Ki^ ^: -i V 'vl GEORGE CRUIKSHANK'S TABLE-BOOK. EDITED BY GILBERT ABBOTT A BECKETT. ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. LONDON : PUBLISHED AT THE PUNCH OFFICE, 92, FLEET STREET ; AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. ♦ SIDCCCXLV. LONDON : BIIADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIAIIS, LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SANTA BARBARA LIST OF STEEL ENGRAVINGS. The Triumph of Cuimd « 1 Claikvoyance 21 The Folly of Crime 45 A Young Lady's Vision of the London Season 69 The Demon of 1845 93 The Heads of the Table 117 Social Zoology 141 Social Zoology — Ornithology . . . . . . . . . . . 165 A Very Good Man, no doubt ; but a Bad Sailor 189 Return from a Trip on the Continent . . . . • . . . . 213 Mr. John Bull in a Quandary 237 The Railway Dragon 261 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ON WOOD, Etc. Running at the Ring Copy of an Ancient Seal The Meeting of the Bells The Flight of Literature Towing Path ..... Old Parr's Beard An Ancient Cup-bearer . Poverty versus Washing-houses . " Something like a Mutton Chop " The Bubble Blower Cutting down an Article . Christmas Waits " Linked sweetness long drawn out" Fashions for January The Glass of Fashion . Relieving a Gentleman from a State of Coma The Coast-Guard Mesmerised . Practical Mesmerism . Mesmeric Pincushion yEneas in the Shades . PAGE PAGE 1 The Hermit of Battersea . 32 2 Stage Bandits . . 34 3 The Stage Seaman . . 35 4 Fashions in tlie East . . . 37 5 Singleton in a State of Mental Ejaculation 41 6,7 A Small Family . 44 8 Domestic Encumbrances . . 44 11 Alexander taming Bucephalus . 48 12 The Stage Lady's Maid . . 50 13 One of the Old School . 52 16 Illustrations of the Months . 54, 55 18 Window Phenomena 56, 57 18 A Scamper on the Serpentine . . 59 20 The Music-Master in China . 63 20 Pig-tail and Short-cut . . . 64 oma . 21 Poet's Corner . . 66 23 Grand Tournament . . 73 24 The Lover and the Magician . 74 25 The Stage Rustic . . 76 29 A Cutting Moral . 77 LIST OF ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD, Etc. Singleton excited by the Green-eyed Monster 82 Betty Morrison Waiting for the Coach . . 84 Betty Morrison Reading the Bible . .87 Writing a Love-Letter in Winter . . 89 Chinese Life-Preservers . . . .91 Ditto 92 The Stage Assassin . . . .96 Ditto 97 Ditto 97 Ditto 98 The Puce-coloui'ed Carp . . . .104 Ditto 105 Lovers' Vows (Alice Brompton) . .109 Portrait of a Horse . . . ..Ill Betty Momson's Return Home . .113 The Polk-Oregon Wamor . . . . 115 Su" Ludwig of Hombourg on his Battle Horse 120 Sir Ludwig and the Tonsor . . . 121 An Editor as he is supposed to be . .126 An Editor as he is 127 Afterwards Harlequin . . . .132 The Stage Lover 139 Ditto 140 The Lion of the Party . . . . 142 The Festival of Godesberg . . .144 Combat between Sir Ludwig and Sir Gottfried 149 The Hermit of Rolandseek and the Knight 151 Cut and Come Again . . . .155 Dissolving Views . . . . . 156 The Stage Prince 159 Fire Escapes . ... .162,163,164 Otto's Escape 169 Otto Performing his Watch . . . 174 A Knocker Hunt 178 PAGE The Steam Concert 179 The Waterman's Farewell to his Coat and Badge 184 Don Giovanni in a New Light . . . 188 A Voyage down the Thames . . .190 Capital Sailors . . . . . . 191 Shower on a Steam Boat . . . .192 The Victim of Exaggeration . . . 192 The Lady of Windeck . . . .196 The Enthusiast in Anatomy . . . 202 How " Robinson Crusoe " should be read , 205 I've Dwelt in Marble Halls . . . . 209 An Oddity from the Rhine . . .214 The IMarriage Settlement . . . . 216 The Hermit of VauxliaU . . . .220 Meet Me by Moonlight Alone . , . 223 The Martyr of Love . . . .224 Otto and Helena 226 Fancy Portraits 231 The Unlucky Question . . . . 234 Mr. John Bull as Willihald . . . 239 The Champion 241 The Balloon Huntsman . . . .246 The Balloon Racer 246 The Balloon Dancer . . . .247 The Old English Gentleman in a New Light 251 A Husband's Vengeance . . . . 254 The Patriotic Horse . . . .257 The Sentimental Beavers . . . . 258 Feline Instinct 259 A Pretty Kettle of Fish . . . . 261 Too Many Irons in the Fire . . .262 Tea Table Conversazione . . . . 264 Otto reveals himself to the lovely Helena . 270 Six Cuts about Umbrellas . . 273, 274, 275 A Pictm-e of Happiness . . . . 282 CONTENTS. Afterwards Harlequin .... Age of Monsters, The .... Alice Brompton All the World's a Bedlam .... An Old Man, To Another Word about Play-Orders . . . By Shirley Brooks Autograph Hunters ...... By Horace Mayhew By John Oxcnford By Horace Mayhew By Gilbert A. a Beckett By Pavl Prenderrjast . By Mark Lemon By John Oxenford By Murk Lemon By Gilbert A. a Beckett By Gilbert A. a Beckett By John Oxenford By Horace Mayhew By Blark Lemon By Gilbert A . a Beckett By John Oxenford By Horace Mayhew By Paul Prendirgast By Mark Lemon . By Mark Lemon By Mark Lemon . Betty Moi'rison's Pocket-book Bubble of Life, The Christmas in the Olden Time Christmas Waits .... Cold Love-Letter, A ... Cutting Down an Article Demon, The, of 184.5 Dissolving Views .... Doomed One, The .... Dream of the London Season, The Enthusiast in Anatomy, The Fabulous Character, A ... Fashions for January . . . , Florence Pi-eserved .... Folly of Crime, The .... Force of Circumstances, The Frightful Narrative, A . . . . Garland, A . . . ... Genuine Ghost Stoi'y, A . . . , Guy Greenhorn's Wanderings . Heads of the Table ..... Hermit of Vauxhall , The .... Hints for a Domestic Police Hint to Projectors, A .... How, When, and Where Books should be read Husband's Vengeance, A . . . . Intellectual Wall Paper .... JolUpump on Happiness. An Experimental Lecture . . . . . Ladies' Logic ....... By Paul Prendergast Last Year's Balance, The .... By Mark Lemon . Leaves from Lempriere ........... Legend of the Rhine, A . .... By Michael Angela Titmarsh Letters from a Freshman .... ...... Letter to the President of the Suburban Association By Horace Mayheto By Gilbert A. a Beckett By Shirley Brooks By Horace Mayhcv; By Horace Mayhew . By Shirley Brooks By Gilbert A . a Beckett ;9,7 PAGE 131 178 9, 106 51 212 235 279 83 13 17 89 16 93 155 26 69 201 125 19 134 45 175 43 159 265 30, 65 117 220 276 245 203 254 260 2iil 42 128 . 28,47,110 119, 144, 167, 193, 224,241,267 . 36 . . 56 3, viii CONTENTS. PAGE Literary Curiosity, A ..... . 59 Lover's Sacrifice, The ..... By Gilbert A. a BecTceM . . ' . . . 152 Measure for Measure .... . 38 Melancholy Month of May, The . . . 118 Mesmeric Dinner, The .... By Horace Mayliew . . 99 Miss Matilda Johnson Jones . By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 248 Mouthful of Fresh Air, A , . 189 Music-raaster abroad, The .... . . 62 My Opinions on Umbrellas . By Arirjus B. Reach . 273 National Songs By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 182 Natural History of the Panic, The . By Angus B. Reach . 261 Never trust to Outward Appearances . By Metric Lemon .... . . 215 New Termination to Don Giovanni . By John Oxenford . 185 Notes taken during the late War . . . . 91 Oddities from the Rhine .... By Angus B. Reach . 213 Old and New Nursery, The .... By Paul Prendergast . . 206 Old Englishman, &c., The By Paul Prendergast . . 250 Orders for the Play ..... By Horace Mayhew . . 210 Passage, A, in the Polk-Oregon War . By Shirley Brooks . 114 Pessimist, The ...... By Horace Mayhew .... . . 271 Philosophy of Cattle-shows, The . 12 Poetical Invitations . By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 222 Polka Lyrics . 95 Practical Mesmerism By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 21 Preservation of Life, The .... By George Cruilcshanh , . 161 Private Theatricals By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 53 Puce-coloured Carp, The .... By John Oxenford . 101 Railway Calls By Gilbert A . a Beclcett . 237 Recreations in Natm'al Ilistoi-y By Horace Mayhew . 256 Rosalie, To ...... . . . 77 Scamper, A, over the Serpentine . By Horace Mayhew .... . . 57 Separation . By John Oxenford . 72 Social Zoology . By Gilbert A. a Beckett 141, 165,211 Something about Almanacks By Horace Mayhew . . 5 Song of the Months By ■ Ferguson . 54 Songs of the Sentiments . . • . By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 208 Sonnet to the Frost ..... . 90 Stage Assassin, The ..... By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 95 Stage Countryman, The .... By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . 75 Stage Ladies' Maid, The .... . By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . 49 Stage Lover, The . . ... By GilbeH A. a Beclcett . 138 Stage Negro, The . By Gilbert A. a Beclcett . . . 278 Stage Prince, The ..... . By Gilbert A. a Beckett . 157 Stage Seaman, The ..... . By Gilbert A. a Beckett . . . 34 Stage Supernumerary, The . By GilbeH A. a Beckett . 249 Tale before the Fire, A . . . . By John Oxenford . 61 Taxes on Respectability .... . By Horace Mayheio .... . . 252 Triumph of Cupid, The .... • 1 Unlucky Question, The .... By John Oxenford .... . . 232 Visit to London in the Autumn of 1845 By Horace Mayhexo . 229 Washing-houses for the Poor . . 11 ^m v^^Ajs 'r^^rp>if: ct/pg- " miILlE°IB®(0)Ko 'Running at the Ring." THE TRIUMPH OF CUPID. TT is customary with some poets to make a formal application to the Muses for an illuminating spark of electric lire to be applied to the brain. I confess that I have a predilection for blazing Walls-end, as a means of warming my imagination ; which I prefer doing Avith the combustibles of every-day life, rather than by means of any fanciful fuel which the Sacred Nine are supposed to deal in. If my brain is ever illuminated by an electric spark, the bowl of my meerschamn is the place in which it is deposited ; the pipe acting as a conductor, along which flashes of inspiration are conveyed with every Avhiff, while the smoke curls itself into a variety of objects. Having taken up my usual position in my easy-chair, I fell into a reverie, with my eyes, like those of an expectant for a Government situation, fixed on vacancy. I began to ponder on the possibility of finding for the first plate of my Table-Book a subject in which the gi'eatest number should take the greatest interest, especially that sex which' I have often thought it hard should be called soft, and which it will always be my endeavom- to propitiate. My policy as well as ni}' gallantry would prompt me to do so ; for the ladies form, according to the Popidation Returns, a large majority of the public ; and the single as well as the married con- stitute the better half of the inhabitants of this country. Though physically weaker, they are numerically stronger ; and, compared with them in the matter of domestic dominion, man is a ])igmy, a mere General Tom Thmnb — a creature who might be deposited in m VOL. I. — NO. I. THE TRIUMPH OF CUPID. one of those dolls' houses which a dwarf at a fair usually occupies ; his legs protruding from his parlour windows, while from those of his drawing-room he thrusts his anns: thus as it were converting his house into a great-coat — a species of domestic economy to which dwarfs alone are addicted. The power of the gentler sex naturally led me to a reflection on the manner in which it is used, and on the ministers through whom their sovereignty is exercised. Cupid is their imdoubted premier ; who, indeed, performs his oflice in a manner that renders their sway universal and absolute. What conqueror can boast of a victory so complete as the triumph of Cupid ? The lamplighter ascending his ladder on his evening mission of enlightenment, is seized by the grasp of Cupid; and even in the act of igniting the gas he feels in his own breast a consuming flame. On the mimic stage, as well as in the real drama of life, is Cupid triumphant. It is love that prompts Harlequin to those flying leaps through shop-fronts, and inspires him with those twirls of the head which he indulges in, to attract the favom-able regards of Columbine. It is nothing but a contest for the hand of that fair Christmas creature of loveliness and leno, which keeps the Clown and Pantaloon in a state of constant antagonism to Harlequin. It is Cupid who fetters the ^baker and enchains the soldier, making them both neglectful of the morning roll. The old sailor, who has laid one leg on the altar of his country and receives in return from her a helping hand ; the liveried lacquey, proud of the ignoble plush, and servile shoulder-knot ; the old clothesman, with a redundancy of hats, yet going forth in quest of more, — each, and all, of these individuals will press forward to swell the train of Cupid's captives. Love knocks the nabob from the top of his elephant, jerks the costermonger from his cart ; and throws the steam-boat captain from his paddle-box, subjecting him to one fatal turn a-head. The brawny dustman is compelled to bite the dust, and the blind mendicant, unassailable through the eyes, may be struck to the heart, and " when he falls he falls like Liicifer ;" or rather like a box of lucifers (which juvenile impostors are in the habit of throwing down to create commiseration on rainy days), never to be picked up again. What a glorious procession woidd the celebration of Cupid's triumph form ! Such a procession I determined to introduce at the outset of my Table Book, and I accordingly deliver the accompanying plate as my act and deed, in witness whereof, I have set my Copv of an Ancier.t Seal in the jiossession of the Bateman Family. V GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS Uti an& Out of Uonlron. u ow various the memories that dwell Within the narrow circle of a Bell ! Pleasure and sorrow, postmen going their rounds. And muffins, hlend with its familiar sounds : The starting steam-boat, and the starting tear, The distant convent, and the dustman near ; The dun, who calls and calls and calls again, The railroad, borne on recollection's train ; The grave, the gav, old, middle-aged, and youno-. All, with the bell, have got some memories hung. To every heart, by some mysterious wire. The bell communicates electric fire. Many the sentimental shocks I owe To you, my native bells, fair bells of Bow. />/< Iv^ My name is Greenhorn — on the Hill Call'd from the Gate of valiant Lud, A tendril I was born — and still 'Twas there I enter 'd boyhood's bud. My honest sire a tradesman true — Although I say it — true as any. Sold sides of bacon to the few, And single rashers to the many. He never to the poor was hard ; But unto those who could not buy it. He often gave a lump of lard, (If they 'd a sausage bought,) to fry it. Credence he always would impart To those who tales of woe Avould utter ; Not only did they melt his heart, But they would often melt his buttei'. I 've often watch'd, by slow degrees, A handsome piece of Cheshire cheese Within a day completely go. At some fresh talcs of human woe ; And I have seen that aged man, With sympathy severely shaken, WTiile down his cheeks the tear-drops ran, Gammon 'd out of some pounds of bacon. Perchance 'twas this, perchance 'twas somcthino- more. Made me, alas ! mistrust my fellow men ; And gave me some philosophy, before I had attain 'd the early age of ten. GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. Perchance 'twas this "which e'en in boyhood curl'd My upper lip upon a heartless world ; Perchance 'twas this — wliich taught me to appear As one whose smile had sick en 'd to a sneer. They call me misanthrope — but they should throw The blame on those alone who made me so. I had been more than boy and less than son, Had I, unchanged, beheld a father done. On you my scorn I heap — scorn, deep and utter. Ye pilferers of the bacon, cheese, and butter. Enough of this — it is a strain That ought to be forgotten now ; But memory oft across the brain Comes driving with a fearful row ; Like horses with their iron feet Along some unfrequented street ; Disturbing rudely as they pass The peaceful blades of time-grown grass. I would not have, I freely own, Remembi'ance come with careless tread, To crush the verdure years have thrown O'er feelings that we hoped were dead. Ai'ouse thee. Greenhorn ! strike the glorious lyre. Illume with sacred match Apollo's fire ; What though to burn it seems a little slow, Seize, seize the bellows, give your brains a blow. Many the bard unheard, unknown had died, Without some friendly bellows at his side, To kindle into light the cold dull stuff. Which ne'er had shone but by the aid of puff. Well, to ray tale — my father, good old man, . Stuck like a Briton to the Ludgate shop. Till out the sand of life completely ran, And his existence came to a full stop. Talking of stops, here let me take a colon. The good old man's departm-e to condole on : Time flies — Alas ! the colon has expired. And so I can't condole as I desired. He left me wealthy, so I cut the cheeses. Or let them cut themselves, 't is all the same : And took a villa to enjoy the breezes Which hover on thy margin, gentle Thame. Thine is the most appi'opriate of names, What river could be tamer than the Thames ? Watching one day the water's sluggish course, I Avith a bit of paper made a boat ; And then I thought I 'd trace that river's som-ce. If like that bit of paper I could float. SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. I watch'd it carried onwards by the tide, Straiglitforwards for a wWle, until I saw The little bit of paper turn'd aside, Getting entangled with an idle straw. And as the straw I still continned watching, I mark'd how one the other cUd impede ; Those who at straws, thought I, are ever catching, Will lose the tide by which they might succeed. Again I thought the river's som-ce I 'd trace, If I could take that piece of paper's place ; When suddenly I heard a soft low voice — 'T was Common Sense — who seem'd to say, " You dreamer, Yours is a most extr 'ordinary choice — If you 'd go down the river, take the steamer." I was about to turn aside, Replete with energy and hope, When somebody behind me cried, "Now, stupid ! can't you mind the rope ? " The voice was hush'd — the river o'er me ran — And thus Guy Greenhorn's pilgrimage began. Towing I'ath. SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. The prolific increase of Almanacks is a characteristic feature in their physiology. It IS lucky they only come once a-year, or the number of crroi-s they would be con- tinually perpetrating would effectually poison <'the soul of business," which Cocker and the copy-books have eloquently affinuod to be "punctuality." Time was, when only those who drank their claret could afford their Almanack, but now there is no excuse for the most penurious person being without one, unless he is, hke Robinson Crusoe, in some desert Eel-Pie Island, and is obliged to pubhsh his own SOMETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. Almanack by notching the days on a piece of stick. Almanacks are the cheap philanthropy, the conventional generosity of the age ; they are given away on the smallest excuse. We have had nearly two drawers' full presented to us this winter. Newspapers start into hebdomadal existence on the strength of an Almanack ; every penny periodical gives one away in the course of the year, and cheap tailors advertise their \0s. Chesterfields by means of an Almanack, as large as an encyclopaedia, for Qd., illuminated with cuts of the article, on the skirts of which they expect to go down to posterity. Old wood-cuts, one imagined had been chopped up for fire-wood years ago, appear ao-ain in the shape of an Almanack, with old jokes furbished up expressly for them. Gossamers, too, are got oif by the help of a " Hat Almanack " pasted inside ; and an Almanack gives every patent medicine vendor a license to kill, by prescribing for every disease one of his 365 Life Pills for every day of the year. We can imagine the number of Almanacks there will be in a year or two. If they only keep increasing in the same proportion, not an old woman in the kingdom, not a Rowland or a Moses, in any of the puffing trades, not a quack doctor who has mixed up in shilling pots some fatal Elixir of Life, will be without an Almanack to secure victims for his dangerous nostrum. Who is rash enough to say that not one of the Almanacks predicted below will emanate from Stationers' Hall next year ? Here Singenschmall's Almanack for German Bullfinches. Aaron and Son's Almanack for the Waistcoat Pocket ; containing a yard measure, and directions for a person how to measure himself. Grant's Almanack for Literary Dustmen. SiGNOR Jenkinsini's Almanack for the Accordion ; containing tunes for every day of the year. The Almanack for Crossing-Sweepers ; or, how to attain a fortune in six streets. The Government-Clerks' Almanack ; with various puzzles, songs, and amusing games, for office hours. The Almanack for the Hackney-Coacii ; with hints for the preser- vation of life in cases of danger. The Almanack for the Dress-circle ; to be given to every one taking a front seat in the boxes at the Houndsditch Theatre. The Camden Town Almanack ; with Advice to Lodgers — By a Second Pair Back. Old Methusaleii's Almanack ; given away with a box of Old Metiiusaleh's Pills (price 2s. Gd.) for attaining a good old age and a long beard. The Almanack for Grandmothers ; with easy lessons for them how to suck eggs. The Almanack without a Master ; or directions for the next 1,000 years to footmen out of place. The Almanack for the Pocket-Handkerchief ; Avith the Calendar, and Map of London; printed on cotton, for the use of strangers and country cousins. SO:\IETHING ABOUT ALMANACKS. The Almanack for Babies, in words of one syllable, from three to five letters. The Cabman's Almanack ; witli a list of fares for men, women, and foreigners on fine and Avet days, and an insight into those fares that ought to be avoided. The Umbrella Almanack, with directions how to tell the weather. To be pasted on the inside of the parajdide. We might prolong the list, extending it to every trade or quackery of tlie present day ; but we prefer giving a few quotations as specimens of the literature which we will prophesy the above Almanacks will contain, if any one of them is published next year. We will commence with The Almanack for the Dress Circle. — Remarks for the month. You should be particular during January, to pay a visit to the Iloundsditch Theatre. There the best actors perform, with the prettiest piebald horses ; and the mantle of Grimaldi is universally acknowledged to have fallen on the shoidders of the clown at that theatre. Admission, 4(i. ; and a book of the comic songs in the pantomime, \d. The Government Clerk's. — December. Masquerades are generally given this month at one of the theatres. Evening parties too begin. Answer invitations from ten tiU four. You should be on the look-out for Christmas-day, and be diligent in practisino- farm-yard imitations for the occasion. New novels, too, come out this month ; so subscribe amongst you to Sams', stipulating to have two sets, at least, per day. Take care always to skip the first volume, and to read the last chapter first. By this means you will be able to read a great deal. A good game during the office hours, is to keep people waiting whilst you are reading the paper. Pretend to be deaf, aud the moment they lose their temper you will find it very amusing. We will terminate our extracts with one week's calendar from W. F. Cfje (©llr iHetfjusaldj's almanack. If tlic weather is bleak, take a box of INIethiisaleirs Pills, to prevent your catching colil. St. Blaise. If you are sending a parcel to a friend, do not forget to put in it a box of Mcthusalch's Pills. Tlicy are invaluable in the country, and are the most welcome birth-day gift you can send to an aiTectionate mother with a large fiiniily. Holiday at Chancery Offices. — Take cave of your feet this cold weather. A gentleman of wealth says, " If I feel chilly at all before going to bed, I do not take two or three glasses of warm gi'og, as 1 used to do, but lialf-a-dozen of Methusalch's Pills ; and they do nic much more good, and are infinitely less expensive. I save lOZ. by these pills every year." Merchants cannot be told too often that the Methusalch's Pills are in great demand in the British colonies. Several large fortunes have been cleared by enteiprising traders in this way. A liberal allowance on taking a ship-load. " The Methusalch's Pills are an infallible cure for lock-jaw, gout, hydrophobia, depression of spirits, delirium tremens, and chilblains." — £veninr/ Paper. Full Moon. — The trees now begin to bud, aud Nature seems to be throwing off the iron chains despotic Winter had thrown around her delicate limbs. The nightingale carols as Apollo sinks to rest ; and the country is so lovely, that you should not fail, every full moon, to take a box of Methusalch's Pills. To Persons about to Marry. article for its comfort and \o -In furnishing your house, do not forget that the most indispensable lui])pincss is a quantity of No. I of Methusalch's Pills. CHRISTMAS IN THE OM)EN TIME TESTIMONIALS. Sir, Banbury Uall, Yorkshire. My son Augustus would run into debt, ■wear long hair, and stop out late at ni[;lit. I was confident there was something on his mind, and so I gave him one box of your Metliusaleh's Pills. The change was instantaneous. In less than an liour he liad cut off his hair, and is now an ornament to his family, and goes to bed every niglit at eight. I attribute tliis all to the moral influence produced by your invaluable pills. Yours, with gi'atitude, Ebenezer Jones. I have cured Mrs. Ebenezer of hysterics in the same way. Send me three dozen more boxes. Sir, Houghton Park. I was an old man. I took six of your inestimable pills, and now I feel as if I had the strength of a Milo, with the sprightUness of the fawn. Tlianks to you, I am enabled to marry again to-morrow. Heaven bless you. " CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME." ED Lacy and I were schoolfellows at Cheam, and afterwards chums at Oxford. Ned had always a strong tendency to the romantic, and would sit for hours poring over old Laneham's twaddle and Skelton's doggrel. Sir Walter Scott had more charms for him than JEschylus, and I verily helieve that Ned was very savage that he had not been horn three hundred years before it had pleased nature to add him to the census. I had been in India many years, and on my return had become a member of the Oriental. One day I was induced to join a house-dinner by Col. S of the Bengal Buffs, and was no less gratified than surprised to find Ned Lacy of the party. From a spare pale youth, Ned had grown into a round, rosy-faced man; and I soon learned that Cupid had played him a slippery trick at nine-and-twenty by leading him through a courtship of three years, and then ti-ansferring the heart, or the hand — I fear it is much the same now-a-days — of his adored to a jilethoric banker at Portsmouth. Ned kept the false one's picture over his dressing-table, and whenever he felt his heart becoming tender used to go over " the story of his youth" until he had frightened himself into the dread of a second jilting. All this he told me by snatches during dinner, which by-the-bye was the slowest affair I was ever engaged in. When the party broke up, Ned thrust his card into my hand, and made me promise to take my C!hristmas dinner with him in the ensuing week. " There'll be no one but ourselves," said Ned with a sort of a grunt, which I fancy he meant for a sigh ; " but we can talk over old times, and perhaps make ourselves comfortable." " No fear of that, Ned," I replied ; " fourteen years' hard campaigning — in India too — makes a man satisfied with very little. I'll come ; and, over a cigar, and anything you like except spring water, we'll have a night of it." When I got to my rooms, I took Ned's card from my pocket to ascertain his where- abouts, and was somewhat surprised to see it inscribed cDwatc) (ie Jljxcu. Be Lan/. — Why he was always called Ned Lacy ! but as £30,000 left by an old maid, CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME. had converted Botch, my first bootmaker, into Claverthoi-pe, I conchided that Ned had met with a windfall from some relation, who had left the legacy conditional on the de. Well, Christmas-day came at last, and pnnctually to the hour named I presented myself at No. 6, street, Bedford-square. The door was opened by a hmipy- looking boy, Avho, having received my hat and cloak, requested me to " step into the Chamber of Presence, and Master De Lacy woidd be with me anon." The boy's phraseology puzzled me — but as the schoolmaster had been a great deal abroad since my absence, I contented myself by stepping into the room designated the — Chamber — of Presence. As I looked round this apartment, I thought I might, by possibility, be in a dream ; the appointments of the room were so unlike those of " the times in which we live ;" I took a copious pinch of snuff, and tweaked my nose rather sharply, to convince myself that I was awake. Yes, I was as wide awake as I had ever been in my life, so I set to work to examine the strange furniture of the place. The walls were hung with canvas, on which was painted the story of the Prodigal Son, in tempera — the ceiling was studded with bosses and peudants, with numerous armorial bearings depicted in the most glaring colours. Over the doors were placed huge antlers of deer, above which hung morions, spear-heads, gauntlets, and brown biUs. The fire- place was wide, and contained large billets of wood blazing upon andirons resembling httle cupids. The floor was strewn with bunches of sweet herbs, which emitted rather a pleasant odour. Two ebony cabinets occupied recesses near the windows, which were of stained glass, emblazoned. The chairs were of oak, elaborately carved, and covered with cut velvet. A rich Turkey carpet was thrown over the table, upon which was placed a massive silver standish. A large illuminated missal was spread open upon a small desk in one corner ; over which was suspended a mirror of steel in a frame of yellow velvet. If the room occasioned me some surprise, it was nothing to that Avliich I experienced when its proprietor entered — which he did just as I had completed my survey. It was sometime before I coidd believe it was Ned — yet there he was, dressed up to look as much like the Lord Burleigh of Elizabeth's time as a tailor could make him. I felt a strong inclination to laugh outright, but some misgivings of my host's sanity flitted across my mind and kept me serious. "Master Simon Robinson," said Ned, or, as I ought to designate him, Master Edward de Lacy — " Master Simon Robinson, thou art right heartily welcome to my poor dwelling. I trust my retainer received thee with all due com'tesy." " Gramercy! " I replied, willing to humour the joke or the madman, whichever it might prove to be. " What say'st thou to a cup of canary or of malmsey, or a glass of strong waters, before dinner be served ? " said Ned. " Gramercy! " I again answered ; "I don't mind a glass of sherry." " Sherris be it then, " replied Ned, with the most imperturbable gravity ; and, taking a small silver whistle from the table (I had not noticed it before), he blew with a force of lungs that might have provoked the envy of a boatswain. The lumpy boy entered, attired in the same fantastic manner as his master. " Humphrey," said Ned, " a cup of sherris for worthy Master Simon Robinson." The boy bowed, and presently returned with a silver tankard on a salver of the same precious metal. I drank the wine, and began to wish myself well out of the house, when a bell (1 strongly suspect it was the postman's, borrowed for the occasion) was rung Avith a very marked emphasis of clapper. VOL. I. — NO. I. c 10 CHRISTMAS IN THE OLDEN TIME. " The banquet waits," said my extraordinary host ; and, taking my hand, he led me from the presence-chamber into another apartment, which in my ignorance I shouhl have called the dining-room, had" not Nied dignified it by the name of The Hall. The Hall was furnished much after the same fashion as the room I had just left, except that two buffets of " white plate" (as I afterwards learned the metal was called) were placed at either side of the lower end of the table, which was laid out " banquet- wise." At the upper end, on a dais, was "the orsille under a cloth of estale," where mine host j)laced himself, after seeing me seated in a huge arm-chair at his right-hand. The thing was now getting too absUrd, and I began to fear for my dinner. "Ned," I said— " Edward de Lacy, an' it so please ye." • " Nonsense, Ned.- What is- the meaning of all this mummery ? Here are you figged out for a masquerade, when I have come for a Christmas dinner." " And a dinner thou shalt have. Master Robinson — such as our ancestors made merry with when England was ," merrie England. " I have long bethought me of holding festival in this fashion, and to-day thou shalt revel as they did at Christmas-tide in the olden time. True, I have neither stoled priest nor damsel decked in kirtle green, nor gleeman, nor the more gentle minstrel, to grace our board ; but thou shalt taste of the lusty brawn and manchet-loaves — the reeking sirloin and savoury goose. Master Robinson. Plum-porridge shall not be wanting, nor that lord of the feast, the Christmas pie. The wassail bowl shall come in its due season with its garnish of ribbons — and a soused boar's head crested with bays, and tricked out with rosemary ; and see, here comes Dick — Humphrey, I mean — with the monarch of the feast. Come, let us troll a carol to the Boar's-head, that which honest Wynkyn de Worde hath preserved to us." And straightway he ' proceeded, as the lumpy boy entered with a veritable pig's head bedizened with evergreens, to chaunt the following : — ' /O |i " Caput Apri defero, r\-i\ t tv^ L©-W Reddens laudes Domino. r'ly/L/y/'^ With. Lore's head in hand bring I, ^ / ' With garhmdes gay and rosemary, I pray you all synge merrily, Qui cstis in convivao." The dish was placed upon the table, and Ned — that is, Edward de Lacy proceeded (after a short grace, which I cannot remember,) to carve this honoured Aaand. The knife had scarcely entered the head, when he broke forth in sundiy exclamations in not very choice modern English, and I at once perceived that some dire mischance had occurred. " Does she call this a soused boar's head ? " exclaimed Ned. " Yes, sir — I mean tridy, master," answered the lumpy boy ; " for I have been pouring hot water over it these ten minutes." The knife and fork fell from Ned's hands, and he looked the drollest figure I ever remember to have seen. Having motioned the boy to remove the "pride of the revel," he turned to me and said : "My dear fellow, I'm very sorry — but — but there's some mistake. You must know that, after drilling my cook for a week in the whole art of ancient cookery, she has had the baseness to leave me this very morning, and I have been compelled to secure the services of the greengrocer's wife." WASHING-HOUSES FOR THE POOR. 11 " 0, never mind, Ned," said I ; " surely something will do, either the heef, or the goose, or the plum-porridge." I was very nearly mistaken ; for out of the liberal bill of fare which Ned had promised me, nothing was eatable but the brawn. The goose had been forgotten ; the lumpy boy tumbled upstairs with the Christmas pie ; the sirloin was burnt to a cinder, and the plum-porridge looked too indefinite to be assailable. In pity to poor Ned, I ate, and laughed, and talked, until I think he would have been reconciled to the frustration of his darling project, had not the " wassail bowl " proved the most signal failm-e of the day. What it was I have not the remotest idea, but I took the hint from the expression of Ned's face (for in his enthusiasm, he ventm-ed to taste it), and resolutely declined to make an experiment of its contents. I was not a little gratified when the lumpy boy placed the hqueur case and hot water on the table, and threw a " yule log " on the fire. Matters then proceeded pleasantly enough : old school-days were recalled ; old schoolfellows remembered, and many a college freak enacted over again. Ned sang a song whose burthen had many a time kept half High Street, Oxford, awake, and we were proceeding at five-tumbler-rate towards oblivion, when a violent knocking at the door, and as violent ringing of the bell, roused us from our pleasant confabulation. Then came a rumbling noise and loud voices, and then a man in a leathern helmet and a fireman's jacket I'ushed into the room, and convinced us that the " yule log " had set the chimney in a blaze. Reader, if you ever had the misfortime to have a chimney take fire, you know what ensued ; if you never had that luxury, you woidd not believe in the conse- . quences. Buckets of water poured down wrong chimneys ; dirty wet men, in dirty wet boots, trampling over your carpets ; noisy little boys bellowing in derision — in short, a chimney on fire is several degrees worse than a house in the same predicament. Poor Ned ! the story of his Christmas in the olden time got wind, and the roasting he met with at the clubs di-ove him away from London. How the circumstance became known I could never clearly make out, unless it occurred one night when I dined with a party of fellows at Richmond, and at our return insisted on taking the place of the post-boy who had driven us down in the morning. WASHING-HOUSES FOR THE TOOR. The people call for bread in many a quarter ; — It seems a strange idea to give them water — Benevolence thus cheaply cuts a dash — With water any one may make a splash. Why bid the poor go seek the washing-tub. Dooming them thus to bear another rub ? Yet cleanliness with aU our notions jumps, Must they who ofi^r water needs be pumps ? No ! let us cherish eagerly the hope They '11 make the poor nnicli better ofi" for soaj), Yet if a mendicant shoidd cross our path, Must we, in futm-e, bid him " go to Bath ? " Oh ! might he not reply in language proper ? — " I do not need a bath, 1 want a copper ! " 12 THE PHILOSOPHY OF CATTLE SHOWS. THE PHILOSOPHY OF CATTLE SHOWS. We should imagine that the descendants of Jack Sprat, who, it may be remembered by the students of our early ballad literature, "could eat no fat," must have vanished from the laud ; or else that his progeny must have wonderfully increased, and that they all take after their mother, who, according to the bard, " could eat no lean." We have been led into this specidative reflection by a knowledge of the fact, that sixty thousand people went to Baker-street bazaar to see the cattle-show — to feast their eyes on panting porkers, asthmatic sheep, and apoplectic oxen. We should doubt whether the meat is better because the animals are stuffed out to a size liitherto unparalleled except on the external paintings of penny shows, where the living monsters arc represented about twice the height and breadth of the caravan where the pubhc are invited to visit them. The present, however, is the age of enlargement. Shopkeepers make ai-rangements for the enlargement of their premises ; the Legislature decrees the enlargement of prisoners for debt ; newspaper proprietors enlarge their sheets ; and, in order to keep pace with the enlarged views which are prevalent in the present day, the agriculturists have commenced permanently enlarging their cattle. Perhaps the remains of gigantic animals that geologists have occasionally lighted on, may be traced to some antediluvian cattle-show, and our ancestors may have rushed to an exhibition of prize mammoths with the same eagerness we of the present day evince in running after overgrown beeves and alarmingly blown-out muttons. As we are informed that there is still " room for improvement," we must presume that more extensive bullocks, and more extravagantly exaggerated sheep than any we have yet seen, are threatened by the Smithfield Cattle Club. To us there is something painfully pantomimic in the thought ; and we look forward to the possibility of the extinction of mutton chops, except as huge joints — a state of things which Avill be ruinous to the pure chop-house interest. Al- ready does Brobdigna- gian beef choke up the entrance to the butchers' shops ; and extensive in- deed must be the scale upon which the business of weighing it, is conducted. It has occurred to us that the same care and expense which are lavished on the fattening of animals might be beneficially applied to the feeding of oiu- own species, and we should suggest that the experiment should be tried, by ofl"ering premiums for prize paupers. Overseers and reheving-oflicers might be justly proud of sending up favourable examples of what could be done by judicious dieting ; and the Poor Law Commissioners would no doubt be glad of the opportunity of vindicating their system from the starvation stigma which is now generally attached to it. A fat pauper, labelled East Retford Union, would be the best answer that coidd Ila ! that 's something like a mutton chop ! THE BUBBLE OF LIFE, 13 be made to the reports which have gone abroad w-ith reference to the workhouse regulations of the place alluded to. It is, however, to be feared that the prize pauper show would not turn out a very satisfactory affair, for though uidimited oatmeal has a fattening effect on beasts, the same substance diluted into gruel, and that very sparingly administered, would hardly produce in human beings a degree of obesity that would fit them to enter the pens of Baker-street in competition with the annual cattle show. Perhaps the system would answer better for schoolmasters, who might form themselves into a fat-boy club, and exhibit annual specimens of the pinguidity attained by the scholars of their respective establishments. This would enable parents to select for their sons a school where the quahty of the keep could be at once judged of by the plumpness of the boys exhibited. We merely throw out these hints as suggestions for improving the human race by appljang the principle of cattle shows which are said to be extremely conducive to the amelioration of the breed of animals. THE BUBBLE OF LIFE. BY BALZAC D ANOIS. LI, the son of Bedreddin, sat watching his boy, as the latter dilated his natm-ally chubby cheeks by the pleasant and intel- lectual amusement of forming soap-bubbles. The boy, in obedience to the fickleness of his nature, having abandoned this innocent recreation for the more objectionable one of throwing stones at the son of Nom-eddin, in the next street, the good Ali walked up to the small vessel of lather, and commenced blowing bubbles on his own account. And, truly, it is a marvellously agreeable pursuit to see one's own breath take to itself a new corporeal form, and disport itself about at a height to which its original body could never think of ascending. Then, when one has watched the pro- gress of the bubble with something like parental anxiety, and has seen it burst, and difixise itself into nothingness, there is a touch of the tragic in the event, that gives a zest to the amusement. Sometimes the bubble, from its size, or the brilliancy of its colom-s, begets a peculiar interest greater than that of bubbles in general, and its fate is watched with something like intense anxiety. This was the case with our friend Ali ; who, after he had seen a score or two of bubbles swell themselves, and commit suicide in various sort, began to produce one of such a peculiar aspect, that his mind- — which was not very extended — was absorbed in its contemplation. At first, there w^as nothing very remarkable in this same bubble. It was a colourless httle affair, such as one may see over and over again, but soon it began to collect the images of the things around it in a sm-prising manner, just as though it were a highly -polished mirror. Presently it began to exhibit more than this merely reflective nature, and to show an action on its part, as it were, new-forming the images, and rendering them less vivid indeed, but oi-dcrcd with more regularity. Then new images seemed to be reflected in the bubble, and these wore continually new-formed ; so that the 14 TIIK BUBIJLE OF LIFE. surface became so variegated, and in such a state of rapid variation, that Ali thought he Iiad never seen anything half so wonderful. He felt, too, as if it were not in his power to stop the formation of the bubble, but that, by some might of its own, it drew his breath from his lungs, and thus effected its expansion. And an enormous size it attained ; and the eyes of Ali, as they watched the increase, seemed to rival it in ex})ansive power. At last, the great, variegated, incomparable bubble detached itself from the end of the pipe, and ascended majestically, though somewhat tottering with its own magnitude, in the air. The good Ali, resting his hands on his hips, sui-veyed the ascent with a complacent mien, as though he thought it might be some little talent on his own part that had contributed to the fonnation of such a wonderful thing. " Ho, ho, didl Ali — ha, ha, dull Ali ; well mayst thou watch thy bubble, for it is of more import to thee than thy heavy brain conceives. That is the bubble of thy life, foolish Ali ; and when that bursts, lubberly Ali, there is an end of thee altogether, for thou wilt then die, and rcheve the world of thy cumbersome presence." These words, which struck his ear with most unpleasant effect, and without his having the shghtest notion whence they proceeded, startled honest Ah not a little. So, then, all his life, and his hopes of improving in chess till he should beat old Nom-eddin, and of obtaining one more lawful wife in addition to the three he had already, and of seeing his infant son a cadi — all this was to depend on the existence of a frail, miserable soap-bubble — an extraordinary bubble to be sure, but a mere soap-bubble notwithstanding ! Perhaps the voice spoke not the truth, — but no, that was not the case ; there was a boding voice in All's own heart that informed him that what he had heard icas perfectly true. With this impression on his mind, the sickening sensation which Ah felt as he saw the bubble just brush against a corner of his house, is rather to be imagined than described. An expected collision against the branch of a tree produced a like disagreeable feeling. But the bubble rose higher and higher in perfect safety, and ultimately went out of sight ; though Ali, whose whole soul was intent on this one object, long fancied that it was within the reach of his powers of vision. Ali went to bed that evening, nervous, fidgetty, iU ; he woke without appetite, with parched lips and tongue without moisture. He felt that every moment might be his last, — nay, that he had aheady hved longer than he had a right to expect ; and the feeling of uncertainty was horrible. However, he got through the day, and the next day, and the day after that — and then a week passed, and then a month passed, and he was still hving. Gradually the bubble faded from his mind ; he again took pleasure in watching the expanding talents of his son, and had actually driven Noureddin to a drawn game. About this time, All's friend, Ibrahim, paid him a visit. Ibrahim was a clever man, and a great traveUer ; and Avhen he told of the wonders he had seen in foreign countries, it added great zest to the coffee of the faithful. Sometimes, indeed, he would deviate a little from the actual truth, and tell things such as no wise man could well behove ; but this fault he possessed in common with all travellers. Thus he woidd say that he had been in a country, where, when a sage had written a poem, and got two or three wandermg Bedouins to recite it, the Bedouins were rewarded with their weight in gold, while the sage himself was forced to live on dry bread and herbs. Also he wovdd say that he had seen a land where poets who sung ghazels sweeter than those of liafiz, were allowed to perish for want ; but that directly they were dead, all the THE BUBBLE OF LIFE. 15 scheiks, and A^iziers, and cadis, would hiuTj to the corpse, and bury it witli a ■world of expense and ceremony, or perhaps hold a grand feast in his house moi'e than fifty years afterwards. All this was so absurd that, of course, no one believed it ; and though none hked to offend the good Ibrahim by an open contradiction, the worthy Mussulmans would smile significantly at one another, and express by the winking of their eyes that they were not duped. This Ibrahim had lately been sailing in the air in a little boat, which was suspended to a large silk bag, filled with some inflammable liquid, the nature of which he would never reveal ; and he came to Ali to give him an account of his journey. He told him how he rose so high, that houses, trees, and rivers all vanished beneath him — how he passed the clouds, and coidd see notliing but the sky and the mist below. " And then, of course, you met no bird, and saw no object whatever ?" asked Ali, "Yes, one thing I did see," said Ibrahim; "I saw a moderately large sphere, more like a soap-bubble than anything else, floating not many yards from my boat." " A soap-bubble ! " exclaimed Ali ; " and what became of it ?" " I don't know," repHed Ibrahim ; "it went out of sight. I had indeed thrown a pebble at it, which I had with me, but I missed it." Ali darted a look of hate at Ibrahim. Monstrous act ! From mere wantonness — from one of those merely petulant fits that tempt an idle boy to jerk a stone at a spaiTow — Ibrahim had aimed a pebble at the existence of his bosom friend. Ali had never thought so meanly of Ibrahim before ; moreover, he recollected that about the time of the aerial voyage, he had felt uncommonly ill. Doubtless this was the effect of tlie acem-sed pebble. He could listen no longer, and conversation began to flag awfully. Ibrahim, disgusted at the small allowance of attention he received, soon took his leave, and Ali was left alone. AH the comfort that oblivion had of late bestowed was gone. The bubble was resuscitated in his mind, and haunted him like a frightfid spectre. To bed he could not go. What should he do to relieve his bosom from its dreadful oppression ? At last he resolved that he would call on the wise man Mahmoud, who Uved in the vicinity, and had great skill in herbs and minerals. The night was far advanced, and the moon shone brightly, but the sage had not retired to rest ; the light of the lamp still glimmered from the window. Ali knocked at the door, entered, and stated his case to Mahmoud, hoping that some ingenious device might be contrived to ensnare the peregrinating bubble, and that some precious essence might be applied to it that would prevent it from bursting. The sage heard his story and his wish ; but, instead of replying, stepped to the back of his apartment, and drawing aside a cm-tain, pointed to a mirror. Ali looked into the mirror, and saw countless bubbles darting about in every direction. Some were coloured and variegated as his own bubble was when it ascended into the air : some were colourless, as his own had been at the beginning. Some seemed to start into existence — whence, it was impossible to tell ; others burst and vanished ; some, as it were, of their own accord, others because they had come into coUision. These latter, Ali observed, generally became of a blood-red hue before they disappeared. After he had for some time gratified his eyes with the curious spectacle, he asked Mahmoud what it signified. "The bubbles that you see," rephed Mahmoud, " represent the lives of all the faithfid. Some you see as they are born, some in full activity, some perishing. You have come to me complaining that your hfe depends on the existence of a bubble, and I 10 CUTTING DOWN AN ARTICLE. show you that this is no pcciiliar calamity on your part, hut that all your neighbours arc ill the same pretlicament. There is to he sure this difference, that they are unconscious of the fact, which some mysterious power, for good or evil, has revealed to you. Fear not, Ali ; always be prepared for the bursting of the bubble — but tremble not, for Allah will preserve it till it suits his purpose to destroy it." Many, very many years had elapsed. All's son had become a wise cadi, and all Bagdad talked of his wisdom, and pointed to Ali as blessed by such an offspring. And through all the city was All's skill in chess renowned ; and many who travelled for miles to play with him, averred that the hke had never been seen. With a long white beard descending over his chest, and with a bright eye, Ali sat before his door, reading the Koran. A large globe, the surface of which was tinged with many colours that grew fainter and fainter, while from within it beamed a white light, descended from the sky, and stood trembling before him. It shook, as it were, convulsively ; the colom's were obhterated. It burst, and Ali was no more. But the white light long continued shining, and at length ascended into the heavens. CUTTING DOWN AN ARTICLE. A Dialo(/ue hetween the Editor and his Amanuensis. DiTOR. Let me see. We have to fill a vacant space of half a page. What articles have we to select from ? Amanuensis {reading titles). " Lines written to King Charles the night after his execution." " The Wars of the League, a tale of the Corn-laws." " Stanzas addi'essed to a young lady on her having asked the author whether he danced the Polka ? when he said, he did not, and she recommended him to take some lessons, when he repUed he certainly would." Editor. The title of that would have answered the purpose, if it had been a little longer. Proceed. Amamiensis. " Love and Madness, by one who has known the One and is still suffering from the Other." *' The Bell Ropes, a Sequel to the Chimes." " A Sonnet." Let us hear the sonnet. That wiU give us the required quantity if the Read it out, if you please. To THE Duke of Wellington. " Thou art a famous general indeed." Editor. Everybody knows that. Cut it out. Amanuensis {reading). " To thee the wreath of glory is decreed." Editor. Very true ; but as that forms the rhyme to the previous line, it must Editor. Ah ! quality happens to suit. A manuensis (reading) . come out. Amanuensis {reading). Editor. The reader will them out. Amanuensis {reading). ' " Not Hannibal, not Soult, not Marshal Ney, Not Blucher, not Napoleon, not Dessaix — " never take the trouble to imtic all those knots. Cut ' Not Alexander when he fought and won, Did do the noble deeds that thou hast done. CHRISTMAS WAITS. 