 
 Broadstairs half as well as I do. 
 
 " Very faithfully yours, Charles Dickens." 
 
 The first time we met after this was, however, under 
 my " haystack, metaphorical for ceiling." On the 14th 
 October, this year '54, my eldest son, Frederick Henry 
 Albert, was born ; and at a little dinner given in honor 
 of the christening, towards the end of the following 
 mouth, Dickens honored us with his company, and was 
 most delightful. My mother and the two godfathers — 
 Albert Smith and Mr. Wilkinson, my father-in-law— were 
 also present. 
 
 In the early autumn I was asked by Mr. Bogue to call 
 in Fleet Street "on a matter of business," which proved 
 to be a desire to secure my services and co-operation in 
 the establishment of a projected new magazine, to be pub- 
 lished by Bogue, to be called Cruikshank's Magazine, to 
 be illustrated by the celebrated artist, and to be edited 
 by Mr. Suiedley, " whom, of course, I knew." I had 
 never heard of Mr. Smedley, and it was not until Bogue 
 mentioned him as the author of "Frank Fairlegh " that 
 I knew of whom he spoke. With that, and other novels 
 from the same pen, full of life and " go," hunting and 
 racing scenes, and strange adventures, I had a casual ac- 
 quaintance ; but I had never seen the author, never met 
 any one who knew him. So I took a letter of introduc- 
 tion from Mr. Bogue, and went off at once to Jormyn 
 Street, whore INIr. Smedley lived, in the aspiring frame 
 of mind befitting one about to enlist as a light free-lance 
 under a new chief. 
 
 As I rode u]) in the cab, I was picturing to myself the 
 man with whom I was about to become acquainted ; and 
 as I now write, those thoughts recur to mo exactly as 
 tlioy passed througli my mind. I have laughed over them 
 so often with liim who was their subject that there is 
 no wonder at their remaining fixed on my memory. I 
 figured to myself a tall, strongly - built man, of about 
 forty years of ago, bald, with a fringe of hair, largo 
 bree/y whiskers, strong bony hands, and general muscu-
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 171 
 
 lar development, rather " horsey " in his dress and talk 
 and manner. I expected that his tone would be rather 
 brusque, and that I might probably be unable to attain 
 his required standard of " knowingness " in matters re- 
 lating to the field and the road. 
 
 I sent in my letter, and I was ushered into the presence 
 of a gentleman whom, even in the dim light of a shaded 
 lamp standing on the table by his elbow, I could tell to 
 be suffering under some malformation, as he sat in his 
 wheel-chair — a little man, with a peculiar, clever face; 
 piercing eyes, never moving from the person he was ad- 
 dressing ; a manner beginning in earnestness and then 
 straying into banter ; a voice beginning in harshness and 
 modulating into pleasantest cadence ; a bearing which, 
 although, in its endeavor to be thoroughly independent, 
 it almost verged on the repulsive, was, notwithstanding, 
 indefinably attractive. I was so astonished at finding 
 such a difference in what I had expected, that, as I have 
 since thought, my answers to his short and pertinent 
 questions must have been vague and unsatisfactory. At 
 all events, I recollect that my new acquaintance's tone 
 became slightly sarcastic, which recalled me to myself ; 
 that I endeavored to answer him as best I could ; that his 
 manner then changed ; and that on that, the first day 
 of our acquaintance, we formed an intimate friendship 
 Avhich continued until the latest hour of his life. 
 
 I think that this kindness of heart, veiled occasionally 
 under an affectation of calculating worldliness of mind, 
 and a little cynicism very badly sustained, was the ruling 
 spirit of his life. He was never happy save when doing 
 a kindness to some one ; never pleased save when he had 
 some little pet scheme of beneficence, which he would 
 bring out as though he were ashamed of it ; while his 
 quivering lips and brimming eyes belied the assumed 
 roughness of his voice and manner. He was soft-hearted 
 to a degree ; and his physical malady had kept his inter- 
 course with the world so restricted, that while his mind 
 was full, strong, and manly, his experiences of certahi 
 sides of life were as pure and unsullied as those of a 
 young girl. All the impulses of his soul were deep-set,
 
 1'72 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LDE. 
 
 earnest, fervent, and generous. He had heard of the low- 
 er views of humanity held by some great men, but he had 
 never had reason to allow their existence ; so he frankly 
 and unhesitatingly denied it. He was himself a man " in 
 whom was no guile,*' and it was very difficult indeed for 
 him to allow its presence in any one else. 
 
 With all the masculinity of his writings (and there are 
 few wi-iters who, in certain phases of description, notably 
 of the hunting-field and the race-course, have surpassed 
 him), his mind was, to a certain degree, feminine. He 
 had the strong likings and dislikings, petulances, love of 
 small jokes, desire of praise, and irritation at small annoy- 
 ances, which are frequently found in women ; but, on the 
 other hand, he had a magnanimity, an amount of patient 
 long-suffering, and a courage both moral and physical, 
 such as are given to few men. His bodily infirmities, be- 
 fore alluded to, prevented him from indulging in any of 
 the amusements which he most fancied, shut him out from 
 a vast amount of society, kept him a prisoner to his chair ; 
 and yet I never heard one syllable of repining escape his 
 lips, though on more than one occasion I have heard him 
 turn off some well-meant though badly-timed commiser- 
 ation with a light-hearted jest. 
 
 A mutual liking springing up between us, I saw much 
 of my new acquaintance ; of his father, the High Bailiff 
 of Westminster — a fine, manly, handsome, elderly gentle- 
 man, always very kind to me ; and of his mother, a very 
 clever woman of society, Avho "gave up to parties what 
 was meant for " — better things, and from whom he inher- 
 ited much of his talent. The whole Smedley family, and 
 especially Frank, soon became very fond of my wife, and 
 we were constantly invited to the house. Owing to Frank 
 tSincdlcy's inability for locomotion, I was enabled to make 
 myself useful to liim in seeing the publisher, contril)utor8, 
 and the great George Cruiksliank liimself, and thus our 
 intimacy ra])idly increase(l. An interview between Cruik- 
 sliank and Smedley was a very comic sight for a looker- 
 on : the old artist bouncing about the room, illustrating 
 by violent action and gesture everything he said, wholly 
 unrestrained by any fear of becoming grotesque j and the
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 173 
 
 little editor, screwed up iu Lis wlieel-cliair, peering at his 
 visitor out of the corners of his small eyes, and strongly- 
 appreciating every item of the performance. 
 
 One story of Frank's about his coadjutor always struck 
 me as being very funny. One warm morning Cruikshank 
 arrived in Jermjm Street, and pulled a chair in front of 
 Smcdley's desk, being evidently full of business. The old 
 gentleman's chevelure in his later days was always of an 
 extraordinary kind, long wisps of gray hair being brought 
 from the back of his head over the scalp, and secured 
 there with a narrow elastic band. But, in addition to 
 this, on this occasion Sraedley perceived that Cruikshank 
 had a small perforated bone wheel fixed in the centre of 
 his forehead. So fascinated was Frank by this extraordi- 
 nary sight that he could not withdraw his eyes from it ; 
 and at last Cruikshank, finding his host's gaze stonily 
 fixed on one spot throughout the interview, testily de- 
 manded what he was staring at. "Nothing," Frank re- 
 plied, endeavoring to excuse himself ; but immediately 
 after, the little wheel became detached, and fell on the 
 floor, "You've dropped something," said Cruikshank, 
 poking after it with his stick. " I ? No — you," said his 
 host. " Nonsense !" cried the irascible George, who had 
 now picked it up ; " nonsense ! What do you think I 
 could do with a thing like this ?" " All I know is, that 
 for the last half-hour it has been sticking in the middle of 
 your forehead," returned Frank. " Impossible, sir ! quite 
 impossible !" roared Cruikshank, Eventually it appeared 
 that the little wheel was a ventilator, which had slipped 
 from its original position in the crown of Cruikshank's 
 hat, and stuck, with the heat, on his forehead. 
 
 Not much was done with Cruiks/uink^s 3Iagazme, of 
 which only two or three numbers appeared. As a deline- 
 ator of character, an illustrator of stories, the veteran ar- 
 tist had lost whatever hold he may once have had on the 
 public, while his fertile fancy, Avhich lasted for many suc- 
 ceeding years, had no scope in such a periodical. How- 
 ever, the magazine had well served my purpose — through 
 it I had established a friendship with Frank Smedley, 
 which was not merely pleasant, but practical. Noting
 
 174 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 my facility for Ingoldsbian verse, and having himself es- 
 sayed successfully in that line, my new friend proposed 
 we should jointly publish a shilling book, a collection of 
 metrical stories. I was delighted at the idea, and at once 
 set about collecting all my floating verse and writing 
 more ; Smedley did the same. Publishers — they gave us, 
 I think, £20 — were found in the then newly-established 
 firm of Messrs. George Routledge & Co., in Farringdon 
 Street — one of the partners, William Warne, long since 
 dead, was especially kind to me ; and in November, 
 " 'Mirth and Metre,' by two Merry Men : Frank E. Smed- 
 ley and Edmund H. Yates," was presented to the public. 
 This little book, funnily illustrated by William McCon- 
 nell, had a very fair success. Some parodies of mine on 
 Tennyson, Longfellow, Poe, and others, were mightily 
 popular, and are still, I see, from time to time, reproduced 
 in " Collections." The press notices were very good, and 
 altogether I was more than well satisfied. 
 
 Just about this time I obtained more journalistic em- 
 ployment through my friend, Mr. T. Knox Holmes, who 
 had some share in the WeeJdy Chronicle, a journal of mod- 
 est circulation, the principal distinction of which Avas that 
 its title was printed in red ink. Its editor and proprietor, 
 Mr. John Sheehan, known as the " Irish whiskey-drinker," 
 Avas in Paris at the time, and his locwn tenetis was Mr. J. 
 R. Robinson, now the well-known manager of the Daily 
 Netoa, who received me with great kindness, and with 
 whom I contracted an intimate friendship, which still 
 exists. The remuneration was small, but the work was 
 pleasant. I Bupj)lied dramatic criticism, and a column of 
 " literary and artistic gossip," my first attempt at anything 
 of the kind. 
 
 As my family and my work were both increasing, I 
 found it necessary to give up my little house, and to seek 
 for larger and more accessible quarters — nearer, that is 
 to say, to the theatres and Fleet Street, the journalistic 
 Mecca. I found them in Doughty Street, close by the 
 Foundling Hospital, a locality not unknown to literary 
 fame. Sydney Smith liad lived there ; Shirley Brooks 
 was born there; at No. 48 Charles Dickens resided for
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFR 1'75 
 
 some time, writing there a great portion of " Pick^vick." 
 I lived at 43, and opposite to me was Mr. Tegg, the pub- 
 lisher, a name familiar since my childhood as that of the 
 firm by which the delightful " Peter Parley " series of 
 juvenile books was issued. It was a broad, airy, whole- 
 some street — none of your common thoroughfares, to be 
 rattled through by vulgar cabs and earth-shaking Pick- 
 ford vans ; but a self-included property, with a gate at 
 each end, and a lodge with a porter in a gold-laced hat 
 and the Doughty arms on the buttons of his mulberry- 
 colored coat, to prevent any one, except with a mission to 
 one of the houses, from intruding on the exclusive terri- 
 tory. 
 
 The rent was seventy pounds a year, " on a repairing 
 lease " (which means an annual outlay of from five-and- 
 twenty to thirty pounds to keep the bricks and mortar 
 and timbers together), and the accommodation consisted 
 of a narrow dining-room painted salmon-color, and a little 
 back room looking out upon a square black enclosure in 
 which grew fearful fungi ; two big drawing-rooms, the 
 carpeting of which nearly swallowed a quarter's income ; 
 two good bedrooms, and three attics. I never went into 
 the basement save when I visited the cellar, which was a 
 mouldy vault under the street pavement, only accessible 
 through the area, and consequently rendering any one 
 going to it liable to the insults of rude boys, who would 
 grin through the area railings and make ribald remarks ; 
 but I believe the kitchen was pronounced by the servants 
 to be " stuffy," and the whole place " ill-conwenient," there 
 being no larder, pantry, nor the usual domestic arrange- 
 ments. I know, too, that we were supposed to breed and 
 preserve a very magnificent specimen of the black beetle: 
 insects which migrated to different parts of the house in 
 droves, and which, to the number of five-and-twenty being 
 met slowly ascending the drawing-room stairs, caused me 
 to invest money in a hedgehog — an animal that took up 
 his abode in the coal-cellar on the top of the coals, and, 
 retiring thither early one morning after a surfeit of bee- 
 tles, was supposed to have been inadvertently " laid " in 
 the fire by the cook in mistake for a lump of Wallsend.
 
 176 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 I don't think there were many advantages in the Doughty 
 Street house (though I was very happy there, and had an 
 immense amount of fun and pleasure), beyond the prox- 
 imity to my work, and the consequent saving in cab-hire 
 and fatigue. But I do recollect the drawbacks ; and al- 
 though many years have elapsed since I experienced them, 
 they are constantly rising in ray mind. I remember our 
 being unable ever to open any window without an imme- 
 diate inroad of " blacks :" triturated soot of the most pen- 
 etrating kind, which at once made piebald all the antima- 
 cassars, toilet-covers, counterpanes, towels, and other lin- 
 en. I remember our being imable to get any sleep after 
 5 A.M., when, at the builder's which abutted on our back 
 enclosure, a tremendous bell clanged, summoning the work- 
 men to labor, and from which time there was such a noise 
 of sawing and hammering, and planing and filing, and 
 tool - grinding and bellows - blowing, interspersed with 
 strange bellowings in the Celtic tongue from one Irish 
 laborer to another, and mingled with objurgations in pure 
 Saxon from irate foremen, that one might as well have 
 attempted a quiet nap in the neighborhood of Babel when 
 the tower was in course of erection. 
 
 I remember the hot summer Sunday afternoons, when 
 the pavement would be red-hot, and the dust, and bits of 
 straw, and scraps of paper would blow fitfully about with 
 every little puff of air, and the always dull houses would 
 look infinitely duller with their blinds down, and no sound 
 would fall upon the ear save the distant hum of the cabs 
 in IIoll)orn, or the footfall of some young person in ser- 
 vice going to afternoon church — or to its substitute — in 
 all the glory of open -worked stockings, low shoes, and a 
 l»rayer-bo<)k swaddled in a white cotton pocket-handker- 
 chief. I have sat at my window on scores of such Sun- 
 days, eying the nose of Lazarus over the dwarf Venetian 
 blind opposite, or the gorgeous waistcoat of Eliason, a 
 little higher uj) (for the Tribes are great in the neighbor- 
 hood). I have starct] upward to catch a glimpse of the 
 scrap of blue unclouded sky visible above the houses; and 
 then I have thought of Richmond Hill ; of snowy table- 
 clotlis, and cool Moselle-cup, and flounder-zootje, in a room
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 177 
 
 overlooking the river at the Orkney Arms, at Tapluw; of 
 that sea-breeze which passes the little hotel at Freshwater 
 Bay, in wild hurry to make play over the neighboring 
 downs ; of shaded w^alks, and cool retreats, and lime ave- 
 nues, and overhung bathing-places, and all other things 
 delicious at that season ; until I have nearly gone mad 
 with hatred of the stifling streets, and fancied myself 
 pretty well able to comprehend the feelings of the polar- 
 bears in their dull retrogressive promenade in the Zoo- 
 logical Gardens. 
 
 That none of our friends had ever heard of Doughty 
 Street; that no cabman could be instructed as to its ex- 
 act whereabouts, naming it generally as " somewhere near 
 the Fondlin';" that migration to a friend's house in a 
 habitable region to dinner occasioned an enormous ex- 
 pense in cab-fare ; that all the tradesmen wdth whom we 
 had previously dealt declined our custom, "as they nev- 
 er sent that way ;" that we found Tottenham Court Road 
 a line of demarcation, behind which we left light and 
 sunshine — on our side of which we tumbled into dulness 
 and gloom ; that we were in the midst of a hansom-cab 
 colony, clattering home at all hours of the night; and in 
 the immediate neighborhood of all the organ -men, who 
 gave us their final grind just before midnight — all these 
 were minor but irritating annoyances. However, I lived 
 there for nearly six busy, and for the most part happy 
 and prosperous, years, during which " red-hot youth cooled 
 down to iron man," and which were to me full of more or 
 less interesting incident. 
 
 Early in the spring of 1855, Mr. Angus Bethune Reach, 
 one of the best and brightest of the younger wa-iters of 
 the day — his romance, " Clement Lorimer," and his " Clar- 
 et and Olives," travels through the wine -producing dis- 
 tricts of France, are still capital reading — became, through 
 an attack of softening of the brain, wholly incapable of 
 further self-help. For months previous, and as long as 
 there was a chance of his recovery, his regular work had 
 been duly performed by his intimate friend, Shirley 
 Brooks, and the proceeds as duly handed to the sick 
 man's wife. Mr. Reach's case was now, how^ever, })ro-
 
 1V8 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 nounced hopeless, and his friends cast about for some 
 means of procuring a himp sum of money to be appro- 
 priated to his benefit. 
 
 The notion of performing an amateur pantomime orig- 
 inated with Albert Smith, who knew that in " Joe " Rob- 
 ins there were all the requisites of an extraordinary- 
 Clown ; he found a Harlequin in Mr. John Bidwell of 
 the Foreign Office, a singularly graceful and agile dan- 
 cer ; Arthur Smith was Pantaloon ; while for me the char- 
 acter of the " Lover," the person who is Harlequin's un- 
 successful rival in Columbine's affections — common in 
 Grimaldi's day, but since abandoned — was revived. We 
 placed ourselves under the tuition of the celebrated Mr. 
 W. H, Payne, the king of pantomine, who, with his two 
 excellent sons, "Harry" and "Fred," devoted himself to 
 us. We worked for six weeks, in all our available leisure, 
 at rehearsals, and we performed on Saturday, March 31, 
 1855, at the Olympic Theatre. A true appreciation of 
 our extraordinary success can best be obtained by a pe- 
 rusal of the admirable critique in the Times of the follow- 
 ing Monday, written by John Oxenford in his most de- 
 lightful vein: 
 
 "OLYMPIC THEATRE. 
 
 "amateur performance. 
 
 " Theatrical amateurs usually soar high. For tragedy they have an in- 
 stinctive preference, and if thcv descend to comedy, it must be of tlie most 
 special iiind, so that the temporary fall from that exalted position which 
 all amateurs are supposed (socially, not artistically) to hold may be as 
 slight as possible. 
 
 "But wiio ever heard of an amateur pantomime — not, be it understood, 
 one of those j)antomime8 of action which set forth a fable in dumb-show 
 instead of words — but a real ordinary pantomime, with an amateur Harle- 
 quin, Clown, and Pantaloon ? 
 
 "When first the words 'Amateur Pantomime' were put about they 
 seemed irreconcilable terms, like 'round sfiuare,' or 'wooden loadstone;' 
 they seemed to denote a moral and |)hysical impossibility. The supposed 
 moral impossibility resulted from that dignity at which we have hinted aa 
 an iidiereiit (|iniiity in amateurs. 'No young man of nolile birth or liberal 
 sentiments,' says Plutareli, ' from seeing tlie .lupiter at Pisa, would desire 
 to be Phidias ; or, from the sight of the Juno at Argos, to be Folycletus ; 
 or Anacreon or Pliiiemon or Arciiiloeiius, tiiough delighted with their 
 poems.' Plutarch's notions of higii art were high indeed, for they ex- 
 cluded all sculpture and poetry, however ideal ; and amateurs, though they
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. I79 
 
 cannot go this lengtli (otlicrwise they would even cease to be amateurs), 
 have still certain Phitarchian elements in their composition. They would 
 modify the sweeping declaration into a special contempt for ' low art,' and 
 so far dilute the doctrine as simply to maintain that he who applauds the 
 Boxing Night anthem entitled ' Hot Codlins ' should not therefore desire to 
 sing it, and that a successful leap of Harlequin through a window, though 
 it may excite wonder in the dress-circle, should not therefore rouse emu- 
 lation. 
 
 " More potent still seemed the objection of physical impossibility. Pro- 
 fessional pantomimists are, in a manner, born to the business ; and setting 
 all questions of dignity aside, how could a head that had merely served as 
 a case to hold brains be converted into a pedestal for the support of the 
 inverted body? how could the mysteries of a somersault be solved by a 
 frame only inured to the most stately conventional movements ? More- 
 over, the penalty of non-success in pantomime is somewhat severe. A 
 failure in Hamlet can, at the most, only subject an unhappy man to the 
 pleasantries of his acquaintance, while the Clown, who plucks no histrionic 
 laurels, may literally break his neck in the attempt. 
 
 "However, notwithstanding all reasonings on the score of impossibility, 
 the report that an amateur pantomime was in course of rehearsal at the 
 Olympic Theatre was not to be shaken. It remained as a good, firm re- 
 port, with a strong constitution, till at last it took the shape of a regular 
 fact. Somehow or other, certainly not by way of official connnunication, 
 all the world suddenly knew that the ' Fielding Club ' (an institution famed 
 for the brilliancy of its wit and the lateness of its hours), having generous- 
 ly made up its mind to assist a most deserving literary gentleman who is 
 now in distressed circumstances, had hit upon a scheme at once efficient 
 and eccentric. The gentlemen of the 'Fielding Club,' with Mr. Albert 
 Smith as their chief, were to play the comic pantomime of ' Harlequin 
 Guy Fawkes ' at the Olympic Theatre. 
 
 " The excitement produced by the possession of this knowledge was 
 wonderful. To prevent crowd and inconvenience, a comparatively small 
 quantity of tickets was issued ; but large indeed was the number of ap- 
 plicants, and all sorts of legends are afloat respecting the prices given for 
 stalls and boxes. 
 
 " On Saturday — an evening long to be remembered in dramatic annals 
 — the promised treat was given. The audience, which contained a more 
 than ordinary proportion of literary celebrities, and was altogether of the 
 most refined and brilliant kind, seemed actually oppressed by the weight 
 of expectation. The farce of ' My Neighbor's Wife ' commenced the busi- 
 ness of the evening, and the amateurs were laughed at as each made his 
 appearance. But the laugh soon died away, and the look of anxious ex- 
 pectation returned. What is an amateur farce to a public that has come 
 to see an amateur pantomime ? 
 
 "The great solemnity was ushered in by a prologue, the work of Mr. 
 Sunderland Schneider — pshaw ! of Mr. Tom Taylor. Part of the humor of 
 the evening consisted in the odd names which the performers gave them- 
 selves iu the programme ; but we need not keep up this part of the joke.
 
 180 FIFTY YEAKS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 Everybody in the house knew every prhicipal actor on the stage, or, at any 
 rate, sat next to somebody who did, and therefore no secrecy was gained 
 by such names as ' Paul Grave ' or ' Mountain White.' A Sphinx is no 
 mystery in a land where every inhabitant is an (Edipus, and, as we do not 
 choose to appear more ignorant than all the rest of our fellow-citizens, we 
 break through the very thin gauze formed by the appellations in the bills, 
 and mention real names. 
 
 " The prologue, then, which was spoken by Mr. Cole, in the character of 
 Shakspeare, Mr. Palgrave Simpson as the ' Present Drama,' and Miss Oli- 
 ver as the Spirit of Pantomime, and aimed at a sort of amicable settlement 
 of the differences that exist between the ' slow ' and ' fast ' factions, was 
 the work of Mr. Tom Taylor. Abounding in pleasant allusions, and taste- 
 fully ending with a reference to the charitable object of the performance, 
 this prologue delighted everybody as a choicely-written work, alike happy 
 in its gayer and its graver tone. 
 
 " But the prologue was not the pantomime. Other amateurs might 
 have spoken Mr. Taylor's pointed dialogue, but the great question of ama- 
 teur harlequinade was yet unsolved. Again did the grave expectant mood 
 return. 
 
 " The overture was played, and then — awful moment — the curtain rose, 
 and showed the ' Vaults below the Houses of Parliament.' Barrels of gun- 
 powder were heaped around, and on one of these sat Mr. Albert Smith, as 
 Catesby, attired in ancient fashion and smoking a pipe. He introduced 
 the action by singing one of those rapid songs in wliich he has only one 
 rival (viz., Mr. C. Matiiews), and thus lyrically giving a precis of so much 
 English history as was connected with the fable. The audience thundered 
 applause ; but even now there was no wonder, for the fact that Mr. Albert 
 Smitli is a capital comic singer is known to all the world. It was when 
 Mr. Uohnus entered, in the dress of Guy Fawkes, and bowed his forehead 
 down to his toes, with all that freedom from bone which is peculiar to pan- 
 tomimic art, that the new sensation was produced. Yes ! people really 
 began to believe that an amateur pantomime was possible. 
 
 " A great weight was therefore removed from the mind, which became 
 keenly susceptible of enjoyment. A parody on an Italian air, admirably 
 sung by Mr. Holmes, was loudly applauded, and the statement of the Lord 
 Monteagle of King James's time that he was 'Lord Monteagle, formerly 
 Spring Rico,' elicited roars of mirth. Rut the cream of llic introduction 
 was tlie terrific combat l)etweeii Catesby and Fawkos, in which Messrs. 
 Smith and Holmes went through all those conventional poses that earned 
 immortality in tliose good old days when the Coburg had not yet taken 
 the name of tiie Victoria. 
 
 "The introduction was comprised in a single scene, and according to a 
 common modern practice, the actors of tlie hiiricfiuiiiadc were not the same 
 witii tliose of the story. When tiie moment of 'transformation' arrived, 
 and the Spirit of the Thames, enacted by Miss Martindale, told Catesby to 
 change into Ilaiicfinin, tin; old nervousness of the auilicncc returned once 
 more. Wliat they had hitherto seen showed groteS(iue talent, it was true, 
 but, after all, it was only the 'little go' of the affair; the difliculties of
 
 EARLY MARRIED LITE. 181 
 
 Clownery and Pantaloonery had yet to be surmounted, and a break-down 
 was yet upon the cards. 
 
 "Most efficiently were these fears dispelled by the first entrance of the 
 chief characters. Mr. Bidwcll looked as much like a real Harlequin as 
 any that ever sparkled at Christmas; Mr. Arthur Smith was a thorough 
 Pantaloon ; Mr. Edmund Yates was an unexceptionable lover ; and Mr. J. 
 Robins was an ordinary — no, he was not, he was an extraordinary — Clown ; 
 for, witli his stout figure, his fat face, and the expression of quiet humor 
 in his eyes and mouth, he gave a taste of that quality which play-goers of 
 thirty years' standing may recollect in Grimaldi, but of which modern 
 habitues of the theatre know but little. The Columbine was, of course, 
 professional, and a more excellent Columbine could not have been obtained 
 than Miss Rosina Wright. 
 
 " In the various scenes of the harlequinade the amateurs were success- 
 fully put to every test of pantomimic art, excepting that talent for posture- 
 making which is a modern innovation, and passed victoriously through 
 them all. The business-like manner in which they executed all the con- 
 ventional movements, supposed to be the exclusive property of a small 
 body of professional artists, was really amazing. The audience could 
 scarcely believe that Harlequin was in earnest when he prepared to leap 
 through a wall ; but he was so notwithstanding, and if he was not quite 
 glib the first time, he went through the scene like a shot whenever he re- 
 peated the exploit. It could scarcely be expected that amateurs would 
 interchange those violent assaults which make up so much of the comic 
 business of pantomime, but never did Clown and Pantaloon belabor each 
 other more heartily, or tumble down with more formidable truthfulness, 
 than Mr. J. Robins and Mr. Arthur Smith. The audience, inspired by the 
 triumph of the performers, at last forgot that they were amateurs alto- 
 gether, aud shouted aloud for ' Hot CodUns.' The new test was gallantly 
 accepted, and Mr. J. Robins sang the famous legend of the ' little old 
 woman ' with all the contortions of voice and countenance that would have 
 satisfied the most rigid judge of pantomimic proprieties. Nor should we, 
 while recording the excellence of the principal characters, forget the ac- 
 cessaries. A series of burlesque poses plastiqites, executed by Messrs. 
 Holmes, Ibbetson, and Hallett, in the dress of acrobats, were inimitably 
 comic ; and scarcely less so was the performance of Mr. E. Yates, who, as 
 a careful tight-rope dancer, chalked a line upon the ground, and upon that, 
 instead of a real cord, went through all the business of actual peril and 
 precaution. Mr. Albert Smith, too, re-appeared in the harlequinade, dressed 
 as a showman, and sang the late Mr. Mathews's song of the ' Country 
 Fair,' with several modifications of his own. Some exceedingly clever 
 balancing tricks were done by a gentleman who seemed to be unknown 
 to the generality of the audience ; but Mr. Albert Smith, who was on the 
 stage during the feats, called out that he was an amateur. 
 
 " The fall of the curtain was the signal for shouts of applause and calls 
 for the principal actors, and as the audience left the theatre, one declara- 
 tion might be plainly heard from many lips, ' This is the best pantomime 
 I ever saw in my life.' "
 
 182 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 The results of this performance enabled us to provide 
 for the comfort of our friend in his last days (he died 
 within twelve mouths), and the fame of it reached the 
 ears of Royalty. The consequence was a command to 
 repeat the pantomime in the presence of the Queen and 
 the Prince Consort — a command which we obeyed short- 
 ly afterwards at Drury Lane Theatre, with enormous 
 success, H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, then a lad of four- 
 teen, taking especial delight in the performance. The 
 large receipts were handed, at her Majesty's suggestion, 
 to the Royal Naval Female School — an admirable insti- 
 tution, which, in gratitude for the bounty of the Fielding 
 Club, made three of its committee-men life governors, the 
 privileges of which position I still enjoy. A large addi- 
 tion to the funds of Wellington College — the proceeds of 
 the performance of the amateur pantomime, with a diifer- 
 ent "opening," in the Juno of the following year — did 
 not, if I remember rightly, elicit anything but a bare ex- 
 pression of thanks. In the second amateur pantomime, 
 Mr. Bidwell's place as Harlequin was filled by Mr. Sam- 
 uel Brandram, now so well known as an exponent of 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 On the 9th June, 1855, was published the first number 
 of the Illustrated Times, and about ten days after, having 
 heard that its principal proprietor was Mr. Bogue, I called 
 upon him and asked for employment. In re})ly to his ques- 
 tion of what I proposed doing, I developed a little scheme 
 which seemed to please him, and which he bade me go 
 at once and talk over with Mr. Henry Vizetclly, the edi- 
 tor. Mr. Vizetelly, a thoroughly sharp and practical busi- 
 ness man in journalism, wholly unhampered by conven- 
 tionality or j)recedent, was amused and jK'rhaps somewhat 
 impressed witli my idea, and desired me to Avrite him a 
 specimen article, which was published in the number for 
 the 30lh June, with the title," The Lounger at the Clubs." 
 This was the commencement of that style of "jtersonal" 
 journalism which is so very much to be deprecated and 
 so enormously ]»opular. Into the vexed question of how 
 far such style of writing is permissible, of the good or 
 harm that it does, I am certainly not going to enter here.
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 183 
 
 I only know that for six or seven years I kept up a con- 
 tinuous comment on the social, literary, and dramatic 
 events of the day ; and it was, I believe, Mr. Vizetelly's 
 opinion that my flippant nonsense did as much for the 
 sale of the paper as the deeper and drier wisdom of my 
 colleagues. If, as I am given to understand, a prominent 
 attraction of the World is, to the majority of its readers, 
 " What the World says," unquestionably that article had 
 its origin and foundation in "The Lounger at the Clubs;" 
 and I can never cease to be grateful to Mr. Henry Vize- 
 telly for the unswerving kindness with which he sup- 
 ported me, an unknowTi struggler, in those early days 
 against a powerfiil clique. Many of the rising men of 
 the day — George Sala, Robert Brough, James Hannay, 
 Frederick Greenwood, Sutherland Edwards, Augustus 
 Mayhew, Edward Draper — were on the staff of the lit- 
 tle paper, which did well — so well that the proprietor of 
 its big i)redecessor found it necessary to purchase it, and 
 thenceforward to let it fly with partially-clipped wings. 
 
 Visiting relations had, in the mean time, been estab- 
 lished between us and the Dickens family, and we were 
 invited to Tavistock House on the 18th of June, to wit- 
 ness the performance of Wilkie Collins's drama, "The 
 Lighthouse," in which the author and Dickens, Frank 
 Stone, Augustus Egg, Mark Lemon, and the ladies of the 
 family took part. My mother, who went with us, told 
 me that Dickens, in intensity, reminded her of Lemaitre 
 in his best days. I was much struck by the excellence 
 of Lemon's acting, which had about it no trace of the 
 amateur. At the performance my mother was seated 
 next a tall, gray-haired gentleman — a most pleasant talker, 
 she said — who proved to be Mr. Gilbert a Beckett, the 
 magistrate and wit ; and in the drawing-room afterwards 
 there was a warm greeting between her and Lady Becher, 
 formerly Miss O'Neil, whom she had not seen for many 
 years. It was a great night for my mother. She re- 
 newed her acquaintance with Stanfield and Roberts, and 
 was addressed in very complimentary terms by the great 
 John Forster. Thackeray and his daughters, Leech, Jer- 
 rold. Lord Campbell, and Carlyle wore there.
 
 184 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 On the 27th September in this j^ear twin-sons were born 
 to me. Two days later, being at the Garrick and seeing 
 Thackeray there, I asked him for an autograph for a book 
 w^hich I had just established. He sat down at once, and 
 wrote the following : 
 
 "Michaelmas Day, 1855. 
 
 "My dear Yates, — Am I to condole with or congratulate you on the 
 announcement in to-day's paper? May every year increase your happi- 
 ness, and good-fortune attend your increase ! I know I am writing in an 
 affected manner, as you are pleased to desire my autograph. I assure the 
 friend for whom it is destined that I am quite incapable of being funny on 
 a sudden, easily abashed, of a modest, retiring disposition, forty-four years 
 old, and Yours truly, my dear Yates, 
 
 " W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 " P.S. — The T of the signature I do not think is near so elegant as my 
 ordinary T's are ; in fact, my attention was drawn off just as I was turning 
 it. 
 
 " E. Yates, Esq. (Private and Coufldential.)" 
 
 Owing to these domestic arrangements, my holiday this 
 year was taken late, and passed at Brighton, Avhere I had 
 the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Madame Sala, 
 mother of my friend G. A. S. — a most entertaining and 
 charming woman. The twin - sons throve ; and when it 
 became a question of their christening, I wrote to Dick- 
 ens, who was wintering in Paris, and asked if he would 
 act as sponsor to one of them. Here is his reply: 
 
 "Paris, 49 Avenue des Champs-EIyei^es, 
 
 "Wednesday, Second January, 1S66. 
 
 " My dear Yates, — Supposing both Corsican Brothers to be available, I 
 think I should prefer being godfather to the one who isn't Kean. With 
 this solitary stipulation, I very cordially respond to your proposal, and am 
 happy to take my friendly and sponsorial .scat at your fireside. 
 
 " I will write you word when I [iropose making another flight to London, 
 for I must come and see my boy, whether we fill the sparkling wine-cup 
 (when I was in America, an editor wrote me a note of invitation, begging 
 me to come and 'crusli ' that article with him) or not. 
 
 " When you represent me at the font, and are renouncing, think that on 
 Christmas Day I had seven sons in the ban(|uet-hall of tliis apartment — 
 which would not make a very large warm batli — and renounce my example. 
 
 " Mrs. Dickens and Miss Uogartli unite with me in kind regards to your- 
 self anil Mrs. Yates, as to whom I now consiiler myself, with much pleas- 
 ure, a sort of relation. Very faithfully yours, 
 
 " Charles Dickkns."
 
 EARLY MAIIRIP]D LIFE. 185 
 
 The boys were christened shortly afterwards, Dickens be- 
 ing godfather to one, and Frank Sraedley to the other. 
 
 I had seen Dickens twice before his departure for Paris 
 — once when he presided over a dinner given to Thack- 
 eray, immediately before his departure for America, at 
 which, through the kindness of Peter Cunningliam, who 
 acted as honorary secretary, I managed to be present. 
 It was a most interesting occasion, and Dickens, in pro- 
 posing the toast of the evening, spoke with much elo- 
 quence. Thackeray, too, was plainly moved, so much so 
 that his reply was very short ; he tried to pass off his 
 emotion with some joke about the coming voyage and the 
 steward, but it was too much for him. Dickens left 
 early, and Jerrold was voted to the chair ; whence he 
 made a speech, proposing the health of Shirley Brooks, 
 as the "most rising journalist of the day." Brooks at 
 that time had but recently joined the Punch staff. He 
 had literally fought his way on to it, and by the vigor of 
 his onslaught on the quasi-comic journal, and specially on 
 Jerrold himself, had compelled his recognition and absorp- 
 tion. With the exception of Bunn's memorable "Word 
 with Punch,'''' a poem written by Brooks, and published 
 in the Man in the Moon, called " Our Flight with Punch,'''' 
 was the most telling attack ever made on Messrs. Brad- 
 bury & Evans's property. Thus it commenced : 
 
 " Up, up, thou dreary Hunchback ! Ere her diamond stud, the sun, 
 Stick in Aurora's habit-shirt, there's business must be done. 
 The saucy stars are winking at the planets on their beat : 
 LTp ! thou hast grovelled long and low — a change will be a treat !" 
 
 Punch is then sharply trounced for his sneers at loyalty, 
 religion, and the upper classes, for his " scandal random- 
 flung," for his ignorance of fair -play; then come three 
 of the best stanzas : 
 
 " Back ! foolish Hunchback, to the course that whilome made thy fame, 
 Back ! to thy lawful quarry, to thy Jove-appointed game : 
 Shoot folly as it flies ; but shoot it with the arrowy joke, 
 Not with a brazen blunderbuss, all bellow and black smoke. 
 
 " Give us, once more, the playful wit that notched the legal saw. 
 That sparkles o'er Hume's ' History' now, as once o'er Blackstone's law:
 
 186 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 Give us the truthful social sketch, drawn by Titmarshian skill, 
 With color bright as Dickens's, and pencil keener still. 
 
 " Give us the shower of quip and crank, the whimsey and the wile, 
 Murder vain Fashion's shapeless brood, but murder with a smile. 
 Poison the rats of Westminster with Hamlet's * poisoned jest,' 
 And stab as once Harmodius stabbed, with steel in myrtle dressed." 
 
 Admirable as these verses are, tliey were not, oddly 
 enough, included in the posthumous collection of Shirley 
 Brooks's poems, published by Messrs. Bradbury & Evans. 
 Bi'ooks lived not only to be a leading contributor to 
 Punch, but its editor ; he was virtual editor during Mark 
 Lemon's later years, and at Lemon's death obtained the 
 post. Excellent in every department of journalism, to 
 the Punch proprietary he was simply invaluable : he was 
 the only man on the staff with much knowledge of current 
 politics ; his fertility in cartoon suggestion was extraor- 
 dinary ; he could write verse and prose with almost equal 
 facility ; and so vast was his newsj^aper reading that he 
 never missed a noticeable point, not merely in the Lon- 
 don, but in the provincial pi-ess. 
 
 The other occasion on which I had been with Dickens 
 in the latter days of '55 was memorable to me as the first 
 of very many subsequent delightful nights passed among 
 odd scenes in close intimacy with him. "We went on 
 what would nowadays be called a " slumming " expedi- 
 tion, quite original in those days, but long since done to 
 death. A friend of Dickens's, a certain M. Dolaruo, a 
 banker in Genoa, who was on a visit to Tavistock House, 
 had a great desire to see some of the low life of London ; 
 and Dickens accordingly arranged with the police for a 
 party of us, of which I was one, to dine early together, 
 and then " go the rounds " of the thieves' quarters in 
 Whitechapel, tlic sailors' and German sugar-bakers' tav- 
 erns in Ratcliff Highway, the dens of the Mint, etc. It 
 was a curious experience, but the interest of it to me was 
 greatly increased by the fact that I was in the company 
 of the man whose genius I hail worslii])pod so long and 
 80 ardently ; and wlien he called me into the cab, and we 
 returned alone together, he chatting freely and charming-
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 187 
 
 Iv, I wondered whether Fate could have in store for me 
 greater distinction or delight. 
 
 Meantime I had had opportunities for increasing my 
 literary work. The proprietors of the Illustrated London 
 Magazine, a somewhat obscure periodical, having asked 
 Frank Smedley to write them a novel, he managed to have 
 the commission transferred to me, of course at a much 
 lower remuneration, and I commenced a serial story called 
 " Arthur Hargrave ; or, the Uniform of Foolscap," of which 
 I do not remember much, save that it did not run very 
 long, expiring with the magazine. The " London Corre- 
 spondent's" letter for thii Inverness Courier, the property 
 of Dr. Carruthers, and one of the most important of 
 northern journals, which had been originally written by 
 Angus Reach, and afterwards by Shirley Brooks, was 
 made over to me, and was for years a regular, if small, 
 source of income. More important in every way was the 
 offer I received from Mr. J. R. Robinson, my former col- 
 league on the Weekly Chronicle, who had now become edi- 
 tor of the Express, the then evening edition of the Daily 
 News, to do some work for him, and occasionally, when 
 an extra hand was wanted, to write a dramatic criticism 
 for the last-named journal. There was, of course, a regu- 
 lar dramatic critic, but he was of a somewhat erratic habit, 
 and Mr. Robinson promised, in case the post became va- 
 cant, to use his best endeavors to get me appointed. As it 
 happened, I had only had the occasional employment dur- 
 ing some twelve months, when the regular critic, who suf- 
 fered from heart-disease, fell dead in the street ; and after 
 a little interval, during which trial was made of the ser- 
 vices of a gentleman who had certain influence with the 
 proprietors, but who failed to give satisfaction, I was per- 
 manently employed on the staff of the Daily News. 
 
 This appointment made me supremely happy. The sal- 
 ary was four pounds a week, for which I was to undertake 
 the whole of the dramatic criticism, and to assist in the 
 book reviewing. Any other articles were separately i)aid 
 for. Taken in connection with ray Post-office work and 
 my other journalistic engagements, this new berth com- 
 pletely filled up my time. Of course there were not near-
 
 188 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ly so many theatres as there are now ; but the changes in 
 the play-bills, and consequently the necessity of attend- 
 ance, were much more frequent, and I was kept constant- 
 ly supplied with books for notice. Literature of the light- 
 est kind was generally assigned to me ; but I must have 
 had books of all sorts sent, as among my Daily Neics re- 
 views, which I have preserved, I find long notices of Char- 
 lotte Bronte's "Professor" and of Aytoun's "Bothwell."* 
 When the theatrical season was over, I wrote for the 
 Daily News a series of semi - personal, semi - professional 
 sketches of the principal London players, and a long de- 
 
 * Here is a funny story in connection with this. My friend John Hol- 
 lingshead, wlio would occasionally help me with my book - notices, once 
 asked me what I knew about Pope. I replied, I knew the "Rape of the 
 Lock," " Essay on Man," " Universal Prayer," etc. But what did I know 
 of Pope's life, friends, surroundings ? Nothing, I frankly answered ; 
 why did he ask? Because an important book, Carruthers's "Life of 
 Pope," would shortly be published. A friend of his (Ilollingshead's) was, 
 with perhaps one exception, the best-informed Pope man in the world ; 
 and if I would hand over the book, this friend should write the notice ; 
 but it was to be sent in with my notices, and nothing was to be said as to 
 whose work it was. The friend proved to be William Moy Thomas. The 
 book was duly sent to him, and duly returned with a long and admirable 
 review, full of special knowledge, wliich I forwarded with my "copy" 
 as usual. It appeared the next day. I took care not to go near the of- 
 fice, but heard that Mr. Weir, the editor, was wonder-struck at its evidence 
 of thorough ac(iuaintance with tlie subject. But there was some one else 
 who was also struck in the same manner. This was the " perhaps one 
 exception" mentioned by Hollingshead — none other than Mr. Charles 
 Wentworth Dilke, grandfather of the present baronet, e.\-editor of the 
 AtJieruBum, who knew everything possible about Pope and his times. Moy 
 Thomas had been his secretary and quasi-pupil : they had had long and 
 frcMpient discussions on Pope m.ittors ; conscfiucntly, directly Mr. Dilke 
 saw tiie f)i(i/;/ Ncii'x notice, he guessed who had written it. But so much 
 interest did he take in the subject that he set off for the newspaper office, 
 and saw his old friend Weir. Of him, after praising the review, he asked 
 who wrote it. "Quite a young man of the name of Yates," he was in- 
 formed. Impossible ! no young man of such a name could have half so 
 much special kn<)wlcdf.'c. There was only one man in Limdon could have 
 written it. Well, the book was sent to Yates, and the review came from 
 him; that was all the editor could say. Mr. Dilke pretended to be con- 
 vinced; l)ut having been hinisrlf furiiici- editor of the Daily News, he 
 knew tlir master-printer, through whom he got a glimpse of the MS., and 
 satikdied himself be was right.
 
 EARLY MARIUED LIFE. 189 
 
 scription of society at Baden, whither my wife ami I had 
 gone, in company with Albert Smith, who took that place 
 and the Rhine as his new route to Mont Blanc. 
 
 We were a very happy and united body at the Daily 
 News office, and from my employers and colleagues I re- 
 ceived the greatest kindness and consideration. Some- 
 times I was invited to one of the weekly " house-dinners " 
 held at the Rainbow or Dick's, in Fleet Street, where I 
 would find our principal proprietor, Mr. George Smith, a 
 lawyer of Golden Square, who did not afterwards prove 
 quite such a clever man of business as he had been reck- 
 oned ; Mr. Weir, our chief editor — kindest, dearest, and 
 deafest of Scotch gentlemen ; Mr. Thomas Walker, the 
 sub-editor ; Mr. Robinson, editor of the evening edition ; 
 and some of the leader writers, generally Mr. McCullagh 
 Torrens, Mr. — now Sir Joseph — Arnould, and Mr. — now 
 Professor — Baynes. Among the members of the staff 
 were Mr. George Hogarth, the musical critic, father of 
 Mrs. Dickens ; Mr. Lincoln, the secretary ; Mr. Copping 
 and Mr. Dyer, sub-editors ; Mr. Murphy, an Irish gallery- 
 man and reporter, exact prototype of Thackeray's Hoolan 
 and Doolan ; Mr. Godfrey Turner ; and, later on, Mr. 
 Pigott. There was also a foreign sub-editor, whose name 
 I forget — a very eccentric person. He was supposed to 
 be a great linguist ; but he remains in my mind for his 
 great contempt and hatred of Dickens, a subject on which 
 he was always enlarging. So profound was this contempt 
 that he would never mention Dickens by name : he used 
 to allude to him as " that fellow, you know — Hogarth's 
 son-in-law !" 
 
 On the 7th of May, 1856, I made my first appearance 
 in IlouseJiold Words, with a short story called "A Fear- 
 ful Night," and encouraged by Dickens and by the as- 
 sistant editor, William Henry Wills, who, from that time 
 to the day of his death, was one of my best friends, I be- 
 came a frequent conti'ibutor. About the same time, too, 
 Messrs. Routledge published " Our Miscellany," a collection 
 of prose and verse sketches, contributed by Robert Brough 
 and myself to various magazines, with a cover, on which 
 the authors were admirably caricatured by C. H. Bennett,
 
 190 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 My first essay in dramatic writing, in collaboration with 
 a Post-ofiice friend named Harrington, was a riotous and 
 ridiculous, but at the same time an exceedingly funny, 
 farce called "A Night at Netting Hill," the theme be- 
 ing the burglaries at the time prevalent in that suburb, 
 which was produced at the Adelphi in the early days of 
 January, 1857. Harrington, who had been a professional 
 actor, was well up to the requirements of the stage, and 
 we scored a distinct success. Wright, as an alderman 
 terrified at the notion of having his house broken into, 
 was exceedingly comic, and he was well seconded by Paul 
 Bedford as a Life Guardsman, hired to protect the prem- 
 ises. The press were heartily unanimous in their recep- 
 tion of this trifle, which had a run of over a hundred 
 nights. Emboldened by our success, my partner and I at 
 once went to work on another farce, which we read to 
 Mr. J. L. Toole, Avhose acquaintance I had made a year or 
 two before, when I went with Albert Smith to the Wal- 
 worth Institution, and heard Mr. Toole, then an amateur, 
 give a very funny entertainment. He had now made his 
 mark as a professional comedian, and was playing at the 
 Lyceum, under the management of Mr. Charles Dillon. 
 
 Mr. Toole received our farce very favorably, and rec- 
 ommended it to his manager, by whom it was accepted. 
 It was called "My Friend from Leatherhead," and was 
 produced on the 23d of February, 1857, with Mr. Toole 
 as the hero, while a small part of a lady's maid was made 
 conspicuous by the excellent way in which it was tilled by 
 Miss M. Wihon — now INIrs. Bancroft. AVhen I saw, next 
 morning, that Oxen ford had given us a notice of full half 
 a column in the Times, I had no doubt of our success. 
 During the next few years, always in conjunction with 
 Harrington, I wrote several successful farces ; a comedi- 
 etta, called " If the C'aj) Fits," the last piece produced by 
 Mr. Charles Kean in his management of the Princess's, 
 was of a different genre, of neater construction, and more 
 j)olishcd dialogue. If was admir.ibly acted by, among 
 others, Mr. Frank Mai thews, Mr. Walter Lacy, and — Miss 
 Ellen Terry, soon after she entered the j)rofession : she 
 played a juvenih^ groom, a "tiger," with great spirit and
 
 EAKLY MARRIED LIFE. 101 
 
 vivacity. One of the " entertainments " given at the Gal- 
 lery of Illustration about this time, by Mr. and Mrs. Ger- 
 man Reed, was also from my pen. 
 
 Early in June this year ('57) England lost one of her 
 wittiest sons — Douglas Jerrold. Though never intimate 
 with him, I had often been in his company, and had heard 
 him flash forth the biting epigram and quick repartee for 
 which in our day he has had no rival. A small, delicate- 
 ly-formed, bent man, with long gray hair combed back 
 from his forehead, with gray eyes deep set under pent- 
 house brows, and a way, just as the inspiration seized him, 
 of dangling a double eye-glass, which hung round his neck 
 by a broad black ribbon ; a kindly man for all his bitter 
 tongue, replying most courteously to a complaint against 
 one of his staff, which I brought before him years ago, 
 and taking care that justice was done ; soft and easy with 
 women and children. 
 
 Years before, I had been one of a party w^hich had es- 
 corted him, after the successful production of one of his 
 comedies — " The Catspaw," I think — to the Bedford Ho- 
 tel in Covent Garden, where sujjper was prepared. Jer- 
 rold was flushed with triumph, but his bodily strength 
 was small, and he hung on to my arm. As we went up 
 New Street, we met two or three drunken roisterers, one 
 of whom, after tumbling up against mo, apologized, and 
 asked " the way to the Judge and Jury," a popular en- 
 tertainment of the day. Instantly Jerrold bent forward 
 and addressed him : " Straight on, young man. Continue 
 in the path you're now pursuing, and you can't fail to 
 come to them !" It was to Peter Cunningham, mention- 
 ing his fondness for calves' feet, that Jerrold said, " Ex- 
 tremes meet ;" to Mrs. Alfred Wigan, expressing her fear 
 that her hair had been turned gray by the application of 
 some strong stimulant, he said, " I know — essence of 
 thyme !" He was brought to the Fielding Club once as a 
 guest, and was sitting there when the door opened, and 
 Albert Smith appeared. "Mont Blanc is the monarch of 
 mountains !" cried some one, in would-be facetious salu- 
 tation. " Yes," said Jerrold, " and Albert ' half-crowned 
 him long ago !' "
 
 192 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 In the spring of the year in which Jerroki died, Mr. 
 Benjamin Webster had a })leasant gathering of friends at 
 his quaint old house by Kennington Churcli, to celebrate 
 the birthday of his daughter. Jerrold was there, playing 
 ■whist ; in the adjoining room they were dancing. Touch- 
 ing him on the shoulder, I asked, " Who is that man, Jer- 
 rold, there, dancing with Mrs. Jerrold ?" He looked round 
 for an instant, through the open door. " God knows, my 
 dear boy !" he replied ; " some member of the Humane 
 Society, I suppose !" The last time I saw him was little 
 more than a week before his death, at a Sunday Green- 
 wich dinner, given by W. H. Russell, at Avhich Dickens, 
 Delane, Mowbray Morris, Albert and Arthur Smith, and 
 many others were present. Jerrold, who looked very ill, 
 and told me he was having his house done up, and was 
 *' poisoned by the paint," had been brought down by 
 Dickens in the steamer. He was very^Jiia^io, and I heaixl 
 him attempt only one joke : when Russell asked Albert 
 Smith to ring the bell for dinner, Jeri'old said, "Yes, Al- 
 bert, why don't you ring that bell(e) ?" in allusion to ru- 
 mors then rife of an entrajrement between A. S. and Miss 
 Keelcy, whom he afterwards married. Jerrold went away 
 early, took to his bed, and died on the Monday week. 
 
 On the morning of the funeral I had a letter from Dick- 
 ens, asking me to dine at the Garrick, as he wanted to 
 talk to me on a matter of business. I went, and found 
 Albert and Arthur Smith of the party. They had all 
 been to the ceremony at Norwood in the morning, and 
 DicTicns spoke very strongly of the fuss and flourish with 
 which it had been conducted. The mourners, it seemed, 
 wore liaiids of crape witji the initials "D. J." round their 
 arms, and there was a funeral-car, of which Dickens de- 
 clared he beard one old woman in the crowd say to another 
 that it was " just like the late Dook o' Wellinton's." After 
 dinner we had pens, ink, and ])aper, and Dickens unfolded 
 his scheuK', whicli was to raise a fund for the benefit of 
 Jerrohl's widow and family. 
 
 It was to be done in the most delicate manner, and all 
 would assist, Thackeray would lecture, so would W. H. 
 Russell ; Di(rkeus would give a reading ; there would be
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. I93 
 
 a performance of "Black-Eyed Susan" at the Adelphi, 
 with the veteran T, P. Cooke in his original character ; a 
 performance of the Dickens troupe of amateurs in *' The 
 Frozen Deep," etc. One great point was to let the puhlic 
 know what was intended instantly, while Jerrold's death 
 was fresh in their minds ; another, not to spend too much 
 money in advertising. With the view of combining these 
 desiderata, Dickens drew up a short memorandum for the 
 committee, which he asked me to take round that nierht to 
 the editors of the principal journals, requesting them to 
 publish it in the morning, with a few introductory lines 
 of their own. 
 
 I had some curious experiences that evening. I first 
 went to the Morning Post, where I found Mr. (now Sir) 
 Algernon Borthwick in evening clothes, with a smart 
 smoking-jacket substituted for his dress-coat, a courteous 
 gentleman, polished to his finger-tips. Thence to the 
 Morning Chronicle, in the Strand, opposite Somerset 
 House, where, at the top of a flight of dirty stairs, in a 
 typical newspaper-room, was the then editor — genial, jo- 
 vial, handsome Thomas Littleton Holt, otherwise known as 
 " Raggedy Holt " — in his shirt-sleeves, and with a foam- 
 ing porter-pot before him. Next, to the Daily Telegraph, 
 then in its infancy, a very modest establishment in the 
 bend of the Strand, by St. Clement's Church, now pulled 
 down, where I was, of course, kindly received by my friend 
 Mr. J. M. Levy. At the Advertiser Mr. James Grant 
 would do all he was asked, save A\Tite the introductory 
 lines, which he insisted on my doing then and there ; and 
 at the Times I saw Mr. Delane, who came out to me when 
 he read Dickens's letter, though his presence at the office 
 had been steadfastly denied. 
 
 The programme was carried out in its entirety with 
 great success, the sum raised being, I think, over two thou- 
 sand pounds. Thackeray's lecture was on "Week-day 
 Preachers," in which he made special and admirable ref- 
 erence to Jerrold ; and I have a remembrance of Dickens 
 in connection with the performance of "Black-Eyed Su- 
 san" at the Adelphi, which always makes me laugh. The 
 part of the Admiral, who presides over the court-martial 
 
 9
 
 194 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 by which the hero William is condemned to death, was 
 played by a stolid-faced creature, a brother of Paul Bed- 
 ford. Dickens said to me at supper that night, " I had 
 a strong idea that Bedford's brother meant to acquit 
 William, and that all the rest of the play would go to 
 the devil !" 
 
 As may be readily imagined, I had not very much lei- 
 sure in the midst of all this employment, but such as I had 
 was always pleasantly passed. Sundays with us were al- 
 ways " Sundays out " — at Skindle's, at that time a delight- 
 fully quiet place, with no lawn, no river-rooms, no neigh- 
 boring Guards' Club; at Thames Ditton; at Richmond; at 
 the Swan at Staines; at Laker's Hotel at Redhill — some- 
 times my wife and I alone, oftener with the Keeleys and 
 Albert and a party. On Friday nights there was always 
 a gathering in Gower Street, at the house of Abraham 
 Solomon, who had just made a hit with his picture, "Wait- 
 ing for the Verdict," where would be INIillais with his 
 " Huguenot " success upon him, young and handsome, as 
 in the medallion which Alexander Munro had just com- 
 ])leted of him; and Frith, putting the finishing touches to 
 his "Derby Day ;" Frank Stone, Augustus Egg, and Sant ; 
 Dutton Cook, undecided whether to take to pen or pencil 
 as his means of living; Ernest Hart, whose sister Solomon 
 afterwards married; and William Fenn. A quietly Bo- 
 liemian evening : a little dancing, a few games of " ton- 
 neau," a capital supper with a specialty of cold fish, then 
 cigars, and singing by Frank Topham or Desanges, and 
 imitations by Dillon Croker, "and so home." 
 
 Gatherings on a larger scale at Mr. Gambart's, the 
 princely picture-dealer, first in Berners Street, afterwards 
 in the Regent's Park ; dances at Mr. Jacob Bell's, admi- 
 rably sn])erint('nd('d by the host's alter c(/o, Mr. "Tom" 
 Hills ; fre(jucnt festivity in connection with the Mont 
 lilanc entertainment ;* and a general "good time." 
 
 " Tliorc was always a larRo pntlioring iit the Egj'ptian Hall on the nip;lit 
 prccetliiip a change in the form of entertuinnicnt. There was a liberal 
 Hiipply of cluinipngne ; Mr. Rule, tlif wcll-known I'raiUrr of Maiden Lane, 
 and his Bona, presided over a long counter, and served out oysters and
 
 EARLY MARRIED LIFE. 195 
 
 Prominent among the houses to which we went most 
 frequently, and where we were most heartily welcomed, 
 was that of our neighbor in Doughty Street, Mr. J. M. 
 Levy, who had just acquired the Daily Telegraph proper- 
 ty, and was concentrating on it all his zeal, acumen, and 
 experience to make his venture a success. Ho was ably 
 seconded by his son Edward, who at that time wrote the 
 dramatic criticisms among other work, and was conse- 
 quently my constant companion at the theatre. The Sun- 
 day night reunions at Mr. Levy's are among my pleasant- 
 
 bread-and-butter ; and hot baked potatoes were dispensed by a man de- 
 scribed in tiie programme as " Tatur Khan." The style of invitation was 
 always peculiar. I annex one, lithographed on thin paper, in passport 
 form, which was issued to all intended guests in '55 : 
 
 "We, Albert Smith, one of her Britannic Majesty's representatives on 
 the summit of Mont Blanc, Knight of the most noble order of the Grands 
 Muletfi, Baron Galignani of Piccadilly, Knight of the Grand Crossing from 
 Burlington Arcade to the Egyptian Hall, Member of the Society for the 
 Confusion of Useless Knowledge, Secretary for his own Affairs, etc., etc. 
 
 " Request and require, in the name of his Majesty the Monarch of 
 Mountains, all those whom it may concern, more especially the Police on 
 
 the Piccadilly Frontier, to allow to pass freely in at the street-door 
 
 of the Egyptian Uall, and up-stairs to the Mont Blanc Room, on the even- 
 ing of Saturday, Dec. 1, 1855, at 8 p.m., and to afford him every assistance 
 in the way of oysters, stout, champagne, soda - and - brandy, and other aid 
 of which he may stand in need. 
 
 " Given at the Box-ofBce, Piccadilly, 28th day of November, 1855. 
 
 " Albert Smith. 
 
 " God save the Queen ! 
 
 " Vu an buremi de la Salle. Bon pour entrer Piccadilly, par V Arcade de 
 Burlington. Truefitt. 
 
 " Samedi, Ist December, 1855. 
 
 ^'■Vkeed for the Garrick and Fielding Clubs, the Vaults below the 
 Houses of Parliament, Truofitt's Hair-cutting Saloon, the Glacier de Gun- 
 ter, JuUien's, Laurent's, the Cafe de I'Europe, Pratt's, Limmer's, and all 
 other places on the Rhine, between Rule's Marine Museum, or Appetizing 
 Aquarium, and the Jolly Grenadier public - house. No. 1 Ellison Square, 
 Pall Mall, South Sebastopol. Rule. 
 
 ^^ Notice. — By the recent poHce enactments regulating large assemblies 
 in the neighborhood of Piccadilly, this passport must be considered aa 
 available for one person only, and docs not include the ' friend ' who has 
 always been dining with the bearer."
 
 190 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 est reminiscences ; but there was no time at which we 
 were not received and treated as jmrt of the family. It 
 is always agreeable to me to think that I was enabled, in- 
 cidentally, to do my friends real service by introducing 
 to them two gentlemen, Mr. G. A. Sala and the Hon. F. 
 Lawley, who have greatly contributed to the enormous 
 success which the Daily Telegraph has attained. 
 
 The next year, 1858, was one of vast importance to me.
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 197 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 
 
 It was in the summer of 1855, when I was twenty-four, 
 and had been married about a couple of years, that I 
 made my first acquaintance with the denizens of British 
 Bohemia — that I became initiated into the mysteries of 
 our equivalent for that vie de Boheme which half a cen- 
 tury ago, despite its uncertainty, its poverty, and in many 
 cases its misery, had, in its wild and picturesque freedom 
 from conventionality, sufficient attraction to captivate a 
 large section of the young men of Paris, and which found 
 its brilliant historian in the unfortunate Henri Miirger. 
 Our British Bohemia, as it existed in the days of which I 
 am writing — I am doubtful whether it exists at all now — 
 differed in many respects from that fanciful territory in- 
 habited by Schaunard and his comrades. It was less pict- 
 uresque, it was more practical and commonplace, perhaps 
 a trifle more vulgar ; but its denizens had this in common 
 with their French prototypes — that they were young, 
 gifted, and reckless ; that they worked only by fits and 
 starts, and never except under the pressure of necessity; 
 that they were sometimes at the height of happiness, some- 
 times in the depths of despair, but that ordinarily they 
 passed their lives 
 
 " little caring what might come ; 
 Coffee-milling care and sorrow with a nose-adapted thumb ;" 
 
 and that — greatest item of resemblance — they had a thor- 
 ough contempt for the dress, usages, and manners of ordi- 
 nary middle -class civilization. The word "Philistine," 
 with its now accepted signification, had not been invented 
 by Mr. Matthew Arnold in those days ; but the class which 
 it represents existed, of course, and was the object of gen- 
 eral loathing and contempt on the part of the Bohemians.
 
 198 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 British Bohemia as it was then has been most admira- 
 bly described by Thackeray in " Philip :" " A pleasant 
 land, not fenced with drab stucco, like Belgravia or Ty- 
 burnia ; not guarded by a large standing army of foot- 
 men ; not echoing with noble chariots ; not replete with 
 polite chintz drawing-rooms and neat tea-tables — a land 
 over which hangs an endless fog, occasioned by much to- 
 bacco ; a land of chambers, billiard - rooms, and oyster- 
 suppers ; a land of song ; a land where soda-water flows 
 freely in the morning ; a land of tin dish-covers from tav- 
 erns and foaming porter ; a land of lotos-eating (with lots 
 of cayenne pepper), of pulls on the river, of delicious 
 reading of novels, magazines, and saunterings in many 
 studios; a land where all men call each other by their 
 Christian names ; where most are poor, where almost all 
 are young, and where, if a few oldsters enter, it is because 
 they have preserved more tenderly and carefully than 
 others their youthful spirits and the delightful capacity 
 to be idle. I have lost my way to Bohemia now," adds 
 the philosopher, writing in the enjoyment of fame and 
 riches; "but," he adds with a tender regret, "it is cer- 
 tain that Prague is the most picturesque city in the 
 world." 
 
 From the circumstances of ray life — my early mar- 
 riage, the regular habits formed by, and necessary for, 
 my holding my apj)ointmcnt in the Post-office, and from 
 a certain distaste for a good deal of Avhat formed an in- 
 tegral portion of the career — I was never a real Bohe- 
 mian. But when my lot was cast among them, and when 
 they saw that, though not "to the manner born," I had 
 many tastes and pursuits in common with theirs, I grad- 
 ually won my way into their regard, and formed many 
 close friendships, some of which happily exist to this 
 day, while others are among the pleasantest memories of 
 my life. 
 
 How it was tliat I first made acquaintance with Bo- 
 hemia lia]»j»ened thus. I have already nu'ntioned my early 
 essay in verse- writing for the Ulustratnl London Ni'ws. 
 The connection thus commenced had been extended by 
 my receiving from time to time proofs of wood-cngrav-
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 199 
 
 ings, for which I was desired to furnish appropriate de- 
 scriptive letter-press. One day I had a note from Dr. 
 Charles Mackay, then editor of the Illustrated London 
 Neios, wishing to see me. I called in the afternoon, ex- 
 pecting to get one of the usual little commissions ; but 
 when I found him sitting with his trusty assistant, Mr. 
 John Timbs, the well-known book-comi^iler, I soon per- 
 ceived from his manner that he had something more im- 
 portant to communicate. What he said, in fact, was that 
 there had been a dispute between Mr. Ingram, our pro- 
 prietor, and Messrs. Bradbury & Evans, the printers, over 
 some trade matter; that the quarrel had rapidly assumed 
 large proportions ; and that Mr. Ingram had determined 
 not merely to put an end to all business relations between 
 himself and the Whitefriars firm, but to carry the war 
 into the enemy's country by starting at once a comic 
 paper as a rival to Punch. He had talked the question 
 out with Dr. Mackay, who, recognizing, as he was good 
 enough to say, some brightness and freshness in my work, 
 had kindly recommended me as the editor. The pecun- 
 iary arrangements would be very liberal. Would I under- 
 take the position ? 
 
 Of course I accepted at once — in those days I would 
 have undertaken to edit the Times or the Quarterly He- 
 vieio if I had had the offer — and I was taken off to be 
 introduced to Mr. Ingram, and hear more of the details 
 of the scheme. I found him a little man, with bright 
 eyes, sharp features, and decided manner ; he was dressed 
 in ill - fitting clothes, and had a white beaver hat with 
 very long nap, like a country farmer. He was rather 
 uncouth, very brusque, and without much claim to edu- 
 cation ; but he was an excellent man of business, and to 
 me always liberal, kind, and encouraging. He shook 
 hands with me, heard what I had to say, offered me a 
 salary which was good, and which I thought princely, 
 told me the names of the printers, where to present my 
 accounts, and left the engagement of staff and artists and 
 the entire management in my hands. 
 
 Only two things he stipulated for — that the name of 
 the paper should be the Comic Times, and that its price
 
 200 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 should be one penny. These were very important items. 
 I ventured to say — with great internal annoyance at be- 
 ing compelled so soon to differ from my proprietor's 
 views — that to issue a journal with the label of being 
 professedly comic attached to it was a sure way to pro- 
 voke criticism ; while in regard to the price, the experi- 
 ment of cheap journalism was in its earliest infancy, the 
 Daily Telegraph having only been launched a few weeks 
 previously ; and I pointed out that it would be highly 
 difficult to obtain the confidence of advertisers for a new 
 and low-priced venture. But Mr. Ingram on these two 
 points was inflexible, and of course I had to give way. 
 
 It was a difficult position before me, with a very lim- 
 ited exjjerience of journalism, and no experience at all of 
 editing, and with the thorough knowledge that whatever 
 I might do would be severely criticised by the hundreds 
 of men who would think, and not without reason, that 
 they ought to be in my place. Mr. Ingram, in our short 
 conversation, had expressed his hope, and almost his ex- 
 pectation, that we should soon rival " old Poonchf and 
 Pimch was at its very best in those days, with the re- 
 flection of Thackeray still on it, with Leech never more 
 bright or more industrious, Avith Shirley Brooks doing 
 his very utmost — and there has never been so good an 
 all-round writer for a comic journal — to prove how wrong 
 the Punch staff had been to keep him so long out of their 
 close borough, and bow right they were to have let him 
 in at last ; and, Avorst of all for me, with Mark Lemon 
 for its editor. Not that Lemon was in any way a brill- 
 iant or even a suggestive man ; but he had had long 
 practice in editing and long experience of his contribu- 
 tors — knew what each man did best, and how most easily 
 to get liim to do it. While, under tlie cloak of corpulent 
 good-nature and jollity, he was exceedingly crafty and 
 ruHC, as the head man of Messrs. Bradl)ury & Evans he 
 would naturally depreciate the Avork in the Comic Times ; 
 and, as the private secretary of Mr. Ingram — a jjosition 
 wliicli lie then held — he would have every op])ortunity of 
 doing so in a very important quarter. However, I had 
 embarked on my enter]»rise, and was determined to carry
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 201 
 
 it through ; so I went off at once to get advice, and, if 
 possible, assistance, from Albert Smith. 
 
 I found him, as usual, in his foreign blue blouse, pot- 
 tering about in his sanctum in Percy Street, than which 
 tliere never was such another room for the collection of 
 extraordinary valueless curiosities, prints, pictures, plas- 
 ter-casts, and quasi-artistic rubbish of every possible de- 
 scription, thickly overlaid with dust. He was delighted 
 at the chance of my getting work and money, and while 
 declaring it impossible he could himself write — for the 
 Mont Blanc entertainment was then at the height of its 
 23opularity, and absorbed all his attention — he discussed 
 the matter with me ; and before I left him we had jotted 
 down the names of several men — some acquaintances, 
 some strangers — out of whom the staff was to be formed. 
 
 One of the first of these names was that of Edward 
 Draper, a solicitor in Westminster, who was Albert's legal 
 adviser, and who is happily still living. A man with a 
 vast amount of dry humor, which found its vent now in 
 prose, now in verse, now in rough, but exceedingly ludi- 
 crous, sketches on wood — a practical man, sure to be ready 
 with his " copy " in due time, and certain never to write 
 anything actionable. Mr. Draper was a most desirable 
 contributor, and has been through my life a valued friend. 
 He introduced Godfrey Turner, at that time acting as 
 sub-editor of the John Bull, whose real literary status 
 has never, as I venture to think, been jjroperly recognized. 
 Of my own personal friends I named Frank Scudamore, 
 W. P. Hale, and John Oxenford. 
 
 F. I. Scudamore, afterwards so well known for his man- 
 agement of the Government telegraphs, for which he ob- 
 tained a C.B.-ship, was at that time a fellow-clerk of mine 
 in the General Post-office. Some years my senior, he had 
 already attracted ray adrairation by my knowledge of the 
 fact that he was already an accepted contributor to Punch, 
 many most admirable sets of verses from his pen having 
 appeared therein. I shall have other opportunities of 
 mentioning Mr. Scudamore, but I may here place on rec- 
 ord my opinion that of all the men I have known in my 
 long experience, there was scarcely one to beat him. His 
 
 9*
 
 202 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 powers of organization at the height of his career were 
 confessedly wonderful, he was a sound classical scholar, 
 wrote by far the best " light " verse of any man living, 
 was a most effective speaker, and had the keenest sense 
 of humor. His versatility was marvellous ; he could per- 
 suade a Chancellor of the Exchequer into disbursing mill- 
 ions, and turn out a political parody w^ith a lilting re- 
 frain which Avould be quoted throughout the provincial 
 press. 
 
 "William Palmer Hale, known to every one as "Billy" 
 Hale, was the eldest son of the Archdeacon of London, 
 educated at Charter-house and Oxford, and a member of 
 the Bar. My old friend, Thomas Knox Holmes, who oc- 
 casionally gave Hale work before parliamentary commit- 
 tees, always maintained that it was exceedingly well 
 done ; but Billy's taste was more for literature than law, 
 and after he had obtained a fair amount of success by 
 writing burlesques in collaboration with Frank Talfourd 
 (the judge's eldest son), one of which, "The Willow Pat- 
 tern Plate," made a great mark in the early Swanborough 
 Strand days, he did not much trouble the Courts. He 
 was a great beer-drinker, and though the story has been 
 told of others, it Avas of him Thackeray said, and said to 
 me, "Good Billy Hale, take him for half-and-half, we 
 ne'er shall look upon his like again !" E. L. Blanchard, 
 the well-known critic and dramatic writer, was introduced 
 to me by Albert Smith, and i)roved a valuable member of 
 our crew. 
 