17 Editor. That not being as it were tied to all tlie othex* nots, the first line must be omitted, and the second being dependent on it, must go too. Cut it out. Amaiiuensis (i-eading). " Who conquered on the field of Waterloo ? Docs not judicious echo answer, ' You?' " Editor. As echo could only answer " o-o," which means nothing, it would be more judicious on the part of echo to make no answer at all. Cut that couplet out. Amanuensis {reading). " Great in the senate, greater in the field, In neither wert thou ever known to yield." Editor. Poetically pretty, but historically false. He yielded in the senate once or twice. Cut it out. " A grateful nation prostrate at thy feet, Comes forth with joy the warrior to meet." Why ? Wliere ? What warrior ? Cut it out. " Mercy 'tis known has ever been thy creed. Though none so well can make a 2)eople bleed." Editor. Capital ! Excellent ! An admirable article ! Amamiensis. It 's all cut out ! ! ! Editor. Yes ; but we can restore some of It. I have it. Begin with the first line and end with the last, commencing the latter with " For " instead of " Though." Prefix as a title to the article — "Epigram on General Tom Thimib," and read it to me. Amanuensis {i-eading) — Amanuensis {reading). Editor. When? How? Amanuensis {reading). EriGRAM ON CtENSRAL TOM THUMB. " Thou art a famous General indeed. For none so well can make a pcojDle bleed." Editor. There ! — That reads very well. Let it be put into type immediately. \^E.vit Amanuensis. Editor falls asleep over a pile of Correspondence. CHRISTMAS WAITS. HE perfection to which everything is being brought, or attempted to be brought, in the present day, has extended even to the Waits, who have endeavoiu'ed to throw a sort of professional pomp over thcii itinerant arrangements. The following advertisement, inserted just before Christmas in several of the morning papers, will give the reader some idea of the high and artistical position which the Waits have at length aspired to : — " Evening Employment : — A Musical Professor, who has con- ducted during the summer the classical quartette concerts on board the Diamond Gravesend packet, finds his evenings at present disengaged. He is, therefore, desirous of making an arrangement with a number of his brother professors, who must not be less than two nor exceed three, for the purpose of giving a brief series of Midnight Concerts during the ensuing Christmas. Tlie Professor, being a Cornet-apiston, would like to meet with one or two gentlemanly Trombones, or a mild and unassuming VOL. I. NO. I. 18 CHRISTMAS WATTS. OpliYclcidc, Being very desirous of avoiding those professional jealousies whicli are so iiiimiouH to the best interests of art, he woidd have no objection to treat with another Cornet in a spirit of mutual confidence. An obliging Di-um, of unobtrusive habits, would be received on a liberal footing. No Serpent need apply. N.B. — There is an opening for a quietly-disposed Piccolo." The result of this advertisement Avas a meeting, at which a select band of five was arranged, and tlie following programme agreed upon : — " Tlic Nobility, Gentry, Housemaids, Cooks, and Nurserymaids in general, are most respectfully informed that THE MIDNIGHT CONCERTS will commence for the season immediately. THE BAND will be on the scale of former years, and will comprise Artists who, in their peculiar walk (about the streets), are acknowledged, to be unrivalled. It wiU consist of a real Trombone of highly-polished brass, which, sliding to the length of three yards, completely realises the idea of Two Cornets-h-pislon, with all the additional keys fitted to the music of Locke, and a highly-polished Piccolo, warranted to reach a higher note than the highest note in the Bank of England. In the course of the season the following pieces will be given. The band being desirous of getting rid of all old scores, have had new scores made of the music mentioned in the ensuing programme. "■Pot Pourri, commencing with ' I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls,' breaking down just before the shake, and terminating with the coda of ' Still so Gently o'er me Stealing.' " Grand duet from Norma, the very high notes being supplied by whisthng, supported by a strong thorough-bass of the Trombone. FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. 19 " Snooks's own Polka, (for the first time in this country,) as hummed to Snooks by a native of Bohemia — a dealer in cigars — and arranged by Snooks for a Cornet-a-piston ; two pair of ankle-jacks to do the national stamping accompaniment, and a Piccolo — expressly for these concerts. — N.B. None is genuine without the stamp of Snooks's own higldow, to forge which is felony. " 'Wake, dearest, wake,' addressed to the Housemaids of England ; arranged in alternate lines for the Trombone and the Piccolo, with a lul-li-e-te accompaniment for two voices, being an humble attempt to carry out the notion of musical comedy, so admirably conceived and executed by Haydn in his popidar Toy Symphony. — N.B. This piece will be performed in the absence of the police from their regular beats, so that it will probably be repeated several times in the com-se of the same evening. " The Strand Quadrille and Fleet-street Galop, with the St. Clement's Valse a deux Temps, introducing the celebrated Clock crotchets, leading to a wind up in different keys, and terminating in a slow movement. " The streets visited will be on the extensive scale of past seasons ; and for the benefit of parties at a distance, (that is to say, sleeping at the top of the house,) the following arrangements have been decided on : — " Monday. The Strand and Fleet-street. '' Tuesday. Cheapside and a popidar thoroughfare. " Wednesday. The Strand, and (1st time) St. Martin 's-lane. " Thursday. A favoimte Square, and other popular localities. " Friday (last time). Cheapside, with an estabhshed Hill, and (only time this season) the Old Bailey. " Saturday. A Crescent, in wliich the whole strength of the company will appear, with an entirely New Road, and a variety of streets, which will be announced in the biUs of the day. Being for the benefit of the Piccolo, and positively his last appearance previous to his departure for New Zealand. " Monday, a selection of streets, with an alley in which the Cornet-a-piston will appear, and execute a solo for his own benefit. " Tuesday (the last night of performing before the holidays), a favourite district, with, first and only time, Fulwood's Rents, and a grand Square embracing the streno-th of the company, aided by numerous auxiharies. On this occasion Signer Giuseppe Sartore will preside at the organ." Our Paris correspondent has sent us over a bonnet and cloak, that we may judge of the fashions for ourselves, and describe thera accordingh^ The cloak is of fur, and partakes about equally of the tippet and the cardinal, except that there seems to have been a piece sliced ofi" the cardinal, and long bits appear to have been added on to the ends of the tippet. These long ends being liable to be caught by the wind, are not adapted to afibrd warmth ; but by blowing about in all directions, they take off that air of stiffness which is so destructive to elegance. For materials, lace, velvet, and fur are chiefly in vogue ; but those who wish to unite all three, may wear black velvet mantelets, riclily bordered with fur, and trimmed with broad black lace, which will enable the wearer. Miss Johnson, to defy any competition with which the less fortunate 20 FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. Miss Thompson may have threatened her. For carriages and morning calls, ermine is the fashionable fur; but for marketing or wet weather, squirrel is a sufficient substitute. The imitation ermine, produced by a ground-work of unquestionable rabbit, and tipped in various places with the tail of the ordinary lamb, is not so popular as it used to be. One of the greatest novelties of the season is a white satin cloak, lined with ermine, which is said to be well adapted for visiting theatres. If a lady wishes to collect a mob round her, and to be the brilliant centre of a circle of rude juveniles, we should strongly recommend the costume alluded to. We like to see fashion going hand-in-hand with economy ; and we are happy to find that it is customary to convert un chdle qui ne plait phis, or, in other words, a worn-out shawl, into a dressing-gown. Among Gentlemen's Fashions, a Tweedish wrapper, qid ne p)lait plus, may be converted to the same useful pui*pose. The old custom of carrying scissors and pincushions suspended from the corsage, which our grandmothers were addicted to, is beginning to revive ; but the articles suspended are scent-bottles and tweezers, rings and bracelets — the whole suspended by an enamelled chain, and called a chatelaine. Our space will not allow us to go this month into the Gentlemen's costumes, but we have made such arrangements with the best dressers in Europe, aided by tailors of the highest celebrity, that the " Table-Book " will in future be, in this respect, " The Glass of Fashion and tlie Mould of Form." \Rl,S' PRACTICAL MESMERISM. 21 l^elieving a GentlemaB from a state of Coma. PRACTICAL MESMERISM.— By the Editor. The science of Mesmerism is not by any means of modern date ; and in looking up the subject witb the eye of an antiquarian, we find tbat a farce called Animal Magnetism was very popular Avitb our ancestors. Mesmei'ism is defined to be the transmission of a substance called magnetic fluid from one person to another, without any communication between them. This we could easily understand ; as, for instance, a boy may throw a stone through a window, and hit some one on the other side, which is transmitting a substance from one person to another without any communication between the parties concerned. There is, however, one awkward peculiarity about the magnetic fluid ; namely, that* "its nature is unknown, and even its existence has never been demonstrated." Nevertheless, we are called upon by the Mesmerists to admit it on the one hand, while we serve them with a notice to produce it on the other ; and thus a point of difiercnce arises which we are content to reserve for the opinion of the best judges. The magnetic action can be conveyed to very great distances, and in fact the lengths to which some Mesmerists go is quite astonishing. In this respect Magnetism resembles the long-bow, the range of which is known to be beyond anything. Children above the age of seven can magnetise quite as well as adults ; but juvenile Mesmerists ought, it seems, to be discouraged, because the exercise of the art stops their growth. Perhaps it was the practice of Magnetism that stopped the growth of General Tom Thumb, and caused him to become imbued with those magnetic qualities which he appears to be possessed of. Another property which the Mesmerists assign to their art is, that of curing more easily those who have the least the matter * Deleuze's Practical Instruction in Animal Magnetism, p. 9. VOL. I. — NO. II. 22 I'RACTICAr. MESMERISM. -with them. A fortiori, it must be more successful in curing those who have nothing the matter with them at all ; and such patients would, no doubt, derive from Mesmerism all the improvement possible. Magnetism is said by its friends to be particularly efficacious in seconding those cures which Nature has commenced. Mesmerism, according to its advocates, goes hand-in-hand with Nature in drawing disease to a conclusion ; while its opponents compare it to the exhausted and useless hack harnessed by the side of the strong and serviceable horse, merely " to make believe there was a pair of 'em." Wc have stated briefly what Magnetism is, and we now proceed to give a few plain du-ections how to practise it. The old theory relative to the cooking of a hare is of very extensive application, and you must first catch your Mesmerisee if you are about to turn Mesmerist. Having got him, you must truss him down to a chair, and take hold of his thumbs till they are about as Avarm as your own fingers. It is to be presumed that you will have already had recourse to the usual Mesmeric stuffing, by the introduction of highly-seasoned articles connected Avith Mesmerism, which should be inclosed, if possible, in a puff- paste ; and you may then proceed to baste with the magnetic fluid, yourself acting as a kind of basting-spoon, by Avhich, with a continued movement of the hand over the top of the head and before the face of the patient, you pour the magnetic fluid all over him. When you magnetise you must make your passes from the head to the foot, and never from the foot to the head, though no reason is given for this rule, unless that the former motion is more likely to go down from mere sympathy with the down- ward movement, while by the ascending process it might soon be all up with the Mesmerist Avho practised it. It is chiefly by the thumbs that the fluid escapes from the Mcsmeriser, and is communicated to the Mesmerisee ; a fact which induces us to believe that Mesmerism was one of the black arts practised by the witches in Macbeth, who Avhen they exclaimed — " By the pricJcing of my tJiunibs, Something wicked this way comes," were no doubt eti rapport with the Thane of Glamis. The fact that the scene is a mountainous pass, cannot, we think, fairly be used to support our theory as to the magnetic influence exercised over Macbeth by the weird sisters. Mesmerism, according to its advocates, will cure everything, from a pain in the crown of the head to a blister on the sole of the foot ; but as the passes must always be made in a descending direction, a patient must stand upon his head if he Avishes to place his corns or chilblains in the hands of the Mesmerist. There is a curious case recorded of one M. II***, a mate of a vessel, who had a cmtp de soleil, or stroke of the sun, extracted from the top of his head into a glass of magnetised water.* After that, the scrip in the company established for extracting sunbeams from cucumbers ought to begin to look up a bit. What became of the couj) de soleil after its extraction we are not told, but it certainly ought to have been placed imder a glass case, and sent to the British Association, who would no doubt have received it with due reverence. Had it turned out to be mere moonshine, it would have told in amazingly AveU Avith a few other of the discoveries of the highly respectable body alluded to. But we now come to the more important branch of the subject ; and if our pre- * Dclcuze, p. 35. PRACTICAL MESMERISM. 23 vious remarks have induced in the mind of the reader a tendency to a sort of magnetic sleep, he will perhaps be led to guess that it is somnambulism we are alluding to. This state is induced by getting the patient into a condition of what is called coma, which produces a very happy indifterence as to the mode adopted for putting an end to it. But coma, or (as some term it) comma, is not where Mesmerism ought to make a stop. Coma is only the commencement of the end ; and that great end is clairvoyance, or the power of seeing into what may be termed hterally the middle of next week, for objects are, it is said, visible to the clairvoi/ant which are at least ten days' journey distant from him who sees them. If this power is to be obtained by Mesmerism, why fritter it away upon such very small matters as it appears to be at present employed upon ? Such questions as, " Are you asleep ?" " When shall I wake you?" which M. Deleuze recommends should be the sort of interrogatives put to a clairvoyant, are on a par with " How's yom- mother ?" and a variety of similar queries, which are frequently addressed to every one m general and no one in particular by the clown in a pantomime. If the clairvoyant can see what is going on at a distance, he may as well answer great political questions as little social ones. " Are you asleep ?" might be superseded by such an inquiry as, " How long wiU the British Lion continue donnant ? " a question which must be very interesting to those persons who are constantly com- plaining of the noble animal alluded to being in the arms of Morpheus, as well as in the arms of England. To the economist of the public money Mesmerism offers a wide field, and we particularly call the attention of Mr. Hume to the saving that might be effected by introducing clairvoyance into one or two departments of the government. We recom- mend the honom-able member to get leave to introduce a biU for the better ordering of the Coast-Guard Service, putting all the old-fashioned telescopes into Schedule A., repealing the cutlass clauses in all preceding acts, and substituting clairvoyance along the coast for the arduous and incflScient " look out," which is kept under the present system. Wliatcvcr may be the general opinion as to the policy of planting a telescope by Act of Parliament in the back of the head of a preventive-man, there are certain cases in which clairvoyance, if it enables one man to see the actions of others, ought, with- 2-1 PRACTICAL MESMERISM. out hesitation, to be put in practice. Who can question the very great advantage to be derived from mesmerising a judge, or a chancellor? the system woidd no doubt diminish the amount of business, for how few of those who now go to law would take the step if thoy wore sure of meeting with strict justice ! But if it Avould be beneath the dignity of the judges to cxcix'isc any other than that natural clairvoyance which is characteristic of nearly the whole bench, surely tlici'c would be nothing derogatory in keeping the usher constantly in a state of coma, so that he might put a right interpreta- tion on the evidence offered by the witnesses. The labours of professors and pupils in universities and colleges, can be materially abridged, if Mesmerism can achieve the wonders which its advocates allege it to be capable of. Its apphcability to scholastic purposes is obvious, but it woidd extenui- natc many distinctions, for instead of the student rising by degrees, he might Mes- merise himself at once into all the qualifications necessary for the highest honours. In the more mechanical departments of education Mesmerism might surely be most advantageously used ; for we arc told that a piece of stick dipped into magnetised water, and placed over a person's hand, would have the effect of lifting the lingers. In perfect analogy with this phenomenon, a Mesmerised fiddlestick would, of course, elevate the toes into all the positions which are taught by the dancing-master. To return, however, to the social sphere. How conclusive might clairvoi/ance become to the preservation of that exceedingly precious article, the peace of private famihes ! The plate which accompanies the present paper illustrates the advantages of clairvoyance to every age, every sex, and every member of the domestic estabhshment. The boy, ambitious of becoming a soldier, rendered clairvoyant by the comatising care of his Mesmeric mother, would be made to see how, if he himself were not cut off m all his glory, his arms might, to use a parhamentary phrase, "pair off" with his legs at an early period. The heiress, mesmerised by her father or her guardian, would sec her treacherous admirer on his knees to her money-bags ; and a judicious bestowal of the sack, without its contents, would be the salutary consequence. ON A BLOCK OF ICE BROUGHT FROM AMERICA. 25 The bon vivant, could he be rQii^eYcdidairooi/ant, would take a very enlarged view of his own condition, as affected by port and its customary concomitants. The rich widow, on the eve of effecting a second matrimonial alliance, might be saved by daircoi/ance from trusting herself and fortune to a spendthrift, who, as he had melted the heart of the one, would melt the substance of the other. The cook, owning to the soft impeachment of a foUowei', and thrown into coma by the housemaid's friendly hand, would ascertain the object of that follower's pm-siiit to lie in her master's larder alone. By-the-by, there is no belle in England that can boast of so many admirers as a kitchen cupboard, which must, indeed, be a sad flirt if we are to judge by the number of hearts it ensnares, and the variety of suitors it encourages. The master, confident in the fidelity of his servants, happening to practise a httle auto-Mesmerism, which Mesmerists tell us may easily be done, finds himself in a state of clairvoyance, with reference to his attached domestics, with whom he might, perhaps, trust his life, but certainly not the key of his cellar. Such are a few, and only a few, of the useful and important purposes to which Mesmerism may be turned, if its adherents would only condescend to make it practical. In fact. Mes- merism, if it be a true science, is destined to change the face of society ; and, in the event of its taking a strong hold, it will give a strange tm'n to man in some of his most important features. For in- stance, the nose, which under oriUnary circumstances would rather persuade the mouth to bite it off than bring a blush of dishonour into the face, resigns itself ignobly into the hands of the Mesmerist ; and a gentleman in a state of coma will innocently abandon that organ which should be, of all others, " up to snuff," to be sportively converted into a pincushion. ON A BLOCK OF ICE BKOUGIIT FROM AMERICA WITHOUT MELTING, AND I'LACED IN TILE WINDOW OF A SHOl" IN THE STRAND. Ice plac'd within a shop or room Will turn to water, we prcsmne, For 'tis a solvent all agree ; But here In-solvent ice we see. Yet though we cannot solve the ice. We solve the riddle in a trice. It comes fi-om Pennsylvania's state, And therefore will not licjuidate. 2(5 THE DOOMED ONE. THE DOOMED ONE. a JTaU of tf)c lllnettcntft (ffcnturp. Heindricii Stechert was the only son of Diedrieli Stecliert, of Schnapsbergen, on the borders of the Ilartz. Heindrieh's mother had died in giving birth to his sister Menie, who, at the time of which we write, was just entering her eighteenth year. Ilcr bright blue eyes and rosy lips had ah'eady won her many admirers, and dearly as Ilcindrich loved his sister, it was not without some feelings of jealousy that he witnessed the admiration Mcnie's beauty commanded from all who knew her, for Heindrich was unhappily deformed. He had a high shoulder and a club-foot; and being of quick apprehension, he had not failed to observe that others, far his inferiors in mind and position, Averc much more favoured by the fair maidens of his acquaintance. It was customary with Menie and her brother to devote some time every evening to the practice of music, of which both were passionately fond, and it was at the conclusion of one of those performances, on the 15th of February, that Heindrich threw himself into his father's old easy-chair and sighed heavily. " Wliat ails my brother ? " said Menie. " Does the boar's head or the sauerki-aut lie heavy with my brother ? " "No, Menie," replied Heindrich, "it is not that— but— no— give me my pipe, Menie," and the loving sister flew to the study of her brother to obey his command. Whilst searching for the meerschaum she discovered a clue to the uneasiness of her beloved Heindrich, for on the table were two sketches, one representing her brother deformed, as he was then, the other depicting him as he might be. " Poor dear Heindrich ! " exclaimed Menie, bursting into tears ; " who has had the heart to send you such insults as these ? If they come from any friend of mine, I '11 cut them for ever." Menie seized the offensive caricatures, and having torn them into a thousand pieces, dried her eyes, and took the pipe to Heindrich. When she returned to the room she foimd him stiU seated in the same position as she had left him, and fearing to question or to be questioned, she placed the smoking appiirtenances on the table, and resolving to send up her brother's usual potation of hot schnapps-and-water by the maid, left the room. Menie 's conduct was not lost upon Heindrich, and he muttered as he probed the bowl and blew down the stem of his meerschaum, " Hum! she's guessed what's the matter with me— she 's heard what the women say of me — and yet Richard the Third got a wife in twenty minutes in spite of the momitain on his back ; and Byron was the idol of the ladies, though his foot was as difficult to fit with a ready-made boot as mine is ; but then — I 've the luck to own both a hmup and a club." The conclusion he had arrived at seemed far from agreeable, and he puffed away at his pipe with intense energy. " I '11 try, however," — he mused to himself — " I may not be so objectionable ;" and as this thought passed through his mind, Keziah, the maid-of-all-work, entered with the hot schnapps-and-water. " Keziah," said Heindrich ; and then hesitated, as though fearing to trust himself further. " Did you speak, sir ? " inquired Keziah, rubbing not the cleanest of faces with the dirtiest of aprons. THE DOOMED ONE. 27 Heindricli paused for a moment, ami then said, very hastily, " Keziah, will you give me a kiss ? " The girl looked so perfectly incredulous that she had heard aright, that Heindricli thought it necessary to repeat the inquiry. " What ! " exclaimed Keziah, her indig- nation really mautUng through the dirtiness of her face. " Kiss you ! kiss yoic ! Well : Guys is riz ! " And with a laugh, hilariously contemptuous, the maid-of-all-work made the house ring. Heindricli paced the room for a few minutes ; and then, throwing his ample cloak around him, he took his cane in his hand, placed his hat on his head, and hurried into the street. " Yes ! it shall he done. Cost what it may, I will obtain the power I have so long coveted. Roch Albert's skill shall make me envied where now I am despised." As he spoke Heindricli stood before the door of the Magian — for such Roch Albert was now accounted by many who had long derided the vaunted power of the being who was to make Heindricli happy (happy ?) by the knowledge he so much desired. Heindrich's heart beat fast within him as he saw Roch Albert's door open in answer to his summons — and more so when an aged crone introduced him into the chamber of the occultist. •' Be seated, sir," said the old woman ; " the master will be disengaged presently — and see, he is here already." Without making any obeisance, the wrinkled crone left the room. *' Your business, if you please," inquired the Magian. Heindrich's tongue became dry as pipe-clay as ho looked upon the man whose power he coveted and envied. Roch Albert was clothed in a long gown, secured at the waist by cords and tassels : his dark beard was unshaven, and his long elf-locks fell about his shoulders ; and it was not until he had thrown himself into a large arm-chair, and wiped his lips with a cambric handkerchief, that Ileindrieh found utterance. " I would become a disciple, mighty master. I would purchase from you a knowledge of those mystic signs by which thou hast acquired a fame as deathless — as deathless as " Heindi-ich paused for a simile. "Enough!" said Roch Albert, "I understand you;" and opening a volume, displayed to the delighted gaze of Heindricli the mystic signs which were to make him the most fascinating of his sex. As Heindricli gazed upon the characters, Roch Albert had taken his seat at the opposite side of the room. Strange and enchanting sounds seemed to pervade the air, and Heindricli read their meaning in the volume before him. Drmiken, nay, maddened with delight, the poor hunchback threw his purse upon the table, and rushed from the house of the enchanter. * * •* * * * * * * " Menie ! dear Menie ! congratulate me on my newly acquired power." " I dare not, Heindi-ich dear, I dare not. I fear that all you have acquired so dearly will prove your curse," replied Menie. Heindrich laid down his pipe, and smoked no more for an hour. Bright and beautiful were the faces assembled in the little drawing-room of Hubert Spitzhaiiser. Noble forms with luxuriant beards were seeking to win smiles and words from lips as rosy and lovely as an autumn sunset. Their efforts were in vain. Each time the knocker reverberated through the house, maiden would turn to maiden and whisper, " I hope 'tis he — I hope 'tis Heindrich." At length he came, and every 28 LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. beauteous l)eino' crowded round the hitherto despised hunchback ; voices that breathed only music, hade him welcome ; and hands as soft as the paw of a sleeping kitten, pressed his in friendly recognition. Mcnie was wrong! The spell had brought liim liiippinciHs. Hour after hour he invoked the sounds he had heard at Roch Albert's, and was rewai'ded with the outpourings of many a happy heart. And thus it was, day after day, night after night, week after week, — where'er he went he was called upon to exercise his wondrous powers, until Menie's prognostication was frequently present to Ileindrich. — " Can she be right ? " he thought : " alas ! I fear it — -already do I grow weary of this continual solicitation — this continual exertion." Days, nights, and ■weeks passed on, and Ileindrich felt the curse that was with him. Never ! never was he to know peace again. Those mystic sounds were asked for by all ; for all nuist he awake them. In his slumbers they were in his cars ; some demon instrument for ever thumped the accursed sounds : — xyz — a — — w™j-™' — I — >— k™J ' ' ' ' T ^— ..j — i — Yes, gentlest, dearest of readers — Heindrich had acquired his influence with the ladies by his knowledge of the sixty Polkas of Jullien ; where'er he went he was the musician of the evening, until Heindrich, the unhappy Heindrich, became Polka- haunted. LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. BY THE EDITOR. ^NEAS, the son of Anchises and Venus, was a Trojan prince, and he behaved hke a regular Trojan on several occasions. He was placed under the care of a nymph till he was five years old, or in other words, put out to nurse ; but his education was com- pleted under Chiron, who seems to have kept an academy for heroes, or perhaps, an evening school for classical adults. He taught music, war, and medicine ; so that he was one of those general practitioners whom Sir James Graham's proposed bill would have licensed to kill or cure according to circumstances. After leaving school Jllueas married Miss Creusa Priam, the daughter of old Priam, and had a son and heir named Ascanius. He fought well in the Trojan war, and distinguished himself in a manner worthy of the fire-brigade at the burning of Troy, carrying his old father pickaback out of the flames, with his son in his hand, but husband-like leaving his wife to make the best of her way after him. Some say that he returned to hide her, for which others read Ida; but Strabo makes him out a sort of Cubitt, who entered largely into building specixlations, among which was the rebuilding of Troy, with aU its streets and squares. But Virgil insists that he only made a passage into Italy. After some extensive travelling, he arrived with his father in Sicily, where the old gentleman died ; and the sou, then going to sea again, was cast on the shores of Africa, where Dido set her cap at him with con- siderable earnestness. Jilneas gave her a good deal of encouragement, and had at one time serious intentions ; but the gods forbidding the banns, he absconded, to avoid the consequences of an action, either by sea or land, for a breach of promise. Being again driven to Sicily, he consulted the Cumsean Sibyl — the Mademoiselle Le Normant LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. 29 of those days — who took him to the Shades, where he met with the governor, Anchises, who told his son the fate that awaited him. Jilneas seems to have been a rather extensive ship-owner ; for after having lost no less than thirteen, he arrived at the Tiber, where he received an invitation to spend a few weeks with Latinus, the king, Avho promised him in marriage his daughter Lavinia, who was no relation to " the lovely yoimg Lavinia," who, according to Thomson, "once had friends." There seems to have been a misunderstanding about this young lady's hand ; for while her papa had offered it to ^neas, her mama had promised it to Turnus. To prevent any incon- venience, it was arranged that ^neas and Turnus should "fight it out;" and the latter being killed, the former married Lavinia, and built Lavinium in honour of her — much on the same principle as Queen Victoria caused the building of the Albert Gate, in honour of the prince-consort. jEneas succeeded his father-in-law on the Latin throne ; but continuing pugnacious, he was killed in a battle with the Etrurians — or as some say, he fell into the river Nmnicus, when his armour being heavy, and none of the Humane Society being on the spot, he was unable to get out again. jEsopds (or Jilsop). — A Phrygian philosopher, who, though originally a slave, or livery-servant, procured his liberty by the sallies of his genius, or in other words, by making jokes, which was taking a lil)erty in the double meaning of the term. He took a tour in Greece and Italy, but generally hung out at the court of Croesus, King of Lydia, who sent him to consult the oracle of I)clphi, of which Jilsop made an excellent thing, though Croesus could make nothing of the ansAver of the oracle when it was brought to him. iEsop is said to have been awfidly severe on the Delphians, but the only sarcasm that has been handed down to us is a wretched specimen of abortive himiour. He compared the Delphians to floating sticks, which appear large at a distance, but are nothing when brought near. The Delphians must have been VOL. I. —NO. ir. 30 GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. particularly sensitive to have been hurt by this dim bit of satire, which will not bear examination, for floating sticks would look smaller at a distance than when they came near ; so that ^ sop's sarcasm was as great a failure in fact as in pimgcncy. The Delphians were so dreadfully cut up about it, that they got up a charge against him of having secreted one of the sacred vessels of Apollo's Temple, so that iEsop was pro- bably the first man who was convicted of pot-steahng. Maximus Planudcs says that iEsop was short and deformed, which is not true, though the publishers of the school editions of his fables have adopted this view of him, and always represent ^sop with a large hump on his back, and a modern watering-pot in his hand, doing a bit of gardening. GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS in miis <9ut al Hantsan. BY THE EDITOR. FYTTE THE SECOND. 'Tis sweet to watch a river in its course, And pleasant 'tis to loiter on its marge, Save when behind you an unheeded horse Is drawing by a rope a loaded barge. Sweet is the gentle murmuring of the stream, Its echo on the breezes softly dying — But not so sweet, when waking from a dream. You find yourself beneath its waters lying. 'Tis sweet to ramble on a towing-path. Thinking of friends and years long past away, But not so sweet an unexpected bath Upon a very cold December day ; Ay, 'tis a bitter fact — as such I book it, I know what such a bath must be — I took it. I stood in Putney — on the wooden pier, A clerk and waterman on either side, Each pouring rapidly into my ear Fair words in which 'twere folly to confide. One with a wild and earnest scream, Invites me to his fragile boat. The other whispers, " Go by steam. Unless you 'd rather sink than float." I turn away as if in doubt. While they with wondrous power of lung Proceed to fight the matter out, With the artillery of tongue. * * * * The steamer had a gallant crew. And hearts were brave though hands were few ; The captain was a tar as bluff As ever gave the word to luff. GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. 31 I've marked him as he trod the decks Receive the fares and give the checks ; Yet all the while, with eager zeal, Keeping his eye upon the wheel, And give the orders quick as thought To keep the vessel hard-a-port. England, with mariners like these. Must aye be mistress of the seas, And wheresoe'er the ocean laves, Britannia still must rule the waves. ***** As the arrow set free From its home in the quiver, So are we — so are we, As we shoot down the river. ***** Four figures round the funnel cluster : What is the meaning of the muster, ^Vhy do they thus together stand ? I see, I see, — the band — the band ! An ophycleide with awful groan, Begins the concert all alone. He might as well continue mute, For none con comprehend his strains. Till the assistance of a flute The nature of the tune explains ; As good advice in grumbling speech WiU fall unheeded to the ground. Although the heart at once 'twould reach, If mingled with a gentler sound. Sweet Battersea, I view thy shady bowers. Where I did court the muse in happier hours. And memory a tearful tribute yields Unto thy merry groves — thy laughing fields ; Thy gardens gushing with Pomona's stores. Thy meadows skirted with bulrushy shores ; Lying along by old Thamesis' side. Nature has surely decked thee for his bride. Sweet Battersea, where Thomson lived and sung. The home of Johnson, and the abode of Young ; There flom-ished Smith, and there the undying Brown Rush'd from the tumxilt of the heartless town. And there for lettered ease the classic Snooks, From city's smoke flew with his harp and books, Striking at intervals the cherished lyre, And filling outside foolscap by the quire. 32 GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. Fixir Eattcrsca, tliy fatal cliarms Have lured a hermit to thine arms ; Upon thy coast a pilgrim dwells, Who tickets for the steamer sells, But no one ever doth intrude Upon that pilgrim's solitude. A hook of checks hefore him lies, Wliich he regards with anxious eyes. As if to read his fate, he 'd look Into that useless little book ; And if a stranger seeks his wicket. To pay a fare and take a ticket. That pilgrim looks with wlldness round, Scared by the unaccustomed sound. At noon that pilgrim spreads his board, (Small luxury his means afford) : A basin filled with humble fare. Enough, but not a bit to spare ; Wliile in that savage, lone retreat. Crows hover o'er the savoury meat ; The wildness of the scene around Gives to his fears substantial ground ; Until that hermit in his den Begins to doubt his feUow-men ; And when for tickets they apply. He thinks them not in earnest half, But wildly at them winks his eye, And tells them he is up to chaff. // JfUf rfiioMnJi e^ vpt^^va^t^i GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. 33 Our vessel anchors at the Railroad Pier, We leave romantic Chelsea in our rear ; High on the margin of the northern coast Is Chelsea's Hospital, and England's boast ; The heroes — veterans — or what else you'd style 'em, Are there provided with a snug asylum ; The soldier 'neath his laurels may repose, Found in his hoard, his lodging, and his clothes. Ah ! Glory hangs its wreaths on sorry pegs, The stumps of arms cut off and wooden legs. I tm-n my eyes from Chelsea's hlood-stain'd site. And see Vauxhall meandering on my right. Vauxhall ! there is a magic in the sound ; Step softly, for we are on classic ground. From off the steamer vigorous fancy jumps On to those walks once trod by Simpson's pumps : He was the type of elegance and ease. He dimmed the lights that hung upon the trees ; Their branches must have yielded to his bow. But where, alas ! are Simpson's greetings now ? He who a \asit e'er did pay To Vauxhall Gardens in the day. Or e'en till dayhght's dawiT did wait. After some gay and glittering fete. Before the oilman's active fingers Put out the lamps where light still lingers, And mark'd the cold and cheerless air Of the few guests remaining there ; Would not believe all look'd so bright As late as the preceding night. Such is the garden I explore ; Vauxhall — but gay Vauxhall no more : So coldly clean, so deadly fair — We start, for all is wanting there. Thy last year's fetes were smiles in death, Which part not quite with parting breath ; Thy glory's last receding ray, A garish gas-light showing thy decay. Adieu ! Vauxhall ; I look across the tide, What vision greets me on the other side ? (to be continued.) " He who a visit e'er did pay.'" If wc remember rightly, BjTon has some lines commencing — " He who hath bent him o'er the dead,''' which may be thought to bear some resemblance to this portion of the Wanderings. The coincidence is certainly striking, but it only shows that the contemplation of Vauxhall brought the same ideas into tlie mind of Greenhorn as those suggested by Greece to Lord Ijyroii. 34 THE STAGE SEAMAN. THE STAGE SEAMAN. Man, in his relation to the boards of a minor theatre, is a veiy wonderful animal. Curious, indeed, are the creatures that breathe the dramatic air, and inhabit the set pieces of scenic life, ranging the canvas woods, and sauntering in the practicable groves, listening to the warbling woodlark in the band, or being summoned to the field of glory bj a trumpeter standing at the side scenes. Man, in this state, defies the 1st Rubber. Is that an ouse ? 2nd Rob'ier. No : it 's a ninn. htiiptioytatjtit/ 3rd Hobber. No : it '3 a nut. sagacity of the ingenious Pritchard, who flies flabbergasted from the contemplation of a being so utterly subversive of all the usual theories. Perhaps the habit of holding the mirror up to nature, may account for the upside- downishness which is so often met with in a dramatist's view of humanity ; for let the reader seize a dressing-glass — which is more convenient than a mirror — and hold it up to the ceiling — which is more come-at-able than nature— and the reflection will puzzle him as to whether he is on his head or his heels. His writing-table will appear sticking to the roof of the apartment ; the lamp in the centre of his room will seem to be standing on the floor ; and his fire will be blazing away over, instead of underneath, his chimney-piece. This practice, therefore, of holding up a mirror to anything, is calculated to throw an air of topsyturviness over the object reflected ; and thus, as it has been just observed, may the houlenersement of human nature by the minor dramatist be at once accounted for. Perhaps there is no finer illustration of the above remarks ^. /^.f r- ^ , - . THE STAGE SEAMAN. 35 than the theatrical tar, or British seaman, whose total variation from all other seamen, British as well as foreign, causes him to stand alone ; though, by the by, the power of standing alone is shared by the skittle, the noun substantive, and a variety of other articles that the imagination soon gets crowded with. To return, however, to the British seaman, as he used to be according to the 25th of George the Second, and as he is according to the license of the Lord Chamberlain. The British seaman tells everybody he meets to " Belay, there," which we find, by a reference to a dictionai-y of sea-terms, is making a rope fast by turns round a pin or coil without hitching or seizing it. He calls his legs his timbers, though timbers, in nautical language, mean ribs ; and he is continually requesting that they may be shivered. He is always either on terms of easy familiarity with his captain or particularly mutinous, and is often in love with the same young lady as his superior officer, whom, in consequence of their affections clashing, he generally cuts down to" a mere hidl, as he technically expresses it. He calls every elderly person a grampus, and stigmatises as a land-lubber every individual whose pm-siuts do not happen to be nautical. When at sea, though only a common sailor, the stage tar is the most important personage in the vessel ; and the captain frequently retires to the side of the ship — sitting, probably, on a water-barrel — in order to leave the entire deck at the service of the tar, while he indidges in a naval hornpipe. The dramatic sea- man usually wears patent leather pmnps and silk stockings, when on active service ; and, if we are to behevc what he sa3's, he is in the habit of sitting most unnecessarily on the main topgallant in a storm at midnight, for the pui-pose of thinking of Polly. When he fights, he seldom conde- scends to engage less than three at a time ; and if the action has been general a moment before, he has the field all to himself, as if by general consent, directly he evinces any dispo- sition for a combat. If there is a battle, he wins it personally, without the aid of anybody else ; and he treats the admiral as if he were a mere cipher, — as in fact he is, for he generally comes in, when all is over, at the head of his staffs, to promote the British seaman, and to tell him that his country owes him a debt of everlasting gratitude. If the tar is a married man, he invariably leaves his PoUy without the means of paying her rent ; and when he returns, he generally finds her rejecting the dishonourable proposals of a man in possession, who is making advances either on his own account or as the agent of a libertine landlord. In these cases the British seaman pays out the execution with a very large purse heavily laden at both ends, which he indignantly flings at the shark, as he figuratively describes the broker's man, who goes away without counting the money or giving any receipt for it. The stage- tar sometimes carries papers in his bosom, wliich, as he cannot read, he does not know the purport of ; and though he has treasured them up, he has never thought it worth while to get anybody to look at then), but he generally pulls them out 36 LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN AT CAMBRIDGE. in the very nick of time, in the presence of some old nobleman, who glances at them, and exclaims, " My long-lost son ! " at the same time expanding his arms for the tar to rush into. Sometimes he carries a miniature, and finds in some titled dame a mother to match it, or pidls up the sleeve of his jacket and shows a stain of port-wine npon his arm, which establishes his right to some very extensive estates, and convicts a conscience-stricken steward of a long train of villanies. At the close of his exploits it is customary to bring in the union-jack (nobody knows why it is introduced or where it comes from), and to wave it over his head, to the air of " Rule Britannia." LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN AT CAMBRIDGE. My Dear Ned, Not being very weU this morning, I sit down to give you a short account of " Alma Mater," as we call Trinity College. I have now been up here some weeks, and have seen a great deal during that time. Cousin Philip, who promised my mother that he would do all he could for me when I came up, has been as good as his word. He was exceedingly kind in showing me all over the place — so that, really, I can scarcely fancy that I am a Freshman. I must begin by telling you a little about oiu* life here, which, I assm'e you, is a very merry one. I go to chapel fom-teen times a week, which, however, I begin to find rather slow, as we have to get up at seven in the morning. It is generally pretty fuU ; the betting men sit at one end of the chapel, in a place called Iniquity ; a good way from the Dean. We dine in Hall every day, which I like very much ; I should like it better if they did not give us cold plates, and there was not such a squeezing and clattering, and one could get what one wanted. The waiters are all deaf ; they laugh and run away when you speak to them, and never come again. As for the College, it is a fine old place. There are very nice smooth grass-plots in the Courts, on which j^ou may walk as long as you hke for half-a-crown ; that is, imtil you are caught by the Porter, who is always on the look-out. The Tutors often walk over them, but I suppose the Undergraduates find it too expensive. As to our dress, we wear queer-looking bluish gowns, and square caps, which are very curious and ugly. They look more like a little tray with a slop-basin on it, than anything I can compare them to. You put the slop-basin on your head, and there is a silk tail to the tray, which hangs down over your face, and gets in your eyes. Cousin Philip showed me how to put it on ; however, I saw everybody smiling and staring at me, as I walked down King's Parade, and found afterwards that he was wrong about it, and had put it on hind-side-before ; which is very extraordinary, considering the time he has been at the University. He took me to look at the Lions of Cambridge, which I wished to see, as I had often heard people speak of them. They are seated on a building called the Fiizwilliam. I thought the attitude very good ; but I must say that I was, on the whole, rather disappointed in them. I afterwards went to a supper-party in his rooms ; there were nearly twenty men there, and we were very jolly. I played at cards for some time, which I liked very much ; however, when we got up, I found I had lost at least thirty shillings — all my pocket-money for a month ! I didn't like that quite so well. The men were exceedingly polite ; they aU asked me to take wine, and I afterwards smoked several cigars and drank lots of Copus. LETTER FROM A FRESHMAN AT CAMBRIDGE. 37 I remember tlieir di'inlving my liealtli, because, as tbey said, I was a jolly good fellow ; and I tbink I retm-ned tbanks. I am not confident abont tbat, nor do I exactly recollect bow I got back to Trinity ; but I bare an idea tbat tbe porter at tbe gate asked me my name, and tbat I replied by bitting bim in tbe wind, and afterwards sbinning bim for some time. I fear I must bave injured tbe poor man, as be has complained of me to tbe Dean, and I am gated for a fortnigbt. By tbe bye, after I got away, I found that somebody had stolen my neAv cap, and left his ovrsi in its place — such a rotten old thing ! Do you know, I half suspect Philip ? he bad a bran new one on this morning ; but I didn't exactly like to ask him. Perhaps it was a mistake. I must say, I don't enjoy smoking at all ; but, as every one here .smokes, I suppose it is necessary. I am told here tbat smoking is a classical custom, which the ancient Greeks were greatly addicted to, and that there is near London a temple dedicated to Apollo, and called tbe Grecian Saloon, where indinduals meet to discuss tbe cheroot, which was originally brought over fi-om Cheronea, a city in Boeotia. Tbe real tbino- is to smoke with a lady on each arm. Fashions in the East. Some of the men whom I met yesterday advised me to get an order for cio-ars from my tutor. I called on him, and asked for one ; but be only laughed, and said he was afraid I had been hoaxed. This sort of joke is called a sell at Cambrido-e : and is very amusing. I couldn't help thinking Phil, must have intended to sell me last Simday. You must know, Ned, that on that day the men attend service at VOL. I. — xo. TI. 38 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. St. Mary's. Well, ho told mc that it was usual to go in a surplice and bands — the same dress as we wear in chapel. This, as I learned afterwards, was a direct falsehood ; hut what makes it worse is, that he pointed out a church at St. Mary's, which, after waiting a long time for service to begin, I found was no church at all, but the Pitt Press ! It is very like a church, indeed ; and, while waiting there, I was joined by another Freshman who had come under a similar impression. We walked home together : everybody laughed as we passed them, especially the ladies, and we felt very much ashamed. I do not think, however, that I shall be sold again. You know there are oidy three courts in our college. Well, to-day he told me that my tutor, Mr. ■, would give me a ticket to see the fourth, if I asked for it ! I dare say ! I faucy I was rather too sharp fo'r him there. Ha ! ha ! I was not to be caught that way, and laughed at him in my turn. I suppose everybody is rather fresh, just at first ; and I hope the few little mistakes I have fallen into are no disgrace to my name. I have just bought "Hints to Freshmen," and have no doubt that I shall get on better for the future. When you see the governor, would you ask him to send a little more money ? Cambridge is a shocking expensive place. Believe me, dear Ned, Your affectionate brother, A. Green. P.S. — Write soon, and be particular in directing "Adam Green." There are several of my name in the college. P.P.S. — Only think, Ned! I open my letter again to tell you that I have just received a note from the Vice-Chancellor ! He tells me, most kindly, that indis- position alone has prevented his calling on me before ; and hopes that I will do him the honour (those are his very words) of spending a week with him at his coimtry-seat, to meet the master of my college and a few fiiends. He is to drive me down to-morrow in his dog-cart. I cannot imagine how he came to know that I had arrived ; but I have met with nothing but civility ever since I entered Cambridge. Phil, says he wishes he were going. I dare say he does, poor fellow ! I will give you the particulars of our visit in my next. I must now go and look up my wardrobe. Farewell ! P. P. P.S. — Don't forget about the money. MEASURE FOR MEASURE. Quoth temp 'rate Ned, whilst sipping mild Bohea, " The drunkard dies by inches, as I 've seen ; " " nonsense, man ! " cried thirsty Tom, " not he ! By inches ? No ! by barley -corns you mean." tki^ '1)cs',QncUhUoL A:?,a,^. l>^ ^ t o-."! t Qnui^ sJioJc __ lunc' If"" U'/^l ALICE BROMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 39 ALICE BROMPTON ; or, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. ^ 0ahtl. CHAPTER 1. " Thou com'st in surh a questionable shape That I will speak to thee." — Shakspeare. It was on one of those January mornings which appear to be made expressly to suit the purpose of the novelist, that a horseman might have been seen to canter along the north bank of the Serpentine. A keen observer of the works of Nature will ascertain that her labours are very multifarious, and that she has a great deal of business to finish off before mid-day, which was about the hour at which our present history commences. Natm'e had already dried up her nocturnal dews, and swept away her morning mists, when the horseman had reached the receiving-house of the Humane Society, which nestles on the river's bank ; while the boat-house, venturing more boldly into the stream itself, extends its protectiiig shelter over the two or three picturesque punts which snuggle together on the shore of the Serpentine. Our hero — for such we avow the horseman to be — was one who might have been taken to be of the middle height, as he sat on horsebacl??; but when allowance was made for the bending of his legs, which were considerably longer than his back, it was obvious that he must have been above the average stature. His features would have been regular but for a prominence in the nose, which was slightly curved, a peculiarity rendered more striking by the brilliance of the eye, which threw the other organ into a relief of remarkable altitude. The stranger's di-ess presented nothing out of the ordinary way, unless, perhaps, the cut of the outer coat, the top button of which being left unfastened, allowed the collar of a white waistcoat to betray itself. The horseman had been proceeding, without evincing any particular emotion, till he came in sight of the houses in Park Lane, when his features underwent a change, which if there had been any one to look would have been distinctly visible. Fixing his large black eye on the middle pane of the centre window of the third floor of one of those princely mansions which surround our parks — the green sward of which might, perhaps, be compared to an emerald set in Portland stones, of which many of the circumambient edifices are built — our hero gave one of those deep groans which betray the passion of a life in the breath of a moment. If that groan had been heard and understood it would have been of itself a history, and much of our hero's past biography might have been collected from it. The philosopher will read more in one twinkle of the eye than in twenty printed paragraplis, and a sigh or a start, a smile or a tear, a sneer or a shrug, will each be a little vulunie to the man of the world, more full of meaning than the thickest folio that scholar ever laboured at. Our hero had hardly concluded his groan, when he heard the clattering of hoofs on the newly-laid- down stones in the road behind him, and he had scarcely turned round to ascertain from what the sounds proceeded, when the gay and high-spirited Honourable Harry Brompton dashed up to his side. " Why, Singleton," exclaimed Brompton. " Why, Singleton " (such was our hero's name), " I did not exj)ect to find you stirring so early." 40 ALICE BllOMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. " Indeed!" replied Singleton ; " then you little know me. These are not times in which the true lover of his country can refrain from stirring. I have had very high thoughts, and very passionate burnings — but no matter;" and he dug the rowel of his spurs furiously into the flanks of his courser. " Nay, Singleton, Singleton," exclaimed Brompton, lashing his proud charger to keep pace with his friend, when the infuriated animal — we mean the horse, not Singleton — burst into a gallop, and driving fiercely in the direction of the Park Gate, it was evident that Harry Brompton must be either carried into the curds-and-whey-house, with a tremendous crash, or be whirled at full speed into the midst of the mass of vehicles that are always to be found at the entrance of Piccadilly, at about the time when the catastrophe happened. HaiTy Brompton, who was an excellent horseman, and had studied the equestrian art in Astley's ring, with admirable presence of mind made a tug at the otf-side of the horse's bridle, and drawing the creature round v/ith superhuman strength, caused him to describe a circle, of which Singleton, who had by this time pulled up, was the astonished centre. The steed of Brompton having by this time exhausted his force, was soon brought to a stop, and the two friends were standing side by side, opposite the veiy window of the very house which had extracted from Singleton the extraordinary groan, of which, in a former paragraph, we attempted to give the reader a faint conception. At the window to which we have alluded appeared a form of surpassing loveliness. Beneath the wavy auburn tresses, which hung round the whitest brow like the finest of silken fringe over the purest alabaster, there beamed a pair of eyes which might be rather likened to little specks of liquid coal, — so gushing were they in their jetty blackness. A mouth for which Aurora seemed to have supplied the colour of the lips from one of her earliest eastern beams, disclosed, when open, a set of teeth that the pearl-diver might have sought in vain to match, if accident had deprived the lovely owner of them. " So, my sister has been watching us !" exclaimed Brompton. " Poor Alice, I must hasten to assure her of my safety." " Do, do," hastily added Singleton ; " I would not for the world that she — I mean to say that I trust Lady Alice will not feel any unnecessary degree of alarm ; " and he turned his horse abruptly in the direction of Bayswater. " Why, Singleton," cried Brompton, " where are you going ?" Singleton bit his lips perceptibly, and drew his horse round in the direction of Piccadilly. " Nay, we must not part thus," exclaimed Brompton with earnestness. " Promise that you will call in Park Lane. Alice, I am sure — I mean that I shall be happy to see you." " I will call," replied Singleton, " for your accident may have shaken you ;" and he laid a stress on the " your " and the " you," which was perfectly unmistakeable. " Well," added the good-natured Brompton, " I care not for your motive, so ait rccoir ; '' and cantering gaily off towards the Grosvenor Gate, he arrived in a few minutes at the door of the family mansion. Singleton rode moodily oft' towards St. James's Street. But what were his intentions in proceeding there, and Avhat he did when he arrived, must be resei-ved for another chapter. ALICE BROMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 41 CHAPTER II. ■ Di piaccr mi balza il cor." — La Gazza Ladra. At the door of one of tliose splendid palazzi which ahuost tm-n Pall MaU into Italy, but for the tlifference in the scenery on all sides, the sky above and the atmosphere around, a chesnut cob might be seen to make a voluntary stop, as if obeying an instinct of its noble nature ; for it is a beautiful fact in zoology that the horse will draw up again and again at the door he has been in the habit of Avaiting at. Throwing the bridle into the hands of a man in a red jacket, Singleton leajjed from his saddle at a bound, and taking two or three of those ti-emendous strides which are the usual indications of an anxious mind, he ascended the steps of his club, and threw himself on to a couch in the vestibule with his head buried in his hands. Cm* hero was disturbed in the performance of this pantomimic funeral by the approach of a page belonging to the club — one of those pages who had entered the establishment a mere duo- decimo, and was fast expanding into an octavo size — who put into the hands of Singleton a note, which by its j)erfume might have come from Araby, had not its stamp ]»roclaimed that it had been posted in Park Lane. Our hero regarded the billet witli the deepest interest, and perused the direction again and ao-aiii. " How strange it is!" he men- tally ejaculated — though what a mental ejacidation is like we shall not attempt to describe — " how strange it is that man, at the very moment when ' ' — but we are unable to give the re- mainder of this mental ejaculation, for the honourable member suddenly burst open the envelope, and read or rather devoured the following wo'rds : — " My dear Mr. Sisgletox, " Whatever interpretation others may put upon i\\Q. ]>a>i. I have taken, I feel completely assure that you will view the act avec all that bonte which is peculiar to a cumdere like voire : I wisli to consult you on a sujet of the dernier importance, and I beg of you to come with the utmost depecke to Park Lane. " Believe me, " Most veritablement voire "Alice Brompton." Singleton, who had come to the club with the intention of writing all his letters on the club paper, and dining on a chop for sixpence — a charge which includes bread at Singleton in a State of Mental Ejaculation. 42 LADIES' LOGIC. discretion, with beer and pickles beyond discretion, if the member should not be disposed to draw the line — Singleton hastily made for one of the dressing-rooms, and taking u]i one of the two hair-brushes set apart for the exclusive use of the thousand members, he began arranging his hair. It is a curiously enigmatical trait in the human character, that man in the midst of the most absorbing interests will pay attention to the most trifling matters of routine ; and it was well said by one of the schoolmen that Nero fiddled while Rome was bm-ning, not because the city was in flames, but simply that he might indulge his confirmed love of fiddling. So it was with Singleton, Ilis heart was almost at furnace heat when he received the note from Lady Alice, and yet he iiddled about with a hair-brush, as if there were no internal fire within ; and he stopped to arrange his hair before he proceeded to avail himself of that invitation, which, for weal or woo, was to make or mar his futm'e fortunes. (ro he continued.') LADIES' LOGIC. Thers is as much difterence between Logic Proper and Ladies' Logic as there is between a Polka-Pelisse and a Macintosh. For supposing, as ladies, we believe, generally suppose, all Logic to be stuif. Logic Proper is one kind of stuff", and Ladies' Logic another kind of stuff. The essence of Logic Proper is, the Syllogism ; which consists of three parts, the Major, the Minor, and the Conclusion. Now in Ladies' Logic aU Majors are out of the question but Majors in the army, and no attention is paid to Minors unless they are likely to come into property. The Major and Minor terms of a Syllogism are called Premises. The premises of Ladies' Logic are such premises as Mr. George Robins talks of. Logical jH-emises ought to contain the conclusion ; but Ladies' premises contain little but trinkets and needlework. The following will serve as an example of a syllogism, according to the rules of Logic Proper ; that is to say, of proper Logic : — Major. " Every man who lives beyond his means is a fool." Minor. " I should be a man who lived beyond his means if I kept a carriage and pair." Conclusion. " Therefore, if I kept a carriage and pair I should be a fool." The syllogism in Ladies' Logic is much simpler ; as thus : — Minor. " Mrs. Dashington's husband keeps a carriage." Conclusion. " Therefore my husband ought to keep a carriage," In this instance we see that the first term, or major, is dispensed with ; so that, in fact, the major is a minor consideration. This is a very convenient sort of logic ; because the only correct major in the above instance would be as follows : — " Whatever Mrs. Dashington's husband does, mine ought to do." Now this is a Major that many husbands would object to. As it is, they can only question the conclusion. As : — " Why ought I to keep a carriage because Mrs. Dashington's husband does ? " To which the (lady's) logical answer is, " Why ? why of course." " Well, but," says the husband, " I don't see that." A FRIGHTFUL NARRATIVE. 43 " Then," replies the wife, " you must be blind." There 's nothing so sharp as woman's wit. She decidedly has him there. There is another kind of syllogism in Ladies' Logic which consists but of one proposi- tion. For example : " I don't like your friend Mr. Wilkins at all, William." " Why not, my dear ? " " Because he is so disagreeable." That is to say, " Because I do7i't like him." The following are examples of syllogisms, according to the most approved rules of Ladies' Logic : — Intemperance is lioniltle, therefore it is dreadful. Swearing is ungentlemanlike, tlierefore it is vulgar. That young man is talented, therefore he is clever. One peculiarity in the chain of reasoning constituting Ladies' Logic is, that the links of it are generally invisible. But there is a reply with which the ladies silence, if not satisfy, all objectors — " Oh ! what a stupid you must be !" A FRIGHTFUL NARRATIVE. (by an old bachelor.) ELix Williers was my first and dearest friend. He was little as a boy, and little as a man ; the only thing great about him was his heart, and that was large enough for an elephant. He had but one faidt, and that was a desperate one — he was always in love. Jilting did him no good ; if one woman played him false, he instantly made a declaration to another. Fair or dark, short or tall, fat or slim, were all the same to Williers ; his heart was like a carpet-bag — you could cram any amount of love into it. I used to tell him it would be his ruin — so it was— that is, it will be. When he married I cut him. Self-preservation is the first law of nature, and I didn't know but matrimony was catching. I called him a fool, and he said I Avas a brute. I never saw Felix for twenty years afterwards. Last Sunday I had the blues ; I do have them sometimes, particularly Avhen my shirts have no buttons ; and I found two in that state on the day to which I allude. Wlienever I 'm in the blues I always call upon a friend ; if I don't get rid of the megrims myself, I give them to somebody else ; and really there is some pleasure in being sympathised with. Well I I thought I 'd hunt up Williers. I thouoht that twenty years were quite enough to owe a man a grudge, even for marrying. Williers Uves at Highgate, so I made the best of my way there. I used to like Highgate once. I was then nineteen, and Mary Spiller was no matter, I don't regret it now. Well, I found out Williers 's house, and just as I was about to rino- the bell, I saw Fehx and his family turn the corner. I 'd been told that he had " his quiver full " of chikh-en— that one of his sons Avas " as big as a giant," and all that sort of thing, but I never thought that poor Williers was so be-otfspringcd as I found him. I shall not describe our meeting : he seemed to forget that anything had ever occurred, and I 'm siu-e I never made a heartier dinner than I did at his table. 44 A FRIGHTFUL NARRATIVE. There 's Felix and his family — and yet he declares that he 's happy. After a glass or two of port, we walked into the garden, and then back into the house. As I passed the door of a small room, I paused, paralysed — positively paralysed — by the objects Avhich met my eye. Williers perceived my embarrassment, and then, with the air of a man who feels that he hath " done the state some sei-vice, " boldly threw open the door, and requested me to follow him. Deliberately — smihngly — did poor Williers place in a row the objects which had excited my horror. As he did so, he said emphatically — " Those shoes are— .I^^^" Baby's. Pet's. Harry's. ' ^■'CC^'^*'"* • • . Mary Anne's. Elizabeth's. Catherine's. wi— 7< -»3a6«»» mi'TftJ^^^ Caroline's. BUly's. Miss W.'s. M ji Frederick's. Mr. W. Jun.'s. Mrs. W.'s. and My Own ! " The recollection of t//at scene has overpowered me. Should my tea and muffin restore me, I will let you know all that occm-red until I got into the omnibus. * * * * T])€ Folly of Crotie. THE FOLLY OF CRIME. 45 I THE FOLLY OF CRIME. The Home of Crime is in a shadowy laud Where all things wear an aspect not their own, The seeming water is but shining sand, The tempting fruit but hard unyielding stone, And ever there the light hath cheerless shone. In every flower are venom'd juices nurs'd, The song-bird's music dies into a moan. Though sweet as nightingales she sings at first ; But all within the Home of Crime appears accurst. The spirit of the place is seldom seen But mask'd and draped in some fantastic suit, Now wildly dancing like a drunken quean, Now sounding amorous measures on a lute ; But ere the strings' vibrations have grown mute. Or the bent blade sprung up from 'neath her tread, A sudden pang within her brain doth shoot. And she doth cry with such a voice of dread. That everj ffentle thing doth tremble and fall dead. But when she doffs her masquerading gear. She is so hideous that the appalled mind Grows dizzy by the greatness of its fear. And every eye is on the instant blind ! And yet withal she proselytes doth find. Who, for the shadowy pleasures she doth show. Have aU their hopes of future peace resigned ; And when deceived (she doth enthral them so). Still seek her phantom joys till they grow mad Avith woe ! The fool in love with ease will fly to Crime, Who, in deep mockery, whispers " Toil no more !" But in a little space, that 's scarcely Time, The ■victim's sluggish happiness is o'er ; The fiend throws off the treacherous guise she wore. And drives the wretch by indolence subdued To tasks that I'ack his limbs and drain each pore, And leave him sleepless thro' the night to brood O'er mem'ries that make horrible his solitude. And he who gives away his life for gold, Will bow to Crime to expedite his gain. Lo ! now his massy cofters scarcely hold The glittering dross he sued for not in vain : VOL, I. NO. Ill, 46 THE FOLLY OF CRIME. And doth his curs'd ally unchanged remain ? Go, watch him in the agony of sleep — His treasm-ed gold is molten in his brain, And round about his head vile phantoms creep ; His eyes dam up the tears 'twere luxury to weep. The slave of vanity, to feed his pride, Will seek of Crime the show to which he clings. Poor insect ! soon his folly is supplied — — A little sunshine gives the moth its wings. And doth the fiend exult o'er such mean things ? mark the bed where Vanity doth lie ! 'Tis made where poverty its refuse flings, Most loathsome to the smell and to the eye, And there the lonely wn-etch hath laid him down to die. The bully reveller, of his courage vain, Doth rush to Crime to help his riot's need : So bold a vot'ry Crime doth not disdain, But with a lavish hand his wants doth feed, Yet claims for every gift a darker deed. 0, then the demon's triumph draweth near, And in the victim's soul great terrors breed ; Whilst " Retribution " ringeth in his ear. And at his shadow he doth start appall 'd by fear. The stream, that as a silver thread begins, Oft flowing onward swells into a flood : So he, made desperate by his many sins, Grows mightier in his guilt, and thirsts for blood. Crime, ever mindful of his victim's mood. Proffers the knife — the work of death is done ! On every side he sees a spectral brood ; Whilst Crime, the demon tempter, leads him on. Till in his darken'd mind the hght of reason's gone. ON THE PRESENT RAILWAY SPECULATION MANIA. As gudgeons hurry to their fate. To railway bubbles some incline ; Forgetting that beneath the bait A hook 's the end of many a line. LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. 47 LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE, Abydos. a city of Asia, opposite Sestos in Europe, to -whicli it bore about the same relation as Chelsea does to Battersea. It is famous for the loves of Hero and Leander, the former of whom used to burn a rushlioht at Sestos, to lio-ht the latter across the Hellespont. Matters went on swimmingly for some time, till the Grecian boy was caught in a storm, when, there being no other buoy at hand to save him, he went to the bottom. It may be as well to remind the student, that of this little tale of Hero and Leander, Leander was in fact the hero and Hero the heroine. Acheron. A river in Epirus, which was called by Homer one of the rivers of a certain naughty locality. The superstition is supposed to have arisen from its being the practice of the Greeks to throw all their condemned plays into it. The excessive blackness of the water might also be accounted for by the great quantity of ink that thus became mixed up with it. Achilles was the son of Peleus and Thetis, the Nereid, and consequently the nephew of forty-nine aunts, being the forty-nine sisters of the lady alluded to. His mother practised hydropathy by dipping him in the river Styx, which rendered him invulnerable everywhere except in the heel, in Avhich he was always liable to be tripped up by his enemies. The saying of "laid by the heels," no doubt, arose from the circumstance alluded to. His education was entrusted to the centaur Chiron, who taught him music and the art of war ; so that, when in battle, he could sing out if danger threatened him. It seems, however, that he had extra masters, for Phoenix taught him elocution. Chiron, in the true spirit of Squeers, fed his pupil on the marrow of wild beasts, under the pretext of its being calculated to render him active and vigorous. His mother, to keep him from the Trojan war, put him into petticoats, and sent him on a visit to the court of Lycomedes ; but Ulysses, disguised as a pedlar, followed him, and offered for sale some real arms, and some imitation jewels. Achilles, choosing the arms, discovered his sex, and went to war in a suit of stout armour, warranted by Vulcan, the manufactm-er, to resist all kinds of weapons. In consequence of a quarrel with Agamemnon about a young lady named Briseis, he refused for some time to appear in the field, and woidd probably have sold his commission, or retired on half-pay, if the death of his friend Patroclus had not induced him to rejoin his regiment. Having slain Hector, he tied him by the leg to the rumble of his chariot, and drove three times round the walls of Troy, with a mob of Grecian blackguards following after him. Priam wept so bitterly at the sight that Achilles allowed him to purchase the reversion of Hector's remains at a sum which they both agreed upon. Achilles was enamoured of Polyxcna, and going into one of the Temples of ApoUo, probably a music-shop, to get a sight of her, he received an arrow in his heel from Priam, who thus gave him one for his heels, Avhich never healed afterwards. Alexander, surnamed the Great, was son of Philip, and founder therefore of the modern family of the Philipsons. Ho went to war when he was fifteen, from which it is evident that commissions were given to boys in those days just as they are at present. After his father's death, he conquered Darius, and took Tyre after a siege of seven months, during which he is said to have inspired his cohorts by a pun, telling them that they must not be tired out until Tyre was entirely their own ; a Jeu de mots 48 LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. that infused the greatest spirit into the Greek columns. His first exploit, however, was taming the horse Bucephalus, after all the courtiers had been thrown in the attempt, upon which Philip burst into tears, and predicted that his son would conquer distant kingdoms, a prophecy that might as well have been made in reference to Le Petit Ducrow, or to any other juvenile equestrian prodigy. From Egypt he went to the temple of Jupiter Amnion, where he bribed the priests to say that he was descended from the Gods, so that it was probably the temple of Jupiter Gammon at which these priests used to officiate. He built a town on the Nile called Alexandria, and, animated by the same spirit as that which prompted Lord EUenborough, he aimed at Indian conquest, and attacked Porus, an Indian king, whom he rendered Hterally porous by drilling holes with his spear all over the unfortunate potentate. Having made a handsome fortune, he retired to Babylon, where he took to drinking, and began to run through a great deal of his property, a process he occasionally varied by running through one of his best friends, for he perforated poor Clitus with a spear at a public dinner, because, in a neat speech, he had eulogised the virtues of Philip, Still, we are told, he was easy and familiar with his friends ; though the only records we have of his easy familiarity relate to his off-hand mode of disposing of them whenever his humour prompted him. He died at the early age of thirty-two, of delirium tremens, brought on by excessive drinking, universally regretted by all who did not know him, Wliile living he patronized literature, and gave Aristotle, who was exceedingly hard up, a purse to complete his Natural History, which was partly in t}^e, when the printers, who had never seen the colour of the sage's money, very naturally refused to go on with it. THE STAGE LADIES'-MAID. 49 Antigone was the daughter of Oedipus, of classical conuudrum notoriety, who guessed the riddle of the Sphinx when it had heen " given up " by every other •' learned Theban." Had he lived in the present day he must inevitably have carried off the annual prize offered for the best answer to the yearly enigmas in the Lady's Pocket Book. The chief feature in the history of Antigone was her energetic perform- ance of the funeral of her brother Polynices, against the orders of her uncle Creon. She was sentenced on this account to be buried alive, but she contrived to evade the intended punishment. Her story was dramatised by Sophocles, and the play having been given out for repetition '* every evening till further notice," was performed for upwards of thirty successive nights — a circumstance wholly unprecedented in the annals of the Greek drama. The author was rewarded with the government of Samos, in addition to the sum he received from the management. Antigone was some centuries afterwards partially set to music by Mendelssohn, and cruelly treated by some chorus-singers at Covent Garden Theatre, though the acting of Mr. and Miss Vandenhoff was sufficient to appease the offended shade of Sophocles. THE STAGE LADIES'-MAID. The explorer of human nature, who digs into the drama as a mine in which character may be discovered, will frequently turn up a quantity of material that he wiU find much difficulty in accounting for. To pursue the simile of the mine — there cannot, perhaps, be a more extraordinaiy spade-full than that very singidar lump of clay whose denomination forms the title to the present article. Though aU the world is generally admitted to be a stage, it is fortunate that all the ladies'-maids in the world are not stage ladies'-raaids, for if they were there would be an end to all domestic discipline in every house where a ladies'-maid might happen to form a part of the establishment. A most striking peculiarity in the position of the stage ladies'-maid is the ascendancy she immediately gains over every one in the house she happens to have got admission into. The only person she condescends to patronise is her young mistress, whom however she never assists in .anything but a love affair, but that even is beneath her notice unless it is clandestine, and terminates in an elopement, which she insists on liaving the entire conduct of. She permits no scruples of delicacy or propriety on the part of her young lady, who, by-the-by, seldom expresses any stronger sentiment of self-respect than such as may be implied in the words, " Really, Betty, I tremble at the step I am about to take," when the ingenious interrogatory of " Lor, Miss, what 's the use ? " from the stage ladies'-maid, at once removes any feeling of compunction by wliich the stage young lady may for a moment have been influenced. There is generally a struggle going on in the mind of the latter between duty and affection, when the casting vote is demanded from the stage ladies'-maid, who black-balls duty at once, and gives a plumper for disobedience. The stage ladies'-maid nevertheless receives bribes from the representative of the duty interest, namely the heavy man who receives tliirty shillings a week for doing the respectable utility, and talks of having just dined Avitli the minister, \\^^ile, however, she gains a knowledge of the heavy man's plans, and accepts from him at every interview a heavy purse filled with gallery checks, as a reward 50 THE STAGE LADIES'-MAID. for her exertions in his behalf; the stage ladies '-maid is urging her young mistress to rush into the threadbare arms of a half-pay captain who makes love to her, by whistling up at the window, following her into the Park, kissing her maid, and practising other elegant little arts which military men — on the stage — are ordinarily addicted to. Perhaps, however, the most curious portion of the stage ladies'-maid's conduct is her treatment of the master of the house, whom she keeps in a state of continual subjection, by an uninterrupted course of insult and violence. She ordinarily addresses him as an old hunks, shakes her fist in his face, thrusts his hat and cane into his hand, — all the while pushing him towards the door, — when she has any purpose to serve by getting rid of him. If he begins to talk, she talks him down, so that he can only splutter and say, " Whew," but he never thinks of either giving her a month's warning, or paying her wages, and sending her about her business. The stage ladies'-maid never thinks of leaving the drawing-room when visitors are present, but often remains in it alone to sing a song with Swiss variations, which must be heard all over the house to the great disturbance of the family. In dress she always excels her mistress, and frequently wears very thin white muslin over pink satin, the muslin being open all the way down the back, and an apron with pockets of very recherche embroidery. In conclusion she generally marries somebody because " she don't see why she shouldn't do as her young mistress does," and she sometimes unites herself to a low- comic countryman, whom she has been snubbing all through the piece, but who, when he has a chance of being accepted, looks like a great fool, and says, "Well I doant noa, thou beest woundy pratty," which is at once clutched at as an offer of marriage by the stage ladies'-maid, who sings a coujilet, or speaks a "tag," makes a curtsey before the fall of the curtain, and retires to her dressing-room, without saying a word to the low-comic countryman, whom she has just promised to share the remainder of her existence Avith. ALL THE WORLD'S A BEDLAM. 51 ALL THE WORLD'S A BEDLAM. AN OLD gentleman's OPINION OF THINGS IN GENERAL. I AM now considerably upwards of threescore ; but, I am happy to say, in perfect possession of all my faculties ; a blessing Avhich in these times I ought indeed to be thankful for. On most occasions I am a man of few words, and do not intend to use many on this. I write but to answer, once for all, a question I am contiiuially pestered with, " What is your opinion of tilings in general ? ' ' My opinion of things in genei"al may be gathered from my opinion of men in general. I am convinced that the whole world is mad : I hope there may be some exceptions ; to such I would address myself : but I have met with none yet. I observed this universal insanity coming on many years ago, when the monstrous idea was jjroposed of lighting London with gas. In vain I argued and insisted that it was impossible. People began by thinking the scheme feasible, and ended by believing that it was accomplished. Finding the world thus far gone, I at once shut myself up for safety in my own house, and have never stirred beyond my grounds since. I let a few harmless lunatics visit me, and I take in the papers — which are just as mad as the world at large — and thus I know what is going on. Light London with gas ! Set the Thames on fire ! Why, suppose they could, the place would be blown up in a week. Besides, where would they get the coal from ? Our mines would be exhausted in a twinkling. So I said at the time, and say still ; but to reason with madmen is the next thing to being mad one's-self. The next delusion that seized the public was Steam. I proved that it would come to nothing but mischief, and I find by some occasional lucid passages in the journals, under the head of Accidents, that I was right. The progress of the Steam pantomania, so to call it, has been astonishing. Absurdity after absm-dity was believed ; till at last men were persuaded that to cross the Atlantic and back by a steam-ship was quite a common thing. A steam-ship ! A bottle of smoke ! And now they have reached such a pitch of extravagance, as actually to regard as a fact the existence of Railroads between London and other large towns, along which they can travel by steam at the rate of twenty miles an hour ! It is useless to ask them how such an impossibility can be ; there is a method in their madness, and they gravely endeavour to explain. Nay, finding that I turn a deaf ear to their ravings, they assm-e me that I may satisfy myself of the reality of Railways, by simply going ten miles to see one. Simply, indeed ! Once admit the possibility of a thing contrary to reason, and the next step is to be convinced of its reality. All the world, likewise, is mad upon Electricity. I never believed in it at all myself. I always said electricity was a humbug. They pretend to say that, by means of what they term an Electric Telegi'aph, a signal can be conveyed any distance in an instant. — Fiddle-de-dee ! They declare that, by this same electricity, gunpowder can be blown up imder water. — Stufi"! Also, that copper plates of pictures can be got, in any number, out of blue vitriol. — Rubbish ! Of all these delusions they are as persuaded as they are of their own senses ; but so was the madman who believed liiraself made of glass. 52 ALL THE WORLD 'S A BEDLAM. They likewise affirm tliat the sun is made to draw pictures, hy a contrivance which they name a Daguerreotype. — Sunshine? — Moonshine! Of this faUacy they are as firmly convinced, as that the sun itself is in the heavens. I might as well talk to a stone wall, as attempt to argue or laugh them out of it. They tell me to go and see it done ; as if I could be such a fool ! But of all the incredible follies they are possessed with, the most inconceivable is a delusion called Mesmerism. The idea of persons reading with their eyes shut, seeing through stone walls, tasting w^hat another eats, having their legs cut off without feeling it ! What next ? Hear with our noses, I suppose, and smell with our ears. Oh ! the very thought of such nonsense almost makes me as mad as the rest. It is impossible to account for all this strange credidity but by supposing that some singular disease has seized upon men's minds and senses. For this reason I have irrevocably determined never to go and look at anything of the sort. Even I might catch the contagion ; but still, I hope that my judgTnent would rectify my perceptions. And therefore what I say is, that even if I saw gas, steam-ships, railroads, electric telegraphs, electrotypes, daguerreotypes, (all so many types of insanity,) clairvoyance, commiuiity of sensation, or anything else of the kind, / would not believe in them. I am not an obstinate man ; I can listen to reason ; I am open to conviction ; but I cannot, I will not, be imposed upon. I maintain that your science and your inventions are all a hoax, a humbug, a trickery, a deceit. Other people may be gulled if they like ; not I. It is all very well to cant about the ignorance and superstition of our ancestors for believing in ghosts and witchcraft : I say it is just as siUy to believe in electricity and steam. Talk as much as you like to alter my opinion ; it is all nonsense, and I won't hear a word. I am, Yours, &c.. One of the Old School. PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 53 PRIVATE THEATRICALS. Dear Mr. Editor, As I perceive that private theatricals are coming a great deal into fashion, I beg leave to offer the benefit of my experience as an old amatem- to those parties who are desirous of domesticating the drama, by bringing it literally home, not only to their hearts, but to their dining-rooms. The difiiculty of converting a front-parlour into a theatre is not quite so insurmountable as it may at first appear, but drawing-rooms with folding-doors are generally to be preferred, because a natural division is thus formed between the stage and the portion assigned to the audience. If the play is to be acted in the dining-room, it will not always be advisable to remove the sideboard, for it makes a capital tribune in Roman tragedies, and in Othello it marks the elevated position of the Dulvc in the Senate scene, besides furnishing an excellent bedstead for the final smothering. It also assists materially in the formation of anything like a judicial tribunal, such as that in which Brutus passes judgment on his son, for by drawing out the cellaret and covering it over with a cloth, the accused is at once provided with a locus standi. Again, if the back of the sideboard rises to a point in the centime, it may easily be converted into the Alps by a cloth fixed to the highest portion, and thus, in a piece like William Tell, there is a very passable mountain for the hero to apostrophise. In cases where the audience and actors are limited to one room, I need hardly point out the obvious expedient of an ironing-board on tressels being erected for the stage, while a couple of clothes-horses, covered w^ith green baize, or anything in the way of drapery that happens to be at hand, have long been recognized as the best possible proscenium for private pei-formances. When practicable, it is, however, advisable to have the stage so situated, that there is a window with curtains at the back, as they will be useful for the tent of Richard, when let down and hung over the back of a chair ; or they will serve admirably as the drapery of his throne, when looped up ; and having exactly the same materials in l)oth scenes will be no objection, for, as the tyrant may be supposed to have chosen the pattern himself, it is possible that the crook-backed monarch would in both instances select his favourite curtains. With reference to costume, Roman pieces are always the easiest, for the household linen will alw^ays aftbrd togas, and Virginius is especially adapted for private representa- tion, because the illusion is much aided by an urn, and as most families take tea, few are without the article alluded to. Where, however, the urn is not to be had, a soup-tureen, or even a salad-bowl, w^iU furnish an excellent substitute. Scotch pieces may also be dressed without much difficulty where there are many females in the family, for the ambitious Thane and his followers can readily be supplied from the large stock of horse- cloth shawls, that do or ought to form a portion of the wardrobe of eveiy well- regulated family. Trusting that these few hints will be found useful to those who are fond of playing at plays, I am, dear Mr. Editor, Yours, (fee, is here, With snow-white cap, and pattens on feet : She is his nurse, and she rocks him, rocks him, And into the blankets she tucks him, tucks him — Then sips something so strong and so sweet ! Now to school — in the biting air — Much to shiver, little to learn — JfttXWKfQ in state sits there, Frosty old Pedagogue, sharp and stern : In cold corner he claps him, claps him, And over the knucldes he raps him, raps him, Ouce and again till his fingers burn. Then, a shipboy — ready of hand, Sturdy of heart, though the sea be rough ; Commodore ifHSLffi) is there in command. Stout Sea-Captain, stormy and bluff ; Noisily ever he rates him, rates him — Storm or shipwreck awaits him, waits him — But his heart is fresh, and his nerves are tough. Just as the pigeons begin to pair, He feels a pleasure, and calls it pain ; Young Lady ^pi'll, fickle and fair. Rules his heart with a fitftd reign ; Now she is frowning, and moves him, moves him — ■ Now she avows that she loves him, loves him, Darting a smile through the clouds again. But soon hawking at higher game — Shadow for substance passing away — Now the queen of his heart is Fame — Life in its vigour and prime, and ifHaj} '. She has floAvers to grace him, grace him — And sharp lessons to brace him, brace him, Like shrewd winds on a sunny day. Now he thrills with a fierce delight ; Prancing past in his pomp appears Captain ^Utlf , with his streamers bright — Flashing, thundering, flanked with fears ; War is the cr}^, and he arms him, arms him — Proud is the pageant, and charms him, charms him. But flashes are followed by floods — of tears. SONG OF THE MONTHS. 55 ^>^^^~-rH^A Calmly and brightly shines tlie sun — Ripens his heart, with the golden grain — Sweet ^Ulj) he has wooed and won — Doubled his pleasure, halved his pain : Her sunny smile ever lights him, lights him — Though, as her faith she phghts him, plights him, She shed some drops of a gentle raiu. But Avhen the scythe and the sickle come, Comes a new comfort with a new care : Fruitful ^Itgust has blest his home — Crowned are his hopes with an infant heir : — But sick heats follow, to teaze him, teaze him — Fever and languor may seize him, seize him, Filhng the father's heart with fear. Fortune now is his idol grown — Houses, and lands, and worldly ware — Life's 3fptfin6cr has come and gone. Fickle as April — seldom so fair ; Riches and rank may be near him, near him — Sport and good claret may cheer him, cheer him, But where are the joys of his youth — ah where ? Soon enters Sorrow to play its part — Nature doft's her gauds at the call ; Sad ©Ctcficr has breathed on his heart, Searing over the green spots all : Ties are breaking that bound him, bound him — Friends are falhng around him, round him, Just as the leaves in the Autumn fall. Now, he sits, and snores in his chaii" — Feet to the fire — ^well wrapped in gown : Doctor ilobcmbft is always there, Feeling his pidse — so dingy and brown : Night and morning he drugs him, drugs him — And nearer and nearer he tugs him, tugs him. To Deccmber^ — who waits with a frowu. Clattering hoofs on the hard ground ring : ^Yhat pale Rider dismounts at the door ? 