 My acquaintance with John Oxenford, begun some year 
 or two ]>reviously, had speedily ripened into intimate 
 frieiidsliii) ; for though he was nearly twenty years my 
 senior, a strong and original tliinker on many abstruse 
 subjects, and ]»er]iai)S of all Englishmen then living the 
 deepest read in German literature and philosophy, he was 
 full of the most delightful humor, and had the animal 
 sj.irits of a boy. His hair was snow-white in those days, 
 tlKMigh he was not more than forty-three; but his dark 
 eyes under his grizzled brows were full of fire and fun. 
 No man liad greater horror of an impostor, or of the 
 slighlest attempt at the assumption of swagger; but
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 203 
 
 where he took a liking he attached himself firmly, and 
 was the sweetest, the most delightful companion. No 
 one ever wore his learning so lightly, or conveyed it so 
 unconsciously and unpretendingly ; no man so thoroughly 
 equipped with vast stores of erudition ever passed through 
 a long life known to the many only as the lightest literary 
 sharp-shooter. 
 
 By the general public, oi', I may say, by only that por- 
 tion of it which takes an interest in theatrical matters, 
 he was known as the dramatic critic of the Times ; but 
 in those columns, although to readers between the lines 
 there was constant evidence of keen analysis and subtle 
 humor, the great intellectual powers of the man were 
 never to be recognized. Why, he told me more than 
 once, in long delightful chats in tavern parlors, where he 
 would sit with me alone, over a clay " church-warden " 
 pijje and a pot of ale, and beguile hour after hour with his 
 fancies, delivered in jerky sentences, in a rumbling mono- 
 tone. When he first took up dramatic criticism for the 
 Times — his first employment on the paper had been in 
 the office of its then City editor, Mr. Alsager, a relation 
 of his — he wrote unreservedly his opinion not merely of 
 the play under notice, but of the actors. One of these, 
 being somewhat sharply criticised, appealed in a strong- 
 letter to the editor, which Mr. Delane showed to John 
 Oxenford. "I have no doubt you wdl-e perfectly right 
 in all you wrote," said the great editor to the embryo 
 critic ; " but that is not the question. The real fact is 
 that these matters are of far too small importance to be- 
 come subjects for discussion. Whether a play is good or 
 bad, whether a man acts well or ill, is of very little con- 
 sequence to the great body of our readers, and I could 
 not think of letting the paper become the field for argu- 
 ment on the point. So in future, you understand, my 
 good fellow, write your notices so as much as possible to 
 avoid these sort of letters being addressed to the office. 
 You understand ?" 
 
 Oxenford understood ; and in that interview the Times 
 editor voluntarily threw away the chance of being sup- 
 plied with dramatic criticism as keen in its perspicacity
 
 204 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 as Hazlitt's, as delightful in its geniality as Lamb's. An 
 acutely conscientious man would, under the circumstances, 
 have declined the task ; but Oxenford, though never 
 pressed by poverty — his father, with whom he lived until 
 witliin the last ten years of his life, was a well-to-do mer- 
 chant, with a house in John Street, Bedford Row — knew 
 the value of money ; his position as theatrical censor of 
 the Times, though poorly paid (his salary was only five 
 pounds a week), gave him great weight with managers, 
 and it must be recollected he was dramatist as well as 
 critic. Finally, he was glad to be relieved from the re- 
 sponsibility and the hard work which thoughtful criticism 
 would have entailed ; glad to be spared the necessity of 
 wounding the feelings of any of those with whom he 
 lived on intimate terms ; glad to be spared time and brain- 
 power for other and more remunerative work. Thence- 
 forward his Times notices, written on the principle of 
 being pleasant all round, were amusing essays, in Avhich 
 the learning of the writer was sometimes apparent, and 
 where, to the initiated, a delightful humor was always 
 ci-opping up ; but they were not criticisms such as Oxen- 
 ford could have written had he been permitted, or such 
 as he frequently orally delivered to two or three appre- 
 ciative friends. 
 
 The outcome of John Oxenford's larcce store of readinir 
 is to be found in cyclopnedias and reviews, in his render- 
 ing of Eckerinann's "Conversations with Goethe," in his 
 translation of Friedrich Jacob's "Hellas," his work for 
 Holm's Standard Library, his articles on Moliere and 
 otlicr bi()<j;ra]ihical ])a])ers in Knight's Penny GydojtwcUa 
 and the Wcdnunstcr lievieir. The charm of his fancy 
 illumines scores of songs, original and translated; the 
 delicate flavor of liis humor still preserves from decay 
 a dozen comediettas and farces, one of which, "Twice 
 KiUcd," after being traTislated into French as an operetta, 
 under the title " Jions<»ir, Signor I'antalon," was retrans- 
 lated, and made its ajipearance in operatic garb on the 
 English stage. 
 
 "And be sure you get Sala and the Broughs," were Al- 
 bert Smith's last words as he followed me to the door.
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 205 
 
 Mr, George Augustus Sala, who has from time to time 
 been my honored comrade and colleague tlirongli the 
 whole of my literary career, is happily alive and well, 
 having obtained the universal recognition of his abilities, 
 having reached the topmost rung of the ladder of journal- 
 ism, having, in fine, achieved the success which we, his 
 youthful fellow-laborers, always predicted for him. His 
 appearance in the narrative of these desultory reminis- 
 cences will be frequent, as we have had so many enter- 
 prises in common ; but at the time of which I am writing 
 I had only seen him once, at the Fielding Club, whither 
 he had been brought from Rule's oyster-shop, where he 
 was supping, to be presented to the Duke of Sutherland, 
 then Marquis of Stafford, and some of his friends, who 
 were loud in praise of an American story, " Colonel 
 Quagg's Conversion," which had just appeared in House- 
 hold Words. Who could have written it ? was the ques- 
 tion ; which was speedily solved by Albert Smith, who 
 declared he had just left the author, and went away, 
 returning in triumph with a slim, modest young fellow 
 about six-and-twenty years of age. It would be imperti- 
 nence in me to speak of Mr. Sala's life-work, lying imme- 
 diately before the world as most of it is ; but I may be, 
 perhaps, permitted to say that in the volumes of House- 
 hold Words from '53 to '56 are to be found essays which 
 not merely the author of "Paris Herself Again" and 
 "America Revisited" has never surpassed, but which 
 Goldsmith or Lamb might have been proud to father. 
 Like Thackeray, Mr. Sala has "long since lost his way to 
 Bohemia," though in my time at least that picturpsque 
 country has never had so famous a denizen, unless it were 
 the younger of the once famous Brothers Brough, Robert 
 Barnabas Brough. 
 
 " Bill" and " Bob " to their friends, in the "land where 
 men call each other by their Christian names," or " clean 
 Brough and clever Brough," the sarcastic but well-fitting 
 distinction drawn between them by a cynical acquaint- 
 ance ; for William the methodical was neat and whole- 
 some, with fresh complexion and trim beard and decent 
 clothes, and Robert the brilliant was sallow and sickly.
 
 206 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 poor fellow, and wholly careless of his personal appear- 
 ance — the Brothers Brough, in fine, were the sons of a 
 man engaged in commerce, of whom they always spoke 
 with much affection, and who gave them a plain English 
 education. On this somewhat slender foundation both of 
 them, in later life, raised a fair superstructure of learning. 
 Both acquired French, and Bob had added a certain 
 amount of German and Spanish to his store. All this to 
 his credit ; for while he was a scholar, he was a producer ; 
 while he was grinding away at his Ollendorff, he was 
 thinking out his article, or planning his piece, or racking 
 his weary brain for jokes for his forthcoming burlesque. 
 
 The gentlemen who just about this time were estab- 
 lishing a new school of critical literature were constantly 
 either savagely ferocious or bitterly sarcastic with profes- 
 sional literary men — i^^^'sons, that is to say, who lived by 
 the product of their pens, who in most cases had not had 
 the advantage of that University education in which their 
 detractors gloried, and which enabled them to turn the 
 Ode to Thaliarchus into halting English verse, or to im- 
 bue with a few classical allusions their fierce political es- 
 say or flippant critical review. And save that he was en- 
 dowed with more and finer brains than the average run 
 of humanity, Robert Brough was the exact type of the 
 class thus bitterly reviled. Spurning the life of commer- 
 cial drudgery to which he was originally destined, he 
 commenced on his own account at a very early age, and 
 awoke the echoes of his dull, prosaic native town with 
 the cracking of liis witty whip. 
 
 The Livevjyool Lion was :. new feature in the annals of 
 the Mersey's pride. The merchant-i)rince8, the brokers, 
 the shipping-agents, the great outfitters, and the rest of 
 them had gone through life without much conception of 
 fun. I'hey looked through the pages of Punch, perhaps, 
 while digesting their lieavy mid-day meal, and smiled at 
 LeeclTs gloriuus cartoons, wliiie understanding little about 
 them. Jiut liere was a revelation of wild humor brought 
 into tlieir very midst ; liere were caricatures which every 
 one recognized, allusions wliicli all understood. Leech's 
 portrait of Lord I'almerwton, whom tiiey had never seen,
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 207 
 
 was not to be compared to the Lion''s likeness of the 
 Recorder ; and no joke in ancient or modern times could 
 compete with the manner in which the Chairman of the 
 Brokers' Association was "taken off" in that song to the 
 tune of the " King of the Cannibal Islands." Those who 
 wish to inform themselves of the manner of Robert 
 Brough's early life-work should read his novel, " Marston 
 Lynch," of which the author is the hero. I say early life- 
 work ; but it was all, in fact, early enough, for he was but 
 five or six and thirty when he died. But in the Liver- 
 pool Lion is to be seen the germ of most of what distin- 
 guished his later writings — the bright wit, the strange, 
 quaint fancy, the readiness to seize upon topics of the 
 hour and present them in the quaintest garb ; the exqui- 
 site pathos was not there, nor the bitter savagery, though 
 gleams of this last were not wanting. 
 
 I have often wondered what gave Robert Brough that 
 deep, vindictive hatred of wealth and rank and respecta- 
 bility which permeated his life, and which so surprised 
 me, who had been bred up in a mild conservatism. It 
 was probably innate ; it was certainly ingrained. It was 
 largely increased by poverty, by ill-health, by an ill-regu- 
 lated life, by an ever-present conviction that there lay in 
 him power to produce work of very superior quality to 
 that already published — power which was nullified by his 
 own weakness of will. His was the poetic temperament — 
 sensitive, nervous, irritable ; his, too, the craving after ig- 
 noble sources of alleviation in times of mental depression, 
 and the impossibility of resisting temptation, come in what 
 form it might.* 
 
 He was a Radical, a Republican even, but something — 
 
 * On his twenty-ninth birthday he wrote me a letter, commencing, 
 
 " I'm twenty-nine ! I'm twenty-nine ! 
 I've dranlv too much of beer and wine ; 
 I've had too much of love and strife ; 
 I've given a Iviss to Johnson's wife,' 
 And sent a lying note to mine — 
 I'm twenty-nine ! I'm twenty-nine !" 
 
 • Strictly true, but the name is not Johnson.— R. B. B.
 
 208 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 partly his gentle nature, and doubtless greatly his -won- 
 derfully keen perception of the ludicrous — kept him from 
 emulating the literary achievements of the political con- 
 tributors to the cheap Sunday press. His was not the 
 coarse many - syllabled fustian of a "Publicola" or a 
 " Gracchus," produced according to the laws of demand 
 and supply, and paid for by a weekly wage. Robert 
 Brough's was the real, fierce hatred welling up from an 
 imbittered soul, and finding its vent in verse. Here is 
 the mot de Venigme : 
 
 " There is a word in the English tongue, 
 
 Where I'd rather it were not ; 
 For shams and hes from it have sprung, 
 
 And heart-burns fierce and hot. 
 'Tis a tawdry cloak for a dirty soul : 
 
 'Tis a sanctuary base, 
 Wliere the fool and the knave themselves may save 
 
 From justice and di.'^grace ; 
 'Tis a curse to the land, deny it who can, 
 That self-same boast, ' I'm a gentleman.' " 
 
 That is the opening of a poem contained in a little thin 
 volume called " Songs of the Governing Classes," by Rob- 
 ert Brough, published in 1855, the year of which I am 
 writing, by Vizetelly. It had scarcely any sale, and has 
 been unprocurable for many years. From the freedom 
 of its speech, the vigor of its thought, and the j)olish of 
 its workmanship, it Avas a very remarkable production ; 
 but neither its sentiments nor its stati'inents would bear 
 analysis, and its teachings were dangerous and uncalled 
 for. It goes on: 
 
 "You may leave your wife, with her children six, 
 
 In a ditch to starve and pine, 
 And another man's take, in a palace rich, 
 
 Willi jewels and gold to shine; 
 You may flog your liorse or your dog to death; 
 
 You may shoot, in a fit of rage, 
 A liclpk'Hs groom, and an easy doom 
 
 You'll meet from llic jury sage : 
 'There's l)ccn provocation — deny it who can? 
 For wc sec at a glance he's a gi-utlrman !' "
 
 EARLY EDITORSUIPS. 209 
 
 In his preface he says that, being only known as " a pro- 
 fane jester and a satirist " (as Kuskin said of Salvator 
 Rosa), the pnblic may refuse to take him au serieux; he 
 admits that he has certainly made jokes for a livelihood, 
 just as he should have made boots, if brought up to the 
 business, and seeing no harm or disgrace in either calling. 
 But he does not see that he is thereby disqualified from 
 giving serious utterance to his feelings on vital ques- 
 tions as well as his neighbors. "The feeling, of which 
 the following ballads are the faint echo and imperfect 
 expression, is a deeply-rooted belief that to the institution 
 of aristocracy in this country (not merely to its undue 
 prej^onderance, but to its absolute existence) is mainly 
 attributable all the political injustice, and more especially 
 the gi'ovelling moral debasement, we have to deplore." 
 Limned by such an artist, it can be readily imagined that 
 the " Portraits " of the aristocracy, with which the vol- 
 ume commenced, were not too flattering. The first, 
 " The Marquis de Carabas," a fancy one, is thus sketched : 
 
 " Look at his skin — at fourscore years 
 How fresh it gleams, and fair ! 
 He never tasted ill-dressed food, 
 Or breathed in tainted air. 
 The noble blood flows through his veins 
 Still, with a healthful pink. 
 His brow scarce wrinkled ! Brows keep so 
 That have not got to think. 
 
 Chapeau bas ! 
 
 Chapeau bas ! 
 Gloire au Marquis de Carabas !" 
 
 And again : 
 
 " They've got him in — he's gone to vote 
 Your rights and mine away : 
 Perchance our lives, should men be scarce, 
 To fight his cause for pay. 
 We are his slaves ! he owns our lands, 
 Our woods, our seas, our skies : 
 He'd have us shot like vicious dogs. 
 Should wc in murmuring rise ! 
 Chapeau bas !" etc.
 
 210 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 His elder brother, William, was very differently consti- 
 tuted. He had been, early in life, apprenticed to a print- 
 er, and there was always about him a business-like man- 
 ner, and an appreciation of the punctuality and good faith 
 necessary for business relations. Among his Bohemian 
 friends he was remarkable for his neat and dapper ap- 
 pearance. Bob once declared him to be the " sort of man 
 they would put on a jury;" and while not stinting him- 
 self in conviviality, he was probably more mindful of the 
 morrow and its requirements than most of his comrades. 
 These qualifications, and, above all, his practical knowl- 
 edge of printing, power of roughly estimating what so 
 much " copy " would " make " when set up in type, made 
 him very useful to a neophyte like myself, and i speedily 
 established him as my sub-editor. 
 
 The writers named constituted, I think, the literary 
 staff, though we had occasional assistance from Albert 
 Smith, Sutherland Edwards (now well known as critic, 
 correspondent, and valuable authority on musical mat- 
 ters), and John V. Bridgeman. There always has been, 
 and there certainly was in those early days, a difficulty 
 in finding suitable artists for a comic publication. As my 
 stock contributors, I was lucky in obtaining the services 
 of Charles II. Bennett, then in the commencement of his 
 career, whose undeniable talent was afterwards recognized 
 by liis engagement on Punch; and William McConnell, 
 a young man Avho was just making his mark in illustrat- 
 ing the sliilling books then coming into vogue. Later on 
 he obtained great praise for his clever outline illustra- 
 tions of Mr. Sala's " Twice Round the Clock." Mr. New- 
 man and Mr. llcnning occasionally sent sketches, and sub- 
 Htipicntly Sala and Jtobert Brongh added to the pi(iuan- 
 cy of certain of their articles by rough but very humor- 
 ous wood-drawings. 
 
 'Hie first number of the Comic Times was dated Satur- 
 day, August 11, issr), and was, like all first iHnnl)ers, but 
 a i»o()r sample of what the periodical aftiTwaids became. 
 I do not recogni/e Robert Brougli's hand in it, fium lirst 
 to last ; but Sala connnenced a series of paj)ers called 
 "The Hermit in the Box: being the Experiences of Silas
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 211 
 
 Bulgrummer, Stage Doorkeeper," which ran through sev- 
 eral numbers, and are full of close observation and quaint 
 fancy. There was some mild punning by William Brough, 
 some recondite humor of John Oxenford's, some poetry by 
 Hale, and a clever opening address in delightful rhyme by 
 Frank Scudamore. In the second number Robert Brough 
 commenced "The Barlow Papers," which were the success 
 of the publication. " Billy Barlow," the hero of a comic 
 song then in the height of its popularity, became a con- 
 tributor in Brough's person, and wrote on every kind of 
 current topic, in every kind of verse, but never proceeding 
 for long without some harking back to the refrain of the 
 original comic song. Here Brough's sardonic humor had 
 full play. Being Avholly unfettered by his subject or its 
 treatment, he could give it those little "tavern touches" 
 in which his soul delighted; and the result was that " Will- 
 iam Barlow," Avhose adventures were speedily illustrated 
 by their author, became a popular favorite. 
 
 This my first bantling had a short but merry career of 
 three months ; merry, that is to say, for its editor and con- 
 tributors, though I doubt if Mr. Ingram saw much fun in 
 his venture. He never grumbled, and his checks were 
 furnished with praiseworthy regularity ; but he could not 
 but have been dissatisfied with the result of his experi- 
 ment. We all worked very hard, but the circulation, 
 though it gradually rose, never came to anything like pay- 
 ing point. Its business management was bad ; it was 
 never properly advertised or quoted ; it was hated at the 
 Illustrated JVeios office as an interloper ; and it was sys- 
 tematically decried and cold-shouldered by Mark Lemon, 
 who, as I have said, was Mr. Ingram's private secretary, 
 and who, having with unctuous adroitness healed the 
 breach between his master and his other employers, 
 Messrs. Bradbury & Evans, determined that our poor lit- 
 tle effort sliould be stamped out at once. 
 
 The method which he adopted for accomplishing his pur- 
 pose was so characteristic and so comic that even at this dis- 
 tance of time, I am amused on recalling it. It was late 
 in November, and we had just published a Comic Times 
 Almanack for the coming year, on Avhich I prided myself
 
 212 FIFTY YEAKS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 considerably. Every one had done his best, and the re- 
 sult was really funny and amusing. So the public seemed 
 to think, for they bought the Almanack with an avidity 
 which they had never shown for the ordinary issue. The 
 worthy cashier, Mr. Plummer, who audited my accounts, 
 and whose manner towards me hitherto would have been 
 severe in his loyalty to Mr. Ingram, had it not been soft- 
 ened by a little feeling of pity and personal regard for 
 myself, at last smiled and congratulated me. It was very 
 good indeed, he said ; and with that spirit of partisanship 
 which is always to be found in all persons however re- 
 motely connected with the inside or outside of literary 
 production, he added, chuckling, "And they won't like it 
 at Whitefriars." In this remark Mr. Plummer showed 
 his business aptitude : by " Whitefriars " in those days 
 we used to indicate the Punch office, which was there 
 situate ; and by the "Punch people " — Messrs. Bradbury 
 & Evans (" B. & E."), its proprietors, Mark Lemon, its 
 editor, and the staff in general — our Almanack was 
 thought so dangerously good that it was felt the time 
 had arrived when we must be put an end to. 
 
 All this I learned long afterwards from one of the 
 band, but at that moment I had no idea save that of 
 utilizing the temporary success we had gained. I would 
 ])ersuade Mr. Ingram into advertising the jjaper; I would 
 get the business management put on a better system ; I 
 would do this and that and the other ; and no liappier 
 (»r more many - planned Alnaschar ever Avalked down the 
 Strand and into Milford House, wliere I found Mr. In- 
 gram, with the baleful shadow of the corpulent Lemon 
 looming large behind him. The day was Saturday, and 
 though at that time there was no regular half-holiday, it 
 was customary to "knock off work" a little earlier tlian 
 usual. Mr. Ingram, in the large fluffy hat and the large- 
 patterned silk cache-nez so familiar to his friends, was 
 on tlie point of starting off for Brighton, so he hurriedly 
 said; but he wanted to see me "very partick'lar, very par- 
 lick'lar indeed ;" could I not breakfast with liim at the 
 IS'ew Ship Inn at Bright(jn tlie ne.vt morning? 
 
 I saw my way to a little outing, combining business
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 213 
 
 with pleasure, and agreed to be with him at 10 a.m. Ac- 
 cordingly that evening my wife and I went down to 
 Brighton to some cheap lodgings in Camelford Street 
 which we were in the habit of frequenting. I told her 
 she would have to breakfast alone, as I was engaged to 
 Mr. Ingram; and on Sunday morning, after a lovely swim 
 at Brill's Baths, I presented myself at the New Shiji, 
 
 Mr. Ingram's room was on the first floor, I was told. I 
 went up, knocked, and had the door promptly opened to 
 me by Mark Lemon ! He smiled expansively, rubbed his 
 own hands, and seized mine. Over his broad shoulders I 
 could see the room, the table laid for an excellent meal, 
 Ingram with " sliining morning face " and in his Sunday 
 clothes, and two ladies in whom I recognized Mrs. Ingram 
 and Mrs. Lemon. Mark tried to bar the entrance with 
 his portly person, but I pushed past him : I shook hands 
 with Ingram, I bowed to the ladies ; then Lemon caught 
 me again, he seized my hand, he shook it, he shook it as 
 we progressed all round tlie room ; he never left off shak- 
 ing it, and gently propelling me, until he had shaken me 
 out on to the landing and'shut the door between us. 
 
 I saw the hopeless impossibility of seeking an interview 
 with my proprietor under such circumstances, and turned 
 ruefully back to my little lodgings in search of breakfast. 
 It seems scarcely credible that I can have been routed 
 after such a fashion, but this is an exact statement of the 
 facts as they occurred. It must be remembered that Lem- 
 on was an old stager, with considerable influence over Mr. 
 Ingram, and that I was a very young man, with no influ- 
 ence at all, and the chances of the contest being so une- 
 qual I thought justified me in thus readily accepting my 
 defeat.* 
 
 At all events, defeated I was, and I was soon made to 
 learn it. On the Tuesday morning I received a letter 
 from Mr. Plummer, very business-like but not uncourte- 
 
 * I have little doubt now, on thinking over the matter, that Mr. Ingram 
 had fully made up his mind to discontinue the issue of the paper, and that 
 Lemon's quaint strategy merely relieved his patron of the trouble of break- 
 
 ing the news to me.
 
 214 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ous, informing me that Mr. Ingram had "had enough" 
 of the Comic Times, and desiring me to bring the exist- 
 ence of that periodical to a close as speedily as possible. 
 It did not require much winding up, poor little leaflet ! 
 Another number — there were only sixteen in all — finished 
 it up, and the first of my literary progeny died with 
 scarcely a struggle. 
 
 But though the publication had come to an untimely 
 end, its creators and contributors remained, full of life 
 and hope. During the four months in which we had 
 been thrown together a great feeling of natural liking 
 had sprung up among us ; the weekly symposia, held in 
 the tavern parlor where the contents of the coming num- 
 ber had been arranged, had proved most delightful re- 
 unions ; and there was a universal feeling of regret that 
 they should be discontinued. Of course there was no 
 actual reason for the cessation ; for though the literary 
 preparation of the Comic Times involved delicious sup- 
 pers and hot grogs and fragrant pipes, the suppers, grogs, 
 and pipes could all have been discussed without any ex- 
 cuse of business. It was universally felt, however, that 
 that Avould not do ; we must find some one, some " capi- 
 talist " — that is the word always used in connection with 
 such schemes — who would resuscitate the glories of the 
 Comic Times, or start some new organ with editor and 
 staff ready to his hand. 
 
 The search for this much-desired being was delegated 
 to practical William Brough, but in it he failcf"" dismally. 
 The success of Punch — and in those days "B. & E.'s" 
 publication had not merely a very large circulation, but 
 considerable social influence — had called into existence a 
 host of intended rivals, which, after enjoying an ephem- 
 eral pui)ularity — for there was good writing in most of 
 thorn : contri1>utions from James Ilannay and Watts Phil- 
 lips (a man e([ually facile with pen or pencil), Sutherland 
 Edwards, and Augustus IMaybew among others — had died 
 out. J*it<7i, Ihe Ptipi>et- Shoii\ P(fs</uin, J)io(jencs, and 
 many others had been started on the money provided by 
 "capitalists" of all kinds, wliolly unconnected witli jour- 
 nalism very often, and after a spurt and a ii/./.le had ex-
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 215 
 
 pired of inanition. The thing was playcfl out for a time 
 — how often has it been revived since ! — and not merely 
 was no capitalist forthcoming, but William Brough could 
 find no publisher, printer, or paper -maker to back our 
 venture, and wait for his money until we succeeded. 
 
 But we determined that our intention should not be 
 frustrated, and after long discussion we decided upon 
 forming ourselves into a kind of joint-stock company — it 
 was long before the " limited " da3's — and bringing out a 
 magazine. The price was to be a shilling, its name The 
 Train ; writers and artists were to contribute gratis, ex- 
 pecting nothing until the success was established ; a sub- 
 scription of cClO each (£120 in all) constituted our capital. 
 I was chosen editor, principally because my ways of life 
 were less erratic than those of most of my friends, and 
 my Post-office occupation would give me a certain amount 
 of stability in the eyes of those business people with whom 
 we should have to deal. The Train-band had all the com- 
 ponent elements of the staff of the Comic Times, with the 
 addition of Frank Smedley, who joined us at once at my 
 suggestion. All the articles were to be signed by the 
 writers. We agreed unanimously that anonymity was 
 the bane of literature, and that, if we made no money by 
 our venture, at least we would advertise our names. So, 
 on the 1st January, 1856, heralded by very few adver- 
 tisements. The Train, in a green cover, with a pretty vign- 
 ette of the express emerging from a tunnel, with the 
 motto Virjis acquirit eundo, made its first appearance. 
 
 Not exactly in the form originally intended. I had 
 hoped that the leading serial story — we were to have two 
 — would have been written by Sala. Everything was ar- 
 ranged to that effect; our erratic friend had thought over 
 his plot, had settled on his title, " Fripanelli's Daughter," 
 and had given McConnell the subject for an illustration. 
 Time passed without my receiving any of the MS., and I 
 was getting anxious. My own business habits were so 
 methodical that I had often been surprised at the total 
 failure of most of my comrades to comprehend the mean- 
 ing of the word punctuality ; but hitherto this shortcom- 
 ing had only affected publishers, the natural enemies of
 
 216 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 our race; now it would tell, aud tell seriously, against the 
 welfare of our little republic just starting into existence. 
 
 We were already in December, and I was getting des- 
 perate. Not merely had I heard nothing of Sala, but no 
 one had seen him for a week ; it was his whim to let no 
 one know where he lived, and we had often laughed over 
 the peculiarity. But now it was no laughing matter. 
 There were certain haunts at which, at certain hours, he 
 could generally be found, but lately he had deserted 
 them. My colleagues were as anxious as myself. "We 
 held a conclave; we drew up an advertisement couched in 
 mysterious terms, intelligible only to the initiated, and in- 
 serted it in the Times. It commenced, I recollect, " Bo- 
 hemian, where art thou ?" and I saw it the other day, to 
 my infinite amusement, reproduced in a volume compiled 
 from the " agony column." It elicited no reply, and we 
 were in despair. The magazine could not appear without 
 some serial story which would evoke public interest and 
 sympathy, and the one I had by me, *' Mr. Watkins's Ap- 
 prentice," by William Brough, had no such claim. 
 
 Then Robert Brough threw himself into the breach, 
 lie had had no experience of tale- writing, but he would 
 tell the story of his own life — a not uneventful one so 
 far; and we were all delighted at the notion, knowing the 
 grace and charm with which he would invest it. He set 
 to work with a will, and our new magazine opened with 
 two cliapters of "Marston Lynch: his Life and Times; 
 his Friends and Enemies; his Victories and Defeats; his 
 Kicks and Ilalf])ence." It was capitally illustrated by 
 McConnell, and I utilized the drawing which that clever 
 artist liad made for " Fripanclli's Daughter " as a tail-i>icce 
 at tlie end of the second chapter of "Marston Lynch," 
 with which it had nolhiiig whatever to do. 
 
 The number was good tlnoughout. Hala was not un- 
 represented; before his mysterious disappearance he had 
 left with me a pa])er called " The Parisian Nights' Enter- 
 tainments," an admirable Salaes(jue descrij>ti(m of a night 
 among the l)Of)ths and hitrafpirti of ilic IjouU'vards on the 
 eve of the Jour (\v. I'An. Robert Brough had a really 
 lovely poem, and Frank fSiuedley some i)retty verse ; Hale
 
 EAKLY EDITORSHIPS. 217 
 
 had some lines, commencing, "Too often I've pledged in 
 October's brown draught," reading which aloud, Brough 
 said, "Billy is nothing if not true ;" Edward Draper, a 
 sound article on John Wilkes, with the demagogue's head 
 beautifully drawn by Charles Bennett, after Hogarth's 
 portrait ; Bridgeman and I each contributed a social 
 essay; and the number wound up with a dramatic dia- 
 logue, " Nights at the Round Table," an imitation of 
 Wilson's "Noctes Ambrosianae," mention of which leads 
 me to a digression. 
 
 While engaged in the preparation of our first number 
 we heard that, simultaneously with our own, a rival peri- 
 odical was to be issued; and before we had made any an- 
 nouncement, appeared the prospectus of a new shilling 
 magazine, to be called The Idler, which was not merely to 
 be amusing and delightful, of course, but which was to 
 lash the ignorant, the incompetent, the presumptuous, and 
 all others whom the promoters of the new organ consid- 
 ered as requiring correction " with a rod pickled in classic 
 brine." If there bad been any doubt as to the leading 
 spirit in the opposition camj), the prospectus, and notably 
 the phrase just quoted, would have set it at rest, and 
 pointed to James Hannay, a young man of great talent, 
 fair education, a certain power of sarcastic invective, a 
 ponderous but fluent speaker, and a vehement political 
 partisan ; endowed, moreover, with singular powers of 
 fascination over certain young men. One of these, the 
 bearer of a name distinguished in philanthropy, himself 
 the nephew of an eminent prelate, had recently succeeded 
 to an inheritance, and determined to employ a portion of 
 it in furthering the cause to which he was devoted and the 
 man whom he admired. He gathered round him several 
 very clever young fellows, some fresh from the University, 
 among them Mr. T. E. Kebbel, Mr. H. W. Sotheby, Mr. 
 Blanchard Jerrold, Mr. J. Cordy Jeaifreson, Mr. Wiltshire 
 Austin, and Mr. E. Forster Blanchard. The editor, in 
 spirit if not in name, was James Hannay ; and under these 
 auspices, and in a yellow cover, The Idler burst upon the 
 world. 
 
 The rivalry between the two newly -born periodicals 
 
 10
 
 218 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 was of course intense. We, in our adversaries' opinion, 
 were Radicals, scoffers, ribalds, ignoramuses, lacking the 
 blessings of a University education — mere pressmen, liv- 
 ing by our wits, and without many of them to live on. We 
 held the opposition to be bigoted Tories, self - sufficient 
 prigs, hammering out their thin coating of classics to 
 cover their otherwise universal ignorance; and we ridi- 
 culed their mission to judge and castigate society. The 
 animosity ran very high before either venture was 
 launched, and in the " Nights at the Round Table " one 
 of the contributors was made to ask, "Who are the people 
 on The Idler f"" This was the reply: "Hannay & Co., 
 University and water, with a dash of — no, not gin, but a 
 little cheap claret in it ; fellows who, if you once get into 
 their pillory, will jjelt you with Greek roots, like so many 
 cabbage-stumps." It was smart, and it called forth a bit- 
 ter reply. Sala and Brough were deservedly regarded as 
 the leading lights of The Train. In the second number 
 of The Idler the bit of dialogue above given was quoted, 
 with the following epigram : 
 
 " Easy to see why S. and B. 
 Dislike the University ; 
 Easy to guess why B. and S. 
 Detest cold water little less: 
 
 " For as their writings prove their creed, 
 That men who write should never read, 
 Their faces show tlicy think it bosh 
 Tiiat men wlio write should ever wash !" 
 
 I heard nothing of Sala until I received a letter from 
 him, dated " 2 Rue Racine, Paris," ten days after the ap- 
 pearance of our first number, lie had been very ill, he 
 Baid, "utterly incapable of work," and, though better, 
 Ptill suft'cring from "an incessant horrible jiain in my 
 head that nearly drives me mad." He mentioned hav- 
 ing seen Dickens, who was tlien living over the carriage- 
 factory in the Champs-Elysees, and wlio " is most kind 
 and jolly, and T think will do anything for me." Sala 
 must at this early period Jiave given some thought to tlu^ 
 Jlogartli ])apers, wlii(Oi lie did not write for years, and 
 muHt even then have talked of them with Thackeray,
 
 EARLY EDITOKSHirS. 219 
 
 under whose editorship they were eventually published 
 in the Cornhill; for he says, " He " (Dickens) " knows all 
 about the hook from Thackeray, but not its title ; and learn- 
 ing that from me, gave me two books about Hogarth." 
 I may here say that, though " Fripanelli's Daughter " 
 never saw the light, and " The Countess Nadiejda," an- 
 other promised serial from the same pen, came to a sud- 
 den and abortive conclusion, Mr. Sala did some admirable 
 work in the earlier issues of The IVain. An article on 
 "Robson," which first appeared there, has been frequent- 
 ly quoted as an extraordinary example of original and 
 powerful dramatic criticism ; and there is a gi'im horror 
 in " The Paper on the Wall," a description of the fantas- 
 tic appearance of inanimate objects to a sick man's dis- 
 ordered fancy, which is Hoffmannesque in its weirdness. 
 
 I have little doubt that the infant Fripanelli would 
 have been born, and the Russian Countess would have 
 flourished in our pages, but for the fact that Mr. Sala's 
 visit to Paris at this time, and his friendly intercourse 
 with Dickens, led the way to the first momentous event 
 in his life — his being despatched two months later on a 
 Household Words mission to St. Petersburg, to be re- 
 corded in that publication as "A Journey due North." 
 On his outward journey he sent me, for The Train, a very 
 clever ballad, " Carmen Stettinense — ' Caviar and Riides- 
 heimer,' " two verses of which I extract : 
 
 " The King of Prussia drinks champagne, 
 Old Person drank whate'er was handy : 
 Maginn drank gin, Judge Blackstone port^ 
 And many famous wits drink brandy. 
 Stern William Romer drinketh beer, 
 And so does Tennyson the rhymer; 
 But I'll renounce all liquors for 
 My Caviar and Riidesheimer. 
 
 « * « « * 
 
 " If some kind heart that beats for me, 
 This troubled head could e'er be pressed on ; 
 If in the awful night, this hand 
 Outstretched a form I loved could rest on ;* 
 
 * There is no occasion, now, foi' any syuipathy with this wail. Mr. Sala 
 has been for many years happily and fortunately married.
 
 220 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 If wife, or child, or friend, or dog 
 I called my ovm, in any clime — a. 
 This lyre I'd tune to other strains 
 Than Caviar and Riidesheimer." 
 
 This came enclosed in a most amusing letter, telling 
 me, among other things, of his travelling adventures : 
 
 " I am going halves with a Russian in a carriage and post-horses, the 
 former the most remarkable cruelty-van you ever saw, which we are to sell 
 again when we get to the Russian frontier. My friend the Russian speaks 
 every language under the sun, and is very likely a spy ; but it is very little 
 he can get out of ine. Cookery, the opera, lords and ladies are the staple 
 subjects of conversation, and to all questions I find the reply, that 'J'ai 
 des affaires k St. Petersbourg,' that I have letters of introduction to the 
 American Minister, and that Baron Steiglitz is my banker, quite satisfac- 
 tory." 
 
 The reception of the magazine by the London and pro- 
 vincial press -was very flattering, and in the — at that time 
 — powerful Examiner, which usually ignored any light 
 and flippant publications, the great John Forster was 
 kind enough to speak very encouragingly of our efforts 
 in a notice which commenced, " The Train starts full of 
 very pleasant talkers." These remarks, I remember, had 
 great weight with our publishers, Messrs. Groombridge 
 of Paternoster Row, Avorthy gentlemen, whose attention 
 had hitherto been devoted to the production of a very 
 different style of literature — Avorks on science, botany, 
 and zoology — and who were always, I thought, somewhat 
 nervous as to what might be among the contents of The 
 Train. We had a very fair sale, and the lookout for 
 the future was promising. 
 
 In the second number Robert Brough commenced a 
 series of translations of "Tlie Ballads and Ronuintit- 
 Poems of Victor Hugo," ]»resenling tlie graceful fancies 
 of the original in ;ui English garb which was equally 
 graceful and attractive. Tlicse translatit>ns were coii- 
 tinucd for several months. In number three I published 
 a poem by "Lewis Carroll," under Avliich pseudonym, 
 then first ad(»]>t(Ml, the aullior has since won vast poj)u- 
 larity with "Alice in Wonderland " and similar works. 
 Many pieces originally contributed to Tlie Train are re-
 
 EARLY EDITORSHIPS. 221 
 
 procluced in Mr. "Carroll's" later books. By this it will 
 be seen that the magazine did not long remain a close 
 borough, but tliat we were glad to avail ourselves of suit- 
 able extraneous assistance, which was, I am bound to say, 
 very freely offered. Rising young writers liked the as- 
 sociation, and were glad to contribute to our i:)ages, 
 though aware that no payment was forthcoming, while 
 men of achieved reputation, like my old friends Palgrave 
 Simpson and John Oxenford, occasionally sent me always 
 welcome articles. In the first volume I find a little poem, 
 "Tempora Mutantur," by Frederick Locker, the first, I be- 
 lieve, which he ever published, and which is incorporated 
 in his " London Lyrics." Mr. Hain Friswell, Dr. Maurice 
 Davies, Mr. Thomas Archer, and Mr. Albany FonJblanque 
 were also acceptable recruits. 
 
 With the commencement of oiir third volume, a year 
 after our commencement, we had a valuable accession to 
 our staff in the }>erson of John Hollingshead, whose ac- 
 quaintance I had just made, and with whom I became 
 very intimate. He had at that time essayed no literary 
 flight, and I think his first productions are printed in The 
 Train. They were marked by great originality, quaint 
 humor, and strong common-sense ; they made their mark 
 at once. Mr. John Hollingshead then adopted literature 
 as a profession, and continued it with excellent results, 
 until he went into the more lucrative calling of theatrical 
 manager. His most intimate friend at that time, as now, 
 was William Moy Thomas, who even then had made a 
 name as a sound English scholar, clever critic, and pun- 
 gent writer. At Hollingshead's suggestion, Moy Thomas 
 sent us several articles : one, a scathing criticism of Gris- 
 wold's " Life of Poe," created some sensation at the time, 
 and would well bear reproduction. 
 
 To Hollingshead's introduction, too, we owed the con- 
 tributions of a new artist, which about this time appeared 
 in our pages. I wnll not name the gentleman, for I believe 
 he lives and prospers, and has doubtless greatly improved 
 in his art. What it was in those early days may be 
 guessed from an observation of Thackeray's. The maga- 
 zine was sent by my orders to the Garrick Club, and I
 
 222 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 used to be very proud to see it lying among its elder 
 brethren on the table of the little reading-room up-stairs. 
 I used furtively to cut its leaves, but I had no notion that 
 any one read it, until one day Thackeray surprised me by 
 saying, " You have a new artist on The Train, I see, my 
 dear Yates ! I have been looking at his work, and I have 
 solved a problem. I find there is a man alive who draws 
 worse than myself !" It was in the third volume, too, 
 that I first began a series called "Men of Mark," which 
 in style and treatment was really the forerunner of the 
 " Celebrities at Home," and the first examples of which 
 were Dr. Russell and Mr. Wilkie Collins. 
 
 It is needless to say much more about the fortunes or 
 misfortunes of The Train. The spirit of catnaraderie, 
 the desire to emancipate ourselves from the thraldom of 
 the publisher and to be our own masters, died out in many 
 of us when we found that we had miscalculated our 
 strength or the public taste, and that calls instead of divi- 
 dends were the result of our speculation. It was not to 
 be expected that men who lived by their work would, 
 after a time, give that work gratis while they could get 
 money for it. Some held bravely on to the end; but there 
 were important defaulters, and for the last nine or ten 
 months I had no contributions from the original artists, 
 and had to depend on any drawings I could beg, so that 
 the poor magazine declined in quality, and its circulation, 
 which never had been great, became very small. Finally, 
 after a career of two years and a half, The Train stopped 
 running altogether. As its conductor I had gained valu- 
 able editorial experience. But I had paid for it. For, 
 during its thirty months' existence, besides our original 
 joint-stock funds, which were speedily exhausted, it had 
 absorbed over nine hundred pounds, some of which had 
 already come out of my pocket, but for the major jjortion 
 of which I was still responsible at the time of its wind- 
 ing up.
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARKICK CLUB. 223 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF THE GARRICK CLUB : AND MY " DIFFICULTY " 
 
 THEREWITH. 
 
 1858. 
 
 In the present year there are, according to the omnis- 
 cient Whitaker's Almanack^ seventy-two clubs in London, 
 exchisive of those in the City, and of such establishments 
 as Hurlingham, Prince's, etc. In 1848, when I was first 
 introduced to club-land, there were twenty-three clubs : 
 the Army and Navy, which then had its quarters in St. 
 James's Square, and in the summer time used to have a 
 tent in its garden ; Arthur's, Athenaeum, Boodle's — with 
 a very different set of members ; Brooks's, Cocoa Tree, 
 Conservative, East India United Service, Garrick — in a 
 different house ; Guards', at the top of St. James's Street ; 
 Junior United Service, National, Oriental, Oxford and 
 Cambridge, Portland, Refoi'm, Travellers', Union, United 
 Service, United University, White's, and the Windham. 
 In addition to these there were a few which have been long 
 since defunct: the Alfred, a great place for superior Gov- 
 ernment clerks, at the northern end of Albemarle Street 
 in premises which, after it dissolved and was partially 
 incorporated with the Oriental, became the Westminster, 
 established by the leading London tradesmen, where the 
 dinners were excellent and the play was high ; the Cov- 
 entry, known as the " Velvet Cushion," a very " smart " 
 place on Piccadilly Hill, premises now occupied by the 
 St. James's Club ; and the Free Trade, in St. James's 
 Square. 
 
 As soon as I was fairly launched in London, it was my 
 mother's great wish that I should belong to the Garrick 
 Club, of which my father had been an original member ; 
 and though I was much under the age prescribed by the
 
 224 FU^TY YEMiS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 regulations, my appearance was that of a full-grown man, 
 and there was little reason to fear that the fact of my 
 having attained my majority would be questioned. Ac- 
 cordingly, I was proposed by the veteran comedian Mr. 
 Harley, and seconded by Andrew Arcedeckne; and, being 
 well supported by members who had known my father, 
 I was elected into the Garrick in December, 1848, fully 
 six months before I had attained my eighteenth year. 
 
 The Club at that time was not, in numbers, size, or im- 
 portance, anything like what it is now ; though, on the 
 other hand, it was more sociable and snug than is com- 
 patible with its present status. Its quarters were in King 
 Street, Covent Garden, a private house which had been 
 converted for that purj^ose, the most striking portion of 
 which, however, was the smoking-room, on the ground- 
 floor, built out over the " leads " — a good-sized apartment, 
 comfortably furnished, well ventilated, and adorned by 
 large pictures specially painted for it by Stanfield, David 
 Roberts, and Louis Ilaghe. 
 
 For nearly ten years this house was to me the pleas- 
 antest, cheeriest, happiest place of resort. I look back 
 upon the innumerable hours which I passed there, always 
 well treated, and I am afraid a good deal spoiled — for I 
 was very young and very high-spirited, and I dai'C say 
 very impertinent — with the greatest delight : it was 
 rightly said of me, years after, in a newspaper, that the 
 Garrick Club was to me what Paradise was to the re- 
 pentant Peri. 
 
 Let me give some account of those who helped me to 
 that ha])piiiess, and of the manner in which I lost it, as 
 imjtartially as though I had been a spectator of the scene, 
 instead of a cliief performer in it. 
 
 The titular chief of the Club in those days was its 
 President, tlie Duke of Devonshire, who seldom entered 
 its doors; the Vice- ))resident was Lord Tenterden, a 
 courteous and asthmatic uld gentleman. But tlie man 
 who had done most for the Garrick, and Avho liad the 
 greatest claim upon its members, was John Rowland Dur- 
 rant, a wealthy and leading member of the Stock Ex- 
 change, wlio had purchased and presented to the Club
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GAIIRKJK CLUB. 225 
 
 the famous collection of theatrical portraits and pictures, 
 originally made by the elder Mathews, and then hanging 
 on the Garrick walls. Mr. Durrant had always been a 
 friend to the theatrical profession, several members of 
 which had made good investments under his guidance ; 
 he was held in high honor at the Garrick, had his special 
 chair in the smoking-room, and was treated with defer- 
 ence and respect, which he accepted with cheery good- 
 humor. 
 
 The chair at the opposite corner of the fireplace was 
 generally occupied by J. D., most mellow of elderly to- 
 pers, with all the characteristics of " Bardolph of Brase- 
 nose " — a veteran who drank and swore in the good old- 
 fashioned way, and who came to a sad end, poor old fel- 
 low, dying alone in his Temple chambers, on a Christmas 
 Eve, of loss of blood from an accident, while the men in 
 the rooms below heard him staggering about and groan- 
 ing, but took no notice, as they fancied their neighbor 
 was only in his usual condition. 
 
 There, too, would be Mr. Frank Fladgate, to whose con- 
 stant supervising attention as a committee-man the Club 
 owed its well-being, who is happily still alive, and retains 
 all those qualities which have made him popular through 
 a long lifetime. 
 
 A very big man, with a bald head and a fine face, was 
 Edmond Cotterill the sculj^tor, principally employed in 
 modelling figures and groups for racing trophies, etc., by 
 Messrs. Garrard. Equally big and bald, and more blonde 
 and bland, was Sir Henry Webb, an English baronet who 
 spoke with a French acceiit, and was mad about all things 
 musical. 
 
 Charles Kemble, still of handsome presence, though 
 turned seventy, and of courtliest manners, was a constant 
 attendant.* Wyndham Smith, nicknamed the " Assassin," 
 
 * I do not think I have ever met a man more hopelessly deaf. Some 
 of us were sitting one afternoon at the Garrick, when a tremendous thun- 
 der-storm broke over the house. It raged with extraordinary fury, one 
 clap exploding with terrific noise immediately above us, like a volley of 
 artillery. We looked round at each other almost in horror; when Charles 
 Kemble, who was calmly reading, lifted his eyes from his book, and said
 
 226 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 from some University escapade, son of the great Sydney, 
 and a man of curious saturnine humor; Isidore Brasseur, 
 most delightful of French professors, whom I saw a year 
 or two ago at Trouville, a hale and active octogenarian ; 
 Egg, the A.R.A,; Glasse, an eccentric artist ; delightful 
 Clarkson Stanfield and genial David Roberts ; Dr. Mil- 
 lingen, a veteran campaigner with Wellington, of whom 
 he had recorded his experiences; G. M. Dowdeswell, Q.C., 
 Walter Coidson, Q.G., Sergeant Talfourd, and Sergeant 
 Murphy.* Other seniors were Sir William de Bathe, 
 Sir Charles Shakerley, John Lloyd Clayton, Planche, and 
 Charles Dance, whose bright intelligence and quick wit 
 would never have been suspected from his heavy appear- 
 ance. The two last named were great friends, and had 
 been frequent collahorateurs / so that Albert Smith's say- 
 ing that Victor Hugo's line, " Une danse oil il n'y a pas 
 de planche," had nothing to do with the Lyceum, which 
 was supported both by Dance and Planche, had truth as 
 well as smartness to recommend it. Another never-fail- 
 ing attendant was the Hon. and Rev. Fitzroy Stanhope, 
 brother of the then Lord Harrington, a pleasant, hand- 
 some old gentleman, who will probably be best known to 
 I)OSterity as the inventor of a phaeton which bore his 
 name, and as the hero of one of the " Kilmallock " stories.f 
 
 in his trumpet tone, " I think we are going to have some thunder; I feel 
 it in ray knees." 
 
 * Francis Stack Murphy, sergeant-at-law, and one of the leaders of the 
 Northern Circuit; clever at his profession, but far cleverer out of it; a 
 man of the readiest wit ; the king of legal Bohemia. He took a great 
 liking to me, and many of my evenings were spent in his company, either 
 in his chambers in Sergeants' Inn — where he would be concocting a ba- 
 shawed lobster, while importimate visitors were tiiundering at the sported 
 oak — or in places of social resort. Most of Murpiiy's "good things" 
 were flavored with grox W, uiul will not bear reproduction in print; but 
 it nuiy be remaiked tliat the admirable rejoinder to the man who ex- 
 pressed his surprise at having soon no (isli " wlion dining at a certain 
 ducal mansion " — " What, had it all been eaten np-stairs V" — which has 
 been attributed to so many, was really made by Murphy, and to Samuel 
 Warren. 
 
 f William O'Connell, cousin of the Liberator, by whom in a special 
 joke he was nicknamed Lortl Kilmallock — by which name or its abbrevi- 
 ation (" Kil ") he was ever after known — was a great character among a
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 227 
 
 Among the actors were the popular veteran, T. P. Cooke 
 ("Tippy," as he was always called), the dancer of horn- 
 pipes and impersonator of Jack - tars ; quaint old John 
 Pritt Ilarley ; Drinkwater Meadows, ill - named, for he 
 was the driest little chip imaginable, but an excellent 
 actor in a small way — " carving on a cherry-stone," as 
 Jerrold said of him ; James Wallack, who was an excel- 
 lent smoking-room story-teller; Ben Webster, Walter 
 Lacy, and Leigh Murray. 
 
 The Household Brigade was represented by Captains 
 H. P. de Bathe, C. Seymour, Meyricke, and Cuthbcrt 
 George Ellison, a very amusing fellow. 
 
 Dickens came rarely to the Club ; but Thackeray was 
 dearly fond of it, and was always there. I I'emember a 
 speech of his at an annual dinner, then always held on 
 Shakspeare's birthday, in which he said, " We, the happy 
 
 certain set in London in those days. He was an Irish gentleman of the 
 old, fighting, drinking, creditor -defying school, who, in his impoverished 
 days, lived here in London, no one knew exactly how. He was a very 
 handsome old man, with a red face and white hair; walked lame from the 
 effects of a bullet in his hip received in a duel ; and had the deepest, 
 most rolling, most delightful brogue. He is said to have shared with the 
 O'Gorman Mahon the honor of having been the original of the Mulligan. 
 The story alluded to above is this: One day Kilrnallock, who always at- 
 tended public promenades, was in the Park pointing out the celebrities 
 to a neophyte ; among others Fitzroy Stanhope passed. " D'ye see that 
 man, sir '?" asked Kil — " him in the one-horse thrapp ? That's a dane." 
 But the youth, who had previously seen the old clerical aristocrat, said, 
 " Oh no, it isn't ; that's Mr. Stanhope — he's an Englishman." " 'Tis not 
 a Dane of Swaden that I mane, sir," thundered Kil ; " 'tis a dune of the 
 Churr-ch !" Kilrnallock dined with me once, when a dear friend of mine 
 who was very much deformed was present. I saw Kil regarding him 
 with much interest. As we went np-stairs after dinner, he said to me, 
 "A dreadful soight, that poor fellow. I've been thinking, sir, what a job 
 his tailor must have ! It must be like making a dress-coat for a cork- 
 sci-ew P^ The old gentleman has been dead for many years. The last 
 time I saw him I was coming away from a ball at a house in Gloucester 
 Place in the early morning: the supper had taken place hours before; 
 but as I passed the drawing-room I heard voices, and looking in, saw 
 some guests, "fit, though few," sitting round the table, presided over by 
 the untiring Kil, whose last words, as they fell upon my retreating ear, 
 were, " Close up now, and we'll be all right. Waiters, be nimble wid the 
 wine there !"
 
 228 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE, 
 
 initiated, never speak of it as the Garrick ; to us it is 
 the G., the little G., the dearest place in the world !" 
 
 Samuel Lover, Robert Bell, Henry Spicer, and, later on, 
 Charles Reade and Peter Cunningham, were regular fre- 
 quenters, as were Charles Taylor, Arabin, Arcedeckne, 
 H. C. Ibbetson, J. L. O'Beirne, Sir Charles Ibbetson, Sir 
 George Armytage, and a certain Mr. Joseph Arden, a 
 prize bore. The steward of the Club, happily named 
 Hamblett, was a great character. 
 
 I had been a member of this pleasant company for 
 nearly ten years, and I suppose I should have remained 
 so until the present moment, had I not had the good — or 
 Ijad — fortune, I have never yet been able to decide which 
 it was, to be present on Saturday, 22d May, 1858, at a 
 Greenwich dinner, given by Mr. Vizetelly to the staff 
 of the Illustrated Times, and to be driven to London af- 
 terwards by Mr. Maxwell, the publisher. My subsequent 
 connection with Mr. Maxwell was satisfactory — I hope to 
 both of us, certainly to me. I was indebted to him for 
 constant employment, and can never forget that he had 
 sufficient faith in me to allow me, wholly untried as a 
 novelist, to make my first experiment in that character 
 in the pages of his magazine. But whether my first very 
 brief engagement with him was for my benefit or not, I 
 am quite unable to say. 
 
 In the course of our homeward drive Mr. Maxwell told 
 me that he had just started a little periodical called Toxcn 
 Talk, on which he offered me em})loyment at a salary of 
 three pounds per week. This offer I gladly accepted. My 
 new bantling was a very different kind of production 
 from the obscene sheet whicli has in later years appropri- 
 ated its title. It was a quiet, harmless liltU' paper, witli 
 a political cartoon drawn by Watts Pliillips, who also 
 contributed its jjolitics and heavy literature. It contained 
 a portion of a serial story, a set of verses— in wliich, in 
 the number before me, I recognize Frank Scndamore's 
 ]jjind — and a certain amount of scissors-work ; all the rest 
 of the original matter was mine. 
 
 About the third week of my engagement I went over 
 to the printer's, which was in Aldersgate Street, close by
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 229 
 
 the Post-office, at the close of my official work, to " make 
 up " the paper. All my contribution was in type, and 
 I thought I should only have to remain for half an 
 hour to " see all straight," when I was horrified at hear- 
 ing from the head-printer that in consequence of illness 
 Mr. Watts Phillips had not sent in his usual amount, and 
 that another column of original matter was absolutely 
 requisite. There was no help for it ; I took off my coat 
 — literally, I remember, for it was a warm evening — 
 mounted a high stool at a high desk, and commenced to 
 cudgel my brains. 
 
 It happened that in the previous week's number I had 
 written a pen-and-ink sketch of Dickens, which had given 
 satisfaction ; I thought I could not do better than follow 
 on with a similar portrait of his great rival. And this is 
 what I wrote : 
 
 "LITERARY TALK. 
 
 "Finding that our pen-and-ink portrait of Mr. Cliarles Dicicens has been 
 mucli tallied of and extensively quoted, we purpose giving each week a 
 sketch of some literary celebrity. This week our subject is 
 
 "MR. W. M. THACKERAY. 
 "his appearance. 
 
 "Mr. Thackeray is forty-six years old, though from the silvery white- 
 ness of his hair he appears somewhat older. He is very tall, standing 
 upward of six feet two inches, and as he walks erect his height makes 
 hira conspicuous in every assembly. His face is bloodless, and not par- 
 ticularly expressive, but remarkable for the fracture of the bridge of the 
 nose, the result of an accident in youth. He wears a small gray whisker, 
 but otherwise is clean-shaven. No one meeting him could fail to rec- 
 ognize in hira a gentleman ; his bearing is cold and uninviting, his style 
 of conversation either openly cynical or affectedly good-natured and benev- 
 olent ; his bonhomie is forced, his wit biting, his pride easily touched ; but 
 his appearance is invariably that of the cool, suave, well-bred gentleman, 
 who, whatever may be rankling within, suffers no surface display of his 
 emotion. 
 
 "his career. 
 
 " For many years Mr. Thackeray, though a prolific writer, and holding 
 constant literary employment, was unknown by name to the great bulk 
 of the public. To Fraser^s Magazine he was a regular contributor, and 
 very shortly after the commencement of Punch he joined Mr. Mark 
 Lemon's staff. In the Punch pages appeared many of his wisest, most 
 thoughtful, and wittiest essays ; ' Mr. Brown's Letters to his Nephew ' on 
 love, marriage, friendship, choice of a club, etc., contain an amount of
 
 230 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 worldly wisdom which, independently of the amusement to be obtained 
 from them, render them really valuable reading to young men beginning 
 life. The 'Book of Snobs,' equally perfect in its way, also originally ap- 
 peared in Punch. Here, too, were published his buffooneries, his ' Ballads 
 of Policeman X,' his ' Jeames's Diary,' and some other scraps, the mere 
 form of which consisted iu outrages on orthography, and of which he is 
 now deservedly ashamed. It was with the pul)lication of the third or 
 fourth number of ' Vanity Fair ' that Mr. Thackeray began to dawn upon 
 the reading public as a great genius. This great work— which, with per- 
 haps the exception of 'The Newcomes,' is the most perfect literary dissec- 
 tion of the human heart, done with the cleverest and most unsparing 
 hand— had been offered to, and rejected by, several of the first publishers 
 in London. But the public saw and recognized its value ; the great guns 
 of literature, the Quarterly and the Edinburgh, boomed forth their praises, 
 the light (iraillenrs in the monthly and weekly press re-echoed the feux de 
 joie, and the novelist's success was made. ' Peudeunis ' followed, and 
 was equally valued by the literary world, but scarcely so popular with the 
 public. Then came ' Esmond,' whicli fell almost still-born from the press ; 
 and then 'The Newcomes,' perhaps the best of all. 'The Virginians,' 
 now publishing, though admirably written, lacks interest of plot, and is 
 proportionately unsuccessful. 
 
 "his success, 
 
 commencing with 'Vanity Fair,' culminated with his 'Lectures on the 
 English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century,' which were attended by 
 all the court and fashion of London. The prices were extravagant, the 
 lecturer's adulation of birth and position was extravagant, the success was 
 extravagant. No one succeeds better than Mr. Thackeray in cutting his 
 coat according to his cloth. Hero he flattered the aristocracy ; but when 
 he crossed the Atlantic George Washington became the idol of his wor- 
 ship, the ' Four Georges ' the ol)jects of his bitterest attacks. These last- 
 named lectures have been dead failures in England, though us literary 
 compositions they are most excellent. Our own opinion is that his suc- 
 cess is on the wane. His writings never were understood or ai)preciatt'd 
 even by the middle clas.ses ; the aristocracy have been alienated by his 
 American onslaught on their body ; and the educated and refined are not 
 Bufficientlv numerous to constitute an audience. Moreover, there is a want 
 of heart in all he writes, which is not to be l)alanced l>y the most brilliant 
 sarcasm and the most perfect knowledge of the workings of the human 
 heart." 
 
 As soon as this little sketch was written, and while the 
 ink was scarcely dry, T handed the slips to the ])rinter, 
 and went off. I never saw it in proof, I never thought 
 of it again. That it was offensive or objectionable, or 
 likely to bring me into trouble, T could not have thought, 
 for that very evenuig I mentioned at the Garrick Club
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 231 
 
 to a well-known litterateur, whom I at that time believed 
 to be a friend of mine, the fact of ray new engagement, 
 with a general idea of what I was doing for it. I have 
 not the least doubt it was from this person that Thack- 
 eray had his information as to the writer. 
 Two days after I received the following letter: 
 
 " 36 Onslow Square, S. W., June 14. 
 
 " Sir, — I have received two numbers of a little paper called Town Talk, 
 containing notices respecting myself, of which, as I learn from the best 
 authority, you are the writer. 
 
 "In the first article of 'Literary Talk' you think fit to publish an in- 
 correct account of my private dealings with my publishers. 
 
 " In this week's number appears a so-called ' Sketch,' containing a de- 
 scription of my manners, person, and conversation, and an account of my 
 literary works, which of course you are at liberty to praise or condemn 
 as a literary critic. 
 
 " But you state, with regard to my conversation, that it is either ' frank- 
 ly cynical or affectedly benevolent and good-natured ;' and of my works 
 (lectures) that in some I showed ' an extravagant adulation of rank and 
 position,' whicii in other lectures ('as I know how to cut my coat accord- 
 ing to my cloth ') became the object of my bitterest attack. 
 
 " As I understand your phrases, you impute insincerity to me when I 
 speak good-naturedly in private, assign dishonorable motives to me for 
 sentiments which I liave delivered in public, and charge me with advanc- 
 ing statements which I have never delivered at all. 
 
 "Had your remarks been written by a person unknown to me, I should 
 have noticed tlicni no more than other cahunnies ; but as we have shaken 
 hands more than once, and met hitheito on friendly terms (you may 
 
 ask one of your employers, Mr. of , whether I did not speak 
 
 of you very lately in the most friendly manner), I am obliged to take 
 notice of articles which I consider to be not offensive and unfriendly 
 merely, but slanderous and untrue. 
 
 "We meet at a club, where, before you were born, I believe, I and 
 other gentlemen have been in the habit of talking without any idea that 
 our conversation would supply paragraphs for professional venders of 
 ' Literary Talk ;' and I don't remember that out of that club I have ever 
 exchanged six words with you. Allow me to inform you that the talk 
 which you have heard there is not intended for newspaper remark ; and 
 to beg — as I have a right to do — that you will refrain from printing com- 
 ments upon my private conversations; that you will forego discussions, 
 however blundering, upon my private affairs ; and that you will henceforth 
 please to consider any question of my personal truth and sincerity as 
 quite out of the province of your criticism. 
 
 " W. M. Thackeray. 
 " E. Yates, Esq."
 
 232 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Now it must, I think, be admitted by the most impartial 
 reader that this letter is severe to the point of cruelty; 
 that whatever the silliness and impertinence of the arti- 
 cle, it was scarcely calculated to have provoked so curi- 
 ously bitter an outburst of personal feeling against its 
 writer ; that, in comparison with the offence committed 
 by me, the censure administered by Mr. Thackeray is 
 almost ludicrously exaggerated. The question naturally 
 suggests itself, how such a disparity between the peccant 
 composition and the witheringly wrathful and rancorous 
 reply is to be accounted for? To that matter I may pres- 
 ently revert. Here I will only say that Mr. Thackeray's 
 letter, as it well might have done, came upon rae with a 
 sense of amazement. But although I had at the moment 
 no idea of the motive which impelled Thackeray to insist 
 so strongly upon the fact that the Club was our only 
 common meeting -ground, and that it was thence my 
 presumed knowledge of him was derived, I felt that 
 the sentence in which he emphasized the fact afforded 
 rae a legitimate opportunity for a tolerably effective re- 
 tort. 
 
 I therefore sat down at once, and wrote Mr. Thackeray 
 a letter in which I not only disclaimed the motives by 
 which he had accused me of being actuated, but took the 
 liberty of reminding him of some past errors of his own 
 — rather strong errors of a similar kind as to taste — not 
 the result of the hasty occupation of an hour, but delib- 
 eratclj' extending over a long space of time, persisted in 
 from month to month, and marked by the most wanton, 
 reckless, and aggravated personality. I reminded him 
 how, in bis " Yellowplush Correspondence," he had de- 
 scribed Dr. Lardner and Sir E. L. Bnlwer : "One was 
 pail and wor sjickticklcs, a wig, and a white neck-cloth ; 
 the other was slim, with a hook nose, a pail fase, a small 
 waist, a pare of falling shoulders, a tight coat, and a cata- 
 rack of black satting tumbling out of his busm, and fall- 
 ing into a gilt velvet weskit." IIow he had held them 
 up to ridicule by calling them " Doclhor Athanasius 
 Lardner" and " Mistaw Edwad Lytton Bulwig," byre- 
 producing the brogue of the one and the drawl of the
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRIOK CLUB. 233 
 
 other, and by exhibiting them as contemptible in every- 
 way. 
 
 In regard to the Garrick Club, I called Mr. Thackeray's 
 attention to the fact that he had not merely, in his " Book 
 of Snobs," and under the pseudonym of Captain Shindy, 
 given an exact sketch of a former member, Mr. Stephen 
 Price, reproducing Mr. Price's frequent and well-known 
 phrases ; he had not merely, in the same book, drawn on 
 a wood-block a close resemblance of Wyndham Smith, a 
 fellow-member, which was printed among the "Sporting 
 Snobs," Mr. W. Smith being a sporting man ; he had not 
 merely, in "Pendennis," made a sketch of a former mem- 
 ber, Captain Granby Calcraft, under the name of Captain 
 Granby Tiptoff, but in the same book, under the name of 
 Foker, he had most offensively, though amusingly, repro- 
 duced every characteristic, in language, manner, and gest- 
 ure of our fellow-member, Mr. Andrew Arcedeckne, and 
 had gone so far as to give an exact woodcut portrait of 
 him, to Mr. Arcedeckne's intense annoyance.* 
 
 This letter would at least have been a Roland for an 
 Oliver ; and had I sent it, I might possibly have heard 
 no more of Mr. Thackeray or his outraged sensitiveness. 
 The argument was not, perhaps, very polished or telling ; 
 but the tu quoque was so complete, and so incisively put, 
 as to perfectly prove to a man of Thackeray's quickness 
 the folly of further proceedings. But, unhappily, I re- 
 solved upon seeking some advice before despatching my 
 reply. 
 
 I first thought of consulting Albert Smith, but I re- 
 membered there were the remains of a little ill-feeling on 
 his part towards Thackeray which might deprive his coun- 
 
 * Arcedeckne, however, had his revenge. On the night after Thacke- 
 ray's dehvery of his first lecture on the " Humorists " at WiUis's Rooms, 
 where he had a very aristocratic audience, the great cynic was preening 
 himself under a mass of congratulations at the Cider Cellars Club, when 
 Arcedeckne entered, and walked up to him. " How are you, Thack ?" he 
 said, buttoning liis coat across in his usual fashion. " I was at your show 
 to-day at Willis's. What a lot of swells you had there — yes ! But I 
 thought it was dull — devilish dull! I'll tell you what it is, Thack, you 
 want a piano /"
 
 234 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 sel of its moral value. A year before, Thackeray, having 
 heard that A. S. had not behaved generously to an old 
 friend, spoke somewhat slightingly of him. The story 
 was wholly untrue, as Thackeray was brought to acknowl- 
 edge. And another thing, small though it seemed, had 
 tended to widen the breach. Albert Smith, asked for an 
 autograph, had written in an album : 
 
 " Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains, 
 They crowned him long ago ; 
 But who they got to put it on 
 I don't exactly know." 
 
 The book was sent the next day, with a similar request, 
 to Thackeray, and he wrote, immediately under the fore- 
 going : 
 
 " Albert, of course, wrote in a hurry, 
 To criticise I scarce presume ; 
 And yet I think that Lindley Murray, 
 Instead of ' who,' had written ' whom.' " 
 
 This was, of course, told to Albert Smith, who, though he 
 laughed, did not half like it. 
 
 So I gave up all thought of consulting Albert, whose 
 blunt common-sense would, I imagine, have recognized 
 the advisability of hitting a downright "slogging" blow 
 by sending the letter, and determined to seek advice from 
 Dickens. I sent round a note to Tavistock House asking 
 if I could see him, and had a reply to say that he wa,8 
 dining with Dilke, but would not be leaving home until 
 after six : " I need not say you may in all things count 
 upon yours ever, C. D." 
 
 I told Dickens my story, showing him Thackeray's let- 
 ter and my reply. Of the latter he did not approve : it 
 was too flipi»ant and too violent ; and after a little dis- 
 cussion, the following acknowledgment was sent : 
 
 " June 16, 18B8. 
 
 "Sir,— I have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of this day's 
 date, referring to two articles of which I am the writer. 
 
 "You will excuse my pointing out to you tluit it is absurd to suppose 
 me bound to accept your angry ' understanding ' of my ' phrases." I do 
 not accept it in the lonst: I altogether reject it. 
 
 " I cannot characterize your letter in any other terms than those in 
 which you characterized the article which has given you so much oftencc.
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 235 
 
 If your letter to me were not both ' slanderous and untrue/ I should read- 
 ily have discussed its subject with 5'ou, and avowed my earnest and frank 
 desire to set right anything I may have left wrong. Your letter being 
 what it is, I have nothing to add to my present reply. 
 
 "Edmund Yates." 
 
 By the end of the week Mr. Thackeray had decided 
 upon the course to be pursued, and wrote thus : 
 
 " Mr. Thackeray has this day forwarded a copy of the ensuing letter to 
 the Committee of the Garrick Club, with the enclosures mentioned in the 
 
 " ' 36 Onslow Square, June 19, 1858, 
 " ' Gentlemkn, — The accompanying letters have passed between me and 
 Mr. Edmund Yates, another member of the Garrick Club. 
 
 " 'Rather than have any further personal controversy with him, I have 
 thought it best to submit our correspondence to you, with a copy of the 
 newspaper which has been the cause of our difference. 
 
 " ' I think I may fairly appeal to the Committee of the Garrick Club to 
 decide whether the complaints I have against Mr. Yates are not well 
 founded, and whether the practice of publishing such articles as that 
 which I enclose will not be fatal to the comfort of the Club, and is not 
 intolerable in a society of gentlemen. Your obedient servant, 
 
 " ' W. M. Thackeray.' " 
 
 In the first surprise of this intelligence I addressed the 
 Committee thus : 
 
 "June 19,1858. 
 " Gentlemen, — I have just heard from Mr. Thackeray that he has 
 thought proper to lay before you the details of a personal difference be- 
 tween us. 
 
 " This course has come before me utterly unexpectedly, and I therefore 
 beg you to suspend your judgment until I have consulted my friends, and 
 been able to prepare my own version of the matter for submission to you. 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 "Edmcnd Yates. 
 "To the Committee of the Garrick Club." 
 
 Under date of the same day I received this communi- 
 cation from the Secretary of the Club : 
 
 " Garrick Club, 19th Jniie, 1858. 
 "Sir, — I have the honor, by the direction of the Committee, to acknowl- 
 edge the receipt of your letter of 19th June. 
 
 "I am further directed to inform you that a Special Meeting of the 
 Committee is called for Saturday next, at half-past three o'clock, to take 
 the subject of Mr. Thackeray's complaint into consideration. 
 
 "I have the honor to be, sir, your most obedient servant, 
 
 "Alexander Doland, iSecretary. 
 "E.H. Yateb, Esq."
 
 236 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 It must be remembered that in my little article there 
 was no mention of the Garrick Club, not the faintest ref- 
 erence to anything heard, said, or done there. The Com- 
 mittee of the Club, therefore, had nothing whatever to do 
 with the matter — a position which I took up in the fol- 
 lowing letter : 
 
 " June 23, 1868. 
 
 "Gentlemen, — I have received an obliging intimation from the Secre- 
 tary of the Club that the Committee will assemble on Saturday next, for 
 the purpose of taking into consideration a complaint made against me by 
 Mr. Thackeray. 
 
 " With the greatest respect, I beg to submit that Mr. Thackeray's griev- 
 ance is not one to be submitted to the Committee. His grievance is a 
 certain article written by me in a certain newspaper ; that article makes 
 no reference to the Club, refers to no conversation that took place there, 
 violates no confidence reposed there, either in myself or any one else. 
 
 " This article may be in exceedingly bad taste ; but I submit with great 
 deference, and subject to the Committee's better judgment, that the Com- 
 mittee is not a Committee of taste. This article may be, most uninten- 
 tionally, incorrect in details ; but unless I had so far forgotten the honor 
 and character of a gentleman as wilfully to distort truth, 1 still venture to 
 submit that its inaccuracy is not a question for tiie Committee's collective 
 decision. 
 