'Tis rDcrcmfier, the grisly king— 'Tis King Death ! he will wait no more ! — Yet he smiles as he meets him, meets him — Solemn but smiling ho greets him, greets him — Rest to thy weary head, old Forty-four ! / ^ 56 LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT, &c. LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE SUBURBAN ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE IN THE OUTSKIRTS. Fig. 1. ALC(iA^, ^ Fig. 2. My Dear Sib, — I beg to submit, through you, to the notice of that learned Society of which you are the distinguished ornament and president, a brief account of some highly interesting, and, I think, important experiments upon the theory of the refrangibility and refractibility of hght. I was sitting over the fire in the front parlour of my house in Paradise Row, and gazing listlessly out of the window, when my attention was sud- denly roused by observing a very extraordinary figure leaning against a post. The accompanying sketch (fig. 1), is as near as possible the appearance it presented. I immediately resolved to fathom this astounding mystery, and having commenced by noting down accurately the hour and minute of the day, I took the angle which my nose made with the perspective line of the street before me, which would give me the angle of sight (for I have repeatedly and accurately fixed the shape of my nose and its angle in the course of previous experiments of a similar nature). I next placed myself far back in my chair, and scarcely had I completed these preparations, when the figure before me suddenly, and as if by the agency of voltaic action, assiuned a totally difterent aspect. It was now thus (fig. 2) : — Noting down this change, I continued my observations, shghtly inclining my head to the right, when the figure happening to walk a few steps forward, suddenly '^' ■ became distorted in the form which I have next sketched (fig. 3). Astonished by these appearances I was about to resiune my pipe, and scarcely had I raised it from the table where I had laid it, when the form began to alter. I intently watched the phases of this change, and passed the yet smoking pipe several times before me, so as to throw the vapour in my line of sight. While I was thus employed the figure suddenly took a fourth and more astonishing form than any it had yet assumed, for it now appeared as in fig. 4. I have no means of ascer- taining the cause of these phenomena, and would be very thankful if any member of your Society would favour me by a solution of them. Hoping to hear from you soon on this subject, I have the honour to be. My dear Sir, yours most obediently, Hethincs Henosemotch. _PlU,cd eioid k PcMslielly Curr^i Cncil^-^AarA' . OiJ'' 1"^ I^L,l THE DREAM OF THE LONDON SEASON. 69 ®i)ie HireaTO §f tie EideUoiiii #iai^i. BY THE EDITOR. I SING the Seasons ! Reader, do not start, I 'm not about to act a Thomson's part, Telling in verse when, whereabouts, and how To guide the venerable British plough. I do not court the Muses to indite Poetic projects for destroying blight. Or date the proper periods of the year, When salad sly and peeping peas appear. 'Tis not for me to draw a rustic scene Of simple Nature — Natm-e 's very green : 'Tis not for me to chronicle the time When snow-drops sprout, and daisies reach tlieir prime 'Tis not for me to seek the garden's bowers. Taking an inventory of the flowers. And then explaining all their hues — how silly I As if e'en Poetry could paint the lily. I cannot sing of how the sparrow hops With cheerful note from the deep-tangled copse ; How hsteniug Philomel delighted rushes To listen to a choir of larks and thrushes ; Or how the echoing grove contains within it The baritone bullfinch and soprano linnet. These themes immortal Thomson made his own. So let them all be — henceforth let alone. 'Tis London's season now my j)en inspires. And fills my inkstand with Apollo's fires. Let mc propitiate the Muses' aid. To whom no sacrifice was ever paid ; (That is a fact, from Lempriere's page we know it, Payment was not expected from a poet.) But let mc hasten onward to my theme, The London season : 'tis the fair one's dream, _ When, like the lily Thomson spoke about, She 's just upon the eve of " Coming out." Help me, ye Nine, in fitting phrase to tell ^Vliat forms the vision of the season's Mlc .' VOL. I. NO. IV. 70 THE DREAM OF THE LONDON SEASON. First, at the door a carriage seems to wait, With lacqueys in their liveries of state. It bears her to the mart decked by the names — To fashion dear — of Howell and of James. In fancy, sitting at the counter's side. She sees the shopman show, with conscious pride, The newest patterns of the choicest stuffs, Of gayest hues, pinks, lavenders, and butfs. Not even Nature coidd herself display Of various colours such a long array ; For every shade witliin the rainbow's hue The dyer's art can multiply by two. Producing an infinity of shots. Stripes, tartans, tricolors, checks, plaids, and spots. Oh, how could awkward Nature rudely dare With those of Art its fabrics to compare 'i Look at the rose : does Nature put upon it The brilliance of a rose in a new bonnet ? And then, again, are Natm-e's flowers as strong ? No ! artificial last ten times as long. On Natm-e's side I hear a voice exclaim, " The last in odour put the first to shame." It was so once ! but now something 's invented. By which e'en artificial flowers are scented. But, to the dream, — in jewels and in dress The belle has all she wishes to possess. Imagination next appears to show Her introduction to the season's beau. Fancy, the theme delighted to pursue. Makes him an object now in every view ; Whether at concert, or at morning ride. That form henceforth is at the fair one's side ; While listening to the strains of human larks, Or taking pleasant airings round the parks. Now fancy seems to throw a softer spell Over the vision of the season's belle. And Love appears to make his first advance ; 'Mid the enchanting mazes of the dance. One form is present, as her partner stiU, In Polka, Waltz, CeUarius, and Quadrille. But will the soft impressions of the night Grow faint, and vanish by the morrow's light? The vision shows the promenade next day. And every doubt has pass'd at once away; The question 's put — the answer aU may guess ; Reason and rhyme unite to answer — Yes. By fancy now the happy belle is brought Among the glitterins; crowd that throng the court ; THE DREAM OF THE LONDON SEASON. 71 The day when some kind chaperone presents Is number 'd 'mid the season's great events. Oh ! surely Nature shows no sight so rare As with a royal drawing-room could compare. Can all the feather 'd tribe together boast, Of waving plumes, such a prodigious host ? 'Tis here that art displays its utmost zeal The many faults of Nature to conceal ; And age from Art attractions can obtain, For which poor Nature's efforts woidd be vain. The opera next is in the vision shown, The lovely dreamer's there, but not alone. Can Nature show a scene more gay and bright Than the grand opera at the season's height ? Talk of the birds that carol in the spring, — What bird can 'gainst a jyrhna donna sing ? However loftily the lark may fly. The first mprano can go twice as high ; ^Vhile not a blackbird 'mid the warbhng host Could of Lablache's execution boast : In vain the nightingale might strain its throat To reach the pitch of Grisi's highest note. And then the ballet — show me where 's the fawn With half the real grace of Lucille Grahn ; While the light antelope were a mere fool Did it attempt Cerito's ne^v jxis-seul. No, all the lambs that skip about the valley Would cut but sorry figures in the Imllet. But to the dream — 'tis drawing near the close, A dinner party next the vision shows, With her accepted lover at her side, She sits in fancy an affianced bride. Next at a soiree with her skill and voice She seems to charm the object of her choice. Till the imaginary music sM'ells Into a peal of merry marriage bells. It is her wedding that the sound portends. She hears the kind adieus of early friends ; A carriage seems to bear her from the door, A happy wife — the season's dream is o'er. 72 SEPARATION. SEPARATION. 9 €aXz. Fat, contented minds, who feel at rest witliin yourselves, who after you have withdrawn from rubs and collisions with the Avorld, can hug yourselves with your own internal tranquillity, — for you this tale is not written. But to you, fine morbid souls, who not only endure the shocks from without, but the machinery of whose mind scrapes together with infinite cogs, who fly from the war and bustle around, to find a deeper contention at home — to you I address myself. You alone can appreciate the sufferings of the Knight Almanzor. The King of Granada had a daughter, named Zamora, — one of those persons about whose grade in the scale of beauty all sorts of opinions might be entertained. Wlien dressed in a style more than usually becoming, when in a remarkably good humour, and particularly when the fancy of the spectator was exhilarated by the forbidden beverage — she would pass for a paragon of female charms. But Avhen she was negligently attired, when she was a little out of sorts in the matter of temper (no unfrequent occurrence), and when the spectator felt the head-ache arising from the preceding evening's festivity, the difference was enormous. Many a gallant, who woidd have been happy to break a lance in her cause after supper, would have shrunk from tilting with bulrushes in her cause in the forenoon. But it was not so with the Knight Almanzor, the accepted lover of the princess. No consideration of hours or meals weighed with him, but at sunrise and sunset he believed her to be the most beautifid creature that ever lightened this dull earth by its presence, and that if the famous Zuleika had possessed but half her charms the virtuous Yusuf would have succumbed to the temptation. Need I say that Zamora was delighted with her lover ? Such unfluctuating admirers were not to be found every day, and, like a wise yoimg lady, she appreciated her good luck. The luiion of Almanzor and his beloved was shortly to take place — and under the circumstances just narrated, any one would suppose that the knight lived in a state of ecstacy. The supposition would be wrong ; Almanzor gave reasons to believe that he had not by any means attained the pinnacle of felicity. He would roam about the palace-garden singing the most lugubrious ditties to his lute, — and a woful eftect they had on his hearers, especially as he never could succeed in bringing his instrument perfectly in tune. His songs would run upon some one from whom he was parted — and who constituted the half of his existence — and whom he feared he shoidd never see again — but no one covdd guess to whom they referred. The Princess Zamora, who was sometimes a little piqued at these plaintive lays to the mysterious somebody, would ask him who it was whose loss he deplored so deeply. But she was told, that he merely took an imaginary subject for his verse, and sang to amuse himself. There was no reason to question the latter part of this statement, as he evidently did not sing to amuse anybody else. One day, in conformity with the customs of the chivalric epoch, the gallant Almanzor set up a fine pavilion, and placing himself in the front of it, declared that he would fight d Fonti-ance with any knight who should deny that the Princess Zamora was the loveUest creature in the world since the days of Mother Eve. The princess looked down from a balcony, marvellously admiring the whole proceeding ; and the old king, her father, SEPARATION. 73 nodded and smiled, thanking the stars that his future son-in-law was such a creditable personage. The chances evidently were that Almanzor would walk over the course, and have all the credit of gallantry without any of the risk. Not but there were many knights who had seen far handsomer ladies than Zamora, and who — to use the idiom of the Arab chronicler — would have knocked Almanzor " into the middle of the next week ; " but they recollected that the fair one in question was the daughter of their king, who had an awkward habit of taking otf the heads of all persons who spoke disparagingly of his family. Under these circumstances, Almanzor walked carelessly up and down in front of his tent, sometimes kissing his hand to the princess, sometimes whistling a tune ; and always showing to the greatest possible advantage his new white armour ; which sparkled gloriously in the sun ; and his shield which bore the device of a smiling chubby face, with the motto, " I admire." In all his movements there was a fine sense of sinecure. Soon, however, to the general amazement, up walked a knight in black armom-, and with a shield on which was depicted a grim sneering face, with the motto, " I despise ;" bellowed out, snapping his fingers towards the balcony, "I contend that the Princess Zamora is the ugliest individual I ever clapped eyes on, and I don't care a jot for the old fool her father!" The sensation produced by this little gem of eloquence was unparalleled. The princess fainted in a twinkling ; and the old king was so amazed, that he completely lost his consciousness of surrounding ohjocts for a few moments, and saw nothing but little sparkling bits of light dancing before his eyes. When he 74 SEPARATION. recovered he was scarcely less amazed at seeing his future son-in-law and the impudent stranger ardently embracing each other. The thought struck him that he might very judiciously indulge in a luxury, similar to that coveted by Caligula, of striking off two heads at one blow. However, he crushed this thought at its birth ; and it was well that he did so, for a minute did not elapse before Almanzor had laid aside his traitorous friendship, and was attacking him of the black armour with the greatest ferocity, while the latter showed that he was determined not to be outdone in that elaborate brutality which the age considered the acme of human perfection. Clash followed clash, flash succeeded flash, crash sounded after crash, — till at last the combat terminated by the stranger falling senseless, under the influence of a mighty blow from the sword of Almanzor. At the same instant a cloud arose from the earth, and both combatants became invisible. When it had dispersed, the Knight Almanzor was discovered solus and with a little modification in his armour, for instead of being quite white the edges of the plates were black, and generally it was figured with a black pattern. How came this change ? What had become of the sable knight ? Almanzor, after supper, gave the following explanation : — " Some years ago, of course long before I knew the lovely Zamora, I became enamoured of Zulima, only daughter of the potent magician Albumazar. But so whimsical was my passion, that I scarcely knew whether I loved her or hated her. Sometimes perfections would dazzle me as Avith a blaze ; at others I was eagle-eyed in discovering defects. My wretchedness was inconceivable, for I did not know what I wished myself. The thought of losing her was torture, the thought of possessing her was scarcely more endm-able. My life seemed chained to an inconsistency. My soul was pulled two ways like those unhappy criminals who are torn by two wild horses, and I could not discover a point of repose. If I could have been perfectly enamoured, or per- fectly disgusted, I should have been the happiest of mortals. They err who say that an unsatisfied wish is the greatest aflliction. It is not to be compared to the dreary hopeless agony of an uncertain desire, — of a wiU that trembles without daring to rush into action. " The magician Albu- mazar one day called me to him, and said, ' I am per- fectly acquainted with your state of mind, and see clearly enough that you are no hus- band for my daughter. I have, however, sufficient compassion »n you to attempt the cure of a malady, which may otherwise pursue you through your whole life. This malady consists in a disposition to look on the bright side of things, and another to look on the dark side, being so equally balanced, that THE STAGE COUNTRYMAN. 75 resolution is impossible. My remedy will be somewhat desperate, but you must not mind that.' " So saying, he caught me by the nape of the neck, and before I knew where I was going, I found myself in the interior of an alembic, with a smart fire crackling under- neath. The sensation I endured was wonderful. I felt no bodily pain, but my mind seemed to be splitting into two, as if I could dimly think of two objects at once. At last I found myself looking at myself, — each self being perfectly clear and distinct. One self, pleasant, smiling, and cheerful, floated at the top of the alembic ; the other, dark and gloomy, scowled from below. The process being completed, the enchanter took both me 's out of the vessel, and keeping one of us on each side of liim, addressed us, in a benignant voice. 'Almanzor,' said he, 'the contending principles in your character are now separated into distinct persons. Take each of you an opposite direc- tion, for you shall not again be combined, till a mortal combat decides which is the more potent of the two. When that is once settled, you m'lU be a compact character.' Hearing these words of the good magician, Ave embi-aced, and took leave of each other, and went each oxu" own way ; one grumbling through the world, and calling all things wrong, the other finding all things cheerful and happy, except when an occasional lingering for his other half Avoidd cross his mind, when he would sing mournfid songs. I need hardly tell you, that the knight you have hitherto addi-essed as Almanzor, was my sanguine moiety, and that the black knight Avhoni I conquered to-day, was my morose portion. That victory has settled that the good-humoured part predominates, and I am now an entire person at the service of the fair Zamora, though not perhaps so mere an enthusiast as my cheerfid half appeared, when quite alone." The nuptials of Almanzor and Zamora were celebrated with great splendour ; and the wise men of Granada were heard to observe — in an under-tone, of course — " It is lucky the gracious princess met the best half first." Balzac d'Anois. THE STAGE COUNTRYMAN. BY THE EDITOR, If a select committee were appointed to inquire into the state of the rural population, and a stage countryman were to be examined with the view of collecting- facts relating to the rustic character, the select committee would be sorely puzzled to know what to make of it. In the first place the costume of the stage countryman is arranged with an eye to the picturesque rather than the practical. He frequently wears a very light sky-blue coat with a waistcoat of the gayest chintz, as if somebody had given him a window curtain, and he had been seized with the heureusc idee of having a vest made out of it. He has dark-blue stockings, Avhieh ai'c made of silk if lie is the first countryman, but are ordinarily of grey worsted if he is only one of a party of rustics getting in the harvest, or assisting at a village festival. By the way, the dramatic mode of getting in the harvest consists in tossing about a truss of straw with property rakes at the back of the stage, and then coming forward to the front to sing a chorus. Village festivities are also of a very mild description in their theatrical form, and comprise little more than the luxury of sitting on a bench outside an alehouse door, holding in one hand a tin cup 76 THE STAGE COUNTRYMAN. filled up above the brim with wool, which is occasionally raised to the lips, in accordance with some complimentary allusion to John Barleycorn. To return, however, to the costume of the stage countryman. The remainder is made up of a red wig and a hooked stick, with a small bundle slung across it, and a pair of dancing-pumps, in which he is always prepared to walk to London, for the pur- pose of righting " poor sisther Phoibe," or telling the "great squire" that he (the stage countryman) has got " feelinshke,"andthathe (the stage countryman) is as good a"mon" as he (the squire) : " thof he (the squire) have gotten a fine coat on his back" — a home truth which sometimes throws the squire into a state of pitiable penitence about some- thing or other which there is no proof of his having been guilty of. Though the dramatic rustic is vividly alive to any wrong, real or imaginary, inflicted on his own sister, he is often, as far as his own treatment of the fair sex is concerned, little better than a domestic ruflian. He is either contemptibly soft, accepting as a wife some village coquette, who has been dechned on account of her flirting propensities, by some former lover, or he is brutally hard, refusing to fulfil the vows he has plighted to some unfortunate village girl, and setting the yard dog at her if she persists in pursuing him. The occupations of the stage countryman are usually of the very vaguest character. He appears to have nothing on earth to do but to avenge his sister for some wrongs not very clearly made out, bully the landlord about " fearther," who is a most unpunctual old man in the payment of his rent, flirt with village maidens, grow sentimental about poor old " mither," and " dom" the young squire. The stage countryman is a character fast disappearing from the drama, and the only rusticity now introduced into theatrical pieces is confined to a Yorkshire servant, who seems to be retained in a house for the mere purpose of misimderstanding every order he receives, and grossly insulting every visitor of the family. TO ROSALIE, WITH A PAIR OF SCISSORS. 77 TO ROSALIE, WITH A It Is an adage of the day, " A knife cuts love " — perhaps it may ; But Scissors, tell me, love, do thei/ ? Oh ! surely no, love. Then why this cut unkind impute, When all their qualities confute The calimmy ? — To cud dispute, I '11 prove it so, love. They are " a pair : " — The very name ImpHes a thought — the emblem's aim Of two fond hearts : though two, the same ; My own and thine, love. Mark how the kindred halves abide ! Caressing closely side by side — A lover, with his " shining Bride :" Would it were mine, love. How beamingly each steals a glance, Reflecting each the coy advance Of undidating dalhance ! (Put on their sheath, love.) While I their bright example state. For you and I conjoined by fate, The moral to participate Which Ues beneath, love. What oneness doth this " pair " anoint, ' ' Agreeing to a very point ; ' ' United — by a simple joint — Their marriage bond, love. List ! how with gliiUng sigh they greet Wlien parting — while a kiss so sweet Snaps mutually Avhene'er they meet ; They are so fond, love ! VOL. 1. NO. IV. 78 TO ROSALIE, WITH A PAIR OF SCISSORS. They close in amorous innocence. And either upon no pretence " Affords ii handle of otience," Though playful ever. And bound by sweet affection's laws. May we shear clear of unwise saws ; For sportive lest their grating cause The charm to sever. But oh ! should any presence rude Between their closing lips intrude, Their " keen embrace " bodes little good — They'd " smack it stnooth," love. And thus each heart that loves another, Should always halfway meet its brother, Scissorwise — and pidl together, In age and youth, love. But love, like them, must be inclined In shape, and polished by the mind : By nature " true," * by art refined ; " Well tempered " too, love. Then say not they divide the chain Of love, who parted, never feign. But " cut " aU else, and " come again ; " Old and new, love. But if perchance aught break the tie — • " The rivet of their destiny " — How useless these, disbanded, lie : Their partner gone, love ! So the poor heart left desolate — Like mine — perforce now separate From thee, its own adopted mate, Abides forlorn, love. Tridy they " point a moral " — yes ; And when thy pretty fingers press This little instnmieut, I guess The case you '11 feel, love. Then if you deign no passing thought On him by whom this " pair " was bought ; But '' set the Blade'' och. hone ! at nought, Thou 'rt ''cold as steel, love." * " True as steel." — Old saw. ALICE BROMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 79 ALICE BROMPTON; or, THE LILY OF PARK LANE, BY THE EDITOR. CHAPTER III. 'Who are you?" — Popular Interrogator v. Before we proceed with our story it may be as well to answer the question which must by this time have occurred to many of our readers, " "\^^lo on earth is Singleton ?" Charles Singleton was a yoimger scion of an old Cheshire family, which had once been what is technically termed " the cheese," but had gone to decay at the end of the last century. By a collateral uncle on the mother's side there had been some property, which some poor relations on all sides had managed to dissipate. Our hero's grandfather had distinguished himself on the Peninsula ; but how or what about was never very clearly shown, though he was said to have won some laurels, as an officer in the Bays ; but wishing to repose on the fonner, he sold out of the latter at a com- paratively early period. Captain Singleton had a numerous family, of which our hero's father was the ninth son, so that his patrimony was necessarily very limited ; and having invested nearly the whole of it in a license to act as an auctioneer, he devoted himself with considerable energy to the rostrum. His aifability of manner, added to a sort of what the French call e?njn-esseme?it, gained him a good deal of esteem, and a fair share of business : so that after hammering away for about a quarter of a century he became so thoroughly satisfied with his own lot, that he was enabled to retire. He had married early in life a woman of strong mind but delicate health, who, about four years after blessing him with our hero, expired. Mr. Singleton having continued a widower for about seventeen years, unfortunately died, and Charles Singleton found himself at the age of twenty-one the sole master of a hundred and fifty pounds per annum. Our hero, after having wept over the tomb of his parents, rushed with all the ardour of youth towards the metropolis — that naughty city of cold hearts and hot heads — where he soon became steeped to the brim in its million gaieties. Still Singleton was not of a frivolous turn of mind, and often when in the mad excitement of nocturnal revelry, calling for the midnight chop, or clamouring for the devilled kidney, his eye would moisten, and tears would flow from it as if it had been the seat of some secret cataract. He had been educated at Harrow, which might account for the Byronic tinge that his character had acquired ; and he had there formed a boyish friendship with the Honourable Harry Brompton, who had taken him to Park Lane, and introduced him to his only sister, the Lily. It has been beautifully said by somel)ody, that " school friendships, like hothouse grapes, come early to maturity, and fall speedily to decay." But such had not been the case with the friendship between Brompton and Singleton, who were familiarly known among their set, the former as the Damon of Park Lane, and the latter as the Pail-Mall Pythias. It was not to be expected that Singleton could compete in point of expenditure with his friend Bronq>ton ; but with that spirit Avhich is ever the mark of a generous soul with limited means, he had a little overrun that staidest of functionaries, the constable. He had become a member of a club at the West End of the town, where he was in the habit of taking his meals, and from which he always 80 ALICE BROMPTON; OR, TME LILY OF PARK LANE. dated his letters ; for he knew that Greek Street, Soho, where he rented a solitary bed-room on an upper floor, would appear hut a sorry address in the eyes of those with whom liis taste led him to associate. An anxiety to augment his income had thrown him into the paths of literature, which he was in the hahit of adorning hy a series of fanciful heart-gushings in poetry and prose (on the usual terms), and he had obtained some little popularity as the (/> of a well-known periodical. His intimacy with the noble family of the Bromptons was brought about, in the first instance, by the partiality of young Harry ; but it was rendered closer by the good- nature of the head of the illustrious house — the kind-hearted and venerable Earl of Putney. The feelings of Lady Alice towards our hero were, of course, very diiferent from those with which her father and brother regarded him. The literary acquirements of Singleton were exactly of a character to make an impression on the female heart ; for they generally referred to early affections blighted, and young bosoms seared — topics which were sure to tell upon the mind of a sensitive creature like the heroine of our little history. But while we have been describing the persons who will form the most prominent characters In oiu* tale, we have broken the thread of its action ; but having replenished our literary needle, we will go to work in earnest upon the ensuing chapter. CHAPTER IV. « Ha !— say'st thou ?" — Old Plav. We left Singleton at the close of our second chapter brushing his hair at his club, and we rejoin him turning the corner of Pall Mall into St. James's Street. He had dismissed his horse to the livery-stables from which he had hired it for a morning ride, and he was walking in the direction of Park Lane, at a pace which those only who have fondly and passionately loved can form a due conception of. With a beating heart and a throbbing head. Singleton was stepping out towards the paternal abode of Alice, when he ran against a tall figure in a Spanish cloak, who had suddenly turned round towards the kerb-stone to hail a cab from the stand adjacent. Singleton and the stranger exchanged a momentary scowl, but the latter entered the vehicle, and the former thought he caught the words " Park Lane" — spoken with a strong foreign accent, to the waterman. There was nothing peculiar in a foreigner taking a cab to Park Lane, but owing probably to the highly feverish state of excitement in which Singleton naturally found himself, the words Park Lane struck with a cold and clammy chill to his very core, with an intensity that there was no accounting for. As our hero passed into Piccadilly, the busy vivacity of the scene contrasted power- fully with his own abstractedness, and he gazed with such vacancy on the conductors of the numerous omnibuses, that they mistook his air for that of a man undecided as to the vehicle he should select, and requiring only vigorous solicitation to induce him to make up his mind in which he would become a passenger. Pencils, watch-guards, and oranges, were thrust into his face on one side, while a body of cads importuned Mm on the other ; when, amid the din of voices, all roaring out the names of suburban places, he thought he heard the word Brompton, and he burst into a violent flood of tears. A loud shriek of laughter rose wildly from the unfeeling- crew ; Avhen, suddenly recollecting himself, he looked sternly round, and spreading out both his arms with a dignity that was almost terrible, as if to throw from him the ALICE BROMPTON ; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 81 heartless crowd, he muttered the single word "Away," and went rapidly off towards Hyde Park Corner, As Singleton walked, or rather scampered towards his destination, he hegan to ask himself a variety of questions as to the ohject Lady Alice could have in writing to him. He had never actually declared his passion in words, though he had often thrown his whole soul into his looks, and he could not douht that his eyes had told the tale which his lips had never dared to utter. It is true that his conversations with the lovely Alice had never comprised any distinct avowal of affection on either side, but he had, to use a beautiful illustration of his own, extracted the rays of the rainbow from the softness of the sunbeam ; or, to use a less metaphysical mode of expression, he had distilled the honey of hope from the Uly's gentleness. Often, indeed, had he recited to Alice the words of some simple ballad of his own, in which he had sung of gallant knights breaking lances for ladies fair, at joust or tournament ; hut this could hardly be interpreted into a specific offer of either his heart or hand, and therefore he could not be supposed to know how such an offer would be received, if he ventured on making it. But Singleton was by this time on the step of the door, and while we leave him to knock and be let in, we will see what is going on in the interior of the CHAPTER V. " Amor possente nome." — Tancredi. We must now take the liberty of bursting into the boudoir of Alice Brompton, an apartment in which Taprell and Holland seemed to have struggled with Sharpus to such an extent, that it was difficult to say whether the upholstery of the one, or the porcelain of the other, had obtained the ascendancy. The window was of stained glass, with a magnificent centre-piece representing Cupid retm-ning from Howell and James's with offerings to Hymen, — a subject in which the mythological and the real were blended very happily. The panes on either side were emblazoned with the heads of some of the founders of the Brompton family. There was the burly Hugh de Knightsbridge, the friend of Latimer and Ridley, who lost his head at the Tower ; and Walter de Putney, who when a boy, and the family mansion was under repair, fell off the scaffold. Nor must we forget to mention the stalwart Hildebrand de Fulham, who aimed at the crown — and broke the palace lamp — with a stone ; while in one corner of the Avindow was Sir Brian de Brompton, who had given a jKtit souper to the discontented barons to celebrate the signing of Magna Charta. The draperies were of satin damask, such as may be seen labelled "curiously fine," in the merchants' windows ; Avhile the walls were covered with a profusion of plate glass in massive gilt frames, so that wherever the eye tiuTied it was sure to light upon its own reflection. In one corner of the apartment was a piano, and under it a Canterbury, presented by one of the archbishops of that see to an ancestor of om- heroine. A portrait of the Lily in mczzotinto, painted expressly for The Ladies' Belle Asscmblee, hung in a small recess, and a guitar suspended by a blue ribbon to a brass hook, completed the furniture of the apartment. In front of the piano sat Alice, looking like St. Cecilia, on a rosewood music-stool. Her hair had all the sleekness of one of Carlo Dolce's Madonnas, and her neck looked like a bit of Chantrey's choicest chiselling. There was an expression in her eye of half fire half water — for the furnace of passion seemed to have been just lighted in time to allow the foimtain of tears to pom- in and extinguish it. 82 ALICE BROMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. But Alice was not alone ; leaning over the shoulders of the Lily, in such a position as to catch the flashing of her beautiful eye, was a man considerably above the middle stature. Ilis brow was bronzed, apparently by a southern sun, and his high cheek- bones thrown considerably up into relief by a complexion of the most delicate olive, gave him a good deal of the aspect of one of those studies with which Domenichino, had he lived to have done so, might have adorned the corridors of the Vatican. A bushy moustache completed a head which the elder of the Caraccis might have revelled over. and transfixed with his immortal brush on his imperishable canvass. The dress of the stranger had once been showy, but was going fast to decay, like the old Italian house of Tutti Fare, of which he who hung over the Lily in the boudoir of Park Lane, was almost the only remnant. The position in which TuttI Fare is introduced to the reader renders some explanation requisite, and we therefore proceed to give such explanation as briefly as possible — premising that we have no other authority than Tutti Fare's own for the account we are about to ofi^r. Luigi di Tutti, the founder of his race, was a Venetian noble, who having no other fortune than his sword, swore an oath in the presence of the Council of Ten — a custom something like making an affidavit before a police magistrate — that he would never sheathe the weapon till he had made Venice what she ought to be. By a marriage with Leonora di Fare — by some called The Rose of Lombardy, and by others the Austrian Hollyoak — Luigi cemented the union between the Tuttis and the Fares, so that the head of the house went by the name of Tutti Fare ever afterwards. The next of the race was Giacomo, who was said to have refused the offer of a BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. 83 Cardinal's hat from Sixtus ; but he, nevertheless, ultimately got very monkish, and founded an asylum for decayed Carmelites. The link in the family genealogy is here lost, till we get smack down to Tutti Fare, the last of a long line of Italian Counts, who, banished from his own fair laud by poli- tical discord, was cultivating harmony in England as a fashionable music-master. He had been selected to finish the Lily's musical education, which, by the way, was something like teaching notes to the nightingale ; and Alice Brompton had fallen madly, desperately, wholly and solely, heart and soul, in love with him. Tutti Fare himself had never dreamed of being the object of his pupil's passion till one morning, when trying over the duet of Lasciami, she suddenly fell almost fainting on his breast. From that time their protestations of aftection had been mutual, and they were in the midst of a passionate trill, with the left hand of the Lily clasped fervently in that of Tutti Fare, when Singleton entered the room. What occm'red was the work of a moment, and our description shall be correspond- ingly brief, for the reader will be happier in conceiving than we could possibly be in describing it. Singleton tore a handful out of his hau", gave an hysteric scream, succeeded by a deep groan, and hurrying down stairs, was in a few moments seated in a cab, sobbing bitterly. Tutti Fare, who was simply annoyed at being interrupted in a tete-a-tete with his lovely pupil, uttered a few words of Italian, among which Corpo di Bacco were distinctly audible, while the Lily swooned into her lover's arms, having just sufiicient consciousness left to keep her eyes fixed on the door, to prevent her father, or brother, or one of the sei'vants, coming unexpectedly into the room. We need hardly prolong this chapter to add, that Singleton saw in his rival the stranger in the Spanish cloak, whom, less than half an hour before, he had met, run against, and scowled upon. BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. " There be the coach, Betty, a coming down iicdclay Hill, yonder," said one of a group that had assembled in front of the Green Dragon — the only public-house in the little village of Grassvale. There was no mistaking the purport of the assemblage — a box neatly packed in canvas, a gigantic umbrella carefully patched and darned, a pair of pattens secured to the cording of the box by a piece of tape, plainly told that one of the little party was about to take a journey, and that the others had met to say " good-bye" to the traveller. The object of this friendly solicitude was Betty Morrison, — kind and gentle Betty Morrison — who, for the first time in her life, was about to leave her native village for no less a place than London. It was a hard task for Betty to part from her old widowed mother ; but she acted from a sense of duty, and a strong uudefiuable hope, that the sacrifice she was making would some day tend to the ha])piness of the beloved author of her being. Until the present moment the lot of Betty Morrison had been a happy one. She had been born the child of parents who had no otlier inheritance but their labour and their cheerful hearts, and who early taught their child contentedly to " do her duty in that state of life to which it had 84 BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. pleased God to call her." When her fatlici- died, Mrs. Hartley, the ciu-atc's wife, took Betty to live with her ; and inider the tuition of that excellent woman — too poor to be idle, and too good to be proud — Betty became the best servant in the county. She was taught to read and write ; and so highly were her acquirements and goodness estimated, that she became the friend and confidante of half the young girls in the village. Betty was three-and-twenty when the curate died, and his widow reluctantly compelled to seek a home in the house of a near relative. The separation of mistress and handmaid was a sad one indeed, although the good woman had exerted herself so earnestly with some friends in the metropolis, that Betty had obtained " a service in London at 11. a year ! " — a sum which sounded to the ears of the honest rustics of Grassvale as the certain nest-egg of a fortune. It was to realise this golden dream that Betty Morrison was awaiting the arrival of the " Old Blue" coach to London. As the rattle of the wheels became audible the poor old widow took her child's hand between her own, and looking for a moment stedfastly in her darling's face bm'st into tears and sobbed aloud. " Don't mother — don't cry," said Betty, ahnost choked by her own emotion ; " I 'm going for both our good — I 'm sm-e I am. A year or two's hard work, and then I shall come back to you Avith so much money that we shall be puzzled to spend it." " But thee has never been from home afore, Betty," sobbed her mother, " and Lun'on's a matter of a hundred mile away ; and how be I to know if thee bee'st well — and happy, my child. Thee musn't go, Betty — thee mustn't." " Fie, mother," and the poor girl tried to smile ; *' why my dear old mistress woidd think I had grown lazy and migrateful, now that she 's been at all the trouble to get me a place, mother. Can't I write to you Avhenever the waggon comes to town ? besides, I mean to put down in the pocket-book that Mary Grove gave me what happens everyday, so that when I come home again" — the tears would have way — "I say when I come home again I can sit in the dear, dear old ingle of winter nights, or in the withy arbour in the garden when it's summer, and read to you all that I have thought and done. It will be like living the time over again with you, mother." The coach stopped — a dozen ready hands seized Betty's box — as many more were thrust out to clasp her hand. BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. 85 " It be getting frosty, Betty," said Mrs. Dove, the landlady of the Green Dragon — " thee'dst better take this old wittle to wrap round thee — thee canst send it back by waggon." Aye, dame, so she can — thee can send it back in this basket, Betty, where thee'll find a bit and a sup, and thee 'II want both afore thee gets to Lun'on," chimed in Mr. Dove, " God bless thee, lass — mind how thee gets up." " I 've putten a wisp of straw for thee feet, Betty," said Will Ostler. " Thee '11 take care on her, Mr. Guard," cried the widow, as the coachman gathered up his horses ; " Good bye — God keep thee from harm, Betty ;" — and not one that heard the mother's prayer but breathed a fervent Amen. mft i»[tlitrlt. On the evening of December 12th, 1815, Betty Morrison arrived at the house of her new master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Buzzard. We shaU let Betty tell her own impression of the modern Babylon ; but before doing so it is necessary (for our pm-pose) that the reader be made acquainted with certain facts and personages. At the time of which we write tradesmen were beginning to be " genteel." The useful was rapidly giving way to the ornamental ; and the siUy desire of imitating the habits and manners of the idle or " superior classes," as they are styled, which has placed so many worthy names in the Gazette, was making its inroads on the peace of numerous hitherto contented families. The Buzzards had been bitten, and though their present mode of living involved a considerable increase of labour, Mrs. Buzzard was gradually withdrawing herself from the operative duties of housewifery. Mr. Buzzard had been lately a fretpient seceder from "The Nightingales" — a friendly meeting of neighbours, to which he had been attached ever since his indentures had expired. Rumours were rife of liis having been seen in the dress boxes of Drury Lane, and some mahcious fellow declared that he had heard Buzzard make use of very improper language as to the ultimate destination of country-dances. At length the Buzzards openly declared their secession from the vulgar world. Tlie back parlour was thrown into the shop ; the first floor windows were draped with hangings of crimson moreen trimmed with yellow worsted ; and the private door was bedizened with a large brass plate, on which was inscribed Mr. — yes ! — Mu. B. Buzzard. Tlicse innovations were very properly resented by the whole street in Avhich Mr. B. Buzzard carried on his trade of pin-making, and Mr. and Mrs. B. Buzzard were not only cut but quizzed most lunnercifully. The only person who suifered by the conduct of Buzzard beside himself was his next door neighboui-, Mi-. Scott, a very industi'ious and sober saddler. lie had a snuiU trade which was gradually increasing by his frugality and attention ; but the causes of his prosperity prevented him forming anything like a social connection, and almost his only friendly acquaintance in the ward was neighboiu- Buzzard. Alas ! their pleasant gossips at the street doors were becoming few and far between. Weeks passed, and liuzzard had never po]i])ed in for a ])iiu-h of snuft" as he used to do. In fact Mrs. Buzzard had ])ronounced saddloring ungenteel, and Mr. Scott was scratched accordingly. The honest saddler took this somewhat to heart at first, but he soon ceased to think of Mr. B. Buzzard but as of one whose wisdom was very questionable. Mr. Scott's household consisted of his aged mother, and one of those domestic nuisances usually designated " a drab of a girl." The old lady had hitherto supplied the place of VOL. I. — XO. IV. N 86 BKTTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. a better servant, but as time stole on she frequently urged her son to look about him for a helpmate to supply her place when age and infirmities should make her only a burthen to him. The saddler would readily have obeyed his mother's wishes, but he had hitherto seen no one with whom he thought he could share the ups-and-downs of life but that was either too wealthy or too genteel. Matters were in this state when the porter of Mr. Idol, the silversmith, was seen to enter Mr. B. Buzzard's house with a somewhat bulky parcel, and to return without it. Mr. B. Buzzard had certainly been buying plate, and this important news was soon communicated to every inhabitant of the street. Nor were Mr. B. Buzzard's honest neighbours the only persons acquainted with this circumstance ; for one fine night in June the whole population of street. City, were roused from their slumbers by the din of rattles and lusty cries of " Stop thief," which proceeded from the united lungs of the pin-maker and his wife. The sashes of fifty windows were thrown up in an instant, and a hundred heads at least were peering anxiously therefrom in the hope of catching a glimpse of the thieves. Their ciu'iosity, however, was doomed to be baftled, for the burglars succeeded in eftecting their escape over the walls at the back of the house, carrying with them all Mr. B. Buzzard's newly-purchased finery, and (alas !) Betty Morrison's pocket-book. In the morning the intelligence of the pin-maker's loss flew from door-step to door- step up and down the street like an ignited powder-train ; and there is no doubt that, had a jury of Mr. Buzzard's neighbours been empanelled to try the robbers, that the verdict would have been "justifiable burglary " — so very unpopular had Mr. B. become. A fortnight after this occurrence, David Scott was engaged sweeping the little yard at the back of his house, when he thought he saw something red behind the water-butt. Upon closer examination, he was surprised to find a pocket-book. On the fly-leaf was written, "Betty Morrison, the gift of her dear friend, Mary Grove." Now, as Mr. Buzzard, in his narrative of the robbery, had never alluded to the loss which poor Betty had sustained (for the pocket-book, containing neither bank-notes nor bills of exchange, he had very sagely considered to be of no value), David Scott innocently believed himself at perfect liberty to inspect the contents of the waif which he had discovered, never thinking it had anything to do with the " Great Buzzard Burglary" — as the advertisements in the Hue and On/ were headed. It was after a frugal supper, during which old Mrs. Scott had recurred to her now daily theme — viz., the positive necessity of her son taking unto himself a helpmate, that the saddler produced the prize Avhich he had found. On inspection the pockets of the book only contained a few dried rose leaves and a little piece of paper enclosing a lock of grey and brown bail-. On the paper was written " Poor dear father's." The saddler replaced the little memento with a feeling of reverence, and then carefully restored the dried rose leaves, believing them to be treasured relics also. He turned over a few pages of the book and found the following, written in the same hand as the inscription on the little piece of paper : — " December 13, 1815. — I promised you, dear Mother, tliat I would put down what I did and thought every da,y, so I begin at once, by telling you what I think of London — O it is such a large place ! — First of all I must tell you how I got on on my journey — the day was very cold, surely, but what Mitli good Mrs. Dove's wittle, and the straw that Will put for me (I thank him for it now, and will do so again when I come home), I got on bravely. Mr. Dove's basket did help me much, for, though I could not eat a great deal, yet the brandy-and-water I gave to the guard, who lent me a gieat-coat, 1 do think, in return — and now for London. When we got to the inn-yard it was quite night, but tlicn BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. there was so many lamps in the street, that it was almost as light as day. Then such a many coaches, and carts, and people, that I grew quite dizzy and sick. — After awhile, howeyer, I seemed to get used to it, and then I saw nothing but houses and houses, whichever way I looked. I got frightened a little, but the guard was very kind, and sent a woman that he knew to show me to my new place. When T knocked at the door I confess my heart seemed to sink within me. I wondered all at once what kind of people my master and mistress would be, but then I thought that God had taken care of me, until this time, and I had no right to fear." " Good girl," interrupted Mrs. Scott. " I suppose I may read on ? " said the saddler. " By all means," replied his mother ; " I feel as though I were listening to your poor sister .Jenny, David." The saddler resumed : — " When I was shown upstairs to my mistress, for though they are tradespeople they always live upstairs " " Just like the Buzzards," said Mrs. Scott. " My mistress asked me my name, and how old I was, and whether I was an early riser, and hoped I had no one I knew in London. She then told me to go do\vn into the kitchen until she rang the bell for me. The boy who had showed me up lighted me into the kitchen, where he pointed to a large box, and said, 'That's where you sleep,' and then he left me alone. It was very cold, and I could not help crying a little — only a very little, for I thought I was going to work for you, dear mother, and when I got rich, to come home and make you happy." " Rather prosy," said the saddler, turning over three or four pages of the book. ''Never mind, go on," replied Mrs. Scott. "I like it all the better. I can understand it." " I have now been here a week — I work pretty hard — I have to do everything, myself, except clean the boots and the knives. Sometimes I get very tired, for mistress is veiy fond of ringing the bell, and it is a long way from the kitchen to the drawing-room." " How like Mrs. Buzzard," said Mrs. Scott. " However, I work very cheerful, and whenever I get low or tired I 1 about and laugh at when I come home. My mistress will not call me Betty — but Morrison; ,/ she says Morrison is more genteel." "It must be Mrs. Buzzard," cried Mrs. Scott. The saddler turned over another page or two. " Christmas-day. — 1 liad dressed up my kitchen with holly, as I used to do at the parsonage, but mistress, happening to come into the kitchen, made me pull it all down, .as she said it was vulgar now-a-d.ays." " I begin to think that it must be Mrs. Buzzard, too," said the saddler. " Master and mistress went out to dinner — I could h.ardly believe it was Christmas-day. I sat down by the fire when T had done my work, and thought how all the folks at Grass- vale were making merry, whilst I was all alone in a London kitchen, without one soul to speak to. I had such a cry, mother — and then I was so angry with mjsclf. ik all this will do to talk I knelt down and prayed God not to let me become ungrateful and discontented ; then I got my Bible, the one that dear old master gave me, and I read a great deal, \mtil I never felt so happy in my life." 88 BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. " David," said Mrs. Scott, " who ever did that wouldn't make a had wife?" " Wife, mother? " And the saddler turned over several leaves without knowing what he was doing. " March 12. — I liave offended my mistress very much, but I am sure I have done right. We are to have a grand party on the 14th, and mistress has been busy making jellies and sweet things, but all the time slie has been quite in a flurry in case anybody should sec her. This morning a knock came at the door, and she said to mc, ' Morrison, say I am out whoever it is.' ' But I shall be telling a story, ma'am,' I answered — 'had I not better say that you're busy.' O, how angry she was with me. Is it not strange that mistress should wish me to say that wliich was not true. She would be angry, and quite right, did I tell her a lie. I must pray God to lead me not into temptation." " March 20. — Mistress is still very sulky, but I would rather offend her than do wrong. They have been out a great deal lately, and I have had to sit up very late and by myself. London is a very lonely place, but I do not complain — I get more time to read my Bible, and to write down these things to talk over when I come home." " She seems very fond of her home," remarked the saddler. " And I dare say it's a very poor one," said his mother ; " she wouldn't neglect a better I'll be bound." " Do you think she is the " here David paused. " Who ? " inquired his mother. "The pleasant-looking girl at Buzzard's." " I shouldn't wonder," exclaimed Mrs. Scott. " I'll ask at once." " No, mother," said the sadtUer; " I think — I think I'll do that myself," and he left the room. When the saddler got into his shop he paused to take another peep in Betty Morrison's pocket-book, and read — " Mistress is very cross and unkind to mc, but I will bear it all. O, what could I not suffer for any one that I loved as dearly as I do you, mother." The saddler gave a short cough, and proceeded at once to the house of his neighbour Buzzard. When Betty opened the door, David Scott felt as though he had some great words in his throat which were choking him, but when he showed Betty the pocket-book, and saw the joy dancing amid the tears in her eyes, the saddler thought that the difficulty of choosing a wife was not so great as he had imagined at one time. The poor girl thanked him again and again for restoring her lost treasure. " Not," she said, " that it is worth anything, Sir, but it was given to me by a very dear friend, and — and my dear mother at home looks forward to that book to know — to know — " " How good a daughter she has in London," said the saddler, and then, as fearing to trust himself further, he uttered a hm-ried " good day," and rushed back into his own shop. After this interview — it seems very surprising — but Betty was continually meeting- Mr. Scott. If she went on an errand, Mr. Scott always contrived to say, " How do you do ? " or to give her a nod and smile. If she went to chm-ch, which she always did when she could obtain permission, Mr. Scott was sure to overtake her or meet her on her way, and then he would go ta church too. Can you guess what all this led to ? If you cannot, read the following extract from Betty's pocket-book : — " July 31. — Mr Scott has written me such a kind letter. I have answered it by telling him that I must consult my dear mother and Mrs. Hartley. Mr. Scott says his mother would like me to come to tea. A COLD LOVE LETTER. 