 " Mr. Thackeray's course in laying this matter before the Committee I 
 hold to be unprecedented. Unless I am mistaken, there are members of 
 the Committee's own body who have been the subject of very strong re- 
 marks in print by fellow-members of the Club, but who have no more 
 thought of laying their personal injuries and resentments before a Com- 
 mittee of the Club than before a Committee of the House of Commons. 
 
 " Once again, I take this position with the greatest respect. If the Com- 
 mittee think otherwise, then I readily submit myself to the correction of 
 the Connnittee ; and recognize as fully as the Committee can that Mr. 
 Thackeray lays the correspondence before them in the legitimate and cus- 
 tomary wav.* 
 
 * I may mention here that there was a little vaporing gossip about 
 the (iarrick Club as to my intending, through this phrase or some other, 
 to abide by the Committoo's verdict or the verdict of the General Meeting 
 — I don't know whicii, and I believe no small-talker knew which. The 
 fact stands thus: I appealed to the General Meeting from the Committee, 
 as an ngs^rieved person might appeal from a Vice-chancellor to the Lord 
 Chancellor. Not righted, I appealed again, as the same person might 
 then appeal to the Hou-'^e of Lords. I did not wish to be di.seourtcous and 
 refuse to appear before cither of the two Club courts. That the General 
 Meeting never considered me pledgi'(l to abide by their decision is made 
 manifest in their own proceedings, by their " trusting that a most disagree- 
 able duty might be spared them " through my not abiding by it.
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE Gi\JlRICK CLUB. 237 
 
 " In this case, but not otherwise, I strongly entreat the attention of the 
 Committee to the terms of Mr. Thackeray's letter of the 14th inst. ; and 
 when the Committee have heard that letter read, I ask whether Mr. Thacke- 
 ray rendered it possible for me to express my regret for having given him 
 offence ? I am, gentlemen, your obedient servant, 
 
 ..„, .u ^ . "EoiiUND Yates. 
 
 ♦'To the Committee of the Gan-ick Club." 
 
 The Committee held a meeting, and sent me this letter: 
 
 "Garrick Club, 2tith June, 1858. 
 
 "Sir, — I have the honor, by the direction of the Commiiice, to acknowl- 
 edge the receipt of your letter of the 23d instant, and to make the follow- 
 ing communication to you : 
 
 " At a Special Meeting of the Committee, on Saturday, the 26th June, 
 1858, it was unanimously resolved : 
 
 " ' 1st. That it is competent to the Committee to enter into Mr. Thacke- 
 ray's complaints against Mr. Yates. 
 
 " ' 2d. That it is the opinion of the Committee that Mr. Thackeray's com- 
 plaints against Mr. Yates are well founded, and that the practice of pub- 
 lishing such articles, being reflections by one member of the Club against 
 any other, will be fatal to the comfort of the Club, and is intolerable in a 
 society of gentlemen. 
 
 " ' 8d. That in the opinion of the Committee, Mr. Yates is bound to make 
 an ample apology to Mr. Thackeray, or to retire from the Club ; and if Mr. 
 Yates declines to apologize or retire, the Committee will consider it their 
 duty to call a General Meeting of the Club to consider this subject. 
 
 " '4th. That copies of these resolutions be sent to Mr. Thackeray and 
 Mr. Yates. 
 
 " ' Lastly, That this Special Meeting of the Committee do stand adjourned 
 to Saturday, the 3d of July.' 
 
 " I have the honor to be, sir, 
 
 " Your most obedient, very humble servant, 
 
 "Alexander Doland. 
 
 "To W. M. Thackeray, Esq., and to E. H. Yatks, Esq." 
 
 This was an anxious time; there were frequent councils, 
 at which John Forster, W. H. Wills, Albert and Arthur 
 Smith, as well as Dickens and myself, were present. 
 Just then out came the (I think) seventh number of " The 
 Virginians," containing a wholly irrelevant and ridicu- 
 lously lugged - in - by - the - shoulders allusion to me, as 
 " Young Grub Street," in its pages.* This was generally 
 
 * It was a pleasant peculiarity of Mr. Thackeray's to make senii- veiled, 
 but unmistakable, allusions in his books to persons at the time obnoxious 
 to him. Ex. gr. a reference to " my dear young literary friends George 
 Garbage and Bob Bowstreet."
 
 238 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 considered to be hitting below the belt while pretending 
 to fight on the square, and to be unworthy of a man in 
 Mr. Thackeray's position. To the above letter of the 
 Committee I replied : 
 
 " 43 Doughty Street, W. C, July 1, 1868. 
 
 "Gentlemen, — I Iiave the honor to aeluiowledge the receipt of your 
 Secretarv's letter of tlie 26th ulthiio, niakhig me acquainted with the reso- 
 lutions you passed on that day, in reference to ' Mr. Thackeray's coniplainta 
 against Mr. Yates.' 
 
 " With all respect and deference, I beg to state to you that I will not 
 retire from the Club, and that I cannot apologize to Mr. Thackeray. I 
 would very gladly do the latter, if the terms of Mr. Thackeray's letter to 
 me were less offensive ; but I conceive that if I made an ' ample apology' 
 to the writer of that communication, I should myself deserve that portion 
 of it which you adopt in your second resolution, and should be ' intolera- 
 ble in a society of gentlemen.' I therefore desire to appeal from your 
 opinion to a General Meeting on the two questions: 
 
 " Firstly, Whether the cause between Mr. Thackeray and myself is a case 
 to be submitted to you at all. 
 
 " Secondly, Whether, if it be, Mr. Thackeray has any right to claim 
 an apology from one whom he has so very arrogantly and coarsely 
 addressed. 
 
 " With great regret that I cannot defer to your decision, and with much 
 
 esteem and consiileiation, 
 
 " I have the honor to be, gentlemen, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 .cm ... ^ "Edmund Yates. 
 
 "To the Committee, Garrick Club." 
 
 Upon the receipt of this letter, the Committee sum- 
 moncd a General Meeting of the Club for the 10th July, 
 to take into conKideration the whole question, and at once 
 set to work to whip uj) sui)i)ort. We, on our side, were 
 not idle: we should lose Albert Smith's vote and personal 
 intliu'nfe at the meeting, as he had made arrangements to 
 .sail for China, in search of material for a new entertain- 
 ment, on the 8th; but we had many promises of adhe- 
 rence. The question lying between the Committee, as 
 supi>or(ing Thackeray, and myself, it was argued that 
 neither of the contending parlies ought to vote, and there 
 was some discussion among us as to whether I could be 
 present at the meeting. The following hitter from Dick- 
 ens, on the point, well exemj)li(ies his practical and busi- 
 ness-like character :
 
 MY "DlTFICULTr" WITH THE GARKICK CLUB. 239 
 
 "Gad's Hill Place, Iligliani by Rochester, Kent, 
 "Tweuty-sixtli July, 1858. 
 
 "Mt dear Edmund, — I have been thinking about tlie General Meeting. 
 My considerations and reconsiderations thereupon induce me to recom- 
 mend you not to attend it in person. 
 
 "Firstly, I think it pretty certain that Tiiackeray will stay away. If he 
 should do so, it would be regarded as an act of delicacy in him ; and your 
 doing the reverse would be regarded as an act of indelicacy in you. 
 
 " Secondly, Though he should come — still, your staying away will show 
 well by the side of his presence. 
 
 " Thirdly, It is very difficult indeed for any one, though practised in pub- 
 lic meetings and appearances, to keep quiet at such a discussion, the said 
 any one being a principal therein. 
 
 " Fourthly, You could do nothing if you were there but deny you ever 
 intended to abide by the Committee's decision. That I will say for you 
 if necessary. 
 
 " In case you should be staggered by this advice of mine, ask one or two 
 
 men of experience and good judgment, whom you can trust, wliat they say. 
 
 I am pretty sure that on careful consideration they will agree with me. 
 
 " Ever faithfully, 
 
 "Charles Dickens. 
 "Edmund Yates, Esq." 
 
 It was, however, thought advisable that I should send the 
 following letter, to be read at the General Meeting : 
 
 " Gentlemen, — You will this day have laid before you a correspondence 
 between Mr. Thackeray and myself, certain resolutions of your Committee 
 affecting me, and such few representations as I have thought it becoming 
 to offer to your Committee in writing. 
 
 "I beg to assure you that although I consider Mr. Thackeray to have 
 placed it out of my power to apologize to him, I am perfectly willing to 
 apologize to you for any unpleasant feeling that I may have awakened in 
 the Club by the publication of the unfortunate article in question. I have 
 no hesitation whatever in expressing to you (but not to Mr. Thackeray) my 
 sincere regret that I ever wrote it, and put you to the pain and inconven- 
 ience of having^ to take it into your consideration. 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 "Edmund Yates." 
 
 On Friday, July 9th, I was in the rooms of the Garrick 
 Club for the last time ; and I may mention that, except 
 on two occasions afterwards specified, so long as that 
 house remained in the occupation of the Club, I never 
 looked upon it again. 
 
 The General Meeting was held the next day. Neither 
 'T'hackeray nor I attended; but the Committee were there
 
 240 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 in full force, aud, ^nth the exception of Dickens, voted to 
 a man in their own favor. As an amendment to a resolu- 
 tion declaring that the Club had nothing to do with the 
 subject at issue between Mr. Thackeray and myjc'lf, the 
 following resolutions were proposed by Mr, James Corne- 
 lius O'Dowd, now holding an appointment under the War 
 Office, but at that time assistant-editor of the Globe, which 
 was then a Liberal journal: 
 
 " 1st. That it was competent to the Committee to enter into Mr. Thack- 
 eray's complaints against Mr. Yates. 
 
 " 2d. That it is the opinion of this Meeting that Mr. Thackeray's com- 
 plaints against Mr. Yates are well founded. 
 
 " 3d. That the practice of publishing such articles, being reflections by 
 one member of the Club against any other, will be fatal to the comfort of 
 the Club, and is intolerable in a society of gentlemen. 
 
 " 4th. That this Meeting is at once prepared to support the Committee 
 in any step they may consider necessary for the suppression of this objec- 
 tionable practice. 
 
 " otli. That this Meeting trusts that a mo.st disagreeable duty may be 
 spared it by Mr. Yates making such ample apology to Mr. Thackeray as 
 may result in the withdrawal of all the unpleasant expressions used in 
 reference to this matter. 
 
 " 6th. That with this expression of opinion, the Meeting refers the whole 
 question back to the Committee." 
 
 The speakers who supported me at the meeting were 
 my friends Mr. Charles Dickens, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr. 
 Robert Bell, Mr. Samuel Lover, Mr, Palgrave Simpson. 
 These may have been influenced by personal fricndsliip ; 
 but there were other men of mark, with wliom I had no 
 kind of acquaintance, but who were entirely actuated by 
 a sense of justice in defending my cause. Among them 
 I may name the late Mr. Justice Willes and Sir James 
 Ferguson, now Governor of Bombay, then an officer in tlie 
 Guards, who, on reading of the case, was so struck wilh 
 the bad feeling of the cal)al against me that he hurried 
 home from Palestine, where be was travelling, to Rj)eak 
 and vote at tli^ Garrick in my favor. But my enemies 
 were too numerous and too ])owerful, and on a division 
 Mr. OT)owd's resolutions were carried by a majoiity of 
 twenty-four, the numbers being seventy and forty-six. 
 
 To the secretary's letter enclosing these resolutions I
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 241 
 
 returned no answer. In pursuance of them the Commit- 
 tee erased my name from the list of members on the 20th 
 July — of which I received notice from the secretary. An 
 interval of grace had been previously left for me to apolo- 
 gize to Mr. Thackeray; but I did not apologize, and that 
 was the result. 
 
 I next took counsel's opinion on the right of the Com- 
 mittee so to erase my name and terminate my member- 
 ship. The opinion being that they had no such right, and 
 that I "had not been legally ejected from the Garrick 
 Club," I resolved to try that question. 
 
 I submit to the reader that it will be seen from my 
 letters that throughout I had shown the greatest forbear- 
 ance, courtesy, and consideration towards the Committee. 
 They did not return the compliment very handsomely, for 
 they would not even make the little preliminary legal 
 admissions usually made in suits, the object of which is 
 to try a right. They would not by their attorney make 
 the formal admission of a "trespass" having been com- 
 mitted upon me in my ejection from the Club. And that 
 this is not a common course, even among ordinary suit- 
 ors, not to say among gentlemen claiming to settle ques- 
 tions of honor, will appear from one of the opinions of 
 my counsel, Mr. Honeyman, of Paper Buildings, Temple,* 
 who writes, in an otherwise dry legal document (previous 
 to these proceedings I had never seen him in my life), "I 
 cannot help saying that I consider the course pursued by 
 the Committee or their advisers in refusing to give any 
 facilities for trying the legal question, or to furnish the 
 names of the responsible parties, as exceedingly discredit- 
 able ; but if such course should be proceeded in, I recom- 
 mend Mr. Yates, before bringing his action, to present 
 himself at the Club, and to insist on remaining there till 
 removed." 
 
 Therefore I went to the Club on two occasions. On 
 the first, the secretary denied my right to enter, at some 
 point of the entrance steps which was not legally in the 
 
 * Afterwards raised to the Bench. Mr. Sergeaut Ballantiae also gave 
 me some friendly and valuable advice. 
 
 11
 
 242 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFK 
 
 building. So I went again, with my solicitor, and was 
 satisfactorily trespassed upon, or so I was assured, and 
 brought my action. 
 
 By the advice of counsel, I brought the action against 
 the secretary. He had been selected and put forward by 
 the Committee to commit the trespass ; they had instruct- 
 ed the secretary for the purpose ; he is the paid agent, or 
 servant, who always executes the Committee's directions ; 
 who, in the administration of the affairs of the Club, does 
 what the Committee orders, and is directly responsible to 
 them ; of whom the Committee invariably act as the mas- 
 ter. I had given him written notice that I wished to 
 avoid any approach to disturbance or inconvenience, and 
 that I would present myself at the Club at a certain time. 
 At that time he received me there, accompanied by my 
 solicitor. On my saying I must enter, he rejilied good- 
 luimoredly, "I suppose this is what you want, Mr. Yates 
 — will this do ?" and laid his hand on my shoulder to 
 prevent my going farther. This was considered quite 
 enough, and he became the nominal defendant. 
 
 To this action, so brought to try the right of the Com- 
 mittee to eject me from the Club because I had given 
 Mr. Thackeray offence, and to try that matter of -right 
 simply, at the very last moment, the Committee pleaded 
 virtually that the whole property of the Club was abso- 
 lutely vested in trustees, the only persons responsible on 
 its behalf to any body for anything ; that the secretary 
 was a name, and the Committee were a name; that nobody 
 but the trustees had legally incurred, or could legally in- 
 cur, any responsibility arising out of what bad been done 
 to me. 
 
 The result of this quibble was that I had no remedy 
 but as against the trustees, and no remedy even as against 
 them l)Ut through tliat diannel which is known to every 
 one as easy, expeditif)us, and inexpensive, under the name 
 of ihe Court of C'lianecry. Kefcrriiig the ])rol)able cost 
 of this birthright to my solicitor, he wrote me that, in the 
 event of my failing, it would prohahli/ not be more than 
 .1'200 or £:{00. Of course, as a young man with Ihc 
 wDrld before me, I was not prepared to undertake such
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 243 
 
 a responsibility, and the proposed action was eventually 
 abandoned. 
 
 The solicitors who advised me in the matter were 
 Messrs, Farrar & Ouvry of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and 
 the counsel retained to conduct my case was Mr. Edwin 
 James, Q.C., who at that time stood high in popular fa- 
 vor, having recently obtained the acquittal of Dr. Ber- 
 nard, charged with conspiring against the Emperor of the 
 French. A fat, florid man, with a large hard face, was 
 Edwin James, with chambers in the Temple and rooms in 
 Pall Mall ; his practice was extensive, his fees enormous. 
 I had many consultations with him, but found it difticult 
 to keep him to the subject of my case : he liked talking, 
 but always diverted the conversation into other channels. 
 One day I took Dickens — who had never seen Edwin 
 James — to one of these consultations, James laid him- 
 self out to be specially agreeable ; Dickens was quietly 
 observant. About four months after appeared the early 
 numbers of " A Tale of Two Cities," in which a prominent 
 part was played by Mr. Stryver,* After reading the de- 
 scription, I said to Dickens, " Stryver is a good likeness." 
 He smiled. " Not bad, I think," he said, " especially after 
 only one sitting." 
 
 There is no doubt it was pretty generally said at the 
 time, as it has been said since, and is said even now, 
 that this whole affair was a struggle for supremacy, or an 
 outburst of jealousy, between Thackeray and Dickens, 
 and that my part was merely that of the scapegoat or 
 shuttlecock. 
 
 There was no intimacy, nor anything really like friend- 
 shii>, between the two men, though an outward show of 
 
 * " Mr. Stryver, a man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty 
 years older, stout, loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of delicacy ;' 
 had a very pushing way of shouldering himself, morally and physically, 
 into companies and conversations that argued well for his shouldering his 
 way up in life. . . . Shouldering itself towards the visage of the Lord Chief- 
 justice in the Court of King's Bench, the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver 
 might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed of wigs like a great sunflower 
 pushing its way at the sun from a rank garden full of flaring companions. 
 ... A glib man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready and a bold."
 
 244 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 cordiality had been maintained in public. Dickens had 
 taken the chair at the dinner to Thackeray in '55, and had 
 alluded to the " treasures of wit and wisdom within the 
 yellow covers;" Thackeray, in his lectures on "Week- 
 day Preachers," declared that he thought Dickens was 
 sj^ecially commissioned by Divine Benevolence to delight 
 mankind. But Dickens read little, and thought less, of 
 Thackeray's later work ; and once, when I was speaking 
 of the ruthless strictures of the Saturday Review on "Lit- 
 tle Dorrit," Thackeray, agreeing with mc in the main, 
 added, with that strange, half -humorous, half-serious look, 
 "though, between ourselves, my dear Yates, 'Little D.' 
 is d d stupid." 
 
 Of course, Thackeray knew perfectly well that Dickens 
 was advising me in all my movements in this matter, that 
 he had publicly espoused my cause at the General Meet- 
 ing, and had resigned his seat on the Committee on ac- 
 count of ray treatment by that body ; but the subject was 
 never discussed in any way between the two men until 
 late in the autumn of this same year. 
 
 In November, Dickens, returning to town after an ab- 
 sence of some months, heard from mc that the writ in my 
 action was about to be served. He expressed to me, I 
 dare say for the fiftieth time, his conviction that the Gar- 
 rick Club Conimittoo had no right to interfere in the mat- 
 ter, but at the same time reiterated his recommendation 
 that it should be accommodated without legal proceedings 
 and without public scandal. Upon this, two letters passed 
 between him and Thackeray. I asked Dickens for these 
 letters, and his reply was : "As tlie receiver of my letter 
 did not respect the confidence in which it addressed him, 
 there can be none left for you to violate. I send you 
 what I wrote to Tliackeray and wliat he wrote to me, and 
 you are at perfect lil»erty to print the two. I am, of 
 course, your authority for doing so." 
 
 "Tnvl»tock FIniicp, Tnvistnck Square, London, W.C. 
 
 " \Vc-(lMUH(l)iy, 21lh Novoinbcr, 1S58. 
 
 "My pkar Tiiackkuay, — Witliout :i word of ihiIikUi I wisli this note to 
 revert to a suhjfct on which I said six words to you at the Atheiisemn 
 when I last saw you.
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GARRICK CLUB. 245 
 
 " Coming home from my country work, I find Mr. Edwin James's opin- 
 ion talien on this painful question of the Garrick and Mr. Edmund Yates. 
 I find it strong on the illegality of the Garrick proceeding. Not to com- 
 plicate this note or give it a formal appearance, I forbear from copying 
 the opinion ; but I have asked to see it, and I have it, and I want to 
 make no secret from you of a word of it. 
 
 " I find Mr. Edwin James retained on the one side ; I hear and read of 
 the Attorney-general being retained on the other. Let me, in this state 
 of things, ask you a plain question. 
 
 " Can any conference be held between me, as representing Mr. Yates, 
 and an appointed friend of yours, as representing you, with the hope and 
 purpose of some quiet accommodation of this deplorable matter which 
 will satisfy the feelings of all concerned ? 
 
 " It is right that, in putting this to you, I should tell you that Mr. 
 Yates, when you first wrote to him, brought your letter to me. He had 
 recently done me a manly service I can never forget, in some private dis- 
 tress of mine (generally within your knowledge), and he naturally thought 
 of me as his friend in au emergency. I told him that his article was not 
 to be defended ; but I confirmed him in his opinion that it was not rea- 
 sonably possible for him to set right Avhat was amiss on the receipt of a 
 letter couched in the very strong terms you had employed. When you 
 appealed to the Garrick Committee and they called their General Meeting, 
 I said at that meeting that you and I had been on good terms for many 
 years, and that I was very sorry to find myself opposed to you ; but that 
 I was clear that the Committee had nothing on earth to do with it, and 
 that in the strength of my conviction I should go against them. 
 
 " If this mediation that I have suggested can take place, I shall be 
 
 heartily glad to do ray best in it — and God knows in no hostile spirit 
 
 towards any one, least of all to you. If it cannot take place, the thing 
 
 is at least no worse than it was ; and you will burn this letter, and I will 
 
 burn your answer. Yours faithfully, 
 
 " Charles Dickens. 
 "To W. M. Thackeray, Esq." 
 
 " 36 Onslow Square, 26th November, 1858. 
 
 " Dear Dickens, — I grieve to gather from your letter that you were Mr. 
 Yates's adviser in the dispute between me and him. His letter was the 
 cause of my appeal to the Garrick Club for protection from insults against 
 which I had no other remedy. 
 
 " I placed my grievance before the Committee of the Club as the only 
 place where I have been accustomed to meet Mr. Yates. They gave their 
 opinion of his conduct and of the reparation which lay in his power. 
 Not satisfied with tlieir sentence, Mr. Yates called for a General Meeting; 
 and the meeting which he had called having declared against him, he 
 declines the jurisdiction which he had asked for, and says he will have 
 recourse to lawyers. 
 
 " You say that Mr. Edwin James is strongly of opinion that the conduct 
 of the Club is illegal. On this point I can give no sort of judgment ,; nor
 
 246 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXUOX LIFE. 
 
 can I conceive that the Club will be frightened, by the opinion of any 
 lawyer, out of their own sense of the justice and honor which ought to 
 obtain among gentlemen. 
 
 " Ever since I submitted my case to the Club I have had, and can have, 
 no part in the dispute. It is for them to judge if any reconcilement is 
 possible with your friend. I subjoin the copy of a letter which I wrote 
 to the Committee, and refer you to them for the issue. 
 
 " Yours," etc., 
 
 " W. M. Thackeray.* 
 
 "ToC. DioKBNs, Esq." 
 
 {Enclosed in the foregoing.) 
 
 " Onslow Square, Nov. 6, 1858. 
 
 "Gentlemen, — I have this day received a communication from Mr. 
 Charles Dickens, relative to the dispute which has been so long pending, 
 in which he says : 
 
 " ' Can any conference be held between me, as representing Mr. Yates, 
 and any appointed friend of yours, as representing you, in the hope and 
 purpose of some quiet accommodation of this deplorable matter which 
 will satisfy the feelings of all parties ?' 
 
 " I have written to Mr. Dickens to say that, since the commencement of 
 this business, I have placed myself entirely in the hands of the Commit- 
 tee of the Garrick, and am still, as ever, prepared to abide by any deci- 
 sion at which they may arrive on the subject. I conceive I cannot, if I 
 would, make the dispute once more personal, or remove it out of the 
 court to wliich I sultniitted it for arbitration. 
 
 " If you can devise any peaceful means for ending it, no one will be 
 better pleased than 
 
 " Your obliged faithful servant, 
 
 " W. M. THACKKRAT.f 
 
 "To the Committee of the Garrick Club." 
 
 So far as I am concerned, I never lieard that the Com- 
 mittee took any steps whatever in regard to this com- 
 
 ♦ The original draft of this letter, in Thackeray's handwriting, is, 
 strange to say, in my possession. It was given me, years after it was 
 written, by a friend, who found it with a miscellaneous lot of Thack- 
 crayaiia which he purchased at a sale. 
 
 t John Furstcr, in liis " Life of (.'liarles Dickens," alludes to this mat- 
 ter aa a "small e.^lrungcnicnt, hardly now wortii mention, even in a note." 
 This is all very well ; but the estrangement was complete and continuous, 
 and nickcns and Thackcniy never exchang('(] but the most casual c<mver- 
 flatinn afterwards. And most certainly at liie time no one was more ener- 
 getically offended with Tiiackcray lluiii Jolin Forster himself. I perfectly 
 well remember his nig«! when Diekens showed him the letter of the 
 
 2tUh November, and how he burst out with, "He be d d, with his 
 
 ' yours, etc. 1' "
 
 MY "DIFFICULTY" WITH THE GAKRICK CLUB. 247 
 
 munication. Within a few weeks the legal action was 
 abandoned on my part, and the affair was at an end. 
 
 Such is the history, with nothing extenuated nor aught 
 set down in malice, of a most important event in ray life ; 
 whether the result was for good or ill I am wholly unable, 
 as I said before, to decide. Its importance prevents its 
 being in any way slurred over, and I have told it in full 
 with every detail. 
 
 I have told it, not to vindicate myself — for no one can 
 see more clearly than I do the silliness and bad taste of 
 the original article — nor, most assuredly, to cast any slur 
 upon Mr. Thackeray's memory ; for I firmly believe that, 
 had he lived, he would have been led to acknowledge that 
 the severity of my punishment was out of proportion to 
 the offence committed. 
 
 I have told it that that portion of the public which is 
 interested in literary squabbles may be rightly informed 
 as to the extent of my offence ; and that those who bear 
 my name may rest assured that the act, which has been so 
 frequently referred to and so bitterly punished, was one 
 for which — though they may deplore the thoughtlessness 
 which prompted it, and the obstinacy with which it was 
 persisted in — they can have no real reason to blush.
 
 248 FIFTX YEARS OF LONDON LD^E. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 
 
 1858-1872. 
 
 In September, 1858, when the Garrick episode, though 
 not finally closed, so far as the lawyers were concerned, 
 had virtually been brought to an end by the vote of the 
 General Meeting expelling me from the Club, I wont for 
 my autumnal holiday to Seaton, a sea-side village in Dev- 
 on, on the borders of Dorsetshire, which had been discov- 
 ered, as a place combining plenty of the picturesque with 
 thorough rest and quiet, by my friend William Fenn the 
 artist, Avho usually acted as our pioneer in such matters. 
 Discovered, I may say ; for though Seaton is now a thriv- 
 ing watering-place, with its railway-station, its esplanade, 
 and its red cliffs dotted with villas and terraces, it was 
 then a primitive village, inaccessible either by railway or 
 public coach, and only to be reached by driving from 
 Bridport : almost iinknown and wholly unvisited ; but 
 wnth its lovely views, fresh air, and perfect peace, the 
 exact spot for a tired Londoner in search of repose both 
 of body and mind. 
 
 We were a family party, arriving by coach, which I had 
 chartered at Bridport — my motlier, ourselves, and our 
 children — and we settled down at the little Baths House, 
 which almost stood in the sea, and gave ourselves up to 
 enjoyment. There were lovely w.alks and drives, visits to 
 the romantic fishing and lace -making — not without a 
 touch of smuggling — village of Beer, potterings about 
 with Fenn on liis sketching ex])e(li(ions, and a stay for a 
 few dayH with my friend Mr. Henry Webster, then in- 
 liabiting Shute House, near (-olyton, a few miles off, where 
 among our fellow-guests was the present Master of the
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 249 
 
 Rolls, who was making his way at the Bar, but who had 
 not then arrived at the dignity of Q.C. 
 
 It was at Seaton that I first explained to my mother 
 what had happened to me in connection with the Garrick 
 Club. Living very much out of the world as she did, 
 she had heard nothing of it, and knowing how much she 
 would be distressed, I had not the heart to tell her, though 
 I fully felt the necessity of doing so ; but I Avas in the 
 habit of receiving at Seaton the weekly numbers of a new 
 publication, the Welcome Guest, of which more anon, where 
 were then appearing Mr. Sala's articles, " Twice Round the 
 Clock," and I took advantage of an allusion to me which 
 was made in one of these essays to explain the whole 
 matter to her.* 
 
 * Here is the allusion : " The great Mr. Polyphemus, the novelist, is 
 bidden to the Duke of Sennacherib's, and as be rolls to Sennacherib House 
 in his brougham, meditates satiric onslaughts on ' Tom Garbage ' and 
 ' Young Grubstreet ' — those Tom Thumb foes of his — in the next num- 
 ber of the rennsylvanians. Mr. Goodman Twoshoes is reading one of his 
 own books to the members of the Chawbacon Athenaaum, and making, I 
 am delighted to hear, a mint of money by the simple process. Goldpen, 
 the poet, has taken his wife and children to Miss P. Horton's entertain- 
 ment ; Bays, the great dramatist, is sitting in the stalls of the Pontoppi- 
 dan Theatre, listening with rapt ears to the jokes in his own fai'ce ; and 
 Sclwyn Cope, the essayist, is snoring snugly between the sheets, having to 
 rise very early to-morrow morning, in order to see a man hanged. And 
 where are the working men of literature, the conscripts of the pen, doomed 
 to carry Brown Bess for sixpence a day all their lives ? Where are Gar- 
 bage and Grubstreet ? In the worst inn's worst room, with racing prints 
 half hung, the walls of plaster and the floors of sand, at once a deal ta- 
 ble, but stained with beer, sits Garbage playing four-handed cribbage with 
 an impenitent hostler, a sporting man who has sold the fight, and a pot- 
 boy who is a returned convict? Sits he there, I ask, or is he peacefully 
 pursuing his vocation in country lodgings ? And Grubstreet, is he in some 
 murky den, with a vulture's quill dipped in vitriol, inditing libels upon the 
 great, good, and wise of the day ? Wonder upon wonders, Grubstreet 
 sits in a handsome study, listening to his wife laughing over her crochet- 
 work at Mr. Polyphemus's last attack on him, and dandling a little child 
 upon his knee ! Oh, the strange world in which we live, and the post that 
 people will knock their heads against !" 
 
 And again, in the same periodical, in writing of clubs, "G. A. S." says: 
 " I fear the awful committee, with a dread complacency, can uuclub a man 
 for a few idle words inadvertently spoken, and blast his social position 
 for an act of harmless indiscretion." 
 
 11*
 
 250 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 The Welco7ne Guest, in which these admirable essays — 
 now in their Heaven knows how many hundredth edition 
 — originally appeared, was started by Mr. Henry Vizetelly 
 in the spring of 1858, and was one of the most excellent 
 of cheap magazines. In it appeared, in serial form, an ex- 
 cellent translation, I believe by Mr. J. V. Bridgman, of 
 Gustave Freytag's novel, " Debit and Credit ;" a capital 
 romance, "Under a Cloud," by Messrs. Frederick and 
 James Greenwood ; many of Mr. Sala's best stories and 
 essays, besides those already mentioned, including a very 
 laughable one — it was in the time of Mr. Rarey — called, 
 " How I tamed Mrs. Cruiser." Mr. Vizetelly being the 
 editor, it is unnecessary to say that Mr. Sutlierland Ed- 
 wards and Mr. Augustus Mayhew were among the con- 
 tributors ; and there were clever novelettes, stories, and 
 poems by various hands. The sub-editing was excellently 
 done : certain pages were avowedly supplied by the scis- 
 sors, but these weapons were plied with such taste and 
 judgment as to render their product not the least interest- 
 ing portion of the miscellany. 
 
 In the second year of its existence the Welcome Guest 
 was purchased by Mr. Maxwell, and by him issued at an 
 advanced price in a different shape, and under the editor- 
 ship of Robert Brough, and without the illustrations, but 
 with much the same staff of authors. 
 
 My dramatic work, which, in collaboration with Herbert 
 Harrington, had been so successful, afforded me employ- 
 ment from time to time. For the first season of Miss 
 Louisa Swanborough's management of the Strand Theatre 
 we wrote a broad, bustling farce, turning on the advent- 
 ures of a clicap pliotographcr, and called "Your Likeness, 
 One Shilling;" while the last piece ])roduced at the Prin- 
 cess's Theatre under Mr. Charles Kean's management was 
 from our pen. It was played after the revival of " Henry 
 v.," and had its effect in somewhat lightening the spirits 
 of the audience Itefore their departure. The manage- 
 ment, and aj)parently the public, were thoroughly satisfied 
 with it ; it was pronounced by the press to be " extremely 
 neat,'* with dialogue " written with smartness beyond tlie 
 average," and it was certainly excellently acted. In tlie
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 251 
 
 present days of a genuine heroine-worship, with recollec- 
 tions full upon us of Beatrice, Viola, Olivia, and Camma, it 
 seems odd to read in connection with this slight comedi- 
 etta that "Miss Ellen Terry is worthy of a special word 
 of praise for the spirit and point with which she played 
 the part of a youthful groom or tiger." 
 
 For the opening of the new Adelphi Theatre, erected 
 on the site of the little building Avith which my name had 
 been so long connected, I, at Mr. Webster's request, wrote 
 an introductory sketch. I have forgotten all about it 
 now, save that it was a dialogue in verse, introducing all 
 the members of the company, with special reference to 
 them, their position, and peculiarities ; and that on the 
 first night the whole effect of this was marred through 
 the crass stupidity of Mr. Paul Bedford, who did not 
 know one line which had been set down for him, and who, 
 to my horror, adopted an improvisation of his own, begin- 
 ning, " Stop the cart, stop the cart, dear kids, stop the cart! 
 Let old Paul have something to say to you." 
 
 Also, in collaboration with Harrington, I wrote an enter- 
 tainment for Mr. George Case, a well-known musical man 
 and player of the concertina, who retired from the orches- 
 tra on his marriage with a Miss Grace Egerton, a pretty 
 and uncommonly sprightly and clever little actress, who 
 ought to have done better things. 
 
 In buying a pair of horses from a dealer, the experienced 
 purchaser is generally aware that he will become the owner 
 of a good animal and a bad one, and the writer of enter- 
 tainments for a married couple is very often in an analo- 
 gous position. In the present instance we soon found 
 that Mr. Case could only be intrusted as feeder to his wife ; 
 but that the lady's pluck, energy, and talent enabled her 
 to undertake anything we chose to give her. There were 
 two or three "bits" of character in which she reminded 
 me strongly of Mrs. Keeley ; and a song which I wrote for 
 her, full of patriotic clap-trap, Avhich she sang in the char- 
 acter of a Volunteer at the close of the entertainment, in- 
 variably brought down the house. 
 
 For this was the beginning of the Volunteer movement, 
 which was causing a stir throughout the length and breadth
 
 252 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 of the land, and in which I had the pleasure of taking aii 
 active though subordinate part. In such a movement it 
 would have been unpardonable if the Government officials 
 had not been early and largely represented, and the Civil 
 Service Rifle Regiment, with the Prince of Wales for its 
 honorary colonel. Viscount Bury for its colonel, and with 
 two Post-office companies in its ranks, was speedily en- 
 rolled, having Somerset House for its head-quarters. One 
 of the Post-office companies had for its captain a gentle- 
 man than whom no one has more largely contributed to 
 the honor in which the service is held, and than whom 
 there is, I suppose, no more efficient Volunteer officer — I 
 allude to Lieutenant -colonel Du Plat Taylor, now com- 
 manding the 49th (Post-office) Middlesex. My colleague 
 Harrington commanded the other company ; and though 
 he was reported to have seen service in Spain under Sir 
 de Lacy Evans, his military gifts were not equal to his 
 dramatic genius. I was his ensign; and I think the same 
 might be said of me. Nor do I think that the other liter- 
 ary gentlemen who held commissions in the regiment — 
 INIr. Tom Taylor in the Whitehall company, and Mr. W. S. 
 Gilbert in one of the Somerset House companies — were 
 particularly distinguished for their drill. 
 
 The first meeting, for the jsurpose of establishing the 
 Post-office companies, took place on the 8th of December, 
 '59, and our first muster for drill was a week later, on the 
 15th, when we met at the Barber Surgeons' Hall in INFonk- 
 well Street, at the back of the Post-office, wliicli bad been 
 kindly j)laced at our disposal. When the Aveather grew 
 brighter, and, our iiuinbcrs increasing, we required more 
 space, wc were permitted to drill in the ground of the 
 C'harter-liouse, which is a short distance from the Post- 
 office; and there, under the tuition of a smart sergeant 
 and a long corporal of the Coldstreams, one of whom l)ade 
 us to "Slialloo humps," whlK" tlie other entreated us to 
 "Shoolah hice," we went througli our evolutions before 
 a limited audience. 
 
 The l)oys were never ]iresent — they had gone home; 
 but tlic Poor lirethren of the Cliarter-house, 'I'honias New- 
 come's colleagues, came creeping round in lIuMr black
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 253 
 
 gowns, gazing at the intruders in astonishment. " Cocld 
 Colonel" was among them; for, after looking on for a 
 few minutes, he stole away, and when he returned I saw 
 that he had affixed his Waterloo medal on his faded coat, 
 and his bearing was once again upright and martial. The 
 worthy head - master of Charter-house, Archdeacon Hale, 
 took an interest in us, would come and watch us drill, and 
 I think on one occasion devoted a sermon to the further- 
 ance of the cause, which progressed with but little let 
 or hinderance. 
 
 In its earliest days a thoughtless sketch in Punch supplied 
 the youthful population with the sarcastic cry of " AVho 
 shot the dog?" with which the Volunteers were for a 
 long time chaffed on their public appearances, and much 
 cynical wit was expended upon us. One regiment, pos- 
 sessing a browTiish - gray uniform with red facings, was 
 known as the "pauper lunatics with their throats cut." 
 We, the Post-office companies, were once turned into hor- 
 rible ridicule by a small and preternaturally sharp boy, 
 who, standing in the middle of the crowd as we marched 
 by, amid expressions of admiration, hit the fatal blot 
 by exclaiming, in a shrill key, "Ain't they all of a size 
 neither !" which, it is needless to say, we were not. Sto- 
 ries were invent(!d of Volunteer colonels on the line, of 
 march, after frantically exclaiming, " Right wheel ! left 
 wheel !" and having got their men horribly clubbed, 
 
 ended by roaring out, "D n it, turn up Fetter Lane !" 
 
 and the members of the new force were general victims 
 of chaff and fun. 
 
 Still we prospered. On the Yth of March, 18G0, the 
 Queen held a levee in St. James's Palace, for the pur- 
 pose of receiving the officers of the newly -formed rifle 
 corps, which I attended. Her Majesty's courtesy, doubt- 
 less well-intentioned, was much minimized by a snub re- 
 ceived from the always agreeable Lord Chamberlain's 
 department, in a notice to the effect that attendance at 
 this levee "was not to count as a presentation to the 
 Queen." It was reckoned that about two thousand five 
 hundred Volunteer officers passed before her Majesty, rep- 
 resenting an effective force of seventy thousand men.
 
 254 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 On the 22d June following, about twenty -one thou- 
 sand Volunteers — fifteen thousand belonging to the me- 
 tropolis and six thousand to the provinces — were reviewed 
 in Hyde Park by the Queen, who was aceompauied by 
 the Prince Consort and the King of the Belgians, then 
 her guest. It was, I remember, a tremendously hot and 
 fatiguing day, for we were on the ground early, though 
 the Queen and party did not arrive till four o'clock, and 
 drove alons: to the extreme left of the line of the Voluu- 
 teers on the Bayswater Road, and thence along the whole 
 front to the extreme right at Albert Gate. Her Majesty 
 then took up her station in the royal stand, erected about 
 the middle of Park Lane, and the entire mass of Volun- 
 teers marched past in companies. "When all had passed, 
 and returned to their original position, the line advanced 
 in battalion columns, and at a given signal burst into 
 vociferous cheers for her Majesty. It was a grand day 
 and a fine sight, but pleasanter, I should say, to the spec- 
 tators than to the actual performers. 
 
 The whole of this year (1800) was desperately wet and 
 cold and cheerless. We had drills and field-days and 
 brigade-days, inspections in the Park, work on Wimbledon 
 Common, combinations with other regiments in various 
 suburbs, and I have a recollection of being generally wet 
 through on most occasions ; but very few of us suffered 
 in health, and undoubtedly the "movement" aroused a 
 great spirit of camaraderie among us. Nothing that I 
 have known has ever done so much to weld together and 
 bring into imison the various departments of the Civil 
 Service. Among other things we had amateur perform- 
 ances, in aid of our band fund, I think, or some other 
 patriotic institution, which were triumphantly successful. 
 
 An original drama, calk'd " A Lesson for Life," had been 
 specially written fur us by Tom Taylor ; the female char- 
 acters were filled by professional ladies, and we had the 
 advantage of an exceptionally channing heroine in Miss 
 Kate Terry. I never saw so excellent a performance by 
 amateurs. ISIr. Robert Morrisson of Somerset House was, 
 in appearance and in talent, scarcely to be distinguished 
 from Mr. William Farren ; Messrs. Du Plat Taylor,
 
 DESK, STAGE, AM; PLATFORM. 255 
 
 Angell, Hood, and Dewar afforded invaluaLle aid. A 
 hig]) official in the Treasury represented a college tutor 
 to the life. The part of Oppenhardt, a Jew, was original- 
 ly intended by Tom Taylor for me ; but I declined it, my 
 time being so much engaged in attendance on my mother, 
 who was then seriously ill, and I contented myself by 
 representing one Basewitz, a foreign swindler, who was 
 only seen in the first act. 1 also wrote a rhymed address 
 for the occasion, which was pointedly delivered by Mrs. 
 Stirling. 
 
 I held my position as ensign in the Civil Service regi- 
 ment for about two years, when I found that the time 
 required for the proper discharge of its duties encroached 
 seriously upon my other work. From it I obtained good- 
 fellowship, healthy exercise, and, I trust, a certain amount 
 of popularity, besides gaining the material for a series of 
 articles called the " Grimgribber Rifle Corps," which had 
 quite a little success in All the Year Round. 
 
 This year, 1860, to me in many respects important, al- 
 ways remains in my mind surrounded by mournful memo- 
 ries, for in it I lost one of those dearest to me in the world 
 and several old friends, Albert Smith among them. On 
 Albert's return from China in the late autumn of '58 I 
 had noticed a decided difference in his health and spirits. 
 He who had never known a finger-ache was constantly 
 complaining — the heat in China had played the deuce 
 with him, he said ; he had travelled too quickly ; he 
 wished he had contented himself with his Swiss holiday, 
 etc., and left the Eastern trip for another year. The fact 
 was that he had conceived the idea of ffoincj to China, 
 and finding therein the subject for a new entertainment, 
 by noticing the speed at which my " mail journey " {vide 
 pp. 72-74) had been undertaken ; but he forgot that 
 everything had been spjecially prepared for me at Govern- 
 ment expense, and that my duties were ended on reaching 
 home. I had had no reason for keeping my mind active 
 in search of " subjects " during my journey, and no enter- 
 tainment to write at my journey's end, 
 
 Albert had always been a little intolerant with people 
 of whom he did not know much, but he was now brusque
 
 256 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 and almost brutal. He decidedly refused to make the 
 acquaintance of any one whom a common friend might 
 wish to present. " Who is he ?" " What has he done ?" 
 " I don't want to know him — I hate all strangers " — these 
 were his frequent cries, and one had constantly to bear in 
 mind what an excellent fellow he really was, and what a 
 valuable friend he had been, to keep the proper seal on 
 one's lips under his irritation. At last a small tiff was 
 inevitable : Albert had chosen to quarrel with a common 
 friend, Avhom I thought he had used very badly. I said 
 nothing, however, on the subject to him, and nothing 
 would have occurred had he not heard that this person 
 was going to dine with me on my birthday, while he was 
 not invited. He then wrote to me an unpleasant letter, 
 saying that, as I preferred other people's society to his, 
 it were best I should see no more of him. This Icttci-, 
 severing our old relations, I refrained from answering, 
 and I saw nothing of him for many months. 
 
 During the interval he had, at the close of his enter- 
 tainment, married Miss Mary Kceley, and gone on his usu- 
 al autumn trip to Chamouni. AVhen London was filling 
 again in the autumn, Mrs. Albert Smith, an old friend of 
 my wife's, came to see her. There was no reason, Albert 
 said, that they should be estranged ; but I did not meet 
 him until at a ball in the winter, where, entering the re- 
 freslmu'iit-room after a dance, I found him standing at 
 the buffet. He looked round and cauglit my eye, hesi- 
 tated an instant, then advanced with outstretched liand : 
 " Let's have a glass of wine together, old fellow," he 
 said ; and our little quarrel was over, never to be re- 
 newed. 
 
 I had heard of Albert's illness, and was not surprised 
 at finding liiiii looking aged and worn. He had fainted 
 on the 28d of the jjrevious month (Deceml)cr) in the mid- 
 dle of his entertainment, had to finish it nbru])tly,and was 
 for more than a fortniglit at home under the doctors' 
 liands. In Hj»ite of tlieir strict warning, as he then told 
 me, he had recommenced his work a few evenings before, 
 oil the inth, and, as he assured me, found himself none the 
 worse. I-'roin thai fiiin' 1 s;i\v him fi-equeiitl y, aiid real-
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 257 
 
 ized that lie was a changed man ; the hard work, the late 
 hours, and free living, spread over a long series of years, 
 were beginning to show their effect — the seeds of disease 
 were in him and shooting apace. I think he knew this, 
 and tried to conquer his feelings. 
 
 He had made additions to the house which he had re- 
 cently purchased at North End, Walham Green, and gave 
 frequent dinners and entertainments there ; he tried to 
 resume his old boisterous spirits, but to me they never 
 seemed to be genuine. He was very anxious that his 
 wife should be much with mine, and that we should be 
 frequently at his house ; but my mother was lying ill at 
 the time, and as I had to go to her at Kentish Town ev- 
 ery day, I could not visit him often. The last time I saw 
 him was on Thursday, the 3d of May. On the previous 
 night we had gone down with him after his entertainment, 
 and supped and slept at his house. As I smoked my cigar 
 he talked long and, for him, earnestly, expressing his per- 
 fect ha])piness in the tranquillity and repose of his home, 
 his constant anxiety to get back to it, and his wonder that 
 he had been able for so long to lead a celibate and useless 
 life. The last words he spoke to me were when bidding 
 me farewell the next morning in a little arbor on his 
 lawn. He said, "When you come down next week this 
 place will be lovely, for the pink may will then all be 
 out." That pink may first showed its blossom on the day 
 of his death. 
 
 On Saturday, the 12th, though suffering at the time from 
 cold, ho walked through the pouring rain from the Egj^p- 
 tian Hall, after giving his entertainment, to the Garrick 
 Club. On arriving tliere he was wet to the skin, but in- 
 stead of returning home he sat down before a fire and 
 dried his clothes without removing them. An attack of 
 bronchitis immediately set in ; it inci'eased in virulence 
 as the week progressed ; he was compelled to cut out the 
 songs in his entertainment, and though he would not 
 abandon his woi-k, called in medical aid. 
 
 On Monday, the 21st, he was so prostrated that the gen- 
 eral practitioner in attendance positively forbade his at- 
 tempting to lecture, and Albert, with great reluctance,
 
 258 riFTT YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 suffered an apologetic note to be issued. The congestion 
 of the lungs increased, and on the next day Dr. Burrows 
 was called in, but it was too late. On Tuesday evening 
 the poor patient became insensible. He continued in that 
 state throughout the night, and at half - past eight on 
 Wednesday morning, the 23d May, while all London was 
 making every preparation for the great national holi- 
 day, the Derby Day, Albert Smith peacefully and calmly 
 breathed his last, in the presence of his wife and brother. 
 
 The news came upon me with a great shock. My wife 
 had heard from time to time from Mrs. Albert Smith of 
 her husband's illness, but the letters gave no indication 
 of its dangerous character. Immediately on hearing of 
 the death, wuthin a few hours after its occurrence, we 
 went off to Walham Green, to tender all possible consola- 
 tion and assistance to the young widow ; and at the door 
 I met, for the first time, one who was afterwards to be- 
 come a great friend of mine — the Reverend J. M. Bellew, 
 by whom Albert had been married not twelve mouths 
 before. 
 
 The funeral took place on the following Saturday at 
 Brompton Cemetery, and Albert Smith Avas placed in the 
 grave where three years before his father had been in- 
 terred. The mourners were his brother Artliur, his fa- 
 ther-in-law (Robert Keeley), his executor (Mr. Arthur Pratt 
 Barlow), his solicitor (Mr. Edward Draper) ; the only 
 other old friends present being Richard Lane, A.R.A., 
 and myself. It was Albert's constantly expressed wisli 
 that his funeral sliould be of the simi)lest and most pri- 
 vate character, and this wish was strictly adhered to. 
 
 A far heavier trial was in store for me. In the begin- 
 ning of the year my niotlu'r gave us to understand that 
 she had reason to fear her ht'alth was breaking, and that 
 slie was threatened with a serious illness. During our ab- 
 sence from town late in tlie previous autumn, after the 
 birth of my youngest son, my ehlest boy had been on a 
 visit to his grandmollicr at lier littk' liouse in Kentisli 
 Town. She had an idea that in lier endeavors to please 
 and amuse the child slie had over-exerted herself ; but it
 
 DESK, STAGE, AXD PLATFORM. 259 
 
 was evident that she was out of health, and that an opin- 
 ion other than that of her ordinary medical attendant 
 should be obtained. Dr. Robert Lee, of Savile Row, was 
 accordingly called in consultation, and his opinion, pri- 
 vately expressed to me, gave me occasion for the gravest 
 fear. 
 
 That was in February, and the dear sufferer very short- 
 ly afterwards took to her bed, never to leave it alive. For 
 six long months she lingered, suffering at times, I fear, 
 intense agony, but bearing it always with wonderful calm- 
 ness and Christian resignation. During that six months 
 I think I scarcely missed one day in visiting her, some- 
 times coming, to her amusement, in my Volunteer uni- 
 form, though towards the last I always changed my dress 
 — I did not seem like myself, she would say, in that unac- 
 customed garb. She passed away on the night of the 
 30th August — one of the best and most devoted of 
 women. 
 
 In the same year, at the early age of thirty-two, died 
 Robert Brough ; and I also lost a kind friend and early 
 employer in Herbert Ingram, M.P. for Boston, the pro- 
 prietor of the Illustrated London JVeios, who perished in 
 the Lady Elgin, an American steamer which was run into 
 during an excursion trij) on Lake Michigan, when three 
 hundred of her passengers were drowned. 
 
 My literary work was being continued all this time with 
 undiminished assiduity at the Daily Nev^s, where, on the 
 death of good old William Weir, the position of editor had 
 been filled by the appointment of Mr. Thomas Walker, who 
 was accustomed to the duties of the ofiice, and was an in- 
 dustrious and painstaking writer. I was doing plenty of 
 work, too, for the Illustrated Times, where Mr. Henry Vize- 
 telly invariably meted out strict justice towards me, unin- 
 fluenced by the advocacy of two or three warm admirers 
 of Mr. Thackeray, who were on the staff, and who w^ere 
 eager for my dismissal. 
 
 I have a note in my diary for the 11th February, 
 1860, to the effect that I went with Oxenford to the St. 
 James's Theatre to witness the first performance of a bur-
 
 260 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 lesque called "Dido." It was said to be the work of a 
 novice — a young gentleman named Francis Cowley Bur- 
 nand, who was believed to be still at Cambridge. Frank 
 Talfourd came into the box during the course of the even- 
 ing, and there gave utterance to two of his most ridiculous 
 jokes. It was a bitter night, and some one was complain- 
 ing of the cold. " You never wear a great-coat, Frank ?" 
 I said to him, inquiringly. "No," he replied, "I never 
 teas/" Diu-ing the performance a trireme filled with sol- 
 diers appeared at the back of the stage. " What is that ?" 
 said Frank, looking at it as it rocked violently. "That," 
 said I, referring to the bill, " is a Roman galley." " Seems 
 to me more buoyant than galley," said the inveterate 
 punster. 
 
 I wrote also many essays and stories and poems for All 
 the Year Hound, the Welcome Gicest, and a well-started but 
 short-lived periodical. Everybody's Journal, Avhich, I think, 
 appeared about that time. In this year, too, I undertook 
 for Messrs. Routledge the task of cutting down the " Life 
 of Charles Mathews the Elder," written by his widow, 
 and originally appearing in three or four large volumes, 
 and reproducing it with notes in a more handy shape. 
 There was much good in the book, overlaid by a good 
 deal of irrelevant matter, and I think I succeeded in turn- 
 ing out a readable volume, though I understood that old 
 Mrs. Mathews, the original biographer, who Avas then still 
 living, never forgave me for having laid my sacrilegious 
 hand on her, in one sense at least, tnaynuni ojnis. 
 
 Iminc'diately after my mother's death I went for rest 
 and change for a few weeks at Scarborougli ; and on my 
 return tlience, the first business call I had was on October 
 1st from Mr. Maxwell, who came on a very inii)()rtant 
 matter. In tlie jirevious year Messrs. Smith & Elder liad 
 opened up an entirely new vein in ]»eri()dical literature by 
 the establishment of the Co7'nhill M<iy(iz.ine, at the price of 
 one shilling, under tlie editorship of Thackeray. I remem- 
 ber, wlien I first read the jirospectus, being rash enougli 
 t(» tliink that the great 'I'itinarsh, having l)een so success- 
 ful in his antiseptic treatment of me, might possibly pos- 
 sesH HufHeient magnanimity to induce him to regard me
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFOKM. 20 1 
 
 with a little indulgence, and I wrote and forwarded to him, 
 without remark, a little poem, which I may say now Avas 
 as good as most magazine verse, and was suitable for his 
 opening number. It came back by return of post, with a 
 line from his secretary, who was " desired by Mr. Thack- 
 eray to return the enclosed." 
 
 The Cornhill Magazine was an enormous success, and 
 Mr. Maxwell's idea was to bring out a somewhat similar 
 periodical at the same price — without illustrations, indeed, 
 but giving more pages of literary matter as an equivalent. 
 My old friend George Augustus Sala had undertaken the 
 editorship, and had expressed a wish, in which Mr. Maxwell 
 concurred, that I should act as assistant or working editor. 
 Liberality was the order of the day ; an office was to be en- 
 gaged, good terms offered to contributors, the magazine 
 was to be largely advertised, and everything was to be 
 done to promote its success, 
 
 I was delighted to accept the offer ; and as the first 
 number was to be issued on the 1st of December, I began 
 to set about my preparations at once, I had some diffi- 
 culty in getting a serial story, for the leading lights of 
 those days were most of them engaged, and Sala had prom- 
 ised that within a very short time he would begin a novel 
 on his own account, from which we naturally expected 
 great things. At last I obtained from a lady who had 
 never written previously for the press, and who was the 
 wife of a provincial clergyman, a by no means brilliant, 
 but quite sufficiently interesting " make - wciglit " story, 
 without much incident, but remarkably well written, and 
 giving a curious insight into Quaker life, the author hav- 
 ing in her youth belonged to that community. It was 
 called " For Better, for Worse," and perhaps may be best 
 described as Trollope-and-milk. 
 
 In our first number, which was, like most first numbers, 
 nothing like so good as its successors, Sala broke ground 
 with an instalment of " Travels in the County of Middle- 
 sex," a series of sparkling essays, which I wonder have 
 never been reprinted ; Blanchard Jerrold wrote on the 
 " Father of the French Press ;" John Oxenford contrib- 
 uted an essay on the "Kalewala;" W. S. Austin sent sonxe
 
 262 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 curious " Notes on Circumstantial Evidence ;" and Sala, 
 influenced by kindness rather than a strict adherence to 
 his duty, insisted on my accejjting a long poem by a Mr. 
 Stigand called " The Northern Muse ;" otherwise we were 
 strong in verse. Mr. F. D. Finlay, who had never, to my 
 knowledge, perpetrated poetry before or since, sent me a 
 remarkably pretty poem of a serious, not to say religious, 
 tendency, called "Always with Us ;" and there were con- 
 tributions from two acknowledged poets, whose acquaint- 
 ance I had recently made. One was Mortimer Collins, of 
 whom I had heard frequently, M^hom I had read much, but 
 whom I had never seen. It was j^lain also that he had 
 never seen rae, for during the Thackeray controversy he 
 had written of me in a Plymouth paper, of Avhich he was 
 the correspondent, as a " pert little London sparrow." I 
 asked him to call upon me in reference to the projected 
 Temple Bar, and when I rose from my chair, and he found 
 that my proportions wore almost as massive as his own — 
 though official etiquette precluded my decorating them 
 with a velvet coat and a red tie — he looked greatly aston- 
 ished. I at once reminded liira of his descrii)tion of me, 
 over which we roared, and shook hands and remained close 
 friends to liis death. 
 
 To our first number he contributed one of his most de- 
 lightful lyrics, " Under the Cliffs by the Sea," the first 
 lines of which — 
 
 " White-throated maiden, gay be thy carol 
 Under the cliffs by the sea ; 
 Plays the soft wind with tliy dainty apparel — 
 Ah, but thou tliiuk'st not of me " — 
 
 still remain in my mind. 
 
 The otlier was by Mr. R<»bort Buchanan, who came to 
 my house in tlie Abbey Road, to wliich I had just re- 
 moved, one evening in November, with a letter of intro- 
 duction from AV. II. Wills, who liad previously fl])()k('n to 
 me about him. Mr. Buchanan had recently arrived from 
 Scotland to seek his fortune in Loiulon, and lia<l gr(\atly 
 impressed Mr. Wills, not merely by his undoubted talents, 
 Init by the earnestness and gravity of his demeanor. He
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 263 
 
 wrote a series of poems in our new magazine, the first one 
 having " Temple Bar " for its subject, and became a con- 
 stant contributor. 
 
 In gathering contributions for our first number, I im- 
 proved my acquaintance with another man with whom 
 I became very intimate — the Rev. J. M. Bellew. I had 
 seen him, as before mentioned, at the time of Albert 
 Smith's death ; but had no further communication with 
 him until I went to live in the Abbey Road, which was 
 close by the church of which he was then incumbent. 
 Sala jsarticularly wished to have Mr. Bellew's name at 
 that time among his contributors, and I accordingly called 
 on " my minister," and induced him to send us an account 
 of an episode in his recent travellings in the East, which 
 he called " Over the Lebanon to Baalbek." 
 
 My small contribution to the first-born was a sonnet on 
 Garibaldi. 
 
 "The Seven Sons of Mammon," by George Augustus 
 Sala, wSs commenced in No. 2, taking the place of honor, 
 the editor contributing in addition a further instalment of 
 his " Travels in Middlesex," and a very remarkable article, 
 "Annus Mirabilis," commenting on the various events of 
 the past expired year. Robert Buchanan made his first ap- 
 pearance as a prose writer with an essay on Robert Iler- 
 rick. There was a story by Sutherland Edwards ; a sci- 
 entific jiaper on " Light ;" a lyric by Mortimer Collins ; a 
 descriptive paper, " The Houseless Poor," by myself ; and 
 a poem, five and a half pages long, " Italia Rediviva," by 
 tlie unconquered Stigand. 
 
 The magazine made its mark, and grew better every 
 month. It kept me constantly occupied ; for Sala had so 
 much literary and journalistic work to do that, beyond 
 giving his name to the cover and the supervision to the 
 printed sheets, he left most of the detail to me. I used to 
 go to him from time to time at the chambers which, with 
 a friend, he then occupied in Clement's Inn — I always used 
 to think that the names on the door, Mr. George Augustus 
 Sala, Mr. Rudolph Gustavus Glover, were highly sugges- 
 tive of a farce — and to whicli admission was obtained by 
 throwing a penny through the letter-box of the always
 
 264r FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 sported oak, and show him what I proposed, in which he 
 almost invariably acquiesced. 
 
 Blanchard Jerrold, Charles Kenney, Sutherland Ed- 
 wards, H. W. Sotheby, who wrote an interesting series of 
 papers on ancient classical novelists; Mortimer Collins, 
 who, in addition to his lovely lyrics, wrote a series of de- 
 lightful prose papers descriptive of his rambles through 
 different English counties ; Edward Wilberforce, Pro- 
 fessor D. T. Ansted, who was our regular " scientist ;" 
 W. S. Austin, Oxenford, Buchanan, and Mrs. Brotherton, 
 teller of excellent stories, were among our early contribu- 
 tors. 
 
 In 1861 I made the acquaintance, soon to ripen into 
 friendship, of Alfred Austin, who had just then made his 
 success with his satire, " Seasons," and he wrote many 
 pretty poems of a lighter calibre in our pages, ToAvards 
 the end of the same year appeared in Temple Bar a story 
 called " The Mystery of Fernwood," the first contribution 
 of one whose work porha]>s was more useful than that of 
 any writer in it — Miss M. E. Braddon. 
 
 I do not " set up " for a prophet, or, like the gentleman 
 immortalized by Dr. Johnson's reproof, I should speedily 
 have to set down ; but I am always pleased to remember 
 that I had sufficient editorial sagacity to detect latent 
 genius in the first production of Miss Braddon's ever sub- 
 mitted to my notice. I was writing the framework of, 
 and generally selecting and editing the stories intended 
 for, a Christmas number of the Welcome Guest, when I 
 was asked by Mr. MaxwelJ, the pro]»rieti>r, who had sup- 
 plied me with a ])ik' of ]\IS., wlietlier I liad discovered 
 anything special among them. I told him tliat they were 
 all of the ordinary calibre save one, a story with an ex- 
 traordinary title, "Christmas at Rilston Kagstar," wliich, 
 clearly told, was full of new and gciuiiiu' fun. Tliis, I 
 afterwards discovered, was one of Miss Braddon's earliest 
 literary efforts. Iler next contribution to Tonple Bar 
 was some "In Memoriam" verses on the Prince Consort's 
 death in December, 1861, and in the next montli she gave 
 a decide<l lillip to oiir eircuhitioii and our renown with the 
 o|)cning chaiiters of "Aurora Floyd."
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 265 
 
 For many months Temple Bar engrossed most of my 
 attention, but I found time to string together and publish, 
 under the title "After Office Hours," a number of reprinted 
 essays, stories, and poems which I had unearthed from vari- 
 ous periodicals. In the autumn my wife and I, accompa- 
 nied by Alfred Austin, went on a long tour in Switzerland, 
 through the Berji -si.' Oberland and to Chamouni, where, 
 at the Hotel de Londres, we had the rooms formerly oc- 
 cupied by poor Albert Smith, to whose memory a tablet 
 had recently been erected in the village church by his 
 brother Arthur, who himself died in the October of this 
 year. In this trip I, too, was very nearly losing my life. 
 The weather had Vjeen extremely hot ; we had ridden on 
 mule -back from Chamouni to Martigny, a journey of 
 twelve hours, and, at its conclusion, I, who had been ailing 
 and "out of sorts" for some days, felt seriously ill, and 
 went to bed. I suppose I must have had some slight touch 
 of sunstroke, with gastric fever and certain indications of 
 cholera. 
 
 Clear-headed Alfred Austin telegraphed at once, indi- 
 cating the symptoms, to the English physician at Geneva, 
 begging him to hurry to my aid ; but many hours neces- 
 sarily elapsed before he could arrive, during which I lay 
 in fearful agony, becoming weaker and weaker, and desper- 
 ately alarming the village medico, who was probably a 
 farrier, who for all my convulsions proposed internally a 
 tisane, and externally a cataplasm. 
 
 But there was hope in the sound of Dr. Metcalfe's cheery 
 voice, and encouragement in the light of his pleasant eye. 
 For twelve hours after his arrival I was hovering between 
 life and death ; but under Providence his skill and the 
 devoted attention of my two companions turned the scale, 
 and, though as weak as a child for days, and unable to 
 stand, I recovered. 
 
 In the late autumn I made my first appearance as a 
 public lecturer in the assembly-rooms of the Eyre Arms 
 Tavern, under the auspices of the St. John's Wood Liter- 
 ary Society, of which I was a member. The subject was 
 a literary one — comments on, and descriptions of, the 
 work of various poets and prose writers who seemed to 
 
 12
 
 266 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 me to be scarcely held in sufficient repute, with extracts 
 from their writings — and delivered with as much dramatic 
 force as I could command. It was a success ; and, finding 
 I had secured a new means of money-making, I wrote an- 
 other lecture, much more dramatic in its character, called 
 " Modern Society," which I first delivered at the Bays- 
 water Athenaeum, and which was speedily in great de- 
 mand. 
 
 Those were very pleasant days in the Abbey Road, 
 where we had for near neighbors and intimate friends 
 Charles Fechter and J. M. Bellew. The former, who had 
 made an extraordinary impression on his first appearance 
 in England as Ruy Bias, a performance Avhich, as far as 
 my judgment is concerned, has never been excelled on any 
 stage, had created a perfect furore with bis Hamlet, his 
 conception of the character having much mellowed and 
 improved under the advice of our other friend Bellew. 
 Fechter was living in the Marlborough Road, close by me, 
 with his wife and two children, and an odd entourage^ 
 the principal component parts of which were Gassier the 
 singer, a Dr. Capliu, and an ex - fencing master whose 
 name I forget. Fechter was singularly abstemious in 
 those days, eating little and drinking nothing but weak 
 claret -and -water, though he had a good cellar, and was 
 especially proud of some 1820 port, which he was always 
 offering to bis friends ; a man of singular fascination, 
 sweetness, and amiability, tlu)ugh intolerant of humbug, 
 and savage where he disliked, llis keenness of percep- 
 tion and j)romptitude of action were in curious contrast 
 with Bellew's easy, kindly inability of negation and laissez- 
 aller in the conduct of his affairs. 
 
 I do not think there was ever a man more thoroughly 
 misunderstood by iIk' majority of people, even by those 
 who thought they knew him, than John Montesquieu 
 licllew. He generally passed for a sharp, shrewd, schem- 
 ing man of the world, always on the lookout to better his 
 position, and not very scruinilous as to the means; much 
 of a lady-killer, and not a lillle of a charlatan. 
 
 There were never more mistaken notions than all of 
 these, though I am bound to state tliat they were mostly,
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 26 V 
 
 if not entirely, due to the man himself. Never was a man 
 80 wholly and completely his own enemy as Bellew; never 
 did a man so persistently and yet so unintentionally do the 
 wrong thing in the wrong place. He was not much given 
 to mixing with professional divines, but had he been 
 he would have reserved his strongest and most piquant 
 story for his bishop's ear. Half the stories told to his 
 detriment were not seen in that light by himself, and, 
 though perfectly false, were left uncontradicted, owing to 
 a curious feeling which left him somewhat flattered by 
 being considered the hero of them. He was not very 
 tirm, or very strong-minded, or very decisive ; but he was 
 frank, kindly, generous, and hospitable, a kind and affec- 
 tionate husband, an excellent friend, and a good father. I 
 lived in close intimacy with him for years, and in his best, 
 freest, and happiest days during his ministry at St. Mark's; 
 later, when he was gradually slipping into what he called 
 the Charles Honeyman line at Bedford Chapel ; latest of 
 all, when he had renounced his sacred calling and abjured 
 his old faith, when he had christened himself "Poetry on 
 Wheels," and was perpetually engaged in travelling in 
 England and America in delivering his recitations. Some 
 of his friends blamed him, and some pitied him ; but to a 
 few good and staunch and true, who knew the man, his 
 affectionate disposition, his warm generous heart, he Avas 
 lovable to the last. By those his memory is still cherished 
 in the full feeling that they could far more readily have 
 spared a more strictly well-regulated person. 
 
 It used to be said that Mr. Bellew was a born actor, but 
 in the days Avhen I knew him he was too portly and too 
 unwieldy to have shone on the stage. Undoubtedly he 
 was never seen to such advantage as in the pulpit, where 
 his figure loomed large and his aspect was commanding ; 
 his ecclesiastical millinery was perfect, and he wore, when 
 preaching, cuffs of French cambric — such as used to be 
 a portion of a widow's dress in the days when widows' 
 mourning was in vogue — round his plump white hands. 
 I do not think I ever heard a voice of such magnificent 
 timbre, and he knew exactly how and when to employ 
 every note in its gamut. He never read anything so well
 
 268 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 as the Church service — a straightforward, appreciative 
 bit of magnificent declamation, free from "intoning" or 
 sing - song of any kind. In his ordinary readings he 
 was best in Shakspeare, whom he worshipped and knew 
 thoroughly ; his " comic recitations " were painful exhi- 
 bitions. 
 
 When I first knew Mr. Bellew he was at the height of 
 his popularity : his church in Hamilton Terrace, a very 
 large one, was crammed, seats were at a premium, and 
 crowds of persons lined the aisles. Then all seemed sud- 
 denly to go wrong : he quarrelled with the vicar whom he 
 represented, and with many of those parishioners who had 
 been his earnest supporters. He gave up the incumbency, 
 and rented Bedford Chapel, in New Oxford Street, which 
 was conducted very much on the Sherrick-cum-Honeyraan 
 lines. A few of the faithful followed their pastor from 
 the pleasant groves of the Evangelist even to that dirty 
 slum, and for a time the place prospered ; but only for a 
 time. Then Mr. Bellew was one of the first to take ad- 
 vantage of an Act of Parliament that he had worked hard 
 to get passed, by which he was at liberty to unfrock him- 
 self ; and no sooner was this done than he joined the 
 Church of Rome, a proceeding which undoubtedly alien- 
 ated many of the fi-iends who had been very useful and 
 true to him. He died in 1874. 
 
 As a man of business Fechter was energetic, trust- 
 worthy, and far-seeing ; as a stage-manager, beyond com- 
 pare. Mr. Augustus Harris ^jcV^', who was reckoned excel- 
 lent in this line, admitted Fcchtcr's superiority, and could 
 not account for it. I once heard him say that it would 
 be worth while to give him a large salary to do nothing 
 but sit on the stage during the reliearsal and produce the 
 })icce. 
 
 Fechter took me greatly into his confidence in his busi- 
 ness matters, in many of which, such as the making of 
 engagements, etc., I was able to be of use to him. The 
 following letter will show the earnestness of the man, 
 both as friend and manager : . 
 
 " J'ai lu la lettre de L , inoii cher Edmund, et j'avoue que je n'y 
 
 coiiiprcuda rien ! C'cst k dire, si :
 
 BESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 2G0 
 
 " Je comprends que malgr6 mon grand d6sir de ramener L au Prin- 
 cess, et de le replacer k son propro ligne, il ni'y faut renoncer. 
 
 " Je peux tr^s bien payer de ma poche pour parfaire les appointements 
 que demande votre ami, niais je ne puis forcer un directeur k faire une 
 cliose queje ne ferais point a sa place: laisser le droit absolu k I'artiste de 
 refuser les roles qui lui sont distribu^s est render tout pouvoir de direc- 
 tion impossible. 
 
 " Je presume que L ne tient pas k I'affaire, et que cela le rend plus 
 
 exigent peut-etre qu'il ne convient? Je laisse encore la porte ouverte 
 jusqu'^ demain soir, 18 Juin. Apr^s demain je ferai la distribution des 
 roles, et il n'y aura plus k y rcvenir. 
 
 "Dites bieu k L que ce n'est pas seulementun simple d6sappointe- 
 
 nient d'artiste que j'eprouve, mais un vrai chagrin d'arai. Vous qui me 
 connaissez, vous me comprendrez s'il ne me comprend pas. 
 " A vous, cher ami, de tout mon coeur, 
 
 " Ch. Fechter." 
 
 I have another reminiscence in connection with this 
 portion of my life. Fechter, wishing to avail himself of 
 the services of a rising young actress, who shall be name- 
 less, requested me to arrange the engagement with her. 
 After some preliminary talk, she called upon me one day 
 at the Post - ofl&ce, accompanied by her father, then an 
 actor in a very small way. After we had settled the 
 matter, the father said to me, 
 
 "You have a pleasant sinecure here, Mr. Yates." 
 
 I mildly hinted that, although the duties were not ab- 
 solutely slavery, the position was not a sinecure. 
 
 "Equivalent to it," he said, with a fine theatrical air. 
 "You gentlemen in Government offices are indeed well 
 off. I said to my daughter, as we walked up your grand 
 staircase, ' Well, my dear, your father would give up all 
 his dreams of ambition, and be content to settle down 
 here on a mere five hundred a year.' " 
 
 Whatever his dreams of ambition may have been, his 
 actual salary probably never exceeded thirty shillings a 
 week. 
 
 The International Exhibition being held in the year 
 1862, a portion of my work was devoted to articles de- 
 scriptive of it and its contents to the various journals 
 with which I was connected. It was a year of much 
 hospitality too, and one's labors were considerably inter- 
 fered with by the necessity of entertaining or contribut-
 
 270 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE, 
 
 ing to the entertainment of provincial and foreign friends, 
 by whom London was thronged. On the 29th of March 
 I made my debut as an after-dinner speaker, being, to my 
 great astonishment, called upon by Dickens, presiding 
 over the banquet in aid of the Artists' General Benevo- 
 lent Fund, to return thanks for the Volunteers, I caused 
 some amusement, I remember, by stating that if the 
 sentry then on guard at the National Gallery had been 
 summoned to return thanks for the army he could not 
 have been more surprised. 
 
 In June my wife and I, and Mr. and Mrs. E. M. Ward, 
 Fechter, and Bellew paid a delightful visit to Warwick, 
 Kenilworth, and Stratford-on-Avon. At the latter place 
 we were most hospitably entertained by the vicar ; and 
 Fechter, then at the height of his Hamlet triumph, was 
 delighted with all he saw. 
 
 In the spring I had added to my labors by accepting 
 an engagement from my friend Mr. F. D. Finlay to write 
 for his paper, the Belfast Northern Whig, a weekly article 
 called "The Looker-on in London," which I continued 
 for some time. 
 
 During the previous winter, too, I had assisted Fechter 
 in the preparation of a romantic drama founded on " Les 
 Couteaux d'Or," by Paul F6val, and called by us " The 
 Golden Daggers." The piece was produced at the Prin- 
 cess's on Saturday, April 19th, before a very remarkable 
 audience, and tliough admirably stage-managed and ex- 
 cellently acted, was to all intents and purposes a failure. 
 The reason of this was that the play was, in all probabili- 
 ty, a bad one ; that there were certain incidents in it 
 which, intended to be serious, almost verged upon the 
 ludicrous. But one great cause of the failure was un- 
 doubtedly that the key of the plot was contained in the 
 story told by the hero immediately on the rising of the 
 curtain in the prologue ; and as two-thirds of the audience 
 at that time had not arrived at the theatre, or were en- 
 gaged in sliulHiug into their seats, they heard nothing of 
 what was said, and could comprehend nothing that fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 In tlie autumn of this year I determined to attempt to
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 271 
 
 increase my income by launching out into a new line. 
 The lectures of which I have previously spoken had been 
 in great request — I had given them in all kinds of places 
 and before all kinds of audiences : in London, and the 
 suburbs, and the provinces ; before members of literary 
 institutions at Islington and Bristol, and the Beaumont 
 Institute at Bow, at Fulham, and Dorking ; before the 
 employes of large firms, such as Messrs. Copestake, Moore 
 & Crampton, and Messrs. Shoolbred ; before the cunning 
 workers in metals at Colebrookdale ; at neighboring Stock- 
 Avell and distant Hull — and it occun-ed to me that as the 
 lecture, "Modern Society," undoubtedly possessed a cer- 
 tain dramatic quality, and as I myself was credited with 
 some of the requirements for the histrionic art, I might 
 possibly remodel and extend this into a regular entertain- 
 ment. My old friend Albert Smith's place had never 
 been filled — his room at the Egyptian Hall was at that 
 time actually vacant — and it would, I thought, be a great 
 tiling if I could adjust his mantle, and tread in his suc- 
 cessful footsteps. One shortcoming on my part, how- 
 ever, immediately suggested itself : a certain amount of 
 singing and playing was absolutely necessary in such a 
 " show," and I knew no note of music and had not a scrap 
 of voice. 
 
 In this dilemma I bethought me of Mr. Harold Power, 
 son of the famous Irish comedian, a man of great humor, 
 an excellent singer and mimic, who had at one time held 
 an appointment in the Post-office, but who was, I believe, 
 acting in the provinces. I put myself into communica- 
 tion with him at once, and made arrangements for his 
 joining me later on. Then I engaged the Mont Blanc 
 room at the Egyptian Hall for a term, had it beautifully 
 decorated under Mr. Beverly's superintendence, and set to 
 work to recast, amplify, render much more dramatic what 
 had hitherto been known as "Modern Society." 
 
 The entertainment as I finally wrote it was in two 
 parts ; it Avas called " Mr. Edmund Yates's Invitations to 
 Evening Parties and the Sea-side," and the nature of the 
 amusement offered may be gathered from the title. Per- 
 haps, however, what the entertainment really was is best
 
 272 FIPTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 explained in the following criticism from the pen of Mr. 
 John Forster in the Examiner: 
 
 " Mr. Edmund Yates and Mr. Power at Egyptian Hall. 
 
 " The entertainment given by these gentlemen under the style of ' Invita- 
 tion to Evening Parties and the Sea-side ' is better than its name, which has 
 nothing but eccentricity to recommend it. The entertainment itself is in 
 fact so good that we predict for Messrs. Yates and Power, if it please 
 them to remain fellow-workers in this manner, a success rivalling that of 
 the late Mr. Albert Smith in permanence and in solidity. 
 
 "In the first place, the comfort of the audience is as carefully respected 
 as it was in the old Mont Blanc days. There are no fines inflicted, no un- 
 comfortable seats. The room is gayly decorated into some suggestion of 
 a conservatory, and the little stage is prettily appointed, with its couple 
 of successive scenes — a room, and a veranda opening on the sea-shore. 
 
 " On the stage excellent actors, well remembered and respected by the 
 public, live again in their sons, who amuse the company for a couple of 
 hours by holding their bright little mirror up to social nature in a per- 
 formance utterly remote from staginess. In each scene the humors rep- 
 resented are thrown up in the natural course of easy conversation between 
 two intimate friends. In the second scene, at the sea-side, Mr. Power does 
 indeed mount a stool to telegraph with his handkerchief to fellow-lodgers 
 on the shore ; but in the main the acting consists in appearing not to act ; 
 and this difficult end Mr. Edmund Yates may be said to have accomplished 
 perfectly. In a large theatre there is a stress or breadth of manner nec- 
 essary to give effect even to the right representation of naturalness, that 
 makes art manifest even in the most polished representation of every-day 
 life according to the way of the modern French school. In the little room 
 at Egyptian Hall there is no need even for a faint touch of the rouge and 
 violet powder of dramatic style, and Messrs. Yates and Power get rid of 
 it altogether. Of the two pleasant friends, Mr. Yates personates the more 
 phlegmatic, Mr. Power the more mercurial. The quiet, unenthusiastic, and 
 absolutely natural manner of Mr. Yates, who talks at ease to his friend, as 
 if there were no audience within a tiiousand miles of iiim, keeps tiie whole 
 tone of the two hours' talk pleasantly in harmony with the conunon hu- 
 inor of the audience. Mr. Power never exceeds the gayety of ordinary so- 
 cial intorcourse in his vivacity; the talk is always amusing, never over- 
 strained into a cleverness beyond the bent of social intercourse, and the 
 pay bit.<^, the merry well-told anecdotes, the happy snatches of mimicry 
 grow out of tiie course of ea.sy conversation, and subside into it again as 
 unobtrusively and lightly as they ought always to do, but often don't, in 
 actual life. 
 
 " It is noticeable, also, that while the entertainment consists very much 
 in talk about other folks behind thoir backs — first, of certain people who 
 might distinguish themselves by divers peculiarities at divers stages in 
 the course of the formalities of an evening party ; then of people who 
 make their peculiarities more or less conspicuous in their enjoyment of
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 273 
 
 the unrestraint of the sea-side — all risk is avoided of givi-ng an air of scan- 
 dal to the conversation. Nothing could be more genial than the prevail- 
 ing tone of all the gossip. Even the Jiidy's doctor may look without a 
 frown at his own image as Mr. Edmund Yates presents it to him in hia 
 glass ; and the old gentleman whose preliminary crumbling of bread on 
 the table-cloth, and final embarrassment when he gets up after supper to 
 propose the health of the host, subject to embarrassing asides from Jack 
 Bagot, the funny man, might see without indignation how Mr. Kdnmnd 
 Yates rises to imitate him for the edification of his friend Mr. Power. As 
 for that friend Mr. Power, his skill as a mimic seems to be unbounded ; 
 and when he shows, for the edification of his friend Mr. Yates, with a sly 
 drollery that no man can I'csist, the manners and voices of the actors of 
 the day, now imitating Mr. Webster, now Mr. Boucicault, now Mr. Paul 
 Bedford, now Mr. Compton, now Mr. Buckstone, now Mr. Charles Kean, 
 the little house is kept in a roar. Messrs. Compton and Buckstone are 
 wonderful imitations, but the reproduction of Mr. Charles Kean is a joke 
 to scream over. Capital, too, is Mr. Power's singing, in reply to a male 
 serenade of his own, of ' Du, du liegst mir im Herzen,' in a sentimental 
 lady's voice. 
 
 " Considering the skill of these two gentlemen, and the durable charac- 
 ter of their plan of entertainment, which, retaining the well-chosen man- 
 ner, admits of any degree of variation in the matter, we think it is a ques- 
 tion of will with them, and not of power, whether they will become as 
 much an institution of the town as the town's old friend Albert Smith 
 was ill his day." 
 
 And here let me explain a certain similarity between 
 the first part of my entertainment and one of John Par- 
 ry's social sketches, produced a couple of months later 
 under the title of " Mrs. Koseleaf's Evening Party." John 
 Parry was an old and intimate friend of mine, and had no 
 warmer admirer than myself, and the subjoined letter will 
 show how curiously two persons, without the slightest 
 collusion, may hit upon the same idea almost at the same 
 
 time : 
 
 " IB Pembridge Place, December 5, 1862. 
 
 " Dkar Edmund, — I have only just returned from the north, and am 
 very glad to hear from our friend Pritii that everything looks so promis- 
 ing for Monday night. I should like to have been there and given a hand. 
 But I am glad to see by the Times of to-day that there is no chance of 
 getting in. I wanted to have seen you, as I should like you to know that, 
 as far as I can see, by reading the first part of your capital bill, you have 
 chosen the subject which I have woikcd into a song, and have ready 
 to bring out wiien I withdraw 'Colleen Bawn.' It is, in fact, a gleaning 
 from subjects I did in my entertainment some years ago. Doubtless the 
 subject will not be treated exactly in the same way by us, mine being 
 
 12*
 
 274 FIFTY TEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 merely a musical scene, while yours is in a more elaborated form. I did 
 not like your entertainment to come out without first mentioning that we 
 had happened to stumble on the same subject. 
 
 " Hoping to have an early opportunity of hearing you, believe me, with 
 every good wish, faithfully yours, John Parry." 
 
 We produced our entertainment on the 8th Decem- 
 ber to an ovei"liowing audience of celebrities, and it ran 
 with more or less success, but always on paying terms, 
 until the following May, when Mr. Power, for whom a 
 good mercantile position abroad had been obtained by his 
 friends, was compelled to leave me. I could not go on by 
 myself, I had no inclination to adopt another colleague, 
 and — I had had enough of it. So the show was shut up, 
 and my evenings were again devoted to literary work. 
 
 In this year I witnessed the arrival of the Princess 
 Alexandra in London, previous to her marriage with the 
 Prince of Wales, from the windows of the Daily Tele- 
 graph office in Fleet Street, and was particularly struck 
 by the happy tact of Lord Alfred Paget, who was in 
 immediate attendance on the newly arrived guest, and 
 who, by his invariable good-humor and pleasant badinage, 
 sootlied and turned aside what might have been the anger 
 of the crowd exposed to fearful pressure. 
 
 I was also present in June at the inauguration of the 
 Albert Memorial in South Kensington, where the Princess 
 may be said to have made her first public appearance, and 
 where I was struck with the singular presence of mind 
 and easy grace of the Prince of Wales, then a very young 
 man. 
 
 In this year, too, I met Lord Cardigan at dinner, and 
 had much talk with him. He spoke very kindly of my 
 uncle, Colonel Richard Bruiiton, with whom he had been 
 intimate, and Major Stone of the same regiment (l.'Uh 
 Light Dragoons). The dinner at which we met was giv- 
 en only a few days after an action had been tried, upon 
 the decision of which Lord Caidigan vindicated his char- 
 acter against some slur cast upon his bravery at Balaclava, 
 in a book called " Letters by a Staff Officer." The sub- 
 ject was, of course, carefully avoided at the dinner ; but 
 I had a talk subsefjucntly about the famous Balaclava
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 275 
 
 charge with Sir George Wombwell, who, as a cornet in 
 the 17th Lancers, took part therein. 
 
 Though it was so many years ago, he, of course, remem- 
 bered every detail of it. He had two horses killed under 
 him, was very nearly taken prisoner by the Russians, but 
 managed to catch a stray horse — there were many about 
 — and rode to Lord George Paget's Heavy Brigade, which 
 he saw advancing. He was close by Lord Cardigan when 
 Captain Nolan, the aide-de-camp, came with instructions 
 to Lord Lucan to charge upon the guns. Sir George 
 Wombwell was of opinion that there was a doubt as to 
 which guns were mentioned — those on the heights or those 
 in the valley about a mile and a half away. The latter 
 was supposed to be those indicated, and the brilliant 
 charge commenced. 
 
 Sir George spoke of Lord Cardigan as the incarnation 
 of bravery. He cantered along at first about forty yards 
 in front of his regiment, as though he were riding in the 
 Row ; he did not di-aw his sword until he had made some 
 progress, and then principally Avith the idea of waving the 
 men back, who were pressing upon him. It is always 
 difficult, even in Yeomanry field-days, to prevent a caval- 
 ry charge becoming a race, and, of course, when the men 
 saw the guns in front of them and firing at them, their 
 anxiety to get forward and cut down the gunners was too 
 great, so that the charge finally became a pell-mell race. 
 Sir George Wombwell saw Captain Nolan hit by the shot 
 which killed him. Though killed, the body for some lit- 
 tle time maintained its balance on the horse, and was car- 
 ried past my informant Avith its arm extended, the horse 
 going at full gallop. A minute after it fell to the ground. 
 
 On the morning of Cliristmas - eve in this year Mr. 
 Thackeray's servant, going to call his master as usual, 
 found him lying dead, with his hands clasped above his 
 head. The news came to me in the afternoon, as I was 
 calling upon a friend at the Reform Club, and gave me a 
 certain shock, as forever destroying the hope which I 
 had entertained that the breach between me and the great 
 writer might eventually have been healed. For many 
 months any bitterness which I may have at one time en-
 
 276 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 tertained against him bad died out, and when I treated of 
 his loss in print I was able conscientiously to claim my 
 share of the great and general grief. What I said in the 
 Northern Whig was reijrinted in the Daily Telegraph, and 
 I bad several letters warmly approving of my words from 
 persons who at the time of the difficulty had taken keen 
 interest in it as strong partisans on the Thackeray side. 
 
 In the autumn of 1863 I was residing at Mapesbury 
 House, Willesden Lane, owned, but not then occupied, by 
 Mr. John Anderson, the well-known horse-dealer of Green 
 Street — a capital old-fashioned house, standing in a large 
 garden, and surrounded by a congeries of stabling and loose 
 boxes dedicated to the comfort and well-being of Mr. Ander- 
 son's highly valuable stock-in-trade. There were also a 
 miniature farm, a tan-i-ide furnished with various obsta- 
 cles for leaping experiments, a large staff of rough-riders, 
 helpers, etc., all within half an hour of Hyde Park Corner. 
 
 It M'as a delightful place, but in those days somewhat 
 difficult of access and not too easy to find. Our friends 
 used to come to great grief in their attempts to discover 
 our whereabouts, as is ludicrously set forth in the follow- 
 ing letter from John Pai'ry : 
 
 "4 Colville Gardens, Bayswater, January 2, 1864. 
 
 " My dear Edmund, — I think it but right you should have a stateineut 
 of the events of last evening. 
 
 " I was unfortunately rather late homo fi'om rehearsal, and could not be 
 at the Friths' (who, you know, were kindly going to take me to your house 
 in their carriage) until twelve minutes past the half-hour (five). 
 
 " I was of course sorry to have lust my chance, seeing they were gone 
 on my arrival at their house, and after ascertaining your whereabouts, I 
 started in a cab ; and simply to make the story short, I was exactly om 
 hour and forty minutes in that blessed cab ! 
 
 " The man took me a near way of his own (!) ; and on our arrival in Wil- 
 lesden Lane, I knocked and rang at three large gates, but nobody knew 
 anything about your house. It was bitterly cold, and what with anxiety 
 and 'the siiivor.-*,' I at last was obliged to return home by Kilbinn (Jate to 
 Friths', where I left a message for them expressing my regret. It was 
 now exactly half-past seven, and I started in the cab at ton to six. 
 
 "You woidd have pitied nu? had you seen my loneliness and despair. 
 No house; no friemls ; no dinner! We got into a road without any gas, 
 and three robbers looked in at the window ; at least, I thought they were 
 robbers. 
 
 " I kept crying out, 'Take me beyond the cemetery!' At last I should
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 277 
 
 have been rather pleased if they had taken me in the cemetery. So apolo- 
 gizing to Mrs. Yates and yourself for my apparent rudeness, you will quite 
 believe it was not for want of perseverance I did not reach you. 
 
 "Yours ever faithfully, John Parry." 
 
 I often wondered why Fate had sent me to live in a 
 place so apparently unsuitable for a literary man with 
 constant engagements in town, and at length I found out. 
 
 We were in a tolerable strait at Tem2)le Bar. Some 
 one who was to write a novel for us — at this lapse of time 
 I quite forget whom — had sent to say that it was impos- 
 sible for him to fulfil his promise, I was in despair, and 
 did not know which way to turn. Miss Braddon was im- 
 possible — she had just commenced " The Doctor's Wife ;" 
 Mr. Sala was engaged on the "Confessions of Captain 
 Dangerous," and was regularly supplying his essays, 
 "Breakfast in Bed;" poor Dutton Cook's "Trials of the 
 Tredgolds," though a very pretty story, had been pro- 
 nounced to lack the necessary power of holding the pub- 
 lic, and I was instructed not to go to him. The proprietor 
 offered extremely liberal terms, and I put myself in com- 
 munication with Mrs. Oliphant, "Holme Lee," Messrs. 
 Whyte- Melville, Shirley Brooks, and George Lawrence; 
 but all were engaged. We wanted a novel badly, and in 
 the dilemma some one very near home suggested, " Why 
 not write one yourself?" 
 
 Such an idea had never entered my mind, or, if it had, 
 had been summarily dismissed with a feeling that, though 
 I had written short tales by the score, I had not sufficient 
 staying power for a continuous story. But now some- 
 how the idea was not so repugnant to me. I had long 
 had certain vague ideas, germinated by the surroundings 
 in which I lived, floating in my mind, and I thought per- 
 haps I might be able to weave them together. At all 
 events, I told the proprietor that I was prepared to throw 
 myself into the breach — a suggestion which he received, 
 if without any expression of enthusiastic delight, at least 
 without a refusal. He named a modest sura, which in the 
 event of my succeeding was to be more, bade me go in 
 and do my best. 
 
 The truth was, I had in my mind a new idea for a new
 
 278 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 character in fiction. There was living in those days a 
 good - looking and very fascinating young woman, who 
 rode much to hounds, and whom Landseer had painted as 
 the " Pretty Horse-breaker," of whom I knew a little and 
 had heard a great deal ; and I thought out a plan by 
 which I could utilize her, placing her amid the Mapesbury 
 stables and tan-rides and all the surroundings with which 
 I was so familiar, and which was new and hitherto un- 
 trodden ground. 
 
 If I had never lived at Mapesbury I do not believe that 
 I should have ever written a novel ; but " local color " al- 
 ways had been a suggestion for an incentive to my novel- 
 writing. Thus " Land at Last," with its artist life and 
 Bohemian atmosphere, had its origin in a story told to 
 me by Frith, R.A., and was written Avhen I was in almost 
 daily communion with him and other brethren of the brush. 
 The story of the " Forlorn Hope " came to me after a so- 
 journ in a great house in Scotland, where an outbreak of 
 scarlatina dispersed the party ; in " Nobody's Fortune " 
 and " Castaway " the action took place, for the most part, 
 in Devon and Cornwall, in which counties I was engaged 
 on Post-office business while the stories were beino: writ- 
 ten; and the "Yellow Flag" opens in the town of South- 
 ampton, and with the scene on board a P. and O. ship, 
 both place and action having been frequently studied by 
 me while staying with Captain Black. In connection with 
 this subject I may mention that the names of all the dra- 
 matis personm in " Black Sheep " are those of personal 
 friends of my own, while in "Wrecked in Port" not a 
 character appears whose surname is not to be found among 
 the list of Post-office officials at the time. 
 
 So I wrote three or four chapters of "Broken to Har- 
 ness," and read tliem aloud to the criticism of my wife 
 and my friend Parkinson, then staying Avith me. They 
 expressed tiieir belief in the interest of the story and the 
 goodness of the style, but both agreed that the sequence 
 of the chapters should be altered. This view being also 
 adopted })y Alfred Austin, to whom I read them immediate- 
 ly after, I accepted it, made my third cliaj)ter my first, 
 and went steadily to work. The lirst instalment appeared
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 2 "7 9 
 
 in the number of Temple Bar for March, 1864, and the 
 story was continued from month to month for ten or twelve 
 numbers. During its progress I received great encourage- 
 ment from the short criticisms of such of the press as no- 
 ticed periodical literature, and from the kindly letters of 
 Miss Braddon, who wrote to me several times in its 
 praise. 
 
 When the book appeared in three volumes I had no 
 cause to complain, for it was extensively and very favor- 
 ably received. The notice in the dread AthencBum was 
 written, as I aftei'wards discovered, by the editor, Mr. Hep- 
 worth Dixon, and said, " It is a first novel, and a better 
 work of fiction has not for many a week come under our 
 notice." The Standard mentioned it as "very far above 
 the average of the tales which overload our table." The 
 Globe said, " There is an easy cleverness, a pleasant spar- 
 kling increasing to brilliancy at times, a freshness of spirit 
 which makes the whole thing, from beginning to end, 
 delightful reading for wearied or idle people ;" and the 
 Morning Star, " for vigor and fidelity," infinitely preferred 
 my sketches of life in a Government office to those of a 
 brother novelist. 
 
 My Pretty Horsebreaker, her life and death, was, as I 
 hoped and almost anticipated, the success of the book. 
 On all sides I received the doubtful compliment that no 
 one thought I could have done anything so good. The 
 Spectator said : " Mr. Yates has developed power which, to 
 many who have read his previous writings, will be quite 
 unexpected. They expected, of course, good, pointed, 
 salted writing, pleasant to read even apart from its sub- 
 ject, full of humor and free of that affectation of buffoon- 
 ery which ruins so many of his school, but they hardly 
 looked for anything quite so good as Kate Mellon. The 
 Pretty Horsebreaker — who despises conventionalisms, 
 makes a proposal of marriage, cannot become a lady, yet 
 is a good and pure woman — is almost as clear to the read- 
 er's eyes as if she had been photographed. She is alive, 
 and so are most of the subordinate characters," etc. The 
 best character in the book, said the then existent Press, is 
 Kate Mellon, " a fresh face in the long gallery of modern
 
 280 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 fiction. When all the world writes novels, he must have 
 a quick invention who can produce something new." 
 
 I sent the book to Dickens, who paid me the compliment 
 of reading it at once, and writing to me immediately he 
 had read it. " I have read your book with much delight 
 and some surprise," he said, "and have been profoundly 
 affected by the last portions of it. It has touched me 
 deeply, and moved me to many tears." 
 
 Thenceforward it was plain I must continue to write 
 novels. 
 
 Mr. Maxwell had already secured me to follow on my 
 success in Temple Bar by writing a story for the same 
 magazine, the first chapters of which were to appear with- 
 in a month or two. The flattering notices of " Broken to 
 Harness " no sooner appeared than I was waited upon by 
 Mr. Edward Tinsley, senior partner of the firm of Tinsley 
 Brothers, who offered me what I then considered large 
 terms for a novel to be complete in three-volume shape 
 within a certain given and, as I thought, very short time. 
 But I had struck a new vein, my writing was in great 
 demand, and it was evident that I must make the most of 
 the good-fortune which had unexpectedly fallen upon me. 
 From that time until the end of 1874 I was never without 
 a novel or two in progress. 
 
 The year previously I lost my excellent friend Frank 
 Smedley. By the death of a distant cousin he had long 
 been in easy circumstances, and after his father's death 
 continued to reside in the winter with his mother in Grove 
 Lodge, Regent's Park, where he could get fresh air with- 
 out going beyond the precincts of his garden, and where 
 he was in the immediate neighborliood of the Zoological 
 Gardens, his favorite resort. He liad purchased for him- 
 self a charming estate called Beech wood, within a very 
 short distance of Marlow, where he resided in the summer 
 months. Late in April, 18G4, I dined with him at Grove 
 Lodge, and thought liim better and brighter than I liad 
 seen him for some long time. When the other guests left 
 the diniiig-table he asked me to remain, and talked to me 
 with great spirit and interest about the work on which I 
 was then engaged, about some horses he had bought, about
 
 DESK, STAGE, AND PLATFORM. 281 
 
 his desire to get away speedily into the country and enjoy 
 the beauties of the coming summer, about a dozen little 
 trifles, into all of which he entered with even more than 
 his ordinary zest. 
 
 I left him, promising to return the next week and to 
 settle an early date for visiting him at Beechwood. On 
 Sunday morning, the 1st May, he was found by his serv- 
 ant, who came to call him, in a state of stupor, speedily 
 followed by a succession of epileptic fits, and by Sunday 
 evening he was dead. 
 
 By his death I lost one of my kindest and best 
 friends. 
 
 Having given up the "Lounger" in the Illustrated 
 Times, I commenced a series of articles of the same nat- 
 ure, which were published every Monday in the Mornmg 
 Star. They were entitled "The Flaneur," and attracted 
 a good deal of attention. The editor of the journal at 
 that time was Mr. Samuel Lucas, a brother-in-law of Mr. 
 John Bright, and a man of singular sweetness of disposi- 
 tion and charm of manner. At his death he was succeeded 
 by Mr. Justin McCarthy, now the well-known member of 
 Parliament, with whom 1 have since lived on intimate 
 terms ; while Mr, Russell, now editor of the Liverpool 
 Daily Post, Mr. Charles Cooper, now editor of the Scots- 
 man, and other men of mark were on the staff. 
 
 My connection with the Star, in which, besides the 
 "Flaneur," I wrote leading articles and reviews, and con- 
 tributed some stories and essays to the series called 
 " Readings by Starlight " in the evening edition, lasted 
 for several years, and was much valued by me. 
 
 When Mr. Sala retired from the editorship of Temple 
 JBar,\ succeeded him, and was in that position in 1866, 
 when the magazine was purchased by Mr. Bentley, for 
 whom I edited it for about twelve months. I resigned 
 the berth, to Mr. Bentley's regret, expressed in a kindly 
 letter in June, 1867, for the purpose of taking the editor- 
 ship of Tlnsleys' Magazine, then about to be established. 
 This new enterprise was started with all liberality and 
 energy, with a number of excellent contributors, with the 
 advantage of having the first-fruits of Dr. Russell's at-
 
 282 Fii-'TY YEARS OF LONDON Lli^E. 
 
 tempts at novel - writing. But the great special's coup 
 cfessai in the new field was not a particularly happy 
 one, and triumphant success, such as had attended the 
 establishment of Cornhill and Temple Bar, was no longer 
 to be commauded by the projectors of shilling maga- 
 zines.
 
 A DICKENS CliAI'TER. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTBE. 
 
 To Charles Dickens there are references, full and fre- 
 quent, throughout this work. That it should be so is 
 a pleasant necessity ; for during the last years of his life 
 he was so large a feature in mine, his influence over me as 
 friend, counsellor, companion, and employer, was so pow- 
 erful, and his regard for me so great, that the record of 
 my career during that period owes much of whatever in- 
 terest it may possess to his connection with it. In addi- 
 tion, therefore, to these passing references, I have thought 
 it advisable to devote a separate chapter to chronicling 
 ray experience of him in such various phases of his life 
 as were familiar to me, not without a hope of giving some 
 now insight into his character. With Forster's "Life " and 
 the " Letters " collected and published by loving hands 
 already before the world, this might appear a somewhat 
 difficult task ; but my relations with the man, whom since 
 my childhood I had, I may almost say, worshipped, were 
 so close, the intimacy into which, notwithstanding his 
 nineteen years of seniority, he admitted me was so great, 
 in our views and sympathies there was, if I may venture 
 to say it, so much in common, that I was always proud to 
 think he felt my society congenial to him, and permitted 
 me an exceptional insight into his inner life. 
 
 The nineteen years' seniority was not reflected in the 
 terms of our companionship or our converse. "Fancy 
 ray being nineteen years older than this fellow !" said he 
 one day to his eldest daughter, putting his hand on ray 
 shoulder. The young lady promptly declared there was 
 a mistake somewhere, and that I Avas rather the elder of 
 the two. And certainly, except in the height of his do- 
 mestic troubles, Dickens, until within a couple of years
 
 284 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 of his death — when, even before he started for America, 
 his health was, to unprejudiced eyes, manifestly beginning 
 to break — in bodily and mental vigor, in buoyancy of 
 spirits and keenness of appreciation, remained extraordi- 
 narily young. 
 
 This, I think, is to be gleaned from the " Letters," but is 
 not to be found in Forster's *' Life." The fact, I take it, is 
 that the friendship between Dickens and Forster, as strong 
 on both sides in '70 as it was in '37, was yet of a different 
 kind. Forster, partly owing to natural temperament, part- 
 ly to harassing official work and ill-health, was almost as 
 much over, as Dickens was under, their respective actual 
 years ; and though Forster's shrewd common-sense, sound 
 judgment, and deep affection for his friend commanded, 
 as was right, Dickens's loving and grateful acceptance of 
 his views, and though the communion between them was 
 never for a moment weakened, it was not as a companion 
 "in his lighter hour" that Dickens in his latter days 
 looked on Forster. Perhaps of all Dickens's friends, the 
 man in whom he most recognized the ties of old friend- 
 ship and pleasant companionshij} existing to the last was 
 Wilkie Collins ; and of the warm-hearted hero-worship 
 of Charles Kent he had full appreciation. 
 
 To me, from the first time I saw him, when he grasped 
 my hand at Tavistock House in '54,* to the last, when I 
 took leave of him as he was dressing to go out to dinner, 
 in his bedroom in the house in Hyde Park Place, which 
 he had hired for the season of '70, ho was always affec- 
 tionate, hel]iful, and unreserved. "Pray don't think, or' 
 pretend to think," he wrote in July, '50, in reply to some 
 remark of mine, " for a moment that I can fail to be 
 interested in your letters, be they ever so numerous." 
 "Chronically," he says, in reply to another letter, written 
 on behalf of some one else, " when I have a book to write 
 I give myself up to it. Waywardly, my small private 
 rubs make me uncertain in my humor sometimes, and un- 
 willing to tie myself to the slightest engagement." But I 
 always found him not merely accessible, but ready to 
 
 ♦ Sec p. 1 08.
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 285 
 
 throw himself heart and soul into the business brought 
 before him, as though his own fortune had been depend- 
 ent on it. 
 
 I have heard Dickens described by those who knew him 
 as aggressive, imperious, and intolerant, and I can com- 
 prehend the accusation ; but to me his temper was always 
 of the sweetest and kindest. He would, I doubt not, have 
 been easily bored, and would not have scrupled to show 
 it ; but he never ran the risk. He was imperious in the 
 sense that his life was conducted on the sic volo sicjubeo 
 principle, and that everything gave way before him. The 
 society in which he mixed, the hours which he kept, the 
 opinions which he held, his likes and dislikes, his ideas of 
 what should or should not be, were all settled, by himself, 
 not merely for himself, but for all those brought into con- 
 nection with him, and it was never imagined they could 
 be called in question. Yet he was never regarded as a 
 tyrant ; he had immense power of will, absolute mesmeric 
 force, as he proved beneficially more than once, and that 
 he should lead and govern seemed perfectly natural to 
 us: 
 
 " We who had loved him so, followed him, honored him, 
 Dwelt in his mild and magnificent eye. 
 Learned his great language, caught his clear accent, 
 Made him our pattern to live and to die." 
 
 The first time I visited Dickens at Gadshill Place was 
 in the summer of 1857, not long after his acquisition of 
 that pleasant property, in response to an invitation con- 
 veyed in the following very characteristic letter : 
 
 "Tavistock House, Sunday, Nineteenth July, 185T, 
 " My dear Yates, — Although I date this as above, I really write it from 
 Southampton. I have come here on an errand which will grow familiar 
 to you before you know that Time has flapped his wings over your head. 
 Like me, you will find those babies grow to be young men before you are 
 fjuite sure they arc born ; like nie, you will have great teeth drawn with a 
 wrench, and will only then know that you ever cut them. I am here to 
 send Walter away over what they call in Green Bush melodramas ' the Big 
 Drink,' and I don't at all know this day how he comes to be mine, or I 
 his.* 
 
 * Lieutenant Walter Dickens died in December, '63,
 
 286 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFK 
 
 " I don't write to say this, or to say how, seeing Charley and him going on 
 board the ship before me just now, I suddenly came into possession of a 
 photograph of my own baclc at sixteen and twenty, and also with a sus- 
 picion that 1 had doubled the last age. I merely write to mention that 
 Telbin and his wife are going down to Gad's Hill with us about mid-day 
 next Sunday, and that if you and Mrs. Yates will come too, we shall be de- 
 lighted to have you. He can give you a bed, and you can be in town (if 
 you have any such savage necessity) by twenty minutes after ten on Mon- 
 day morning. 
 
 " Faithfully yours, Charles Dickens." 
 
 We had a most deliglitful day, lying out on the grass 
 under a tree. Dickens was greatly amused at a story of 
 Telbin's about a Scotchman at the play, who, in the ecsta- 
 sy of his delight, thumped the man sitting next him ; and 
 he himself told some capital stories of Rogers the poet, of 
 whom he gave a ludicrous imitation. 
 
 Within the next twelve months the story of Dickens's 
 domestic affairs was made knoAvn to the public, and he 
 had of his own self-seeking deliberately chosen to under- 
 go such an ordeal as is proposed to few men. It had been 
 obvious to those visiting at Tavistock House that, for 
 some time, the relations between host and hostess had 
 been somewhat strained ; but this state of affaii-s was gen- 
 erally ascribed to the irritability of the literary tempera- 
 ment on Dickeus's part, and on Mrs. Dickens's side to a 
 little love of indolence and ease, such as, however provok- 
 ing to their husbands, is not uncommon among middle- 
 aged matrons with large families. But it was never im- 
 agined that the affair would assume the dimensions of a 
 public scandal. 
 
 Dickens, the master of humor and pathos, the ai'ch- 
 compeller of tears and laughter, was in no sense an emo- 
 tional man. Very far, indeed, was he from "wearing his 
 lieart upon his sleeve," where his own affairs were con- 
 cerned, though under Mr. Dvlane's advice he was induced 
 t(» publish that most uncalled-for statement in JIoNSchold 
 W(>r<h regarding his separation ; a stej) which, in the gen- 
 eral estimation, did liiin more harm tlian the separation 
 itself. He showed nu- this statement in proof, and young 
 as I was, and fresli as was then our accjuaintance, I felt so 
 strongly that I ventured to express my feelings as to the
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 287 
 
 inadvisability of its issue. Dickens said Forster and Lem- 
 on were of the same opinion — he quarrelled with Lemon 
 and with Messrs. Bradbury & Evans for refusing to pub- 
 lish the statement in Punch, and never, I think, spoke to 
 any of them again — but that he himself felt most strong- 
 ly that it ought to appear ; that, on Forster's suggestion, 
 he had referred the matter to Mr. Delane, and by that 
 gentleman's decision he should abide. 
 
 There can, I take it, be no doubt that if the matter was 
 referred to any jury composed of men ordinarily conver- 
 sant with the world and society, the verdict returned 
 would be a unanimous condemnation of the advice ten- 
 dered to Dickens by Delane. The truth is that this par- 
 ticular episode in Dickens's career is not an apj^ropriate 
 one for indiscriminate investigation, and the mistake 
 which it will be generally held Dickens made was that 
 which is usually known as " washing dirty linen in pub- 
 lic." Dickens had the faults as well as the virtues of the 
 literary character. A man who has given to the world so 
 many distinct creations — creations which will always have 
 their place in English literature, and which have passed 
 into the main currency of the English language — was full 
 of the irritability, the sensitiveness, and the intolerance 
 of dulness which might have been expected. If he had 
 been wholly devoid of a certain bias in the direction of 
 theatrical ostentation — if, in a word, his temperament had 
 been more rigid, more severe — if he had not given such 
 prominence in his thoughts to the link which bound him 
 to the public whom he served so splendidly, he Avould not, 
 in this particular affair, have acted as he did. The two 
 leading pei'sonages in this little drama are dead, and I 
 fail to see the necessity or expediency of recalling its va- 
 rious details. It is not for me to apportion blame or to 
 mete out criticism. My intimacy with Dickens, his kind- 
 ness to me, my devotion to him, were such that my lips 
 are sealed and my pen is paralyzed as regards circum- 
 stances which, if I felt less responsibility and less delicacy, 
 I might be at liberty to state. As it is, I am concerned 
 with the man, and I shall content myself with remarking 
 that it was fortunate for him that just at this time Dick-
 
 288 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ens was opening up a new field of labor. To have con- 
 centrated his mind upon the writing of a book, amid all 
 this Sturin unci Drang, would have been impossible ; but 
 into his public readings he could throw all his energy, and 
 temporarily forget his troubles. 
 
 Occasional readings were given at St. Martin's Hall, 
 Long Acre, in the months of May, June, and July. There 
 was a considerable amount of anxiety among Dickens's in- 
 timate friends lest the indignation caused by the publica- 
 tion of the " statement," and still existing among a sec- 
 tion of the public, might find vent on his first appearance 
 on the platform. Arthur Smith, his manager, a timid man 
 by nature, was especially nervous ; but I do not think 
 Dickens was made acquainted with the feelings of some 
 of those by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 But the moment Dickens stepped on to the platform, 
 Avalking rather stiffly, right shoulder well forward, as usu- 
 al, bud in button-hole, and gloves in hand, all doubt was 
 blown into the air. He was received with a roar of cheer- 
 ing which might have been heard at Charing Cross, and 
 wliich was again and again renewed. Wliatever he may 
 have felt, Dickens showed no emotion. He took his place 
 at liis reading-desk, and made a short prefatory speech, 
 in which he said that, though he had read one of his books 
 to a London audience more than once, this was the first 
 time he had ventured to do so professionally; that he had 
 considered the matter, and saw no reason against his do- 
 ing so, either in deterioration of dignity or anything else; 
 and tliat, therefore, he took his ])lace on the platform with 
 as much composure as he should at his own desk. Then 
 he opened his book and commenced. 
 
 The book was "The Cricket on the Hearth," now read 
 for the first time. Hitherto, Dickens had always taken 
 th(! " Carol " for his readings, and I was curious and some- 
 what doubtful as to tin; elTect of the new book on an au- 
 dience. 'I'lif " Carol " is, so to speak, more Chn'stmassy ; 
 the descriptions of out-door scenery and of domestic do- 
 ings, at what time-honored custom loads us to call in after- 
 dinner sjx'eches that "festive season of the year," cannot 
 luil in making an imniediati' and juiliiablc impression ; the
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 289 
 
 rough, hearty geniality, smacking of frost and firelight, 
 of crackling logs and sputtering chestnuts, and steaming 
 punch and sparkling wine, that pervades every page, is ir- 
 resistible in its influence : reading, or, better still, listen- 
 ing to it, we rub our hands and shrug our shoulders in- 
 voluntarily. To take up the book in the hot weather 
 would be ridiculous, for the mind is so imbued with the 
 word-painting that sunlight is an insult to the understand- 
 ing, and dust and verdure are simply delusions and snares. 
 The characters, moreover, are essentially typical of Lon- 
 don life : we have all done business with Scrooge, played 
 at forfeits at his nephew's house, stood " best man " to 
 Topper on the occasion of his wedding with the plump 
 sister with the lace tucker, peeped into Fezziwig's ware- 
 house, seen Old Joe smoking his pipe at the door of the 
 Clerkenwell marine-store, been waited upon by the benev- 
 olent merchant with his subscription-list ; and from how 
 many Camden Town and Dalston chimneys has not the 
 goose-stuffing-tainted smoke of Bob Cratchit's fire gone 
 curling into the crisp and glorious air? 
 
 In some of these attributes the " Cricket" is most defi- 
 cient. It is essentially a tale of rustic and domestic life, 
 passing in that class of society which a cant phrase has so 
 generously stigmatized as the " lower orders ;" and it is 
 dependent for its success on the concentration and elabora- 
 tion of an interest w^hich, originally powerfully conceived, 
 is worked out with masterly skill, and arrests the atten- 
 tion rather by the faithful and gradual development of 
 character than by the observation and photography of 
 every-day scenes and objects. 
 
 There Avas, however, no doubt of its interest and attrac- 
 tion to the audience j)resent — ordinary upper and lower 
 middle-class people, among whom the Dickens books find 
 their most numerous and most enthusiastic readers. From 
 first to last they sat in rapt suspense, broken only by out- 
 bursts of laughter and applause ; and at the conclusion 
 the vehement cheering was renewed. The success of the 
 readings was assured. 
 
 At the end of July, Dickens, accompanied by Arthur 
 Smith, started on a provincial tour, commencing at Clif- 
 
 13
 
 290 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ton on the 2d August. On the 4th August he wrote me 
 from Plymouth : 
 
 " We had a most noble night at Exeter last night, and turned numbers 
 away. Arthur is something between a Home Secretary and a furniture- 
 dealer in Rathbone Place. He is either always corresponding in the gen- 
 teelest manner, or dragging rout-seats about without his coat." 
 
 And again, in a letter dated from the Adelphi Hotel, 
 Liverpool, 21st August, he says : 
 
 " A wonderful house here last night, and the largest in money we have 
 ever had, including St. Martin's Hall. There were 2300 people and 200 
 guineas. The very books were all sold out early in the evening; and 
 Arthur, bathed in checks, took headers into tickets, floated on billows of 
 passes, dived under weirs of shillings, staggered home faint with gold and 
 silver." 
 
 Thenceforward all was plain sailing. Those "peculiar 
 relations (personally affectionate, and like no other man's) 
 which subsist between me and the public," of which Dick- 
 ens had spoken in his capacity as author, stood him in 
 good stead in his new venture. He was received every- 
 where with the greatest personal affection and respect, 
 and his receipts were enormous. 
 
 Within a year Tavistock House was sold, and Dickens 
 took up his permanent residence at Gadshill. A stout, 
 red-faced, comfortable, old-fashioned family house, with 
 a wide porch and a bell-tower, which always associated 
 it in my mind with the Warren at Chigwell ; but stand- 
 ing in a broad garden easily overlooked from the road, 
 and with an occasionally noisy country tavern within eye 
 and earshot, Gadshill Place was not, according to a com- 
 mon ])lirase, "every one's money." But Dickens had as- 
 sociations with it, and gave associations to it, ami also 
 practically imjiroved the property by judicious outlay. 
 A generous man, he also was always a man of business ; 
 liberal witli liis money, he always meant having his 
 money's worth. 
 
 Life at Gadshill for visitors — I speak from experience — 
 was delightful. You breakfasted at nine, smoked your 
 cigar, read the papers, and i)Ottered about the garden 
 until luncheon at one. All the morning Dickens was at
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 291 
 
 work, either in the study — a room on the left hand of the 
 porch as you entered : a large room, entirely lined with 
 books, and with a fine bay-window, in which the desk was 
 placed* — or in the Chalet, a Swiss house <;;' r.>nr i*ooms, 
 presented to him by Fechter, which took to pieces, and 
 was erected in a shrubbery on the side of the road op- 
 posite to the house, where he had a fine view extending 
 to the river. In the Chalet he did his last work, on the 
 fatal 8th June, using a writing-slope which, by the kind- 
 ness of Miss Hogarth, is now mine, and on which I write 
 these words. 
 
 After luncheon (a substantial meal, though Dickens 
 generally took little but bread and cheese and a glass of 
 ale) the party would assemble in the hall, which was hung 
 round with a capital set of Hogarth prints, now in my 
 possession, and settle on their plans. Some walked, some 
 drove, some pottered ; there was Rochester Cathedral to 
 be visited, the ruins of the Castle to be explored, Cobham 
 Park (keys for which had been granted by Lord Darnley) 
 in all its sylvan beaiity within easy distance. I, of course, 
 elected to walk with Dickens ; and off we set, with such 
 of the other guests as chose to face the ordeal. They 
 were not many, and they seldom came twice ; for the dis- 
 tance traversed was seldom less than twelve miles, and 
 the pace was good throughout. I have now in my mind's 
 eye a portly American gentleman in varnished boots, who 
 started with us full of courage, but whom we left panting 
 by the Avayside, and for whom the basket-carriage had to 
 be sent. 
 
 It was during one of these walks that Dickens showed 
 me, in Cobham Park, the stile close by which, after a 
 fearful struggle, Mr. Dadd had been murdered by his 
 lunatic son in 1843. Dickens acted the whole scene with 
 his usual dramatic force. I had heard something of the 
 story before from Frith, who is an excellent raconteur. 
 The murderer then escaped, but was afterwards secured : 
 
 * Originally the " Bachelor Bedroom," and under that title most hu- 
 morously described, with its various tenants, by Wilkie Collins in Home- 
 hold Words.
 
 292 t'li'^TY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 he had been travelling on a coach, and his homicidal ten- 
 dencies had been aroused by regarding the large neck, 
 disclosed by a very low collar, of a fellow-passenger, who, 
 waking from a sleep, found Dadd's fingers playing round 
 his throat. On searching Dadd's studio, after his arrest, 
 they found, painted on the wall behind a screen, portraits 
 of Egg, Stone, and Frith, Dadd's intimate associates, all 
 with their throats cut — a pleasant suggestion of their 
 friend's intentions. 
 
 Generally accompanied by his dogs (when I was first 
 with him they were Turk, a liver - colored mastiff, and 
 Linda, a St. Bernard, which Albert Smith had brought 
 from Switzerland), Dickens would go along at a swinging 
 pace : sometimes over the marshes famous in " Great Ex- 
 pectations ;" sometimes along a hilly, tramp-infested road 
 to Gravesend, skirting Cobham Park, and past the "Leath- 
 er Bottle," whither Mr. Tupman retired ; })ast Fort Pitt, 
 near which Dr. Slammer pro])osed to take Mr. Winkle's 
 life ; down miry lanes and over vast stubble - fields, to 
 outlying little churches, and frequently to a quaint old 
 almshouse standing, I cannot remember where, in a green 
 court-yard, like an Oxford " quad." 
 
 They were stiff walks for any one not in full training, 
 as Dickens always was at that time, but to me they never 
 seemed long or fatiguing, beguiled as the time was by his 
 most charming talk. With small difficulty, if the subject 
 were deftly introduced, he could be induced to talk about 
 his books, to tell how and why certain ideas occurred to 
 him, and how he got such and such a scene or character. 
 Generally his excellent memory accurately retained his 
 own phrases and actual words, so that he would at once 
 correct a misquotation ; but on more than one occasion 1 
 have, in conversation with him, purposely misquoted from 
 one of his books, in order that he might sot me right. 
 Who, indeed, wouhl not he suspected, justly or unjustly, 
 of misquotation, if he could be set right in a letter so 
 overbrimming with delicious fun as the following? — 
 
 "Your quotation in, as I supposed, all wrong. The text is not ' which 
 luH owls was organs.' 
 
 " When Mr. Harris went ' into a empty dog-kennel ' to spare his seusitive
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 293 
 
 nature the anguish of overhearing Mrs. Harris's exclamation on the occa- 
 sion of the birth of her first child (the Princess Royal of the Harris 
 family), ' he never took his hands away from his ears or come out once 
 till he was shown the baby.' On encountering that spectacle, he was (be- 
 ing of a weakly constitution) ' took with fits.' For this distressing com- 
 plaint he was medically treated: the doctor 'collared him, and laid him 
 down on his back upon the airy stones ' — please to observe what follows — 
 * and she was told, to ease her mind, his 'owls was organs.' 
 
 " That is to say : Mrs. Harris, lying in her bed, hears a noise, apparently 
 proceeding from the back-yard, and says, in a flushed and hysterical man- 
 ner, ' What 'owls are those ? Who is a-'owling ? Not my 'ugeband ?' 
 Upon which the doctor, looking round one of the bottom posts of the bed, 
 and taking Mrs. Harris's pulse in a re-assuring manner, says, with admi- 
 rable presence of mind, ' Howls, my dear madam ? No, no, no^what arc 
 we thinking of? Howls, my dear Mrs. Harris? Ha, ha, ha! Organs, 
 ma'am, organs — organs in the street, Mrs. Harris. No howls !' " 
 
 While on this subject, I may say that many of Dickens's 
 private letters read like excerpts from his published works. 
 Here is one, for instance. My old friend Mr. Thomas 
 Archer pressed me to ask Dickens to take the chair at a 
 dinner on behalf of the Orthopoedic Hospital. Here is 
 Dickens's reply : 
 
 " I send you an Orthopoedic shield to defend your manly bosom from 
 the pens of the enemy. For a good many years I liave suffered a great deal 
 from charities, but never anything like what I suffer now. The amount 
 of correspondence they inflict upon me is really incredible. But this is 
 nothing. Benevolent men get behind the piers of the gates, lying in wait 
 for my going out ; and when I peep shrinkiiigly from my study window I 
 see their pot-bellied shadows projected on the gravel. Benevolent bullies 
 drive up in hansom cabs, witii engraved portraits of their benevolent insti- 
 tutions hanging over their aprons like banners on their outward walls. 
 Benevolent area sneaks get lost in the kitchen, and are found to impede 
 the circulation of the knife-cleaning machine. My man has been heard 
 to say ' that if it was a wicious place, well and good — that ain't door work ; 
 but that when all the Christian virtues is always a-shouldering and a-hei- 
 bering on you in the 'all, a-trying to get past you and cut up into master's 
 room, why no wages as you couldn't name would make it up to you.' 
 
 " Persecuted ever, C. D." 
 
 From Paris, in September, '65, he writes : 
 
 " The heat has been excessive on this side of the Channel, and I got a 
 slight sunstroke last Thursday, and was obliged to be doctored and put to 
 bed for a day. But, thank God, I am all right again. The man who sells 
 the tisane on the boulevards can't keep the flies out of his glasses, and as
 
 294 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 he wears them on his red velvet bands, the flies work themselves into the 
 ends of the tumblers, trying to get through and tickle the man. If fly-life 
 ■were long enough, I think they would at last. Three paving blouses came 
 to work at the corner of this street last Monday, pulled up a bit of the 
 road, sat down and looked at it, and fell asleep. On Tuesday one of the 
 blouses spat on his hands, and seemed going to begin, but didn't. The 
 other two have shown no sign of life whatever. This morning the indus- 
 trious one ate a loaf. You may rely upon this as the latest news from the 
 French capital." 
 
 Dickens took great interest in theatrical affairs, and was 
 very fond of theatrical society. He had a life-long affec- 
 tion for Macready, and a great regard for Regnier and 
 Fechter ; of the latter he said once to me, "He has the 
 brain of a man, combined with that strange power of ar- 
 riving, without knowing how or why, at the truth, which 
 one usually finds only in a woman." He had also a liking 
 for Phelps, Buckstone, Webster, Madame Celeste, and the 
 Keeleys. He saw most of the pieces which were produced 
 from time to time, but he delighted in the 2>regular drama, 
 the shows and booths and circuses. 
 
 One day — a Queen's birthday, on which I had a holiday 
 from my office — we had spent together at Gadshill. The 
 family were absent, and the house was in charge of the 
 gardener, whose wife cooked us a steak, and Dickens had 
 taken care to bring the cellar-key with him. AVe rambled 
 about during the afternoon, and at night we went to the 
 Rochester Theatre. I forget the play ; indeed, I recollect 
 nothing but the presence of mind of a large man in a 
 green baize tunic and a pair of buff boots, who, to Dick- 
 ens's joy, evidently did not know a word of his part. 
 He strode into the middle of the stage without uttering 
 a syllable, looked fiercely round, then said, in stentorian 
 tones, " I will r-r-re-tur-r-n anon !" and walked quietly off 
 to read up his part at the "wing." 
 
 We returned to town that night, and Dickens, who had 
 a theory that no one ever liked it to be thought that lie 
 or she could sleep in public, fell into a doze in the train. 
 When he woke I said to him, "You've been asleep, sir!" 
 He looked guilty, and said, "I have, sir! and I suppose 
 you're going to tell me that ?/o?/ ' haven't closed an eye!'" 
 
 On the very last outing whicli we had together, about
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 295 
 
 two months before his death, we went to a circus, where 
 we saw a highly -trained elephant standing on its head, 
 dancing and pei'forming tricks. Dickens was greatly 
 pleased. " I've never seen anything better !" he said ; 
 " it's wonderful how they teach them to do all this !" 
 Then a moment after his eyes flashed with that peculiar 
 light which always betokened the working of some funny 
 notion in his brain, and he said, "They've never taught 
 the rhinoceros to do anything ; and I don't think they 
 could, unless it were to collect the water-rate, or something 
 equally unpleasant .^" 
 
 There was another " show " experience of mine, which 
 Dickens was never tired of hearing me relate. Many 
 years ago, one dusty summer's night, I turned into the 
 Strand Theatre, where were being exhibited the Bosjcs- 
 men, some wretched African savages, at a charge of a 
 shilling to the boxes, sixpence to the pit, and threepence 
 to the gallery. I went into the pit. After the miserable 
 creatures had gone through a dance, their showman, a gen- 
 tleman in black, with beautifully-arranged hair, advanced 
 to give a description of them. " The little man," he com- 
 menced, in mellifluous accents, " is forty-two years old !" 
 He paused for an instant, and a ribald boy in the three- 
 penny gallery called out, "And how old are youf'' The 
 showman started, struck an attitude, and with out-stretched 
 hand exclaimed, " Old enough to tell you, sir, that you are 
 no gentleman !" 
 
 As an editor Dickens Avas most j^ainstaking and con- 
 scientious: outside contributors, whose articles had passed 
 the first critical ordeal of Mr. Wills's judgment, and had 
 been referred to " the Chief," received thoroughly im- 
 partial attention from him, while for his friends he could 
 not take too much trouble or show too much interest. As 
 an illustration of this, take the following letter, written 
 after reading in MS. a story submitted in '57: 
 
 " I return the story with pleasure, and I need not tell you that you are 
 not mistaken in the last lines of your note. 
 
 "E.xcuse me on that ground if I say a word or two as to what I think 
 (I mention it with a view to the future) might be better in the paper. The 
 opening is excellent, but it passes too completely into the Irishman's nar-
 
 296 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 rative — does not light it up with the life about it, or the circumstances 
 under which it is delivered, and does not cai-ry through it, as I think it 
 should with a certain indefinable subtlety, the thread with which you be- 
 gin your weaving. I will tell Wills to send me the proof, and will try and 
 show you what I mean when I have gone over it carefully." 
 
 Again : 
 
 " The mail-journey very good ; perhaps a little diffuse here and there — 
 in the railway-carriage and on board the steamer ; but I will run my pen 
 through such portions in the proof." 
 
 He was a ruthless " cutter," and the very last time I 
 saw him at the office he laughed immensely, as I said, 
 when I noticed him run his blue-ink pen through about 
 half a column of the proof before him, " Poor gentleman ! 
 there's fifteen shillings lost to him forever!"* 
 
 Dickens was by far the best after-dinner speaker I have 
 ever heard. Mr. Sala, Lord Rosebery, Sir William Har- 
 court, Mr. Parkinson, Lord Houghton, and Mr. Henry 
 Irving are good, but Dickens was above them all. For 
 years I scarcely missed an opportunity of hearing him 
 speak in public. The first time I ever heard him was on 
 a Shaksi)eare birthday at the Garrick Club, when he was 
 in the chair, and made an elaborate speech, naming the day 
 as the birthday of all the wondrous characters of Shak- 
 speare's creation, specially, I remember, mentioning Fal- 
 staff as the " hugest, merriest, wittiest creature that never 
 lived." The last time I heard him was two months before 
 his death, at the dinner for the benefit of the News-vend- 
 ors' Fund, a favorite institution of his, when he again al- 
 luded to Falstaff— "Trying," he said, "like Falstaflf, but 
 witli a modification almost as large as Inmself, less to 
 speak liinisc'lf than to be the cause of speaking in others." 
 
 Ill connection with this subject I am reminded of Dick- 
 ens's wonderful readiness. I was so much in the habit of 
 
 * I suppose that in their close attention to his suggestions his regular 
 disciples became unconscious irnitiitors ofliis stylo. In Mr. J. G. Hottcn's 
 "Life," and in Mr. A. W. Ward's a(liiiinil)lo monograph in the "English 
 Men of Letters " series, a paper of mine called " Pincher Astray " is at- 
 tributed to Dickens.
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 297 
 
 going with him to public dinners, and the managers of 
 those entertainments so frequently begged me to propose 
 his health as chairman, that it became a joke between us 
 as to whether I could possibly find anything new to say. 
 On one occasion — it was at one of the News-venders' din- 
 ners — I said nothing at all ! I duly rose, but, after a few 
 words, my thoughts entirely deserted me, I entirely lost 
 the thread of what I had intended saying, I felt as though 
 a black veil were dropped over my head ; all I could do 
 was to mutter "health," "chairman," and to sit down. I 
 was tolerably well known to the guests at those dinners, 
 and they were evidently much astonished. They cheered 
 the toast, as in duty bound, and Dickens was on his feet 
 in a moment. " Often," he said — " often as I have had 
 the pleasure of having my health proposed by my friend, 
 who has just sat down, I have never yet seen him so over- 
 come by his affection and generous emotion as on the 
 present occasion." These words turned what would have 
 been a fiasco into a triumph. " I saved you that time, I 
 think, sir !" he said to me as I walked away with him. 
 "Serves you well right for being ovei'-confident !" 
 
 I do not think I ever heard him to less advantage than 
 on an occasion when most was expected of him, at the 
 farewell banquet given to him at the Freemasons' Tav- 
 ern on the 2d November, 1867, just before his last visit 
 to America. For that affair Charles Kent, Edward Levy 
 (Lawson), and I were the joint secretaries, and we worked 
 night and day to make it the success which it proved. 
 The applications for tickets were innumerable, and hun- 
 dreds had to be disappointed. Just as all were taking 
 their places, Edward Levy came to me and said, "We 
 must find a better place for Matthew Arnold ! He is 
 right away at the far end." We went together and in- 
 duced the great poet-critic to change his seat. " Who is 
 that very polite gentleman ?" asked Mr. Arnold of me as 
 we walked up the room. "Mr. Edward Levy." "What 
 —of the Daily Telegraph?'' "Yes," I replied; "the 
 keeper of the ' young lions.' " 
 
 Lord Lytton presided over this dinner, and, due allow- 
 ance being made for his liigh-falutin matter and manner,
 
 298 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 spoke well ; but the best speech of the night was made 
 by Sir Alexander Cockburn. 
 
 In the following week I accompanied Dickens and his 
 daughters, Wilkie Collins, Arthur Chappell, and Charles 
 Kent to Liverpool, whence he sailed next day in the Cuba, 
 which, five years later, took me to New York. Leave- 
 taking, as is always the case, was difficult ; we had in- 
 spected Dickens's cabin, looked round the ship, and were 
 uncomfortably uttering commonplaces, when the knot was 
 cut by Dickens suddenly turning to me, as standing near- 
 est to him, and saying, " It must be done !" — then in his 
 heartiest tone, and with his warmest hand -grip, "God 
 bless you, old fellow !" 
 
 Some months previously he had given me a great proof 
 of his affection and esteem, I had heard from Mr, Stan- 
 ford, the geographical publisher, that the directors of a 
 certain well-known and excellent society were about to 
 establish a secular weekly periodical, somewhat on the 
 Household Words basis, and that they were looking out 
 for an editor, I immediately made up my mind to apply 
 for the post, and wrote to two or three friends for testi- 
 monials of my fitness for it. This is what Dickens sent 
 me in reply : 
 
 " I am exceedingly sorry that I should happen to be away reading, and 
 tliercfore unable to help you in your presentation of yourself to the Com- 
 mittee of the . But I fear 1 may not be in Loudon for more than 
 
 twenty- four hours together until May is nearly out. 
 
 " You cannot overstate my recommendation of you for the editorship de- 
 scribed in the advertisement ; nor can you easily exaggerate the thor- 
 ough knowledge of your (lualifications on which such recommendation is 
 founded. A man even of your quickness and ready knowledge would be 
 useless in such an ollice unless he added to his natural and acquired parts 
 habits of business, punctuality, steadiness, and zeal. I so thoroughly rely 
 on you in all these respects, and I have had so much experience of you in 
 connection with them, that perhaps the Committee may deem my testi- 
 mony in your behalf of some unusual worth. 
 
 " In any way you think best make it known to them, and in every way 
 rely on my help, if you can show me furtiicr how to help you. 
 
 " With hearty good wishes, ever yours, 
 
 " C. D."* 
 
 * I must tell the conclusion of tins story. The Committee selected me 
 and one other — a gentleman afterwards well known at the criminal bar,
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 299 
 
 That letter is a specimen of the heartiness and thorough- 
 ness which characterized every action of Dickens's life. 
 From the writing of a book, " out of which I have come," 
 he said in a letter to Lady Blessington, " looking like a 
 murderer," to a game of rounders in the Gadshill field, to 
 dancing a Scotch reel or leading " Sir Roger de Coverley," 
 to oi'ganizing a party for playing "Spanish merchant" or 
 " buzz," to brewing and baking a jug of gin-punch — what- 
 ever he did was done with all his heart and soul. 
 
 I had a letter from Dickens from Gadshill, dated 10th 
 May, 1868, announcing his return from America, and pro- 
 posing a meeting on my return from the country, where I 
 then was. "You may suppose what arrears of business 
 of all kinds I have," he says, " and how they are compli- 
 cated by Wills's illness and absence." We met soon after. 
 He still retained the sun-browning which he had gained 
 on the homeward voyage, and looked better than I had 
 anticipated after his work and illness in America. 
 
 I saw but little of him during that year, which was one 
 to me of considerable anxiety, and during greater part 
 of which I lived out of London. In the spring of the fol- 
 lowing year, '69, 1 was devoting some of my annual leave 
 of absence from the Post-office to the purposes of a little 
 lecturing tour. Finding that on Monday, the 12th April, 
 I Avas due at Leeds, and seeing from Dickens's memoran- 
 dum of reading engagements, with which he furnished 
 me, that he was going to read there, in the same hall, on 
 the following night, I wrote asking whether we should 
 meet. He replied, proposing we should sup together on 
 the Monday night, after my work. 
 
 who is no longer living — from the crowd of applicants. They then asked 
 me if I were prepared to give them my whole time and attention, which of 
 course meant giving up the Post-office. I therefore let them know that I 
 could not relinquish my existing avocation, with which a proper discharge 
 of the duties required by them would not interfere. So they appointed 
 my rival, but immediately afterwards discovered that he was a Presbyterian, 
 and therefore ineligible. The matter ended by their paying him a year's 
 salary, and leaving the question of starting the magazine in indefinite 
 abeyance.
 
 300 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 Accordingly, on my return to the Queen's Hotel, I 
 found Dickens and Mr. Dolby, who was then his business 
 manager. Dickens was lying on a sofa — he had relieved 
 himself of one of his boots, and the foot was swathed in 
 lotioned bandages. This was the recurrence of a trouble 
 from which he had suffered for some time, and of which I 
 was cognizant, but I was not prepared for the change in 
 his appearance and manner. He looked desperately aged 
 and worn ; the lines in his cheeks and round the eyes, 
 always noticeable, were liow deep furrows ; there was a 
 weariness in his gaze, and a general air of fatigue and de- 
 pression about him. 
 
 He tried to rouse, told me of the public dinner at Liver- 
 pool at which he had been entertained on the previous 
 Saturday, under the presidency of Lord Dufferin, laugh- 
 ingly alluded to a passage of words he had had with Lord 
 Houghton, and praised a speech made by Sala. Then he 
 inquired about the acoustic properties of the hall in which 
 I had just lectured, and where he was to read the next 
 night, and gave certain orders for the arrangement of cur- 
 tains there. But that extraordinary elasticity of spirits, 
 his great characteristic, seemed to have vanished ; he was 
 evidently wearied and in much pain, and went early to 
 bed. 
 
 The next morning at breakfast he seemed much better, 
 and his ordinary cheerfulness had returned. I had to go 
 on to Sheffield amid ])ouring rain, and Dickens congratu- 
 lated me on the outlook. " It was just the kind of day," 
 said he, *' on which the loveliness of the locality would 
 be seen to the highest advantage." We parted, and with- 
 in a week he was stricken down at Preston ; had to tele- 
 graph for his medical attendant, Mr. Beard, under whose 
 advice, and that of Sir Thomas Watson, the readings 
 were entirely Rus]>ended for a time. 
 
 This was on the 2i.Nl April. On the 26th May, in a let- 
 ter to Earl Russell, l^ickena is " ]iap])y to re]>()rt myself 
 quite well again." There is no doul)t, however, that his 
 health was by this time wholly undermined, and that the 
 attack at Preston was, as bis sister-in-law i)hra8ed it, "the 
 beginning of the end."
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 301 
 
 It is curious to notice what a hatred he had to any pub- 
 lic reference to the state of his health ; it amounted al- 
 most to a mania. On the 3d September, 1867, Dickens 
 wrote the following jocose certificate to Mr. F. D. Finlay, 
 who had sent him some newspaper paragraph announcing 
 his illness : 
 
 " This is to certify that the undersigned victim of a periodical para- 
 graph disease, wliich usually breaks out once in every seven years (pro- 
 ceeding from England by the overland route to India and by the Cunard 
 line to America, where it strikes the base of the Rocky Mountains, and, 
 rebounding to Europe, perishes on the steppes of Russia), is 7iot 'in a 
 critical state of health,' and has not ' consulted eminent surgeons,' and 
 was never better in his life, and is not recommended to proceed to the 
 United States 'for cessation from literary labor,' and has not had so much 
 as a headache for twenty years. Charles Dickens." 
 
 This is funny, but by no means strictly accurate. 
 Eighteen months before, at the end of February, '66, 
 Dickens had written to Forster : " For some time I have 
 been very unwell. F. B. [Frank Beard] wrote me word 
 that, with such a pulse as I described, an examination of 
 the heart was absolutely necessary. ' Want of muscular 
 power in the heart,' B. said." 
 
 Six months before, on the 19th February, '67, he wrote 
 to his sister-in-law : " Yesterday I was so unwell with an 
 internal malady which occasionally, at long intervals, 
 troubles me a little, and it was attended Avith the sudden 
 loss of so much blood, that I wrote to F. B., from whom 
 I shall doubtless hear to-morrow." 
 
 Less than one month before, on the 6th August, '67, he 
 writes to Forster : " I am laid up with another attack in 
 my foot, and was on the sofa all night in tortures. I can- 
 not bear to have the fomentation off for a moment. I 
 was so ill with it on Sunday, and it looked so fierce, that 
 I came up to Henry Thompson. , . . Meantime I am on 
 my back and chafing." 
 
 There is no one now, I suppose, who does not recognize 
 that this pain in the foot and lameness were gouty ex- 
 pressions of internal disorder. Sir Henry Thompson saw 
 this at the time, and said so. But Dickens hated the idea 
 of having the gout, and in his old autocratic way refused
 
 302 I'IFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 to have it, and declared he couid not have it. " I make 
 out so many reasons against supposing it to be gouty that 
 I really do not think it is." And, with his powers of per- 
 suasion, he seems to have brought Mr. Syme, an eminent 
 surgeon of Edinburgh, to his views, and got him to declare 
 the disorder to be "an affection of the delicate nerves 
 and muscles, originating in cold." But Sir Henry Thomp- 
 son was not to be thus pleasantly cajoled. 
 
 Never did man wishing to deceive himself carry out his 
 object so thoroughly as Dickens. One can see the shoul- 
 der-shrug and the eyebrow-raising with which he would 
 have received the information told of any one else. He 
 has pain, inflammation, every possible gouty symptom in 
 his foot, the chosen locality for gout, but it is not gout, 
 it is something originating in cold. The same symptoms 
 appear in the other foot — still not gout. As he walks 
 along the streets one day, he can read only the halves of 
 the letters over the shop-doors that were on his right as 
 he looked. " He attributed it to medicine," says Forster. 
 It is really almost too astonishing. 
 
 Dickens came up to London, renting Mr. Milner Gib- 
 son's house, 5 Hyde Park Place, almost immediately op- 
 posite the Mai'ble Arch, in January, 1870, for the purpose 
 of giving his last series of readings. We dined together 
 two or three times, at the Cock in Fleet Street, where, I 
 suppose, I have been with him a score of times, and at 
 the Albion in Drury Lane, in his favorite box round the 
 corner, away from most of the visitors. I also dined at 
 his house, and was at a large reception where many well- 
 known people were present. 
 
 On the lltli March, when Dickens gave his final read- 
 ing, and " vanished from tliose garish lights forever," I 
 M'as with ]\Ir. Scudamore at Edinburgh, whence, from the 
 " instrument- room" of the General Post-office, I sent 
 Dickons an affoctionato message, wliich was given to him 
 just before he stepped on to the platform, and to which 
 be returned an affectionate reply. 
 
 On my return to London we met again, going that cir- 
 cus expedition before mentioned. Another meeting was 
 arranged, but was postponed by the following letter :
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 30:^ 
 
 "6 Hyde Park Place, W., Monday, Sixteenth May, 1870. 
 "Mt dear E. Y., — Let us have our little out next month, after I have 
 struck this tent. My foot has collared me again, and has given me great 
 pain : I have not the use of it now. Ever, C. D." 
 
 We never had that *' little out !" I never saw hira again! 
 He was to have taken his daughter to the Queen's Ball on 
 the 17th, but was too ill ; he cancelled all his dinner en- 
 gagements, and between that date and the end of the 
 month, when he returned to Gadshill, only dined out once, 
 at Lord Houghton's, to meet the Prince of Wales and the 
 King of the Belgians. 
 
 But I heard from him once more. I consulted him on 
 a business mattei*, and received a reply, with an enclosure, 
 dated three days before his fatal seizure. And as the one 
 shows his keen business insight, and the other his warm 
 desire to serve his friends, I give both: 
 
 "Gad's Hill Place, Higham by Rochester, Kent,* 
 "Sunday, Fifth June, 1870. 
 
 " My dear Edmund, — I enclose you a letter to Fields's House. You ad- 
 dress them as Publishers, Boston, Mass., TJ. S. of America. 
 
 "There is this difficulty in the way. They republish from early proofs 
 in a weekly magazine of their own, called Every Saturday. In the case of 
 ' Edwin Drood,' their republication in those pages (tried with a serial, I 
 think, for the first time), to their own best advantage, would have antici- 
 pated, as to certain portions, the publication in England ; and consequent- 
 ly, as to those portions, would have destroyed the English copyright. This 
 I was obliged to point out to them, and forbid. As they had not antici- 
 pated the objection, they may find the speculation generally not worth 
 their money. But I merely mention this to you for your private prepara- 
 tion, and take no notice to them. Ever yours, C. D." 
 
 \^Enclosure\ 
 
 " To Messrs. Fields, Osgood & Co. : 
 
 " My dear Sirs, — My particular friend Mr. Edmund Yates has asked rae 
 if I will give him a letter of introduction to you, advancing — if I can — his 
 desire of disposing of early proofs for publication in America of a new 
 serial novel he is writing, called ' Nobody's Fortune.' 
 
 " Mr. Yates is the most punctual and reliable of men in the execution of 
 
 * "Why do you have 'Kent' on your note-paper, sir?" I asked him. 
 "Post-office sorters always look for the name of the post-town, and 
 'Rochester' is quite enough." "Because, sir, there might be two Roches- 
 ters, and because some people write so badly it might be mistaken for 
 something else !" His delight may be guessed when one day a letter of 
 mine to him was misseut to iJorchester.
 
 304 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 his work. I have had the plan of his story before me, and have advi?e 1 
 him upon it, and have no doubt of its being of great promise, and turning 
 upon a capital set of incidents. It has not been offered in America as yet, 
 I am assured.* Faithfully yours always, 
 
 "Charles Dickens." 
 
 Dickens was struck down by apoplexy — a condition 
 which Sir Thomas Watson, on examination fourteen 
 months before, had foreseen — on the 8th June, and ex- 
 pired twenty-four hours later. 
 
 " The state thus described," says Sir Thomas Watson 
 after the consultation in April, '69, "showed plainly that 
 C. D. had been on the brink of an attack of paralysis of 
 his left side, and possibly of apoplexy. It was, no doubt, 
 the result of extreme hurry, overioork, and excitement, inci- 
 dental to his readings.'''' 
 