89 Mr. Scott says he is about my age. Mr. Scott is very good to his work-people, I hear. Mr. Scott — O, dear, what am I writing about !'' Reader, you are now as much in Betty's secret as we are, so the sooner we come to the hettcr. One Sunday morning, at the close of September, the congregation assembled in the parish church of Grassvalc was thrown into a state of pleasurable excitement by Mr. Gravely, the clergyman, reading as follows : — " I publish the banns of marriage between David Scott, of the parish of St. , London, and Elizabeth Morrison, of this parish, &c., (fee. ;" and within a month afterwards the bells of Grassvale Church rung out their bridal peal. Ah ! that was the end ! David Scott had listened to his mother's counsel; and from what he had read of Betty's thoughts and actions— things cln-onicled to meet no other eyes but her own and those of her dear mother — the honest saddler had resolved to share his fortunes with her. Many after-years of happiness proved how wisely he had chosen, and again and again has he blessed the day that he found Betty Morrison's pocket-book. A COLD LOVE LETTER. Cold Bath Square, Gold Bath Fields. My dearest Alice, You complain in your last of my coldness. It is all owing, dearest, to the weather ; for the papers say it is the coldest season we have had for years. I think it is not only the coldest for ears, but for eyes and noses also. r\ You ask mo why I do not come to see you. Cruel girl ! How am I to get out ? 90 A COLD LOVE LETTER. Besides, there are so many of you, that when I call at your house there is no getting near the fire. Keep yourself warm, dearest, for my sake. I am sitting in my tra- vcllino--cloak, with my nose and my knees actually in the fire. Ah ! I wish you wore by my side. Yet no — there is only one side of my fire-place that's warm, and I know you could not bear to see your own Horatio sitting in a drauo-ht — could you, love ? But we ought to be contented, for at all events we are not like those lovers whose friends are against the match, and who are obliged to meet clandestinely. Fancy my having to wait at the corner of a street, kicking my heels about in the cold during such weather as this. I don't think I could stand it — that is, dearest, I 'm sure you would not hear of my doing so. I have been trying to write a sonnet to you — but in vain have I invoked the Muses ; they evidently think it " too cold to come out," and the Pierian spring seems to be so completely frozen up, that I find it impossible to get a draft at it. It has been utterly impracticable to get hold of any " thoughts that burn " in this bitter cold weather. I have tried several times to warm myself up into a comfortable condition to address some poetry to you, but I can't help thinking of the cold ; and I therefore send you — it will do for your Album — A SONNET TO THE FROST. Son of old Hyems — you deserve the name Of nature's jeweller — because your skill Makes icy jewels — shining just the same As those of Messieurs Hyams on Cornhill. You deck with gems the humble bed of greens, And fringe the parsley with a diamond hue ; With spangles you adorn the coldest scenes, And tip the nose with a cerulean blue. Philosophy to many you would preach. If of the lesson they were but aware — Yes, patience is the virtue that you teach, — The ice by you controlled learns how to bear. All Nature 's really nothing but a school ; From you Frost, we learn to take things cool. I would have written the above in your album with my own hand, but I 'm sure you would be the last person to expect me to come out for the purpose of fetching the book. You ask me to write to say when I am coming. I know you wiU excuse my writing when I tell you it is very uncomfortable to have to hold a cold steel pen between my fingers. The thermometer, dearest, will indicate to you when you may expect to see — Your own . Horatio. NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA. 91 NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA. BY CAPTAIN CUTAWAY, OF HER MAJESTY'S HORSE MARINES. Our regiment being ordered to Hong-Kong in the summer of 1843, I set sail in the Shrimp, of 600 guns, at the head of my troop of nautical cavahy. The voyage out was marked by nothing particular. My gallant fellows mounted guard every day on the binnacle, and were ready at a moment's notice to assert the supremacy of Britan- nia and carry out the allegory of her ruling the seas. But whether it was known that Captain Cutaway, of the Horse Marines, was at the head of his men aboard the Shrimp, or whether we did not happen to meet a foe, certain it is that we were not called into active service on our passage to China. The ship behaved beautifully throughout, with the exception of her going groggy in a storm and rolling about from side to side, in a most disagreeable manner. On our arrival at Hong-Kong the sun was just turning to the right, previous to its final retirement for the evening behind a pagoda. The shore was covered with clusters of those trees that may be seen on the willow pattei-n plates, where apples, as large as dumplings, depend from branches as fragile as feathers. I called over the muster-roll of my men, and I could see that there was scarcely a dry eye among the gallant fellows as they surveyed the splendid landscape. We gave three cheers in honour of old England, and planted the British standard in the mud on the beach, for the water being only three feet deep permitted our doing so. The next day I intended to commence making a series of observations on men and manners in China ; but, I am sorry to say, that the men have no manners at all, so that my project was defeated : their talents as a nautical people offered however a wide field for speculation, and I used to sit for hours on the top of the compass (which continued boxed during the time we remained at 92 NOTES TAKEN DURING THE LATE WAR IN CHINA. anchor) for the purpose of watching the maritime movements of this very remarkable nation. Tlicir war junks resemble the state barges of the City companies ; and it may be inferred from this, that the Chinese take a pleasure in fighting, for they come to a naval engagement in the same sort of vessels that we should use for a pic-nic party to Richmond. As far as I had the means of observing — for I kci)t at some distance, preferring, if possible, to view a hostile people through a telescope — it appeared to me that the umbrella is a very important article in Chinese warfare. One of the junks happening to be overloaded, began to exhibit some of those oscillating symptoms which may sometimes be observed in a Greenwich steam-boat going down the Thames on Easter Monday. The Chinese, who do not carry boats, had recom-se to an expedient which we, with all our skill in inventions, would do well to imitate. They have, in case of danger, a simple apparatus, made of three pieces of bamboo fastened too-ether triangularly, like a trivet, and on these trivets they are enabled to reach the shore in perfect safety. It has often occurred to me that the old English saying, " Right as a trivet," may have been suggested by the Chinese custom alluded to. The effect of this mano3uvre was extremely picturesque, and I immediately made a sketch of it. This however was not the only use to which the umbrella is put by the Chinese in their naval tactics, for when attacked by an enemy the first impulse of this extraordinary people is to get away as fast and as safely as possible. In order to accomplish this they will throw themselves into the water, with the umbrellas over their heads, and thus a shield is formed which prevents them at least from seeing the danger, if it does not assist them in avoiding it. I once saw a whole junk's crew leap into the water in the way described, and they presented the appearance of a large heap of floating mushi'ooms. Editor's Note. We beg to state distinctly that we are not answerable for the facts or opinions put forth by our Correspondent Captain Cutaway. WWMW-PP iiO I J ' , r'' A vC ^ k^^% "^'A/'- '^Hgr :-y.~-^ ■it^-^- ;^' mMme-^ V.i^"^^ ^i^. \ u< ^^ J W>iKjl>iv«,lu.' Pit E M I U M "> lAuK-c: iu>n\it J3 J vS C O LTJSLT THE DEMON OF 1845. 93 Tmm ]B)iiMi(Q)Sf ©IF a©4i! BY A DREAMER OF REALITIES. I HEARD a mighty noise in the great city, a loud laughter, and a shriek of exultation, as though it were a period of merrimeut, and yet not all merriment, for the laugh, though it was loud, was hollow in its sound ; and the shriek, though it was triumphant, was harsh, and almost frantic. And I was raised — as one can he only in dreams — to an eminence, whence I looked down on the city, with its great streets, its lanes, and its alleys, as we look on a panorama. How great was the tumult in every direction ! Men of every rank pressed forward, pushing and scuffling, all crowding as if towards one central point. The lazy bloated rich seemed to have acquired new activity ; the pallid face of the poor was illumined by a hectic flush ; the industrious had flung aside the implements of his toil : there were many men, but there was one spirit infused by some magic power into the whole. I turned my eyes towards an eminence in the great city, for thither I saw the people were tending ; and strange "was the sight I beheld. A gigantic form, seemingly fashioned of iron, but animated by a sort of semi-life, was seated as on a throne. The eyes flashed, but it was with the redness of fire, not A\'ith the life-sparkle of humanity ; the breath of the nostrils was a thick white vapour, which reached the far distance ere it began to disperse. The occupation of the figure was unpoetical enough. In each corner of its huge mouth it held a large iron pipe, through which it blew innumerable spheres, that all glittered like gold, and were wafted about in the air : and it was strange to see what a curious face the figure made when it had pufted out a more than usual quantity of these floating erections. The lips forced themselves into a hard mechanical smile, as if through the workings of a stifl" unwilling organisation ; and it Avas difficult to say whether this smile expressed a sort of heavy satisfaction, or whether it was not mingled with something of irony. I now perceived the object of all the crowding and pushing on the part of the multi- tude. The glittering surfaces of the spheres flashed upon their eyes, and blinded them to all else. The possession of these had become the sole object of those who gazed on them, and it was with the intensity of passion that they jostled and crushed each other in the pursuit. The spheres, I observed, were of diflerent natures. Some, when touched, gave a metallic sound, and seemed reaUy to be formed of precious material, and to possess some solidity ; others were so flimsy, that the least breath seemed sufficient to annihilate them. I, the dreamer, saw this ; but the mob below me did not seem aware of the distinction : nay, the flimsiest balls were often pursued the most. Soon a new phenomenon presented itself. I saw several of the spheres arrange themselves in little groups, in which they dashed against each other with the wildest disorder ; and beneath every one of these groups was a host of people, who shrieked and roared as the balls struck together, each hoping that some particular one would escape uninjured. Then I heard a great shout of " The Board ! the Board !" and presently all the spheres in a group burst, except one, which sparkled more brightly than ever. Then with what dehght did part of the people dance and caper, and with what despair did others roll themselves on the ground and rend their hair ! The same thing happened with different groups ; but I could not tell what was meant by the " Board." VOL. I. NO. V. 94 THE DEMON OF 1845. It was hard to say whether the gigantic figure, which seemed the prevailing genius of the o-reat city, was good or evil. I observed a fire that was kindled beneath, and that appeared to give additional animation to the huge, unwieldy limbs. This was sedulously kept up by many ill-looking persons, such as lean mustachioed vagrants, and men with the feverish air of desperate gamesters ; but it was also maintained by many bcnevolent-lookin"" folks, in whose countenances honesty was most plainly written. Movino- behind the figure, I found it equally difficult to come to a result ; for there was Mammon reclining on a soft couch, in bodily luxury and mental misery : there was Poverty wailing from the midst of her rags, and there was Fraud, with his bland smiles and little twinkling eyes. But there also stood the fair form of Civilization trampling on the implements of war, and holding in her hands a light ornamented iron chain, with which she declared that she would unite all mankind as in brotherhood. During all this time the sky was clear, and the sun shone brightly upon the crowded streets. And a hand appeared, holding before me a sort of weather-glass, upon which were other words than those denoting the changes of the atmosphere. The hand of this glass, which shome like diamond, pointed to the word Premium. My dream had changed, though I still hovered over the great city. That animation and bustle which I had observed in every street was at an end, though the streets were somewhat full. Men seemed to pass by each other imeasily, and generally walked with their eyes on the ground, though sometimes they would raise them, and glance round uneasily, as if in terror. The day was dark and gloomy, and altogether there was a foreboding aspect. I turned to the figure ; it was lazily pufiSng light clouds from its mouth, but there were no more of the glittering spheres, nor was there a multitude expecting them. The eyes of the figure flashed less brightly, and there seemed less vigour in its iron joints. Nay, it tottered and shook, and seemed as if it maintained itself with difiiculty ; and when I looked on the group behind it, I observed that Mammon rolled more imeasily on his couch, while Fraud trembled, and Poverty shrieked louder than before. But Civilization looked towards Heaven with a firm countenance, and seemed not to heed the uneasiness of the rest. And the glass again appeared before me, but the hand was dull as steel when it is breathed upon, and it pointed to the word par. The gloomy stillness did not last long. A strange rumbling noise proceeded from the interior of the figure, and the people audibly expressed their terror. This was done in strange terms, such as I did not understand. Some, for instance, would utter the word " call," and at this many a cheek would grow as pale as death. Then arose a murmuring sound about " heavy difi'erences" and "responsibilities " and "panic," and many were cursing the hour when the giant first appeared in the great city. Many other bubbles had burst besides those I had seen ; and even those who had secured for them- selves the more precious boons, I saw hugging them with wild uneasiness, as if they feared they would vanish like the rest. Presently all joined in one terrible shout, " Here comes the crisis ! " and on this, there was an explosion so fearful that I awoke, but not before I saw the limbs of the giant scattered in every direction, and myriads shat- tered by the burst, or flying in alarm. The glass was gone, but for a moment, as if written in lightning, there flashed upon my eyes the word discount. Nevertheless, the form of Civilization stood amid the confusion, looking as hopeful and as placid as ever. THE STAGE ASSASSIX. 05 POLKA LYRICS. RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO DR. KEATS Or ETON, AND THE PROFESSORS OF "NONSENSE VERSt^.' AxR- — JulUen's PoIJca. Qui nunc dancere vult mode, Wants to dance in the fashion, oh I Discere debet — ought to know, Kickere floor cum heel et toe. One, two, three, Hop with me, ^Vliirligig, twirhgig, rapide. Polkam jungere, Virgo, vis. Will you join the Polka, Miss ? Liberius — most willingly. Sic agimus — then let us try : Nunc vide. Skip with me. Whirlabout, roundabout, celere. Tima lagva cito, tum dextra, First to the left, and then t'other way ; Aspice retro in vultu, You look at her, and she looks at you. Das palmam, Change hands, ma'am ; Celere — run away, just in sham. THE STAGE ASSASSIN, BY THE EDITOR, Never having had the privilege of an acquaintance with a real assassin — a distinc- tion which, if he happens to be caught and condemned, is in these days apparently much coveted — we are imable to say whether the assassin of the stage bears a reasonable i-esemblance to the genuine article. We regret, laowcvcr, to find that the old original stage assassin is fast fading away, and is almost entirely superseded in the dramatic world by a smooth-faced sort of villain, who is recognised by the patrons of the theatres " over the water," as the hero of domestic tragedy. We confess we have a preference for the " fine old stage assassin, all of the olden time," the regular minor melodramatic murderer, with a voice hoarse from an accumulation of colds, supposed to have been caught in a long course of crime carried on at midnight, among cut woods and canvas caverns. We prefer his ample crop of black worsted, falling in I'aven ring- lets half-way down his back, to the hair of the modern stage assassin, whose locks are r^fis;«gft-Yv'^,f,8c. Singleton was united to the Lily hy special license at St. George's, Hanover-square. In the course of that hrief interval, much had occurred to the various personages in our little history. In the first place, the venerahle Earl of Putney, who had long possessed claims on his party, had obtained an implied promise that a strawberry-leaf should ere long be added to the family coronet. His eldest son, Lord Fulham, who had always been abroad in delicate health, had lately died at Jericho, whither he had gone for change of air ; and Harry Brompton was now the heir of the family honours. The only objection that could have been urged to the Lily's union with Singleton was founded on the supposed inequality of their stations ; but happily this obstacle was removed, for it was discovered that our hero was entitled to the ancient barony of Bays- water, which had been in abeyance since the time of the Commonwealth. The vast possessions and arrearages had long remained in the hands of a series of stewards, the last of whom resio-ned his trust into our hero's hands ; who, a;ivino; the good old man a heavily-laden purse, settled him for life in a picturesque nook on the borders of the barony. As to Tutti Fare, he was discovered to have been engaged in a conspiracy to place an Itahan refugee on the throne of Lombardy, and hand over the Papal chair to the mercy of a Dutch Jesuit. He had only time to fly in shame and confusion to the Isle of Thanet, where he dragged out the remainder of his existence in an obscure cottage at Broadstairs. Harry Brompton, now Lord Fulham, was found to have loved in secret the only female scion of a great patrician house in the neighbourhood of Buckingham Palace. His union soon followed that of his sister with Singleton, tbo pixtccnth Baron of Bayswater ; and often, when the noble families met over the social board, they alternately wept and smiled over the early history of Alice Bi'ompton, the Lily of Park Lane. LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. 33 1? t\}t eratav. Apelles, a celebrated painter of Cos, which some suppose to have been the place of his birth, while others affirm that he was called a painter of Cos from his success in drawing vegetables, and particularly Cos lettuces. He hved in the age of Alexander the Great, who would not allow any but ApeUes to draw his picture, and even he could not always get Alexander into the right frame to have his picture taken. ApeUes always drew Alexander in the best colours, and laid them on tolerably thick in compliment to his imperial patron. Nevertheless, Apelles knew where to draw the line, which he did every day, for he never allowed one day to pass without using his pencil ; and hence we have the proverb " Nulla dies sine lined.'" Impressed no doubt with the maxim that good beginnings sometimes make bad endings, he never finished LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE. Ill what he began, and it is said that liis most perfect pictm-e was one of Venus which he left imperfect at his death, for he had not completed it. He made a picture of Alexander with a quantity of thunder clapped into his hand, which Pliny, who saw it, declared to be so like life that it seemed to be literally starting from the canvas. He made another of Alexander on horseback, which the King did not hke ; but a horse passing by at the time neighed at the horse in the picture, which the artist declared to be a compliment ; but as Ave have no equestrian dictionary, it is impossible to say whether the horse intended to record his approbation of the picture in a neat speech, or to say something severe at the expense of the artist. Apelles was accused in Egypt of conspiring against the life of Ptolemy, and would have been put to death had not the real conspirator come forward and saved the painter, thus magnanimously refusing to throw the painter overboard. Apicius, a famous glutton in Rome, wlio ate a leg of mutton and trimmings against Horace for a trifling wager. There were three of the same name all famous for their voracious appetites, and it was fortunate that they did not all live in the same reign, for if they had all flourished and gormandised together, a famine might have been the consequence. The second was the most illustrious, for he wrote a cookery-book, which included a celebrated recipe for hashing a hecatomb. After dissipating nearly all his fortune in eating, he went and hanged liimself, like a greedy boy, who had spent all his money in tarts, and went into a corner to cry his eyes out. Apitius CtALua, a celebrated buft'oon or clown in the time of Tiberius. He was the author of the celebrated Latin poem commencing Qunmodo vales, which is still identified with the character of clown in the translated form of " How are you ? " and he is also supposed to have sung the song of Pomi CalliJi, known to the moderns as " Hot Codlings," before Tiberius and the whole of his Court. 112 A FEW WORDS ABOUT BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. Arciiimi'.dks, a celebrated geometrician of Syracuse, and original inventor of the invisible shell ; the advantage of his invention over that of Captain Warner consisting in the fact that Archimedes really did what the Captain only talked about. When the town was taken, orders were given to save the philosopher, but a soldier killed him by mistake ; and Marcellus raised a cylinder, which is something like a pea-shooter, to his memory. Archimedes used to boast that he had an apparatus for moving the earth, which, by the bye, ho might have done to a certain extent with an ordinary shovel. He said that all he required was a purchase, but no one seemed disposed to become the purchaser. There is a screw called by his name, which would seem to imply that he either dealt in doubtful horses, or was of a somewhat stingy character. Aristides, a celebrated Athenian, surnamed the Just ; but he managed his affairs so badly, that he left his funeral expenses to be paid by the parish ; so that with all his justice, he did not live, as he ought to have done, within his income. His grandson got his living by interpreting dreams in the public streets : an occupation which in our day would have brought him within the wholesome provisions of the Vagrant Act. A FEW WORDS ABOUT BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. Sir, — I was much surprised at seeing in your " Table-Book" anything about myself ; and the more so, that it contained extracts from my old pocket-book. I guess who wrote to you : it must have been my son James, for to no one else now living (except his father) have I ever shown what is there written down. Dear me ! how it brought old times back to me, and with them tears and smiles ; for though I have lost many that I loved very dearly, God has given me new friends and new kindred that have made my life happy, and given me comforting promises for my old age. Nearly thirty years have gone since David made me his wife ; and never, never once has he given me cause to do other than be thankful for his love and tenderness. Oh, how well I remember the day that I went back to Grassvale with David ! how proud I was of him ! how happy that I was soon to see dear mother again ! And 3'^et the tears came into my eyes faster than I could wipe them away, and my heart seemed to swell as though it would choke me. I could not tell David that there was my home when we came in sight of the old cottage ; I could only point to it, but he understood me, and pressed my hand in his, and blessed me that I loved the humble walls where I had played a child and grown a woman ; for he said I should not do so did they recal one reproach to me. I am sitting now writing this to you, sir, just where poor mother sat upon the day when I came back to Grassvale. The door was open, and no oue there but little Fanny Daw, who used to come and help mother to clean up once or twice a week. Fanny saw us first ; but long before David was at the door, I was once more in those arms that had been my first resting-place. What a happy day that was to us all ! How anxiously I watched to see what mother thought of David ! It was very foolish, for what could she have thought of him but that was good, and kind, aud loving ? In the evening, such lots of friends came to see us ; for though I had begged of mother in my letter not to say who David was, she had told everybody in Grassvale, as a great secret, that David was coming down, and that we were to be married. Dear, A FEW WORDS ABOUT BETTY MORRISON'S POCKET-BOOK. 113 dear mother ! how good she must have been, since the love I felt for her only strengthened with increase of years, and has outlived the separation of death and the grave. David loved her almost as much as I did. I only find in my pocket-hook the date of the day she died — no remarks, not one. I often used to wonder that I had written nothing down — none of the sad thoughts that used to come into my mind, for I have fancied sometimes that those thoughts would have proved how dearly I had loved her ; but when another died — when my only daughter was taken from me, I once tried to put down a few words : I only wrote — " My dear Mary died this day"- — that was all. I felt that more was impossible ; for, as I could not tell to any one the greatness of my sorrow, so I could not write it even to myself. My affliction seemed to be too holy, too refined for words to express it. My poor Mary is laid beside her grandmother, for David guessed (I know not how) that I wished that their graves should be together ; and great as the distance was, and great as the expense, he managed that my strong desire should be gratified. But why am I writing these things to you, sir, to whom I am a stranger ? Yet I hope you will forgive me ; for, when searching among old memories, I long to tell to some one the feelings that arise in my mind. Should you ever come to Grassvale, I hope you will call ui)on us. I should like to show you om- little garden and cottage, and (if you would) the place where my mother and my Mary are buried. It is on the south side of the church, where the sun shines the longest, and the snow melts the soonest ; and by standing on the seat in the withy arbour, at the bottom of the garden, we can see both the green mounds, though time has dimmed David's eyes and mine. * * * Betty Scott. 114 A PASSAGE IN THE POLK-OREGON WAR. A PASSAGE IN THE POLK-OREGON WAR. From the "■ Kentucky Keepsake," for 1855. During that extraordinary, but "just and ncces.sary " war, which, though it was begun for the sake of a boundary hne nobody ever drew, and .supposed to run through a desert where nobody ever went, concluded by devastating a leash of continents, and rendering the ocean entirely uninhabitable, there probably occurred no instance of more desperate heroism on one side, and fanatic resolution on the other, than were displayed in the naval action we are about to describe. Now that the Polk- Oregon war has satisfac- torily terminated by the restoration of both parties to precisely the same temper and territory as each possessed at its commencement, the pen of the novelist may be permitted to dwell upon the stirring scenes of so brilliant a contest. The British, baffled at sea and beaten on shore, continued, with island obstinacy, to protract their resistance to the gallant republicans. But as the champions of liberty, aided by their slaves, had captured nearly the whole of the English fleet, it became necessary for the serfs of the Guelph to pi-ess (in accordance with their tyrannical practice) every vessel which could be laid hold of into the service of their mistress. The lied Hover of Margate, and the Diamond of Gravesend, together with the 31airi- mony of Chelsea, and the Flirt of Vauxhall, had long since been taken by the American cruisers, and bore the stripes and the stars in proud token of triumjih. A recent action in which that superior Heme Bay boat, the Prince of Wales, escaped, with the loss of her steward and funnel, from a New York coal-barge, somewhat revived the depi-essed spirits of England, and it was resolved instantly to put into commission the Fairy, a beautiful Uttle steam-boat of one pony power, which had been admirably built and luxuriously furnished for the river trips of the English Queen. Gallantly and merrily the Fairy skimmed along the sea for some weeks, without falling into the power of the gloiious republic. But she was soon fated to encounter a terrible enemy. No frigate had done better service in the sacred cause of liberty than the Grimy Nigger, and it was from the main-top-gallant-mast skyscraper of that vessel that her watchful Captain, Adipose Tuckett, descried the audacious emissary of tyi-anny. In one instant he shouted with a voice of thunder: — "Trip the anchor, reef the studding sails, and run the quoin into the bridle port ! He was obeyed with that noiseless precision characteristic of an American vessel, and so difi'erent from the hesitating and criticising murmurs which invariably follow an order given on board a British ship. In a moment the Nigger s bows rose, her sail- booms flew forward, and as her quarter-pieces flapped under her lee, she suddenly pre- sented both broadsides at once to the astonished gaze of the commander of the Fairy. " All hope is over," said the young captain, who viewed his enemy with a seaman's eye — as indeed he could hardly help doing. " But by the green shade of my old blind father, we will cut their work out for them ! So saying he rushed to the wheel, and dashing the steersman into the sea, he proceeded to guide the vessel himself. " Give a pull on the braces, you lubbers! " he exclaimed ; " see everything clear, and nail the standard of Euc-land to the mast ! " The crew surlily complied with his orders, and scarcely had they done so, when forty- four puft's of white smoke broke out from the side of the Grimy Nigger, and, amid the A PASSAGE IN THE POLK-OREGON WAR. 115 roar of as many guns, forty-four balls flew with unerring aim into the hull of the Fairy. Had she been built in the ordinary manner, that dreadful broadside would have sunk her; but here the luxm-ious policy of the builder proved her safety. The immense number of plate-glass windows gave passage to the balls, which passed through in a shower, and fell into the sea on the other side, one of them killing the struggling sailor whom the captain, in his pardonable impetuosity, had flung overboard. As the Nigger wore, with the intention of repeating her fire, the gun of the Fairy was discharged at her stern. The solitary ball sped fatally, and struck doAvn a young midshipman, named Gouge Lyncher, who was engaged in his duty of superintending the caboose. With the words "Hail, Columbia!" on his lips, the gallant youth fell ; the mint julep he was mixing being caught from his hand by his commanding oflicer, who with the presence of mind and coolness characteristic of the American tar, imme- diately swallowed it. And now began one of those extraordinary displays of naval science, which until they were technically described (if not explained) by the immortal Cooper in his celebrated nautical romances, were considered as contributions to the library of the Marines. The skilful commanders of both ships, alike emulous of fame (though from motives of far difi"erent merit) put in practice every manoeuvre which a seaman's knowledge could supply, or a steamer's paddles execute. The vessels literally flew round and round one another, like pugilists in combat, lashing the billows into a white foam, and filhng the air with clouds of black smoke. The firing was kept up by both with the utmost fury, though from the circumstance of neither crew being able to see the enemy, less damage was done than might have been anticipated. The tactics of the commander of the Nigger were marked by a boldness bordering on rashness, for, ordering the safety-valve to be soldered down, he seized the instant when his vessel was riding on the summit of a mountain wave to fire all his guns on both sides, he himself discharging his blunderbuss, and shouting terri- fically through a speaking-trumpet to his unseen foe : " Strike I you tarnation stranger, strike ! " The contest lasted for upwards of four hours, and yet, owing to tJic peculiar circumstances which attended it, neither vessel seemed to gain a marked superiority. In vain were the tremendous broadsides of the Grimy Nigger thundered upon her enemy, the Fairy still rode the deep, and continued her pigmy discharge with British pertinacity. But it seemed as if the two captains had, at the self-same instant, resolved upon ending the action by a decisive blow. For at the very moment when Captain Tuckett, in the deepest tones of his stormy voice, exclaimed, " Horse- Marines ! Charge!" The Captain of Queen Victoria's ship suddenly abandoned the helm, and seizing an enormous carving-knife which lay upon the deck, rushed forward and cut off the weather-gage. The next instant ships and crews were alike in atoms, and nothing was heard, but 116 REFLECTIONS ON THE OPENING OF HUNGERFORD BRIDGE. the faint echoes of the voices of the two captains ; the Bokl Enghshman having expired with " Rule Britannia" on his Hps, while the last gasp of the American was wafted away on the air of " Yankee Doodle." REFLECTIONS, SUGGESTED BY THE UNEXPECTED OPENING OF HUNGERFORD SUSPENSION BRIDGE. High in the air, o'er Father Thames's head, There seems to run a skein of iron thread, Tangled and twisted — while a ravell'd end Doth from the skein at intervals depend. What can it be thus poised in nether air ? We start and wonder how they got it there. 'Tis a triumphant effort of invention, A bridge supported solely by suspension. Oh, Hungerford, the envious tide, RoUing in sidlen coldness by. Thy busy coast did long divide From Lambeth, now thy firm ally. Lambeth and Hungerford — how sweet To be allowed at last to meet — Though fate has kept you long apart. You ne'er were aliens at heart. Though cold Geography assigned A separate county unto each. There was the union of mind In which no map could make a breach. Yes, Middlesex and Surrey too, Claim England as their common mother ; And oh, may Lambeth ever view In Hungerford a younger brother I Fair Science, at thy hands I would not ask A higher purpose or a nobler task. Than to imite by chains compact and strong- Spots always kindred, though dissevered long. 'Tis great as well as glorious to connect Lambeth with Hungerford by bridge direct ; But oh ! a portion of the praise be theirs, The gallant few who boldly took the shares ; Brave men, who, patriotically rash, Embark'd, or rather swamp'd at once their cash. In an adventure, for their comitry's good. Which ne'er will pay, because it never could. yiUlijirv.O'UtiWhu, g^ ^ ^tcucL 4 t>u^y ,t.WM-^'-^:— - 6> ^^^.^fiwT^^ ^^■ H E AD S OF THK TABLE THE HEADS OF THE TABLE. 117 Cle ^mW ^f ifti Calk. In these days of calculation, scarcely anything of importance is undertaken without the aid of Tables. Should a railroad be proposed from Wormwood Scrubs to Sandwich Flats, traffic-tables would be forthwith prepared to show a sympathy between the Scrubs and the Flats, rendering rapid communication between them absolutely indis- pensable. There would be tables, no doubt, to prove the immense consumption of Sandwiches, and the increasing demand for Wormwood, both of which, it would be con- tended, must inevitably become subjects of constant interchange in the event of there being a line to take in the Flats, provided it should be a line that the Scrubs coidd also be got into. If a Loan and Endowment Company be started, tables are instautly in requisition to prove, that, for a sum paid down at once, a handsome annuity will be paid as long as the annuitant lives, unless the annuitant happens to outlive the society, which may by accident go off very suddenly. There is, however, another, and a more agreeable species of table, which is almost invariably resorted to with a view to raising money for charitable purposes. The only table by which charity may be fairly measured is the dinner-table ; and though it is a common saying, that charity begins at home, experience seems to show that the very sociable virtue alluded to begins — in England, at least — by going out to a pubhc dinner. A man, who in the morning might have given his guinea with a cool head to what he might have admitted to be rather a deserving institution, finds himself over the dinner- table recklessly subscribing for life, and pledging himself for the remainder of his days to the support of a charity in which he never before took any extraordinary interest. When a man goes to a public dinner, he usually sets down in his own mind a certain sum for the plate ; but a few glasses of wine have a wonderful effect in extend- ing his sympathies, and enlarging the amount of his subscription. The appeal of the chairman goes home to the heart, and of course, therefore, to the cheque-book ; so that, when the list is handed round, even the meanest among the guests, who intended to limit his generosity to a paltry pound, not unfrequently commits himself to a course of periodical benevolence by adding, in the enthusiasm of the moment, the word " annual " with a dash of his pen to the donation he has put himself down for. Our Heads of the Table are not, however, taken at the public board ; but the heads, as " taken off" in the accompanying etching, are to be met with in the domestic circle. There is the Head of the Table, with her juvenile supporters, one of whom may occasionally practise an experiment in chemistry by taking the colour out of the dress of one of the guests, who also receives a lesson in practical philosophy by having to bear the scientific but disagreeable result with perfect equanimity. Among the Heads of the Table, there are a few which will soon belong to the past ; for the abolition of the absurd custom of " taking wine with each other" will cut ott' from the social board those ridiculous heads which have hitherto been employed in the interchange of familiar nods, solemn bows, and unmeaning smiles, or in efforts to catch one's neighbour's eye, almost as painful as those of a Member of Parliament to attract the visual organ of the Speaker. Bowing to the wrong lady, smiling at the wrong VOL. I. — NO. VI. R 118 THE MELANCHOLY MONTH OF MAY. gentleman, and nodding graciously to some one who is taking wine with your neighbour instead of yourself, are among a few of the inconveniences that will be got rid of by the abolition of the practice alluded to. Among tlic Heads of the Table may be found some to whom the viands ai*e of no less importance than the wines ; for there are critics of the cuisine as well as connoisseurs of the collar. We leave the Heads, however, to speak for themselves through the pencil of George Cruikshank. THE MELANCHOLY MONTH OF MAY. The poets sing the meri-y month of May, But surely Nature never look'd so glum. Where are the flowers that make all Nature gay ? Where are the bees ? Alas ! they 're all a hum. Where are the blossoms that shoidd gem the bowers ? This year they make a very sorry show ; For, what with boistei'ous winds and pelting showers. The buds are blown away before they blow. Milton alludes to Zephyr gently playing With young Aiu-ora, fuU of mirth and glee ; If in the present year they 'd gone a-Maying, They must have done so with a parapluie. They bid us forth in May to hear the note Of nightingale resounding through the plain ; This year we should have needed a great-coat, As a protection 'gainst the rattling rain. The murm'ring breeze is well enough, no doubt. That gently dalhes with fair Phcebe's curls ; But not so pleasant when it blows about Your hat in rapid and successive whirls. Adieu, dull month ! dark, dismal, wet, and drear ! Who call thee merry know not Avhat they say ; Thou 'It be the greatest cheat in all this year ! Farewell, most melancholy month of May ! A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 119 CHAPTER I, WAS in the good old days of chivalry, when every mountain that hathes its shadow in the Rhine had its castle — not inhabited as now by a few rats and owls, nor covered with moss and wall-flowers, and funguses, and creeping ivy — no, no ! where the ivy now clusters there grew strong portculUs and bars of steel ; where the wall-flower now quivers in the rampart there were silken ban- ners embroidered with wonderful heraldry ; men-at-arms marched where now you shall only see a bank of moss or a hideous black champignon ; and in place of the rats and owlets, I warrant me there were ladies and knights to revel in the great haUs, and to feast and to dance, and to make love there. They are passed away. Those old knights and ladies, their golden hair first changed to silver, and then pure silver it dropped ofl' and disappeared for ever ; their elegant legs, so slim and active in the dance, became swollen and gouty, and then, from being swollen and gouty, dwindled down to bare bone shanks ; the roses left their checks, and then their cheeks disappeared, and left their skulls, and then their skulls powdered into dust, and all sign of them was gone. And as it was with them so shall it be Avith us. Ho, seneschal ! fill me a cup of liquor ! put sugar in it, good fellow, yea, and a little hot water — a very little, for my soul is sad, as I think of those days and knights of old. They, too, have revelled and feasted, and where are they ? — gone ? nay, not altogether gone ; for doth not the eye catch glimpses of them as they walk yonder in the gray limbo of romance, shining faintly in their coats of steel, wandering by the side of long-haired ladies, with long-tailed gowns that little pages carry. Yes ; one sees them : the poet sees them still in the far off Cloudland, and hears the ring of their clarions as they hasten to battle or tourney — and the dim echoes of their lutes chanting of love and fair ladies ! Gracious privilege of poesy ! It is as the Dervish's collyriimi to the eyes, and causes them to see treasures that to the sight of donkeys are invisible. Blessed treasures of fancy ! I would not change ye ; no, not for many donkey-loads of gold. . . . Fill again, jolly seneschal, thou brave wag : chalk me up the pi-oduce on the hostel door — sm-ely the spirits of old are mixed up in the wondrous liquor, and gentle visions of by-gone princes and princesses look blandly down on us from the cloudy perfume of the pipe. Do you know in what year the fairies left the Rhine ? — long before Murray's Guide-Book was wrote — long before squat steamboats, with snorting funnels, came paddling down the stream. Do you not know that once upon a time the appearance of eleven thousand British virgins was considered at Cologne as a wonder ? Now there come twenty thousand such annually, accompanied by their 120 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. ladies'-maids. But of them we will say no more — ^let us back to those who went before them. Many, many hundred thousand years ago, and at the exact period when chivalry was in full bloom, there occurred a little history upon the banks of the Rhine, which has been already written in a book, and hence must be positively true. 