 There is the wise physician's opinion in his own words; 
 and surely on reading it one is almost justified in saying 
 that Dickens's death lay at his own door ; that to a very 
 great extent it was no doubt hastened, if not caused, by 
 his extraordinary persistence in self-sacrifice. It is im- 
 possible for me to believe that he did not comprehend 
 what he was doing, and what result all that he did was 
 tending to bring about. What would he have thought, 
 what would he have said, of any other man who could 
 only read half of the letters of the names over the shop- 
 doors, who *' found himself extremely giddy and extreme- 
 ly uncertain of the sense of touch, both in the left leg 
 and the left hand and arm," and who ascribed those symp- 
 toms to " the effect of medicine ?" With what caustic 
 touches would lie have described a man who, suffering 
 under all those symptoms, and under many others equally 
 significant, harassed, worn out, yet travels and reads and 
 works until he falls dead on the roadside ! 
 
 And, it will be asked by the generations to come — or, 
 indeed, hy the ]>res('iit generation ; for one is apt to for- 
 get that more than fourteen years have passed since Dick- 
 ens died — for what purpose, to what end, were these fatal 
 labors undertaken, these desperate exertions made ? 
 
 * Tlie early proofs were purchased by Messrs. Fields, Osgood & Co., 
 and the story was published by them in Ei^ery Saturday.
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 3O5 
 
 Not the acquisition of fame. For thirty years Charles 
 Dickens had enjoyed the utmost renown that literary gen- 
 ius could possibly earn. His books were read, his name 
 was loved and honored, wherever the English language 
 was spoken. His Sovereign had sent for him to visit her, 
 and working-men, passing along the streets and recogniz- 
 ing him by his photograph, Avould pull off their hats and 
 give him kindly greeting. The sentiments of the entire 
 civilized world find expression in the lady who stopped 
 him in the streets of York, and said, " Mr. Dickens, will 
 you let me touch the hand that has filled my house with 
 many friends ?" in the warm-hearted Irishman, who ran 
 after him as he hurried to the Belfast hotel, and asked 
 him to "Do me the honor to shake hands, Mr. Dickens; 
 and God bless you, sir, not only for the light you've been 
 to me this night, but for the light you've been in my 
 house, sir (and God love your face !), this many a year !" 
 To what mortal man has been meted out fame and honor 
 and personal affectionate regard in greater measure than 
 this? 
 
 Not for the acquisition of money ; at least one would 
 think not, when one learns from Mr. Forster that Dick- 
 ens's real and personal estates amounted, as nearly as may 
 be calculated, to £93,000 ! 
 
 Of this, £20,000 were made in America, and the odd 
 £13,000 derived from the sale of his house, pictures, etc. ; 
 so that we may take it he was worth, before his visit to 
 America, some £60,000. This, in round numbers, would 
 bring in £2500 a year ; his periodical must have been 
 worth another £2500 ; while a new book must have earned 
 him something like £10,000.* 
 
 With such an income and an expenditure which was 
 generous but not lavish, there was, so far as an outsider 
 
 * The price paid down by Mr. Chapman for " Edwin Drood," calculated 
 on a sale of 25,000 copies, was £7500, publisher and author sharing equal- 
 ly in the profit of all sales beyond that impression ; and the number 
 reached, while the author yet lived, was 50,000. Messrs. Fields & Os- 
 good paid £1000 for the early sheets for America, and, in addition, there 
 was Baron Tauchnitz's check, amount unknown, but sure to be liberal, for 
 his Leipsic edition.
 
 306 FLFTY YEARS OP LONDON LITE. 
 
 could see, every means for providing comfort and luxury, 
 no occasion for alarm even when the bread-winner should 
 have ceased to exist ; certainly no occasion for the daily 
 and nightly labor, the constant travel, the superhuman ex- 
 ertions, the frightful wear and tear which brought his ex- 
 istence to a premature close. 
 
 Though I have raised the question, I believe the answer 
 to be comparatively simple and the explanation common- 
 place. It may be that if Dickens had not exerted him- 
 self — had not, to use a common expression, taken so much 
 out of himself — as he did during the last few years of 
 his life, he might, at the present moment, have been a hale 
 and hearty man — indeed, a young man, as youth is judged 
 nowadays — of seventy-two years. But the conditions of 
 existence are prescribed by that constitutional fatalism 
 known as temperament. Dickens was not only a genius, 
 but he had the volcanic activity, the perturbed restless- 
 ness, the feverish excitability of genius. What he created 
 that he was. His personages were, as readers of his let- 
 tei's know, an integral part of his life. Nor were the en- 
 thusiasm and intensity which he experienced in his daily 
 business less remarkable. The meditative life, the facul- 
 ty of a judicious resting, the power of self-detachment 
 from contemporary events which enables so many of our 
 octogenarians to be comparatively juvenile, had no charm 
 for him. To him old age would never have brought tran- 
 quillity, and therefore it may be said that old age would 
 never have arrived. It was a law of his existence that his 
 foot should be always in the stirrup and his sword always 
 unsheathed. He had, moreover, as I have above exi)lained, 
 a chivalrous regard to the public. He was their devoted 
 servant, and he was anxious to spend his life-blood in their 
 cause. Consequently, even when he knew his ])()wcr as a 
 novelist was on the wane — according to Forster it had, 
 indeed, been on the wane so far back as the days of " Bleak 
 House " — he determined to seek a new sphere, and one 
 whicli to his histrionic Icnipcranu'nt was singularly con- 
 genial, in his readings. 'I'liis I l)olieve to be the true ac- 
 count of the reasons which weiglied with him in selecting 
 that arduous ordeal which brought his life to its prema-
 
 A DICKENS CHAPTER. 307 
 
 ture close. Other reasons of a more melodramatic and 
 sensational character might be cited, but it is my convic- 
 tion that they would be less to be trusted. 
 
 One word more. In regard to the friendship which 
 Dickens vouchsafed me, I have been frequently asked, 
 " Did he come up to the expectations you had formed of 
 him ? Was Dickens the man as lovable as Dickens the 
 author ?" And I have always replied, " Yes ; wholly." 
 
 All the kindness of heart, geniality, generosity, appre- 
 ciation of whatever could be appreciated in others, manly 
 independence, hatred of humbug, all the leading qualities 
 of his books were component parts of his nature. For 
 one holding a position so unique in the world he was won- 
 derfully modest ; and while he always quietly and unos- 
 tentatiously asserted his own dignity, I never saw the 
 smallest appearance of " putting on airs." His expressed 
 dislike to allow his daughters to play before the Court as 
 amateur actresses, his repeated refusal of the Queen's re- 
 quests that he would come round after an amateur per- 
 formance and be presented to her, he being in his theatri- 
 cal costume, were evidences of this self-respect ; and his 
 belief in, and assertion of, the dignity of his calling were 
 just as marked. Any foothold on the literary ladder, no 
 matter how low, had its interest for him. " I do not 
 plead as a stranger," he said, at the Newspaper Press 
 Fund ; "I hold a brief for my brothers ;" and then plunged 
 into some delightful stories of his reporting days. 
 
 What he was to the world the world knows ; to me 
 
 he was the most charming of companions, the kindest of 
 
 friends. 
 
 " I weep a loss forever new, 
 
 A void where heart on heart reposed ; 
 And where warm hands have pressed and closed 
 Silence, till I be silent too. 
 
 " I weep the comrade of my choice, 
 An awful thought, a life removed, 
 The human-hearted man I loved, 
 A epirit, not a breathing voice."
 
 308 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 
 
 I HAD the honor of an acquaintance with the late Lord 
 Chief - justice of England, Sir Alexander Cockbuen, 
 which extended over some years, and was to me the 
 source of much pleasure. A better talker, with a sweeter 
 voice, cannot be imagined: matter and manner were both 
 excellent. He had lived so long, so much, and with such 
 people that his experiences were as unique as the way in 
 which he told them. 
 
 I first met him at Lady Fife's in Cavendish Square, in 
 the year '67, to my great delight ; for I had heard much 
 of him from Dickens, and had long admired him from a 
 distance. The next week I dined with him at his house 
 in Hertford Street with a small party. His dinners were 
 excellent, though not elaborate, and be the rest of the 
 menu what it might, a joint of cold roast-beef always prom- 
 inently figured therein; he drank little wine himself, but 
 gave much and good to his friends, and as a host he shone 
 pre-eminent. As Mr. Disraeli said in the course of his 
 notable reply to Dr. Kenealy in the House of Commons, 
 "The Lord Chief -justice is not a man who enters our 
 drawing-rooms with an air of adamantine gravity." Nor 
 did lie assume such an air as he sat at the head of his 
 own table, the model of a host in liis mien and bearing, 
 with all the vivacity of youth tempered by the wisdom 
 of age. 
 
 When the other guests left. Sir Ak'xandcr, to ray de- 
 liglit, invited me to remain for a cigar and a chat. We 
 adjourned to the library, a cosy room lined with books 
 on all sides from floor to ceiling, Avhere his home-work 
 was done. I took occasion to refer to the great Palmer 
 trial, where he had conducted the prosecution, and of
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 309 
 
 which I knew from Dickens he had most interesting 
 anecdotes. My allusion had the desired effect, and my 
 host started off at once. 
 
 I listened to his wonderful story of the case, from its 
 commencement to its close : how he, then Attorney-gen- 
 eral, read the notes of the proceedings and of the earlier 
 examinations, and became convinced, not merely of Palm- 
 er's guilt, but of the manner in which the crime was car- 
 ried out; how he worked night and day in studying the 
 effects of various poisons, and finally submitted himself to 
 an examination by friendly experts to prove that he had 
 mastered the subject; how he elected to have the prisoner 
 tried on Cook's case, though it was the weakest of the 
 several indictments which he could have brought for- 
 ward, feeling certain that if he failed to hang Palmer for 
 the murder of Cook he would indubitably convict him 
 for the murder of his wife. I remember his telling me 
 how, having been called away by his duties as Attorney- 
 genei'al to Westminster, he returned to the Old Bailey 
 as Lord Campbell was summing up, and looking down 
 from a gallery into the court, " I knew," said he, " by 
 the look of John Campbell's face that Palmer was a dead 
 man." 
 
 It was in connection with the Palmer trial that he told 
 me he experienced what he considered the greatest com- 
 pliment ever paid to him. Palmer was in the habit, as he 
 stood in the dock, of writing instructions or suggestions 
 to his attorney, Mr. Smith, screwing them up into little 
 pellets, and tossing them over to their destination. One 
 of these, which he wrote immediately after the verdict 
 of guilty had been pi-onounced by the jury, was after- 
 wards handed to Sir Alexander Cockburn. It merely con- 
 tained these words : " It's the I'iding that has done it ;" 
 conveying thei-eby, in sporting metaphor, which Palmer 
 was constantly using, the prisoner's opinion that it was 
 solely due to the Attorney-general's conduct of the case 
 that the verdict against him had been obtained. 
 
 One more anecdote in connection with this subject is 
 in ray mind. "I remember," said Cockburn, leaning back 
 in his chair and laughing, " an article which appeared in
 
 310 FITTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 one of the picture - papers — not the Illustrated London 
 News, I fancy, but another — which gave portraits and 
 personal descriptions of all engaged in the trial — judges, 
 counsel, prisoners, and all. The portraits were, as usual, 
 not to be recognized, but the letter-press was exceedingly- 
 impudent and very amusing. Some of the phrases were 
 
 excellent. * was spoken of, I recollect, as ' the buck 
 
 of the Bar,' a term which fitted him exactly. I never 
 knew who wrote it." " Permit me," said I, rising, and 
 pointing to myself with a low bow, " to introduce to you 
 that distinguished journalist!"! 
 
 One night, after a tSte-d-tete dinner in Hertford Street, 
 I had the pleasure of accompanying Sir Alexander to one 
 of Dickens's readings. The subjects were the " Christmas 
 Carol " and " The Trial from < Pickwick.' " With the first 
 Cockburn was heartily delighted, laughing and — almost — 
 crying ; but the delivery of the trial affected him very 
 differently. He pish'd and psha'd throughout ; he was, 
 I think, annoyed at being recognized and stared at by 
 people who wanted to see how he took the points, and 
 particularly the imitation of the judge ; and at the con- 
 clusion he stigmatized the performance as "perfectly 
 ridiculous — a mere broad farce or exaggerated panto- 
 mime." 
 
 I have a note of another delightful dinner with the 
 Lord Chief some years later, in May, '75, when were pres- 
 ent Lord Kenmare, Lord Elcho, Lord Caraoys, the Span- 
 ish Ambassador, Sir Henry Pelly, Mr. Delane, Mr. Hay- 
 ward, Mr. Benjamin, Q.C., Mr. Waddy, Q.C., and Ca})tain 
 Cockburn. On this occasion I was again happily detained 
 by Sir Alexander till 1 a.m., part of his most interesting 
 talk being devoted to a life -history of Edwin James. 
 We also talked of my old scliool-fellow Richard Betliell, 
 second Lord Westbury, who was just dead, and of his 
 father, the first lord, the Lord Chancellor, of whom Cock- 
 
 * Now a judge. 
 
 t The reference was to some "praphie" .sketches of events and occur- 
 rences at the Palmer trial, which in luy early days I had written for the 
 llUutrated Times.
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 311 
 
 burn told several excellent stories, among them the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 Sir Richard Bethell, being Attorney - general, and Sir 
 Alexander Cockbrn-n, being Solicitor - general, had occa- 
 sion to discuss some important legal reform which was 
 to be brought before Parliament ; and the former sug- 
 gested that it should be talked over at his seat, Hackwood 
 Park, near Basingstoke. There, accordingly, Cockburn 
 visited him, and on the first morning they and Dick Beth- 
 ell, the eldest son, went out shooting. There were very 
 few pheasants, but after they had been out a little time 
 a terrific howl was heard from one of the keepers, who 
 had been badly shot. A warm altercation, carried on in 
 strong language, occurred between the two Bethells, fa- 
 ther and son, each accusing the other of having shot the 
 man. Cockburn took an opportunity of asking the keep- 
 er by which of his masters he had been shot, and got the 
 
 reply, " D n 'em! both of 'em!" Next term-time there 
 
 was a meeting of legal dignitaries about this question of 
 reform. Sir Richard Bethell opened the proceedings by 
 saying that he had given the question careful attention, 
 and was glad to say that his learned friend, the Solicitor- 
 general, to whom he had explained his views, was of his 
 way of thinking. On Cockburn's demurring gently, and 
 saying he did not recollect the discussion having taken 
 place. Sir Richard said, in his most mincing and affected 
 tones, "You must recollect it, my dear friend: it occurred 
 the morning you shot my keeper T"* 
 
 Just before I left, I was talking to Sir Alexander about 
 his having given up hunting, and he told me a good horse- 
 story : A man saw a very handsome chestnut horse at 
 Horncastle Fair, and was astonished at the lowness of the 
 price asked for it. After some chaffering he became the 
 purchaser, taking it without warranty or anything else ; 
 and having paid his money, he gave a " tip " of five shil- 
 lings to the groom, and asked him what was really the 
 matter with the animal that he should be sold so cheap. 
 The man, after some hesitation, declared that the horse 
 was a perfect animal with the exception of two faults. 
 "Two faults!" said the purchaser; "well, tell me one of
 
 312 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 them." "One is," said the man, "that when you turn 
 him into a field he is very difficult to catch." "That," 
 said the purchaser, " is no harm to me, as I make a point 
 of always keeping my horses in the stable, and never 
 turning them into the field. Now of the other?" "The 
 other," said the man, scratching his head, and looking sly- 
 ly up — "the other is that when you have caught him he 
 is not worth a rap !" 
 
 The Lord Chief held but a poor opinion of his judicial 
 brethren, nor did he rate highly the abilities of any of the 
 leading members of the Bar, with the exception of Mr. 
 Benjamin, of whom he always spoke very highly. He 
 had some good Bar stories, for only two of which I can 
 find space. One was of a very prosy advocate, who, plead- 
 ing before a full bench, was'constantly repeating his argu- 
 ment. " I am sorry to interrupt you, Mr. ," at length 
 
 said the senior judge, " but you have already advanced 
 that argument twice, and it is useless your doing so again." 
 "But there are three of your lordships," said the barrister. 
 
 Of the other story the dramatis personce are all living, 
 80 that I must " dissemble " as regards their names. One 
 day a Mr. Rufus Rightly (who is known in the profession 
 as Mr. Rather Wrongly), in an argument before Mr. Jus- 
 tice Littleton (a very good man and a clever lawyer, though 
 somewhat soft), had put certain questions which were ob- 
 jected to by the opposite side, and which Mr. Justice Lit- 
 tleton accordingly held over until he had consulted his 
 learned brother in the other court. This happened to be 
 Lord Coke, who, on hearing the question, asked who had 
 put it, and on being told Mr. Rufus Rightly, said, " Oh, 
 I should certainly not allow it; and, my dear Littleton, as 
 a general rule I would never allow any question which 
 that gentleman may put, and vvliich nuiy be objected to." 
 Mr. Justice Littleton returned into court after luncheon, 
 and, when the case was renewed, said, " Oh, Mr. Rightly, I 
 have taken the opinion of my learned brother on the ob- 
 jections wliich you have raised in this case, ami I have de- 
 cided not to allow them ; and 1 may as well tell you that 
 in any other case in which you may raise objections, I 
 have decided ?iot to alloio them /"
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 31 3 
 
 Cockbnm was passionately fond of music, and the lead- 
 ing professors of the art were constant visitors at his 
 house, notabl)^ Herr Joachim, who always paid one of his 
 first visits in Hertford Street after his annual arrival in 
 England, and who was to be found there constantly dur- 
 ing his stay. The late Mrs. Sartoris (Adelaide Kemble) 
 was also one of Sir Alexander's favorite guests; and the 
 sympathetic qualities of her lovely voice never seem to 
 have lost their effect on him. Mrs. Nassau Senior and 
 Mrs. Rudolf Lehmann were also frequently to be heard 
 in the somewhat gaunt and gloomy drawing-room, which 
 certainly lacked every possible evidence of a woman's 
 care. At one time Cockburn was a constant attendant at 
 the Monday Popular Concerts, but of late years he had 
 given up going there. 
 
 Among the habituh of Hertford Street were Mr. Henry 
 Calcraft, Dr. Quin, Lord Sherbrooke, Dr. and Mrs. Priest- 
 ley, and Charles Halle ; and Cockburn had a life - long 
 friendship with the well-known Eton master, the late 
 Rev. W. G. Cookesley.* 
 
 Although Sir Alexander never posed for a wit, he was 
 very smart and ready. " I wanted to ask you a question 
 this morning," I said to him one day at dinner, " but you 
 were on the bench. Are you get-at-able by a note there ?" 
 " Do you mean a five-pound note ?" he asked, instantly. 
 
 He retained to the last his happy power for repartee. 
 In reply to a remark made by some one only the week be- 
 fore his death as to Ireland being a " God-forsaken coun- 
 try," Sir Alexander immediately retorted, "It is not at 
 present so much a * God-forsaken ' as a ' Government-for- 
 saken' country." 
 
 His devotion to work may be estimated by the fact 
 that, after a medical consultation, held nearly two years 
 before his death, he was plainly informed that his disease 
 had reached such a point that he might die at any time 
 without a moment's notice. His retirement from the 
 
 * I had the pleasure of knowing Mr. Cookesley, a very charming man : 
 he was intimate with Mr. Disraeli, from whom he received the living of 
 Tempsford, and there was a curious likeness between him and Cockburn. 
 
 14
 
 314 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 bench was advised by his friends and his medical man ; 
 and it was suggested, as an alternative, that he might 
 prolong life by devoting himself to his favorite amuse- 
 ment of yachting and a mild course of literary labor, for 
 the purpose of putting into shape his legal, political, liter- 
 ary, and social reminiscences. The Chief -justice, however, 
 would not hear of retirement, and on each of the three 
 occasions on which he was seized with disease of the 
 heart, returned to work without the needful rest for recu- 
 peration. 
 
 He had been ailing and failing, for he was in his seventy- 
 ninth year, but his death was almost sudden. On Satur- 
 day afternoon, the 20th November, 1880, the Lord Chief- 
 justice walked home from court, feeling much as usual, 
 })ut, as the event proved, for the last time. When his 
 servant took him up his whiskey-and-water about eleven 
 o'clock, he complained of not feeling avcII. Shortly after 
 this he rang his bell, and died in ten minutes, the butler 
 alone being present. 
 
 On Sunday, 7th October, 1877, 1 had the honor of being 
 j)resented to Lord Beaconsfield at Brighton. I was 
 walking in the afternoon on the green esplanade opposite 
 Brunswick Terrace, and saw the Premier leaning on Mr. 
 Corry's arm. I nodded to Mr. Corry, who presently i-au 
 after me, saying, "I want to present you to the Prime- 
 minister." Lord Beaconsfield, who wore a long great-coat 
 and curly-brimmed hat, raised his hat in the old-fashioned 
 way, receiving me very graciously. He shook hands, say- 
 ing, "Very glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Yates; 
 hitherto I have only known you by reputation." He mo- 
 tioned that I should fall in by his side, and ho walked 
 l)etween Mr. C'orry and myself up and down. lie ex- 
 ) tressed himself as much struck l)y the briglituess of the 
 place, he himself liaving just come "from the middle of 
 the country, where the fall of the leaf made everything 
 very dreary." In his young days, he said, tlie Steine had 
 been the great place for jtronienmh', l)Ut this walk by the 
 side of the sea was certainly preferable. 
 
 Mr. Corry then questioned me about the vacant editor-
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 315 
 
 ship of the Times^ saying it was impossible there should 
 be truth in the rumor that the post had been offered to 
 
 Mr. . Lord Beaconsiield agreed, saying that had 
 
 some qualifications for the post, but not all that were req- 
 uisite. He then asked me about Mr. Chenery, whose ap- 
 pointment as successor to Mr. Delane had been notified in 
 the World. Lord Beaconsfield said he had heard "that 
 he held a chair of Arabic somewhere," but he did not con- 
 sider that a very essential qualification for the editor of 
 the Times. I ventured to traverse this statement, and told 
 him that Mr. Chenery was an excellent journalist, and had 
 twenty years' experience of the traditions of Printing- 
 house Square. " But is he versed in social diplomacy like 
 Mr. Delane ? — that is an important jsart of his duties," 
 said Lord Beaconsfield. I only said in reply that Mr. 
 Chenery could and did — as was most assuredly the case — 
 make himself very agreeable in society. 
 
 We spoke of Dickens. I mentioned that Dickens had 
 told me of his meeting Lord Beaconsfield (then Mr. Dis- 
 raeli) at dinner ; this was only a few weeks before Dick- 
 ens's death. I told Lord Beaconsfield that, in mentioning 
 the circumstance to me, Dickens had said, "What a de- 
 lightful man he is ! what an extraordinary pity it is that 
 he should ever have giverl ' up literature for politics !" 
 This, as I expected, seemed to amuse Lord Beaconsfield 
 very much. He said, " I remember the occasion perfect- 
 ly; it was at Lord Stanhope's. I was one day mention- 
 ing to him my regret at having seen so little of Mr. Dick- 
 ens, and he said, 'He is coming to dine here next week ; 
 come and meet him.' I went, and sat next to Dickens." 
 
 Lord Beaconsfield spoke of the charm of Dickens's con- 
 versation, his brightness, and his humor; and I remarked 
 I had always held that Dickens was an exception to the 
 general rule of authoi-s being so much less interesting 
 than their books. I asked Lord Beaconsfield whether it 
 was not in his experience that many men, of whose pow- 
 ers of conversation he had hoard much, proved, on meet- 
 ing them, to be by no means beyond the average, 
 
 "That is rather a wide field," he said. "Perhaps, on 
 the whole, you are right ; but I can easily understand that
 
 316 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 you, or any other clever man, finding yourself in the com- 
 pany of a jjrofessional writer, and having a smart thing 
 on the tip of your tongue, might hesitate to give it utter- 
 ance, saying to yourself, 'If I say that, this d d fel- 
 low will put it into his article.' " 
 
 These were Lord Beaconsfield's ipsissima verba; and 
 now that he is gone, and that there can be no harm, this 
 " d d fellow " has done so. 
 
 THE "punch" staff. 
 
 Punch is exactly ten years younger than I am, and I 
 can well recollect its first number. I was with my mother 
 when my father brought it to her, saying, " Here is Stii'- 
 ling Coyne's new paper." From what I have since heard 
 and read I should imagine Mr, Coyne's connection with it 
 cannot have been very close or have endured very long. 
 His wit and humor were fully up to the average of the 
 early numbers ; but when an improvement took place, and 
 Punch gradually settled down to its stride, Coyne's not 
 very excellent farce- jokes must have been found out of 
 place. 
 
 Those who are interested in the early fortunes of the 
 periodical will find them set forth in a little book called 
 " Mr, Punch, his Origin and Career," which is easily ob- 
 tainable : they seem to have been of the usual pattern — 
 stai't, struggle, imminent bankruptcy, purchase by a new 
 proprietary, and ultimate success. The idea was that of 
 a Mr. Last, a printer ; tlic name was suggested by Mr. 
 Henry Mayhew, who was for some time co-editor with 
 Mr. Mark Lemon ; and among tlie earliest members of 
 the staff were Douglas Jerrold, (4ilbort a Beckett, Horace 
 Mayliew, W. H. Wills, and Albert Smith. From the two 
 last my ])crsonal knowledge of the early days of Punch was 
 derived. 
 
 When I first knew anything of the inner life of the pe- 
 riodical, Mark Lkmon was its editor. QuO, ])ersonal ap- 
 ])('arance he was made for llic ])art. Cor])ul('iit, jovial, 
 briglit-cycd, with a hearty laugh and an air of bonhomie, 
 he rolled through life tlie outward im])crsonation of jolli- 
 ty and good-temper. Of liis early career but little was
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 317 
 
 known. He was much associated with actors, and, I im- 
 agine, had been one of them. It is certain that he had 
 been a publican, keeping among other taverns one in 
 Wych Street, called "The Shakspeare," where Albert 
 Smith had seen him, rubbing his hands in his usual efflo- 
 rescent manner, and crying, "More steaks, gentlemen ! 
 coming directly !" 
 
 He had no verbal wit, but he was an extraordinarily 
 funny man, full of ridiculous ideas, Avhich he would carry 
 out in a most humorous manner. As Hans Christian An- 
 dersen once said to me, after seeing Lemon go through 
 some amusing tomfoolery at a garden-party at Fulham, 
 "Mr. Lemon is most excellent full of comic." Save in 
 dramatic composition, where he excelled — I have in a 
 previous chapter mentioned his "Domestic Economy," 
 " Hearts are Trumps," etc. — his original attempts were 
 nothing worth. Late in life he took to novel- writing, but 
 made nothing of it, and his songs and ballads, which he 
 turned out to order, were desperate productions. 
 
 But Mark Lemon made an excellent editor of Punch. 
 He was a Jew, as his prmom and surname sufficiently 
 testify, and had all the keen appreciation of that quick- 
 witted race. He was patient and long-suffering where his 
 interest was concerned, and could bear without resent- 
 ment a slight from Thackeray or a snub from Leech. He 
 had a great power of shaking hands, always impressing 
 the owner of the hand shaken that he (the shaker) was, 
 by the process, covered with glory and steeped in delight. 
 But with all this he was, when occasion required, a man of 
 firm will, kept his team together with a strong hand, knew 
 what each man could do best and made him do it, and thor- 
 oughly understood the public for which he had to cater. 
 
 Lemon died in harness in 1870, and was succeeded by 
 Shirley Biiooks, who had long been his right-hand man 
 and shrewdest counsellor. In such a position Brooks was 
 invaluable: his fertility of resource was matchless; he 
 suggested cartoons for the artists, found titles for the 
 cartoons, wrote the " Essence of Parliament," and never 
 missed a suitable subject or a seizable point.
 
 318 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Shirley Brooks was the son of an architect, and was 
 brought up as a solicitor ; but he hated the law, and soon 
 took to literature. For several years his life was that of 
 every respectable literary man, nothing but the prosy tale 
 of sheer industry gradually acquiring lucrative emijloy- 
 ment. He always brought the business element into his 
 work, and considered that he was as much bound to sup- 
 ply " copy " at the siiecified time as he would have been, 
 in his law days, to deliver a brief before the hearing. As 
 soon as he could swim without the corks of law he let 
 them float away, and managed to keep his head uj), not, 
 however, without more struggle than would be pleasant 
 to, or even good for, everybody. But the world comes to 
 eveiy one who will Avait — and work ; and it came to him. 
 
 Introduced to Mr. Douglas Cook, then editing the Morn- 
 ing Chronicle, which was flickering brilliantly before it 
 finally went out. Brooks, in some literary reviews which 
 he wrote, showed such knowledge and acumen that on 
 the important oflice of summary writer in the House of 
 Commons falling vacant it was given to him. 
 
 At the time of his ajipointment he had never heard a 
 debate in liis life, but he soon learned his work, and con- 
 tinued at it for five sessions, during which time it was im- 
 possible for such a man, who really minded and cared for 
 his business, not to pick up a great quantity of miscella- 
 neous as well as political knowledge, of all of which he 
 afterwards availed himself. 
 
 Early in his connection with the Chronicle its directors 
 resolved upon a widely-spread investigation into the con- 
 dition of the agricultural classes on the Continent and else- 
 where. To Mr. Angus Reach was allotted the inquiry into 
 this class in France; and in that delightful work, "Claret 
 and Olives," may be seen how admirably he discharged 
 his task. To Mr. Shirley Brooks was offered a similar 
 mission in the south of Russia, Asia Minor, and Egypt. 
 He gladly accejited it, and made a tour of six months, col- 
 Ircting the desired materials. His letters duly nj)peared 
 ill tlie Chronicle, and the Russian jiortion oi tliein, to 
 whiciii nmch attention was attracted, were republished in 
 Messrs. Longman's "Travellers' Library."
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 319 
 
 How Shirley Brooks fought his way on to Punch has 
 already been told in these pages. Once there, he speed- 
 ily made his value felt. He began with a rather weak 
 novelette, wholly unsuited to his new organ, but he quick- 
 ly became acclimatized, and thenceforward was king of 
 the position. His "Essence of Parliament" is absolutely 
 unique: his gallery training as summary writer was of 
 immense value, and not merelv was the essence of the 
 actual debate distilled in the alembic of his wit, but 
 retrospect and forecast found places in his fancy. His 
 verses were better than nine-tenths of the poems of his 
 day. His style, both in verse and prose writing, was ex- 
 cessively neat, but his neatness never swamped his hu- 
 mor. He was charmingly witty, but at the same time 
 broadly funny: e.g. 
 
 " ' What are the wild waves saying ?' 
 Said a maid in a round straw hat, 
 On the sands of Margate playing — 
 
 ' Papa, can you tell me that ?' 
 Her sire, in grim displeasure, 
 
 No kind of an answer made, 
 Till she fetched him a slight refresher 
 With the fiat of her wooden spade.''^ 
 
 A set of verses in a more serious strain are too long to 
 quote entire, but too good not to be rescued from obliv- 
 ion. The great Sir Robert Peel is supposed to be asking 
 his son Frederick (now Chief Commissioner of Railways, 
 then a young man " about town ") his favorite question, 
 '' What's a pound?" The son replies: 
 
 " A pound, ray father, is the price 
 That clears the Opera wicket : 
 Two lemon gloves, one lemon ice. 
 
 Libretto, and your ticket. 
 A pound will buy a grape in March, 
 
 Will buy a peach in May ; 
 Or, in July, to Ellsler arch 
 Will fling a rich bouquet." 
 
 Sir Robert rebukes him: 
 
 "My son, these butterfly remarks 
 Are tiMsli, as you uiusL feel ;
 
 320 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 They suit the dandies in the Parks, 
 
 Not him who signs liim Peel. 
 I hoped to find my offspring tread 
 
 On higher, nobler ground : 
 And, once again, I ask you, Fred, 
 
 To tell me, ' What's a pound ?' " 
 
 The son replies with his previous frivolity, and then Sir 
 Robert points the moral : 
 
 "A laborer lives in yonder cot. 
 
 With wife and children five ; 
 And six-and-sixpence, weekly got, 
 
 Keeps the whole seven ahve. 
 On this he struggles like a horse, 
 
 Or crouches like a hound : 
 Fred, jou can multiply of course — 
 
 Now go and spend your pound !" 
 
 Brooks's readiness was as great as Jerrold's, but his 
 humor, with a strong sub-acid flavor, was peculiarly his 
 own. They were talking once at my table of the hor- 
 rors of catalepsy and being buried alive, and I was men- 
 tioning the Frankfort custom of depositing the bodies 
 in the dead-house for twenty-four hours before burial, 
 with a bell-rope attached to the wrist, that a signal might 
 be given in an instant, in the event of returning anima- 
 tion. "Ah," said Brooks, "that custom evidently sug- 
 gested Tennyson's line — ' Many a morning on the moor- 
 land did I hear the copses ring !' " 
 
 Thoroughly his own, too, and uttered with his usual 
 curl of the nostril and lip, was his remark on looking 
 round my book-shelves, and seeing my old school Homer, 
 Avhich Sinij)Soii, after j)atchiiig and mending its back, had 
 labelled " Homer's Iliad." "■Jlomer's Iliad," said Brooks, 
 with an inflection on the name — "yes, I believe it is the 
 best !" 
 
 In his youth Shirley Brooks was a singularly handsome 
 and thoroughly English-looking man, with well-cut feat- 
 ures, fresh complexion, and bright eyes. Even at the 
 last, when his hair was silvery white and his beard griz- 
 zled, he retained his freshness, \vhich, combined with his 
 hearty genial manner, his a]»preciation of, and promptitude
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 32 1 
 
 to enter into, fun, made him look considerably younger 
 than his real age. He was hearty and hospitable, fond 
 of dining at the dinners of rich City companies, where 
 he would make excellent speeches ; fond of enjoying the 
 company of a friend at the Garrick Club, or at a corner 
 table in a coffee-room at one of the old hotels in Covent 
 Garden. It was his special delight to gather together at 
 his house in Kent Terrace, Regent's Park, a score of in- 
 timate acquaintances on the last night of the old year, 
 and in a few kindly words, as midnight chimed, to wish 
 them happiness and i^rosperity in the coming season. 
 
 Shirley Brooks never took any exercise, and lived far 
 too well, consequently his originally fine constitution was 
 undermined by a complication of disorders. He hated 
 being away from London, and when in the country or 
 at the sea for his annual holiday looked thoroughly 
 wretched and out of place, wore London clothes and a 
 tall hat, and occupied his entire time in reading news- 
 papers. He died on the 23d February, '74. On the day 
 
 previous he was told that (a newspaper reporter) 
 
 had called to inquire after him. *' There is no need for 
 him to do that," Brooks said, feebly; "he shall have his 
 paragraph at the proper time." 
 
 Shirley Brooks was succeeded in the editorial chair by 
 Tom Taylor, who was not a success. Li his youth he had 
 some humor of a certain kind, but the salt had lost its 
 savor. As a writer, Taylor was weak ; as an editor, vac- 
 illating and fidgety. He was at his best in dramatic adap- 
 tation, at his worst in his Punch work, which was badly 
 chosen, long-winded, and dull. What Taylor spoiled in 
 a pointless column Brooks would have condensed into a 
 paragraph or a verse bristling with wit. Taylor labored 
 under the delusion that he was a poet, and the volumes 
 of Punch contain more bad verses of his, not merely want- 
 ing in the higher qualities of poetry, but halting lines 
 which will not scan, than most periodicals of the same 
 kind. Tom Taylor's principal recommendations in life 
 were his pimctuality, kindness of heart, open-handed char- 
 ity, and thorough respectability. But the possession of 
 
 14*
 
 322 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 these vii'tues does not qualify a man to be a contributor 
 to a satirical journal : certain of the clii majores of that 
 department of literature have been wholly without any 
 of them. Tom Taylor was an excellent man, but an in- 
 different editor, and Punch was at its lowest when under 
 his guidance. 
 
 Of his successor. Me. F. C. Burnand, there is but little 
 occasion to speak. He enlisted under Whitefriars in his 
 youth, and rose in the ranks which he now commands. 
 There is not, perhaps, in the language more exquisite 
 fooling than in his " Happy Thoughts," the earliest num- 
 bers of which excited the admiration of Dickens, who in- 
 quired of me about their author. No man has a keener 
 sense of humor than Mr. Burnand, or a greater apprecia- 
 tion of it in others : he is good-tempered, but he never 
 allows himself to be trifled with in the conduct of his 
 business, and with a perfect geniality takes care to pre- 
 serve strict discipline. 
 
 A man of a grave and almost melancholy cast of coun- 
 tenance, handsome withal, was John Leech ; quiet, re- 
 served, and gentlemanly in manner, a hearty hater of 
 posing and noise and publicity. Save at the weekly 
 dinner, he consorted but little with his colleagues on 
 Punch, with the exception of Thackeray ; he was inti- 
 mate, at one time, with Dickens, to Avhoni he gave a 
 walking-stick inscribed " C. D., from J. L.," which Dick- 
 ens often carried ; with IVLillais, M'ith Mowbray Morris, 
 and with M. J. Higgius. He and Albert Smith had been 
 fellow medical students at the Middlesex Hospital, fellow 
 assistants to that genera] practitioner who iigures in " licd- 
 bury" as Mr. Kawkins, but in later life there Avas not 
 much in common between them. I fear Albert was a 
 little too rowdy for Leech. My relations with Leech 
 were always particularly pleasant. He would liave un- 
 dertaken the cover for my first sliilling book had he not 
 been too busy; and for my entertaiinnent he drew me an 
 admirable large crayon head of a foreign tenor, for which 
 he would not hear of acce])ting payment. My old friend
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 323 
 
 Mr. W. P. Frith, R.A., treated me in similar generous 
 fashion. 
 
 There was very little that was eventful in Leech's not 
 long life. He was always at work, but was generally be- 
 hindhand with his cartoons; and half of Lemon's life was 
 passed in hansom cabs, bowling away to Notting Hill or 
 Brunswick Square or Kensington, where, in succession, 
 Leech lived. His principal relaxation was hunting, either 
 with the Queen's or the Brighton harriers; and a glance 
 at Punch would always tell which watering-place the Leech 
 family had visited during the autumn. He never, to my 
 knowledge, made but one joke. I told him Brough was 
 going to Australia, and he asked, " Was he going to 
 Brough it in the bush ?" He used to troll out the old song 
 of " King Death was a rare old fellow " in a deep bass 
 voice, and he had one story which he was fond of telling. 
 He and some friends went to a travelling wax- work show. 
 The exhibitor, pointing to an attenuated figure in uniform 
 with a star on its breast, said, " King George IV." Leech 
 started, and said, "I thought George IV. was a fat man!" 
 "Did yer?" sneered the showman; "and yer wouldn't be 
 a fat man neither if you'd been kep without vittles so 
 long as him!" 
 
 Leech suffered desperately from a disorder of the nerves, 
 and had a dread, amounting to a monomania, of noise. 
 He died in November, '64, aged forty - seven, and was 
 buried at Kensal Green, the funeral service being read by 
 Mr. (now Canon) Hole, who had been Leech's companion 
 on that "Little Tour in Ireland" which they had jointly 
 recorded with pen and pencil. 
 
 Horace Mayiiew was one of those who have found a 
 recognized coimection with Punch to act as a comfortable 
 life -belt, buoying them up, and enabling them to float 
 prosperously down the stream. He was not largely en- 
 dowed with native wit, but treated what he had on the 
 gold-beater's principle, and made it go a long way. He 
 was a cheery, light-hearted, good-natured creature, with 
 some power of drawing, a knowledge of French, a good 
 bass voice, and an unfailing power of emitting jokelets.
 
 324 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 He was cursed with a competence, which prevented the 
 necessity of his striving to do his best, but enabled him 
 to do kindly service to others less fortunate. 
 
 Of my experiences of Douglas Jerrold's wonderful 
 wit I have spoken elsewhere, and I had not the pleasure 
 of Mr. Gilbert a' Beckett's acquaintance; but I am re- 
 mmded in this place of two characteristic anecdotes of 
 Thackeray. I was walking with him one evening from 
 the club, and passing a fish-shop in New Street, he noticed 
 two different tubs of oysters, one marked " Is. a dozen," 
 the other " Is. 3c?. a dozen." " How they must hate each 
 other!" said Thackeray, pointing them out. 
 
 A friend called on him on the morning of Sunday, De- 
 cember 15, 1861, with the Observer in his hand. Thack- 
 eray spied the black border of the paper instantly, and 
 started up. " The Prince Consort is dead ?" he cried. 
 The visitor intimated assent, " Ah !" said Thackeray, 
 dropping into his chair, "poor dear gentleiooman /" 
 
 Mr. J. R. Planche was one of my earliest friends; in- 
 deed I believe I first entered juvenile " society " at a child's 
 party at his house in Brompton. He was intimate with 
 my father, about whom he had many good stories. Such 
 a pleasant little man, even in his extreme old age — he was 
 over eighty at his death — and always neatly dressed, show- 
 ing his French origin in his vivacity and his constant ges- 
 ticulation. I met him one day at dinner, where he was 
 
 seated next Mr. A M , avIio said to liim, " It's a 
 
 dreadful confession, Planche; but now wlienever Pm in- 
 troduced to any one I have to say, ' I knew your father.' " 
 "Don't mind tliat, my dear fellow," said Planche; "for 
 years past, inider similar circumstances, Pve had to say, 
 'I knew your grandfalher.'" He was ratluM- ])r()ud of his 
 connection witli the Heralds' College, and disliked being 
 joked about it; but he was greatly delighted at the follow- 
 ing lines which I addressed to him: 
 
 " Mr. PIiinch6, 1 entreat you, sir ! give up the IIkrai.d'h Oolleob, 
 
 Leave Hliic-inuiitlL' and Clarencieux to fucif^i- laTaldic lore, 
 To vamp armorial bearings, and to Hcatter usfluss knowledge 
 Of ratiipajil and of couchaiit, of urgent, gules, and or I
 
 PEOi'LE I HAVE K^'OWN. 325 
 
 " Cut your curt-hose, put on trousers ! doff your breast-emblazoned tabard ! 
 Clear your cobwebs, seize the pen which you have never plied in vain ; 
 For the bright sword of )'our wit is growing rusty in its scabbard. 
 And we long to see it gleaming in the gas-lamps once again ! 
 
 " We remember how it rattled in the joints of Humbug's armor, 
 Mowed down Conventionality, laid Cant and Error low ; 
 In the hands of Miss Fitzwilliara, or some other piquante charmer, 
 How deftly every cut was dealt, how masterly each blow ! 
 
 "But )-our mantle, Mr. Planche, has on none of those descended 
 Who in this present Christmas-tide pretend to do your M'ork ; 
 And as to your Excalibur, the least said soonest mended, 
 For in its stead your followers wield a feeble little dirk. 
 
 ■I mean — to give up metaphor — that where an illustration 
 
 Of yours would ring with Attic wit and pungent repartee, 
 They put their Webster's dictionary through a long gyration. 
 And leave us finally in doubt as to what their aim may be. 
 
 With slang they cram their dialogue — and slang is not amusing — 
 No gentle lady's tongue should talk of ' going it like bricks !' 
 
 ' Old cove's ' a term which I don't like to hear an actress using ; 
 Xor is coin most pleasantly described as ' a joey and three kicks.' 
 ******** 
 
 •' Then, Mr. Planche, come once more and doff your herald's tabard ! 
 Clear your cobwebs, seize the pen which you have never plied in vain ; 
 For the bright sword of your wit is growing rusty in its scabbard, 
 And we long to see it flashing in the gas-lamps once again !" 
 
 I had the pleasure of a slight acquaintance with the 
 late Duke of Wellixgtox, and have heard him say good 
 things and tell amusing stories, but as they were mostly 
 about persons still living, they are not admissible here. 
 The Duke, however, confirmed me about the truth of two 
 stories concerning which I interrogated him, one relating 
 to his father, the other to himself, and which I therefore 
 give. It appears that some tradesmen — I will call them 
 Brown & Smith — had been dunning Lord Charles Welles- 
 ley for some time for money due, and at length they wrote 
 to his father the Duke. Then they received the follow- 
 ing communication : 
 
 "Apsley House. 
 
 "F.-M. the Duke of Wellington presents his compliments to Messrs. 
 Brown & Smith. 
 
 " The Duke is not Lord Charles Wellesley, neither is he Messrs. Brown 
 & Smith's debt-collector."
 
 326 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 The Other story is to this effect: Mr. Samuel Warren, 
 Q.C., of "Ten Thousand a Year" fame, was not unaccus- 
 tomed to attempt to ingratiate himself by what he con- 
 sidered adroit flatteries. One day, talking with the late 
 Duke, he said, " What a thousand pities it is, Duke, that 
 you were not brought up to political life ! If you had 
 been, you would have far excelled your contemporaries, 
 and been the first statesman of the day ; nay, even now 
 there is no reason, if you applied yourself, why you should 
 not achieve that position!" 
 
 The Duke listened, and then said, " Mr. Warren, I am 
 very glad there is no one here but ourselves to hear you 
 say this !" 
 
 " Why, your Grace, why?" asked Warren. 
 
 "Because," said the Duke, "they might fancy I was 
 such a d d fool as to believe what you say!" 
 
 My first acquaintance with Mk. Abraham Hayward 
 was made under somcAvhat peculiar circumstances, I had 
 been reading the first edition of his " Collected Essays," 
 and wanting more information on a certain point, I took 
 the liberty of calling upon him without introduction, 
 pleading the fact set forth in his book — that he had been 
 acquainted with my father — as an excuse for my temeri- 
 ty. Mr. Hayward, whom I found in the lodging at No. 8 
 St. James's Street in which he died, received mo very 
 graciously, spoke much of my father's varied abilities in 
 public, and pleasant gifts in private, and gave me all the 
 information I required. Not by nature a particularly 
 gracious man, his courtesy on this occasion was perliaps 
 due to the fact that I quoted to him his own story of 
 Samuel Rogers and Maltby going to call on Dr. Jolinson 
 in Bolt Court, and having their hands on the knocker, 
 when their courage failed them and they ran away. Hay- 
 ward was much pleased at this, and said, " You did as 
 Boswell would have done — came boldly in;" and more 
 pleased when I caj)ped the quotation from himself, and 
 said, "And I have been received in all kindness." 
 
 The mention of Rogers led to Hay ward's showing rae 
 a Dantan bust of that vei-y iri'ilable old gentleman, won-
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 327 
 
 derfnlly like, appallingly hideous and quaint, warranting 
 Luttrel's remark on reading Kogers's lines, 
 
 " The robin with a sidelong glance 
 Comes and looks at me askance." 
 
 " If it had been a carrion crow it would have looked him 
 straight in the face." We had a long talk about Rogers, 
 of whom I mentioned certain stories told me by Dickens, 
 which Hayward said were quite true, but " scarcely fitted 
 for publication in the Quarterly Hevieio.^^ 
 
 I saw Ilayward pretty frequently afterwards, met him 
 at dinner at Sir Alexander Cockburn's and other houses, 
 and had much talk with him on literary matters. I was 
 in the habit of asking him for information, which he gave 
 me freely. Here is a specimen: 
 
 "8 St. James's Street, January 19. 
 "Dear Mr. Yates, — I do not know who wrote the article on Wilberforce, 
 but I agree with you that to call him a ' truly delightful person ' is an ab- 
 surdity. I saw a great deal of him, and to me all his agreeability was 
 spoiled by his palpable insincerity. He was a coarse-minded man. The 
 committee of the Athenaeum were frequently obliged to write to him about 
 his selfish irregularities. He lodged in Pall Mall, and quite lived at the 
 Club. After breakfast it was his custom to sit upon two newspapers while 
 reading a third, or to retire with a whole bundle. The article on ' Plain 
 Whig Principles ' is a bit of Reeveism tout pur. It is not authorized by 
 the Wliig leaders, not by Lord Granville, nor Lord Hartington, nor, to the 
 best of my belief, by any Whig of note. 
 
 " Faithfully yours, 
 
 " A. Hayward." 
 And again: 
 
 "8 St. James's Street, January 14tli, 1880. 
 " I meant to write to you some time since, but better late than never, to 
 say with what pleasure I read your ' Club Case ' in 2'ime, which completely 
 confirms the impression I have always maintained of it. Indeed, I told 
 Thackeray that he was wrong when he first mentioned it to me. It always 
 struck me that the Club had nothing to do with the matter. I think you 
 have done quite right to publish the facts, which can never again be turned 
 to your disadvantage. Dickens certainly gave you bad advice, and I can- 
 not help thinking that you fell a victim to the ill-feeling between him and 
 Tliackcray. I have written an article on Metternich in the fortlicoming 
 Quarterly, but I quite agree with your opinion of the book, and so, I 
 think, will the reading public." 
 
 Some time before this I had obtained his consent to his 
 figuring as a " Celebrity at Home " in the columns of The
 
 328 FIFTY YEAllS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Woi'lcl. He was mucli pleased with the manner in which 
 the task was performed, and he wrote to me : 
 
 " The article was much more pleasing and flattering than I had any 
 reason to expect. I feel much obliged by the kind intention which 
 prompted it, but I assure you that I am very little of a diner-out ; and as 
 for the pleasures of the table, I regard them as depending much more on 
 the company than the cookery. I found The World a general topic at 
 Strawberry Hill." 
 
 I have a note in my diary: 
 
 "Tuesday, January 15, 1878, — To-day met Hayward in Bond Street. I 
 told him I had been just reading his article on Lord Melbourne in the 
 new number of the Quarterly, and that I remembered his previous paper 
 on the same subject printed in his ' Essays.' Hayward was much pleased. 
 He took me aside and talked to me for many minutes. He said the last 
 time he saw Lord Melbourne was a few months before his death at 
 Brockett. It was July, but Lord Melbourne was sitting before a roaring 
 
 fire, Mrs. walking up and down the room in an agony of tears. Lord 
 
 Melbourne, suddenly turning to Hayward, said, ' It's a d d good thing 
 
 for a man to have a balance at his banker's.' And then he added, ' It's a 
 
 d d bad thing for a woman to find it out.' After Melbourne's death 
 
 W C told Hayward tliat on that very day he (Lord Melbourne) 
 
 had drawn a check for seven hundred pounds in favor of Mrs. ." 
 
 And again : 
 
 "Coming out of the Grosvenor Gallery witli Hayward, we saw Sir Rob- 
 ert Peel in a cab, and Hayward began talking about liis father and the 
 accident whicli killed him. He was riding on Constitution Hill, wlien two 
 young ladies galloped up, causing his horse to shy, and he fell on his ribs, 
 one of wliicli penetrated liis linigs, and eventually caused death. Cliloro- 
 form was not known tiicn, and Sir Robert was most sensitive to pain, else 
 it is believed had he undergone an operation he might have been saved." * 
 
 Here are some explanations of one of his Quarterly 
 articles which Hayward gave me : The "literary man of 
 note" Avho was asked to dinner on the ground that he 
 was well versed in Massingor and IMarlowe, with whom he 
 ])ruvcd to have only a su])erHcial ac'<[uaintance, was riohn 
 Forster. The celebrated beauty who asked Lord Mel- 
 bourne whether Baron IMaule was the man lie (Melbourne) 
 
 * As an illustration of his father's sensitiveness, the present Sir Robert 
 Peel told mc he well remember.s on one occasion Sir Henry Ilalford, tiio 
 eminent pliysician, giving an account of a railway accident wiiich lie had 
 witnessed, and wliidi lie (lesciil)C(i witii sudi minuteness that Sir Robert 
 hud to stop him, as he was on the point of fainting.
 
 PEOPLE 1 HAVE KNOWN. 329 
 
 made a judge of for burning down the Tower, was Lady 
 Harriet d'Orsay. Hayward's note to me says : " She was 
 a very clever woman, though a languishing beauty, and 
 meant it satirically." The " eminent man of letters " — 
 whose beau ideal of a wife or mistress was a woman who 
 would sit on a footstool at his feet, looking up fondly in 
 his face, and only interrupt him to whisper that he was 
 the handsomest creature on earth — was Edward Bulwer, 
 Lord Lytton. 
 
 I suppose that most people who knew him would be of 
 the cabman's opinion, that Mr. John Forster was a very 
 "harbitrary gent;" but to me he was, I am bound to say, 
 always amiable, friendly, and helpful. It was through 
 Dickens's influence and recommendation mainly, no doubt, 
 that he thus made me an exception to his general rule, 
 but I think he also had a personal regard for me. 
 
 A friend who was staying at Gadshill at the time when 
 my first novel appeared told me that Forster, with a book 
 in his hand, greeted Dickens coming in to luncheon with, 
 
 " I have been reading, my dear Dickens, this book of 
 Mr. Yates's. Do you know it is really very good, my 
 dear Dickens — quite as good as Mr. Anthony Trollope." 
 
 "That is not very high praise," said Dickens, and sat 
 down to his lunch. 
 
 Dickens used to tell a very characteristic story of For- 
 ster, which has never found its way into print. At the 
 commencement of hostilities between Dickens and Messrs. 
 Bradbury & Evans, the copyright of Household Words 
 was sold by auction at Mr. Hodgson's. Dickens was rep- 
 resented at the sale by John Forster and Arthur Smith, 
 another intimate friend and ally of his, whom we will call 
 Mr. Blank, being also present. When the sale was con- 
 cluded, Mr. Blank was the first to arrive at the oftice in 
 Wellington Street, where Dickens was anxiously await- 
 ing the news. Having told it, Mr. Blank said, 
 
 " I cannot resist telling you how admirable Forster was 
 throughout : cool, prompt, and energetic, he won the day 
 with his business-like readiness." 
 
 Blank departed, and Forster arrived; and in the course
 
 330 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 of the interview Dickens, thinking it would please him, 
 took occasion to tell what had been said about him by- 
 Blank. 
 
 "I am very sorry, my dear Dickens," said Forster, 
 "that I cannot return the compliment, for a damnder 
 ass than your friend Mr. Blank I never met in a business 
 affair!" 
 
 Mr. Forster was very much interested in the success of 
 The World, about which I had a long talk with him at his 
 house at Palace Gate in the autumn of 1875. He told 
 me that in its palmiest times the Examiner, with which 
 he was connected for twenty years, had never attained 
 a third of our then circulation. The following letters 
 will give a good idea of the man in his later days : 
 
 "Ninth December, 1S75. 
 "I wish to send a copy of my Swift volume to you at your private ad- 
 dress, if you will be so good as to tell me where. You will, perhaps — when 
 I add that the book comes to you with no view or desire for review iu The 
 World — not be quite ready to believe me. You will, nevertheless, be wrong 
 in that. When Mr. Murray sent me a list of press copies — a very short 
 one only — The World did not appear, and I C|uite acquiesced, not niakincc 
 any addition to it, or inserting Thr World. You may well suppose that I 
 have not much care for the worst public notices, nor much pleasure in the 
 best, as matters now go with me. Just look into the volume wiiou you find 
 a leisure hour, and if you think of tlio fiieud now gone who taught me. to 
 feel an interest in you, you will not be likely to tliiidv unkindly of it or of 
 me. But I entreat that you will not consider it right or needful to say a 
 public word about it." 
 
 I did consider it right that public words, both about 
 the book and its author, should be said in The World, and 
 tjjcy were said ; with what effect upon the latter his let- 
 ter will testify : 
 
 "6th Jan., 1 876. 
 " My PEAR Yatks, — You are very good and kind to me. You have done 
 lliorougldy what you wished to do: you have given me pleasure — pleasure 
 unalloyt-d hy anything exci'i)ting doubt (wliicii does not on this occasion 
 distress one a.s perhaps it ought) whctlier all the friendly expressions arc 
 dcsei'ved ; but generous words arc not for criticism. The article is written 
 throughout with a u'wy consideration, and there are some things in it that 
 have touched me very nnich. Again I heartily thank you for it, and beg 
 you to believe mo Very sincerely yours, 
 
 "JOUN FoRSTKR."
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 331 
 
 My intercourse with Charles Reade was always pleas- 
 ant, but never intimate. I was a member of the Garrick 
 Club when he was elected, and first used to excite the in- 
 dignation of the old gentleman by changing his boots for 
 a pair of slippers, which he kept in a dressing-room, and 
 in which he, tiger-like, walked to and fro perambulating 
 the coffee-room. 
 
 On one occasion I owed much to his good services. I 
 was lecturing at Oxford, and declining to submit to the 
 " chaff " of a knot of undergraduates at the end of the 
 room, I shut up my book and retired, that being the sig- 
 nal for the commencement of a row in which I was freely 
 threatened. Charles Reade, who was staying at the time 
 in his Magdalen rooms, pushed his way into the middle 
 of the disturbance, claimed me as his friend, and pacified 
 the rioters, with whom we both of us spent a jolly evening. 
 
 From time to time I had short letters from him of va- 
 rious kinds, one of which, showing his method of work 
 and his odd notions of literary tnexmi and tuuni, I subjoin: 
 
 "2 Albert Terrace, Knightsbridge, December nth. 
 " Dear Yates, — I observe that 3'ou publish short stories in The World. 
 I seldom do anything in that waj', but it so happens that I have one to 
 dispose of. It came about thus: My letters on the wrongs of authors 
 elicited a shoal of communications from the United States, and among 
 them one from a young author, who complained that he could not get his 
 American sketches published in America because he is not an Englishman. 
 'Send me one,' said I. He did so; and finding there was some good stuff 
 in it, marred in many places by garrulity and other defects of inexperi- 
 ence, I agreed to work on it. I cut and improved the good, and excised 
 the bad, especially high-falutin, and a piece of preposterous tragedy that 
 spoiled the lot. Thus handled, it seems to me to read well, and I am not 
 the least ashamed to sign my name to it, only, as a matter of international 
 probity, I must put the American author's name first. If this outline in- 
 dicates anything acceptable, I shall be happy to submit the manuscript for 
 approval. If not, please tell me. Yours truly, 
 
 " Charles Readb." 
 
 Mr. Martin Tupper's family and mine had, as has been 
 ah-eady stated, been long acquainted. His father was the 
 senior partner in the then well - known medical firm of 
 Tupper, Chilvers & Brown, in Old Burlington Street, the 
 junior partner having the good-luck to marry Miss Mere-
 
 332 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 dith, for so many years the intimate friend and companion 
 of the Baroness Burdett-Coiitts. My first meeting with 
 Mr. Martin Tupper was at the honse of a common friend 
 at Albury, where I was staying. Mr. Tupper, who lived 
 in the neighborhood, received me with great cordiality, 
 and asked me to come and see him the next day. During 
 my visit he showed me an immense volume, in which 
 were pasted all the criticisms, favorable and unfavorable, 
 of his works, and all the parodies ; among the latter I 
 saw, with horror, some which I had written, and, with 
 more horror, a marginal note in Mr. Tupper's handwrit- 
 ing, " I understand these to be by Edmund Yates : they 
 are very smart." He was particularly kind and good- 
 natured over the matter. 
 
 The first time I met Lord Tennyson was in Mr. Tup- 
 per's company, at the house of Mr. J. Bertram Payne, the 
 then representative of Moxon & Co., where a few literary 
 men were gathered together. It was the first time that 
 the two poets had met, and it was most amusing to watch 
 their bearing to each other. The proofs of Mr. Hughes's 
 recently finished drawings for the illustrated edition of 
 " Enoch Arden " were submitted to the Laureate, who 
 approved of them all with one exception. "This is not 
 right," he said, in his deep voice : " ' There came so loud 
 a calling of the sea.' The man cannot have lived by the 
 sea; he does not know what a ' calling ' means. It is any- 
 thing but a great upheaval such as is liere represented." 
 
 Of Carlyle I may say vicU tantum. I was presented to 
 him by Dickens one day when we met him walking down 
 Portland Place, but as we parted from him Dickens told 
 me a good story. He had met Carlyle at dinner a few 
 nights before, where tliere was present a certain pom})ous 
 gentleman, who still lives to adjust literary reputations. 
 A qtiestion of some moment having been started, it was 
 ])r()mptly disposed of by this ])ersonage, who, as Dickens 
 said, "in his usual style took hold of yt, made it into a 
 small parcel, and laid it away on a shelf, not to be moved 
 tlicncc any more." It seems that after the oracle had de-
 
 PEOrLE I UAVE KKOWN. 333 
 
 livered himself there was a dead silence, in the midst of 
 whicli Carlyle, who had been blankly gazing at the great 
 personage opposite to him, said, in a truly absent manner, 
 but perfectly audible, " Eh, but you're a puir creatur — a 
 puir, wratched, meeserable creatur," and then went on 
 with his dinner. 
 
 On Folkestone pier my old friend George Henry Lewes 
 presented me to George Eliot. They had been intend- 
 ing to cross the Channel that day, but were delayed by 
 the rough weather. We had some very pleasant talk, and 
 the great novelist was good enough to remember some 
 articles of mine in the Illustrated Times on the first ap- 
 jjearance of her " Scenes of Clerical Life," in which I had 
 doubted the claims of one Mr. Joseph Liggins, who had 
 announced himself as the author of the book. 
 
 I remember, at the time of the publication of "Adam 
 Bede," writing to Dickens to tell me the real name of its 
 author. His very funny reply was to the effect that " it 
 is either Bradbury or Evans ; but I do not think that it 
 is Bradbury." 
 
 I had a good deal of intercourse and communication 
 with Mr. J. T. Delane during the last years of his life. 
 He was very sensitive about any notice being taken of 
 his failing health. He writes to me on June 15: 
 
 'O 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you for the considerate notice of my little 
 accident, and above all for reserving it until you could announce the re- 
 covery, which saves me a deluge of ' kind ' inquiries much harder to bear 
 than the fall itself." 
 
 And again : 
 
 " October 23d. 
 " I am very much obliged to you for intimating that there is no necessity 
 for people to occupy themselves with my hcaltli. I have this moment re- 
 turned from Blenheim, the last of a scries of autumnal visits, and liave no 
 intention of leaving town again before Christmas, when I shall endeavor 
 to fulfil some shooting engagements. My health is excellent, and I hope 
 no unfavorable conclusion will be drawn from the fact that I declined to 
 shoot partridges in the heavy rain of yesterday." 
 
 The following is of special interest :
 
 334 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 "16 Sergeants' Inn, June 15. 
 "Dear Mr. Yates, — You would much oblige me if you would contradict, 
 
 in the next number of The World, the statement in the last , of 
 
 my resignation as editor of tlie Times. There is absolutely no foundation 
 whatever for the rumor, and the suggestion that I resigned in sympathy 
 with Mr. Sampson is particularly offensive, considering the circumstances 
 under which he did resign. As a matter of fact, I had no acquaintance 
 with Mr. Sampson, and certainly no sympathy with him. 
 
 " Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 "J. T. Delane." 
 
 Mr. Delane held fast to the old-fashioned theory that 
 the editor of a newspaper should be an impersonal myth, 
 and in replying to my request that an old friend of his 
 might be allowed to write an article on him for the series 
 of " Celebrities at Home," sent me the following : 
 
 " 16 Sergeants' Inn, Febrnaiy 22. 
 " Dear Mr. Yates, — Ever since I first saw you personate a slack-rope 
 dancer at Mrs. Horace Twiss's some twenty-five years ago,"" I have had 
 frequent proof of your kindness, for which I am by no means ungrateful ; 
 but the culminating proof of your desire to please will be if you will spare 
 me from being included in your ' Celebrities at Homo.' Pray let me re- 
 main at home in the shabby little house I have occupied for the last thirty 
 years, and where my anxious desire has always been to avoid becoming a 
 celebrity. Any public notice of myself or my habits has caused me such 
 annoyance that I feel justified in attaching an importance which would 
 otherwise appear altogether disproportionate to the request. Leave me 
 in my obscurity, dear Mr. Yates, and I shall ever be your debtor. 
 
 "Faithfully yours, 
 
 "J. T. Delank." 
 
 It is lucky for me that emperors, kings, princes, states- 
 men, and "men of liglil and leading" of all kinds have 
 not been influenced by these feelings. 
 
 Many of my early days were spent in company with 
 Mr. and ]\[rs. Kccley, the latter of whom liap])ily survives 
 to this day. Rohkrt Kkei.kv was not merely an admi- 
 rable actor, he was a man possessed of much common- 
 sense and mother-wit, and bad a certain amount of read- 
 
 • Mr. Dolanc is hero mixing up the dinner-party at Horace Twiss's, at 
 which Albert Smith and ollicrs performed (.see p. H"?), with the Amateur 
 rantomimc.
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 335 
 
 ing. In private, as in public, his utterances were given 
 forth with an extraordinary stolidity of manner and ex- 
 pression which rendered them doubly amusing. 
 
 He had a great vein of shrewd, sensible humor. Stand- 
 ing by me one day at a window of the Swan Inn at 
 Thames Ditton, looking at the ducks wending their way 
 across the lawn in a pouring shower, loudly quacking 
 their delight, Keeley softly muttered under his breath, 
 
 " Ha, ha, d d fools ! you don't think how this rain is 
 
 making the green-peas grow !" 
 
 Nor shall I readily forget seeing him standing in the 
 window of a hotel at Boulogne, Avhere a little marchande 
 des Jleurs was offering him her wares. 
 
 " Des fleurs, monsieur ?" said the little girl. 
 
 " Pas aujourd'hui." 
 
 " Monsieur, achetez des fleurs !" 
 
 The request met with the same response. 
 
 A third time the girl tried, to receive a similar rebuff ; 
 but, on a fourth aj)plieation, Keeley turned from the win- 
 dow, muttering as he went, 
 
 " I have said ' Pas aujourd'hui ' three times, and now 
 you may go to the devil !" 
 
 I did not see much of Buckstone in his later life, but 
 when we met we were always on the pleasantest terms. 
 He was an excellent raconteur, and none of his stories 
 went off better than those against himself, which he told 
 freely. Here is one of them. Coming home late one 
 night to his private house, which adjoined the back por- 
 tion of the Ilaymarket premises in Suffolk Street, he found 
 a man leaning up against the stage - door of the theatre 
 very drunk, and vomiting violently. Disgusted at the 
 sight, Buckstone went up to the wretched creature, and 
 desired him to go off. 
 
 " Get along ! go to !" Avas all his reply. 
 
 Buckstone reiterated his objurgations, but failed to get 
 anything more definite out of the man, until, in the height 
 of his anger, Buckstone cried, 
 
 " I will call the police, sir ! Do you know who I am ?" 
 
 Upon which the man, with a chuckle, replied.
 
 336 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 " Of course I do ; some d d fellow giving a devil- 
 ish bad imitation of Buckstone." 
 
 His later days were full of poverty and sadness, and his 
 sensibility was much keener than most persons believe. 
 A short time before his death I sent him some letters, 
 written by him to my father many years before, which I 
 knew would interest and amuse him. 
 
 They came back with these words : 
 
 " I return you the letters, interesting, certainly, but conveying a melan- 
 choly feeling. They carry me back forty years ; I wish they could do so 
 in reality. Xot that I care much for a longer life ; but I have seven young 
 children and a wife, whom, old as I am, I love, and for their sakes alone I 
 wish for a little more working-time." 
 
 Some of the nattiest and most amusing letters I have 
 ever received came to me during my editorship of Temple 
 Bar from Miss Braddon, several of whose earlier at- 
 tempts made their appearance imder my direction, and 
 who has always honored me with a steady friendship. 
 
 "Did you see," she writes, "what the says about "Aurora Floyd" 
 
 and my philosophy in the matter of beer, brandy, and cigars and tobacco ? 
 It is all Mr. Tinsley's fault for advertising me as ' Mary Elizabeth.' I used 
 to be called Mr. Hraddon, and provincial critics were wont to regret that 
 my experience of women had been so bitter as to make me an implacable 
 foe to tlie fair sex. They thought I had been ' cradled into magazines by 
 wrong,' and had learned in the Divorce Court what I taught in three-vol- 
 ume novels." 
 
 Hear her again as to the style in which these same three- 
 volume novels are very often written: 
 
 " The Balzac-morbid-anatomy school is my especial deliglit, but it seems 
 you want tiie right-down sensational ; floppings at the end of chapters, and 
 bits of paper hi<lden in secret drawers, l)ank-notcs and title-deeds under 
 the carpet, and a part of tlie body putrefying in the coal-scuttle. I5y-the- 
 bye, what a splendid novel, d la Wilkie Collins, one might write on a pro- 
 tracted searcli for tlie missing nieniljcrs of a murdered man, dividing the 
 arms not into hooks but bitu ! ' Hit tiik Fikst : The leg in tiie gray stock- 
 ing found at Dcptford.' ' Hit tiik Skcond : Tiic white hand and the onyx 
 ring with lialf an initial letter (unknown) and crest, skull with a coronet, 
 found in an Alpine crcvaase ! ^ 
 
 "Seiiously, thougii, you want a Hcnaational fiction to commence in Janu- 
 ary, you tell inc. I cannot ])roinise you anyliiing new, wiicn, alas, I look 
 niund and find evcrytliing on tliis earth seems to have been done, and done, 
 and done again! Did nut Jules Janin so conipliiin long ago in a protest
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 337 
 
 against romancism, i.e., sensationalism? I will give the kaleidoscope 
 (which I cannot spell) another turn, and will do my very best with the old 
 bits of glass and pins and rubbish. 
 
 "There they all are — the young lady who has married a burglar, and who 
 does not want to introduce him to her friends ; the duke (after the manner 
 
 of ) who comes into the world with six-and-thirty pages of graphic 
 
 detail, and goes out of it without having said boo to a goose ; the two broth- 
 ers who are perpetually taken for one another ; the twin-sisters ditto, ditto ; 
 the high-bred and conscientious banker, who has made away with every- 
 body's title-deeds. Any novel combination of the well-known figures is 
 completely at your service, workmanship careful, dehvery prompt." 
 
 I saw Jules Janin twice — once in life, once in death. 
 The first occasion wa.s at a dinner given by M. de la 
 Grene at Ledoyen's open-air restaurant, in the Champs- 
 Elysees. There were present several naval officers, some 
 niondains, and a few journalists, among the latter Emile 
 de Girardin and Jules Janin. It was my good -fortune 
 to be placed next Janin, whose work, bavardage though 
 it were, I had long admired. He talked freely and pleas- 
 antly of the Dumases, p^re etjils, of Marie du Plessis, the 
 original of Marguerite Gauthier, of Rachael and Dejazet 
 and Schneider, and many other remes de la rampe. Of 
 the Dumases he told me an excellent story. It appears 
 that on the publication of " La Dame aux Camillas " old 
 Alexandre wrote to his son, as though to a stranger, con- 
 gratulating him on his book, and adding that he ought 
 to know something about the difficulties of novel-writ- 
 ing, as he had himself been guilty of several. Alexan- 
 dre ^/s replied in the same spirit, thanking his correspon- 
 dent for his congratulations, of which he felt specially 
 proud, as coming from one of whom he had often heard 
 his father speak in the highest terms/ 
 
 The second occasion was on Saturday, the 20th June, 
 1874. Janin had died the night before at his house in the 
 Rue de la Pompe, Passy, and I was asked by a friend of 
 mine, a former colleague of the great critic's, to accom- 
 pany him on his visit of condolence. Such a pretty house, 
 built in the style of a Swiss chalet, and standing in the 
 midst of a garden full of waving trees, velvet turf, and 
 sweet-smelling flowers. In this garden Janin used, in 
 the summer, to receive his friends, members of the lit- 
 
 15
 
 338 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 erary world, so proud to pay homage to their illustrious 
 confrere. Amid the iron - work of its outer gate was 
 worked the monogram " J. J.," initials so eagerly looked 
 for in the Journal des D'ehats every Sunday for forty 
 years. We sent in our cards, and a gentleman came out 
 of the house to receive us — a type of a certain class of 
 Frenchmen, small, gray, self-possessed, dressed in black, 
 with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor in his but- 
 ton-hole. 
 
 In answer to our interrogatories, having first announced 
 himself as Dr. Villette, the family physician, he told us 
 that M. Janin had expired veiy peacefully and without 
 a struggle. For weeks past his corjjulency had been so 
 enormous that he had been unable to move himself, but 
 had to be carried by his servants from place to place. 
 On this Fi'iday afternoon he had eaten rather more din- 
 ner than usual, a little bouillon, instead of the cup of 
 milk which had recently sufficed for his meal, and feel- 
 ing fatigued, desired a servant to help him to bed. As 
 he reached the couch he gave one long sigh, and it was 
 all over. The rumor that he had been for some time 
 out of his mind had, the doctor declared, no real foun- 
 dation. 
 
 The knowledge that he had lost forever the power of 
 locomotion aflFected him very much. Not long before 
 his death he said to some friends, "I suppose I am cele- 
 brated; I am a great writer; I am a member of the Acad- 
 emy! Eh Men, I would renounce all that glory to walk 
 — to walk round this room without assistance!" And he 
 was specially irritated by the compassionate looks with 
 which visitors would regard him. They did not like to 
 openly express their pity, but they looked it. Janin, 
 witli his (juick appreciation, recognized what was meant, 
 and siifFered under it horribly, but in silence. It was 
 from this. Dr. Villette thought, that the idea of his de- 
 mentia had first arisen. 
 
 At the doctor's invitation we walked into the chamber 
 of death where the body then lay. It was a large din- 
 ing-room on the secon<l-lloor, painted in gay colors, with 
 a large open firej)lace in the style of the Renaissance,
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KxNOWN. 339 
 
 and with windows opening on to the garden. Owing 
 to its easiness of access M. Janin had for some time used 
 it as his dwelling-room, and there he died on a couch on 
 which Beranger had also breathed his last. At a table in 
 a corner sat a priest, an old lady, and two old gentlemen. 
 The old lady had a long list before her, from which she 
 read aloud various names, and the old gentlemen and the 
 priest put cai'ds into envelopes which they addressed. 
 These cards were the invitations to faire part, as it is 
 called — to take part in the funeral ceremony. They 
 looked around for a moment as we entered, but immedi- 
 ately I'eturned to their business, which they carried out, 
 I am bound to say, without apparently the smallest ap- 
 preciation of the surrounding circumstances. And yet 
 one might have thought that even the most careless would 
 have been impi-essed ; for there, on a low bed in the mid- 
 dle of the room, lay the remains of one who for a quarter 
 of a century had been one of the most shining lights of 
 French journalism, and who had won for himself a world- 
 wide reputation. The expression on the hairless face was 
 mild and childlike, as though the seventy years' contest 
 with the world had left no impression on it — calm and 
 innocent, as of a happy old man in a peaceful slumber. 
 
 The doctor accompanied us through the house. Be- 
 hind the mortuary chamber was the kitchen, bright and 
 glistening with its batterie de cuisine, its shining pots and 
 stewpans. The broad staircase leading to the first floor 
 was hung with rare engravings after the ancient masters. 
 At the top of the staircase was the small winter dining- 
 room, and leading out of it a huge chamber, used indis- 
 criminately as dining-room and library. In each of the 
 four corners of this room was an enormous bookcase in 
 black oak, filled with Aldines and Elzevirs, rare editions 
 of rare works. Above the white marble mantel-piece, with 
 its Louis Seize clock, was a portrait of Madame Janin ; in 
 front of the window, on a column pedestal, a marble bust 
 of Janin, and close by his desk, covered with papers writ- 
 ten over in blue ink. There, euvelop.ed in a dressing- 
 gown and with a silk travelling-cap on his head, he used 
 to work. Here he passed the last fifteen years of his life;
 
 340 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 here he wrote his translation of Horace, his "Neveu de 
 Rameau," his hoYidsLj feuilletons for the Debats. 
 
 As we returned to Paris my friend told me several anec- 
 dotes of Janin, His handwriting was very bad, a night- 
 mare for a printer, so illegible that only two coraj^ositors 
 out of the whole staff of the Debats were able to translate 
 it. When he contributed to any other periodical he al- 
 ways dictated his work to Madame Janin, who wrote an 
 excellent hand. One day he wrote a letter to a friend, 
 who after much trouble deciphered two or three words, 
 which made him think his correspondent must be Janin. 
 He immediately started for Passy. 
 
 " Ah, here you are !" cried Janin on seeing him ; " you 
 have read my letter ?" 
 
 "Not at all," rei^lied the friend; "I have received it, 
 and I've brought it here for you to read it to rae." 
 
 " Well," said Janin, much cast down, " I'll try." 
 
 Janin was not malicious, but occasionally he would say 
 a bitter thing. A rich but hard-hearted man, Avho made 
 sad havoc of the French language, called on him one day. 
 After listening and suffering for some time, Janin spoke 
 to his visitor in Latin. The man was astonished. 
 
 " I don't understand you, M. Janin," he said, after a 
 pause ; " I don't speak Latin." 
 
 " Try, sir, try !" cried the great critic ; " you could not 
 speak it so badly as you do French." 
 
 Janin was buried on the following Monday, and I at- 
 tended the funeral. Among Ihoso assembled in the gar- 
 den of the house, before the procession started, I saw 
 Emile Girardin, in his short coat and with his ^^jnce-wez/ 
 Dwrnas Jils, whose hair had grown gray, and who was be- 
 coming more and more like his fatlier ; John Lemoinne, 
 a small English - looking man; swarthy Henri de Pene, 
 with his glass fi.ved in his eye ; gray, stout M. de Lesseps ; 
 Melingue, the famous actor, the original Buridan in the 
 7hrir (le Nesle ; Ars^ne Houssaye, Nadar the j)hotogra])her, 
 aiul All)eric Second. I was standing by a table on wliich 
 were several sheets of pa])er inscrilted with the names of 
 the visitors. An old gentleman with a white head and 
 a short cut white beard, a red, pleasant face, dressed in an
 
 PEOPLE I UAVE KNOWN. 341 
 
 alpaca jacket, and carrying a straw hat in his hand, came 
 up to inserire, and gave me a kindly bow as I made way 
 for him. As he left I looked down at the paper to see 
 what his name might be, and was astonished to read the 
 words, "Victor Hugo.'' 
 
 There was a special reason why I should stand well in 
 Mr. E. a. Sotherx's good graces, for in the columns of 
 the Daily News I warmly welcomed him, and prophesied 
 his future success. 
 
 We speedily became friends, and remained so during 
 his life. I imagine his happiest time was when he was 
 living at The Cedars in Wright's Lane, Kensington (a 
 house wliich, after his day, found a very different tenant 
 in Monsignor Capel) ; when he Mas in the full swing of 
 his popularity, much courted and flattered by "smart" 
 people, and adored by the public. At that time, though 
 constantly in society, and necessarily keeping late hours, 
 he hunted regularly with the Queen's or the Baron's, and 
 sometimes even more distant packs, and lived with strict 
 moderation. 
 
 His practical joking, always one of his favorite pas- 
 times, was sufficiently pronounced in those days, though 
 not carried to the extent which it reached on his later 
 visits to America. The most successful of these Trans- 
 atlantic hoaxes was his inviting an English stranger (Mr. 
 Lee), who wished to see the manners of the New Yorkers, 
 to a dinner, at Avhich certain well-known negro minstrels 
 — Messrs. Dan and Neil Bryant, Nelse Seymour, etc. — 
 attended, without their burnt cork, and were introduced 
 to the English stranger as some of " our prominent citi- 
 zens." Upon the party sitting down to dinner, after an 
 interchange of the usual coui'tesies, Neil Bryant tied his 
 napkin round his head, and began nodding violently. 
 Mr. Lee asked for an explanation from his next neighbor, 
 and was confident ially informed that these peculiar actions 
 were the result of hcreditarj^ eccentricity. 
 
 Other eccentricities following, however, both on the 
 part of Mr. Bryant and his associates, Mr. Lee became 
 indignant. Mr. Sothern, on behalf of his fellow-country-
 
 342 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 man, protested against the proceedings with assumed 
 eai-nestness. Mr. Florence, with, apparent good faith, ad- 
 monished Mr. Sothern not to interfere. Nelse Seymour, 
 pretending to be greatly incensed against Mr. Bryant, 
 rushed upon him with a carving-knife. Mr. Bryant drew 
 a revolver, and a sham fight occurred between himself, 
 Mr. Seymour, and several others. The result not being 
 deemed satisfactory, Messrs. Sothern and Florence pro- 
 posed to fight a duel on the spot, and immediately drew 
 pistols, ostensibly for that purpose. 
 
 It was, I think, through my recommendation that Soth- 
 ern cancelled his final American engagement, and hus- 
 banded such strength as yet remained to him. He came 
 to stay with me at Goring, evidently dreadfully ill, but 
 trying to carry it off with a jaunty air. He was going to 
 Yarmouth on a fishing expedition, then back to America, 
 to fulfil numberless engagements. "He had been a little 
 out of sorts, but would soon be right again," etc. When 
 I took the freedom of a friend, and spoke to him serious- 
 ly, he confessed that he was in a desperate state of health. 
 I sent him to my friend Dr. Roose at Brighton, who 
 patched him up for a bit ; but the malady had advanced 
 too far. The careful moderation in eating and drinking 
 which distinguished him when I first knew him had, I am 
 afraid, been given up for many years past; his constitu- 
 tion was undermined, and he died in the following year. . 
 
 As an amusing companion next in order to Dickens I 
 should certainly rank Ciiakles JMatiikavs. I did not be- 
 come intimately acquainted with liini until he was nearly 
 sixty-five, but I certainly never had a younger, more amus- 
 ing, more vivacious friend. In his little house in Pelham 
 Crescent, Brynipton — which was crammed from attic to 
 basement witli works of art, most of them drawings made 
 by young Charles Mathews when he went abroad with 
 the " Blessingtons" to study architecture in Italy — he 
 was the cheeriest and most agreeable of hosts. Smoking- 
 capj)ed and dressing-gowned — for he invariably declined, 
 f'ither at home or abroad, to give way to the convention- 
 ality ol" evening - dress — seated at the head of his table
 
 PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN. 343 
 
 after dinner, with one of the worst cigars imaginable — 
 his tobacco was the only bad thing in his house — in his 
 mouth, he would not only talk most admirably himself, 
 but be the cause of excellent talk in others. There 
 Planche would forget that he was even his host's senior, 
 and contribute his quota of seasoned jest ; there Arthur 
 Sketchlcy, " talented, though obese," as he would describe 
 himself, would be very funny himself, and the cause of 
 much more fun in Henry James. Byron, who was never 
 seen to greater advantage than in Pelham Crescent. 
 
 Mathews was an excellent letter-writer too. From the 
 far shores of Lake Michigan I sent him a reminder of my 
 existence. He seems, from the following reply, to have 
 found my manuscript somewhat illegible : 
 
 "Hdtel d'Aii^'leten-e, Nice, Jaiuiary 2Sth, 1873. 
 
 " My dear Edmund, — I was delighted and surprised at receiving a letter 
 in Arabic from, as I supposed, our old Cairo Dragoman Hamet ; but on 
 deciphering the commencement, and discovering it unmistakably to be 
 ' My dear Charley,' I began to think I must be in error, as I never remem- 
 l)er his having addressed me so familiarly before ; and as, on referring to 
 the date and address, I clearly made out ' Bancroft House,' I exclaimed at 
 once, ' How stupid I am ! Of course, it's from Marie Wilton ! And yet, 
 when did she move to Cat Sapient Milk ? Turning to the signature (as I 
 ought to have done at first), the mystery was solved, and I immediately 
 set apart five hours for the reading, at the end of which time I had nearly 
 made out every other word, and by dinner-time yesterday had pretty well 
 mastered the contents. 
 
 " Well, I teas glad to receive the letter, I confess. We thought you 
 had forgotten us altogether; and Lizzie actually made observaiio^is (I won't 
 repeat them) on your never coming to look us up on our return from the 
 antipodes. Never mind ; she will Jix you yet ; you shan't walk up and 
 down, and tell your stories ; and we woii't laugh at them if you tell them 
 sitting ; and I won't tell you any of mine, nor Lizzie any of hers — there 
 now ! 
 
 " Fm not going to write you a long letter, so don't you think it. While 
 you are shivering and shaking, snowed up at Cat Sapient Milk, we are 
 basking under suu-umbrollas in the midst of orange and lemon groves, 
 palms, olives, and figs, by the side of the turquoise sea, and grudge every 
 moment in the house, with a positive horror of pen and ink. So we'll put 
 off all we have to say till we meet, which, without any nonsense, we both 
 wish may be soon, with all our hearts ; for we both love a cordial laugh, 
 and with no one do we get it so well as with jolly old Edmund. With our 
 umted loves and good wishes for your success and return, 
 
 " Ever faithfully yours, C. J. Mathews."
 
 344 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 There are frequent references to Mortimer Collins 
 throughout this work; a man for whom I had great regard 
 as a friend and the greatest admiration as a lyrist. 
 
 His place is yet unfilled. There are hundreds of society 
 verse-makers and of imitators of Praed, but no Mortimer 
 Collins. Searchers in back numbers of Temple Bar and 
 The World will find many exquisite lyrics, which have not 
 yet been republished ; but here is a gem of another kind, 
 which was printed in an obscure periodical that had a 
 very short existence. It was written on the occasion of 
 the appearance of an advertisement announcing a new 
 novel by the Rev. J. M. Beilew : 
 
 " Oh, oh, oh ! what a wondrous city is 
 
 London ! If you wish for pleasures that are new, 
 If you are bored or bothered, which a pity is. 
 Mind and send at once for tlie novel by Beilew. 
 
 " He, he, he, who talent does not lack at will, 
 Surely he will give us something very new ; 
 Publish it for him the firm of Hurst & Blackett will, 
 And make, I hope, a fortune of this novel by Beilew. 
 
 " Bel-bel-bellow, the title at the termini ; 
 
 Shout out the name — it's the proper thing to do ; 
 A fascinating fellow, who can preach a clever sermon, I 
 Guess will be the hero of this novel by Beilew. 
 
 " P'raps— p'raps— p'raps, the scene at the diggins is ; 
 Perhaps it is in India, across the ocean blue; 
 Anyhow, the gentleman whose real name Iliggins is* 
 Now is coming out with a novel by Beilew. 
 
 *' Spur-Spur-Spurgeon, on, poke him up and urge him on; 
 He's the only man tliis Iliggins to outdo. 
 Surely he won't let himself be beaten by a clergyman. 
 Surely he'll excel this novel by Heliew !" 
 
 * J. M. B.'fl original name was Higgins.
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE roST-OFFICE. 345 
 
 CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 
 
 With the occasional break afforded by the special trips 
 recorded in an earlier chapter, and by the annually recur- 
 ring month's holiday, which was generally spent with my 
 family at some quiet sea-side place, my official life went 
 on in tolerably regular course. 
 
 It was supposed by my literary friends to be a monoto- 
 nous life; and I was often greatly compassionated, princi- 
 pally by those who lounged through their existence, and 
 were vastly indignant if the ravens, or their equivalent, 
 did not cater for them lavishly. I do not think that the 
 monotony preyed very much upon me ; I always found 
 plenty of amusement in my morning omnibus - rides, in 
 which, despite Sir Roland Hill's kindly admonition. I per- 
 severed till the last. I liked the pleasant conference with 
 friends at luncheon-time ; and, though the work itself — 
 the superintendence of the post-office buildings in large 
 towns and the provision of proper postal accommodation 
 for the- public throughout the provinces — was not particu- 
 larly inthralling, a student of character could find plenty 
 of opportunity in the correspondence with the local mag- 
 nates, and the observation of the discomfiture of the Par- 
 liamentary representatives under pressure by their con- 
 stituents. 
 
 I do not know that I myself should have enjoyed it so 
 much as I did, had not that good-fortune, Avhich has stood 
 me in such wondrous stead during my life, decreed that 
 the one position to which I should most eagerly have as- 
 pired, and which more than any otlier in the service I 
 could satisfactorily have filled, should fall vacant just at 
 the time when I was ripe for promotion, and that I should 
 have been appointed to it. Tliis was the head of the
 
 346 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Missing Letter Branch of the Secretary's oiBce, and the 
 performance of its duties not merely gave one the chance 
 of showing individual capacity, but of escaping from the 
 ordinary routine. 
 
 The Missing Letter Branch was a specialty ; it under- 
 took to investigate all complaints and applications from 
 the public regarding letters which had not reached their 
 destination ; and as fraud as well as accident was a large 
 factor in these irregularities, I was constantly engaged in 
 following up the mysterious ramifications of romances of 
 real life, with all the looked-for adjuncts of traps, detec- 
 tives, private examinations, etc. All cases of theft, or 
 that bore any suspicious appearance, were brought under 
 my cognizance, and duly submitted by me to Mr. William 
 Peacock, the Assistant Solicitor, who is still living, though 
 he has long since retired, whose name was thoroughly well 
 known to the public, and whose genial appearance must 
 still be fresh in the memory of a large number of the 
 Bar. 
 
 In addition to a large staff of clerks I had the assistance 
 of four "travelling officers," who were constantly employed 
 in confidential investigations in the country, and four first- 
 class detectives of the A division from Scotland Yard, 
 two of whom would be attached to such of the travelling 
 officers as wanted extra help, while the other two were on 
 duty in a glass case fitted up in the hall of the General 
 Post-office, into which a speaking-tube, hanging close by 
 my chair, communicated. 
 
 We had a funny story in connection with that speaking- 
 tube. One day a gentleman, who was at that time a large 
 employer of literary labor, called on me at my office to 
 discuss some matter in wliich we were mutually interested. 
 It struck me that he had been lunching, and luncliing off 
 — or rather on — whiskey, and liis manner was particuhirly 
 short and disagreeabh'. Ili' had finislied liis business, and 
 was standing opposite me, when tlie mouths of the two 
 s])eaking-tube8, hanging by the arms of my chair, attract- 
 ed his attention. "Wliat arc those things?" he asked. 
 "Speaking-tubes." "Where do they go to?" "This 
 one to the messengers' lobby, this to the constables' box
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE rOST-OFFICB. 347 
 
 in the hall below." "Ah, pshaw, with your constables !" 
 cried my friend ; " do you mean to tell me there's con- 
 stables there ready to come at your call ? Pooh, nonsense! 
 you're always full of your swagger !" And, muttering 
 other unpleasant remarks indicative of his incredulity, the 
 great man left the room. 
 
 As the door shut behind him, I thought I would give 
 him a well -deserved lesson, and I blew down the pipe. 
 " Yes, sir," was the reply. " Are you both there ?" 
 " Yes, sir." " Stop a stout man in a white waistcoat, 
 who is coming down the staircase ; take him into the 
 Secretary's lobby, and secure him till I come." "All 
 right, sir !" I turned to my work, and two minutes after- 
 wards had a message from the hall-keeper tliat " tliey had 
 got the man." Then I went leisurely through the pas- 
 sages aiul down the grand staircase, at the bottom of 
 which I found my employer, the descendant of the Curlls 
 and the Lintotts, with a plain-clothes constable on either 
 side of him, holding tightly on to his waist. 
 
 " Here's the man, sir !" said the senior of the two offi- 
 cers ; "he says it's a mistake ; but they always say that, 
 sir, as you know very well." " Mistake !" roared the Fleet 
 Street bibliopole ; "what the et cetera is the meaniug of 
 all this?" "Only to let you know in future that I don't 
 swagger in the way you seemed to suppose. You can let 
 him go, men !" 
 
 The ordinary method of detecting an official who had 
 fallen into dishonest ways was by making up a " test" let- 
 ter, which would fall into his hands and be dealt with by 
 him in the course of his regular duty. In this letter was 
 an enclosure, a coin, or a packet of stamps, M'hich had 
 been previously marked by the testing officer, and could 
 be sworn to in a court of justice. If the letter did not 
 come to hand at the proper time, the suspected man was 
 at once seized and searched, and, in most cases, the con- 
 tents found upon him. 
 
 It was the theory of those versed in such matters that 
 a man had generally availed himself of a good many 
 chances of theft before the suspicions of the authorities 
 were directed towards him ; so that the testing officer
 
 348 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 had to deal -with no innocent lamb, but with a sheep pos- 
 sessing a considerable amount of blackness — jiart natural, 
 part acquired — and for whom the net must consequently 
 be spread in an artistic manner. A good deal of ingenuity 
 had to be exercised in the writing of the letters in which 
 the marked bait was enclosed, as the least suspicion of 
 their genuineness would have induced the thieves to de- 
 stroy them, and to do away with their contents. Hence 
 the great object was to make the letters read as natural 
 as possible. 
 
 I recollect one which amused me very much at the 
 time. It was addressed to some non-existent person in 
 New Zealand, and was written as though by a brother. 
 It went at some length into family details, all very clev- 
 erly and graphically narrated : the death of " dear old 
 grandfather " was touched on with much pathos. It then 
 proceeded, "You will recollect the George II. sixpence 
 which used to hang on his watch-chain, and which we 
 used to play with when children, sitting on his knee? 
 The poor old man perfectly remembered how pleased you 
 used to be with it, and desired it might be forwarded to 
 you, after his death, as a memento. So I enclose it." I 
 am sorry to say the coin proved an efficient bait : the 
 thief took the letter, and we found dear old grandfather's 
 George II. sixpence in his pocket. 
 
 I have often thought since that our proceedings in these 
 matters were wholly unconstitutional and highly repre- 
 licnsible, though they had the effect of bringing affairs to 
 a head very quickly. After the culprit had been arrested 
 and searched he was hauled off to the Solicitor's office, 
 and there, in the presence of a certain select few, exam- 
 ined by Mr. William Peacock, who acted as a kind of 
 Frencli /"//<? (Viniitructioii, adiniiiistored the most terrific- 
 ally searching queries, and i)robed the man to his very 
 marrow. 
 
 Our worthy Solicitor had fonned his manner on that 
 of certain of the most notable Old Bailey practitioners of 
 the day, and rclicil greatly on his j)owers of easy badinage 
 and smart retort. One day I recollect his being complete- 
 ly " stumped " by a man just brought before him. " Well,
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST OFFICE. 349 
 
 sir !" he cried, in his most sarcastic tones — " well, John 
 Smith — I see that's your name — this is a pretty piece of 
 business !" " Is it, sir ?" replied John Smith, easily. " I 
 haven't heard the particulars of it yet ! Wot's it all 
 about ?" Mr. Peacock collapsed ; but in general he con- 
 ducted this, I believe, wholly illegal preliminary exami- 
 nation with so much adroitness, and got his facts so com- 
 pletely marshalled, that the committal of the unfortunate 
 wretch by the magistrate was a thing of certainty and speed. 
 
 "When the prisoners were brought up for trial at the 
 Old Bailey Sessions, I used to accompany Mr. Peacock to 
 the court. I had always had a great interest in criminal 
 proceedings, and had frequently spent my shillings and 
 devoted my luncheon-time in visits to the gallery, where 
 I knew one of the door-keepers, who was occasionally em- 
 ployed as an extra waiter at the Alfred Club, where I used 
 frequently to dine. In those early days Messrs. Clarkson 
 and Bodkin were the shining lights of the court, but I 
 recollect nothing of them. 
 
 When I attended in a recognized position, always sit- 
 ting with Ml'. Peacock, I made friends with many who 
 have since been leaders of the Bar. Edwin James, who 
 advised me in the Garrick Club case ; Sergeant Ballan- 
 tine ; Mr. Hawkins and Sergeant Parry, botli in later years 
 retained as leading counsel for The World until removed, 
 the one by promotion, the other by death ; Mr. Sergeant 
 Shee, Mr, (now Sir Hardinge) Giffard, Mr, (now Baron) 
 Huddleston — all would come down occasionally on special 
 retainers ; while the court was led by Mr. (afterwards 
 Sergeant) Sleigh, Mr. Ribton, Mr. Clark, JVIr. Metcalfe — 
 the two last-named being counsel for Post-office prosecu- 
 tions ; and the Junior Bar was well represented by Mr. 
 Poland, Mr. M. Williams, Mr. Douglas Straight ; Mr. 
 Morgan John O'Connell, who represented the Mint in 
 prosecutions ; Mr. A. B. Kelly, an excellent descriptive 
 reporter on the Times ; Mr. Eyre Lloyd, etc. 
 
 I soon became known to the aldermen and sheriffs, and 
 frequently had the pleasure of lunching with them, and 
 listenintr with becominjj awe to the remarks of the cele- 
 brated barristers sitting round the table. Naturally, in
 
 350 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 the course of my experience as head of the Missing Letter 
 Branch, I was much mixed up with the leading detectives 
 — not so much in employing them, for we relied mainly on 
 our own officers, as in affording them certain facilities for 
 the prosecution of their inquiries. 
 
 Of the well-known brothers, John and Daniel Forres- 
 ter, the successors to the old Bow Street Runners, with 
 the difference that their employment was in the City, I 
 may say vidi tantum: I recollect seeing them, very much 
 alike, standing outside the Mansion House; but I was on 
 pleasantly intimate business terms with Michael Haydon, 
 the celebrated City detective — one of the bravest and 
 shrewdest men I have ever met — who is immortalized in 
 Frith's picture of the " Railway Station," and with many 
 other excellent police-officers. 
 
 With one of these, Sergeant Hancock, I tried what my 
 old friend, Sir Rowland, would doubtless have charac- 
 terized as a " dangerous " experiment. Hancock was, and 
 maybe still is, one of the smartest men in tlie City force. 
 I saw liim one afternoon in plain clothes lounging round 
 the big draper's shop-windows in St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 always reckoned good hunting-ground for the swell-mobs- 
 men. I satisfied myself that he had not noticed me, and, 
 gradually aj»proaching, got close behind him, and gently 
 slid my hand into the tail pocket of his coat. In an in- 
 stant both his hands were behind him, and had seized 
 mine in a vise - like grip. He turned his head quickly 
 round, and there was a smile of triumph on his face, 
 which faded away and gave place to melancholy disap- 
 l)uiiitment when he recognized his ca})tive. "Too bad of 
 you, Mr. Yates," he grumbled; " I did think I had got one 
 of them that time." 
 
 The experiences arising from my position were varied 
 and most interesting, and of no small use to a person en- 
 gaged as a novelist in the portrayal of human weakness. 
 It would not do to enter u})on them here; but there was 
 one episode so strange, so singular, and showing such a 
 misdirection of ability, that I am tempted to narrate it. 
 I re(;oIlect Dickens l)eing iinmcnscly interested in it at 
 the time. Shortly, the circumstances were these:
 
 LATER DAYS IX TUE POST-OEFICE. 351 
 
 A letter containing a large sum in bank-notes, ad- 
 dressed to a firm in the City, failed to reach its destina- 
 tion. The numbers of the notes were known, payment 
 of them was stopped, all the banks and leading financial 
 houses were warned, and provided with the requisite in- 
 formation on which to act in case any of the notes were 
 presented. Time passed, and nothing was heard of the 
 letter or its contents. Four or five years had elapsed 
 since the date of the theft, when ray principal assistant 
 came to me in a state of great excitement, and told me 
 he had just received notice that one of the notes in the 
 case had been paid into the Bank of England. 
 
 In accordance with our usual custom, we procured the 
 note from the bank, and commenced to try and trace its 
 career. It was a £10 note, and had been paid into the 
 bank in a total of several thousands by a firm of woollen- 
 drapers in St. Martin's Lane. They were visited, they 
 examined their books, and declared they had received it 
 from a tailor at Oxford. One of the travelling officers 
 was at once despatched to Oxford with the note, saw the 
 tailor, who recognized the note by his own private mark 
 on it, and said that it had come to him from a former cus- 
 tomer, who, while an undergraduate, had got rather heav- 
 ily into his debt, and who was "liquidating" by sending 
 his old creditor a small amount whenever he could spare 
 it. Would he give us his customer's name and address? 
 Certainly ; his name was Fifay, he was now reading for 
 the Bar, and lived in chambers in Elm Court, Temple. 
 
 So far so good. I thought I would go in person to 
 call on Mr. Fifay, who might require delicate handling. 
 Mr. Fifay was at home, in pleasant chambers, with more 
 signs of the productions of Dumas Jils and Xavier de 
 Montepin than of Blackstone and Byles visible ; a pleas- 
 ant young fellow, who Avas glad to see me, knew my name, 
 of course — had read so many of those charming, etc. ; in 
 fact, thought he had met me at Jack Stokes's if not at 
 Tom Styles's. His face changed considerably when I re- 
 minded him that I was an official of the Post-office, and 
 informed him of the particular business which brought 
 me to him. He was manifestly taken aback, as I have
 
 352 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 frequently seen others under similar circumstances: he had 
 evidently entirely forgotten — if he had ever known — any- 
 thing about my connection with St. Martin's-le-Grand. 
 
 Mr. Fifay was a little frightened at first, as most peo- 
 ple are under any kind of legal or official examination; 
 but he soon recovered himself when he found how much 
 about his affairs I already knew. He admitted having 
 sent a £10 note to Gowner of Oxford, and that it was 
 the one in question there was very little doubt, as, if 
 the truth must be told, it was the only one he had had 
 for a very long time. Where did he get it? Oh, all on 
 % the square. I didn't think he had been " frisking the 
 till," did I ? The truth was, Gowner had been dunning 
 like blazes, and he, Fifay, had written to his guardian, 
 Rev. Dr. Primrose, Vicar of Wakefield, who paid liim an 
 allowance, for a little advance. The doctor, in a letter 
 of admonition, had enclosed twenty pounds — "a tenner 
 and two fivers" — and the "tenner" Fifay had forwarded 
 to Gowner. " Many thanks ; good morning ;" and I left 
 Fifay apparently much relieved that nothing worse had 
 happened to him. 
 
 It looked as though the tracing of this note would be a 
 long and difficult job. Country clergymen do not, un- 
 fortunately, as a rule, have very many £10 notes, are not 
 so overburdened with them as to make it difficult to say 
 whence this or that was received ; but, on the other hand, 
 they are for the most part poor men of business, wholly 
 unmctliodical, and witli limj) powers of recollection. Dr. 
 J'rimrose, however, to my great doliglit, j)roved a very 
 different kind of person. A little round aj)j)le-faced old 
 gentleman, his person and his parsonage were models of 
 neatness and order. Seated at a large old-fashioned escri- 
 toire, which nearly filled his little study, he listened to all 
 I had to say, and when I ceased he struck in at once: 
 
 "Certainly, my dear sir, certainly ; on the 8th April" — 
 referring to a memorandum - book he had taken from a 
 drawer — "I sent a £10 note to Charles Fifay." 
 
 "And this is the note?" I asked, handing it to him. 
 
 " Oil no, it isn't !" he replied, quickly. " I can tell that 
 without looking at it. This is a crumpled, dirty, tuucIi-
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 353 
 
 used note ; that which I sent to Charles was a brand-new 
 one, which I had just got from Wigglesworth's bank. It 
 was numbered " — and he referred again to the memoran- 
 dum-book— " '^26,708: London, May 29,1867;' and this 
 one — bless me ! this is '§79,234 : London, March, 8, 1859.' 
 Quite a different thing." 
 
 " You're certain you remember the number ?" I asked, 
 somewhat suspiciously. 
 
 " Positive ! Look for yourself at my entry when I 
 sent the money to Charles." 
 
 I looked, and satisfied myself there was no mistake — 
 there could be no collusion ; and for the time we were 
 completely at fault. Other bank-notes, however, belong- 
 ing to the same parcel, soon began to. come in, and from 
 what was learned during the tracing of them an old and 
 much -respected letter-carrier, on the Fleet Street walk, 
 was arrested on suspicion, and was committed for trial. 
 Before he was charged at the Old Bailey he made a clean 
 breast of it, confessed his crime, and explained his modus 
 operandi. 
 
 It appears that he originally stole the banker's letter, 
 and took it to his home. But he had heard so much talk 
 in the office about the way in which such robberies were 
 detected, the manner in which bank-notes were traced, 
 etc., that he was frightened to make any immediate use of 
 his ill-gotten spoil, and kept the bundle of notes securely 
 locked up in a box for years. At length the time caiiie 
 when he thought he might profit by his temerity, and he 
 adopted a remarkably ingenious scheme. He would select 
 certain letters which, from his manipulation of tiiem dur- 
 ing the sorting process, he imagined contained bank-notes, 
 and laid them aside. At nigiit.he conveyed them home, 
 opened them, took out the bank - notes which they con- 
 tained, replacing them by notes of equal value taken from 
 the long - since stolen bundle, sealed the letters again, 
 and took them to the office next day to be forwarded 
 to their destination. In this fashion he was gradually 
 working off his stock of " stopped " notes, and making up 
 a little sheaf of more serviceable ones in their place, when 
 he was detected, and sent into penal servitude.
 
 354 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 I remained for nearly ten years at the head of the Miss- 
 ing Letter Branch, and thought I should remain there 
 until I had become disabled, or until I had served the 
 necessary number of years for securing a pension, when 
 the acquisition by the Government of the telegrai)hic sys- 
 tem of the country most unexpectedly influenced the whole 
 course of my future life. 
 
 The suggestion of this gigantic addition to the regular 
 work hitherto performed by the Post-office Department 
 had originated with Mr. Scudamore, and when sanctioned 
 by Parliament had been handed over to him to carry out. 
 The history of that extraordinary time has yet to be writ- 
 ten, but certainly not by me, as my share in the carrying 
 out of the scheme was infinitesimal ; but when it is writ- 
 ten, the public will' read with wonder of the desperate un- 
 flagging energy by which it was carried through by the 
 man who had planned it, and his devoted band of follow- 
 ers, who sat up night after night, denying themselves rest, 
 comfort, almost food, in order that the compact with the 
 Government might be duly executed. 
 
 From my personal friendship with Mr. Scudamore I 
 knew a good deal of what was going on ; but I had no 
 hand in the aifair, and never thought I should have. One 
 day, however, very soon after the telegraphs had been 
 taken over by the Post-office, I was sent for by Mr. Scud- 
 amore. He spoke to me in the kindest manner, telling me 
 he felt sure I must be somewhat wearied of the duties of 
 the Missing Letter Branch after such long performance of 
 them, and hinted it was not improbable tliat before many 
 months certain sweejiing changes might be made in the 
 atlniinistration of the Office under wliicli I might find my- 
 self shelved. Of my ability, he was good enough to say, 
 tliere was no doubt ; but the selection of those to be 
 " compulsorily retired " would rest witli Mr. Tilley, the 
 Secretary, witli whom I was no special favorite ; and that, 
 possibly Mr. Tilley might not be sorry of an opportunity 
 for displacing me in favor of some one whose " zeal for 
 the service" — a convenient official phrase — was more con- 
 sjticuously manifest. In truth, I had had one or two 
 coiillicts with Mr. Tilley, in which, notwithstanding the
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 355 
 
 weight of hib official position, I had not been wholly un- 
 successful. 
 
 Mr. Tilley was a shrewd, caustic, clever man, bred in 
 the Post - office service and knowing it thoroughly ; by 
 no means a crotcheteer, but, with his public office expe- 
 rience, tempered by plenty of worldly knowledge, and as 
 unimpressionable as an oyster. An excellent public ser- 
 vant, had he not been a sie volo, sic juheo gentleman — 
 one who never allowed anything or any one to stand in 
 his way; who was accustomed to do as he liked without 
 being called upon for his reasons ; and with whom, as 
 I have stated, I, not being entirely willing to prostrate 
 myself in order that I might be ridden over rough-shod, 
 had more than once come into collision. 
 
 I had led the mill-horse life for so long — I had been 
 jogging easily round and round for so many years — that 
 I had never contemplated the arrival of a time when I 
 might have to surrender my post, and with it the £500 
 a year which, though but a portion of my income, was 
 a certainty. 
 
 No such contingency was, however, immediately at 
 hand. Mr. Scudamore told me he had a plan for effect- 
 ually utilizing my services in a way that would be pleas- 
 ant to myself and valuable to the department. The Gov- 
 ernment, it appeared, had in contemplation an enormous 
 extension of telegraph business. Under the private com- 
 panies comparatively few places, and those only towns 
 of fair size, had telegraphic intercommunication; but now 
 that the affair had been acquired by the Post-office, it 
 was intended that every place of sufficient importance 
 to be a money-order office should also be made a centre 
 for the receipt and despatch of telegrams. This exten- 
 sion of business would necessitate the erection of poles, 
 and the carrying of many thousand miles of Avire over 
 public and private property ; and it was to obtain the 
 consent of the various corporate bodies and private land- 
 owners to the Government's amiable trespass on their 
 domains that my services were about to be called into 
 requisition. 
 
 Mr. Scudamore laughed as he showed me the minute
 
 356 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 to the Postmaster-general, in wliich it was set forth that 
 the person to fill the appointment should be a gentleman 
 of pleasant manners, possessing a certain knowledge of 
 the world, and assured me that I was the very man to 
 meet the requirements. Then he gave me twenty-four 
 hours to turn the matter over, and I retired, 
 
 I at once commenced making inquiries from some of 
 the higher officials in the Telegraph Department as to 
 the details of my proposed duties, and all I learned was 
 most satisfactory. 1 found I should be practically my 
 own master, taking a certain district at a time, and work- 
 ing in it until I had exhausted my schedule of persons 
 on whom I was to wait, and then moving on elsewhere; 
 that I should get rid of the long familiar life of the Of- 
 fice, with its stated hours of attendance and its jog-trot 
 roiitine; that I should necessarily have plenty of leisure 
 time in which to pursue my literary labors ; and that I 
 could always take my wife foi" my companion whenever 
 she was so inclined. Moreover, I felt convinced, more 
 from my old friend Scudamore's manner than from any 
 thing he actually said, that he thought it very much for 
 my interest that I should accept the proffered berth ; and 
 as this view was ratified at home, the next morning I sig- 
 nified my thankful assent. 
 
 And so, though I was still an " officer of the depart- 
 ment," my old servitude at St. Martin's-le-Grand came 
 to an end after twenty-three years, and I entered upon 
 a new official career. The necessity for ])unctual arrival, 
 with its concomitant hateful "attendance-book,'" the daily 
 dreary grind, the perjtctual attachment to the " desk's dull 
 wood " — all were abolished for a time at least, and, as it 
 proved, forever. 
 
 My duties were pleasant, and thoroughly congenial. 
 The engineer, in ])rop()sing a certain extension of tele- 
 grapliic accommodal ion, would report that difiiculty might 
 l)ossibIy be experienced in "getting consent," as we used 
 technically to call it, for the erection of poles or carrying 
 the wires over certain jiroperty. This might mean on 
 ])ublic roads or private lands, across gardens, through 
 streets, or over chimneys. I was then despatched to see
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 357 
 
 how the difficulties could be smoothed, I took up my 
 quarters in the place, harangued mayors and corporations 
 in council assembled; presented myself before local mag- 
 nates in their libraries, on their lawns, even in the midst 
 of their shooting-parties when time pressed; sat with old 
 ladies, and dissipated their fears of the wires proving 
 liglitning-conductors, and importing the "electric fluid" 
 into their bedrooms; persuaded invalids that the sighing 
 of the wind through the wires, instead of being an an- 
 noyance, had an JEolian hai'p-like quality of soothing ; 
 laughed, cliaffed, persuaded, cajoled, threatened — when 
 necessary; but generally got my way. 
 
 I had some very curious experiences, and in recalling 
 them I am often astonished at my own audacity. We 
 had a "difficulty," of which I now forget the details, 
 with the city of Cork ; and I was despatched to attend 
 a meeting of the Chamber of Commerce, which had been 
 specially invoked, with instructions to be firm. There 
 was a large gathering in a handsome hall, and the feeling 
 against the Government seemed to run very high. The 
 debate was opened by some of the principal merchants, 
 and there were reporters who took down every word. 
 When my turn came I stated what the Post-office re- 
 quired to be done in return for what it was doing ; and 
 when, after several speeches strongly condemning my 
 suggestions, they were unanimously refused, I quietly 
 told them that they had done a bad day's work; for the 
 Government, finding its efforts thwarted, would certain- 
 ly attempt no further extension of the telegraph system 
 in Ireland. Tlie row that ensued was appalling. I made 
 my way out of the place amidst hootings ; the local jour- 
 nals indulged in the fiercest diatribes; and two days after, 
 Mr. McCarthy Downing, then member for the city, ris- 
 ing in his seat in the House of Commons, asked the Gov- 
 ernment whether I had authority for the threat I had 
 held out. 
 
 At a fashionable watering - place in Devonshire there 
 was considerable opposition to our carrying the wires 
 through the streets; and at a meeting of the Town Coun- 
 cil, which T attended, the scheme was fiercely denounced,
 
 358 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 one of the strongest malcontents being, as I discovered, 
 the ground landlord of the Post-office building. In ray 
 speech in reply I alluded to this fact, saying I felt in- 
 clined to upbi'aid one who ought to have been on our side 
 with Csesai-'s words, "Et tu, Brute!" The gentleman in 
 question immediately rose, and asked the mayor whether 
 such expressions were in order. 
 
 One of my funniest experiences was in attending the 
 Local Board of a little town on the Thames, where I was 
 told we should be hotly opposed, as we proposed to take 
 the wires along a pretty road leading from the station, on 
 one side of which ran the garden of a wealthy lady, whose 
 agent was to be my chief adversary. He was pointed out 
 to me when I entered the little room, where perhaps fifteen 
 people were assembled — a very stout little man, with a roll 
 of paper in his hand. He was evidently much excited, and 
 at once demanded that " the inspector," as he would per- 
 sist in calling me, should " lay his proposition before the 
 meeting." I accordingly made a brief statement, during 
 the delivery of which the little man fidgeted and fumed, 
 but said nothing. When I sat down, one or two of the 
 tradesmen, after exchanging a nod with my friend, asked 
 me some questions which had evidently been prearranged. 
 
 Then the little man rose, and commenced to denounce 
 the scheme which I had propounded as one which would 
 overwhelm with ruin and confusion their lovely and peace- 
 ful village, so well known to, and so sought after by, the 
 angler, the oarsman, the tired and weary citizen, who flew 
 thither for rest. After a good deal in this strain, the lit- 
 tle man stopped and mopped his forehead ; then strid- 
 ing across the room he bore down upon me, and waving 
 his r"()Il of ])a))('r close under my nose, cried : " And who 
 are you who would, unbidden and uninvited, proceed to 
 force your posts and wires down our throats? Minion of 
 the Government ! I defy you !" Then he struck an atti- 
 tude, and was greeted with subdued cheers by his friends. 
 There was no cliafT in this, it was all meant ])erfectly seri- 
 ously. I was ;it'raid my liltle friend had exj)ressed the 
 wishes of the meeting, and I retired covered with igno- 
 miny.
 
 LATEll DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. ^59 
 
 One more anecdote of ray experiences in those pleasant 
 days. A gentleman, a large land-owner in Lancashire, had 
 written to the Post-office complaining that in some recent 
 extension of the telegraphs a trespass had been committed 
 on his property, and desiring that the matter might be im- 
 mediately set right. The tone of the letter was exceed- 
 ingly offensive and dictatorial, and it was evident that he 
 was a very ugly customer. The telegraph engineer re- 
 ported that though a little modification of the selected 
 route might be made, to clear off entirely from the com- 
 plainant's land would involve a considei'able detour; and, 
 under all the circumstances, it was considered advisable 
 that I should go down and see what could be done with 
 our obstreperous customer in a personal interview. 
 
 I did not receive much encouragement from the land- 
 lord of the inn at the town near Mr. P 's estate, where 
 
 I put up for the night before paying my visit, who de- 
 scribed him as being a " hoigh-handed un " — whatever 
 that might mean — as very proud and arrogant, and as 
 having all these evil qualities inflamed and intensified by 
 constant illness. This did not promise well ; and I re- 
 ceived much the same account from the man who drove 
 me over in a gig the next morning. However, I was in 
 for it ; and on arrival I walked boldly up the steps and 
 set the bell clanging. 
 
 I gave my card to the servant who appeared, telling 
 
 him to take it to Mr. P , and say that I had come down 
 
 from London to see him on the subject upon which he 
 had written to the Post - office. The man looked very 
 
 doubtful, and told me Mr. P was ill, and never saw 
 
 anybody. 
 
 Was there a Mrs. P , I asked, who could represent 
 
 her husband? "Oh yes, there were ; but she was wusser 
 nor him," the man said — not in illness, but in temper. I 
 could not go away without having seen somebody, so I 
 told the man to take the card to his master, and bring me 
 some message in reply. He retiirned speedily, bidding me 
 
 wait where I was, and Mr. P " would come to me. So 
 
 I lounged round the big stone hall, and examined the fam- 
 ily portraits.
 
 360 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Presently a door opened and the servant re-appeared, 
 convoying an elderly lady with a flaming face. I stood 
 at " attention " and made a salaam ; but she took no no- 
 tice of me, and went straight to her carriage, which had 
 drawn up at the steps. About ten minutes after, the door 
 opened again, and a wheel-chair was pushed in by anoth- 
 er servant, who retired at once. 
 
 The occupant of the chair was a big man, who had been 
 handsome, and who still preserved his distingue looks, 
 though his features were a good deal distorted by con- 
 stant pain. He had keen black eyes and a bristling gray 
 beard, and a general air of great hauteur. He turned slow- 
 ly round to where I stood, and called to me, " Come here, 
 sir," very much as though I were a dog, and then asked 
 me M'hat I wanted. 
 
 I referred him to my card, which he was twisting in his 
 thin, bony fingers, and was just beginning a statement of 
 the object of my visit when he broke out into the most 
 desperate tirade against the Government, against me, 
 against the telegraphs, and almost against everything. 
 Why the et cetera had the Government meddled in the 
 matter? The private companies did the thing well, and 
 in a gentlemanly manner, without interfering with the 
 rights of property ; but this et cetera Liberal Government 
 wanted to grab everything. "What the et cetera did T mean 
 by coming to his house and demanding to see him ? Didn't 
 I consider it an et cetera liberty ? Because he did ; and 
 he'd be et cetera'd if he'd put up with it, etc. 
 
 I kept perfectly quiet, though I felt very hot and uu- 
 
 coinfortable, mil 11 ^fr. P stopped for sheer want of 
 
 breath, and tlien I struck in. I told liim that lie was prob- 
 ably the best judge of how he should receive any one in 
 his own liouse ; but that such a reception, in (he course 
 of a tolerably wide experience, was a novelty to rac ; that 
 it was not for me to say anything about his diatribes 
 against the (iovertimcnt, and that, as for myself, T was 
 there merely as an oflicial sent on a mission to discharge 
 certain duties ; but fhat, as I was perfectly certain the 
 Postmaster-general would not like me to stay to be fur- 
 ther sworn a( au'l insulted,! would take my leave.
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 361 
 
 I was moving towards the door, when the old man, 
 looking very faint and spent after his recent exertion, mo- 
 tioned me to him and said, in a weak voice, "You are 
 quite right, sir, and I have to ask your pardon. I forgot 
 myself, and let my passion get the better of me. I am 
 very sorry for having caused yoii pain ; but I am an old 
 man, and I have been desperately ill. When I recover, 
 in a minute, I will talk to you." He touched my hand 
 gently with his, and then lay back, gasping for breath. 
 
 Of course I was immensely touched at this, and I at 
 once begged him to think no more of it ; that I could 
 perfectly understand his state ; that I Avould wait his con- 
 venience, and do everything I could to arrange the busi- 
 ness on which I had come down in accordance with his 
 wishes. 
 
 He bowed his liead in thanks, and touched my hand 
 again ; then he sat up in the chair — he had revived con- 
 siderably while I had been speaking — and, to my intense 
 astonishment, he burst out into loud cries of " Yates ! 
 Yates !" For a minute I thought he had gone mad. I 
 tried to speak, but he stopped me, and cried " Yates !" 
 again, as loudly as he could. 
 
 I was relieved to find that Yates, who speedily put in 
 an appearance, was the farm-bailiif, who was despatched 
 with me to the scene of the trespass, and with whom I 
 soon entered into amicable relations. On my return to 
 the house, Mr. P approved of all that had been set- 
 tled between the two Yateses. I found luncheon laid for 
 me; and my host had his chair wheeled to my side, and 
 proved an agreeable companion. 
 
 My experiences, on the whole, were remarkably pleas- 
 ant and enjoyable, and Avhile leading a very agreeable 
 life during the two years, I may fairly claim to have 
 "done the State some service." 
 
 I was nearly always courteously received, and in by far 
 the greater number of my visits I managed to carry my 
 point. In this result I was a good deal assisted by the 
 fact that at that time such popularity as I had gained as 
 a novelist was at its height. I was always immensely 
 amused at watching the surprise which people would ex- 
 
 16
 
 362 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Libit on reading ray name on the card which I handed 
 them, and then, looking in the corner, would see " Tele- 
 graph Department, General Post-office," inscribed there. 
 Their faces would wear the same kind of expression 
 Avhich is displayed by travellers in a railway - carriage 
 when a well-known actor gets in. Some would ask me 
 if I were any relation to myself; others wondered wheth- 
 er they really had the pleasure, etc. And in every case 
 where it came out that I was really their friend of the 
 circulating library or the railway book-stall, the fact not 
 merely acted as an introduction, but, I am sure, frequent- 
 ly stood me in good stead. 
 
 I made some very pleasant acquaintances, and paid 
 some very pleasant visits : one to Lord Dartmouth, at 
 Patshull, near Wolverhampton, where I was hospitably 
 entertained ; and one to the notorious Lord Lonsdale, 
 a very haughty old nobleman, who was the original of 
 Major Pendennis's noble friend. Lord Colchicum, and 
 Mr. Disraeli's Lord Eskdale. His lordsliip had repre- 
 sented to the Office that the recent erection of some poles 
 and wires on Shap Fell, a wild and desolate moorland 
 district, had been very destructive to his grouse, which 
 in their flight, more especially in the dark, burled them- 
 selves against the almost invisible wires, and were killed 
 or maimed. 
 
 lie made an appointment to receive me on a certain 
 day at LoAvther Castle, and "was most courteous and ge- 
 nial. He was a very old man at that time, considerably 
 past eiglity, and a prisoner to his chair, but quite bright 
 and intelligent. He fully understood and at once ac- 
 cepted a proposition which I made him in regard to 
 shifting tlie ])olos; and when I rose, my business ended, 
 begged me to sit again. He had ordered luncheon for 
 me, he said; and if I had never seen the castle, he thouglit 
 I should like to go over it ; and he should much like a 
 chat with me about tlie Office, for lie had once — long 
 before my time — been Postmaster-general. 
 
 I liad forgotten that circuuislance, but Lord Lonsdale 
 l)ad forgotten nothing. He sat by me while I had my 
 luncheon, asking clever questions and making very sharj)
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 363 
 
 comments on the people who had been in the G. P. O. 
 in his day, and some of whom still remained. Then he 
 asked me if I were related to " his old friend Yates of 
 the Adelphi;" and when I told him, he had a long series 
 of reminiscences to tell, all most amusing. I was after- 
 wards shown over the castle by the steward, and took my 
 leave of Lord Lonsdale late in the afternoon, after a de- 
 lightful day. 
 
 The old nobleman died soon after this, and there is a 
 curious, and I believe authentic, anecdote connected with 
 his death. He had long possessed a wonderful dinner-set 
 of Sevres china, which had been stolen in Paris during 
 the Revolution, and subsequently purchased by him, of 
 which three pieces were wanting. For years and years 
 he sought for these three pieces without success. At last 
 he heard that they were in a sale at Christie's. He sent 
 a friend to purchase them, and, being very old and feeble, 
 waited at the door in his brougham. The three pieces 
 were purchased, Lord Lonsdale took them home, and died 
 that night. 
 
 During those two years, in the discharge of my duty, I 
 travelled over a large portion of England and Ireland, 
 Scotland not coming within my province. I generally ar- 
 ranged, always with a due regard to the public interest, 
 that my work should lie in the large provincial towns, 
 or their vicinity, during the winter, while in the lovely 
 spring, summer, and autumn weather I took to the coun- 
 try districts. I am glad to think that my exertions were 
 recognized and gave satisfaction. I had the best of friends 
 in ray chief, Scudamore, and the kindest of allies in the 
 engineer of the south-western district of England, Mr. W. 
 H. Preece, now known as one of our foremost electricians, 
 and in Mr. T. H. Sanger, head of the Telegraph Office in 
 Ireland, one of the most genial, generous creatures that 
 ever drew breath, who died a year or two ago. To these 
 two friends I owe a deep debt of gratitude, for under 
 their auspices I was pleasantly, though continuously, era- 
 ployed, and I had a most delightful time. 
 
 For weeks I had my head-quarters at Plymouth, com- 
 fortable rooms at the Duke of Cornwall Hotel, whence I
 
 364 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 rambled all over the lovely neighborhood, Port Eliot and 
 Saltash, with excursions up the Tamar and the Dart, and 
 farther afield to Mevagissy and St. Ives and St. Austell 
 and the queer little fishing village of Looe, to Menheniot 
 and Scorrier and Liskeard. 
 
 Over the wild and bleak Dartmoor I took the wires to 
 Prineetowu, the oasis of building in the midst of the bar- 
 ren desert, and into the great convict prison close by. 
 
 To Boscastle, and all the adjacent Arthur's land, I was 
 the pioneer of telegraphy, staying at Mrs. Scott's quaint 
 and excellent hotel, with the old figure - head from the 
 man-of-war erected in the garden, and the most amusing 
 visitors' - book, wherein I recollect a gentleman gravely 
 records his satisfaction at having, after a protracted peru- 
 sal of many pages, at last found a person who mil give 
 two tn^B to " accommodation," and the landlady's stories 
 of Douglas Cook, the original editor of the Saturday Re- 
 vieio, who had a house in Tintagel, which he occasionally 
 visited, and who is buried in the place. 
 
 A change of head-quarters to Penzance, with visits to 
 the Lizard and the Land's End, an inspection of the Long- 
 ships Light-house, and a good deal of yachting in Mount's 
 Bay ; a run over to Helston, to see the celebrated " Flur- 
 ry " or Flowery Fair, mth its quaint custom of the entire 
 population dancing in and out through the open doors of 
 all the houses, which gave scope for an amusing article in 
 All the Year Round. 
 
 For I did not neglect my regular literary work during 
 this time. That would liave been impossible, not merely 
 for the absolute necessity of earning what it brought in, 
 but from the fact that engagements had been previously 
 entered u]»on from Avhich it would have been im])ossible 
 to e8ca])e. So, giving tlie day, from immediately after 
 breakfast till dinner, to my oflicial excursions, I rose early 
 and retired late ; and, liaving my indefatigable secretary 
 Simpson with mo, I was enabled to get through a large 
 amount of dictated work, wliich lie reduced into hmg-hand 
 during my a1»sence the next day. Besides very many oc- 
 casional articles for magazines and new8])apers, I wrote 
 two entire nu\(l^ wliile on this lour: "Castaway," which
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 365 
 
 I began on tlie Derby Day, 1871 — tbo first Derby I had 
 miissed for twenty years — in the pretty house belonging 
 to and standing in the grounds of the Castle Hotel, Lin- 
 ton, and the best scene in which I wrote in the Railway 
 Hotel, Killarney, with the clatter of its table cVhote in the 
 room below ; and " Nobody's Fortune," the scene of which 
 is nearly wholly laid in Cornwall, the names of the dra- 
 niatis 2->e>'soHce being names of stations on the Cornwall 
 Railway — it was my frequent habit to name my charac- 
 ters out of " Bradshaw's Guide " — and which was mainly 
 written in a big bedroom at the top of the Duke of Corn- 
 wall Hotel, in Plymouth. 
 
 Pleasant it was that the stern behests of duty took me, 
 in the early days of a lovely August, into Lakeland, and 
 kept me there — now at Ullswater, now at Keswick, now 
 at Windermere, where my brother-in-law was vicar at the 
 time — for nearly six weeks. 
 
 Earlier in that year I had a long sjdcII in Ireland. I was 
 often called over to Dublin, where my old friends Nugent 
 Robinson ; John Harris, lessee of the Theatre Royal ; and 
 Dr. Tisdall, Chancellor of Christchurch, made me very 
 welcome, and where I would meet such charming com- 
 panions as Father Healey, Professor Mahaffy, and Dr. 
 Nedley. But this time I made a much longer stay — had 
 several days at Killarney, the neighborhood of which I 
 thoroughly examined, under the superintendence of Mr. 
 Currie, who then managed the Railway Hotel, and his 
 head-guide, Stephen Spillane ; and went on a most inter- 
 esting excursion through the wald parts of Kerry to Va- 
 lentia, where I had a day in the Atlantic cable-house, and 
 obtained enough information and grasp of " local color " 
 to enable me to lay there the scene of action in the next 
 Christmas number of AU the Year Round, which I called 
 " Slaves of the Lamp." 
 
 There was a good deal to do, too, in Galway about that 
 time ; and as the town was not particularly inviting, I 
 made my head-quarters at Salthill, a village on the sea, a 
 few miles off, where the accommodation Avas quaint? and 
 simple in the extreme, and where, on a Sunday morning, 
 all the men and boys of the neighborhood, numbering, per-
 
 366 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 haps, a couple of hundred, bathed from the shore. Thoy 
 mostly only paddled within their depth, and expressed 
 great surprise at the distance which I, a strong and prac- 
 tised swimmer in those days, achieved. 
 
 But the pleasant times like all other times, pleasant or 
 unpleasant, had to come to an end. After two years' 
 most happy wanderings I found my occupation gone. 
 The purchase of the telegraphs, and the manner in which 
 the business had been carried out in all its ramifications, 
 had cost far more than the Government had originally 
 intended to spend over the affair, and the Treasury posi- 
 tively forbade our entertaining the idea of any further 
 extension of empire or expenditure of capital. Economy 
 and retrenchment were the order of the day, and I re- 
 ceived instructions to wind up all the work I had in hand 
 as quickly as possible, and to enter upon nothing further. 
 
 I ran up to town directly I received this communica- 
 tion, and went straight to the G. P. O. to seek advice from 
 Scudamore. The official storm, which shortly afterwards 
 burst upon him with such fury, was then only rumbling 
 in the distance ; but though I have no doubt he know 
 perfectly well what was coming, and although he was 
 beset on every side by worries which would have tried 
 the nerve or confused the sense of most men, he was too 
 good a friend not, even in the midst of this whirling ex- 
 citement, to have given a thought to the fortunes of those 
 in whom he was interested. He saw me at once, told me 
 he felt convinced I should come to him ; that be bad, 
 therefore, thought my case out, and was ready with his 
 advice. There was no further emi)loyment for me in the 
 Telograpli Department, lie told me })lainly; there would 
 be no further extension of the system for a very long 
 time, and consequently no further "consents" to gain; 
 after the life of comparative freedom which I had led for 
 BO many months, a return to the ordinary routine of a 
 Government office woukl probably be very irksome to 
 me. 
 
 I confessed so much, but what was I to do? 
 
 .Scudamore did not hesitate ; he advised me to resign 
 my appointment, and ask for superannuation. The cliangc
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 367 
 
 in the constitution of the Secretary's office which he had 
 mentioned two years before was now imminent; the posi- 
 tion which I had previously held was about to be abol- 
 ished, as part of that large measure of reorganization, and 
 that would enable me to count ten extra years in my 
 claim for a pension, the amount of which was regulated 
 by the number of years of service. I might serve an ad- 
 ditional ten years, Scudamore pointed out, and then only 
 be superannuated in the same sum which I should now 
 receive — now, when I was in the prime of life (forty-one), 
 with all my faculties undimmed, and with my command 
 of the literary market at its best. 
 
 Scudamore urged his point with that wonderfully mag- 
 netic enthusiasm so peculiarly his ; but at first I felt too 
 much frightened to go with him, to look at the future 
 through his roseate glasses. I had always been accus- 
 tomed thoroughly to indorse Sir Walter Scott's descrip- 
 tion of literature as a good stick to help you along, but a 
 bad crutch to lean upon entirely for support; and now for 
 nearly five-and-twenty years I had always had the com- 
 forting reflection that, come what might, as long as the 
 country and the Bank of England lasted, there was always 
 a certain sum, though not a very large one, at my dispos- 
 al on the first of every month. This sum I should have, 
 not indeed, to give uf) altogether, but to see considerably 
 reduced; for the proposed pension, even under the excep- 
 tional circumstances named by my friend, would assured- 
 ly not amount to anything like one half of the salary, and 
 all the rest of the outgoing money must be provided by 
 ray work. 
 
 Of course for many years by far the larger portion of 
 my income had been the produce of my pen, and I had 
 never had any difficulty in placing anything I wrote. 
 But would that be the case when, with all my time at 
 my disposal, the supply would be so vastly increased? 
 The ranks of the novelists were swelling year by year; 
 already the halcyon days of large payments were past, 
 and publishers were declaring they could not give their 
 former prices, owing to the increase of competition. 
 Could I go again into journalistic harness, special report-
 
 368 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ing, reviewing, dramatic criticism? and, even if I could, 
 should I get the employment? I was no longer in the 
 first freshness of youth, and many men of rising reputa- 
 tion were pressing forward and making their presence in 
 the field fully recognized by me and my coevals. 
 
 Reflections such as these, which it was impossible not 
 to admit, made me look very serious during the domestic 
 conferences which were held during the two succeeding 
 days. But my good-fortune did not desert me in this, as 
 it proved, most important moment ; and, feeling perfectly 
 certain that Scudamore had not tendered his advice hur- 
 riedly or without due consideration, I determined on fol- 
 lowing it. 
 
 My application, endorsed with the Secretary's recom- 
 mendation, was S23eedily sent in to the Treasury; and on 
 a bright morning in March, 1872, exactly twenty -five 
 years after I entered the service, as I opened my let- 
 ters at a hotel in Falmouth, I found one among them in- 
 forming me that my jirayer was granted, and that I was 
 a free man with a pension of about £200 a year. 
 
 In the following June I was entertained at dinner at 
 Willis's Rooms by nearly a hundred of my old col- 
 leagues, with Frank Scudamore in the chair; to my great 
 delight several of my private friends, among them Sala 
 and Parkinson, were invited guests, and wishes for my 
 future prosperity were most eloquently and genially in- 
 voked. 
 
 I must not close this chapter without further reference 
 to the two members of the Post-office service who are 
 best known to the 2)ublic, Rowland Hill and Anthony 
 Tr()llo])e, with both of whom I was more or less associ- 
 ated ; and, as a by-stander is said in the old proverb to 
 see most of the game, it is i)robable that I, who interfered 
 with neither, had better opportunities for observing their 
 various peculiarities than if I had occupied a less subor- 
 dinate position. 
 
 The two men cordially hated each other. Trollopc ad- 
 mits it in his" Autobiograpliy." "And then there were 
 the feuds — such delicious fouds! I was always an anti- 
 llillite, acknowledging, indeed, the great thing which Sir
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 369 
 
 Rowland Hill had done for the country, but believing 
 him to be entirely unfit to manage men or to arrange la- 
 bor. It was a pleasure to me to differ from him on all 
 occasions; and looking back now, I think that in all such 
 differences I was right."* 
 
 Sir Rowland Hill was far too cautious and reserved 
 ever to put his likes or dislikes into print. But he hated 
 TroUope very cordially, and could not avoid showing it 
 when they were brought into contact. On such occasions 
 there was a fund of amusement for any by-stander who 
 knew what was going on. Trollope would bluster and 
 rave and roar, blowing and spluttering like a grampus, 
 while the pale old gentleman oi)posite him, sitting back 
 in his arm-chair and regarding his antagonist furtively 
 under his spectacles, would remain perfectly quiet until 
 he saw his chance, and then deliver himself of the most 
 unpleasant speech he could frame in .the hardest possible 
 tone. 
 
 I recollect one occasion when I had attended a meeting 
 of the Surveyors, which was held in the summer-time, 
 at that good old-fashioned inn the Red Lion, at Henley, 
 for the purpose of laying before them some views of Sir 
 Rowland's. I had secret instructions that if the views 
 were controverted I was, on the authority of the Secre- 
 
 * My friend and former colleague, Mr. Pearson Hill, Sir Rowland's son, 
 on the appearance of TroUope's " Autobiography," sent me the copy of a 
 letter addressed by A. T. to Sir Rowland, on the latter's retirement from 
 the service in 1864. In this letter Trollope says, "I cannot let your resigna- 
 tion from oflSce pass without assuring you of my thorough admiration for 
 the great work of your life. I have regarded you for many years as one 
 of the essential benefactors not only of your own country, but of all the 
 civilized world. I think the thing you have done has had in it more of 
 general utility than any other measure which has been achieved in my 
 time." Mr. Hill seems to see in this praise either a refutation of the 
 " anti-Hillite " statement or a piece of insincere and fulsome flattery ; but 
 I think the sentiments expressed in statement and letter are compatible. 
 I am more with Mr. Hill in his remarks, as an indication of TroUope's 
 value as a public servant, " that he declares promotion by merit to be a 
 'damnable system' (p. 255); and by his own showing he left the service 
 because, under that system, even when administered by his own brother- 
 in-law, he could not get the position he wanted." 
 
 IC*
 
 370 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE, 
 
 tary, to declare the meeting adjourned, to re-assemble at 
 the General Post - office, under Sir Rowland's chairman- 
 ship. As I expected, the Surveyors were by no means 
 unanimous. Troll ope as usual being loudest in opposition, 
 so I proceeded to act upon my instructions. These were 
 received with much discontent; but my orders were im- 
 perative. I dismissed the meeting, and the next day the 
 Surveyors — some very sulky, none very pleased — assem- 
 bled in the Secretary's room at St. Martin's. 
 
 I had told the old gentleman exactly Avhat had oc- 
 curred, and I knew from his snort of defiance as he lis- 
 tened, and from the battle-light gleaming behind his spec- 
 tacles, that he probably meant mischief. He got his first 
 shot at Trollope early in the discussion. Anthony burst 
 in with an interruption, but Hill, pointing at him with 
 his pencil, said at once, " One at a time, Mr, Trollope, one 
 at a time, if you plc.ase ; another gentleman is speaking 
 now." And later on, when some one had been talking 
 of " official phraseology," the old gentleman made a great 
 hit. " One of you gentlemen," he said, " has used the 
 words ' official phraseology.' Now official phraseology is 
 a good thing in its way, but very often it by no means de- 
 scribes the actually existing state of affairs. For in- 
 stance, in writing to you gentlemen, I am accustomed to 
 describe myself in official phraseology as ' Your obedient 
 humble servant,' whereas " — and here he sat up and glared 
 round through his glasses — " lohereas Fm oiothing of the 
 sortP^ 
 
 Rowland Hill had a j^eculiarly effective way of saying 
 a caustic and unpleasant thing : voice and manner lent 
 Ihcir aid to send the shaft rankling home. "I'm afraid 
 I must take tlu' blame of that, Sir Rowland," said one 
 of his chief subordinates to him. "You must, indeed, 
 for you've deserved it," was his rejoinder. " I should be 
 very sorry to see you adopt such a measure, Sir Row- 
 land," said another. "You had better reserve the expres- 
 sion of your regret until it's called for," remarked the old 
 gentleman, in cliilliiig tone. 
 
 Sir liowland Hill was one of the least eccentric mem- 
 bers of a very strange family, and in his oddity there was
 
 LATEK DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 371 
 
 always a good deal of common-sense. A family story 
 illustrates this. In his later years — he lived to be eighty- 
 four — he had to be very particular as to his diet, and one 
 day, when the doctor had ordered him to take half a cutlet 
 for dinner, he fancied Lady Hill in her kindness had helped 
 him too bountifully. 
 
 " The doctor said half a cutlet, my dear," he remon- 
 strated. "Well, my dear, that is only half." "I think 
 you've been too generous, my dear ; this is the larger — " 
 " I can assure you, my dear, it is the exact half." After 
 a moment's hesitation Sir Rowland said, " If that be so, 
 my dear, perhaps you won't mind giving me the other 
 hul/r 
 
 He occasionally said a dry thing very amusingly. My 
 wife and I were calling at Hempstead one Sunday ; the 
 weather was rough, "and," said Lady Hill, "the wind is 
 so cold that our doctor positively forbade our going to 
 church this morning." " There was no occasion for any 
 particular peremptoriness in his instructions to me in that 
 regard," muttered Sir Rowland, who was standing beside 
 me. Throughout our relations at the Post-office he was 
 invariably kind to me ; and when, some time after he had 
 retired, I asked him for his autograph, he sent it me in 
 very pleasant foi"m. " I am reading your ' Land at Last,' " 
 he said in his letter, " and enjoy it much, as I have enjoyed 
 all your other novels." 
 
 Sir Rowland lived for some fifteen years after his re- 
 tirement from the Post - office, and died, where he had 
 long resided, at Bertram House, Ilampstead, one of the 
 latest acts of his life being to fight and overthrow a de- 
 sign for building a small-pox hospital close by. He en- 
 joyed novel-reading and converse with his brothers and a 
 few intimate friends. He could always be drawn into 
 discussing questions connected with his old " shop," and 
 never allowed that any suggestion about postal affairs 
 was of any use unless it Avere to be found in what be 
 called "my pa-amphlet," i.e., "Post-office Reform; its 
 Importance and Practicability;" tlie pain])lilet in wliich he 
 first astonished the official and comiucrcial world by set- 
 ting forth his vi-ews regarding a uniform rate of postage.
 
 372 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 He was cautious and shrewd to the last. Three years 
 before his death I saAv him, and obtained his permission 
 for my friend Mr. Becker to visit and make a pen-por- 
 trait of him, to be included in the series " Celebrities at 
 Home," in The World. Sir Rowland consented, received 
 Mr. Becker very kindly, and, aided by Mr. Pearson Hill, 
 supplied the visitor with much interesting information. 
 They showed him all the curiosities connected with the 
 early postal regime — the block stamps, the Mulready 
 envelopes, the caricatures of R. H,, and the fulminating 
 placards with which town was posted at the time of the 
 " Sunday labor " question. 
 
 But when the old gentleman saw his visitor taking a 
 note of the "portable property" — the K.C.B.'s ribbon 
 and star, the silver box enclosing the freedom of the Fish- 
 mongers' Company, the salver from Liverpool, wine-cool- 
 ers from Glasgow, candelabra from Wolverhampton, and 
 other valuable testimonials — he became alarmed. " Pear- 
 son," he said to his son, "it would be as well if Mr. 
 Becker did not mention in his article the exact locality 
 where these things are kept, or he might inadvertently 
 attract the attention of burglars to the house !" 
 
 It is scarcely possible to imagine a greater contrast to 
 Rowland Hill than Anthony Trollope, physically — save 
 that both were bald and sjjectacled — and mentally. One 
 small, pale, and, with the exception of a small scrap of 
 whisker, closely shaven ; the other big, broad, fresh-col- 
 ored, and bushy - bearded. One calm and freezing; the 
 other bluir and boisterous. One cautious and calculating, 
 weighing Mell every word before utterance, and then 
 only choosing ])hrases wliich would convey his opinion, 
 but would give no warmth to its expression ; the other 
 scarcely giving himself time to think, but splutteriiig and 
 roaring out an inslanlly-formed opi)iit)n, couclied in tlie 
 very strongest of terms, "I differ from you entirely! 
 What was it you said?" he roared out once to the speaker 
 Avho ))receded him at a discussion of Surveyors. 
 
 Trollo])!'; was very little known in the London office, 
 Mlience he had been (Irafted many years previously, and 
 be certainly Avas not poi)ular among the subordinates of
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 373 
 
 his district. He was a very kind-hearted man ; but with 
 persons in the position of clerks in small offices, letter- 
 carriers, etc., manner has a great effect, and Trollope's 
 manner was desperately against him. I do not believe 
 that any man of his time was more heartily, more thor- 
 onghly, more unselfishly charitable ; and he not merely 
 did not let his left hand know what his right hand did in 
 such matters, but he would savagely rap the knuckles of 
 any hand meddling with his affairs. The larger portion 
 of that collection of books of which he speaks with such 
 affection in the " Autobiography " was purchased to relieve 
 the necessities of an old friend's widow, who never had 
 an idea but that she was doing Trollope a kindness in 
 letting him buy them. 
 
 Trollope was as " thorough " in his Post-office work as 
 he was in his literary labors. His declarations of affection 
 for his official employment are frequent in the "Autobi- 
 ography ;" and in a speech which he delivered at a meet- 
 ing held at St. Martin's-le-Grand in 1858, to establish a 
 Post-office Library and Literary Listitution, he said, "We 
 belong to the Civil Service. That service has not always 
 been spoken of in the terms I firmly believe it deserves. 
 It has been spoken of as below those other posts to which 
 the ambition of Englishmen attaches itself ; but my belief 
 is that it should offer as fair an object of ambition as any 
 other service, and that the manner in which the duties are 
 generally performed by most of the departments with 
 which I am acquainted deserves that the men belonging 
 to it should not be placed in a lower position than those 
 in any other service. I myself lone the Post-office. 
 I have belonged to it ever since I left school. I work 
 with all my heart, and every one else should do the same; 
 then they will rise with the department, and the Civil 
 Service will rise to the level of any other profession, 
 whether it be the Church, the Bar, the Army, or the 
 Navy." 
 
 His lecture on the " Civil Service as a Profession," de- 
 livered before his colleagues, and afterwards printed in 
 the Comhill Magazine, was to the same effect. Never- 
 theless, he resigned his situation in the Post-office at the
 
 374 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 age of fifty-two, when lie was in full bodily and mental 
 vigor, thus cutting himself off from any chance of a pen- 
 sion, which is not granted, save in the case of illness or 
 under abolition of office, to any person under sixty. This 
 ■ step was partly the result of pique, as he himself allows, 
 from his having failed to obtain the post of Assistant 
 Secretary, then vacant, for which he had applied. Such 
 an appointment would have been worse than fatal. The 
 proverbial bull in the china-shop would have been a tame 
 and harmless animal compared to Trollope in the Assistant 
 Secretary's chair. 
 