'Tis a story of knights and ladies — of love and battle and virtue rewarded, a story of princes and noble lords, moreover the best of company. Gentles, and ye will, ye shall hear it. Fair dames and damsels, may your loves be as happy as those of the heroine of this romaunt. On the cold and rainy evening of Thursday the 26th of October, in the year pre- viously indicated, such travellers as might have chanced to l)c abroad in that bitter night, might have remarked a fellow-wayfarer journeying on the road from Oberwinter to Godesberg. He was a man not tall in stature, but of the most athletic proportions, and Time, which had browned and furrowed his cheek, and sprinkled his locks with gray, declared pretty clearly that He must have been acquainted with the war- rior for some fifty good years. He was armed in mail, and rode a powerful and active battle-horse, which (though the way the pair had come that day was long and weary indeed,) yet supported the warrior, his armour and luggage, with seem- ing ease. As it was in a friend's country, the knight did not think fit to wear his heavy destrier, or helmet, which hung at his saddle- bow over his portmanteau. Both were marked with the coronet of a Count ; and from the crown which surmounted the helmet, rose the crest of his knightly race, an arm proper lifting a naked sword. At his right hand and convenient to the warrior's grasp, hung his mangonel or mace — a terrific weapon which had shattered the brains of many a turbaned soldan ; while over his broad and ample chest there fell the triangular shield of the period, whereon were emblazoned his arms — argent, a gules wavy, on a saltire reversed of the second ; the latter device was awarded for a daring exploit before Ascalon, by the Emperor Maximilian, and a reference to the German Peerage of that day, or a knowledge of high families which every gentleman then possessed, would have sufiiced to show at once that the rider we have described was of the noble house of Hombourg, It was, in fact, the gallant knight Sir Ludwig of Hombourg — his rank as a count, and chamberlain of the Emperor of Austria, was marked by the cap of maintenance with the peacock's feather which he wore (when not armed for battle), and his princely blood was denoted by the oiled silk umbrella which he carried (a very meet protection against the pitiless storm), and which, as it is known, in the middle ages, none but princes were justified in using. A bag, fastened with a brazen padlock, and made of the costly produce of the Persian looms, (then extremely rare in Europe,) told that he had travelled in A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 121 Eastern climes. This, too, was evident from the inscription writ on card or parchment and sewed on the bag-. It first ran " Count Ludwig de Hombourgh, Jerusalem ; " but the name of the Holy City had been dashed out with the pen, and that of " Godesberg" substituted — so far indeed had the cavalier travelled ! — and it is needless to state that the bag in question contained such remaining articles of the toilet, as the high-born noble deemed unnecessary to place in his valise. " By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen ! " said the good knight, shivering, "'tis colder here than at Damascus ! Marry, I am so hungry I could eat one of Saladin's camels. Shall I be at Godesberg in time for dinner ? " And taking out his horologe, (which hung in a small side pocket of his embroidered surcoat,) the crusader consoled himself by finding that it was but seven of the night, and that he would reach Godes- berg ere the warder had sounded the second gong. His opinion was borne out b}' the result. His good steed, which could trot at a pinch fourteen leagues in the hour, brought him to this famous castle, just as the warder was giving the first welcome signal which told that the princely family of Count Karl Margrave, of Godesberg, were about to prepare for their usual repast at eight o'clock. Crowds of pages and horse-keepers were in the Court, when the portcullis being raised, and amidst the respectfid salutes of the sentinels, the most ancient friend of the house of Godesberg entered into its Castle yard. The under-butler stepped forward to take his bridle-rein. " Welcome, Sir Count, from the Holy Land," exclaimed the faithful old man. " Welcome, Sir Count, from the Holy Land," cried the rest of the servants in the hall ; and a stable was speedily found for the Coimt's horse, Streithengst, and it was not be- fore the gallant soldier had seen .^^-^ ( ^ that true animal well cared for, ^ ^ ^ -. that he entered the castle itself, and was conducted to his chamber. Wax candles burning bright on the mantel, flowers in china vases, every variety of soap, and a flask of the precious essence, manufac- tured at the neighbouring city of Cologne, were displayed on his toilet-table ; a cheering fire " crackled in the hearth," and showed that the good knight's coming had been looked and cared for. The serving maidens, bring- ing him hot-water for his ablu- tions, smiling asked, '* would he have his couch warmed at eve ? " One might have been sure from their blushes that the tough old soldier made an arch reply. The family tonsor came to know whether the noble Count had need of his skill. "By Saint Bugo," said the knight, as seated in an easy settle by the fire, the tonsor rid his chin of its stubbly growth, and lightly passed the tongs 122 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. and pomatum through ' the sable silver ' of his hair. " By Saint Bugo, this is better than my dungeon at Grand Cairo. How is my godson Otto, Master Barber ; and the Lady Countess, his mother ; and the noble Count Karl, my dear brother-in-arms ? " " They arc well," said the tonsor, Avith a sigh. " By Saint Bugo, I am glad on 't ; but why that sigh ? " " Things are not as they have been with my good lord," answered the hair- dresser, " ever since Count Gottfried's arrival." " He here ! " roared Sir Ludwig. " Good never came where Gottfried was : " and the while he donned a pair of silken hose, that showed admirably the proportions of his lower limbs, and exchanged his coat of mail for the spotless vest and black surcoat collared with velvet of Genoa, which was the fitting costume for " knight in ladye's bower," — the knight entered into a conversation with the barber, who explained to him with the usual garrulousness of his tribe, what was the present position of the noble family of Godesberg. This will be narrated in the next chapter. CHAPTER II. 'Tis needless to state that the gallant warrior Ludwig, of Hombourg, found in the bosom of his friend's family a cordial welcome. The brother-in-arms of the Margrave Karl, he was the esteemed friend of the Margravine, the exalted and beautiful Theodora, of Boppum, and (albeit no theologian, and although the first princes of Christendom coveted such an honour,) he was selected to stand as sponsor for the Margrave's son Otto, the only child of his house. It was now seventeen years since the Count and Countess had been united : and although Heaven had not blest their couch with more than one child, it may be said of that one, that it was a prize, and that surely never lighted on the earth a more delightful vision. Wlien Count Ludwig, hastening to the holy wars, had quitted his beloved godchild, he had left him a boy ; he now found him, as the latter rushed into his arms, grown to be one of the finest young men in Germany : tall and excessively graceful in proportion, with the blush of health mantling upon his cheek, that was likewise adorned Avith the first down of manhood, and with magnificent golden ringlets, such as a Rowland might envy, curling over his brow and his shoulders. His eyes alternately beamed with the fire of daring, or melted with the moist glance of bene- volence. Well might a mother be proud of such a boy ! Well might the brave Ludwig exclaim, as he clasped the youth to his breast, " By St. Bugo, of KatzeneUenbogen, Otto ! thou art fit to be one of Coeur de Lion's grenadiers ; " — and it was the fact, the " Cbilde " of Godesberg measured six feet three. He was habited for the evening meal in the costly, though simple attire of the nobleman of the period — and his costume a good deal resembled that of the old knight whose toilet we have just described ; with the diftci'cnce of colour however. The pourpoint worn by Young Otto, of Godesberg, was of blue, handsomely decorated with buttons of carved and embossed gold : his haut-de-chausses or leggings were of the stuff of Nanquin, then brought by the Lombard argosies at an immense price from China. The neighbouring country of Holland had supplied his wrist and bosom with A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 123 the most costly laces ; and thus attired, with an opera-hat placed on one side of his head, ornamented with a single flower (that brilliant one the tulip), the boy rushed into his godfather's dressing-room, and warned him that the banquet was ready. It was indeed : a frown had gathered on the dark brows of the Lady Theodora, and her bosom heaved with an emotion akin to indignation — for she feared lest the soups in the refectory and the splendid fish now smoking there were getting cold — she feared not for herself, but for her lord's sake. " Godesberg," whispered she to Count Ludwig, as trembling on his arm they descended from the drawing-room, " Godesberg is sadly changed of late." " By Saint Bugo ! " said the burly knight, starting ; " these arc the very words the barber spake ! " The lady heaved a sigh, and placed herself before the soup-tureen. For some time the good knight Ludwig of Hombourg was too much occupied in ladling out the forced- meat balls and rich calves '-head of which the delicious pottage was formed (in ladling them out, did we say ? ay, marry, and in eating them too,) to look at his brother-in- arms at the bottom of the table, where he sate with his son on his left-hand, and the Baron Gottfried on his right. The Margrave was indeed changed. " By Saint Bugo," whispered Ludwig to the Countess, " your husband is as surly as a bear that hath been wounded o' the head." Tears falling into her soup-plate were her only reply. The soup, the tm-bot, the haunch of mutton. Count Ludwig remarked that the Margrave sent aU away untastcd. " The Boteler will serve ye with wine, Hombourg," said the Margrave gloomily from the end of the table ; not even an invitation to drink ! how difterent was this from the old times ! But when in comphance with this order the boteler proceeded to hand round the mantling vintage of the Cape to the assembled party, and to fill young Otto's goblet, (which the latter held up with the eagerness of youth), the Margrave's rage knew no bounds. He rushed at his son ; he dashed the wine-cup over his spotless vest ; and giving him three or four heavy blows which would have knocked down a bonassus, but only caused the yomig childe to blush ; "you take wine ! " roared out the Margrave ; " you dare to help yourself ! Who the d-v-1 gave i/ou leave to help yourself 'i " and the terrible blows were reiterated over the delicate ears of the boy. " Ludwig ! Ludwig ! " shrieked the Margravine. " Hold your prate, madam," roared the Prince. " By Saint Bufib, mayn't a father beat his own child ? " His own child ! " repeated the Margrave with a bm-st, almost a shriek of indescribable agony. " Ah, what did I say ? " Sir Ludwig looked about him in amaze ; Sir Gottfried (at the Margrave's right- hand) smiled ghastlily ; the yoimg Otto was too much agitated by the recent conflict to wear any expression but that of extreme discomfiture ; but the poor Margravine tui-ned her head aside and blushed, red almost as the lobster which flanked the tm'bot before her. In those rude old times, 'tis known such table quarrels were by no means unusual amongst gallant knights ; and Ludwig, who had oft seen the Margrave cast a leg of mutton at an offending servitor, or empty a sauce-boat in the direction of the Margravine, thought this was but one of the usual outbreaks of his worthy though rascible friend, and wisely determined to change the converse. " How is my friend," said he, " the good kuight, Sir iliklcbrandt ? " 124 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. " By Saint BufFo, this is too much ! " screamed the Margrave, and actually rushed from the room. " By Saint Bugo," said his friend, " gallant knights, gentle sirs, what ails my good Lord Margrave ? ' ' " Pcrliaps his nose bleeds," said Gottfried with a sneer. " Ah, my kind friend," said the Margravine with uncontrollable emotion, " I fear one of you have passed from the frying-pan into the fire ; " and making the signal of departure to the ladies, they rose and retired to coffee in the drawing-room. The Margrave presently came back again, somewhat more collected than he had been. " Otto," he said sternly, " go join the ladies : it becomes not a young boy to remain in the company of gallant knights after dinner." The noble childe with manifest mi willingness quitted the room, and the Margrave, taking his lady's place at the head of the table, whispered to Sir Ludwig, " Hildebrandt wiU be here to-night to an evening party, given in honour of your return from Palestine. My good friend — my true friend — my old companion in arms. Sir Gottfried ! you had best see that the fiddlers be not drunk, and that the crumpets be gotten ready." Sir Gottfried, obsequiously taking his patron's hint, bowed and left the room. " You shall know all soon, dear Ludwig," said the Margrave, with a heart-rending look. " You marked Gottfried, who left the room anon ? " " I did." " You look incredidous concerning his Avorth ; but I tell thee, Ludwig, that yonder Gottfried is a good fellow, and my fast friend. Why should he not be ? He is my near relation, heir to my property ; should I (here the Margrave's countenance assimied its former expression of excruciating agony), should I have no son." '* But I never saw the boy in better health," replied Sir Ludwig. " Nevertheless, ha ha ! it may chance that I shall soon have no son." The Margrave had crushed many a cup of wine dm'ing dinner, and Sir Ludwig thought naturally that his gallant friend had drunken rather deeply. He proceeded in this respect to imitate him ; for the stern soldier of those days neither shrunk before the Paynim nor the punch-bowl, and many a rousing night had our crusader enjoyed in Syria with hon-hearted Richard ; with his coadjutor, Godfrey of BouiUon ; nay, with the dauntless Saladin himself. " You knew Gottfried in Palestine ? " asked the Margrave. "I did." " Why did ye not greet him then, as ancient comrades should, with the warm grasp of friendship ? It is not because Sir Gottfried is poor ? You know weU that he is of race as noble as thine own, my early friend ! " " I care not for his race nor for his poverty," replied the blunt crusader. " What says the Minnesinger ? ' Marry, that the rank is but the stamp of the guinea ; the man is the gold.' And I tell thee, Karl of Godesberg, that yonder Gottfried is base metal." " By Saint Bufl^o, thou beliest him, dear Ludwig." " By Saint Bugo, dear Karl, I say sooth. The fellow was known i' the camp of the crusaders — disreputably known. Ere he joined us in Palestine, he had sojourned in Constantinople, and learned the arts of the Greek. He is a cogger of dice, I tell thee— a chanter of horse-flesh. He won five thousand marks from blutf Richard of England, the night before the storming of Ascalon, and I caught him with false trumps m his pocket. He warranted a bay mare to Conrad of Mont Serrat, and the rogue had fired her." A FABULOUS CHARACTER. 125 " Ha, mean ye that Sir Gottfried is a %? " cried Sir Karl, knitting his brows. " Now, by my blessed patron, Saint BiifFo of Bonn, had any other but Ludwig of Hombourg so said, I would have cloven him from skull to chine." " By Saint Bugo of Katzenellenbogen, I will prove my Avords on Sir Gottfried's body — not on thine, old brother in arms. And to do the knave justice, he is a good lance. Holy Bugo ! but he did good service at Acre ! But his character was such that, spite of his bravery, he was dismissed the army, nor ever allowed to sell his captain's commission." " I have heard of it," said the Margrave ; " Gottfried hath told me of it. 'Twas about some silly quarrel over the wine-cup — a mere silly jape, believe me. Hugo de Brodenel wovdd have no black bottle on the board. Gottfried was >vroth, and to say sooth, flung the black bottle at the County's head. Hence his dismission and abrupt return. But you know not," continued the Margrave with a heavy sigh, " of what use that worthy Gottfried has been to me. He has uncloaked a traitor to me." " Not ?/e/," answered Hombourg satirically. " By Saint Buflo ! a deep-dyed, dastard ; a dangerous, damnable traitor ! — a nest of traitors. HUdebrandt is a traitor — Otto is a traitor — and Theodora (oh, Heaven !) she — she is another.''^ The old Prince burst into tears at the word, and was almost choked with emotion. " \Miat means this passion, dear friend ? " cried Sir Ludwig, seriously alarmed. " Mark, Ludwig ; mark Hildebrandt and Theodora together ; mark Hildebrandt and Otto together. Like, like I tell thee as two peas. holy saints, that I should be born to sufl'er this ! — to have all my affections wrenched out of my bosom, and to be left fflone in my old age ! But, hark ! the guests are arriving. An ye will not empty another flask of claret, let us join the ladyes i 'the withdrawing chamber. \Vlien there, mark Hildebrandt and Ottoy A FABULOUS CHARACTER; BEING THE VULGAR NOTION OF WHAT IS AN EDITOR. An Editor is a privileged being whom superstition and the public have deified with mythological attributes, believing his existence to be nothing but one continual draught of milk and honey. We will not deny this at present, as we intend, "just for the fun of the thing," to describe an Editor as he is believed by the imaginative public to be. An Editor, then, according to that sapient authority, has the faculty of Jove or George Robins, as he has only to nod to knock down any object he pleases. He sleeps genei-ally upon a bed of bank notes and roses, and is deprived of his rest if there happens to be the smallest crease in cither. The bouquets thrown to Italian singers and French dancers, and the enormous profits realised by dwarfs and vegetable pills, never fail to supply him with a new mattress every night. An Editor has a seat, of course, in the Cabinet Council, and dines about once a-week with the Minister, though his name never appears in print, but this is from ministerial policy, or a feeling of delicacy on his own part. VOL. 1. — XO. VT. s 12G A FABULOUS CHARACTER. An Editor has a private box at every Theatre, and as many at tlic Italian Opera as he cliooscs to ask for. On first nights he is waited on by the autlior or composer, who never leaves him without testifying his high admiration of his talents by a haunch of venison or a gold snuff-box. He has more influence behind the scenes than the manager himself. An Editor is never happy but when he is making some one unhappy. The poets he slaughters, the managers he ruins, the members he kills with a "pooh, pooh ;" and the young men he crushes in the course of a day, would fill a Post Office Directory, or a Kensal Green Cemetery. An Editor corresponds with every capital in the world. Emperors seek his advice, aud even German princes are not too proud to court his aUiance. An Editor's autograph always fetches more money than that of Shakspeare, Confucius, or Fieschi. Of course an Editor never drinks anything but Champagne, excepting soda-water in the morning, after some frightfid orgie with a member of the aristocracy, these orgies being requisite twice a-week to keep up his editorial character. An Editor lives in May Fair, or Grosvenor Square. His library is furnished with presentation copies from every living author ; and his rooms crowded with paintings and sculpture by the first artists of the day. He rides horses in the park that Centaur himself would envy. The Study of an Editor is a perfect study for giants in wealth and taste. It is a - f . 1/flw'^« classic retreat for the mind, enriched with every possible stimidant for the body. Perfumes are burning there night and day. Gold and jewellery are lying in heaps A FABULOUS CHARACTER. 127 like so much dust, on every shelf, and an air of oriental splendour is spread over every- thing- from the bell-rope to the fire-tongs. There are genuine cigars from Ilavannah, real tumblers from Bohemia, and the finest screens from Japan. It is in this gorgeous study that the thousand-and-one charms which make the life of an Editor one long siuiimer's walk through Elysium, bud and blossom around him ; it is in this sanctuary that advertisers on their knees implore his aid, that publishers crouch before him, that members of Parliament and blacking-makers fawn with pheasants and Westphalia hams upon him, that authors and actors bring their golden tribute to him, too happy to kiss the hem of his robe-de-chambre . An Editor dresses in the most Stultzo-Ci'Oisus style ; but no wonder ! does he not always receive with both hands, and never pay with either ? for it is very well known that he gets his boots, his coats, riding-whips, macassar, horses, and legs of mutton, all for nothing — merely for saying of the article in his paper, that "it ought to be on every drawing-room table," or that " not to know Giblett's kidneys argues yourself unknown." And then if he wants a hundred pound note, what process easier than to send a letter to Baron Schwiudel of the Stock Exchange, enclosing a little article in print that is to appear in to-morrow's Number, intimating most strongly that the Baron is either a "Bull" or a "Bear," or perhaps both. This scheme always brings the required sum, and nothing is ever said about it afterwards. But, unfortunately, an Editor, as he figures in real life, is quite a dlffbrent creature to M'hat he figures in a three-volume novel or in the pubhc's Arabian imagination. So let us in charity inform our readers what an Editor really is. He is then, reader, like yourself, merely a man, and not as you have gathered from fictions and reports, a Grand Junction of Rothschild and D'Orsay, with a branch of Doctor Johnson and Joseph Ady. On the contrary, an Editor dresses plainly, keeps no stud beyond the one or two he wears in his shirt, pays the In- come-tax with infinite grum- bling when his salary allows him, but grumbles infinitely more when it does not ; is as fond of Champagne as any lady of fashion, but does not di-ink it so often as it costs eight shil- lings a bottle ; sleeps on a mat- tress stuft'ed with more straw and thorns than roses ; rarely violates the edicts of Father Mathew, and has no more vic- tims than any one else who has a tailor. And as for his play- ing Old Bogie to actors, filling the Baidvruptcy Court with pub- lishers, sending poets by dozens into Bedlam, and being waited on by a Prime Minister or a Prince Mettcrnich, liis name, ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, is not known by any one of them, and his influence docs not extend beyond the ofiice where his paper is printed, or the lodging he occupies in the neighbourhood of his printer's. Tlie thousand and one chai ins, too, 128 THE LAST YEAR'S BALANCE. that colour and gild his existence, consist, in cold truth, in his devouring — no matter what his taste or appetite may be, — a quantity of raw manuscripts ; in answering questions about the colour of Prince Albert's hair ; in being insulted by every other correspondent ; in making an enemy for life of every contributor whose article he rejects; in being presented with "the lie" by any member of the aristocracy for saying he has a cold when he has not ; in being continually solicited to do miracles in his little paper which Parliament and the seven wise men coidd not effect ; in being every other hour pestered for copy ! — copy ! — copy ! and in stopping up to all hours of the morning in a cold printing-office correcting proofs. Reader, unless you have had an University education, like hard work, have a soul for scissors and paste, are fond of reading the debates, are addicted to late hours, and are partial to illegible MS., every-day abuse, and rheumatisms, remain as you are, and abjure printers' devils as you would impatient cx'cditors. The romance about an Editor may be very flattering and agreeable ; but, believe us, so it ought to be, to compensate in any measure for the prosy reality ! THE LAST YEAR'S BALANCE. Once upon a time Mr. Doubledot kept a tally-shop in the Borough. He sold (on very profitable credit) all sorts of varieties to tempt thoughtless women — such as caps, bonnets, blonde whiskei-s, ribbons, imitation lace, polka jjelisses, artificial — very artificial flowers, and we know not what besides. One New Year's Eve the shop was closed, and all his assistants released for the night, except the errand-boy, Dicky Drugget, and his skeleton clerk, PhiUip Tick. Dicky was employed smoothing pieces of paper, and disentangling bits of string, as cold and as drowsy as any boy could be at eleven o'clock at night, in a large shop in December, without a fire. PhiUip Tick was perched at a desk in a small glazed counting-house at the back of the shop, running up one column and down another of a calf-bound ledger, until Dicky Drugget began to think that Tick was the embodiment of compound addition. At length, to his dehght, he heard Tick exclaim, " Done sir ! " " Very glad to hear it," thought Dicky. "And what is the balance. Tick ? " said Mr. Doubledot. " After deducting 10 per cent, for bad debts, sir," replied Tick, "the balance is <£847. 12s. 4«?., and considering the times, sir, a very fair balance at the end of the year." " Middling, middling," said Doubledot. " Enormous," thought Dicky. " Put up the books, Tick," said Doubledot, " we 've done enough for to-night." " Quite," thought Dicky, and to his comfort he heard the ledgers, and journals, and day-books lump, lump in the great iron chest, and then the great bolts rattled and said as plainly as bolts coidd speak, " Safe ! safe ! " " Come up stairs. Tick ; we must see the old year out," said Doubledot. " It wants but a quarter to 12 ; and Dick you can go." " Thank'ce sir," answered Dick, and he dived under the counter for his little seal-skin cap, and red worsted comforter," "Dick!" THE LAST YEAR'S BALANCE. 129 " Yes, sir," and he popped up again like a Jack in the box. "Wait a few minutes — go in the counting-house — I think I want you for some- thing," said Mr. Douhlcdot, as he and Tick left by a little door that opened into the passage, Dick sighed and thought of his mother who was sitting up for him, and wished him- self under his calico sheet and three horse-rugs. " What docs he want with me at this time ? " thought Dick, as he seated himself in the chair lately occupied by the portly person of his master. He put his heels upon the hobs, and as both of his shoes had holes in the bottom, the fire soon crept into the very cold soles of his feet. "Hard work, this," thought Dick, "for four shillings a-week, and find oneself. Mine 's rayther a small basin, and so it need be," and he glanced at a httlc white bundle that lay by the side of his seal-skin cap. " Eight hundi'ed and ever so many more pounds, and all made in a year ; well, as sure as my name 's " " Dick," said a female voice. It was Mary, the housemaid, who had brought some- thing smoking in a large tea-cup. " What's that, Mary?" " A drop of egg-hot," replied the girl. " Cook and me have been making ourselves comfortable, and we thought you were a-cold, and woidd like a little too. Here ! " Dick took the cup with a grin ; and, as he snifibd it, he thought he had never smelled anything so comfortable in his life. Before he coidd say more than " This is prime," Mr. Doubledot's bell summoned Mary up stairs. Dick sipped and sipped the pleasant beverage in the cup, and edged himself close to the fire ; and then he sipped again until he felt his eyes begin to twinkle, and the cold to steal out of his breeches pockets and up the back of his jacket, and thi-ough the holes in his shoes, until at last he became as warm as a toast. " Well," thought Dick, "if I were a master tallyman, and had eight hundred and ever so many more poimds, I 'd have such stufi" as this three times a day. La ! what a lot of egg-hot is locked up in that iron chest, and nobody allowed to drink it ;" and then he sipped again, until he had not more than a teaspoonfid left at the bottom of the cup. The fire and the tipple were too much for Dicky, tired as he was, and he went off into a good snoring sleep. Then he began to di*eam. New year's eve has a patent for dreams. He fancied to his great surprise that he saw he was exactly like his master, Mr. Doubledot ; and yet he could see himself, Dicky Drugget, inside of this wonderful fancy dress. " What' s all this about ?" said Dicky ; "I've dropped into a good thing, I have — especially if I 'm to have the eight hmidred and nobody knows how many pounds." As he spoke, he saw a large key hopping along the floor, and then on to a chair, and then into the large key-hole in the iron chest. It turned itself round, and the great bolts rattled as they did before ; and the ledgers, and the journals, and the day-books lump'd, lump'd out, clambered on to the desks, and then laid themselves qiuetly down on the mahogany. " There'll bo a row in the morning," thought Dicky. " What for? " said a voice, which sounded exactly like Tick's. "You're master here." Dick looked round, and there, sure enough, was old Philip Tick, but in such a fumiy costume. His trousers seemed of sprigged muslin, and his waistcoat of russia leather, all scored about with strips of parchment like the sides of a ledger. His coat was trimmed all over with bits of ribbon ; and his whiskers were made of blonde, and stuftcd full of fancy flowers. Dicky was sorely puzzled, and speechless for some time : but Tick at length broke the silence : .£0 16 . 4 . 2 3 6 £3 3 6 130 THE LAST YEAR'S BALANCE. " I 've come to show you the balance of the past year — the eight hundred and ever so many pounds," said the visionary Tick ; the ledgers, and the journals, and the day- hooks, seemed to open of themselves, and Dick saw the names of the customers, and the long list of articles placed under them. As he looked, he saw several little cramped Gs turn over and make themselves into 9s, and round Os shoot out and change into 6s, whilst poor paltry Is spht themselves and became lis. Tick then took a small piece of sponge, and deliberately wiped out the pence columns one after the other. " What are you doing ! " said Dick. " Wiping out the overcharge," replied Tick ; and now that I've finished, there go ever so many odd pounds, master." Dick didn't like it — he thought he (Tick) was a little bit of a rascal. " And now let us look to folio one," said Tick. — " Folio one, "MRS. DRABBLE. To a superior Victoria Sliawl ..... „ 4 Pair of Blonde Whiskers .... ,,10 yards of Gros de Naples Silk .... „ 1 Pair of open worked Cotton Stockings Total and now look at the lady." Dick looked in the direction that Tick intlicated, and there he saw Mrs. Drabble dressed out in her three pounds three and sixpenny worth of tawdi-y finery. She was in a di'eadful pucker, and well she might be, for the tally-man was on the stairs, and Mrs. Drabble had not a shilling in the house. As the newspaper gentlemen say, the scene which ensued is more easily imagined than described, but it ended by Mrs. Drabble fainting into a washing-tub that stood on the floor, and the tally-man declaring that he would make " her husband dub up in a week." " And he'll be as good as his word," said Tick ; " he don't care about tm-ning them into the street, and sowing discord between man and wife. True, he tempted the woman to buy bargains and useless things — but what then ? Such doings make your eight hundred pounds, master." Dick felt satisfied he was a rascal. And so Tick went on from folio to folio, and poor Dick saw quarrelling where there should have been peace, and heard angry revilings where only words of comfort should have been spoken. " Well, Master," said Tick, " have you seen enough of the last year's balance ? Don't you think you are to be envied, and yom- wealth coveted ? Is not money so gained better than sleeping under a calico sheet and three horse rugs, and having holes in your shoes, and fom* shillings a-week and finding yourself ? " " No — no !" gasped Dick, " I'm sure it 's not." ** 0, you 're sure it 's not ? " said Tick. " Then the sooner these books go to rest again the better ;" and then the ledgers, and the journals, and the day-books lump'd back again to their iron resting-place. Tick too shrunk down until the chest seemed big enough to make him a very handsome mansion, and as he stood between the two massy doors he said : — " Dicky Drugget, be a good boy, and never envy any man his wealth until you knoM' how he gets it. Wiser folks than you, Dicky, very often grow dissatisfied with AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. 131 roast beef because somebody else eats venison ; but if they knew how bard the venison is to digest from being bought with dirty money, they would thank their stars that they had such a friend as a confiding butcher. — Good night, Dicky, don't you forget the Last Year's Balance." Tick stepped into the chest, and the doors flew together with much the same noise as that produced by knocking down a shovel, a poker, and a pair of tongs, on an iron fender, a feat which Dick Drugget performed at his master's counting-house exactly as the clock on the stairs struck One. AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. Ill To, the crown prince of China, who lived an amazmg number of ages before the first Egyptian Pyramid was so much as thought of, aud who was learned not only in all the arts and sciences, but even knew a sixth part of his own language, so great were his accomplishments — this Hi To, I say, deemed himself singularly happy, when his father, the King Twang Shun, told him that there was a genius in the family. For mark, the noble sovereign did not mean by a genius one of those sauntering never-thrive sort of chaps, who wandered about Pekin, penning indifl^erent verses, and singing them to still more indifferent tunes, without any ostensible means of getting the wherewith to employ their chop-sticks or fill their tea-pots ; but he meant a supernatural friend, who would drop from the clouds, or spring from the ground to preserve any member of the royal family, who might fall into an awful scrape, and, indeed, would look after the interests of the dynasty generally. Hi To, fortified by this piece of friendly intelligence, became exceedingly adven- turous, for he expected that, come what would, his unknown friend, the genius, would turn up in time to save him from utter destruction. Therefore did he set out to deliver Alacapata, the lovely Indian princess, who was confined in a castle of polished steel by the fell magician, Fcc-faw-fum, without anything like fear or trembling, and not only went many thousand miles on foot, accompanied by his comical squire, Ho-ho-ho, to the said polished castle, but elbowed his way most manfully through a whole mob of dragons, griffins, cat-a-mountains, &c., &c., with the most perfect sang froid, though his squire Avould not unfrequently shout out "Ilo-mi-hi," which in Chinese indicates great astonishment. Matters certainly did not look very prosperous, when Hi To, after having entered the castle, was seized, in the midst of a very attcctionate interview with the princess, by the abominable magician ; for the magician not only deprived him of all power of resist- ence, but drawing out a large scimitar, made unequivocal preparations for cutting oft' his head, while two very ill-looking persons, with cats' heads upon their shoulders, amused themselves by whipping the poor squire round and round, with a couple of live serpents. Nevertheless, the gallant Hi To did not lose heart, for he knew that his father's veracity was quite unquestionable, and saw that this was the very moment for the genius to appear and show the value of his friendship. And he did not deceive himself, for, first 132 AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. of all, a few musical notes were heard, which caused the magician to drop his scimitar and turn pale, and the two feline gentry to desist from their pleasant recreation. Then one of the chairs very gracefully formed itself into a glittering star, from which stopped a little person, with very long flaxen hair, and short petticoats, who informed Hi To that he was the long-expected genius, communicating the information in the prettiest lisp that can be conceived. Now when the genius said that he should now receive the reward of his ruler, Hi To expected, at least, that he and the fair princess would be put into a flying chariot, and conveyed safe back to China. But no such notion crossed the mind of the genius, who uttcrino- some doggrel rhymes with an air as if he was pronouncing something marvel- lously sublime, ordered our hero to convert himself into " Harlequin." The folks of our day, who are in the habit of seeing Christmas pantomimes, would have understood the meaning of the order at once, though they might have felt some diflficidty in compliance. But that was not the case in the ancient days of the Chinese empire, and the puzzled Hi To was just going to ask the genius to express his wishes more clearly, when he found all his clothes pulled over his head, and whirled down a hole in the ground, by some invisible agency, leaving him attired in a tight, motley, glittering suit, which he did not recollect to have put on in the morning. A sort of case, exceedingly hot and disagreeable, fell at the same time over his face, and, as if impelled by mere energy, not his own, he began capering about with the most extraordinary gestures. The princess, he observed, had also changed her costume, and completely quitting that air of modest reserve which had so charmed him when first he beheld her, came tripping coquettishly towards him, rested AFTERWARDS HARLEQUIN. 133 one of her feet on his knee, and familiarly supporting herself on his shoulder with her hand, raised the other foot to a considerable height in the air. The fate of the squire and the magician was still more extraordinary. The clothes of the former, together with his proper face, blew up through the ceiling, leaving him with a very wide grinning mouth, and a strange triangular bloom upon his cheeks. The magician had shrunk to a very decrepit old man, with a singularly red face and white beard, and the celerity with which the squire, in his altered form, revenged himself upon his former enemy by trip- ping up his heels and kicking him, shocked the better feelings of Hi To. He was just going to ask the genius the meaning of all this, when he found that he was deprivotl of the power of speech. The genius, after placing in his hand a piece of white board, with the assurance that it would rescue him in times of peril, retired as he had come, through the chair-back. Now Prince Hi To had been famous for his oratorical powers, and had always enter- tained the most violent dislike of dancing, which he contended was the most unmanly, irrational, and contemptible art in the universe. Hence his feelings towards the genius for having stopped his mouth, and given such restless activity to his heels ; for he cut capers, and jumped, and made pirouettes without ceasing, even of the most indignant kind. What should put it into the head of the genius to change him into a new shape, when his old shape was comely, to say the least of it ? If the genius could do nothing- more than make fools of friends and enemies alike, why did he not suffer him to bo deca- pitated in peace ? The genius was unquestionably the most malicious, or the most bungling genius that had ever existed. All he saw heightened his disgust. The manners of the Princess, who flung her limbs about in the most extraordinary manner, were not at all consonant with his notions of propriety ; and he observed with pain, that, notwithstanding the squabbles and bickerings of the squire and the magician, there was a kind of secret understanding between them. The squire had entirely lost that respectful demeanour for which he had been so much distinguished, made hideous grimaces in his royal master's face, and even went so far as to seize him by the wrists, and shake him violently, shouting out with idiotic joy — " Oh, crikey ! now I 've got him ! " He certainly repelled him for a minute by several smart blows with the board, when his ears were regaled by the lamentable cry of — " Here 's a go ! " but altogether the nuisance became so intolerable, that, recollecting the virtue of his talisman, he struck it against the wall, in hojics of deliverance, assistance, or indeed anything but the re-appearance of the genius, whom he silently cursed from the bottom of his heart. No sooner was the waU struck, than down fell the castle with a loud clatterinf"- noise, not a bit like that of steel, and the whole party found themselves on the sea- shore near a large vessel, not in the smallest degree resembling a junk. The Prince led the Princess, not without repugnance, on board this vessel, and performed a voyage which seemed to occupy about half a minute, but which really must have lasted an enormous number of ages. Yes, the Assyrian, Persian, Macedonian, and Roman empires must all have risen and fallen during the time of that voyage, — the Norman conquest, the crusades, the thirty years' war, the French revolution, and the passing of the Reform Bill, must all have taken place, for Hi To had not left the ship for many seconds before he tripped into Cheapsidc, just as it exists at the present moment. Wonderful ship that could cut through space and time with equal celerity ! Prince Hi To had not been many minutes in Chcapside with his fidgetty fair one, than a hideous cry of " Here we arc ! " announced the presence of the detestable squire VOL. I. — NO. VI. , T 134 FLORENCP: preserved ; OR, THE FEARFUL PA>S. and niaoician, whom lie thought he had left m India. A series of persecutions similar to those he had already undergone commenced, in which he constantly availed himself of the assistance of liis bit of board, changing potato-cans into caravans, turning houses upside down, and doing all sorts of vulgar magic, greatly at variance with his better taste. Often was he grievously afflicted, when, striking a wall, a placard would sud- denly appear, inscribed with an execrable pun. He had detested puns in his own country, he had made his royal father issue a decree against them, and yet, now if he made use of his talisman, these hideous perversions of language would force themselves upon his sight. What refined intellect could bear to see a grocer's shop suddenly shut itself up, with the absurdity " Done to a T " upon the shutters ? Yet did this happen to our hero, and he felt himself not quite irresponsible in the production of the hateful joke. Neither did he feel any happiness when he discovered a new property of hardness in his head, which enabled him to jump through a stone wall, without the slightest personal detriment. No ! he capered through the world a sad and solemn man, persecuted by his squire, still more persecuted by his own thoughts, and scarcely less by his inamorata, whose ceaseless bounds and jumps worried him to the utmost. Pie despised the power lie possessed, he despised himself, and he execrated the genius who had given him such a sorry reward. One day, in a dark forest, he was deprived of his talisman by his unwearied perse- cutors, and in his despair and weariness, he almost hoped they would knock him on the head. But the preserving genius again presented himself, and told him that his trials were over, and that he should now be really happy. The forest vanished ; but in what did the promised happiness consist ? Why he found himself standing on his head on a tall pole, with a firework going off full in his face, and forming the words, " Victoria and Albert," in characters of flame. A loud explosion caused the whole scene to disappear, and his joy was unbounded, when he found himself safe in his bed, and perceived that all his adventures had been but a frightful dream. The first thing he did was to run to his father, and say, " Father, it is aU very well to have a genius in one's family, but if I look to one for assistance may I be sawn in half between two planks, like the man who last slopped hot tea upon your royal foot." Balzac d'Anois. FLORENCE PRESERVED; OR, THE FEARFUL PAS. A TALE OF ARTIFICIAL LIFE. In the solitude of his library, immersed in objectless thought, and gazing on vacancy, the Right Honourable the Earl of Blazonfield was standing with his back to the fire. Erect and lofty stood his Lordship, with his legs apart, and a coat-tail reposing on either arm. How long the noble Earl's reverie might have lasted, it is as impossible as it is bootless to say. He was suddenly roused from it by a cautious tap at the door, in answer whereto he condescended to say — " Come in." A liveried domestic noiselessly and reverently approached, bearing a three-cornered note on a silver salver. The Earl of Blazonfield, with his usual deliberation, opened and read it ; and then, in a stately tone, said to the menial — " Inform her Ladyship that I am at leisure." The man, with a low obeisance, withdrew. The communication which his Lordship had thus received was from his noble FLORENCE PRESERVED; OR, THE FEARFUL PAS. 135 Countess, who had despatched it from her boudoir to solicit that she might be allowed to intrude on her Lord's privacy fur a few moments. The Earl received his lady on her entrance into the library with the most dignified courtesy, politely begging her to be seated. With the usual acknowledgments, she acceded to the civil request. "And now," said the nobleman, "may I be permitted to ask your Ladyship's pleasure ? ' ' " Pardon me, my Lord," answered Lady Blazonfield, " the occasion which has com- pelled me to seek your Lordship is aught but pleasurable." " How, rny Lady ! " the Earl had nearly exclaimed ; but he was not certain whether she was serious or joking — or, if joking, whether or not she was taking that liberty at his expense. The expression of his surprise, therefore, was simply phy- siognomical. " Lord Blazonfield," said the Countess, " I have to request your perusal of this document ;" and she handed him a letter. Her lips, as she spoke, were rather com- pressed, and her voice slightly indicated subdued emotion. His Lordship, with a magnificent bow, received the missive ; and tlien, with his double eye-glass, proceeded to inspect the envelope. Having done so, he observed, turning his eyes on her Ladyship — " This, I perceive, is addi'esscd to the Lady Florence." " To your Lordship's and my eldest daughter," said the Countess, quietly, but with stern emphasis. " Read it, Lord Blazonfield, The seal, you will perceive, is broken." The Earl, resuming his eye-glass, brought it to bear upon the interior of the epistle. Its contents must have moved him powerfully ; for as the first line met his sight, he gave an actually perceptible start. As he read on, too, his eyes expanded, and his eyebrows rose, until they had reached the highest degree of dilatation and altitude of which they were respectively capable. In this state of countenance, with the eye-glass evidently trembling in one hand, and the letter in the other, he stood, when he had done reading, and gazed upon Lady Blazonfield, whose flashing orbs met bis enlarged ones, whilst a decided frown ruffled her brow of marble. Well might the letter have agitated the lofty pair ; for it began with " My dearest Florence," and ended with "Everlastingly Yours — Alfred Bailey." Intermediate between these portions of it, there was actually a proposal of marriage ! Where found you this, my Lady ? " demanded the thunderstruck Peer. " In the Conservatory," replied the Peeress, "where I have every reason to believe it was this morning dropped, after having been the object of the most objectionable meditations." So far was the noble Earl carried away by his feelings, that he actually gave utterance to as many as two or three of those ejaculations in which ordinary persons express themselves when excited. It was awful to behold the nobleman thus sunk in the father. But suddenly a bright thought crossed his brain — if we may attribute so common an organ to such a nobleman as his Lordship — and he exclaimed, "Lady Blazonfield, it is possible that this may be a hoax." " A hoax, my Lord," replied the Countess, "do you conceive that anybody could have such presumption? " " Is not that," said his Lordship, " more probable than a supposition so derogatory as any other Avould be to our daughter ? " True," assented Lady Blazonfield. 136 FLORENCE PRESERVED; OK, THE FEARFUL PAS. •* We can decide this point at once." So saying, the Earl despatched a domestic to request the attendance of Lady Florence in the library. " She is not yet aware," continued the nobleman, "that the Duke of Dumfi-ies has made proposals for her hand." "We will therefore," said Lady Blazonfield, "begin by announcing that cir- cumstance to her." " Her reception of that intelligence in a becoming spirit will prove that our apprehensions were unfounded," observed his Lordship. " Truly ! " exclaimed the indignant Countess. But here entered the Lady Florence. " Florence," said his Lordship, addressing his beautiful daughter, " I have to apprize you of a distinguished honour which has been conferred upon our family." " You don't say so ! How, Papa ?" inquired the lively Florence. " In your person, Florence. You are to know that no less an individual than his Grace the Duke of Dumfries has fomially solicited your hand." " I Avish his Grace may get it," was the reply of Florence. The Earl stared considerably on hearing these words. A peculiarity in their tone seemed to puzzle him. "Yes;" he pursued. "Of course you wish he may get it. So do L The proposal of his Grace, then, is accepted." " My Lord," said Florence, " you misimderstand me." " Hey ? — What ? — How !" ejaculated her noble father. " I won't have the Duke of Dumfries," said the high-born, but plain-spoken young lady. " Lady Florence Blazonfield !" exclaimed the Countess, with horror. " Not have the Duke of Dumfries !" echoed the Earl, as soon as he could recover his utterance. " The oldest Duke in the Peerage !" "Old enough," said the Lady Florence, "to stand towards me in your venerated relationship," The Earl folded his arms, and assumed a look of stern majesty. The Countess rose from her chair, and holding it at arm's length surveyed her daughter scornfully from top to toe. " Florence !" cried his Lordship at length, in an awful voice, "are you acquainted with the author of this production ?" And he handed her the fatal billet. She was silent, and hung her head. " Very well, very well !" gasped the Earl. His face, as he spoke, turned ghastly pale ; whilst that of the Countess assumed the semblance of the Gorgon. " Who is he ?" demanded Lord Blazonfield in a guttural rale. " An artist," answered Forence. The Countess positively screamed, and sank down in her chair. The Earl actually swore, and his face became carnation. "An artist," pleaded the daughter, "but a very, very rising one. So noble- minded — and oh, so handsome!" The noble parents yelled in concert so audibly, that it is much to be feared they were heard by some of the domestics. By a great efibrt they mastered their feelings ; when the Earl, in a tone of dreadful calmness, commanded his daughter to retire. The weeping girl obeyed. This was too much for the Earl to stand ; so he sat down, and leant his forehead on his hand. The Countess — must it be confessed ? — actually cried. For a while the FLORENCE PRESERVED; OR, THE FEARFUL PAS. 137 noble pair almost resembled a common couple who had just had an execution put into their house. Fearful must have been the sufferings which could have made them thus far forget themselves. Why record their incoherent expressions of distraction ? "What" — wildly asked the Countess at last, "what — what can have possessed her ?" The Earl pondered. " Really," he replied, after a pause, and as if the idea were somewhat consoling, " I almost think she must be deranged." " Let us hope she is," said the lady mother. " No doubt of it," declared Lord Blazonfield. At all events she must be put instantly under restraint." Her ladyship assented ; and they instantly sat down to concoct a letter to the family physician to require his instant attendance. In the meantime a footman who had been listening to the conversation through the key-hole, ran and told every word of it to Florence's waiting-maid, who lost no time in retailing it, with divers embellish- ments relative to strait-waistcoats and loss of hair, to her yoimg mistress. The letter having been finished, the Earl went for a ride, and the Countess sought the apartment of her daughter, to see what could yet Ke done with her. But the bird was flown. Judge of her horror, indignation, fury ! But what must have been the feelings of this noble family, when after a week's ineffectual pursuit of the fugitive, they received from her a letter signed " F. Bailey ! " The letter implored but despaired of forgiveness ; and admitted that the writer and her husband had nothing to depend upon but their own exertions. And then followed a terribly mysterious passage wherein the high accomplishments — duly acknowledged — which had formed part of her educa- tion, were hinted at as contemplated sources of revenue. What in the name of every- thing dreadful could this mean ? \n a few days the mystery was solved. A fashionable morning journal contained the following announcement : — "It is rumoured that the danseuse, Madame Bailey, who wiU shortly make her debut, is the eldest daughter of a distinguished member of the peerage. Such, at least, is the on dit which has been blazoned by Fame amid the circles of Ton." At the same time the Earl received a communication from a certain quarter, which convinced him that, in the words of another illustrious member of the peerage, Madame Bailey was Lady Florence, " and no mistake." To say that the Earl went nearly mad, would be to use strong language of a Peer. To say that he and the Countess called their daughter all kinds of names, would be to rake up what had much better be forgotten. His Lordship took legal advice ; but, alas I his daughter had come of age, and was her own mistress. Ah, that his Lordship had but sifted the matter a little further ! He mi()Jit have found that the paragraph was a fiction — a ruse, originating from the Bailey family. We only say he rn'iijht. But the possibility of the idea never occurred to him. Can the noble Lord be blamed, if, under these trying circumstances, he sacrificed his indignation in order to save appearances, and did what though most kind was also most expedient ? Acting under the advice of several noble, right reverend, and gallant friends, he consented to buy Lady Florence off her engagement, (paying the money for the purpose tlu-ough her husband,) and to allow her a handsome maintenance. He also procured a high government situation for Mr. Bailey, and got him returned for a borough under his control ; so that what with all this, and having a good coat of arms 138 THE STAGE LOVER. found for him at the Heralds' College, he contrived to convert bira into a decently aristocratic son-in-law. " Matters " reflected the Earl, " might have been worse. Let us be thankful that his name is not Muggins." The parao-raph in the morning paper was contradicted authoritatively ; and there is every probability that Lady Florence and Mr. Bailey, having thus comfortably married, will live happily all the rest of their lives. THE STAGE LOVER. BY THE EDITOR, The passion of love developes itself on the stage in various ways, and every different species of dramatic production has a peculiar kind of Stage Lover. The tragedy lover is addicted to the very inconvenient practice of loving above his station, and he is continually going about asking the woods, the groves, the valleys, and the hills why he was "' lowly born," a question which the said woods, groves, valleys, and hills are not in the habit of answering. He usually rushes to the wars, and comes home with a colonel's commission ; bragging, that he has crushed the haughty Ottomite, or rolled the audacious Libyan in the dust of his native desert. In consequence of this crashing and rolling he oifers his hand with confidence to the high-born maid, who had previously spurned him from her foot ; and he generally chooses the occasion of a banquet given in honour of her intended marriage to somebody else, as the most fitting opportunity for popping the question. Having succeeded in his suit he frequently sets out to crush some more Ottomites, or roll the audacious Libyan in some more dust, when he allows himself to be made very jealous by anonymous letters, and he abruptly leaves the army to lead itself, in order that he may go home and tax his wife Avith her infidelity. On arriving chcz lui the tragedy lover not unfrequently finds his wife engaged in conver- sation with her own brother, who won't say he is her brother, but prefers fighting a duel with the tragedy lover ; and the latter returns to his wife with a fatal wound just in time to die in her arms, which sends her raving mad ; while the brother, in a fit of remorse, commits suicide. The operatic lover bears some resemblance to the lover we have just disposed of ; though he usually confines his violence to tearing up marriage contracts, stamping on the bits, shaking his fist in his rival's face, and rushing out Avith a drawn sword, shrieking as he makes his exit to the highest pitch of his falsetto. When the course of his love happens to i"un tolerably smooth, he indulges in poetical declarations of his affection, which he compares to a variety of objects in a strain resembling the following : — Like to the golden orb of day, ^Vhich sets upon the main ; Going awhile at night away. And coming back again. Or like the little polar star. That guides the ship at sea : The constant friend of cv'ry tar — Such is my love for thee. THE STAGE LOVER. 139 A beacon to a fainting crew, To point the way to land ; A drop of precious mountain dew On Afric's burning sand. The avalanche which ne'er can fall, Wlierever it may be, Without its ovei'whelming all — Such is my love for thee. The lover of the ballet belongs to quite another class. He usually expresses his affection by pirouettes ; and having heard that it is love which makes the world go round, he thinks probably that his spinning may be taken as a proof of his sincerity. The lover in the halkt evinces his affection very frequently by allowing the object of his choice to drop into his arms with one of her legs in the air, or to fall suddenly with all her weight into his open hand, while he, supported on only one knee, bears the bui'den with a smile, though every muscle is on the strain, and it costs him the most intense exertion to maintain his equilibrium. The lovers in a ballet are generally torn apart by the rude hands of parents, who however wait for the conclusion of a pas de deux before they interpose their authority, which they take care to exercise within proper Tei-psichorean limits — always giving the young couple time to fall into a graceful attitude, and receive whatever applause the public may seem disposed to bestow on it. The comedy lover goes by the technical name of the " walking gentleman," a title probably derived from his always having his hat in his hand, as if he woiUd shortly have to walk off at the instigation of some unreasonable father or testy guardian. The comedy lover is very much addicted to ducks and dissatisfaction, wearing white 140 THE STAGE LOVER. trousers in all weatlicrs, and finding fault upon all occasions with the object of his choice, without any reason for doing so. If the ladj is in good spirits, the following is the sort of speech the comedy lover will address to her : — " Nay, Laura, I do not like this gaiety. The volatile head bespeaks the hollow heart ; and if you would smile on me to-day, you might bestow your sunshine on another to-morrow. Believe me, Laura, that though we may admire the gadfly for its wings, we shall never seek it for its society ; and though we may chase the butterfly for its colours, we cherish the canary for its constancy. You weep, Laura — nay, I did not mean to distress you, though I had rather bring tears from your eyes than allow levity to remain at your heart, for steadiness of character is a brighter gem than the most glittering gew-gaw. I will leave you now, Laura, and remember, that even should fate divide us, you have no truer friend than Arthur Turniptop." The farce lover is the lowest in the dramatic scale, for he is not unfrequently a scamp, and it would sometimes be diflicidt to distinguish him from a swindler. He is usually wholly destitute of means, and quite averse to any respectable occupation. He seldom enters a house like a gentleman, but sneaks in by the assistance of a pert and dishonest maid, or comes like a thief over a garden-wall, or through an open window. If the master of the house should be heard approaching, the farce lover gets under the table, or crams himself into a cupboard already full of crockery, some of which he begins to break as if to make the place of his concealment known to the " old man," w^ho, instead of going at once to ascertain the cause, walks away to fetch a blunderbuss, a red-hot poker, or some other equally murderous instrument, which he would certainly be hanged for making efi"ective use of. While he is gone the farce lover takes the opportunity of leaping from the window, instead of quietly going out at the door, and the '* old man," after threatening to fire into the cupboard, bursts it open, and concludes that, as there is no one there, a mouse must have made all the noise, and done all the mischief. The farce lover usually parts from the object of his aff"ections with great spirit and vivacity, although he has just before been hsping out something very sentimental about fate presenting " inthuperable obthtacles " to his union. (t hvcmrl-h'Ct^ I^OJC^ Ot tkc Cerrn^floAur, 1%^ I^io-n.. ^ tk,t. fiDuitij ' SOCIAL ZOOLOGY. 141 BY THE EDITOR. The study of animated nature had been much neglected, until Buffon did for brutes Ayhat Liunseus had done for vegetables. The illustrious latter would wrap himself up for days together in leaves, hang for hours on the branches of trees, or enter with his whole heart into the ordinary lettuce. Linnpeus explored the innermost recesses of the summer cabbage, dissected the daftydowndilly, and dignified the meanest daisy by giving it a Latin name, which kept it efi'ectually out of the mouths of the vulgar. It is a curious fact, that nothing is allowed to take a scientific rank until a hard, unintelligible name is found for it, Linnaeus did for marigolds and buttercups, what the learned have done long ago for pills and black doses, when disguising them imder the hieroglyphical appellations which are now attached to them. Bufi"on's energies took a difi"erent, and yet not exactly an opposite direction. He pursued the brutes — as a study. Lions and tigers were the objects he ran after ; and he embraced the bear in a spirit of philosophical inquiry. If he remained at home, it was only to devour his favourite animal, the elephant, or to digest, at his leisure, the hardy buftalo. If he took a walk, nothing escaped him, for he was always looking about him, and if even a gnat came near him, he had it in his eye immediately. Cuvier, however, made a considerable advance on the labours of the illustrious individuals we have named, for he took rapid strides in a science which the others had only hopped, skipped, and jumped about. We say nothing of our facetious friend Goldsmith, who took his knowledge from books, and had not scraped a personal acquaintance with any of the animals to whom he so pleasantly introduces us. While doing ample justice to the great writers on animated nature who have preceded us, we still think that they have left a great want unsuppUed, by neglecting to favour us with a few chapters on what may be termed Social Zoology. It is no doubt very important to know the habits of the ancbovy, the ecceuti'icitics of the wolf, and the temper of the cockatoo, all of which we should be told in a book devoted to birds, beasts, and fishes ; but the zoology of the sort of animals we meet with in society, must, we think, prove quite as full of instruction and interest. We intend, therefore, supplying as well as we can the gap which seems to exist, by providing a^ sort of hand- book to the zoology of every-day life, for the purpose of describing the various disagreeable brutes, strange birds, and odd fisbes, tliat are constantly met with in society. Social Zoology will treat of the beings composing the Animal Ivingdom of Social Life, from the Lion of an evening party down to those mere animalcula) at a soiree, who are scarcely distinguishable from plants, and who, being usually ranged along the walls, are generally called wall-flowers. It often happens tbat the naturalist is puzzled to discri- minate between an animal and a plant, as in the well-known case of the sponge ; and the Social Zoologist finds himself in the same difticulty, for the sponge is certainly a dining-out animal, and yet he has the properties of a plant, for he plants himself on those whom he designs to victimise. The Lion, by common consent, takes precedence everywhere, and each country has VOL. I. — NO. vn. 142 SOCIAL ZOOLOGY. an especial Lion of its own, which ranks above all the other animals. Every English- man ought to be familiar with the British Lion ; but if there be any of our readers who is not, he has only to borrow a sovereign from a friend, and he will see that noble beast capering about all over the royal arms with a spirit that will be exceedingly refreshing to the true patriot. Every one must have heard of the fearful consequences of rousing the British Lion, and a mere wag of his tail is believed to be sufficient to overawe every opposition Lion throughout the universe. It is not within the scope of our present undertaking to point out the peculiarities of the various national Lions, and we need scarcely observe that the skin of that noble beast is often assumed by a much humbler animal. The Lion of an evening party belongs to a species of which there are several yenera, or different kinds. The great or principal Lion may, however, be known by the length of his tail, for every one will be rimning after him. When in a tame state, and not annoyed, the great Lion will be very docile, and he has even been known to stretch forth his paw with extreme gentleness. The great Lion is chiefly found in the West, but he may be sometimes brought eastward, if sufficient temptation is held out to him. He will often be induced to go a considerable distance for a meal, and if he is well fed upon what he likes, he will mix condescendingly Avith the inferior animals about him, and make himself very agreeable. The Lion of a party will not usually make an attack on man, but he seems to expect that due homage will be paid to him, and if this is not the case, he wiU begin to growl, till he ultimately retires to his own jungle in an adjacent attic. The Lion chiefly comes forth at night, but he may be seen sometimes in the afternoon, prowling about the wood — pavement — or seeking for food among those who, he thinks, wiU take him to their homes and give him the meal he is in search of. In appearance the Lion of a party is chiefly remarkable for what Sir WiUiam Jardine calls " hi^ ample front, and overhanging brows, surrounded with a long, shaggy mane." Though not usually ferocious, he is very apt to become so if there is more than one Lion present at the same party, for this king of social animals will " bear no rival near the throne." On this account, it is dangerous to introduce more than one Lion at a time ; and a musical Lion is a very formidable beast, for when he once begins to roar there is no stopping him. The musical Lion is so fond of hearing his own voice that he will growl for an hour at a time, and there is no possibility of muzzling the brute or getting rid of him. The literary Lion is chiefly remarkable for the contrast between the ferocity of his asj^ect and the mildness of his demeanour. People are apt to be more afraid of him than any other of the Lion tribe, and many fancy that he con- templates tearing them to pieces, but he is gene- rally a most inoS'ensive creature. Those who have seen the Lion at home in his own lair, describe him as a very different animal from that which, when abroad, he appears to be. His coat, which looks SOCIAL ZOOLOGY. 143 so sleek and glossy at night, is often quite another thing by daylight, and narrow white stripes are sometimes visible. This is chiefly to be observed in those Lions which very seldom shed tbeir coats ; and there are some who do not obtain a new coat without very great difficulty. Lions of this description are timid and retiring by day, and at night they appear to resume all their courage. They inhabit chiefly the most elevated spots, and wiU climb patiently to a very considerable height to reach their resting-place. This sort of Lion seldom appears abroad with his cubs, if he happens to liave any. He is not particularly fond of them, though, like the Lion of the forest, he sometimes amuses himself with hcking them. The Literary Lioness is becoming a very common animal, and though exceedingly harmless, she is hardly ever subject to be pursued, for every one instinctively flies away from her. Of all the animals comprised within the wide range of Social Zoology, none is more objectionable than the Boar, or to use another mode of orthography — the Bore. He comes under the head of Pachydermata, or thick-skinned animals, and is so extremely callous, that hit at him as hard as you may, it is impossible to make any impression on him. He does not belong to the Ruminantia, or ruminating animals ; but must be classed among the Omnivora, for the Bore has a rapacious appetite, and frequently comes in to satisfy his cravings at about feeding-time. It is a remarkable fact that, though belonging to the Pachydermata, or thick-skinned order of brutes, he would seem, from the softness of the head and brains, to belong to the group of Molluscous animals. He is also allied to this class by the possession of another quality, namely, that of remaining, like the MoUusca, long fixed in the same place, for when the social Bore has once taken up his quarters, it is very difficult indeed to get rid of him. The Bore is of the Hog tribe, and is guided a good deal by the snout, for he pokes his nose evei-ywhere. In the case of the common pig, it is customary to ring the nose, and the practice of wringing the nose of the social Bore would be a very wholesome one. The snout of the Bore is also useful to him in more ways than one, for his scent is truly wonderful, enabhng the brute to smell out a good dinner at three or four miles distance. In a natural state — that is, when he is at home — the Bore is often found to feed upon the coarsest fare ; but when he has succeeded in meeting with prey abroad, he becomes very delicate, selecting only the choicest morsels, and grunting savagely if he is not pleased with what is before him. The Bore is not generally a dangerous animal, though the well-known expression, "bored to death," would seem to indicate otherwise. ^Vhen the brute contemplates making an attack, he usually fastens himself on his victim by seizing the button, and has been known to retain his hold on his prey in this manner for hours together. The female Bore is chiefly remarkable for her numerous progeny. She will appear surrounded by an extensive litter of little ones, who will sometimes be exceedingly frohcsome. They will jump up into your lap, put their paws into your plate, and play all sorts of antics if you give them the least encouragement. Literary Bores, who are for the most part females, are usually called blue, and it is believed that an intellectual ladies' society used fonnerly to assemble at the Blue Boar, in Ilolborn. 144 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. EineEi ©f tji Mfilie. CHAPTER III. HE festival was indeed begun. Coming on horseback, or in their caroches, knights and ladies of the highest rank were assembled in the grand saloon of Godesberg, which was splendidly illuminated to receive them. Servitors, in rich liveries, (they were attired in doublets of the sky-blue broad- cloath of Ypres, and hose of the richest yellow sammit — the colours of the house of Godesberg,) bore about various refresh- ments on trays of silver — cakes, baked in the oven, and swimming in melted butter ; manchets of bread, smeared with the same dehcious condiment, and carved so thin that you might have expected them to take wing, and fly to the ceiling ; coflfee, introduced by Peter the hermit, after his excursion into Arabia, and tea such as only Boheamia could produce, circvdated amidst the festive throng, and were eagerly devotired by the guests. The Margrave's gloom was imheeded by them — how little indeed is the smiling crowd aware of the pangs that are lurking in the breasts of those who bid them to the feast ! The Margravine was pale ; but woman knows how to deceive ; she was more than ordinarily com*teous to her friends, and laughed, though the laugh was hollow, and talked, though the talk was loathsome to her. '«ig^i:t> nm\ " The two are together," said the Margrave, clutching his friend's shoulder. " Now look." A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. ]45 Sir Ludwig turned towards a quadrille, and there, sure enough, were Sir Hilde- brandt and joung Otto standing side by side in the dance. Two eggs were not more like ! The reason of the Margrave's horrid suspicion at once flashed across his friend's mind. " 'Tis clear as the staff of a pike," said the poor Margrave, mournfully. " Come, brother, away from the scene ; let us go play a game at cribbage ! " and retiring to the Margravine's boudoir, the two warriors sate down to the game. But though 'tis an interesting one, and though the Margrave won, 3'et he could not keep his attention on the cards : so agitated was his mind by the dreadful secret which weighed upon it. In the midst of their play, the obsequious Gottfried came to whisper a word in his patron's ear, which threw the latter into such a far}^ that apoplexy was apprehended by the two lookers on. But the Margrave mastered his emotion. ^' At what time, did you say ? " said he to Gottfried. " At day-break, at the outer gate." " I wiU be there." "■^ And so will I too,''' thought Count Ludwig, the good knight of Hombourg. CHAPTER IV. How often does man, proud man, make calculations for the future, and think he can bend stern fate to his will ! Alas, we are but creatures in its hands ! How many a slip between the lip and the lifted wine-cup ! How often, though seemingly Avith a choice of couches to repose upon, do we find ourselves dashed to earth ; and then we are fain to say the grapes are soiu% because we cannot attain them ; or worse, to yield to anger in consequence of our own fault. Sir Ludwig, the Hombourger, was not at the outer gate at day-break. He slept until ten of the clock. The previous night's potations had been heavy, the day's journey had been long and rough. The knight slept as a soldier would, to whom a feather-bed is a rarity, and who wakes not tiU he hears the blast of the reveille. He looked up as he woke. At his bed-side sate the Margrave. He bad been there for hours watching his slumbering comrade. Watching ? — no, not watching, but awake by his side, brooding over thoughts unutterably bitter — over feelings inexpressibly wretched. " What 's o'clock ?" was the first natural exclamation of the Hombourger. " I believe it is five o'clock," said his friend. It was ten. It might have been twelve, two, half-past four, twenty minutes to six, the Margrave would still have said, " / believe it is five o'clock." The wretched take no count of time, it flies \ni\\ unequal pinions, indeed, for them.'' " Is breakfast over ? " inquired the crusader. " Ask the butler," said the Margrave, nodding his head wildly, rolling his eyes wildly, smiling wildly. " Gracious Buffo ! " said the knight of Hombourg, " what has ailed thee, my friend ? It is ten o'clock by my horologe. Your regular hour is nine. You are not — no, by Heavens ! you are not shaved ! You wear the tights and silken hose of last evening's banquet. Your collar is all rumpled — 'tis that of yesterday. Ymi have not been to bed? What has chanced, brother of mine, what has chanced ? " 146 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. " A common chance, Louis of Hombourg," said the Margrave, " one that chances every day. A false woman, a false friend, a broken heart. Tins has chanced. I have not been to bed." " What mean ye ? " cried Count Ludwig, deeply affected. "A false friend? / am not a false friend — a false woman. Surely the lovely Theodora your wife " * * " I have no vrife, Louis, now ; I have no wife and no son." ****** In accents broken by grief, the Margrave explained what had occurred. Gottfried's information was but too correct. There was a cause for the likeness between Otto and Sir Hildebrandt ; a fatal cause ! Hildebrandt and Theodora had met at dawn at the outer gate. The Margrave had seen them. They walked long together ; they embraced. Ah ! how the husband's, the father's, feelings were haiTowed at that embi'ace ! They parted ; and then the Margrave coming forward, coldly signified to his lady that she was to retire to a convent for life, and gave orders that the boy should be sent too, to take the vows at a monastery. Both sentences had been executed. Otto, in a boat, and guarded by a company of his father's men-at-arms, was on the river going towards Cologne to the monastery of Saint Buffo there. The lady Theodora, under the gnard of Sir Gottfried and an attendant, were on their way to the convent of Nonnenwerth, which many of om- readers have seen — the beautiful Green Island Convent, laved by the bright waters of the Rhine ! ' ' What road did Gottfried take ? ' ' asked the knight of Hombourg, grinding his teeth. *' You cannot overtake him," said the Margrave. " My good Gottfried, he is my only comfort, now : he is my kinsman, and shall be my heir. He will be back anon." " Will he so ? " thought Sir Ludwig. " I will ask him a few questions ere he return." And springing from his couch, he began forthwith to put on his usual morning dress of complete armour ; and, after a hasty ablution, donned not his cap of maintenance, but his helmet of battle. He rang the bell violently. " A cup of coffee, straight," said he, to the servitor, who answered the summons ; " bid the cook pack me a sausage and bread in paper, and the groom saddle Streithengst ; we have far to ride." The various orders were obeyed. The horse was brought ; the refreshments disposed of ; the clattering steps of the departing steed were heard in the court-yard ; but the Margrave took no notice of his friend, and sate, plunged in silent grief, quite motionless by the empty bed-side. CHAPTER V. Cl^e Crattor'iS I300nt. The Hombourger led his horse down the winding path which conducts from the hill and castle of Godesberg into the beautiful green plain below. Who has not seen that lovely plain, and who that has seen it has not loved it ? A thousand sunny vineyards and cornfields stretch around in peaceful luxuriance ; the mighty Rhine floats by it in silver magnificence, and on the opposite bank rise the seven mountains robed in majestic purple, the monarchs of the royal scene. A pleasing poet, Lord Byron, in describing this very scene, has mentioned that A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 147 " peasant girls, with dark blue eyes, and hands that offer cake and wine " are perpe- tually crowding round the traveller in this delicious district, and proffering to him their rustic presents. This was no doubt the case in former days, when the noble bard wrote his elegant poems — in the happy ancient days ! when maidens were as yet generous, and men kindly ! Now the degenerate peasantry' of the district are much more inclined to ask than to give, and their Blue eyes to have disappeared with their generosity. But as it was a long time ago that the events of our story occurred, 'tis probable that the good knight Ludwig of Hombourg was greeted upon his path by this fascinating peasantry, though we know not how he accepted their welcome. He con- tinued his ride across the flat green country, until he came to Rolandseck, whence he could command the Island of Nonnenwerth (that lies in the Rhine opposite that place), and all who went to it or passed from it. Over the entrance of a little cavern in one of the rocks hanging above the Rhine- stream at Rolandseck, and covered with odoriferous cactuses and silvery magnolia, the traveller of the present day may perceive a rude broken image of a saint ; that image represented the venerable Saint Buffo of Bonn, the patron of the Margrave, and Sir Ludwig kneeling on the greensward, and reciting a censer, an ave, and a couple of acolytes before it, felt encouraged to think that the deed he meditated was about to be performed under the very eyes of his friend's sanctified patron. His devotion done (and the knight of those days was as pious as he was bi'ave), Sir Louis, the gallant Horn- bourger, exclaimed with a loud voice : " Ho ! hermit ! holy hermit, art thou in thy cell ? " " Who calls the poor servant of Heaven and Saint Buffo ? " exclaimed a voice from the cavern ; and presently, from beneath the wreaths of geranium and magnolia, appeared an intensely venerable, ancient, and majestic head — 'twas that, we need not say, of Saint Buffo's solitary. A silver beard hanging to his knees gave his person an appearance of great respectability ; his body was robed in simple brown serge, and girt with a knotted cord ; his ancient feet were only defended from the prickles and stones by the rudest sandals, and his bald and polished head was bare. " Holy hermit," said the knight, in a grave voice, " make ready thy ministry, for there is some one about to die." "Where, son ? " " Here, father." "Is he here, now ? " " Perhaps," said the stout warrior, crossing himself, "but not so if right prevail." At this moment, he caught sight of a ferry-boat putting off from Nonnenwerth, with a knight on board. Ludwig knew at once by the sinople reversed, and the truncated gules on his surcoat, that it was Sir Gottfried of Godesbcrg. " Be ready, father," said the good knight, pointing towai'ds the advancing boat ; and, waving his hand, by way of respect, to the reverend hermit, and without a further word, he vaulted into his saddle, and rode back for a few score of paces, where he wheeled round, and remained steady. His great lance and pennon rose in the air. Ilis armoiu* glistened in the sun ; the chest and head of his battle-horse were similarly covered with steel. As Sir Gottfried, likewise armed and mounted (for his horse had been left at the ferry hard by), advanced up the road, he almost started at the figure before him — a glistening tower of steel. "Are you the lord of this pass, Sir Knight ? " said Sir Gottfried, haughtily, "or do you hold it against all comers, in honour of your lady-love ? " 148 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. " I am not tlie lord of this pass. I do not liold It against all comers. I hold it hut ajrainst one, and he is a liar and a traitor." " As the matter concerns me not, I pray you let me pass," said Gottfried. "The matter does concern thee, Gottfried of Godesherg. Liar and traitor ! art thou coward, too ?" " Holy Saint Buffo ! 'tis a fight ! " exclaimed the old hermit (who, too, had been a gallant warrior in his day) ; and like the old war-horse that hears the trumpet's sound, and spite of his clerical profession, he prepared to look on at the combat with no ordinary eagerness, and sate down on the overhanging ledge of the rock, lighting his pipe, and affecting unconcern, but in reality most deeply interested in the event which was about to ensue. As soon as the word " coward " had been pronounced by Sir Ludwig, his opponent, uttering a curse far too horrible to be inscribed here, had wheeled back his powerful piebald, and brought his lance to the rest. "Ha! Beauseant ! " cried he. "Allah humdillah ! " 'Twas the battle-cry in Palestine of the irresistible knights-hospitallers. " Look to thyself. Sir Knight, and for mercy from Heaven ! / will give thee none." "A Bugo for Katzenellenbogen ! " exclaimed Sir Ludwig, piously ; that, too, was the well-known war-cry of his princely race. " I will give the signal," said the old hermit, waving his pipe. " Knights, are you ready ? One, two, thi-ee. Los ! " (let go.) At the signal, the two steeds tore up the ground like whirlwinds ; the two knights, two flashing perpendicular masses of steel, rapidly converged ; the two lances met upon the two shields of either, and shivered, splintered, shattered into ten hundred thousand pieces, which whirled through the air here and there, among the rocks, or in the trees, or in the river. The two horses fell back trembling on their haunches, where they remained for half a minute or so. " Holy Buffo ! a brave stroke ! " said the old hermit. " Marry, but a splinter well nigh took off my nose ! " The honest hermit Avaved his pipe in delight, not per- ceiving that one of the splinters had carried off the head of it, and rendered his favourite amusement impossible. " Ha ! they are to it again ! Oh, my ! how they go to with their great swords ! Well stricken, grey ! Well parried, piebald ! Ha, that was a slicer ! Go it, piebald ! go it, grey ! — go it, grey ! go it pye * * *. Peccavi ! peccavi ! " said the old man, here suddenly closing his eyes, and falling down on his knees. " I forgot I was a man of peace ; " and the next moment, muttering a hasty matin, he sprung down the ledge of rock, and was by the side of the combatants. The battle was over. Good knight as Sir Gottfried was, his strength and skill had not been able to overcome Sir Ludwig the Hombourger, with right on his side. He was bleeding at every point of his armour : he had been run through the body several times, and a cut in tierce, delivered with tremendous dexterity, had cloven the crown of his helmet of Damascus steel, and passing through the cerebellum and sensorium, had split his nose almost in twain. His mouth foaming — his face almost green — his eyes full of blood — his brains spattered over his forehead, and several of his teeth knocked out, — the discomfited warrior presented a ghastly spectacle ; as, reeling under the efiect of the last tremendous blow which the knight of Hombourg dealt. Sir Gottfried fell heavily from the saddle of his piebald charger ; the frightened animal whisked his tail wildly with a shriek and a snort, plunged out his hind legs, tramphng for one moment A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 149 upon the feet of the prostrate Gottfried, thereby causing him to shriek with agony, and then galloped away riderless. Away ! aye, away — away amid the green vineyards and golden cornfields ; away up the steep mountains, where he frightened the eagles in their eyries ; away down the clattering ra- vines, where the flash- ing cataracts tumble ; away through the dark pine forests, where the hungry wolves are howl- ing ; away over the dreary wolds, where the wild wind walks alone ; away through the plash- ing quagmires, where the wiU-o'-the-wisps slunk frightened among the reeds ; away through light and darkness, storm and sunshine ; away by tower and town, high- road and hamlet. Once a turnpike-man would have detained him ; but, ha, ha ! he charged the 'pike, and cleared it at a bound. Once the Cologne Diligence stopped the way ; he charged the Diligence, he knocked off the cap of the conductor on the roof, and yet galloped wildly, madly, furiously, irresistibly on ! Brave horse ! gallant steed ! snorting child of Araby ! On went the horse, over mountains, rivers, turnpikes, applewomen ; and never stopped until he reached a livery-stable in Cologne, where his master was accustomed to put him up. CHAPTER VI., ^t €anfes^ian. But wo have forgotten, meanwhile, that prostrate individual. Having examined the wounds in his side, legs, head, and throat, the old honnit (a sldlful leech) knelt down by the side of the vanquished one, and said, " Sir Knight, it is my painful - upon others — namely, the Raptores, or birds of prey, which include the Vulturid;e or tribe of Vultures. These dreadful creatures are of vai'ious kinds, but the great lono-- billed or lawyer Vulture is the most formidable of any. He is among birds what the tiger is among brutes ; and, in fact, though not absolutely of the cat class, the lawyer Vulture belongs to the fee-line order. He has monstrous quills, which are of great use to him, and his claws are very strong. He often builds his nest in the gloomy arclies of old Temples — the Inner and the ]\[iddle — from which he watches his prey with o^cat eagerness. The bill is the most formidable part of these birds, wlio sometimes stick it into their victim with the most unsparing vehemence. It is said they only follow Nature's common law in providing for themselves ; but Nature's common law should sometimes be restrained by an injunction from the superior Court of Equity. ^lany of VOL. I. NO. VIII. 166 SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ORNITHOLOGY. the lawyer birds are tame and amiable creatures, acting as the friends and companions of man, instead of being his constant enemies. Those are, however, a somewhat difFcrcnt class, with much shorter hills, and not so black iii their plumage. Next to tlu> Social Vultures come the Hawks, who are the subordinates of the class we have just described, and are often employed in hunting up the prey that the former feed upon. The Hawks, however, take care to get a good share for themselves before placing the victim in the Vulture's clutches. The Hawk may be called the bailiff bird, and is superior to the Vulture in the pursuit of prey, " gliding," as we are told by Sir W. Jardine, in his Naturalist's Library, " along the back of hedges, or the skirt of some cover ; any obstruction on the way or fence is passed, as it were, by a bound, calculated with exactness, the action performed with apparently no exertion.'' We are then told that " the prey is seized in the same rapid and easy manner, and the object seized almost without the spectator being able to distinguish it." Any one who has seen a hawk, or bailiff bird, pursuing his prey in the shape of a jail bird, must have recognised the truth of the above description. The Hawk, or bailiff-bird, is now becoming extinct, and has degenerated into a sort of blue finch or police cock-sparrow, who is marked with a zebra's stripe, as if to show his relationship to the ordinary, or rather the extra- ordinary, jackass. There is another species of Hawk, called the Gambler-bird, whose prey • is the pigeon, which is sometimes completely plucked by Its oppressor, and when it has nothing- more left, its persecutor will often take from it its bill, which frequently proves to be valueless. We have already alluded to the jail-bird, Avhich is, when it can be caught, kept confined in strong iron cages. There are several specimens to be seen in the public aviaries, but there is sometimes great difficulty in catching them, on account of their very shy disposition. They bear a great resemblance to the owl when in their free state, being nocturnal birds of prey, and when in full feather, they are said to be exceedingly downy. Their plumage is, however, very loose, and is soon taken away from them. They are seldom seen in the day, and though, like the owls, they are very knowing birds, their short-sightedness is proverbial. Their claws are peculiarly formed for clutching, and they can turn the joints either forward or backward, so that they can practise a sort of sleight-of-hand with much cleverness. The jail-bird is always very sensitive when it is being pursued, and can generally tell by instinct if there are any beaks coming after it. Among the birds that form a very extensive class in Social Zoology, are the Boobies, Avho share with other birds to a great extent the practice of an annual migration across the water. They are often followed by rooks, and Avaited for on the other side by hawks, between whom the Boobies are sadly victimised. The Social Booby walks with difficulty, and in fact cannot get on. He frequents the ledges of rocks, and indeed always seems to be blundering on to the edge of a precipice. We have already alluded to the annual migration of the feathered tribe, and the Italian singing-birds who visit our clime every year invariably take their flight at the beginning of August. Mr. Broderip in his article on birds in the Penny Cyclopsedia, alludes to the flying vocalists — of her Majesty's Theatre — in the following terms : " That some of our delicate songsters with no great power of wing, should cross the seas periodically, returning as they imdoubtedly do, to those spots which they have before haunted, and which are associated in their memories with the pleasing cares of former years, excites our admiration if not our astonishment. As regularly as the (Opera) seasons of which they are the harbingers, do these little travellers (he forgets Lablache) A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 167 visit us, and as regularly do they take their departure." We are then told that to make provision for themselves and their young is the cause which instinctively leads the foreign warblers to this country. It is a pecuharity of these birds that they are generally successfully occupied in feathering their nests while they remain in England. The Goldfinch is a British bird that invariably migrates in the course of the year, and sometimes remains abroad for a long period. It is preceded by courier birds, and followed by a variety of chattering pies, some of whom are called Livery -birds, from the variegated natm-e of their plumage. The native Bullfinch generally migrates with his mate and little ones, but frequently is contented with going only as far as the sea-side, without crossing over. He is often much afraid of Mother Carey and her celebrated chickens. But these fearful birds exist only in the imagination of the Bullfinch. Birds of this description are dis- tinguished from the Raptores, or birds of prey, by the term Natatores, or waders ; and at the annual migration, even "the ducks and the geese they all swim over," if they can find an opportunity. There are a few birds of doubtful character that hop the twig- suddenly when the season is past, and are never seen afterwards. Social Ornithology comprises a few other birds we have not already mentioned, including the Gull and the Spoon-bill. The former is remarkable for its digestion, and will swallow anything. The Spoon-bill is a sort of adjutant to the Wild Goose, and this accounts for the fact of the Spoon-bill going very frequently on Wild Goose errands. {Contiwued from page 152.) CHAPTER VII. The singular document, illustrative of the passions of women at all times, and particularly of the manners of the early ages, struck dismay into the heart of the Margrave. " Are her ladyship's insinuations correct ? " asked the Hermit in a severe tone. " To correct a wife with a cane is a venial, I may say a justifiable, practice ; but to fling a bottle at her, is a ruin both to the liquor and to her." " But she sent a carving-knife at me first," said the heart-broken husband. Oh, jealousy, cursed jealousy, why, why did I ever listen to thy green and yellow tongue ? " " They quarrelled, but they loved each other sincerely," whispered Sir Ludwig to the Hermit, who began to deliver forthwith a lecture upon family discord and marital authority, which would have sent his two hearers to sleep, but for the arrival of the second messenger, whom the Margrave had despatched to Cologne for his son. This herald Avore a still longer face than tliat of his comrade who preceded him. " Where is my darling ? " roared the agonised parent. " Have ye brought him with ye ? " " N — no," said the man, hesitating. " I will flog the knave soundly when he comes," cried the father, vainly endeavour- ing, under an appearance of sternness, to hide his inward emotion dnd tenderness. 