 But the real truth was, his love for the Post-office had 
 long been evaporating, and was nearly gone : there were 
 no more "delicious feuds," for Rowland Hill had retired, 
 and Frederick was mild and inoffensive, and not Avorth 
 fighting; and the then Secretary was Mr. Tilley, Trollope's 
 own brother-in-law. Moreover, Trollope was a very dif- 
 ferent man from the unknown clerk to whom the Post- 
 office was all in all : he was, if not in the first, first in the 
 second, flight of novelists of the day; he was — what he 
 had never been in his office — popular in certain circles, 
 notably at the Garrick Club. He Avould have more leisure 
 for clubs, hunting, and whist, and at the same time be 
 earning more money ; and he would have opportunities 
 for foreign and colonial travel, and consequent book- 
 making, such as he never would have had again in the 
 department, where his official trips had already been much 
 discussed. He, too, lived for fifteen years after his retire- 
 ment a more enjoyable life tlian is given to most of us, 
 and all the hapi)iness in which lie right honestly deserved. 
 
 It has often been noticed tliat TroHope had a very })oor 
 notion of humor, either in liis works or in private life. 
 lie once attempted a professedly funny story, " The 
 Struggles of Brown, Jones, and Robinson," but it was a 
 ghastly failure, as lie admits; nor was he a good raconteur 
 or conversationalist. He told one story, however, remark- 
 ably well, and it always struck me as one of the funniest 
 I ever heard. So I give it, coiidrmatory as it also is of 
 what I have previously said regarding the eccentricity of 
 Hume of the members of the family. I lia]»})encd to
 
 LATER DAYS IN THE POST-OFFICE. 375 
 
 be keeping a diary the last time I heard it, and I give the 
 extract : 
 
 *^ Mondai/, ISth February, 1878. — Escott gave a dinner to-night at the 
 Thatched House Club, which turned out very pleasantly. Present : Colo- 
 nel Collcy, C.B., Lord Lytton's private secretary, home from India on leave 
 for a few weeks; J. A. Froude, Anthony Trollope, Major Arthur Griffiths, 
 Dr. Quain, J. C. Parkinson, and myself. . . . Trollope told a remarkably 
 
 funny story about a dinner given him by F. . It appears that F. 
 
 and Trollope, who while in the Post-office together never agreed, had a tre- 
 mendous row, and at the subsequent rapprochement asked Trollope to 
 
 dine with him at Ilampstead at five o'clock. Trollope went; found the din- 
 ing-room full of ladies, twenty or thirty of them, and himself and the 
 
 only men present. Dinner was announced, and Trollope went to offer his 
 
 arm to Mrs. , when he was cut short by , who said, ' The ladies 
 
 have already dined.' He and Trollope accordingly went down together to 
 the dining-room, where, at one end of the table, there was part of a cold 
 
 leg of nmtton, at the other a salad — nothing else on the table. F. 
 
 told Trollope to sit down opposite the mutton, which he, being very hungry, 
 
 did. seated himself opposite the salad, and commenced devouring 
 
 it, taking no mutton. There were no potatoes or any other vegetable, and 
 nothing to drink, absolutely nothing of any kind — no water, beer, or wine. 
 
 When had finished the salad, and Trollope had disposed of two huge 
 
 helps of mutton, said, ' Shall we join the ladies ?' and they went up- 
 stairs. In the dining-room they found the ladies seated in a huge circle, 
 
 with a chair in the middle of it, into which Trollope was inducted. 
 
 said, ' The ladies will now proceed to interrogate you upon various matters ;' 
 which they did." 
 
 I saw but little of Trollope during the last, years of his 
 life. I believe he disapproved of "society journalism," 
 and he certainly refused to pose as a " Celebrity at Home," 
 '' I allow that your articles are cleverly done, and without 
 the least offence," he wrote, " also that you have manv 
 very distinguished people in your gallery. But I would 
 rather not." On the other hand, he could have had no 
 serious objection to The World, as on two occasions he 
 wrote to me proposing to supply a novel for its columns. 
 I did not think it expedient to comply with his sugges- 
 tion.
 
 376 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 
 
 1872-1873. 
 
 It is from an " example " of a rale in the Eton Latin 
 Grammar that we learn " rest much delights a weary per- 
 son." I do not know that I was particularly weary wlien 
 I finally retired from the Post-office service, but I thought 
 that a little rest would do me good. I had been travel- 
 ling constantly for two years, and working hard the while. 
 It was advisable, I considered, that I should lie fallow for 
 some short period before entering again upon any perma- 
 nent employment. 
 
 Meanwhile I was not wholly idle. I was finishing a 
 novel, "A Waiting Race," and plotting aiu:)ther, "The 
 Yellow Flag." I went to Rotterdam for the Daily JVeics, 
 to describe the fStes consequent on the tercentenary of 
 the recapture of Briellc from the Sj)aniards, and I wrote 
 a portion of the description of the thanksgiving ceremo- 
 nies at St. Paul's, for the recovery of the Prince of Wak>s, 
 for the same journal. I was con(ril>uting regularly to 
 All the Year Hound and the Observer, and, under a female 
 pseudonym, was writing a weekly article called " Five 
 O'clock Tea" in the Queen, which was a source of vast 
 amusement to me, evoking, as it did, a large number of 
 letters from correspondents, all of whom imagined that 
 the writer, "Mrs. Seaton," was a veritable personage. 
 Wlien it is learned that, in addition to these trifies, I was, 
 in conjunction with Mr. A. W. Dubourg, engaged u])on 
 a three-act drama entith'd "Without liove," wliich was 
 afterwards produced at the ()lynij)ic, it will prol»a])ly be 
 believed that I had but little leisure. 
 
 From time to time, however — indeed, whenever I liad
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 377 
 
 a few spare moments to devote to reflection — I was des- 
 perately nervous about the future. The regular income 
 — so regular, though not very large — had stopped forever, 
 and I Avas wholly dependent upon my own brains for pro- 
 vision for my family. I was in full work, it was true, 
 but I was constantly asking myself how long that would 
 last. I had been writing novels for nearly ten years, and 
 though, of course, in consequence of collaboration, the 
 strain upon invention was considerably lessened, I could 
 not help feeling I had pretty nearly told all I had to tell, 
 and that future attempts would be but a going over of 
 the old ground. In ordinary press - work, too, I had as 
 much to do as I wished ; but I felt anything but inclined 
 to regard as the main-stay of my fortunes what I had hith- 
 erto only looked upon as an adjunct to my income ; and 
 yet what other means were there by which money might 
 be honestly made ? 
 
 This question was answered in a very curious way. I 
 have mentioned having at various times delivered lectures 
 on literary subjects in London and large provincial towns, 
 and my clientUe in this matter had so much increased that 
 my engagements as lecturer were bringing me in nearly 
 two hundred a year. In April, '72, 1 went to Punchestown 
 races for the Daily News, and returning through Dublin 
 the next day, I delivered, in pursuance of a previously- 
 made promise, before the Royal College of Science in 
 Stephen's Green a lecture which I called " Good Authors 
 at a Discount," and which was received with a vast amount 
 of appreciation and applause. A week afterwards I was 
 describing this experience to a friend who was dining with 
 me, adding that I must now try and extend my lecturing 
 connection, when he suddenly startled me by saying, " Why 
 not go to America?" 
 
 A strange man, this friend of mine, Henry Wikoff by 
 name, a chevalier of some Spanish order of knighthood, 
 but an American citizen, born in Philadelphia early in 
 the century, and living all his life ever since : As a very 
 young man, well off, travelling in Europe for his pleas- 
 ure; then half friend, half agent of Fanny Elssler, the 
 dansense, importing her to America; bosom friend of the
 
 378 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 original James Gordon Bennett, and writer in the N'ew 
 York Herald; back in Europe, visiting Lady Blessing- 
 ton, and mixing with the Gore House set, specially at- 
 tracting and attracted by Louis Napoleon, an exile in 
 London. Lnprisoned in Italy for attempting to abduct 
 an heiress ; engaged as diplomatic agent, otherwise spy, 
 by Lord Palmerston, possibly by Louis Napoleon — whom 
 he visited as prisoner at Ham, as President of the French 
 Republic at the Elysee, as Emperor at the Tuileries, as 
 prisoner at Wilhelmshohe, and by whose corpse he stood 
 at the lying -in- state at Chiselhurst — by General Dan 
 Sickles, U. S. Minister at the Court of her most Catholic 
 Majesty Isabella of Spain, from whom the Chevalier's 
 cross was obtained. Oscillating between London, Paris, 
 and New York, but residing chiefly in London, which 
 he much preferred ; trying to do a little bit of finance, 
 writing away at his memoirs — task destined never to be 
 accomplished — dining on regular days of the week with 
 certain friends always glad to see him for his good tem- 
 per, his pleasant chat, his enormous interest in every- 
 thing concerning those he liked ; finally fading away in 
 the spring of tliis year, in a little lodging we took for 
 him at Brighton, skilfully .Attended, sedulously nursed, 
 making a painless end of a restless life. 
 
 Such the Chevalier Wikoff, his outward appearance cor- 
 responding with tlie oddity of his life and ways. A tall, 
 gentlemanly - looking man, with a " swivel " eye, rough- 
 hewn features, a carefully-arranged to^q)et-^v\^, a cou])l(! 
 of inches of dyed whisker ; frock-coated, high-cravated, 
 and always well shod. 
 
 "Why not go to America? Lecturing is a regular 
 profession^ there, and j)lenly of money to be made at it. 
 Voiir voice is good, your manner brisk, light, and lively, 
 just the very thing to suit that peo])le ! Get some good 
 subjects — interesting, jtiquant, full of descriptive touches — 
 and you'll do well. Your name is well known through 
 ytjiir novels ; and they're an inquisitive nation — they'll 
 want to see you!' 
 
 Til us the Chevalier, opening with one sentence an en- 
 tirely new and enormous })rospect for my consideration.
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 379 
 
 Beyond having sold my advanced sheets to New York 
 and Boston publishers, and having made the acquaint- 
 ance of certain pleasant citizens, my relations with the 
 United States had been absolutely 7iil, and the idea of 
 going there had never entered my mind. But in the 
 state of doubt, uncertainty, and anxiety in which I was, 
 the Chevalier's suggestion came upon me like a revela- 
 tion, and I at once laid it before one or two friends, 
 seeking their advice. 
 
 I was generally re-assured. Sala's views, to which I 
 attached much importance, as those of a man gifted with 
 business common-sense as well as brains, who had spent 
 some months in the country, as well as being much with 
 travelled Americans — Sala's views, clearly stated in an 
 excellent letter, were all in favor of my going. He 
 thouglit that the " Personal Recollections of Dickens and 
 Thackeray," which I had named, would be very attrac- 
 tive; he suggested other topics, and gave me some sound 
 advice. Frank Scudamore, Parkinson, and other friends 
 were equally hopeful; and so, after many long and suf- 
 ficiently wretched talkings-over of the matter at home, 
 where the thought of a prolonged separation had to be 
 faced, questions of ways and means discussed, and pro- 
 vision for supplies during absence arranged, the old gen- 
 tleman's suggestion was accepted, the die was cast, and 
 my determination taken. 
 
 This was in May; the lecture season in America did not 
 commence till October, and there was no use in my going 
 out, I was informed, on account of the heat, the emptiness 
 of the great cities, etc., until the end of August. But I 
 had plenty to do in the interval. Under advice, I wrote 
 to the New York Lecture Bureau, which, for a small per- 
 centage on their earnings, acts as an intermediary between 
 lecturers and the various associations desiring to be lect- 
 ured to, sending a synopsis and some general idea of the 
 lectures I proposed to deliver, and desiring to be ranked 
 among their clients. A polite reply assured me of their 
 best services; my name was well known, my subjects en- 
 ticing, and I should doubtk-ss do very well. They would 
 expect to see me in September.
 
 380 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Encouraged by this, I ■\\'eiit to work with a will. I re- 
 duced the Egyptian Hall entertainment to the "mono- 
 polylogue " form in which I had originally written it for 
 myself, smartened it up with some fresh jokes, and resus- 
 citated the excellent crayon heads by John Leech, Frith, 
 and Marcus Stone, so happily illustrating the various 
 characters, which had long been laid by. I wrote my 
 "Personal Recollections of Dickens and Thackeray," 
 and for this Mr, John O'Connor painted me two fair-sized 
 views in distemper on canvas, mounted on rollers for 
 facile transit, one of Gadshill Place, the other of the house 
 which Thackeray built for himself on Kensington Palace 
 Green, where he died. Both houses lent themselves ad- 
 mirably to effect, and both pictures were very effective. 
 They were highly appreciated by those who saw them, 
 but they were lost or stolen within a couple of months of 
 my arrival in America. In addition to these, Mr. Leslie 
 Ward, then a very young man, but giving jjromise of all 
 his present cleverness, made for me in cra3^ons, and of large 
 size, a sketch of Dickens from a private photograph, repre- 
 senting him sipping a glass of wine as he leaned against 
 the portico at Gadshill, and a reproduction of Boehm's 
 wonderful statuette of Thackeray. These created great 
 interest everywhere, and I am fortunate enough to have 
 preserved them. Then I furbished up and retouched ray 
 very first and original lecture, " Good Authors at a Dis- 
 count," and made full notes for another on "The British 
 Parliament," to be extended out there if occasion should 
 arise. 
 
 Working away all this time at "A Waiting Race" and 
 "The Yellow Flag" simultaneously — the former nearly 
 finished, to ap]>ear in throe-volume shape ; the latter to 
 run as a serial through .III (he lliar Hound. A flying 
 visit to France on literary business, forty - eight hours' 
 travelling and twelve hours' rest. Fechter in the Calais- 
 Paris train, quanttwi inutatus/ bloated, red-faced, short in 
 t<'m])('r and rough in manner, all his charming courtesy 
 lost, but jtromising to do everything for me in America, 
 wliere he was then domicilccl, A ilying visit to Ireland, 
 to the bedside of one of my boys, stricken with typhoid
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 381 
 
 fever at Portarlington. A scries of leave-taking dinners: 
 with the Bellews, where I met Mr. Morton MacMichael, 
 proprietor of a leading Philadelphia journal, and a most 
 delightful man; with Mr. and Mrs. W. II. Wills, at their 
 charming place, Sherrards, near Welwyn, where we stopped 
 from Saturday till Monday; with Mr. Julius Beer, propri- 
 etor of the Observer, Edward Dicey, and a party at Green- 
 wich ; with the Cashel Hoeys ; with R. W. Edis, at the 
 Arts Club; with the Salas, then staying at the White Hart 
 Hotel at Margate, where we had the best of dinners in 
 the tiniest of rooms. More last words with all kinds of 
 business people ; more last words with Charles Dickens 
 about the Christmas number of All the Year Round, 
 which I had arranged again to write for him, sending MS. 
 from America ; more last words of injunction from Wi- 
 koif; the sharp pangs of adieu; and then, accompanied by 
 my faithful secretary Simpson, I left town for Liverpool 
 on the 30th August, 1872, to sail for New York in the Ca- 
 nard Company's ship Cuha the next day. 
 
 I shall not readily forget that evening at the North- 
 western Hotel. I had parted, for a long time at least, 
 with all I loved in the Avorld ; I was going among 
 strangers ; I had relinquished the calling in which I had 
 been engaged for a quarter of a century ; and, looking at 
 my position plainly, I could not fail to recognize the fact 
 that, with a family to support and at forty-one years of 
 age, I was virtually beginning life again, and going forth 
 to seek my fortune. The animal spirits, objurgated so 
 many years before by Sir Rowland Hill, prevented my 
 taking an utterly desponding view of affairs, but I was 
 in a sufficiently low frame of mind ; and I well remember 
 the delight with which I encountered an old Post-office 
 friend, Christopher Sayers, who, being in the neighbor- 
 hood, had run over to have a chat, and the joy with Avhich 
 I discovered that the Bancrofts wei'e playing an engage- 
 ment at the theatre, A dinner with Sayers, and a visit 
 behind the scenes, passed the evening ; and the next day 
 Mr, and Mrs. Bancroft, with whom I had long been on 
 friendly terms, came out in the Cuba's tender to see the 
 last of me. To them were confided the latest messatjes
 
 382 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 for those I had left at home ; and when their kindly faces 
 faded away, I felt the full gravity of the step I had 
 taken, and began to be uncomfortably dubious as to its 
 wisdom. 
 
 It was, however, too late to moralize, for the tender was 
 rapidly disappearing, and we were fairly off, " Strange 
 company we harbored" on board the Steamship Cuba, 
 though as, after leaving Queenstown, we ran into a storm 
 Avhich continued for three days, I saw only those half-doz- 
 en of my fellow-passengers whose legs and stomachs were 
 sufficiently strong and steady to permit their pacing the 
 deck or sitting at the table. When the weather moder- 
 ated, and at once became lovely, I found we had on board 
 several musical celebrities, who were proceeding for a 
 tour in America, under the auspices of Mr. Henry Jarrett, 
 the well-known operatic agent. Among them were Ma- 
 dame Lucca, with her parents — strange little Viennese 
 Jews, for all the world like the people who in my youth- 
 ful days used to sit at the doors of the old houses in the 
 Frankfort Juden-gasse ; Anton Rubinstein, with his grim 
 Cahnuck face and massive brow ; and WieniaAvski, the 
 celebrated Polish violinist. 
 
 The last-named shared in the daytime the cabin of 
 the chief engineer, a dry Scotchman, himself an amateur 
 of the violin, whose whole desire was to get his distin- 
 guished visitor to give him a "taste of his (|uali1y." 
 Wieniawski, however, persistently, though courteously, 
 declined ; but one day towards the end of the voyage, 
 allowing himself to be persuaded, he took uj) the Scotch- 
 man's instrument, and foi- an hour Avrung from it divine 
 harmony. "When it was over, the engineer came into the 
 doctor's cabin, where I was sitting, and, with a grin of 
 triumpli, said, "Eh, doctor, but I've got a scrape out of 
 the beggar at last !" 
 
 Miss Clara Louise Kellogg, the American ])rima donna; 
 Mr. Mark Smith, an Amcricm actor who had been play- 
 ing with much success in Mrs. .John Wood's coin]»aiiy at 
 th(! St. James's, one of the most genial and delightful of 
 men ; and IMiss Clara Doria, a menibcr of the Par('])a- 
 Ilosa troujte, were also on board, as were Colonel Steele
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 38.3 
 
 of the Albany, and Mr. Edwards PieiTepont, afterwards 
 U. S. Minister in London. 
 
 Tlie voyage was pleasant enough, though wholly un- 
 eventful, and there was only one incident worth record- 
 ing. I had noticed from time to time that a little spoftish 
 American gentleman, who invariably wore a pince-nez 
 glass, had regarded me with great curiosity, following 
 me up and down the deck, and taking up coigns of vantage 
 for observation purposes. About the fifth day out this 
 gentleman met me face to face. We both stopped. 
 
 " Mr. Edmund Yates ?" said he, interrogatively. 
 
 I " owned up." 
 
 " Mr. Yates, sir," said he, " I should like to have the 
 pleasure of shaking hands with you, sii- ! I am proud to 
 make the acquaintance of such a distinguished," etc. 
 
 Of course I was covered with blushes as I shook hands 
 with the gentleman, but I could not help asking him why, 
 since he wished to make my acquaintance, he had not 
 done so previously : he was probably aware who I was. 
 
 "Wal, sir," he said, "that is so! They had told me 
 at the Cunard office that the author of ' The Yellow Flao: ' 
 would be on board, and I've been looking out for him 
 ever since we sailed. But I never thought it was you, 
 sir ! You're not my notion of the build of an author, sir ! 
 I thought yox(, xoas a British athlete going out to icrestleP'' 
 
 On the morning of Wednesday, the 11th September, 
 we steamed up the beautiful bay of New York, and landed 
 in Jersey City. We were boarded by the usual band of 
 interviewing reporters, but they made at once for the mu- 
 sical celebrities ; and to the very few who condescended 
 to such small game as myself I promised all facilities at 
 the hotel, the Brevoort House, to which I had been warm- 
 ly recommended by George A. Sala, who pronounced it, 
 what I could certainly endorse, the best hotel in the world. 
 There were crowds on the wharf, personal friends and 
 relatives of most of the passengers, but of course there 
 was no one to greet me. At last a young gentleman, in 
 a very shabby straw-hat and sand-shoes, came up to me, 
 and introduced himself as a young Englishman with whom 
 I had recently had some correspondence on journalistic
 
 384 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 matters. We walked up and down the wharf while the 
 baggage was being got ready for Customs examination, 
 and he told me that, having heard I was coming out to 
 lecture, he had made it his business to call at the Lecture 
 Bureau, and see what engagements they had procured for 
 me. He found there was not a single one, and he volun- 
 teered his opinion that I had made a great mistake in 
 coming to America ! This, with the sight of a funeral 
 car, which was the first object that met my gaze as I 
 drove from the wharf to the city, was my welcome to my 
 new sphere of labor. 
 
 But my hearty reception by Mr. Waite, the host of the 
 Brevoort House, and the delightful bed and bath room 
 which he ap^n'opriated to me, and an excellent dinner at 
 Delmonico's, where I entertained the Cuba's doctor and 
 my dolorous friend of the shabby straw-hat, soon restored 
 me to my usual spirits. I was duly interviewed the next 
 day, and was found by one gentleman to be "hearty in 
 bearing, A^nde-awake and genial, a man who has watched 
 the world with a keen and observant eye." Another de- 
 scribed me as "of prepossessing a])pearance, easy, grace- 
 ful, and well-spoken." A third was more photographic. 
 "He is not less than six feet in height, strongly built, 
 broad-chested, large square head, great protruding black 
 eyes, heavy under-jaw, and a mouth expressive at once of 
 firmness, taste, and good temper. He is something over 
 forty years of age, hut apart from a visible tendency to 
 baldness on the crown of the head, there is nothing to show 
 that 'the enemy' has yet obtained any decided hold upon 
 him." 
 
 Then came a de]intation from tlie Lotos Club, kindly 
 proposing a " reception " in my honor on an evening to 
 be settled ; and tlien I went to the Lecture Bureau, where 
 I found matters by no means so dismal as had been repre- 
 Hontcd. True, there were no engagements entered for 
 me; but, as Mr. Brdsford, the juauagcr, ]>oiiited out, there 
 was nothing wonderful in tiiat, considering tliat my jiro- 
 gratnmes liad only just been distributed, and among the 
 far-off institutes and associations I was ])robal)ly wholly 
 unknown. After a long business talk Mr. Brelsford pro-
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 385 
 
 fessed to ho satisfied with my chances. Let me satisfy 
 the New York people, and above all the New York press, 
 and my proA^incial success would follow as a matter of 
 course. At least a month must elapse before the lect- 
 ure-going classes would be back from the country and 
 the watering-places, and Mr. Brelsford's advice was, that 
 during that time I should see and be seen as much as 
 possible. 
 
 The upshot was, that after being photographed at Gur- 
 ney's — a sine qud non for all lecturers — I started off with 
 some Cuba acquaintances for Saratoga and Lake George. 
 Returning, I went to the " reception " at the Lotos Club 
 in my honoi-, and was warmly welcomed by the president, 
 Mr. Whitelaw Reid, then and now editor of the N'eio York 
 Tribune, in a graceful and racy sjDeech. Invitations to 
 all kinds of festivals poured in amain. The most charm- 
 ing of cultivated citizens of the world, "Uncle" Sam 
 Ward, who died at Pegli this spring, was my fellow- 
 lodger at the Brevoort, and with his bosom-friend, W. IL_ 
 Ilurlbert, then the accomplished editor of the Neio York 
 World, was never tired of entertaining me. Under their 
 auspices I visited Jerome Park races, and was made an hon- 
 orary member of the Manhattan Club. I Avas also on the , 
 honorary list of the Union, the Union League, the Cen- 
 tury, and five other clubs, besides being made a life- 
 member of the Lotos. A grand dejeuner given me at 
 Delmonico's by the well-known publishing firm of Harper 
 & Brothers, and much other social enjoyment, I owed to 
 the kindness of Mr. W. A. Seaver, who became one of my 
 most intimate friends. 
 
 In the day-time I was working hard with my secretary 
 Simpson, dictating to him chapters of " The Yellow Flag," 
 which were sent over to All the Year Round as they were 
 finished. I had hopes of completing the story before com- 
 mencing my lecture - work ; but one day Mr. Brelsf ord 
 made his appearance with the news that I was wanted to 
 open the new Star Course of Lectures at Chicago on the 
 30th inst. This I at once refused. I told Mr. Brelsford 
 that, little as I knew about it, I felt it would be madness 
 for me to make my debut anywhere but in New York, or 
 
 17
 
 386 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 to attempt to win provincial audiences without the cachet 
 of the New York press. Mr. Brelsford, admitting some 
 cogency in my argument, declared that Chicago afforded 
 me a good opening ; and after some discussion it was 
 finally arranged that the Chicago engagement should be 
 accepted, and that efforts should be made to secure a 
 large hall, that I might make a pre\'ious appearance in 
 New York. 
 
 Accordingly, on the evening of Friday — always my 
 lucky day — the 27th September, 1872, 1 made my first ap- 
 pearance before an American audience at the Association 
 Ilall, corner of Fourth Avenue and Twenty-third Street, 
 Ne\r York, with my lecture, "Modern Society." The 
 hall was crammed, some two thousand five hundred peo- 
 ple being present. In England I had always been a little 
 nervous immediately before appearing on the platform, 
 but on this occasion, as on every other in America, I was 
 perfectly comfortable, and chatted with Simpson until I 
 stepped forth. I had a very hearty reeej>ti()n ; laughter 
 and applause began at once and continued throughout ; 
 and so little embarrassed was I that when I was placing 
 u]-)on the easel Mr. Marcus Stone's admirable pictorial il- 
 lustration of one of my characters, which by chance strong- 
 ly resembled Horace Greeley of the Tribune, then stand- 
 ing for the Presidentship, and I said, "I can assure you, 
 ladies and gentlemen, this was not intended as the like- 
 ness of any prominent American citizen," the hit made 
 was immense. 
 
 When the lecture concluded, amid loud cheering and 
 hearty shouts of approval, T was surrounded by the officers 
 of the liureau and friends, who all assured me that I had 
 achieved a great success. A similar (>i)ini()ii was given 
 by Mr. Seaver, who, with Paul Lindau, brother of Rudolf 
 IJudau, the (icrnian author, bore me off to suj)]»er at Dcl- 
 inoiiif'o'B. When T arrived home at the lircvoort, Mr. 
 Waitc, the laiullord, of whose portly form I had caught 
 a glimpse in the lecture-hall, was sitting up to welcome 
 nic. " Couldn't resist wailing to see you, Mr. Yatc^s !" In- 
 said, grasping my hand. " You'll do well liere, sir ! your 
 style and manner just suit our people !"
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 387 
 
 It was almost the echo of WikoflF's prophecy, and I 
 ■went to bed with a light heart, hopeful for the future. 
 
 Be sure that I had all the daily papers on my bed the 
 next morning as soon as I roused. The favorable verdict 
 was echoed by all, the longest notice being given by the 
 Herald, whose criticism on this (to me) most important 
 occasion I now reproduce : 
 
 EDMUND YATES MAKES HIS BOW. 
 "Modern Society." 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE WORLD ATTEND THE FIRST LECTURE OF THE ENGLISH 
 NOVELIST IN LARGE NUMBERS. — HIGH AND LOW LIFE, BALLS, DINNERS, 
 THE PARK, THE OPERA, AND THE SEA-SIDE, THE COUNTING-HOUSE AND 
 THE MUSICAL PARTIES. — THE YOUNG MEN'S CHRISTIAN ASSOCIATION 
 AMUSED, EDIFIED, AND ENTERTAINED. 
 
 Last evening, in the presence of a fashionable and intellectual audience 
 of 2500 persons of both sexes, Mr. Edmund Hodgson Yates, the well-known 
 English novelist and lecturer, made his debut at the Hall of the Young Men's 
 Christian Association, and the verdict pronounced by those S.'iOO well-bred 
 and well-informed people will, no doubt, be accepted as final by the Ameri- 
 can public — a public which, though very hospitable, is also very hard to 
 please. In the United States, of living English novelists Charles Reade is 
 read more than any other, and Edmund Yates comes next in rank. Born 
 in 1831, and known as the dramatic critic of the London Daily News, and 
 as editor of the Temple Bar Maoazine, and having now considerable fame 
 as a constant contributor to All the Year Round, he met with an intelli- 
 gent, as well as appreciative, audience last evening, who knew him through 
 the columns of those periodicals and magazines, in addition to the fact 
 that they also bore in their minds a vivid remembrance of his literary in- 
 dividuality in the series of novels that have appeared from time to time 
 over ills name, the best known of which are " Running the Gauntlet," 
 "Black Sheep," "Kissing the Rod," "Broken to Harness," "Land at 
 Last," and the serial now running the magazines with the title of "The 
 Yellow Flag." The best newspaper- work of Mr. Yates, perhaps, was that 
 done by him for a couple of years in the London Morning Star, in the 
 column headed the "Flaneur." 
 
 To many of the people who saw the novelist last evening for the first 
 time, Mr. Yates more than filled the ideal formed of him. It is a common 
 and popular superstition that every man who writes half a dozen success- 
 ful books must have a pale and consumptive appearance; that he must be 
 weak at the knees ; that he will be afflicted with bad hearing, and a diffi- 
 culty ia his eyesight. Therefore, all were more than agreeably disap- 
 pointed when a tall six-foot gentleman, in unexceptionable evening dress, 
 with the orthodox white tie, the brawn and muscle of a Lifeguardsman, 
 stepped upon the platform to receive one of the heartiest welcomes ever
 
 388 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 given by a New York audience to a stranger. Mr. Yates has large mas- 
 sive features, parts his dark hair in the middle, and he got to work last 
 evening with the ease and force of an accomplished cricketer. To be 
 brief, he bowled his way into the hearts of his audience, and made them 
 feel as easy as he felt himself, which, without any disrespect to Mr. Yates, 
 is no slight accomplishment. There were no dramatic effects or accessa- 
 ries, there being simply a mahogany reading-desk, a big pitcher of ice- 
 water, a large tumbler to drink it from, and a dozen or so of cartoons and 
 crayons made by Frith, John Leech, and Marcus Stone, which were amply 
 illustrative of the characters introduced by Mr. Yates in his lecture. 
 
 The lecture was entitled " Modern Society," and has been delivered by 
 its author for a hundred nights in London. Mr. Yates dealt gently with 
 his subjects, and now and then little bits of his books and magazine arti- 
 cles appeared ; but their appearance was not obtrusive, and hearty laugh- 
 ter and applause were yielded to the energy of his description and the 
 excellent drollery of his mimicry. There is a placidity and ease about 
 English humor that strongly contrasts with the grotesqueness and wild 
 abandon of American humor; but the most earnest admirers of Artemus 
 Ward or Mark Twain cannot but endorse the clear-sighted and pungent 
 terseness of the hits made by Ednnmd Yates at the fashionable follies of 
 the day. He is a close observer of whatever is ridiculous and overstrained 
 in the social anachronisms of the world in which he moved, and his sketches 
 of the physician who, after the manner of Abernethy, but lacking his 
 ability, first pockets the patient's guinea and then insults him ; of the 
 " lady's doctor," who is shod with velvet, and whose tongue is disgustingly 
 oleaginotis ; of the " old-young lady," who has seen too many watering- 
 places ; of the " dawdling swell," who carries off the belle of tlie evening 
 from the " bashful young man " with a yawn and a sneer ; and of the too 
 indulgent " papa " at the sea-side, who is a bear in his counting-liouse in the 
 city — were all well done, and elicited the heartiest tributes from an audi- 
 ence who were more than eager to anticipate every joke and stroke of 
 humor made manifest during the evening. There is nothing ))iltor or 
 coarse or painful in the style of Mr. Yates, and the ladies jiarticularly 
 seemed to enjoy the entertainment ; and where the ladies are secured it is 
 unnecessary to say that more than half of the battle has been fought and 
 won. In fine, Edmund Yates, on his first evening in America, lias suc- 
 ceeded ; and now he needs but to do one thing, and that is, to give hia au- 
 dience a variety, and his triumph is made certain. — New York Herald, Sat- 
 urday, Sept. 28, 1872.* 
 
 These notices — and all were equally gooil — lia<i imme- 
 diate effect. Before I went down to breakfast I had a 
 visit from the manager of The Fireside Companion, a 
 
 ♦ I have a strong idea, ihouiih no ])()sitive ])roof, that this critique was 
 written by Mr. O'Kdly, now M. P. for Roscommon, who was at that time 
 engaged on the Herald.
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 339 
 
 cheap publication with a large circulation, with whom I 
 agreed, for a sum of £500, to write a short serial sensa- 
 tional story in ten chapters, to commence within a month 
 — this with " The Yellow Flag " unfinished, and the prom- 
 ised All the Year Round Christmas Number unthought 
 of !* The temptation, however, was too great, and, un- 
 der the reaction of joy caused by the sudden improve- 
 ment in my prospects, I did not care what amount of 
 work I undertook. 
 
 On the evening of that same day (Saturday, 28th Sep- 
 tember) I started for Chicago, arriving there, after a thir- 
 ty-six hours' journey, on Monday morning. The whole 
 of that day was spent in wandering over the city, fruit- 
 lessly searching for my box of cartoon portraits, which 
 had got astray in the train, and without which I had to 
 lecture at night. This search, hoAvever, afforded me ex- 
 cellent opportunity for studying the place, which was in 
 a most interesting state, exactly a year having elapsed 
 since its devastation by the great fire, and new quarters, 
 streets, and houses already springing up with inconceiva- 
 ble rapidity. In this peregrination round the blackened 
 walls and debris of the still standing portion of the burnt 
 city I found the idea for the framework of the Christmas 
 Number for All the Year Mound, for which I had been 
 long seeking, and set to work to write it under the title 
 of "Doomsday Camp." 
 
 On my return from Chicago, where I lectured twice, I 
 found my friends of the Bureau in high spirits at my suc- 
 cess, and full of prophecy of future engagements. The 
 whole of the daytime I was compelled to devote to my 
 literaiy work, and the genial hospitality pressed upon me 
 
 * The story was called "A Bad Lot," and served its purpose; was in- 
 deed so successful that I wrote another for the same firm. It was adver- 
 tised most extensively and most oddly by means of a huge wood-cut about 
 six feet long and three feet broad — a rough reproduction of a photograph 
 of myself. At the top of this was my name, at the bottom "A Bad Lot." 
 These Brobdingnagian portraits were most lavishly disseminated ; not only 
 in New York, but in all large cities, wherever I travelled, I found them ; 
 and as they were posted on the walls, not in single tiles, but in battalions, 
 they were painfully conspicuous.
 
 390 FIFTY YEARS OP LONDON Lli'E. 
 
 was so vast that my evenings were always most agreeably 
 occuijied. Immediately after my return, I dined with the 
 Liberal Club of New York, sitting on the right hand of 
 the chairman, Horace Greeley, who was at that time op- 
 posing General Grant as candidate for the Presidentship, 
 and w4io questioned me much about Rowland Hill and 
 English postal matters, and about Dickens, for whom he 
 professed the highest admiration. 
 
 A few nights afterwards I was present at a thoroughly 
 American demonstration, a mass-meeting of women, held 
 at the Cooper Institute in support of the candidature of 
 General Gi'ant. The hall was -packed to suffocation. 
 Looking down from the platform, the scene was like a 
 corn-field of faces thickly packed together. Here and 
 there a negro's face appeared, and at irregular intervals 
 a black woman's form. The platform was crowded with 
 the friends and families of the fair speakers, who, as a 
 matter of course, applauded loudly and always at the 
 wrong time, if the manifestations of the audienc6 could 
 be taken as a criterion. A number of policemen were 
 present, sitting about or lounging against the pillars of 
 the hall. 
 
 The great gun of the meeting, as announced formally, 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, was not present, but she 
 sent a letter, which was read by the chairman, Mr. Luther 
 R. Marsh, a well-known lawyer, who appeared in evening 
 dress and wore a blazing red necktie. AVliencver the 
 courage of the female s])eakers faltered under the storm 
 of hisses when they mentioned Grant's name, or wlien a 
 wild uj)roariou8 cheer was raised for Greeley, Mr. Marsh 
 stepped into the breach with his eye-glass and his red 
 necktie and his evening dress-coat, and talked of the reb- 
 els. He said nothing new, but he said a great many bit- 
 ter things which provoked hisses and disaj)j)roval. 
 
 The prettiest of the lady speakers was Mrs. or Miss Lil- 
 ly Devereaux Blake (it will be observed that all the speak- 
 ers have three names), and she was much aj>plauded be- 
 cause she s})oke but for twenty minutes. Miss or Mrs. 
 lilake was dressed in a pm-jde barred silk, and she wore 
 an immense brass ornament in her back hair which was
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 391 
 
 much admired. The "old and gallant veteran of a hun- 
 dred fights," as she was described in the newspapers, 
 Susan B. Anthony, sat near Mrs. or Miss Blake, with her 
 hair done in plain flat plaits, and she was attired simply 
 in a snuff-colored silk dress. Miss Anthony was the best 
 speaker, and during the evening's entertainment she was 
 boiling over with memoranda and other paragraphs. The 
 Rev. (?) Olympia Brown was quite a boon to the audience. 
 The Rev. Olympia, who received holy orders from some 
 township in Connecticut, was dressed in a green check 
 silk, and had her hair done up in a very symmetrical knot 
 and tied at the back of her well-shaped head. Miss Ma- 
 tilda Joslyn Gase was dressed in a black silk, and consid- 
 erable excitement was manifested by the audience while 
 she spoke. 
 
 The opening speech of Mr. Luther R. Marsh was a 
 gem. If I had ever doubted the truth of the portrait 
 of the Hon. Elijah Pogram, I was now convinced of its 
 unexaggerated fidelity. In the most solemn voice, and 
 in short broken sentences, with a distinct pause between 
 each, Mr, Marsh commenced : " A new period has come. 
 The ancient clock of Time, from its belfry in the sky, 
 strikes another hour ! The world has moved on its orbit 
 through another degree!" And his peroration, spoken 
 with breathless rapidity, was equally amusing : " Well 
 may the women of America come forward to the rescue 
 at this vital crisis in our career, and do what they can to 
 aid the re-election of General Grant ; for to his valor, his 
 patience, his magnificent generalship, than which none 
 brighter shines in the annals of war ; to him, the most 
 aggressive of warriors, the most clement of victors, Avhoso 
 combativeness gives place to magnanimity, ere the sul- 
 phurous clouds of battle clear away ; to him who, after 
 the surrender under the apple-tree, seemed to be the only 
 man on whom the people could agree to direct the recon- 
 structive and recuperative energies of the nation; to him 
 more than to any other man do they owe the continuance 
 of their government, the return of their husbands and 
 sons, the reign of order, peace, and prosperity, and the 
 unmolested occupancy of their own homes."
 
 392 I'IFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 Mrs. L. D. Blake, who was quite a pretty little woman, 
 raised a storm of a2)i:>lause by declaring that " To-mor- 
 row the waves of success would rise still higher from 
 Pennsylvania and Ohio, until in November next around 
 the shores of this Republic would swell the high tide of 
 victory ;" and Mrs. Susan B. Anthony, a veteran resem- 
 bling Phiz's portrait of Sally Brass, caused immense 
 amusement by her description of an interview with Mr. 
 Greeley, in the course of which she went down on her 
 knees to him, without producing any effect. Finally, Ave 
 all sang the "Star-spangled Banner," and I went home 
 after a most amusing evening. 
 
 My diary at this time shows a round of delightful en- 
 tertainments. I dined with, among others, Launt Thomp- 
 son, the sculptor, at the Century Club; Chief -justice 
 Daly, President of the Geographical Society ; Judge 
 Brady, a distinguished wit and raconteur^ L. J. Jennings, 
 at tlie Travellers' Club ; W. A. Marston, at the Union 
 Club ; Whitelaw Reid, at the Union League Club ; J. S. 
 Morgan, at the Knickerbocker; Lester Wallack; Sothern 
 and Boucicault, then both starring in New York ; and 
 Fechter, whom I found much changed for the worse in 
 appearance, health, and manner. I visited Mr. James 
 Gordon Bennett — the present possessor of the name, the 
 father had died in the summer — on board his yacht, and 
 saw something of American country life at the charming 
 residence of Mr. W. Butler Duncan, on Staten Island. 
 The most splendid entertainment, taken all round, at 
 which I have ever been present was given at Delmon- 
 ico's, in my honor, by Judge-surrogate Ilutcliings, where 
 I made what was to prove the most valuable friendship 
 (;f Mr, Fithian ; while my especial friends Seaver, Ilurl- 
 iK'rt, and Uncle Sam took care that I should never have 
 a dull evening. 
 
 All this time I was working away at " The Yellow 
 Flag," which I finished on the 24th Oclol)er, at the 
 Christmas Number of All the Year Hound, and at "A 
 Jiad Lot," while engagements for lecturing were daily 
 coming into the Bureau. I lectured on my reminiscences 
 of Dickens and Thackeray ("l*rinces of (lie Pen ") in tlie
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 393 
 
 Steinway Hall, and on *' The British Parliament " before 
 the Mercantile Library Association. These lectures, with 
 " Modern Society " and " Good Authors at a Discount," 
 I repeated some half-dozen times in New York. " Princes 
 of the Pen " I also gave at Brooklyn, in the Rev. De Witt 
 Talmage's " Tabernacle " there, being afterwards most 
 hospitably entertained at supper by the Faust Club, 
 where I was welcomed, in a most kindly speech, by the 
 well-known Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. 
 
 My first " provincial " lecture, as I may call it, was de- 
 livered at New Haven, where among the audience was 
 Donald G. Mitchell — "Ik Marvel " — whose delightful 
 book, " Reveries of a Bachelor," had been known to me 
 for years, and with whom I had a pleasant chat. 
 
 My first visit to Boston was a flying one on the iVth 
 October, where I lectured in the Music Hall, supped with 
 Mr. Nathan Appleton at the Somerset Club, and after 
 lunching the next day with Mr. Osgood and Mr. Ticknor, 
 the publishers, at the Union Club, returned to fulfil en- 
 gagements at New York. I made the Parker House at 
 Boston my head-quarters on the 5th of the next month, 
 when I lectured at Cambridgeport, a few miles off, after 
 spending a most delightful day with Professor Long- 
 fellow. 
 
 Cretd notandce were those half-dozen hours. Longfel- 
 low was ailing and weak, but he roused up in conversa- 
 tion: talked of his visit to Gadshill, when Dickens di'ove 
 him through the Kentish country in an open carriage-and 
 four, with post-boys in scarlet jackets ; of Westminster 
 Abbey; of Niagara; and of modern English poets, express- 
 ing warm admiration for the lyrics of Mortimer Collins, 
 a copy of which I afterwards sent him. 
 
 I was engaged to lecture again in Boston on the 12th 
 November, but on the 10th broke out the fire by which a 
 large portion of the city was destroyed; and Avhen I ar- 
 rived, in pursuance of my engagement, all business Avas 
 at a standstill, the streets were in gloom, there being no 
 gas, and everything was most wretched. Of course the 
 lecture was postponed, so I passed my evening in a big 
 room at the Revere House, trying to read by candle-light, 
 
 \1* 
 
 &
 
 394 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 until a street-organ outside, playing — of all tunes, at such 
 a time, and under such circumstances — "Home, Sweet 
 Home," sent me to bed in despair. 
 
 On subsequent visits to Boston I was entertained by- 
 Mr, James T, Fields, the well - known publisher, at the 
 Saturday Club, and had a delightful moi'niug with Dr. 
 Oliver Wendell Holmes, On the last occasion of my 
 lecturing there I dined with Dr, Townsend, with whom I 
 had crossed in the Cuba. He accompanied me to the 
 Hall, and, on our entering the anteroom, we found my 
 faithful Simpson, whom he recognized, 
 
 " Well, Mr, Simpson," said the doctor, " here's Mr. 
 Yates going to give us his reminiscences of Dickens and 
 Thackeray ! In a few years we shall have you coming 
 round, giving us your reminiscences of Yates !" 
 
 In Philadelphia I lectured twice, in the Academy of 
 Music, to a very large audience on each occasion. It was 
 the first time I had stood on an enormous stage, of which 
 I was the sole occupant, facing an immense body of spec- 
 tators ; but they were exceptionally kind, and all went ex- 
 cellently. The "boss of my show" was a certain Mr, 
 Pugh, the originator of the Star Course of Lectures, On 
 his handing my check to Simpson, the latter took occasion 
 to remark that Mr, Yates had had fine audiences. 
 
 "Splendid audiences, sir !" said Mr. Pugh. 
 
 " And you are quite satisfied, Mr. Pugh ?" 
 
 " Quite : shall be glad to see Mr. Yates again." 
 
 This ought to have been sufficient, but the faithful one 
 tried him once more. 
 
 "And you liked what you heard of the lecture, Mr. 
 Pugh ?" 
 
 " What I heard of it, sir ! Why, look here, young 
 man, I've been running the Star Course of Lectures for 
 ten years, and I've never heard a single word of any of 
 them !" 
 
 While at Phila(lelj)liia I was tlie house -guest of Mr. 
 Clayton M;u'inic]iael,son of Mr. Morton Macniichael, whose 
 acquaintance I had maJe in London, the President of the 
 Committee of Fairmount Park, a lovely demesne, over 
 which he drove me. It is impossible for me to overrate
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 395 
 
 the kindness of this hospitable family. I was also most 
 pleasantly entertained by Mr. Daniel Dougherty, a mem- 
 ber of the Bar, known as the "silver-tongued orator," 
 and by a number of gentlemen at the Union League 
 Club. 
 
 This club, numbering at the time of my visit nineteen 
 hundred members, has a curious history. In Anthony 
 Trollope's "North America" there was a statement to 
 the effect that, while public political sentiment in New 
 York Avas divided, in Philadelphia it was decidedly South- 
 ern. This statement caused great offence, and the Union 
 League Club was instituted as a proof of its incorrect- 
 ness. While I was in Philadelphia, General Meade, the 
 hero of Gettysburg, died amid universal grief. He w^as 
 buried at Laurel Hill Cemetery, and the funeral was sin- 
 gularly effective, as, in consequence of the prevalence of 
 the horse-disease, the body was conveyed to the cemetery 
 by water, the funeral procession taking place on the river 
 Schuylkill. At the entrance of the grounds the coffin 
 passed under an arch, formed by the raised crossed swords 
 of the cavalry. 
 
 I lectured once in Washington, in Lincoln Hall, before 
 our Minister, Sir Edward Thornton, and some members 
 of the Legation ; I was also introduced to Mr. Boutwell, 
 Secretary of the Treasury ; Mr. Robeson, Secretary of 
 the Navy ; and Mr. Belknap, Secretary of War, who 
 were present. The last -mentioned, in shaking hands, 
 laughingly said I was " the whitest Englishman " he had 
 ever seen. I was told this was a compliment, implying 
 " the least affected," but I am still doubtful on the point. 
 Sir E. Thornton did me the honor of asking me to dinner 
 the next day, but I was compelled to proceed on my 
 travels. 
 
 The one complaint which I had against the managers 
 of the Bureau, who treated me throughout in the most 
 courteous and most honorable manner, was that they had 
 not arranged my lectures with any reference to the geo- 
 graphical position of the towns to be lectured in, and 
 without any attempt, consequently, to save me fatigue in 
 travelling. This was, perhaps, rendered impossible by
 
 396 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 the fact that, as my engagements had been made wholly 
 on the strength of the New York success, it was necessary 
 to accept every offer as it came ; but the result was that 
 I was always "in the cars." 
 
 It would be different, I was assured, when I started on 
 my grand tour, which was to commence on the 12th De- 
 cember, and continue " right away " for six weeks, with- 
 out any return to New York ; but meantime, what with 
 constant travel, and constant work while travelling — I 
 used to engage a " state-room," i.e., a private compartment 
 on the train, and would be dictating my novel to Simpson 
 all the way — it was certainly not idleness. 
 
 I cannot give a better idea of the manner in which my 
 time was passed than by quoting from a letter which I 
 wrote home from Syracuse, N. Y,, dated December 8th, 
 '72: 
 
 " Take a specimen of my life. I arrived at the Brevoort at mid-day 
 Thursday, after lecturing in the country ; wrote letters, wound up affairs, 
 dined and lectured some eight miles off. Home ; paekiug up till one. Up 
 again at six, and off at eight. Travelled three hundred miles, arriving here 
 at 6.30. Lectured at eight, to bed at ten. Next morning worked at story 
 from nine till one; dined, started at 2.30, travelled one hundred and twen- 
 ty miles, arriving at 7.45; lectured at eight; started again at midniglit, 
 arriving here at four this morning; up at ton, worked till one, and have 
 since been driving with one A. W., great friend of Dr. IL's, with whom I 
 dine at six. No more ' unexceptionable evening dress,' etc. I lecture 
 now in a frock-coat and striped trousers ; and as I cannot have much wash- 
 ing done on my travels, have come to flannel shirts, and false collars and 
 wristbands." 
 
 But I was in capital spirits and excellent health. Indeed, 
 Avith the exce])tion of one bilious attack, which did not 
 last half a day, I did not have an hour's illness during the 
 six months I was in America. I su]i]iose the ill-effects of 
 llu' high living in New York, the jdats of the Brevoort 
 House, and the Verzenay and lleid.sieck of Di-hnonico's, 
 were counteracted by the frugal meals which alone were 
 obtainable on my travels, for, in another letter, I wrote : 
 
 "Oh , enjoy your late dinner, your claret, and your comforts witli 
 
 extra relisli, thinking of poor mc ! A 8craml>led dinner at one o'clock, 
 with water; 'supper' (God help us!) at six, witli a glass of milk; and
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 397 
 
 breakfast — there is my daily fare. A glass of cold brandy-and-water and 
 a cigar in the bedroom, before turning iu, are my only creature comforts." 
 
 And again: 
 
 " Capital houses and great success everywhere, but the life is sufficient- 
 ly rough. Chicago will be comparative comfort, but just now it is not all 
 sugar. The people, meaning it all most kindly, will interview and invite 
 me, and it is with the greatest trouble I get off. . . . Since writing the above, 
 I have been fetched to go over the State Penitentiary {went). Shall be ex- 
 pected again in five minutes to go over Deaf and Dumb Asylum {must go). 
 And all this time Pra travelling, and lecturing, and writing my £500 story, 
 wiih which I'm getting on well. {Have been to Deaf and Dunib.y N 
 
 Besides the places already mentioned, and before com- 
 mencing my "grand tour," I lectured at Springfield, 
 Yonkers, Bergen Point, Flushing, Danville (Pa.), Jersey 
 City, Rondout, Syracuse, Batavia, Oswego, and Albany. 
 On the 12th December I started off, my first halting-place 
 being Pittsburg. By this time what they call " the cold 
 snap " had arrived, snow had fallen everywhere, and it was 
 bitter weather,* Then to Zanesville, Columbus, and De- 
 troit, to the Lake Michigan country ; to Ann Arbor, where 
 I lectured at the University to a splendid and most appre- 
 ciative audience of students ; to Kalamazoo, a quaint place 
 quaintly named ; and Grand Rapids. The weather had 
 become frightful, constant snow - storms, roaring Avhirl- 
 winds, and intense cold. The audience at Grand Rapids 
 was a very small one. Only the strongest ventured to 
 brave the storm. The next evening, the 21st December, 
 I was due at Michigan City. My adventures in attempt- 
 ing to reach my destination will be learned from the fol- 
 lowing letter : 
 
 "St. Joseph, Lake Michigan, Monday, Dec. 23, "72. 
 " Our experiences may be said to have begun in earnest ! On Saturday 
 morning at twelve we started from Grand Kapids to make for Michigan 
 City, where I was to lecture that night. There had been very heavy snow, 
 and we progressed but slowly, even with two engines. At six in the even- 
 ing we ran into a snow-drift, stuck fast, and there we had to remain all 
 
 * Extract from letter: "You would faint if j-ou were to see my feet in 
 the streets, enveloped in a pair of over-boots, half cloth, half india-rubber ; 
 but they are really necessary, the snow is so deep and penetrating. I have 
 also my ulster, plaid, and a splendid pair of fur gauntlets."
 
 398 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIl^E. 
 
 night, and until ten o'clock yesterday morning, when we were fetched away 
 in sledges and brought on here. Oh, that night ! Forty persons : some 
 young girls travelling alone, as American girls do, the engineers, brakes- 
 men, firemen, etc., and a lot of roughs; plenty of wood, fortunately, but 
 nothing to eat or to drink. Except three apples, I had nothing from 
 eight Saturday morning till one yesterday afternoon. But the people were 
 very good-tempered ; and though there was more blasphemy than I ever 
 heard, there was nothing else that was wrong. The sledge ride of six miles 
 was the worst part of it. It was so intensely cold that my cheek just un- 
 der the eye became frost-bitten. Fortunately, a man noticed it, and they 
 stopped and rubbed my face with snow. My fur gauntlets secured my 
 hands, but my feet were quite numb. 
 
 " This is a mere village ; but there is, fortunately, good, though rough, 
 accommodation at the hotel, for there is every chance of our being de- 
 tained here for two or three days more. The thermometer is twelve degrees 
 below zero in the day, and worse at night, and it has never ceased blowing 
 and snowing since we arrived. The bedroom which Simpson and I occupy 
 (double-bedded) looks on to the Lake, and is so cold that tJie ink froze in 
 my valise! I am very well, however, thank God! and should not mind it 
 much but for the money loss. Have missed two engagements equal to 
 sixty pounds, and don't know how many more I shall have to give up. 
 Sha'n't get the chance of drinking your health on Christmas-day, I fear ; 
 for the brandy I brought with me from N. Y. is used up (one bottle burst 
 with the cold), and here one can't say with Mrs. Prig, 'The drinks is all 
 good.' Ilowever, it might be much worse. No chance of any letters (your 
 last was dated Dec. 2) till I get to Chicago ; and Simpson, who has just 
 come up from the stove round which all sit to gossip, says they have given 
 up talking of getting away. So I'll put this down for the present, and go 
 on with my £600 story."* ^ 
 
 The conclusion of the adventure is told in a hurried post- 
 script to the letter: 
 
 " Gardner House, Chicago, Chrietnios-day, 4 p.m. 
 " P.S. — Arrived here an hour ago. Yesterday I found I could stand it 
 
 * There is always a newspaper reporter everywhere in America, ami 
 
 there was one, it seems, in this train. He sent a most humorous account 
 
 of our adventure, which appeared in the Chicago Inter-Ocean. It is too 
 
 long to quote ; but one bit about myself is so funny that I must reproduce 
 
 it: 
 
 "EDMUND YATES. 
 
 "About this time, if any one had passed through the coach, he might 
 have seen a tremendous pair of feet, and had his eyes been awake enough 
 to follow up three feet to the fouiilain-hoad, he could have seen a frnnie 
 which was fitted out exactly for the above-mentioned feet. ' He weighs 
 well on to four hundred pounds, and has got on nine over-coats,' said a 
 traveller. A closer ins|)eclion showed this to be Edniund Vates, the Eng- 
 IIhIi novelist and lecturer."
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 399 
 
 no longer ; and so, as the railroad is still blocked, I started off on a sleigh 
 for a twenty-five miles' drive across country. Thermometer eiyhtecn de- 
 grees below zero. Such a make - up ! Ulster, snow-boots, fur gauntlets, 
 shooting-gaiters, immense comforter round nose and mouth, and over all — 
 head and face with only one peep-hole — my Scotch plaid, like the veil of 
 the Mokanna. Bore it very well ; and when I dared to peep forth the 
 country looked lovely. Dashed through drifts over the horses' shoulders, 
 bells going all the time : thought perpetually of Irving." 
 
 The comforts of Gardner House were doubly enjoyable 
 after my privations, and I remained there two or three 
 days. Among my fellow-guests I found an old acquaint- 
 ance, Miss Charlotte Cushraan, whom I had not seen since, 
 eighteen years before, she sang — or rather solemnly and 
 weirdly chanted — Kingsley's ballad, " Mary, call the cattle 
 home," in Mrs. Smedley's Jermyn Street drawing-room. 
 AVe had much pleasant talk, and I went to McVicker's 
 theatre to see her wonderful impersonation of Meg Mer- 
 rilies. Another guest was Forster, the spiritualist medi- 
 um, who tried all his " hanky-panky " on me, without the 
 smallest success. He said he had never felt so nervous 
 before, and ascribed his failure to "my well-known in- 
 credulity," and the reputation \ had " of guying and 
 burlesquing" such matters. The last night of '72 was 
 passed by me at a small place called Muskegon. 
 
 There is no need to describe in detail my wanderings 
 and lecturings for the next two months, visits to strange 
 places with strange names — East Saginaw, Fredonia, 
 Titusville, Aurora, Watertown, etc. Providence (Rhode 
 Island) and Portland (Maine) are more familiar to Eng- 
 lish ears. Suffice it to say that I spent two days, Sat- 
 urday, 8th, and Sunday, 9th February, at Niagara, look- 
 ing, with her crystallized surroundings, most loving in 
 her ice-robes ; and that ray last lectures " on the other 
 side " were delivered on the 14th and 15th of the same 
 month, at Montreal, where I had splendid audiences, a 
 vote of thanks to me being proposed by Mr. Hunting- 
 ton, the Premier, and a splendid supper given me by the 
 Snow Shoe Club. 
 
 Then and there ended my Transatlantic lecture tour, 
 having lasted, off and on, for more than live months.
 
 400 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Between leaving London at the end of August, 18V2, and 
 returning there in March, 1873, I travelled 26,000 miles, 
 and delivered one hundred and six lectures, finished " The 
 Yellow Flag," wrote the framework of All the Year Bound 
 Christmas Number, and the whole of " A Bad Lot," be- 
 sides sending two or three occasional articles to the Daily 
 JVeios. 
 
 As a lecturer, I was treated by my audiences, my man- 
 agers (the Bureau), and the press with invariable cour- 
 tesy and respect ; by the press, indeed, with special ap- 
 preciation, leniency, and esprit de corps. As a visitor, I 
 was received everywhere with the most pressing hospi- 
 tality, made free of clubs, invited on my tour to stay at 
 private houses, all kinds of stringent rules relaxed in my 
 favor, nothing reckoned as a trouble which would do me 
 service. That in every town I was popular among those 
 whose acquaintance I made, I have every reason to hope. 
 That I was successful among my audiences is certain. 
 On the 20th January, Mr. Brelsford, the manager of the 
 Bureau, called on me at the Brevoort House "to talk 
 about the future." He expressed a strong desire that I 
 should come out to America, under their auspices, the 
 next season; he was prepared, he said, to make me a dis- 
 tinct offer, and for my services, from the 31st October, 
 '73, till the 30th January, '74, he would guarantee to pay 
 me a sum of 12,000 dollars, or £2400. 
 
 This offer was generous, plucky, and tempting. But I 
 did not accept it at once ; I requested time for consider- 
 ation; I had another affair on hand. 
 
 The truth was that, ungrateful though it may seem, I 
 had always hated what Dickens called " the garish lights" 
 of the i)latform ; and though use liad made them })cr- 
 fectly familiar to me, and tliougli they liad served my 
 ])urpos(! far more effec^tiially than I had ever ex})ected, I 
 Avas anxious to get back to my (»wn calling, and to earn 
 my living quietly, and without the necessity for public 
 appearances. 
 
 ^Vitll tliis idea always in my mind, I liad propositi to 
 .Mr. James (4ordon Bennett, soon after my arrival in 
 America, that on my return home he should appoint me
 
 UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES. 401 
 
 as the London correspondent of the New York Herald, 
 with an adequate salary. I gave him ray ideas of what 
 I would do in the position, which seemed to please him, 
 but he could make me no final answer, as he was about 
 sailing for Europe. Since then I had written to him fre- 
 quently, but Avithout obtaining any conclusive or satis- 
 factory reply ; for Mr. Bennett, though one of the most 
 charming of men, possesses beyond any other mortal the 
 power, when it suits him, of keeping people waiting. He 
 had himself supplemented my original idea by suggesting 
 that I should not merely be his London correspondent, 
 but his principal representative in Europe, travelling here 
 and there, as occasion demanded; and to this I consented. 
 Just then, when I was on the point of agreeing to Mr. 
 Brelsford's suggestion that he should accept some propo- 
 sals from Salt Lake City, San Francisco, etc., for the 
 month of March, I received a cable message from Mr. 
 Bennett, engaging me at a salary of £1200 a year, and 
 bidding me return at once, as he wished me to represent 
 him at the Vienna Exhibition, which opened on the 1st of 
 May, but which would require attention long before that. 
 
 Here, then, I thought, was the full measure of my luck, 
 for had I not gained what I had striven for so hard ? I 
 returned to New York straight from Montreal, intending 
 to go home in the first convenient steamer. But on my 
 arrival at the Brevoort House, I found a letter awaiting me 
 from Mr. Connery, then editor of the Herald, begging me 
 to call there at once. Was Mr. Bennett going to throw 
 me over? I fairly trembled as the thought crossed my 
 mind, for I had cabled the good news home as soon as I 
 heard it. 
 
 My fears were, however, speedily allayed. Mr. Ben- 
 nett had merely telegraphed his wishes that I should 
 attend the ceremonial at Washington consequent upon 
 General Grant's inauguration as President for a second 
 term, that I should describe them fully in the Herald, and 
 then come to Europe as quickly as possible. I could now 
 settle the exact date of my departure, and, the inaugura- 
 tion taking place on the 4th March, I secured a cabin in 
 the Cunarder Calabria, which sailed on the 12 th.
 
 402 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 I was a little nervous about the work I was called on ' 
 to do at Washington, partly because it was to be per- 
 formed on what were then to me entirely new conditions 
 — that is to say, it was to be despatched at once over the 
 wire to Ncav York, to appeai- in the next morning's 
 Herald ; but more especially as I had an idea that 3Ir. 
 Bennett might have cleverly proposed it as a kind of 
 test of my fitness for the position which I was to hold 
 under him. 
 
 But it had to be done, and it was done. I went to 
 Washington, and remained there four days. I was pre- 
 sented to the President, and had long chats with General 
 Sherman and General " Phil " Sheridan, both of whom 
 were most courteous and kind. I was the house-guest 
 of Franklin Philp, and I dined each night at " Welcker's" 
 with Uncle Sam. I worked in the day like a horse, going 
 everywhere, noting everything ; and on the niglit before 
 the ceremony, and on the evening of Inauguration Day, I 
 dictated to Simpson what proved to be equivalent to four 
 small-printed columns of the Herald, descriptive of what 
 I had seen, and comment on the ceremony. 
 
 I think that the manner in which 1 executed this test- 
 task did me good. My friends were enthusiastic about it ; 
 it was generally copied and connnented on, and chaffed, 
 throughout the press, but always in a friendly strain ; 
 and, best of all, the then astute editor of the Herald, not 
 a man given to violent emotion or warmth of exj)ression, 
 "thought it would i)lease Mr. Bennett." So I could enter 
 on my new duties with a light heart. 
 
 There was much yet to be done. Before leaving 
 Washington, I climbed to the top of a very liigh house, 
 to shake hands with glorious old Walt Whitman, then 
 ill and infirm, but hearty in manner and most inleresting; 
 ;ind at. New York I went to the great prison, The Tombs, 
 to take farewell of my old acquaintance George Francis 
 'I'rjiin, who was incarcerated for some eccentric outbreak. 
 
 On Saturday, the 8th, my good friends of (he Lotos 
 Club enlerliiined me at a farewell dinner, over whieh 
 Whitelaw Ileid i)resiiled, while among the conrives were 
 Bret llarte, Edmund C. Stedman, Colonel John Hay,
 
 UNDEll THE STARS AND STRIPES. 403 
 
 " Petroleum V. Nasby," and Henry M. Stanley, fresh 
 from Africa. In kindliest terms, the president proposed 
 my health, saying that the departure of the English 
 stranger whom they had received a few months ago was 
 felt by every member of the club as the loss of a per- 
 sonal friend. 
 
 The next day Mr. Charles Delmonico, one of the pro- 
 prietors of the famous restaurant, gave a dejeuner in my 
 honor, present at which, in addition to those above named, 
 were Judge Brady, Dion Boucicault, Surrogate Ilutch- 
 ings. Major Bundy, and John Brougham. 
 
 There were yet two more farewell dinners to be eaten, 
 one at the Union League Club, given by Mr. Scribner, 
 another at the Manhattan Club, given by Uncle Sam ; 
 and on Wednesday afternoon, the 12th March, exactly six 
 months after my arrival, my friends Mr. and Mrs. Fithian, 
 Mr. W. A. Seaver, Mrs. Boucicault, Mr. W. H. Marston, 
 Mr. D. Bixby, one of the directors of the Lotos Club, my 
 manager, Mr. Brelsford, and Miss Edgarton, one of the 
 most charming and most popular of lady lecturers, ac- 
 companied me to the Cunard wharf, and waved their 
 farewells as the Calabria steamed slowly off, homeward 
 bound. 
 
 So ended my six months in America — the most im- 
 portant period in my life. Six months of tolerably hard 
 work, indeed — far harder than I should now be ca])able 
 of getting through — but hard work lightened by bound- 
 less hospitality, constant courtesy, the most delicate yet 
 genial appreciation. During the whole of my visit I 
 never had an unpleasant word from any one, I made no 
 enemies, and even "candid friends" were good enough 
 to spare me.* 
 
 * Much is said of the inquisitiveness of tlie Americans and of their con- 
 stant question-aslving. I only recollect once being asked a question. It 
 was at Pittsburg, where I had lectured on "Princes of the Pen." The 
 next morning at breakfast I was reading the criticisms on myself, when, 
 on the otlicr side of the newspaper, caine a finger-fillip which made me 
 start. Looking up, I found a sharp-faced man close upon me. " What 
 did Thackeray die of ?" said he, abruptly ; " that's what I want to know ; 
 you didn't tell us that last night."
 
 404 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 I went a stranger; I returned leaving troops of friends. 
 I went with a lean purse and vague prospects ; I returned 
 with £1500 and an appointment worth £1200 a year. Is 
 it any wonder that I should regard with affection and 
 gratitude a land where I had such an emphatically " good 
 time," and from which I received such substantial bene- 
 fit?
 
 IN TUE 'HEKALD'ti" TABAKD, 405 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN THE " herald's " TABARD. 
 
 ISVS-ISVS. 
 
 The homeward voyage in the Calabria was cold and 
 cheerless, without incident, save that we lost a man over- 
 board in a storm, and without amusement, save that con- 
 tained in the remark of a young American gentleman, 
 who having, after the usual fashion on the last night of 
 the passage, joined in " Auld Lang Syne " and the usual 
 hand-shakings and vagaries there anent with the rest of 
 the passengers, informed me that he wished to Heaven 
 he should never see any of them again. 
 
 I reached my home on the 23d March, and after forty- 
 eight hours' rest, started off with Dr. Hosmer, the Lon- 
 don agent of the Herald, to see Mr. Bennett, who was 
 in Paris. The next day I had a long interview with 
 my new employer, and settled all preliminaries. My en- 
 gagement was for a year certain, and my first duty was 
 to give a full account of the Vienna Exhibition. Mr. 
 Bennett understood that I should like some little time at 
 home after so long an absence, but he wished me to be in 
 Vienna in time to send some preparatory letters descrip- 
 tive of the progress of the works, the scenes in the city, 
 the arrivals, etc. Then I took my leave and returned 
 home. 
 
 I had plenty to do during the next fortnight in looking 
 up and settling affairs which had necessarily fallen into 
 arrear during my absence, in calling on and receiving 
 friends, and in making aiTangements for my new duties. 
 I found in Dr. Hosmer, whom I made it my business to 
 see every day, a shrewd, long-headed, and kindly man, 
 who took considerable trouble with me, explaining to me
 
 406 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 what Mr. Bennett had in his mind should be done in Vi- 
 enna, and, what was of far more consequence, giving me 
 much useful advice in regard to the peculiarities of those 
 with whom I was likely to be thrown into contact, and 
 the manner in which I could most easily render myself 
 agreeable. 
 
 It seemed that Mr. Bennett had determined to seize 
 upon the opening of the Vienna Exhibition for making 
 a gi'eat coup with the Herald. I was not to be, as I had 
 imagined, the only representative of that journal at Vien- 
 na: I was to be associated with Mr. John Russell Young, 
 an Amei'ican journalist of aj^proved mettle, a gentleman 
 long connected with the Herald, and possessing Mr. Ben- 
 nett's confidence in a remarkable degree; while the Ger- 
 man readers of the paper resident in New York — a very 
 large clientele — were to be propitiated by having full ac- 
 counts of the opening ceremony Avritten for them in tlieir 
 own language by Berthold Auerbach, the well-known 
 autlior of "Village Tales," and Madame Muhlbach, also 
 a famous contemporary Avriter. 
 
 More than this, in order to eclipse all his rivals and 
 render competition impossible, the proprietor of the Her- 
 ald liad been for some time engaged upon arrangements 
 for securing the transmission of the whole of the articles 
 of the four correspondents — two in English and two in 
 German — by telegra})li, and cable to New York, so tliat 
 the descri})tion of the various scenes would appear in the 
 next numl)er of the journal, and be read at the l)reakrast- 
 taliles of his constituency on the morning after the oc- 
 currence. 
 
 This really extraordinary feat would, if properly car- 
 ried out, entirely distance any attempt made l)y the other 
 New York journals — which, however, Dr. Ilosiner had 
 learned, were going to make their own attempts to dis- 
 tinguish themselves. Thus the N'eio York Tribune had 
 engaged the services of Mr, Bayard Taylor, the eminent 
 traveller, of whom the great Iliiniboldt said he had 
 "never met with a man who had travelled so much and 
 seen so little." The N'ew Yorlc Tinici^ would have as its 
 representative the renowned Dr. W. II. Russell, first spe-
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 407 
 
 cial correspondent of its London namesake ; Avhile Colo- 
 nel Evelyn, a cultivated Southern gentleman of expe- 
 rience and address, was going out for the New York 
 World. These were the rivals against whom we, the 
 Herald phalanx, should be pitted, and it was, above all, 
 necessary that the utmost secrecy should be observed as 
 regarded our intended proceedings. 
 
 Coming down to the Daily News office, I learned from 
 my old and valued friend Mr. J. R, Robinson that, in 
 their interest, Mr. Archibald Forbes had already started 
 for Vienna, and that they would be happy to accept any 
 contributions I might send them as suj^plementary to 
 those of the renowned soldier-scribe, with whom, on my 
 arrival, I should put myself in communication. This 
 were best done, Mr. Robinson suggested, by my sharing, 
 if we were both willing, the lodgings which had already 
 been taken for Mr. Forbes by the Dally Nev^s Vienna cor- 
 respondent, and where he understood the accommodation 
 was amj^le. 
 
 Heretofore my acquaintance with Mr. Archibald Forbes 
 had been slight, but I acted upon Mr. Robinson's sugges- 
 tion, and I have to thank him, in addition to many other 
 benefits, for bringing about a friendship which is to me 
 most valuable and most cherished. 
 
 On the 15th April I left London for Paris, where I was 
 detained for a week by Mr. Bennett, receiving his instruc- 
 tions, going to him daily for more last words, holding 
 long consultations with Mr. Saner, an attache of the Her- 
 ald, who was to have charge of despatching our telegraph 
 articles, oft "fitting the halter," oft "traversing the cart;" 
 until at last, on Monday, the 21st, I managed to get clear, 
 and faii'ly started for Vienna. Travelling direct ma 
 Munich and Salzburg, I arrived in the empire city at 9.30 
 on the evening of the second day, and drove to 17 Hegel- 
 gasse, where I found Forbes waiting to receive me. 
 
 The accommodation which Mr. Robinson's Vienna rep- 
 resentative had engaged for us was " ample," indeed, so 
 far as space was concerned. There were two large rooms, 
 but they were at the top of the house ; they were poorly 
 furnished, and devoid of anything like comfort j but the
 
 408 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 experience of a lifetime had enabled Forbes to laugh at 
 crumpled rose - leaves, and, after snow - storms and short- 
 commons on Lake Michigan, the deficiencies of the Hegel- 
 gasse were not much trouble to me. My new-found com- 
 rade and I soon found that, essentially different in many 
 respects, we were excellently suited to each other; our 
 sky-parlor Avas useful enough for working and sleeping 
 in, and there were plenty of places in the immediate 
 neighborhood in which we could find fun and amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 "We were a very happy English and American colony 
 of Government oflicials, exhibitors, and journalists, all 
 working hard in utmost harmony together during the 
 day, most of us generally dining and passing the evening 
 in company. There were Mr. (now Sir) Philip Cunliffe 
 Owen, then, as ever, most helpful and courteous to all 
 brought in connection with him ; Mr. (now Sir) W. Rob- 
 inson, present Governor of the Windward Islands, then 
 Special Commissioner for the Colonies at the Exhibition ; 
 Mr. Trendell, Mr. Ryall, Colonel Michael, and Lieut. 
 Anstey — all more or less representing South Kensington ; 
 and Mr. Clark, Mr, F, Barwell the artist, who came out 
 to superintend the hanging of the British collection of 
 pictures ; Dr. Ruppener, a German physician from New 
 York ; Mr, Bayard Taylor ; my colleague Mr. ,Tohn Rus- 
 sell Young, with whom I formed an intimate alliance, and 
 who is now American Minister in Cliina ; 7ny old friend 
 Mr. W. Beatty-Kingston of tlie Daily Telegraphy as viva- 
 cious as when I first knew liim in his boyliood ; jNIr. 
 Forbes, and myself. After our long day's tramping over 
 the growing Ex]iil)ition, to which I found a most excellent 
 cicerone in Mr, Scott Russell, and after the desj^atclnng 
 of our letters, we would din(>, a large party, at the Hotel 
 Taube or the Hotel M6troi)ole, and give ourselves up to 
 enjoyment. 
 
 On the 28tli April the Concordia, the press club of 
 Vienna, entertained their fellow-brethren and visitors at 
 what was really a magniliccnt l)an(|uet, and I had the 
 honor of replying in (ii-rnian to the toast of the visitors. 
 Mr, Beatty-Kingston, who is more polyglotic than a lirad-
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 409 
 
 shaw's washing-book, also replied in excellent German to 
 a toast, and we were told that we had covered ourselves 
 with glory. 
 
 On the 30th I had the honor of being presented to 
 H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, who received me with his 
 usual affability, which stood him in good stead on over- 
 hearing a wild Scotchman, correspondent of a Northern 
 journal, with a pocket full of papers, ask Mr. Forbes, 
 whom he did not know, to " prasant him to the Prance." 
 
 On the morning of the 1st May we were all up be- 
 times, hastening to the places we had previously selected 
 as the best for observation purposes. Forbes and I took 
 up our posts in the gallery of the rotunda, where we ob- 
 served the entire ceremonial, hurrying afterwards to vari- 
 ous points which the special acumen of my companion 
 led me to believe would repay a visit. Material complete, 
 I left Forbes and hurried off to the rooms occupied by 
 Mr. Sauer in the Hotel Weisses Ross, where I found Mr. 
 John Russell Young already at work. 
 
 My share of the united despatch was two thousand two 
 hundred words. All the four articles went safely through 
 the cable, and were published the next morning, as Mr. 
 Bennett had determined. The success in New York was 
 tremendous, but not greater than the surprise in Vienna, 
 when, our messages being safely despatched and their re- 
 ceipt acknowledged, we told what we had done. Then 
 we found tliat the other New York journals had secretly 
 carried out some novel plans, but nothing commensurate 
 with ours, for expediting their correspondence. Thus tlie 
 letter of Mr. Bayard Taylor to the New York Tribune was 
 telegraphed to London, there to be written out and de- 
 spatched by the mail leaving Liverpool that day, the let- 
 ter of Dr. Russell to the New York Times was to be sent 
 by special courier to London ; but the extraordinary feat 
 performed in the interests of the Herald rendered these 
 measures useless, for the description of the opening of the 
 Vienna Exhibition, read in New York the next morning, 
 had become stale news and been forgotten long before 
 the other descriptions arrived. 
 
 In honor of our exploit, Mr. Russell Young and Mr. 
 
 18
 
 410 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 Sauer entertained Madame Mulilbach,* her sister and 
 daughter, Mr. Bayard Taylor, Mr. Forbes, INIr. Wash- 
 burne, son of the American Minister in Paris, and my- 
 self, at a veiy pleasant dinner at the Weisses Ross the 
 next day. The Times was represented at the Vienna Ex- 
 hibition by Mr. Alexander Innes Shand, a gentleman who 
 has written one or two clever novels. He was not much 
 with us, nor did I see anything scarcely of Dr. Russell 
 until passing the Exhibition on Thursday, the 8th May, 
 when there had been some special British function, which 
 I had not thought it necessary to attend, I heard the 
 drums roll, saw the sentries present arms, and, looking 
 round expectant of a generalissimo, I saw issue from the 
 doors my old acquaintance Dr. Russell, scarlet - coated, 
 cocked-hatted, waving-plumed, in the full uniform of a 
 British deputy-lieutenant. 
 
 As we learned that the Prince of Wales was going to 
 Buda-Pesth, Forbes and I thought it advisable to precede 
 him, and started off thither on the 9th May, on board one 
 of the splendid Danube boats, putting up at the Hotel 
 Hungaria. We remained at Buda-Pesth some days, went 
 to Margaretten Island, attended the regatta and the races, 
 at both of which the Prince was present, and had a gener- 
 ally good time. I note as an incident that Prince Arthur, 
 noAv Duke of Connaught, passing through the room where 
 we were at breakfast, spoke to Forbes and told him he 
 had been out since 7 a.m. watching the evolutions of some 
 Hungarian cavalry. /SVc itur ad Field-marslialship. On 
 the 1 4th I took leave of my comrade, who was going to 
 remain to write up certain details of the contents of the 
 Exhi])ition, and returned home. 
 
 Within forty -eight hours of my arrival I was tele- 
 graphed to go to I*aris, as a crisis in political afTaii's was 
 expected. It came almost imnu'diately, I attended Ver- 
 sailles every day, and was in the j)ress-gallery of tlie Cham- 
 ber during the three seances on the 24th May, at the end 
 of wliicli M. Thiers was overtlirown, and Marshal MacMa- 
 
 * Mmlamc Miililhach, whose real name was Madame Clara Mundt, died 
 the following Septoiuljcr.
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 411 
 
 hon elected in his place. During that night, and nearly 
 the whole of the next day, I was engaged in telegraphing 
 to America a description of the scenes I had witnessed. 
 
 I next donned the Heraldi's tabard on the 16th June, 
 starting off with Mr. Forbes to Brussels, to meet the Shah 
 of Persia, who was coming on a visit to England via Os- 
 tend. "We put uj) at the Hotel de I'Europe, where we 
 found several of our journalistic confrh-es. On the 18th 
 we were up at 3.30 a.m., and started at five o'clock for Os- 
 tend in the special train provided for his Persian majes- 
 ty. Passage from Ostend to Dover was provided for the 
 newspaper correspondents in IT. M. S. Lively , where we 
 were most graciously received and excellently entertained 
 at luncheon by the officers. A comic scene occurred just 
 before leaving Ostend. We were about to cast off from 
 the pier, when suddenly there appeared, bearing an odd- 
 looking bag, and looking a little seedy with early rising, 
 a gentleman in whom we recognized Mark Twain, but for 
 whom the stolid sailor at the gangway had no recognition. 
 
 " I am coming on board," said Twain, persuasively. 
 
 " No, you ain't," said the stalwart A. B. — " no tramps 
 here." 
 
 " What's that you say ?" asked Twain. 
 
 " No tramps here," repeated the sailor. 
 
 " Well, now," said Twain, in his softest and longest 
 drawl, " you are quite right, I am a ' tramp ' — I am the 
 ' Tramp Abroad ;' " and then we welcomed him with a 
 shout. 
 
 We had a splendid passage, and I can scarcely recollect 
 a finer sight than the eight ironclads, drawn up in mid- 
 Channel, which saluted us as we passed between them. 
 
 Days and nights were now devoted to the pursuit of 
 the Persian potentate, whom I followed everywhere, duly 
 recording his doings.* After him I went to an inspection 
 
 * A great likeness was said to exist between us. Mark Twain had 
 written to Russell Young from Brussels : " They are selling portraits of 
 Yates here at two francs apiece, and calling him the Shah. What does it 
 mean ?"
 
 412 FIFTY YEARS OP LONDON LIFE. 
 
 at Hyde Park; to the Floral Hall and the stage of the 
 Italian Opera, to see him entertained, in state in his 
 box ; to the naval review at Portsmouth, where, on board 
 H. M. S. Glatt07i, I nearly had my ears burst by the thun- 
 der of her guns ; and to entertainments without number, 
 until I hated the Persian apparatus worse even than in 
 my school-days. 
 
 On the 4th July I was off to Paris, where the Shah was 
 expected. On the 6th, from a window of Madame de 
 Casseris's splendid mansion, the first on the left in the 
 Champs -Elysees as you enter Paris, directly facing the 
 Arc de Triomphe, I witnessed the Shah's entry amid a 
 good deal of ill-concealed ribaldry, "Avez vous vu le 
 Shah?" was the cry of the hour, which in three days was 
 invariably met with the reply, " Assez du Shah !" No 
 doubt I saw enough of him. I went with his suite to 
 Versailles on one of the hottest days I can remember, 
 doing it all — processions, dejeuners, grandes eaux, down to 
 the fireworks at night. I grilled on the grand stand at 
 Longchamps, looking at the military review in his honor; 
 and on Saturday, the 12th, I went to a special representation 
 at the old opera-house in the Rue Lepelletier, having to 
 pay, and paying, at the desire of my proprietor, £16 for 
 the stall, in order that the Herald might be represented 
 at the grand gala; races at Auteuil, and a fine fete of fire- 
 works at the Trocadero, the whole extent of the Champs- 
 Elys^es, from the Arc de Triomphe to the obelisk, be- 
 ing hung with various-colored lamps — a most lovely spec- 
 tacle — terminated my attendance on the Shah. 
 
 A visit to Malvern, to draw a comparison between it 
 and certain American healtli-resorts, and to Cowes during 
 the regatta week, were my next ])erformanceH; and lu'ar- 
 ing that the distribution of prizes Avas to take place at 
 Vienna on the IStli August, I started thither early in tlio 
 month, accompanied by my wife. The heat was terrific, 
 and wo were not pressed for time, so we journeyed lei- 
 surely, stopping at Spa, at Wurzburg, at Munich, and at 
 Sal/burg, settling down in Vieinia at th(> Hotel Austria 
 — Jiot the Osterreichischerhof, l»ut a magnificent palace,
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 413 
 
 which as a hotel was born and ended with the Exhibi- 
 tion, There we had a very happy ten days, dining at 
 the Metropole, at Dommeyer's, at Sudbahnhof, and at 
 the Trois Fr^res ; going to entertainments at the Volks- 
 garten and the Neue "Welt, listening to Johann Strauss's 
 wonderful band, and the military music which is going 
 all day and all night, and thoroughly enjoying ourselves. 
 
 It was Mr. Bennett's wish that I should make a pictur- 
 esque tour through Germany, describing the places I vis- 
 ited, and it was not a wish that I was likely to balk. 
 So we went from Vienna to Gmiindcn, a lovely spot on 
 the Trauensee, where we tarried a little, and then drove 
 through a beautiful country to Ischl (during the drive I 
 found the plot of the " Blue Chamber," the next Christ- 
 mas Number for All the Year Hound), and after a week 
 at Ischl, worked our way through Salzburg to my old 
 quarters at the Vier Jahres Zeiten, the Four Seasons Ho- 
 tel at Munich. There we remained three days, taking a 
 run over to Augsburg, and inspecting the famous cellar 
 of the Drei Mohren; and thence to Nuremberg — full of 
 descriptive matter — where we yet remained another three 
 days; and to Frankfort, where we remained a week. An 
 easy journey down the Rhine by Cologne and Ostend 
 brought us home by the end of September. 
 
 Mr. Bennett desiring to have some letters on the state 
 of Irish affairs, I started on the 6th October for Dub- 
 lin, where I remained several days. During this time I 
 had long interviews with Mr. A. M. Sullivan, editor of 
 the Nation; Mr. Butt, Q.C., M.P., whom I found a most 
 delightful companion; and Sir John Gray, M. P., proprie- 
 tor of the Freeman's Journal. My old friends, Dr. Tis- 
 dall, Chancellor of Christchurch ; Sanger, head of the 
 Post-office Telegraphs; Nugent Robinson, and John Har- 
 ris, lessee of the Theatre Royal, took care that I should 
 never dine alone. As the guest of one or other of them 
 I met the pleasantest people in the city, includmg Judge 
 Keogh and Father Ilealey. And then I started off through 
 the West, passing a day with the Bishop of Cloyne at 
 Fermoy, lunching with The O'Donoghue at Tomies, and
 
 414 FIFTY TEARS OF LONDOX LIFE. 
 
 finally arriving at Mr. Mitchell-Henry's beautiful place, 
 Kylemore Castle. The result of my tour appeared in the 
 Herald, in a series of articles called " Ireland Expectant." 
 
 On the 31st October a filibustering American steamer 
 called the Virginms, with a crew of one hundred and 
 thirty-five men, was captured near Jamaica by the Span- 
 ish gunboat Tornado, and taken to Cuba. On the 7th 
 November fifty-three of the crew of the captured vessel, 
 including sixteen British subjects, were shot at St. Jago. 
 As soon as this news was known in the United States 
 immense excitement was manifested, and the Amei-ican 
 Minister at Madrid was, on the 14th, instructed to protest 
 against the executions, as an outrage to humanity and an 
 insult to the American Government. Some of the New 
 York press reared up, and were urgent that a declaration 
 of war be issued at once, and possession taken of Cuba. 
 
 On the loth Mr. Bennett telegraphed me to go to Paris 
 at once. On my arrival he intimated to me his desire that 
 I should proceed immediately to Madrid, and remain there 
 watching the course of events. I started the next day 
 via Bayonne. On arriving there, I learned that in conse- 
 quence of the Carlist War the railway connection was in- 
 terrupted, and that my only chance was to proceed by sea 
 from St. Jean de Luz to Santander, between which places 
 there was some kind of boat service, and thence by rail 
 to Madrid. 
 
 Boat service, indeed ! What I found on arrival at St. 
 Jean de Luz was a wretched old tug called the Bella, 
 formerly belonging to North Shields, which had been re- 
 christened Quatro Amigos, and was doing duty as a pas- 
 senger-sliip. Slie was slow, she was wet, she was filthy, 
 she was very short-liandcd, she had no cabin — of course 
 no steward, no provisions. All I could get to eat during 
 tlic twelve hours' passage was some filthy sausage and 
 some mouldy bread, and some sour wine to drink, a por- 
 tion of the sailors' mess, which I bought of tliem. Of 
 the liorrors of the inn at Santander, which called itself 
 tlie Fonda de Europa, I do not like to think ; but there I 
 made the acquaintance of a real Spanish grandee or duke,
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 415 
 
 whose title I forget, but whose courtesy and kindness I 
 shall ever remember. He made things smoother for me 
 than they otherwise would have been, and was most agree- 
 able and useful in our subsequent day's railway journey 
 to Madrid. 
 
 One whole day and two nights had to be passed in this 
 horrible hole at Santander ; for there was some pretence of 
 quarantine, and, on landing, our baggage was to be taken 
 from us to the lazaretto, where we went to claim it the 
 next day. It had been thoroughly fumigated, and a por- 
 tion of it, my bundle of coats and rugs, had been stolen. 
 
 Next day we started at 8 a.m., and after an intolera- 
 bly wearisome journey of twenty-four hours, arrived at 
 Madrid. 
 
 I stayed in Madrid at an excellent house, the Hotel de 
 Paris, with a remarkable hall-porter named Constantine, 
 for ten days, until the Vtrginius difficulty had settled it- 
 self. I saw all the life of the city from my windows, 
 which overlooked the famous Puerta del Sol ; I walked 
 and drove, went to the club and to the opera, and a good 
 deal in society. I received much courtesy and hospitality 
 from General Sickles, Minister to the United States, and 
 Mr. (now Sir) Henry Layard, our representative at Mad- 
 rid, with both of whom I had a previous acquaintance. 
 Dining one night at the British Legation, when were 
 present the Belgian, German, and Italian Ambassadors, I 
 found myself seated next to the latter, and was delighted 
 to recognize in him an old friend in the person of Count 
 Maffei, so long and so well known as an attache to the 
 Italian Embassy in London. 
 
 I went to a bull-fight in an enormous open amphitheatre, 
 calculated to hold twelve thousand persons, every availa- 
 ble inch of which was occupied, and where, contrary to 
 ray expectations, I was much interested, and did not feel 
 in the least qualmish or upset. I had talks with Senor 
 Castelar and Serior Carvajal, and was perpetually tele- 
 graphing to Mr. Bennett and to the Daily JSTeics. 
 
 I had hopes that I might have returned from Spain more 
 pleasantly than I had come, but I found there was no other 
 way to Paris than by the long railway journey to Santan-
 
 416 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 der, where my old friend the Qiiatro Amigos was waiting 
 to convey me across. She was announced to sail at six 
 o'clock in the morning, but for some reason or other it 
 was certainly ten before we started, and at St. Sebastian, 
 where we should only have touched, there was a festa of 
 some kind or other going on, to which the captain went 
 off in his best clothes, and from which he only returned 
 very late and veiy drunk. He did not know much about 
 his business at the best of times, and now he seemed to 
 know nothing. Though we started from St, Sebastian in 
 the glow of a magnificent sunset, when within half an hour 
 of our destination we ran into a thick impenetrable white 
 fog, a Si)anish-Scotch mist, through which one could not 
 see a foot, and which was so penetrating as to get through 
 my Belfast ulster, that had hitherto defied all kinds of 
 even American weather. When we found ourselves in 
 this predicament (there was no light of any kind on board 
 the ship), some of the passengers, seeing the cajjtain's 
 state, began to grow alarmed. Why two of them, pleas- 
 ant-spoken young gentlemen, brothers, should have come 
 to me I never could understand. But they came ; they im- 
 plored me to speak to the captain, who, they said, would 
 have some special respect for me as an Englishman in nau- 
 tical matters, and to induce him to do something — what, 
 they did not suggest. I was willing, I said, but spoke no 
 Spanish. This excuse was overruled by their offering to 
 interpret for me. So we made a little deputation and in- 
 terviewed the captain, who was stupidly drunk and imper- 
 tinent, and of whom we could make notliing. 
 
 But our little talk had this effect. While it was taking 
 ]ilace I had been listening attentively. My sense of hear- 
 ing has always been peculiarly good, and though I could 
 not sec my hand before my face, I could distinctly hear 
 and recognize the sound of waves breaking on a shore. It 
 was i)erfectly evident that we were drifting towards land, 
 and might in a few moments be hurled against llic rocks 
 which guard that iron-bound coast. This I explained to 
 my companions, and to some other of the passengers who 
 came up at the time ; and it had such an effect upon them 
 that they bodily shook the captain into consciousness and
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 417 
 
 obedience, and caused him to steam away in a perfectly 
 opposite course from that we had been running. I am 
 fully persuaded this saved our lives. We beat about all 
 night, tossing hither and thither, and when daylight came, 
 and the mist rose, found ourselves many miles from the 
 harbor which we should have made twelve hours before. 
 I shall never forget the delight with which I found myself 
 once more on dry land at the little port of St. Jean de Luz. 
 
 After a month's interval I received warning that my 
 services would again be required on a foreign mission, and 
 that this time I should be called upon to iindertake a 
 longer journey than I had yet performed while in the 
 irerald''s employ. It is noteworthy that our good Ameri- 
 can cousins while always amiably satirizing the devotion 
 of the English to their rulers, yet take the greatest inter- 
 est in the movements of our Royal Family, and Mr. Ben- 
 nett justly considered that the approaching marriage of 
 H. R. H. the Duke of Edinburgh was a subject which ought 
 to be specially treated for the gratification of the HerakVs 
 readers; not merely taking into consideration the position 
 of the bridegroom, but the fact that various grand dukes, 
 relatives and connections of the bride, had been recently 
 sojourning in New York, and that a certain alliance more 
 or less intimate had recently existed between St. Peters- 
 burg and the United States. Extremes meet, and the most 
 autocratic and the most democratic of governments have, 
 I suppose, something in common. 
 
 At all events it was Mr. Bennett's wish that I should go 
 to St. Petersburg in good time to be present at the royal 
 wedding; that my description thereof should be full and 
 graphic; and that it should be transmitted by telegraph 
 and cabled, so that it might appear in the Herald on the 
 succeeding day. 
 
 I was not to have the pleasure of the company of my 
 friend Archibald Forbes on this occasion, as I had at first 
 hoped. We had made arrangements for our journey to- 
 gether, but at the last moment he was despatched as spe- 
 cial commissioner for the Daily Neios, to inquire into and 
 report upon the progress of the famine just notified as 
 
 18*
 
 418 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 having commenced in Bengal, and had ah-eady taken his 
 departure for India. So I started on the 10th January, 
 travelling via Brussels and Berlin, and finding on board 
 the steamer two distinguished London members of the 
 healing craft — Dr. Alfred Meadows and Mr. Alfred 
 Cooper — who were going to stay with the well-known Mr. 
 Baird of St. Petersburg, and to whom I had introductions. 
 As far as Berlin we travelled pleasantly together, but 
 thence they pursued their route at once, while I awaited 
 the arrival of ray friend Mr. Edward Dicey, who was 
 going to represent the Daily Telegraph at the wedding, 
 and with whom I had arranged to travel to St. Petersburg. 
 
 I spent two days in that dullest of dull cities, Berlin, 
 pleasantly enough, thanks to the cheery hospitality and 
 good company of Mr. Beatty-Kingston, who, as the spe- 
 cial correspondent of the Daily Telegraph there, knew 
 and was known to everybody. He took me to call upon, 
 among other notable people, Dr. Strousborg, the then sup- 
 posed millionaire, who was living in magnificent style. I 
 had not seen the doctor for a very long time — not, in- 
 deed, since, sixteen years before, he was living in a very 
 small way in London, owning and editing Sharp''s Lon- 
 don Magazine^ to which I was an occasional contributoi*. 
 For an article of mine, value, I suppose, about thirty shil- 
 lings, he was still in my debt; but I did not remind him 
 of this circumstance, though we spoke of our old literary 
 connection. On the second day Edward Dicey arrived, 
 and after a capital dinner at Hann's restaurant, Untcr der 
 Linden, we started at 11 p.m. for St. Petersburg, a saloon 
 carriage with the Prince of Wales and suite forming a 
 portion of the train. At three o'clock the next day we 
 arrived at the Russian frontier, where a special imi)erial 
 train was in waiting for the Prince and his suite; but 
 M'ith the disadvantage of having a remarkably drunken 
 Russian officer in the carriage, we pursued our journey 
 all that niglit and the next day, not arriving at St. Peters- 
 burg until 8 I'.M. on the 15th, 
 
 I made my Avay to the Hotel d'Anglcterre, which is 
 tlie liome of our (Queen's Messengers, and to which T liad 
 been recommended by some friends in the Foreign Office.
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 419 
 
 It is kept by Mr. Sclimitz, and was, I am bound to say, 
 worthy of the praises it had received. There I found a 
 collection of English and American journalists: Mr. Senior 
 for the Daily Neros ; Mr. Tuttle for the New York Trib- 
 une; Mr. John Furley, of Red Cross and Ambulance 
 fame, for the Standard; and Mr. Sydney Hall, the artist, 
 for the Graphic. Also in the hotel, and in the next rooms 
 to mine, was Mr. (now Sir) Frederick Napier Broome, 
 Governor of West Australia, who was representing the 
 Times on this occasion. During my stay in St. Peters- 
 burg I spent most of my time in company with Mr. 
 Broome, whom I found a most agreeable companion, and 
 whose description of the wedding ceremony, telegraphed 
 to the Times, was one of the clearest, most succinct, and 
 most graphic bits of special correspondent's work which 
 I have ever seen performed. On the morning after my 
 arrival I called on Governor Marshal Jewell, the American 
 Minister, a handsome, hospitable, well-bred man, whose 
 acquaintance I had made the previous year at Vienna, 
 where he was a visitor; and upon Mr. Schuyler, the Amer- 
 ican Consul and well-known author of " Khiva," '' Peter 
 the Great," etc., whose thorough acquaintance with the 
 Russian language, literature, manners, etc., was of the 
 greatest assistance to me, and who devoted to me his ser- 
 vices in the most friendly manner. I had letters of in- 
 troduction to Mr. Mitchell, the British Consul-general, 
 from whom I had been told to expect every aid; but Mr. 
 Mitchell was, under peculiar circumstances, away from 
 St. Petersburg at the time, so I called upon the English 
 Ambassador, Lord Augustus Loftus, which was not the 
 same thing. 
 
 There was plenty of festivity at St. Petersburg, and 
 genuine hospitality on nearly all sides. I found my med- 
 ical friends of the steamer, with one Mr. Peter Wilkin- 
 son, a shy and retiring student, installed under the friend- 
 ly roof of Mr. and Mrs. George Baird, from whom I re- 
 ceived a cordial welcome and great kindness. Governor 
 and Mrs. Jewell, at the American Legation, made me free 
 of their house and their opera -box, and invited me to a 
 grand reception and ball, given in honor of the occasion.
 
 420 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 at which Madame Patti and her husband, the Marquis de 
 Caux, were present. Our host of the Hotel d'Angleterre 
 invited all the foreign visitors to a great excursion to the 
 monastery and cemetery of Sergis, winding up with a 
 grand dinner at Krassnoi-Kabatschoff, a large winter res- 
 taurant, where the entertainment was supplemented by 
 dancing, and did not conclude until nearly 2 a.m. Then 
 there were troika drives, tabogganing on the ice-hills in 
 the suburbs, dinners with the Bairds, dinners with Mr. 
 Schuyler, dinners among ourselves, suppers at out-town 
 restaurants, where the gypsies sing, a grand ball given 
 by the noblesse in honor of the wedding, and a rout at 
 the English Embassy. 
 
 I had also plenty of work ; for, besides letters to the 
 Herald, I was under agreement to send to the Scotsma7i, 
 with which journal I had long had a pleasant connection, 
 such scraps of telegraphic intelligence as I thought might 
 be useful to them ; and as on this occasion I had not 
 brought Simpson with me, the work had to be done with 
 my own hand. Then there were preparations for the 
 grand day : calling on Monsieur de Grote, the official who 
 had charge of the accommodation for foreign journalists ; 
 interviewing the head of the telegraph bureau, explaining 
 my requirements, and depositing a sum of money to cover 
 what I imagined would be the extent of my message. 
 At my last interview with Mr. Bennett I had arranged, 
 instead of wiring to London and through the Anglo- 
 American cable, to send my message direct to the Paris 
 office of the Ilendd, and that it should be thence trans- 
 mitted by the French cable. I knew that the London cor- 
 respondence would sufficiently occupy the London Avires 
 to make tlie safe transmission of my message a matter of 
 doubt. 
 
 The marriage ceremony took place at noon on the 23d 
 January, at the Winter Palace, and was a most magnifi- 
 cent sight. The peculiarity of the Russian costume, the 
 combination of sumjttuous velvet and magnificent furs, 
 with a vast numbi-r, among llie ladies, of superb dia- 
 monds, was very striking, nor did I ever see such a mass 
 of uniforms. Looking down from the gallery especially
 
 IN THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 421 
 
 devoted to the correspondents, the only two persons not 
 in uniform I could see among the crowd of people throng- 
 ing the aisle were the American diplomatists. After the 
 ceremonies in the Winter Palace of the Russian Church, 
 the Anglican wedding -service was performed by Dean 
 Stanley in the Hall Alexander, a place only remarkable 
 for its very cramped proportions and poor decorations. 
 It was here that the Empress - mother, being overcome 
 with emotion, had to sit down, and nearly fainted at the 
 conclusion of the service w^hen the newly - married pair 
 came to salute her. In the stampede from this place the 
 crush was terrific, and there were nearly some fatal acci- 
 dents. From our position we could look down upon the 
 crowd, which, with its variegated uniforms — scarlet, lilac 
 and silver, white and gold, the grand kaftans, colored 
 turbans, and flowing robes from Bokhara and Samarcand, 
 dotted here and there with enormous cuirassiers of the 
 Imperial Guard, their silver helmets mounted by golden 
 eagles — formed an extraordinary combination of color 
 and brilliancy. Old General Kauffmann, the hero of 
 Khiva, an immense popular favorite at the time, got en- 
 tangled in this crowd, and, being short and feeble, might 
 have come to serious grief had not his position been seen 
 by the Czarowitz, who plunged headlong into the mass 
 and personally rescued the old gentleman. 
 
 It was four o'clock before, terribly faint and weary, I 
 got back to my hotel, and had to set to work at once. 
 My orders were to send about twelve hundred words ; a 
 message of such an indicative character and so framed 
 that it could be amplified by those who received it. By 
 5.15 I sent off eight hundred and eighteen words, and 
 three - quarters of an hour later another three hundred 
 and eighty-six words, making in all twelve hundred and 
 four words. I was, of coui'se, particularly anxious as to 
 the fate of my work, and was not reassured until the fol- 
 lowing morning, when I received a telegram from Paris, 
 signed by Mr. Grenvillc IMurray, Mr. Russell Young, and 
 Mr. Saner, announcing that the whole message had gone 
 safely through, and offering me hearty congratulations.
 
 422 FIFTY YEAES OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 I suppose they were deserved, for a leading article in the 
 Herald, printed simultaneously with the message the next 
 morning, said of my account, that " in point of terseness 
 and vigor of language, in vivid portraiture of one of the 
 greatest spectacles of the century, it had scarcely, if ever, 
 been equalled in our journalism ;" and I received a special 
 letter of thanks from Mr. Bennett. 
 
 I also, on the same evening, telegraphed three hundred 
 words to the Scotsman. 
 
 I remained yet a few days at St. Petersburg, and then 
 returned home, with Dr. Meadows as my pleasant travel- 
 ling companion. This was the last expedition of any mo- 
 ment which I undertook at the instance of the Herald 
 proj^riotary, though I remained in their service for more 
 than a year afterwards. I attended whatever of import- 
 ance was going on in London ; I wrote a weekly letter 
 descriptive of the ordinary course of affairs here ; I sent 
 book and picture notices, and wrote on current topics of 
 literature and art ; I went to Ireland once or twice — on 
 the last occasion in the spring of '75, when I interviewed 
 John Mitchel, the patriot convict, who had just returned 
 from America, who was in extremely feeble health, and 
 who died within a few days of my seeing him. 
 
 But by this time my own journal l^he World, which I 
 had started eight or ten months previously, had so grown 
 in importance as to warrant my looking upon it as being 
 fairly established, and it made such claims upon my time 
 that it Avould have been impossible for me to have left 
 London for more than two or three days, while it was 
 equally impossible to allow Mr. Bennett to be under the 
 inij)res8ion tliat he had still the command of ray time. I 
 Ihcroforc ])laced myself in communication with him, an- 
 nouncing my wish to be relieved oi" the ai>j)ointnient which 
 I had now held for more than two years, and giving my 
 reasons for tendering my resignation. Mr. Bennett met 
 me in the kindest and most liberal way, thanked me for 
 th<! services whicli I liad rendered to his journal, and en- 
 closed a check for three months' salary, " in lieu," as he 
 said, " of a quarter's notice," though there was nothing
 
 m THE "HERALD'S" TABARD. 423 
 
 in our agreement to render such a payment obligatory on 
 his part. 
 
 And thus pleasantly closed an engagement, during the 
 fulfilment of which I enjoyed much happiness, and greatly 
 extended my knowledge of the world.
 
 424 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE, 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "the world." 
 
 While engaged in Mr. Bennett's service I could not 
 avoid the feeling that the work which I was called upon 
 to do for the Neio York Herald, though well remunerated, 
 pleasant, exciting, and amusing, was, so far as its physical 
 requirements were concerned, more suitable for a man in 
 the vigor of youth than one who had attained his middle 
 age. While there is nothing so pleasant as travelling for 
 pleasure, starting when you like, stopping when you like, 
 and diversifying your route according to your inclination, 
 there is little more harassing than being at the beck and 
 call of any one, liable to be sent to the ends of Europe at 
 an hour's notice, and nothing more fatiguing than a mo- 
 notonous journey of many hours for purely business pur- 
 poses. 
 
 In the year 1873, between the beginning of May and 
 the end of December, without taking into account the 
 enormous journeying I had done in the States and my 
 voyage over the Atlantic, I crossed and rccrosscd the 
 English Channel sixteen times in this year, and was only 
 at home two months out of the twelve. The Buccoeding 
 year opened with my visit to St, Petersburg, on the occa- 
 Bion of the Duke of Edinburgh's wedding, and tliough 
 there was no actual prospect of my being called away so 
 much, at any time the contingency miglit arise, I began 
 to feel, tlierefore, with tlie burglar intruded upon by Mrs. 
 I^ardigle'.s family, that I w%anted an end to this. But I 
 did not see how conveniently it could be brought about. 
 When T first entertained the idea of seeking em])loyment 
 from Mr. Bennett, it was to act in the capacity of his Lon- 
 don correspondent, but I was in no position then to de- 
 cline the travelling and general European work which he
 
 "THE WORLD." 425 
 
 desired me to undertake ; moreover, such an appointment 
 as I held, with an excellent salary attached to it, was very 
 seldom to be obtained. To a young unmarried man no 
 more delightful berth could have been offered, and I felt 
 that it would be madness in me to make even a suggestion 
 of an alteration in the work until I had arranged for my- 
 self an ecjuivalcnt on which I could fall back. 
 
 These were not the only motives by which I was 
 prompted to overhaul my resources and see whether any- 
 thing could be made of them. The demon Douht under 
 whose dominion I had passed so many anxious hours be- 
 fore resigning my situation in the Post-office had again 
 got me in his grip. How long should I continue to hold 
 this new appointment ? Would my health last ? Should 
 I be able to give equal satisfaction to my employer when 
 the novelty of my style had ceased to interest his read- 
 ers ? Were not the advantages, many and great as they 
 were, of my position almost counterbalanced by the ne- 
 cessity of my frequent absences from home, and what 
 was virtually the break-up of my domestic life? Final- 
 ly, what could I do to insure a decent livelihood unac- 
 companied by the drawbacks of my then mode of life ? 
 
 Now, I had for years had a feeling, confirmed by in- 
 disputable experience, that the contributions which, dur- 
 ing my long apprenticeship to journalism, I had supplied 
 to various periodicals with which I had been connected 
 had undoubtedly been of service to my employers. From 
 the early days of the Weekly Chronicle to the last "Fla- 
 neur " /e?«7^e<o?i in the Morning Star my work had inva- 
 riably attracted notice, comment, and criticism, favorable 
 or unfavorable, according to the taste and temper of the 
 commentator, but it had never gone unregarded, and had 
 always been thought worth the money it earned by those 
 who paid for it. Light and flippant, wanting in dignity 
 and tone, it may have been ; personal in the inoffensive 
 sense of the word it undoubtedly was, but it was, I hope, 
 neither vulgar, scurrilous, malignant, nor vindictive; above 
 all, it was amusing, and that was a quality which, to the 
 majority of newspaper proprietors and editors of those 
 days, was stamped with the mark of the Beast. With
 
 426 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 their readers it was different ; to them the tiniest thread- 
 like rivulet of fancy in the midst of a dreary desert of 
 fact was acceptable, and eagerly seized upon. 
 
 So, possessing this belief in myself, I had, after much 
 laborious excogitation, come to the idea that a new and 
 original journal, wholly differing in style from anything 
 then existent, might have a tolerable chance of success. 
 I never for one moment thought that frivolous chatter 
 of the kind I have indicated, however M'ell done, was 
 sufficient in itself to constitute a newspaper — that is an 
 error which has been proved to be such many times both 
 before and since the epoch of which I am writing. The 
 chatter, in itself bald and bad, has been unsustained by 
 anything of good ; but my opinion was that all the light 
 and gossipy news of the day, properly winnowed and 
 attractively set forth, backed by good political and social 
 articles, written in a bolder, freer, and less turgid style 
 than that with Avhich such topics were commonly han- 
 dled, with first-rate dramatic, literary, and musical criti- 
 cism, all laid on different lines from those then existing, 
 would form a journalistic amalgam -which would most 
 probably hit the public taste. Years before, while still 
 in the service of the Post-office, I had conceived and 
 cherished this scheme ; but in those days I had not mere- 
 ly no capital, but no time to devote to its exploitation. 
 But it was destined to be carried out, and it was — thus : 
 
 Some six or seven years before, at the dijiner-table of 
 Mr. Bellow, I had made the acciuaiutancc of ]\Ir. Gren- 
 ville Murray, of whom I had heard much, often from 
 Dickens and others, and whom I consequently regarded 
 with great interest. A man in ])erson small, and dark 
 complexion, with curly hair l)egiiiiiing to turn gray ; in 
 manner vivacious and fascinating, glib of speech, felici- 
 tous in illustration, and conversable on all topics. After 
 our introduction he came round and seated liimseli" by 
 me, and we talked earnestly for an hour. T ha<l, of 
 course, no idea of how my future! was to be inlluenced 
 by n»y new .'icf|uaintancc, and when not listening to him 
 1 was occnipied in thinking of his past. 
 
 Born with a bar sinister, but always understood to be
 
 "THE WORLD." 427 
 
 the sou of an Engliish duke, whose character and surround- 
 ings he depicted with frightful fidelity in his novel of 
 "Young Brown," Grenville Murray, under the auspices of 
 Lord Palraerston, for whose interest in him there were 
 special reasons, received an appointment in the Foreign 
 Office, and was sent out as attache to Lord Westmoreland 
 at Vienna. According to the current story, he had pri- 
 vately obtained Lord Palmerston's permission to act as 
 correspondent for the Morning Post in the city to which 
 he was accredited, but his letters having miscarried, the 
 secret was discovered ; and though Mr. Murray was not 
 dismissed, he was, at Lord Westmoreland's indignant pro- 
 test, recalled from Vienna. He was then appointed at- 
 tache to the British Embassy at Constantinople, of which 
 Sir Stratford Canning was the head, and a rumor of the 
 Vienna escapades having, it is sujDposed, reached that able 
 but irritable martinet, Mr. Murray was sent temporarily 
 to fill the vice-consulship at Mitylene, which was looked 
 upon as quasi-banishment. From this retreat he wrote 
 and sent to Household Words, then just established, a 
 series of admirable sketches of Greek and Turkish life 
 and character, called "The Roving Englishman," which 
 were immediately published and eagerly read. But for 
 a certain limited portion of the public they had another 
 interest, of which Dickens, who liked them greatly, was 
 wholly unaware. Under the title of Sir Hector Stubble, 
 Murray had drawn a merciless but unmistakable caricature 
 of the head of his embassy, Sir Stratford Canning ; so un- 
 mistakable was the portrait that the great man's enemies, 
 and naturally all his friends, fearful lest by any chance 
 the arrow aimed at his amour propre should miss its mark, 
 immediately forwarded him copies of the number contain- 
 ing this article, so that on the arrival of the English mail 
 of tliat day at Constantino])le, the usual bags of tlie For- 
 eign Office were found supplemented by an enormous num- 
 ber of newspaper sacks, all filled with copies of Household 
 Words. Sir Stratford Canning was furious, and when he 
 discovered who was his assailant his rage knew no bounds. 
 He determined that Mr. Murray should be condemned to 
 perpetual exile to Mitylene ; but the vice-consulship was
 
 428 FIFTY YEAES OF LOXDON LIFE. 
 
 Boon after filled up, and it was necessary to find some new 
 duties for the unwelcome attache. For some time he was 
 employed in carrying despatches between London and 
 Constantinople, but as it was evident at the Foreign Office 
 that the breach between him and Sir Stratford Canning 
 could never be healed, Mr. Murray received an appoint- 
 ment as Consul-general at Odessa. 
 
 Thither he proceeded, and there he remained for ten 
 years, jeopardizing his position and rendering himself a 
 nuisance in the eyes of his official superiors in Downing 
 Street by waging a constant warfare with the English 
 merchants in the place in regard to certain fees which he 
 claimed as his due, and the payment of which they re- 
 sisted. Finally, Lord Derby, then Secretary for Foreign 
 Affairs, being appealed to, gave his judgment against the 
 Consul-general's claim, thereby earning undying hostility 
 of the implacable Murray, who, throwing up his appoint- 
 ment and coming back to England, assumed his journal- 
 istic pursuits, in the discharge of which he never lost an 
 opportunity of attacking his foe. 
 
 When I met Grenville Murray at Mr. Bellew's table 
 our chat was for the most part on undefined subjects, 
 although I think I mentioned to him the })leasure Avith 
 which I had read " The Roving Englisliman," and told 
 him the story related to me by Wills of tlie arrival of 
 the newspai)er sacks of Household Words at the Con- 
 stantinople Embassy, at which Murray laughed much, 
 professing to hear it for the first time. Afterwards I 
 ])rc'sented him to Mrs. Yates, and in the course of a gas- 
 ironomic discussion invited us to an afternoon tea at his 
 chambers in the Albany, where he promised us extra de- 
 licious coffee and Neapolitan ice supplied and prepared by 
 liis Italian valet. This promise was more than specifical- 
 ly perfonnod. 
 
 I saw Mr. Murray half a dozen times after this ; but 
 though he was then generally credited with the editor- 
 f^hij), and indeed with most of the productions, of the 
 Queeti's Messcntjer, a bitterly satirical journal of those 
 days, he never atlmittcd the fact to mc. On one or two 
 occattiona when the newspaper was named, he si)oke of it
 
 "THE WORLD." 429 
 
 as though it were the property of a syndicate for whom 
 he acted as agent. In June, 1869, there appeared in the 
 Queen's Messenger an article entitled " Bob Coachington 
 and Lord Jarvey," which was considered by the present 
 Lord Carrington to cast aspersions on his deceased father. 
 Acting upon the current impression that Grenville Murray 
 was the person responsible for the paper, Lord Carrington 
 waited outside the Conservative Club, of which Mr. Mur- 
 ray was a member, and assaulted him as he emerged. A 
 charge of assault was preferred against Lord Carrington 
 by Mr. Murray, which was heard on the 7th July at the 
 Marlborough Street police-court. Here is what appears 
 in reference to the affair in Irving's " Annals of Our 
 Time :" "After much wrangling Mr. Murray denied the 
 authorship of the article, but declined to answer the ques- 
 tion relating to his connection with the j)aper. A number 
 of letters, articles in manuscript, and corrected proofs of 
 articles were shown to him, but he declined to say whether 
 they were in his handwriting. He admitted that he had 
 written some articles in the Queen''s Messenger, but said 
 he would rather have cut off his right hand than have 
 written others. Lord Carrington was ultimately bound 
 over to keep the peace in reference to one summons, and 
 committed to trial for the second, charging assault. At 
 the close of the proceedings a disgraceful struggle took 
 place between the friends of the contending parties for 
 the possession of a box containing papers belonging to 
 the Quee?7^s 3Iessenger, and said to have been improperly 
 transferred to the keeping of Lord Carrington's solicitor, 
 Mr. Newman." Ten days later Lord Carrington preferred 
 a charge of perjury against Mr. Grenville Murray in con- 
 nection with his denial of the authorship of certain arti- 
 cles in the Queen^s Ifessenger. The case was remanded, 
 Mr. Murray being admitted to bail in heavy recognizances. 
 On the 29th July, the day of remand, Mr. Murray failed 
 to appear, and — I again quote Irving — " the police magis- 
 trate refusing to give credence to the plea of sudden at- 
 tack of illness in Paris, whither he was said to have gone 
 to see his son, his recognizances were ordered to be es- 
 treated, and a warrant issued f-or his apprehension."
 
 430 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Grenville Murray never set foot on English shore again. 
 He established himself in Paris, in delightful quarters in 
 the Rue de I'lJniversite in the Faubourg St. Germain, 
 where he carried on, it is believed, a complete literary 
 manufactory, all the work being suggested, supervised, 
 and occasionally retouched by the master -hand. Cur- 
 rency is given to this story by the impossibility of the 
 fact of all the work credited to him simultaneously spring- 
 ins: from one brain and one hand. He was at once novel- 
 ist, descriptive essayist, leader - writer, and compiler of 
 statistical research in a dozen different quarters. He con- 
 tributed regularly to the Daily News, he sent seven or 
 eight closely printed columns, dealing with all kinds of 
 subjects, every week to the New York Herald, of which, 
 at my introduction, he had been appointed Paris corre- 
 spondent. His sketches of Parisian and French provincial 
 life in the Pall Mall Gazette were imbued with special 
 knowledge, and formed most delightful reading. His 
 novel " The Member for Paris " had a large circulation ; 
 and when " Young Brown " appeared in the pages of the 
 Cornhill it caused an immediate sensation. Besides his 
 English and American work, he was believed to be a reg- 
 ular contributor to the Debats, and an occasional corre- 
 spondent of the Figaro and other Parisian papers. 
 
 Such was the man to whom, having always experienced 
 at his hands the greatest courtesy and politeness, with a 
 certain amount of deference, certainly not due from a 
 leader so much older and abler than myself, I one day, in 
 crossing the Place de la Concorde, explained my dreams 
 of "what might have been" had I only possessed a little 
 capital and a little courage. He had been shambling along 
 by my side in his usual common straw-hat and shabby 
 shooting-coat — "one comfort," he used to say — " one com- 
 fort in living among these frogs" — he always spoke of 
 Frcnchnien as frogs — " is that no one cares a rap what 
 kind of clothes you wear"— but when I ceased speaking 
 he stopped, sat down on tlic edge of one of the fountain 
 basins, and looking at me witli his always keenly bright 
 eycH, rapidly askccl me some half-dozen questions, to 
 which I r(i)lied. We resumed our walk, and went to his
 
 "THE WORLD." 431 
 
 quarters in the Rue de I'Universite. There he ran over 
 all I had said, asked whether it would be agreeable to me 
 to take him as a partner in the suggested enterprise, of 
 the success of which he had no doubt, suggested that cer- 
 tain inquiries should be made by me on my return to 
 England, whither I was going the next day, and sent me 
 off in the happiest frame of excited hope. The question 
 of capital he had disposed of in his usual impressive way : 
 we could each produce some two or three hundred pounds, 
 he said, to make a start, and before that was expended 
 our combined efforts would have speeded our venture far 
 on the high-road to success. 
 
 It may be imagined that I returned home with my mind 
 sufficiently full, and that there was no lack of subjects for 
 domestic discussion. The first question was, of course, 
 the amount of money to be hazarded. Mr. Murray had 
 said two or three hundred pounds, and it was finally agreed 
 that ray contribution should not exceed the latter sum. I 
 had also promised to make inquiries respecting printer, 
 publishing offices, contributors, etc. The first matter was 
 easily disposed of. I obtained an estimate from Messrs. 
 Robson & Sons, with whom I had become connected in 
 the year 1860 as printers of Temple Bar, by whom every 
 novel of mine, Avith the exception of one, had been printed 
 since. A publisher and publishing - office were found 
 through the medium of Mr. Goodlake, for so many years 
 the printer of the Times, who recommended me to apply 
 to Mr. Arnold of 86 Fleet Street, whom I found occupy- 
 ing the very premises in which twenty years previously 
 my first book had been issued by Mr. Bogue. As to the 
 question of contributors, I made a mental list of persons 
 I intended to apply to, but I thought that could well 
 stand over until Ave had made some further progress in 
 our arrangements. Meanwhile, requested by Mr. Murray 
 to find a title, I proposed Tlie ^Yorld: A Journal for Men 
 and Women, which he immediately accepted. 
 
 When I returned to Paris I found Grenville Murray 
 more enthusiastic than ever on the subject of our proposed 
 enterprise. " Together," he was pleased to say, " we could 
 carry anything before us." There was to be no "jour-
 
 432 FIFTY YEAKS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 nalese," such as was to be found in every newspaper ; al- 
 ways to be fresh, original, and piquant. We had gone 
 into the question of finance, and thought that a capital of 
 five hundred pounds would be quite enough to start with: 
 this was to be cut uj) by two equal contributions on his 
 part and mine of two hundred and fifty pounds, and the 
 result was to be our joint property. As to the question of 
 editorship, that could only be settled in one way. It was 
 impossible for him to come to England, where the paper 
 was to be published, and therefore it must be edited by 
 me. " You are to be a despot, my dear fellow," he said, 
 pleasantly, " with whole, sole, undivided control." I re- 
 member smiling as he said this, for tliough I was consider- 
 ably the younger, yet he was, or seemed to be, much more 
 sanguine, and I thought it a good oi^portunity to say some- 
 thing which had been in my mind. I told him then that 
 while I had long believed him to be the ablest journalist 
 in Europe, I was almost convinced of one thing — that the 
 ill-treatment, as he imagined, he had received at the hands 
 of Lord Derby and some of the subordinate officials in 
 Downing Street had had such an effect upon liis mind that 
 it was as impossible for him to keep damaging allusions to 
 them out of his writings as it was Mr. Dick to keep " men- 
 tion of King Charles the First's head " out of his memo- 
 rial. I took occasion to say that persistent and reiterated 
 attacks of the kind would naturally militate against the 
 success of the new venture in certain important quarters, 
 and I implored him to guard against falling into the snare. 
 Murray laughed good-naturedly at the " Mr. Dick " allu- 
 sion, declaring that all ill-feeling against the persons I 
 have named had died out, and that he was perfectly to be 
 trusted in the matter ; but, he added, even if he were to 
 l>e seduced into such a lapse, my full powers as editor 
 would enable me to deal despotically with the affair. 
 
 All these various points duly taken into consideration 
 and discussed, we had, we thought, sufficient material for 
 an agreement, which was sketched out, in which they 
 were all enumerated, with the further proviso that in 
 the event of any serious difference of opinion in which 
 the conduct of the paj^er was involved, arising between
 
 "THE WORLD." 433 
 
 the two persons, reference should be made to an arbi- 
 trator, either Mr. W. H. Wills, formerly of Household 
 Words, or Mr. J. R. Robinson being requested to act in 
 that capacity, the arbitrator's decision to be final. 
 
 The value of this proviso was soon proved. After a 
 few weeks Mr. Murray, always writing splendidly, began 
 to attack his foes Lord Derby and Mr. Bidwell of the 
 Foreign Office. I ventured a remonstrance, and the at- 
 tacks ceased, to be resumed very shortly with increased 
 virulence. Exercising my power, I struck out some strong 
 expressions ; Mr. Murray protested. A very strong article 
 I suppressed. Then ensued a long correspondence ; and 
 as the impossibility of continuing the " dual control " 
 seemed to be evident, we agreed that Mr. Murray should 
 retire from the partnership, the amount to be paid him 
 for his original advance (£350) being, in the then circum- 
 stances and prospects of the Journal, assessed by a pro- 
 fessional valuer at £3000. From the beginning of 1875 
 The World has been wholly mine, and under my sole 
 management. 
 
 "When I returned to England I took back with me a 
 draft prospectus of the new paper, the whole of which, 
 with the exception of one paragraph, was Grenville Mur- 
 ray's idea. I subjoin it: 
 
 "THE WORLD: A JOURNAL FOR MEN AND WOMEN. 
 " Every Wednesday," price Sixpence. 
 
 " Some men of letters purpose to create a periodical of a sort hitherto 
 unknown in this great country. 
 
 " They expect an ample remuneration for their work, and will give the 
 public solid value for its money. 
 
 " The price of the phenomenon now introduced to society will be six- 
 pence. 
 
 " The World will be an amusing chronicle of current history, divested of 
 the nonsense which has hitherto stuck hke treacle to public business, so 
 that apparently it could not be touched with clean hands. 
 
 " The World will contain a summary of everything worth notice in liter- 
 ature, art, and society ; and will, for a just consideration, print advertise- 
 
 * My selection of Wednesday as day of publication was very lucky ; for 
 on Saturday, the alternative day, Messrs. Smith's book-stalls are entirely 
 occupied, 
 
 19
 
 434 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 ments in a new and striking form. Politics, and even Parliamentary pro- 
 ceedings deserving of attention, will sometimes be discussed from any point 
 of view from which there is a clearer prospect or less of fog than is usual. 
 They will be good-naturedly removed from that queer eminence to which 
 they have been hoisted by official vanity and departmental advertisements ; 
 they will be restored in safety to the proper place which good-sense as- 
 signs them iu the concerns of nations ; they will be made intelligible to 
 rational persons, over whose minds at present they have little authority 
 and less influence. 
 
 " An Acrostic will be composed weekly to promote female education, 
 and be printed conjointly with an elegant Essay suitable for mature ladies 
 of quality. 
 
 " Tlie World will publish that rarest of all things — candid reviews of 
 good books, good plays, good pictures, and discoveries iu science, treat- 
 ing them as the natural expression of the highest form of intellect, and 
 actually bestowing honest praise on living genius. 
 
 " TlvR World will give the latest intelligence from the Turf, the Hunt- 
 ing-field, and the Stock Exchange, and will vastly surprise those who are 
 wont to look upon Sport and City in their conventional aspect. 
 
 " The World will publish entertaining Fictions without any admixture 
 of twaddle ; and the first of its serial tales will be a Novel of Society, by 
 a New Writer, born in Grosvenor Square, expressly to delight Belgravia. 
 
 •' The World has pleasant tidings for the Court and the Aristocracy. It 
 will receive contributions from people of rank who know anything worth 
 communicating, and who can write a legible hand. The spelling and gram- 
 mar of nobility will be corrected, and manuscripts, when done with, will 
 be discreetly buried at midnight during a thunder-.storm, in order that the 
 capital sin of possessing intellect may never be brought home to any- 
 body. 
 
 " Fair in its criticism, plain in its language, honorable iu its intentions, 
 written throughout by gentlemen and scholars — such will be The World, 
 which is now presented to the public as an experiment wholly new in 
 journalism. 
 
 "Office: 80 Fleet Street, E. C." 
 
 This prospectus I had at once printed and circulated 
 among the various newspaper offices and Kuch people as 
 I thought interested by it. It was generally voted very 
 clever and extremely impudent. The prospectus was also 
 inserted as an advertisement in the Saturday Review, the 
 Spectator, and a few other journals, but I do not think I 
 have ever paid more than seventy pounds for advertising 
 Tlie World from its first number to the present day. 
 
 Now as to the contributors. Some six or seven years 
 previously, a young genlleman n.tmed Escott, fresh from 
 Oxford, had e.illcd upon me at the Post-office with a let-
 
 "THE WORLD." 435 
 
 ter of introduction from Tom Hood, and had intimated 
 his desire for furnishing me with some articles for Tetn2)le 
 Bar. These ai'ticles had been written and approved of ; 
 and though I liad not seen much of my young friend for 
 some time, I had sufficient remembrance of his special 
 gifts to induce me to beg for his collaboration in my new 
 venture. I had also sent a prospectus to Mr. Henry La- 
 bouchere, with whom I had a slight acquaintance, and 
 whose services as a literary free-lance might, I thought, 
 be utilized. Some days after I saw Mi*. Labouchere on the 
 Cup Day at Ascot, seated on the box of a coach. I asked 
 him if he had heard from me, and he said, " Oh yes," add- 
 ing that " he thought the programme was very funny." 
 
 " But," I said, " will you help us in carrying it out — 
 will you be one of us?" 
 
 " You don't mean to say," he replied, " that you actu- 
 ally mean to start a paper of the kind set forth ?" 
 
 I told him most assuredly we did, and that we wanted 
 his assistance. He laughed more than ever, and said he 
 would let me know about that. A few days after I heard 
 from him, proposing to write a series of City articles, 
 which he actually oomraeuced in the second number. 
 
 Among my earlier contributors were Dr. Birkbeck Hill 
 and the Earl of Winchilsea, who through the first three 
 months of our existence obliged me with some excellent 
 articles on racing and the turf generally; M. Camille Bar- 
 rere, an old acquaintance of mine, now French Minister in 
 Egypt, then an exile in England, a man, as he has subse- 
 quently shown, of great ability, who writes our language 
 with as much precision as he speaks it. His first article, on 
 the " Communists in London," was full of novel and inter- 
 esting information. Valuable assistance was also received 
 from Mrs. Lynn Linton, who contributed to the first num- 
 ber an article entitled " Jezebel d la mode,^'' written very 
 much in her well-known " Girl of the Period" style; F. I. 
 Scudamore, who from our commencement almost to the day 
 of his death was a most welcome contributor, and whose 
 " Songs of the Session " are among his very best work. 
 Mr. W. H. Lucy, Mr. Archibald Forbes, and Mr. J. Comyns 
 Carr soon rallied to the standard. Mr. Hermann Mori-
 
 436 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 vale's contributions were in verse, though he afterwards 
 sent me a series of prose articles; and Mr. Mortimer 
 Collins, completely seizing upon the ideas intended to be 
 conveyed in the prospectus, distilled them for the first 
 number into a sparkling set of verses, which I am tempted 
 to give: 
 
 "THE WORLD, THE FLESH, AND THE DEVIL. 
 
 "a trilogy. 
 
 " Lo, here our banner unfurled, 
 
 We are ready for tourney or revel ; 
 What in the world says the World 
 
 Of the World and the Flesh and the Devil? 
 
 " THE WORLD. 
 " The World ! God made it, and fair it is ; 
 Ah, why do we spoil it — why ? 
 It is not merely the splutter of fizz, 
 
 Or the lurid Hght of a wicked eye ; 
 'Tis the world of men who are true and strong. 
 
 The world of women both sweet and fair; 
 And the men of the world who sway the throng 
 Breathe healthful air. 
 
 " The World ! where Science and Art alert 
 
 Have ample space of elbow-room ; 
 Where Fashion, the gay minx, comes to flirt, 
 
 Chasing away all forms of gloom ; 
 Where Genius easily finds his way, 
 
 And leads the life of the rapid hour; 
 For the World is wiser grown to-day, 
 
 And bends to power. 
 
 "Beautiful World ! we will mirror you — 
 
 Catch every beauty, each gay caprice. 
 The ladies' latest changeable hue, 
 
 The fanciful follies that cannot cease. 
 Political epigram, opera-song, 
 
 The poet's madness, the bride's soft tear: 
 All these tilings to the World belong — 
 
 You'll find them here. 
 
 "THE FLESH. 
 
 "Youth, tell thy dream : is it indeed a glory 
 To waste thy appetite on husks of swine? 
 Read in an ancient book an old, old story; 
 
 True, tluiiigh sonic ciiviilcrH deem il not divine.
 
 "THE WORLD." 437 
 
 " Youth, in this day of fastness, wildly fast is ; 
 The model editor who writes for youth 
 Follows (a long way oif) Ecclesiastes, 
 And modestly attempts to preach the truth. 
 
 " He says, ' Although in thee the innate sin bum 
 Which bother'd me and many other wights, 
 Don't spend your mornings gloating over Swinburne, 
 And don't stay out so very late o' nights. 
 
 " ' You haven't got Jack Falstaff's sterling sinew ; 
 These weaker days have made you weakhng cubs : 
 If to stay up to midnight you continue, 
 I'll hint to Mr. Cross to close the Clubs.' 
 
 " Thus the new Solomon : experto crede. 
 
 His prototype was caught in many a mesh ; 
 Youth, if you'd not be permanently seedy, 
 Eschew the gross temptations of the flesh. 
 
 "THE DEVIL. 
 
 "The Devil of old was Lucifer, 
 
 Bearer of light to the central Throne ; 
 He set rebellious fire astir; 
 He fell with a groan. 
 
 " Now Lucifer seems to have had his day ; 
 He's out of the firm, and takes his ease, 
 And his junior partner comes in to play — 
 Mephistopheles. 
 
 " The Devil who simpers and sneers and grins 
 Reviews in the Saturday, does his worst 
 To make great crimes of our smaller sins— 
 A Fiend accurst. 
 
 " Let us kick him out, with an easy laugh, 
 
 From the rooms where our books and friends we meet, 
 And our afternoons of classic chaff. 
 Make life complete. 
 
 " We'll have our picnics and kettledrums, 
 And lazy loiterings under the trees: 
 Be off, poor fiend, to the World's back slums, 
 Mephistopheles." 
 
 When we were eight months old a powerful reinforce- 
 ment came to me in the person of Mr. Henry W. Lucy, 
 whose admirable parliamentary sketches, "Under the
 
 438 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 Clock," instantly commanded attention. For a year the 
 dramatic criticisms were my work, but as soon as Mr, 
 Dutton Cook was free from the engagement which he 
 then held for the Pall Mall Gazette, he was good enough 
 to relieve me of the duties, which he discharged until his 
 lamented death just twelve months ago. The first serial 
 novel in The World, " A Decree Nisi," was written by 
 me; my successors have been Mr, Wilkie Collins, Messrs. 
 Rice and Besant, mth " The Golden Butterfly," perhaps, 
 as their ehef-d'ceuvre, Miss Braddon, Major Hawley Smart, 
 Mrs. Forrester, and others. The World, too, supplies the 
 only instance in my memory in which a journal was hon- 
 ored by the Ti77ies with the quotation of an article in full, 
 the name of the publication being given with a couple of 
 laudatory lines of introduction. The article in question 
 was called " Modern Cavalry," and was written for me by 
 Colonel Valentine Baker, 
 
 But I am unduly advancing my story. The first num- 
 ber of The World appeared on the 8th July, 1874, and was 
 not received with any strongly emphasized welcome. Its 
 sale, indeed, was very limited, and its advertisements were 
 practically nil. Mr. Grenville Murray had a strong belief 
 in the reclame system so common in France, by which an 
 advertiser's name and object for advertising are judi- 
 ciously mixed up with a pointed anecdote or telling sketch. 
 He was most anxious that this system should be intro- 
 duced by us, and it was accordingly tried, but proved the 
 direst failure. The British commercial interests failed to 
 see the point of the joke, and looked upon the mixing up 
 of practical trade announcements and insinuating fiction 
 as *' barefaced impudence " and " regular humbug," so that 
 after a trial of two or three weeks they were abandoned. 
 But no other advertisers came in their places, and for 
 several weeks the sale of the numbers was intinitesimally 
 small. At the same time all judges of journalism allowed 
 the new aspirant to be bright, clever, and entirely original. 
 Mr. Grenville Murray's large knowledge of men and cities 
 found scope in his "Portrails in Oil," and in his articles 
 commenting on current events abroad and at home; Mr. 
 Escott's political articles were acknowledged to be pointed
 
 "THE WORLD." 439 
 
 and incisive; while Mr. Labouchere was dealing with City 
 matters in a way in which they had never been dealt be- 
 fore, and ruthlessly attacking and denouncing Mr. Samp- 
 son, the City editor of the Times, whose position and virtue 
 had hitherto been considered impregnable. All these feat- 
 ures, with the excellence of the paper and printing and 
 general appearance of the journal, received due apprecia- 
 tion from our provincial confrh^es and the " trade ;" but 
 as yet they seemed to have made no impression on the 
 public. We were in the desperate position of having a 
 good article to sell without the power of making that fact 
 known; nine-tenths of the newspaper-buying public had 
 absolutely no knowledge of our existence; and although 
 my partner and I had each subscribed another hundred 
 pounds to the capital fund, a couple of thousand pounds 
 would not have been too much to have expended in judi- 
 cious advertising. 
 
 At last, and just in the nick of time, we obtained the 
 requisite public notice, and without paying anything for 
 it. A stock-broker, and a member of the Stock Exchange, 
 who conceived himself likely to be attacked for certain 
 practices by Mr. Labouchere in the City article, threatened 
 to horsewhip that gentleman should such observations 
 appear, and Mr. Labouchere had the would-be assailant 
 brought before the Lord Mayor for threatening to commit 
 a breach of the peace. The case was really a trivial one, 
 and it was settled by the defendant being bound over in 
 sureties for his good behavior. But it had been argued 
 at full length, each side being represented by eminent law- 
 yers. Mr. Thesiger, Q.C., afterwards a Lord Justice of 
 Ai)peal, appeared for the defendant, and Mr. George Lewis 
 for Mr. Labouchere. A great deal was said about The 
 World, and its determination to purge Capel Court of all 
 engaged in iniquitous dealings, and all that was said was 
 reported at length in the daily papers, and verbatim in our 
 next issue. The effect was instantaneous ; the circulation 
 rose at once, and the next week showed a very large in- 
 crease of advertisements. 
 
 More satisfactory still was the result of another legal 
 case. A series of articles exposing the tricks and frauds
 
 440 FIFTY YEARS OF LOXDOX LIFE. 
 
 of West End usurers, stripping them of their fancy titles, 
 and giving their real names and occupations, had creat- 
 ed a considerable amount of interest, and led to much 
 corresjjondence between The World office and parents 
 and others in charge of youth. Two of the fraternity, 
 who it is not now necessary to name, instituted proceed- 
 ings against The Wo)-ld for libel. The case came on in 
 the Guildhall police-court before Alderman Sir Thomas 
 Gabriel, the plaintiff being represented by Mr. Montagu 
 Williams and Mr. Douglas Straight, while Mr. George 
 Lewis appeared for the journal. Mr. Montagu Williams 
 had not held the Treasury briefs in those days, and was 
 much better in defence, to which he was more accus- 
 tomed, than attack, while Mr. Douglas Straight had 
 nothing to do but shake his head in a Lord Burleigh-like 
 manner at the impressive observations of his leader. 
 
 The case was adjourned ; and on the second day Mr. 
 Sergeant Parry struggled earnestly and impressively, but 
 without the least chance of success, to convince the pre- 
 siding magistrate and the public, which tlironged the 
 court, with the sense of our iniquity. On the contrary, 
 Mr. George Lewis's keen cross-examination had dragged 
 forth the disclosure of such damasxinec facts on behalf of 
 the plaintiffs that it seemed to bo generally admitted that 
 in commenting on their proceedings 27ie Wo7'ld deserved 
 encouragement rather than I'eprobation. The case was 
 dismissed, and we left the court amid hearty cheers from 
 the ])ersons Avho were assembled outside. 
 
 Undoubtedly one of the most attractive features of 77/6 
 World is the series of "Celebrities at Home," of which 
 nearly four hundred specimens have already appeared, and 
 which seems to be practically inexhaustible. Granting 
 the correctness of Sir Ilonry Taylor's assertion, that "the 
 world knows nothing of its greatest men," had always 
 been my idea, and I thought that an introduction might 
 be acceptable to both parties. The silly idea that any 
 system of espionage would be practised, that admission 
 into liouses would be duly obtained, and that there would 
 be a general disclosure of skeletons in cui)])oards, was at 
 once set at rest. By the regulations laid down and in-
 
 "THE WORLD." 441 
 
 sisted upon from the first, that no person should be made 
 the subject of one of these articles without his or her 
 consent having been previously obtained, and without full 
 liberty, if they wished it, to inspect the article in proof 
 before it was published — with these safeguards, and with 
 a jealous care that the spirit with which they had been 
 written should always be maintained, it appears to me 
 that, for the historian of the future, these articles will 
 supply a want which must have been keenly felt by the 
 Macaulays and the Froudes ; will enable our descendants 
 to picture to themselves all the exact social surroundings 
 and daily lives and labors, the habits and manners, the 
 dress and appearance, of the men of mark in the present 
 day, such as is inadequately afforded even by the diaries 
 of Evelyn and Pepys, or the letters of Walpole. In these 
 articles are discharged the functions of a Boswell, with 
 a thousand patrons instead of one ; and as the wondrous 
 biography written by the Laird of Auchinleck interests 
 us not less from being the record of Johnson's sledge- 
 hammer dicta or profound philosophical opinions, as 
 the description of his daily life and personal habits, the 
 strange household nourished by his charity, his tricks of 
 post-touch and tea-drinking, and general method of toss- 
 ing and curing all those differing from him in opinion, so 
 I think it will be found that the historian of the future 
 will turn aside from volumes of Hansard and volumes of 
 polemical journals to find closer information about his 
 heroes in these descriptive essays. 
 
 With the exception of our Most Gracious Majesty, there 
 is scarcely a personage of importance in the present 
 day who does not find a niche in this series. On apply- 
 ing to H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, intimating that the 
 task of sketching him in his Sandringham home would, if 
 permission were granted, be confided to Mr. Archibald 
 Forbes, the Prince accorded immediate consent, with the 
 remark that he had pleasant personal acquaintance with 
 Mr, Forbes, and could well trust himself in his hands. 
 On the appearance of the article, his Royal Highness 
 was pleased to express his full approval of it. Intro- 
 duced by Sir Arthur Sullivan to the Duke of Edinburgh,
 
 442 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 I received his Royal Highness's gracious permission for 
 his inclusion in the series; and the Duke of Cambridge 
 was also good enough to allow himself to sit as a subject. 
 
 The leading members of nearly every reigning family 
 in Europe, presidents and statesmen of the French Re- 
 publics, army and navy officers, poets, peers, publicists, 
 leaders in all kinds of sport, members of the Bar and 
 lights of the pulpit, owners, jockeys, and trahiers of race- 
 horses, neai'ly every one who has played a conspicuous 
 part in the world, will be found fully described. 
 
 More than ten years have elapsed since The World 
 came into existence, more than eight since its unparal- 
 leled success was assured. The causes of that success are 
 easily explained. It was in the summer of 1874 that the 
 first specimen of The World was presented to the public. 
 If the prophets had been true it would have been very 
 nearly a solitary issue. It was an entirely novel experi- 
 ment, and for this reason it was pronounced to be, in some 
 quarters, a desperate one. Others, again, recognized in 
 it a return to the vilest usages of literary antiquity, and 
 pronounced that the spirit of the Age and the Satirist 
 had once more assumed typographical shape. All, or 
 most, of the critics and the seers were agreed that our 
 venture had not in it a month's vitality ; that the public 
 would resent the impertinence of its articles, its para- 
 graphs, and its methods generally, as an insult ; that it 
 was an importation of the worst principles of American 
 journalism into this country ; and that it was, in a word, 
 un-Kiiglish. But four weeks passed away ; we gradually 
 came to reckon our age by months ; none of the sinister 
 vaticinations were fulfilled. As a matter of fact The 
 World was less than half a year old when it was an as- 
 sured success. 
 
 From that time to this its record has been one of con- 
 tinued, increasing, and confirmed prosperity — a record on 
 Aviiich, however gratifying it may be to myself, ray read- 
 ers might fairly charge me witli tedious egotism if I were 
 parlicularly to dwell. 27ie World, in fact, which was first 
 pronounced a mischievous and perishable excrescence, is 
 now an institution. Instead of a print that English socie-
 
 "THE WORLD." 443 
 
 ty would never tolerate, would trample underfoot, would 
 cause to be burned by the common hangman, it is a jour- 
 nal as necessary to society in the capital and in the prov- 
 inces, in town and country, at home and abroad, within 
 and outside the four seas, as those vast broad-sheets which 
 are the contemporary chroniclers of humanity and its do- 
 ings from day to day. Much of the secret of its success 
 is to be found in its loyalty to the full scope of its title. 
 I have never been unmindful of the wants and interests 
 of every section of the English community. True to its 
 name, it has addressed itself urbi et orbi. " A Journal for 
 Men and Women," there has been infused into its columns 
 an element of human interest to which it had been previ- 
 ously supposed that women at least were indifferent. For 
 the first time ladies — who, in publications which claimed to 
 consult feminine idiosyncrasies exclusively, were hitherto 
 obliged to be content with recipes for cookery, hints for 
 illness, precepts for the nurture and training of infants, 
 patterns for needlework, and mild facetiae, culled from 
 the records of district visitors — now found a journal 
 which, proclaiming that it Avould not ignore them, inter- 
 preted their real wants, and supplied them too. 
 
 It is this adaptation of its contents to the necessities of 
 the time, and to the various conditions of society ; it is 
 the actuality which has refused mechanically to accept 
 purely conventional estimates of public feeling, that has 
 enabled 7%e World to secure, and then to retain, the fa- 
 vor of an immense body of readers. The letters which 
 reach me from every part of the world convey the pleas- 
 ant consciousness that The World succeeds, in giving a 
 social and political record, whose truth is as instinctively 
 recognized at the Antipodes as within the sound of Big 
 Ben. There is no quarter of the globe which the paper 
 fails to penetrate, and the reason is that each successive 
 number as it appears provides a faithful epitome, a genu- 
 ine concentration and amalgam of what those of our coun- 
 trymen and countrj' women, the officers and civilians, their 
 wives and daughters living under a foreign sun, want to 
 know ; of what they would actually hear and see if they 
 were at home.
 
 444 FIFTY YEARS OF LONDON LIFE. 
 
 This is a difficult and frequently, from the subject-mat- 
 ter with which it is necessary to deal, a delicate task. It 
 must be well, wholesomely, and carefully done, or it had 
 better not be done at all. That the public appreciate the 
 manner in which it is performed is shown by the excep- 
 tional support given to the efforts in the direction pointed 
 out. 
 
 THE END.
 
 ]
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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 iAR 1 3 1953 
 
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 OCT 15 1987 
 
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