168 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE, " Please your highness," said the messenger, making a desperate effort, "Count Otto is not at the Convent." " Know ye, knave, where he is ? " The swain solemnly said, " I do. He is there.'' He pointed as he spake to the broad Rhine that was seen from the casement, lighted up by the magnificent hues of sunset. " There! How mean ye there? " gasped the Margrave, wrought to a pitch of nervous fury. " Alas ! my good lord, when he was in the boat which was to conduct him to the Convent, h« — he jumped suddenly from it, and is dr — dr — owned." " Can-y that knave out and hang him ! " said the Margrave, with a calmness more dreadful than any outburst of rage. " Let every man of the boat's crew be blown from the mouth of the cannon on the tower — except the coxswain, and let him be * * " What was to be done with the coxswain, no one knows ; for at that moment, and overcome by his emotion, the Margrave sunk down lifeless on the floor. CHAPTER VIII. 5rtc Cibtllfc of (Koirt-^borfi. It must be clear to the dullest intellect (if amongst our dear readers we dare venture to presume that a dull intellect should be found) that the cause of the Margrave's fainting fit, described in the last chapter, Avas a groundless apprehension, on the part of that too solicitous and credulous nobleman, regarding the fate of his beloved child. No, young Otto was not drowned. Was ever hero of romantic story done to death so early in the tale ? Young Otto was not drowned. Had such been the case, the Lord Margrave M^oidd infallibly have died at the close of the last chapter ; and a few gloomy sentences at its close would have denoted how the lovely Lady Theodora became insane in the Convent, and how Sir Ludwig determined, upon the demise of the old hermit (consequent upon the shock of hearing the news), to retire to the vacant hermitage, and assimie the robe, the beard, the mortifications of the late venerable and solitary ecclesiastic. Otto was not drowned, and all those personages of our history are consequently alive and well. The boat containing the amazed young Count — for he knew not the cause of his father's anger, and hence rebelled against the unjust sentence which the Margrave had uttered — had not rowed many miles, when the gallant boy rallied from his temporary surprise and despondency, and, determined not to be a slave in any convent of any order, determined to make a desperate effort for escape. At a moment when the men were pulling hard against the tide, and Kuno, the coxswain, was looking carefully to steer the barge between some dangerous rocks and quicksands, which are frequently met with in the majestic though dangerous river. Otto gave a sudden spring from the boat, and Avith one single flounce was in the boiling, frothing, swirling eddy of the stream. Fancy the agony of the crew at the disappearance of their young lord ! All loved him ; all woidd have given their lives for him ; but as they did not knoAV hoAv to swim, of course they declined to make any useless plunges in search of him, and stood on their oars in mute Avonder and grief. Once, his fair head and golden ringlets A\-ere seen to A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 3 69 arise from the water ; twice, puffing and panting, it appeared for an instant again ; thrice, it rose but for one single moment : it was the last chance, and it sunk, sunk, sunk. Knowing the reception they would meet with from their liege lord, the men naturally did not go home to Godesberg, but putting in at the first creek on the opposite bank, fled into the Duke of Nassau's territory, where, as they have little to do with our tale, we wiU leave them. But they little knew how expert a swimmer was young Otto. He had disappeared, it is true ; but why ? because he had diced. He calcidated that his conductors would consider him drowned, and the desire of liberty lending him wings, or we had rather sajfns, in this instance, the gallant boy swam on beneath the water, never lifting his head for a single moment between Godesberg and Cologne— the distance being twenty- five or thirty miles. Escaping from observation, he landed on the Deuiz side of the river, repaired to a comfortable and quiet hostel there, saying he had had an accident from a boat, and thus accounting for the moisture of his habiliments, and Avhile these were drying before a fire in his chamber Avent snugly to bed, where he mused, not without amaze of the strange events of the day. "This morning," thought he, "a noble and heir to a princely estate— this evening an outcast, with but a few bank-notes which my mamma luckily gave me on my birthday. What a strange entry into Hfe is this for a young man of my family ! Well, I have courage and resolution ; my first attempt in life has been a gallant and successful one ; other dangers will be conquered by similar bravery." And recommending himself, his unhappy mother, and his mistaken father to the care of their patron saint, Saint Buflb, the gallant-hearted boy fell presently into such a sleep, as only the young, the healthy, the innocent, and the extremely fatigued can enjoy. The fatigues of the day (aiul very few men but would be fatigued after swimming 170 A LEGEND OF TPIE RHINE. well nigh thirty miles under water) caused young Otto to sleep so profoundly, that he did not renaark how, after Friday's sunset, as a natural consequence, Saturday's Phoebus illumined the world, ay, and sunk at his appointed hour. The serving- maidens of the hostel peeping in, marked him sleeping, and blessing him for a pretty youth, tripped lightly from the chamber ; the boots tried haply twice or thrice to call him (as boots will fain), but the lovely hoy, giving another snore, turned on his side, and was quite unconscious of the interruption. In a word, the youth slept for six-and- thirty hours at an elongation ; and the Sunday sun was shining, and the bells of the hundred churches of Cologne were clinking and tolling in pious festivity, and the burghers and burgheresses of the town were trooping to vespers and morning service when Otto woke. As he donned his clothes of the richest Genoa velvet, the astonished boy could not at first account for his difficidty in putting them on. "Marry," said he, "these breeches that my blessed mother (tears filled his fine eyes as he thought of her), that my blessed mother had made long on purpose, are now ten inches too short for me ! Whlr-r-r ! my coat cracks i' the back, as in vain I try to buckle it round me ; and the sleeves reach no farther than my elbows ! What is this mystery ? Am I grown fat and tall in a single night ? Ah! ah! ah! ah! I have it." The young and good-humoured Childe laughed merrily. He bethought him of the reason of his mistake : his garments had shrunk from being five-and-twenty miles under water. But one remedy presented itself to his mind ; and that we need not say was to purchase new ones. Inquiring the way to the most genteel ready-made clothes esta- blishment in the city of Cologne, and finding it was kept in the Minoriten Strasse, by an ancestor of the celebrated Moses of London, the noble Childe hied him towards the emporium, but you may be sure did not neglect to perform his religious duties by the way. Entering the cathedral, he made straight for the shrine of Saint Buffo, and hiding himself behind a pillar there (fearing lest he might be recognised by the Arch- bishop, or any of his father's numerous friends in Cologne), he proceeded Avith his devotions, as was the practice of the young nobles of the age. But though exceedingly intent upon the service, yet his eye could not refrain from wandering a little round about him, and he remarked, with surprise that the whole church was filled with archers ; and he remembered, too, that he had seen in the streets numerous other bands of men similarly attired in green. On asking at the cathedral porch the cause of this assemblage, one of the green ones said (in a jape), " Marry, youngster, you must be green, not to know that we are all bound to the castle of His Grace Duke Adolf of Cleves, who gives an archery meeting once a year, and prizes for which we toxojjhilites muster strono-. " Otto, whose course hitherto had been undetermined, now immediately settled what to do. He straightway repaired to the ready-made emporium of Herr Moses, and bidding that gentleman furnish him with an archer's complete dress, Moses speedily selected a suit from his vast stock, which fitted the youth to a t, and we need not say was sold at an exceedingly moderate price. So attired (and bidding Herr Moses a cordial farewell), young Otto was a gorgeous, a noble, a soul-inspiring boy to gaze on. A coat and breeches of the most brilliant pea-green, ornamented with a profusion of brass buttons, and fitting him with exquisite tightness, showed off a figure unrivalled for slim symmetry. His feet were covered with peaked buskins of buff leather, and a belt round his slender waist of the same material, held his knife, his tobacco-pipe and A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 171 poucli, and his long shining dirk, which, though the adventurous youth had as yet only employed it to fashion wicket-hails, or to cut hread-and-cheese, he was now quite ready to use against the enemy. His personal attractions were enhanced hy a neat white hat, flung carelessly and fearlessly on one side of his open smiling countenance, and his lovely hair, curling in ten thousand yellow ringlets, fell over his shoulder like golden epaulettes, and down his hack as far as the waist-buttons of his coat. I warrant me, many a lovely Ciilnerinn looked after the handsome Childe with anxiety, and dreamed that night of Cupid under the guise of " a honny boy in green." So accoutred, the youth's next thought was, that he must supply himself with a bow. This he speedily purchased at the most fashionable bowyer's, and of the best material and make. It was of ivory, trimmed with pink ribbon, and the cord of silk. An elegant quiver, beautifully painted and cmbroidei-ed, was slung across his back, with a dozen of the finest arrows, tipped with steel of Damascus, formed of the branches of the famous Upas-tree of Java, and feathered with the wings of the ortolan. These purchases being completed (together with that of a knapsack, dressing-case, change, &c.), our young adventurer asked where was the hostel at which the archers were wont to assemble ? and being informed that it was at the sign of the Golden Stag, hied him to that house of entertainment, where, by calling for quantities of liquor and beer, he speedily made the acquaintance and acquired the good will of a company of his futm-e comrades, who happened to be sitting in the coffee-room. After they had eaten and drunken for all, Otto said, addressing them, " When go ye forth, gentles ? I am a stranger here, bound as you to the archery meeting of Duke Adolf, an ye will admit a youth into your company 'twill gladden me upon my lonely way ? " The archers replied, " You seem so young and jolly, and you spend your gold so very like a gentleman, that we '11 receive you in our band with pleasure. Be ready, for we start at half-past two ! " At that hour accordingly the whole joyous company prepared to move, and Otto not a little increased his popularity among them by stepping out and having a conference with the landlord, which caused the latter to come into the room where the archers were assembled previous to departure, and to say, " Gentlemen, the bill is settled ! " — words never ungrateful to an archer yet : no, marry, nor to a man of any other calling that I wot of. They marched joyously for several leagues, singing and joking, and telling of a thousand feats of love and chase and war. While thus engaged, some one remarked to Otto, that he was not dressed in the regular nniform, having no feathers in his hat. " I daresay I will find a feather," said the lad, smiling. Then another gibed because his bow was new. " See that you can use your old one as well. Master Wolfgang," said the undisturbed youth. His answers, his bearing, his generosity, his beauty, and his wit, inspired all his new toxopbilite friends with interest and curiosity, and they longed to see whether his skill with the bow corresponded Avith their secret s}nnpathies for him. An occasion for manifesting this skill did not fail to present itself soon — as indeed it seldom does to such a hero of romance as young Otto was. Fate seems to watch over such ; events occur to them just in the nick of time ; they rescue virgins just as ogres are on the point of devouring them ; they manage to be present at court and interesting ceremonies, and to sec the most interesting people at the most interestino- moment ; directly an adventure is necessary for them, that adventure occurs, and I, for my part, have often Avondcred with delight (and never could penetrate the mystery of 172 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. the subject) at the way in wliich that humblest of romance heroes, Signor Clown, when he wants anytlinig in tlic Pantomime, straightway finds it to his hand. How is it that, — suppose lie wishes to dress himself up like a woman for instance, that minute a coal- heaver walks in with a shovel hat that answers for a bonnet ; at the very next instant a butcher's lad passing with a string of sausages and a bundle of bladders unconsciously helps Mas*fer Clown to a necklace and a tournure, and so on through the whole toilet ? Depend upon it there is something we do not wot of in that mysterious overcoming of circumstances by great individuals, that apt and wondrous conjuncture oithe Hour and the Man ; and so, for my part, when I heard the above remark of one of the archers, that Otto had never a feather in his bonnet, I felt sure that a heron would spring up in the next sentence to supply him with an aigrette. And such indeed was the fact ; rising out of a morass by which the archers were passing, a gallant heron, arching his neck, swelling his crest, placing his legs behind him, and his beak and red eyes against the wind, rose slowly, and offered the fairest mark in the world. " Shoot, Otto," said one of the archers, " You Avould not shoot just now at a crow because it was a foul bird, nor at a hawk because it was a noble bird ; bring us down yon heron. It flies slowly." But Otto was busy that moment tying his shoe-string, and Rudolf, the third best of the archers, shot at the l)ird and missed it. " Shoot, Otto," said Wolfgang, a youth who had taken a liking to the young archer, "the bird is getting further and further." But Otto was busy that moment whitthng a willow-twig he had just cut. Max, the second best archer, shot and missed. " Then " said Wolfgang, " I must try myself ; a plague on you, young Springald, you have lost a noble chance ! Wolfgang prepared himself with all his care, and shot at the bird. " It is out of distance," said he, " and a murrain on the bird ! " Otto, who by this time had done whittling his willow stick (having carved a capital caricature of Wolfgang upon it) flung the twig down and said carelesssly, " Out of distance ! Pshaw ! We have two minutes yet," and fell to asking riddles and cutting jokes, to the which none of the archers listened, as they were aU engaged, tlieir noses in air, watching the retreating bird. " Where shall I hit him ? " said Otto. " Go to," said Rudolf, "thou canst see no limb of him, he is no bigger than a flea." " Here goes for his right eye ! " said Otto ; and stepping forward in the English manner, (which his godfather having learnt in Palestine, had taught him,) he brought his bow-string to his ear, took a good aim allowing for the wind, and calculating the parabola to a nicety, whizz ! his arrow went off. He took up the willow twig again and began carving a head of Rudolf at the other end, chatting and laughing, and singing a ballad the while. The archers, after stiinding a long time looking skywards with their noses in the air, at last brought them down from the perpendicular to the horizontal position, and said, " Pooh, this lad is a humbug ! The arrow 's lost, let 's go ! " '^ Heads ! " cried Otto, laughing. A speck was seen rapidly descending from the heavens ; it grew to be as big as a crown-piece, then as a partridge, then as a tea-kettle, and flop ! down fell a magnificent heron to the ground, flooring poor Max in its fall. " Take the arrow out of his eye, Wolfgang," said Otto, Avithout looking at the bird, A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 173 "wipe it and put it back into my quiver." The arrow indeed was there, having penetrated right through the pupil. "Are you in league with Der Freischiitz ? " said Rudolf, quite amazed. Otto laughingly whistled the " Huntsman's Chorus," and said, " No, my friend. It was a lucky shot, only a lucky shot. I was taught shooting, look you, in the fashion of merry England, where the archers are archers indeed." And so he cut off the heron's wing for a plume for his hat ; and the archers walked on, much amazed, and saying, " What a wonderful country that merry England must be ! " Far from feeling any envy at their comrade's success, the jolly archers recognised his supei-iority with pleasure ; and Wolfgang and Rudolf especially hold out their hands to the younker, and besought the honour of his friendship. They continued their walk all day, and when night fell made choice of a good hostel you may be sure, wiere over beer, punch. Champagne, and every luxury, they drank to the health of the Duke of Clevcs, and indeed each other's healths all round. Next day they resumed their march, and continued it without interruption, except to take in a supply of victuals here and there (and it was found on these occasions that Otto, young as he was, could eat four times as much as the oldest archer present, and drink to correspond) and these continued refreshments having given them more than ordinary strength, they determined on making rather a long march of it, and did not halt till after nightfall at the gates of the little town of Windeck. Wliat was to be done ? the town-gates were shut. " Is there no hostel, no castle where we can sleep ? " asked Otto of the sentinel at the gate. " I am so hungry that in lack of better food I think I could eat my grandmamma." The sentinel laughed at this hyperbolical expression of hunger, and said, " You had best go sleep at the Castle of Windeck yonder ; " and adding with a peculiarly knowing look, " Nobody will disturb you there." At that moment the moon broke out from a cloud, and showed on a hill hard by a castle indeed — but the skeleton of a castle. The roof was gone, the windows were dismantled, the towers were tumbling, and the cold moonlight pierced it through and through. One end of the building Avas, however, still covered in, and stood looking still more frowning, vast, and gloomy, even than the other part of the edifice. " There is a lodging, certainly," said Otto to the sentinel, who pointed towards the castle with his bartizan ; " but tell me, good fellow, what are we to do for a supper ? " " the castellan of Windeck will entertain you," said the man-at-arms with a grin, and marched up the embrasure, the while the archers, taking counsel among them- selves, debated whether or not they should take up their quarters in the gloomy and deserted edifice. " We shall get nothing but an owl for supper there," said young Otto. " Marry, lads, let us storm the town ; we are thirty gallant fellows, and I have heard the garrison is not more than three hundred." But the rest of the party thought such a way of getting supper was not a very cheap one, and, grovelling knaves, preferred rather to sleep ignobly and without victuals, than dare the assault with Otto and die, or conquer something comfortable. One and all then made their way towards the castle. They entered its vast and silent halls, frightening the owls and bats that fled before them with hideous hootings and flappings of wings, and passing by a multiplicity of mouldy stairs, dank reeking roofs, and ricketty corridors, at last came to an apartment which, dismal and dismantled VOL. I. NO. VIII. A A 174 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. as it was, appeared to be in rather better condition than the neighbouring chambers, and they therefore selected it as their place of rest for the night. They then tossed up which should mount guard. The first two hours of watch fell to Otto, who was to be succeeded by his young though humble friend Wolfgang ; and, accordingly, the Childe of Godesbcrg, drawing his dirk, began to pace upon his weary round ; while his comrades, by various gradations of snoring, told how profoundly they slept, spite of their lack of supper. 'Tis needless to say what were the thoughts of the noble Childe as he performed his two hours' watch ; what gushing memories poured into his full soul ; what " sweet and bitter " recollections of home inspired his throbbing heart ; and what manly aspirations after fame buoyed him up. " Youth is ever confident," says the bard. Happy, happy season I The moon-lit hours passed by on silver wings, the twinkling stars looked friendly down upon him. Confiding in their youthful sentinel, sound slept the valorous toxophilites, as up and down, and there and back again, marched on the noble Childe. At length his repeater told him, much to his satisfaction, that it was half-past eleven, the hour when his watch was to cease, and so giving a playful kick to the slumbering Wolfgang, that good-humom-ed fellow sprung up from his lair, and, di-awing his sword, proceeded to relieve Otto. The latter laid him down for warmth's sake in the very spot which his comrade had left, and for some time could not sleep. Realities and visions then began to mingle in his mind, till he scarce knew which was which. He dozed for a minute ; then he woke with a start ; then he went off again ; then woke up again. In one of these half- THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 175 sleeping moments lie thought he saw a figure, as of a woman in white, sliding into the room, and beckoning Wolfgang from it. He looked again. Wolfgang was gone. At that moment twelve o'clock clanged from the town, and Otto started up. (Tb he continued.) THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. My name is John Jones. I dare say you have seen it in the newspapers under the head of " Police," "A gentleman in trouble," ''More knocker stealing,'' " Faskmiable amusement,'''' &c. Somebody has said that all men are mad upon some subject or the other. Quite right, depend upon it. My monomania is door-knockers, with an occa- sional fiu-or for bell-Jiandles. I 've a museum which I shall be glad to show any gentleman who will leave his card with the publisher of the magazine. There he will see speci- mens arranged according to dates and locahties. I shall bequeath mj' collection to the Ironmongers' Company, with permission to melt down any quantity it may be thought desirable to devote to a bust of the founder of this unique exhibition. You now know who I am. Last winter I had a few fellows at my rooms. The sleet beating at the window had induced every one to make his grog as hot and strong as possible. The odorous tobacco- smoke wreathed itself about the room, and made the Argand lamp on the table look like the sun in a London fog. Frank Fitch was on the sofa, singing " The Light of other Days," whilst Harry Fletcher was roaring out " // tomba,''' accompanying himself on the shovel and tongs. In fact, the evening was growing delightful, when Bob (my man) brought in a ticket from an elderly gentleman from the country. I looked at it, and saw " Mr. Thomas Thompson, Birkenhead ! " My uncle ! He to whom I was indebted for my quarterly allowance, and from whom I expected 3000/. a year. I don't care what your opinions may be upon things in general, but you 7nust acknowledge that this was awkward. I scorn a deceit : so, emptying my glass, I went as straight as I could to my uncle. There he stood, on the little mat in the passage, dressed in the same prim blue coat, and pepper-and-salt trousers, that I remembered to have seen him in when a lump of sugar was the Havannah of existence. We shook hands heartily with each other, and I was not a little surprised at his request to join the party above. I was in no humour to deny him anything, and accordingly Mr. Thomas Thompson was formally introduced to Mr. Frank Fitch and party. My uncle seemed bent upon making himself agreeable, and in order to do so, he begged to offer a few observations on organic remains, diluvial gravel, and some few other geological phenomena. In spite of the horror depicted in every counte- nance at this announcement, he proceeded to recapitulate the absurdities of many of the exploded cosmogonies of Calcot and others, discussed Ilutton's theory, the elements of matter a parte ante, the destruction of mountains by atmospheric cor- rosion, and, I have no doubt, would have favoured us with a few chapters of Buckland had not his auditors, one by one, slinked away, shrouded in their o>vn smoke. When we were left together, my uncle paused, and producing a large pocket-book, took therefrom sundry slips cut from newspapers daily and weekly. Having spread 17G THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. tlicm on the table before him, he pohtely requested my attention to the information wliich tlicy contained. I obeyed him, and found tliat all had relation to myself ; they were all headed "police," and ended with — " Mr. John Jones was fined five shillings and discharged." "John," said my uncle, "I am very angry with you — so angry, that if you continue in your present course, I must make some alteration in the disposition of my property. These occurrences are disgraceful." " Oh ! my dear sir," I exclaimed, " it is not my fault, it is the confounded police. They will be so officious." " It is their duty to be so," answered my uncle. " Our police force is an exemplar to eveiy other nation. Active and intelligent, they have produced, I may say, a moral revolution, and I honour every member of it. Now, John, I will give you an hour's advice. When a young man — " But perhaps you will allow me to omit Mr. Thomas Thompson's maxims and opinions for young men studying for the bar — excellent as they are, — and be content with an observation which he made as he paused on the step of my door — his arm within my arm — preparatory to our departure for his inn, where he had asserted I should pass the night. " Jack, my dear boy, avoid brawls ; they degrade a gentleman to the level of a blackguard. During a somewhat riotous youth " — (dear old soid ! he was never out of bed after ten, in his Hfe) — " I never was in the custody of the watch, nor did I ever contribute a single crown to the reigning sovereign of my country as a fine for vinous excitement. I woidd not encoimter such evils to be made president of the British Association for Scientific Purposes !" As my own opinions were so diametrically opposed to my uncle's, I thought it becoming on my part to bow and remain silent. We had walked about five minutes, when our attention was directed to a man and woman disputing in language highly objectionable to the excellent old gentleman who was my companion. " Dear me. Jack, that 's very wrong," said my uncle. " What does it mean ?" " It means that if the lady don't go to her residence in five minutes, the gentleman proposes to try the effect of physical force," rephed I. " Good gracious ! and he 's doing it," exclaimed my uncle. The woman roared out most lustily ; and the brutal fellow was about to repeat his violence, when my uncle laid his hand gently on the ruffian's shoulder, and remarked in a voice as " mild as an emulsion — " "My good sir, you must not do that !" " Why mustn't he ? he 's my lawful husband you old wagabone," cried the woman, " and he 's a right to hit me if I desarve it, and I do desarve it. Give him in charge, Bill— Here ! Pohce ! Police! Mm-der!" screamed the virago. Experience suggested to me the poHcy of obsquatulating. " Rim, sir," said I to Mr. Thompson. " Run, sir ! " replied my uncle, with a look of disdain that would have ensured an antique Roman a statue! It was too late to argue, for two area gates opened at the moment, and a policeman rushed upon us from each side of the street. " Now then ? " said BuU's-eye 22. " What is it ? " asked Bull's-eye 23. THE FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES. 177 "That old un 's been salting my missis, and I gives him in charge," said the tender husband. " And the t'other helped him, I suppose ? " enquired 22. " Yes," answered the affectionate wife. I was silent. Experientia docet. "Allow me to explain," said Mr. Thompson, placing his fore-finger on the cuft' of the policeman's coat. " You see this, Figgs ? " said 23, " striking me in the execution of my duty ;" and producing his stafi", he shook it awfully in the face of my uncle. Mr. Thompson possessed a full bushel of virtues — standard measure, nevertheless he had one failing : he was veiy peppery, and the indignity now oftered him shook the cayenne from him very considerably. " Wliat do you mean, you scoundrel ? " shouted my uncle, as the policeman jerked him along. " This is a land of freedom — secured to the meanest subject — in the realm — by Magna Charta — wrung from the ty — rant — John — at Run — ny — mede — June the twelfth — twelve hundred — and — fifteen — when — the barons — " My uncle had nearly completed his abridgment of the history of England when we reached the station-house. The inspector was an old acquaintance of mine. " Ah, Mr. John Jones," he exclaimed, " haven't seen you for a month — what 's the charge — the usual, I supjjose ? Drimk and disorderly ? " — and then the two bull's-eyes proceeded to give a most lively and minute account of a series of violent assaults upon themselves and the lady before alluded to. " Perjurers ! rascals ! " roared Mr. Thompson, " I am a peaceable man — " " Very," said the inspector, continuing to vnite in the charge-book ; " assaulting Mary Somers and the police." " A lie, sir — a base he, sir ! " Thomas Thompson, drunk and disorderly," muttered the inspector. " Drunk, sir ? I never was drunk in my life ! " " Ah, we know all about that ; nobody never is drunk — ay, Mr Jones ? " said the inspector, winking at me. Mr. Thompson had now become furious, and was occupying the entire attention of four of the police. " Search him," said the inspector. " I '11 not be searched ; no man shall search me ! " screamed Mr. Thompson, Avhilst his arms were stretched out like the letter Y ; and two more of the police emptied his pockets in a twinkling. I had hitherto been amused at my uncle's position — I noAV felt seriously anxious for him. His face was the colour of a peony, and his legs were in full play, as though he were indulging in a fit of convulsions. I remonstrated with the inspector, but my character Avas too well known to obtain any indulgence (beyond procming a messenger for bail), and we were consequently marched off to the cell, and turned in among some six or eight " disorderlies, " to Avhom Mr. Thompson rendered himself particidarly disagreeable by the detail of his wrongs, and his vociferations tlu'ough the grating in the door of the cell. The bail at length arrived ; and having been frequently employed in the same capacity, was accepted without delay. The cell-door was opened, and our janitor called out, " John Jones's bail." I instantly stepped out, expecting my uncle's name would be the next ; but the officer pausing, I said, " Well, there 's Mr. Thompson !" 178 THE AGE OF MONSTERS. " Incapable of taking care of himself — can't let him out till the morning," answered the man, turning the key in the lock. My uncle's fury is indescribable. lie kicked the door — abused the police — vowed all manner of actions — recited the whole of Magna Charta, until he fell back exhausted upon a huge coal-heaver, Avho had laid himself down to sleep on the floor of the cell. I remained during the night in the station-house. In the morning Mr. Thompson and myself were placed at the bar. I saw that the magistrate recognised me, and judged that the fact was not very likely to prejudice him iia our favour. The charge was read over, and the evidence given ; my uncle continually denying the assertions made, and being as continually compelled to be silent by the surly usher of the court. " I shall fine them," said the magistrate, in the mildest tone imaginable, "twenty shillings each for the assault on the woman, three pounds each for the assault on the police, and five shillings for being intoxicated. And," continued his worship, "it pains me exceedingly to see a gentleman of your age and apparent respectability placed in such a disgracefid position. Mr. Thompson was in a frenzy — talked about dying in gaol — appealing to the House of Lords, and all those other expedients which are the boast of a wronged Briton. The result of his remarks was, that the magistrate remanded Mr. Thompson for a few hours, until he was sufficiently recovered from his debauch to be discharged. Mr. Thompson was then dragged from the bar, for walk he would not. My uncle was released in the course of the day, and started in the evening for Birkenhead. Within a year the excellent old gentleman was no more ! Before he died he had altered his will, but it was to make me his sole heir, as he stated "that I look upon my excellent nephew, John Jones, as a martyr, and the victim of that organised tyranny — the London Police." Poor dear uncle ! whilst I write this, a tear falls upon the paper, and I beg your pardon, but Fitch has just run in to say that the surgeon at the corner of the street has mounted a brass-knocker of extraordinary dimensions. — Brass- knockers are very scarce, and some lucky dog may get the start of me. Bob, my hat ! THE AGE OF MONSTERS. The age we live in is certainly an age of Monsters. The spirit of Brobdignag reigns over it. Everything has grown to such a size that the world must shortly publish a supplement, to contain all the monsters that wish to be daily inserted in it. It might be called The Supplement to the Globe. Monster balloons could run between THE AGE OF MONSTERS. 179 the two hemispheres ; the hours of starting to be announced by a monster ophicleide, and the provisions for the journey to consist of a prize bullock, and one of the monster cabbages. A skittle-ground might be managed in the car of the balloon, and a part railed off as a ball-room for the ladies. But there is no necessity to soar so high. Suppose we remain on earth, and range through all the monsters it is now exhibiting. The Monster Concert at the Surrey Zoological Gardens is at present the newest. A regiment of musicians is sta- tioned in an orches- tra the size of bar- racks, in a field a little smaller than Hyde Park. Each drum is as big as the Heidelberg Tun ; and there is a fiddle so large that it re- quires five men to play it. There is a conductor tuning a musical cannon, and Herr Diinner- bhtz is practising on a steam-engine arranged like a cot- tage piano, which produces a wonderful effect in the " Hail- stone Chorus." A pedal communicates with the safety- valve, and the escap- ing of the steam has been toned to that perfect degree that hailstones have been heard to rattle five miles off. But hark! they have begun the Megatherium Quadrilles. The earth shakes like a plateful of blanc- mange ; the air is agitated like the waves of a theatrical ocean ; the trees commence balances'mg with the houses ; and posts and pumps advance and retire as naturally as if they were at an evening party. The animals, too, are so moved by the monstrous music, that they cannot keep on their four logs. The elephant is doing the c/msscz-croisez with the grace of a Lady Mayoress ; and the monkeys are cutting capers that the " gen- tlemen " of the ballet would be proud of. A salvo of forty-two poimders announces that it is the Trenise for the Cavalier seul to advance. This is a nervous thing at any time ; but not one of the animals, not even the goose, shows a white feather about it. The hyajna makes a saltatory plunge ; the Polar bear outbounds 180 THE AGE OF MONSTERS. Cerito in agility ; and the rhinoceros goes off with the polka In a style as if he had just received six lessons from Baron Nathan. But the music ceases. The earth throbs ; the hollyliocks faint away, opening their mouths for water ; the sturdy oak flutters as if it had got the delirium tremens ; and Dame Nature is gasping for breath like an old lady whose stays arc too tight for dancing. Monster concerts are certainly the most stunning things of the day ; but they want monster composers to supply monster themes for them. Earthquakes, volcanoes, massacres, have all been " used up " ; there is only one subject left to inspire a Bei'lioz with the chaos of music and the true poetry of discord ; that is, a Symphony expressive of the opening of the Irish Parliament. Fifty trombones would not be too much for it ; a monster serpent for each member would about give a proper notion of the confusion and noise. We will jump over the Monster Meetings, as they have been crushed by Parliament ; and rush into the Monster Banquets which invite us next to discuss them. The largest theatres are now too small to contain them : the only place large enough shortly must be Wormwood Scrubs. Smithfield and Covent Garden Markets will have to be swept clean several days in advance, if the tables are expected to groan in the least under every delicacy of the season ; and the Docks will be obliged to call in the assistance of Father Thames, and all the springs in the neighbourhood, to supply the enormous quantity of light sherries and crusted ports that patriots, in their thirst for freedom, invariably consume. Toasts must be announced from the chair by means of signals ; or perhaps a series of placards, — such as were once popular at Astley's when the actors were obliged to be,like the horses, dumb creatures, — would be the best method of letting the lower part of the room know what the upper was about to do. A napkin, with the inscription, " The Chairman will be happy to take Avine with the Vice," if repeated at different stations along the Common, might be answered in half-an-hour by another inscribed with, " With great pleasure," with a postscript of " Perhaps the Duke of Calico will join us." Red napkins should be used for port, and white ones for sherry ; but green for champagne, as being most indicative of the gooseberry. Silence will have to be proclaimed by means of pistols, and " Nunc Dimittis " sung through speaking-trumpets. Gas illuminations would certainly be the best way of announcing the toasts. " The House of Brunswick," lighted up in brilliant jets, would have a capital effect ; and " The Ladies " would be sure of " one cheer more," if the gas was well laid on to each letter of that talismanic dissyllable. Newspapers also have been seized with the monster infection, and spread it far and wide. We are sure they will not long remain contented with being the size merely of a counterpane, but will soon expand to the dimensions of a carpet. A newspaper and supplement will be sufficient, ere long, to paper a good-sized parlour, and leave a butler's pantry to spare. We expect in time to see a paper so large, that opposite houses will be able to read it at the same time by persons in the respective attics and parlours holding out each a corner of it across the street. Monster shops are breaking out in every alley, and monster houses are rearing their invisible attics everywhere : the two at the Albert Gate, Hyde Park, have a suite of rooms, we have been told, for every day in the week, as it was found necessary that the family, when removing from one floor to another, should halt at least four-and-twenty hours to repose from the fatigues of the jom*ney. The Monday story is at the top of the house, as the architect very prudently thought if Saturday Avere not near to the ground it AvoiUd be impossible for the inmates to lay in provisions for the Sunday. A servant was missing on one occasion in one of these monster houses for a whole week. She had THE AGE OF MONSTERS. 181 left the third volume of Susan Hopley under her pillow in the Friday's room ; and, wishing to devour the remainder of the work, had imprudently set out on a Sunday to fetch it. The consequence was, she had not proceeded further than Saturday morning, than she fell exhausted ; and if it had not been for one or two bull's-eyes she had in her pocket, she must have perished from hunger. As it was, she was only found by the pins she had dropt after her, so as not to miss her way back again. Monster trains are as common as monster gooseberries, the two generally running together in the columns of a newspaper, just as if the monster train were necessary to bring up the monster gooseberry. The trains are already so long that it requires a special train to take the stoker to his engine ; and, on arriving at a town, the passengers in the last carriage only get there half-an-hour after those in the first, as it stands to reason they have to walk the whole length of the train before they can reach the terminus. If they inci-ease much longer, a monster train to Brighton will actually be there before it has started, as the one end of the train will lie at Brighton and the other end in London. In that case, a system of double entrj^ will have to be adopted, a smaller train running by the side of the monster one to carry the balance gradually over to the other side. Monster telescopes will soon be in the hands of every amateur Airy ; and we should not wonder if apartments were eventually fitted up inside the tube, so that astronomers might travel about with their families when they were running after any particular comet. Strolling telescopes, drawn by a team of horses, and the driver lolling on the disc, would be a refreshing novelty on the deserted highroads. Monster steam-ships carry the population of one town to another in a single voyage. In ten years, then — if the Great Britain runs as long — the whole census of Eno-land might have emigrated to wherever it pleased, and not a passenger have been pinched for want of elbow-room on the journey. London might visit New York, and New York return the visit comfortably the next trip. If a line of these monster ships were established from Liverpool to America, a pedestrian might walk from the Old World slap into the New, with no more fatigue than going over Hungerford Bridge. A toll might be levied at every monster ship to pay the expenses of the line and there should be branches to the difi^erent towns along the coast. If the middle of tlie decks also were slightly paved, and the hatchways left open to represent ditches, and the bulwarks made higher to stand for hedges or hurdles, what a capital steeple-chase mio-ht be started from one continent to another ! We do not despair of having everything, shortly, more or less of a monster size. Our taxes have been so for a long time. Look at London, too, M'hat a monster it is getting ! If it keeps growing as it has done lately, railways will have to be started down the principal streets, for a person to get from one end to the other. Our follies, too, our armies, wants, and abuses, are all on the same monster scale ; so that nothing less than a monster reform will ever sweep them away. A chano-e, however, cannot be far distant. Let us hope the same prodigious size will cha- racterise henceforth our enjoyments, our money in the funds, our triumphs, the number of our years and children. In short, that every man will possess a monster fortune, with a monster heart, family, and friends to enjoy it ! vol.. I. NO. VIH. 182 NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER. NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER. As THE bird may generally be known by its song, a people may often be studied tbi'oiigh the mcdimn of popular ballads ; and we may look in vain tlirough the pages of history for some trait of national character that the "Little Warbler " would at once have revealed to us. It was a common saying of an illustrious philosopher, whose name we have been unable to learn, that he never went into a strange land without purchasing a sixpenny songster, which always gave him a clearer insight into the customs and peculiarities of the inhabitants than the most ponderous philosophical treatise ; and he would rather hear the last new opera, than converse for a whole day with the most learned of the savans. England is, perhaps more than any other country, remarkable for the richness of its vocal resources, and the British ballad throws a very powerfiU light on the British character. Even the conventional pieces of refrain, with which our national songs are interspersed, the httle burdens which come in at the end of each succeeding stanza, even these, simple as they are, furnish a sort of glossary to some of our otherwise unintelligible Saxon oddities. There is a gush of buoyant gaiety in the Bi(//it tooral looral-la, which at once tells the fact that the Englishman is disposed to mirthfulness ; and the celebrated Hey-down ho-down-derry , has just a suflScient dash of plaintiveness about it to show that there is a seriousness mingling with our humour, like the bit of bay-leaf in the custard, which, in the true spirit of philosophy, reminds us that there is nothing so sweet but it is flavoured with a little bitter. There is also a wild reckless- ness in the Tol de rol, which bespeaks the alacrity displayed by a true-born Briton in facing danger ; while the Whack row de dow is characteristic of the pugilistic propensities for which our countrymen are said to be peculiar. But it is perhaps the naval genius of England which is more particularly developed in our songs and ballads ; for, from the time when Dibdin wrote and Nelson flourished, it is on the sea that the poet has found himself to be in his true element. There is scarcely a song connected with nautical affairs that does not open out some singular propensity of the tar — that extraordinary being, whose devotion to grog and glory, to pigtail and sentiment, have been the " theme of the minstrel" for a very considerable period. Perhaps there is not a more remarkable creatm-e in the whole range of human physiology than Jack Ratlin, whose brief but touching history is narrated in a song to which his name gives the title. We are told, in the first instance, that Jack Ratlin was the ablest seaman ; and it must be inferred, therefore, that in abihty he surpassed even Nelson himself ; for if Ratlin was the ablest seaman. Nelson could only have been the ablest but one, under any circumstances. By way of exemplifying the overwhelming ability of Ratlin, we are told that — None like him could hand, reef, and steer ; No dangerous toil but he 'd encounter, With skill, and in contempt of fear. These qualities must have rendered him invaluable to his country ; but such is the slow progress of promotion in the navy, that Mr. Ratlin appears to have been, after all, only a common sailor. We learn, however, from the song which relates his history, that a man before the mast in the British Navy may be a compound of Lord Chester- NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER. 183 field and Romeo : that bis character may he a mixtm-e of etiquette and ardent affection ; for the poet aifectingly tells us that — Jack had manners, courage, merit ; Yet did he sigh — and all for love. Ratlin was not only a gentleman and a lover, hut a deep thinker, and a decided teetotaller, hating a thoughtless joke, and treating grog with indifference : — The song, the jest, the flowing liquor, Fornone of these had Jack regard ; He, while his messmates were carousing. High sitting on the pendant yard. Would think upon his fair one's beauties. Swear never from such charms to rove ; That truly he 'd adore them living, And dying, sigh — to end bis love. What a beautiful picture does this give of the love-sick tar — who, not satisfied with sitting on the binnacle, or getting snugly into the jolly-boat to be out of the way, must needs go up into " the pendant yard " to swear constancy at the very top of the rigging, and, in fact, file an affidavit on the extreme point of the weathercock. The song then proceeds to give us a glimpse into the nature of expresses scut on board a ship, which include occasional domestic tidings relating to the private afiairs of the common seamen. The same express the crew commanded Once more to view their native land ; Among the rest brought Jack some tidings, Would it had been his love's fair hand ! Oh fate ! — her death defac'd the letter ; Instant his pulse forgot to move. The oblivion into which Mr. Ratlin's pulse had suddenly fallen was of course a serious business, for when the pulse " forgets to move " it is not so easy to jog its memory. The tar was evidently in a very alarming state, and the song goes on to give us an insight into the peculiar sensibility of the naval character. It would seem that Mr. Ratlin never rallied after the receipt of the melancholy tidings, and we then get a vivid picture of the manner in which the British seaman can sometimes die. It appears that the tar goes off like a shot, and is in fact struck all of a heap when ho gets unpleasant news by post, for when Jack heard of the calamity that had befallen Mrs. RatHn that was to have been — With quivering lip and eyes uplifted, He heav'd a sigh and died for love. A duck has occasionally been known to perish in this style, but we should have expected to find "a heart of oak" much stouter than this "last scene of all " in Mr. Ratlin's " strange eventful history " would seem to indicate. A smile and a sigh, and all Avas over with the sensitive tar, who dying for love, was unable of course to comply with the orders of the Admiralty, "once more to view his native land," or even to " take a sight " at it. We turn from the regular tar to the Thames waterman, whose farewell to his trim- 184 NATIONAL SONGS AND NATIONAL CHARACTER. built wherry, aiul touching leave-taking of his oars, coat and badge, appear so utterly unaccountable, that they can only be atti'ibuted to the mere caprice of the aquatic character. There is nothing to throw any light on the determination of Thomas "never more ia take a spell," except a morbid sentimentality, which the song-writers show us to be the salient point in the British seaman's character. The waterman declares himself " to hope and peace a stranger," and announces his reckless resolve — In the battle's heat to go, Where, exposed to every danger. Some friendly ball shall lay me low. This lets us into the secret that the firing is sometimes very clumsily managed in a man-of-war ; for if Thomas is to be laid low by a "friendly ball," it is clear that he must perish by the hands of one of his own comrades. Most of the naval songs of England represent the seaman as a prey to a maudlin melancholy, which it would require the skilful hand of a Burton to anatomise. We can only cut it up in our own unceremonious fashion. Bernardus Penottus tells us of " an excellent balm," which, taken in the proportion of three drops to a cup of wine, or six to a can of grog, would " drive away dumps and cheer up the heart." This decoction would, we trust, in the event of a war, form a part of every ship's stores, to be administered pretty freely in the event of any of the tars getting into the sentimental state which proved fatal to Jack Ratlin, " the ablest seaman " that the service could boast of. A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI. 185 Rusliing from one extreme to tlie other, and turning from melancholy to mh'th, we come to the comic songs of our native land, which make us acquainted with the sort of popular wit that distinguishes the British character. We appear to be a nation to Avhom bad spelling is a source of infinite mirth, for the fun of many of om* comic songs consists in the outrageousness of their orthography. For instance, there is one commencing — I 'm a hoppulent genelman now, Avhere by the happy insertion of an h where it ought not to occm-, and the omission of a t from where it ought to be, with the slight transposition of two letters in one word, wo get an effect that becomes irresistibly ludicrous. The mere common place statement of a person having come to a title, and not having become proud and overbearing in consequence of his dignity, is converted into a piece of the raciest humour by a little ingenuity in the use of the alphabet, as shown in the following facetious stanza : — But though now a hearl, and am rich, Not one of your upstarts I be, I 'm a gemman, and always was sick ; There 's nothing like pride about me. The words in italics constitute the humour of the verse, which is among the happiest efforts of the modern comic song writer. One of the great sources of the wit to be found in the British ballads is the frequent use of words which are only partially understood, in lieu of those which every one knows the meaning of. Thus, though there is nothing funny in the word " clothes," it becomes, when translated into " togs," an unfaihng source of merriment. The pun is also a favom-ite artifice of the comic poet, who seems to have a classical taste in this respect — for in hunting after &jeu de mot he frequently ransacks the rich stores of antiquity. Some words are peculiarly adapted to the poet's purpose, admitting of a multiplicity of meanings, as "Fair," which, by a little orthographical ingenuity, can be made to comprehend a vast variety of significations. There are other branches of song-writing which tend to throw a light on the national character, but these, if touched on at all, must be reserved for some future paper. COLLECTED FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES BY BALZAC d'aNOIS. [B. d' A. assures his readers that in giving his characters Italian instead of Spanish names, and in introducing a few Italian phrases, he has not been under the influence of ignorance. Knowing that the persons spoken of are more known througli the medium of Her Majesty's Theatre tlian any other, he has adopted an Italian garb for the sake of being more intelligible.] Although great festivities were going on in the ancestral mansion of Don Giovanni, — that is to say, although the Don himself sat at table between two very ordinary- looking females, whom he feasted liberally off a French roll, sent up in a splendid pewter dish, while he regaled himself out of an empty goblet richly gilt, — althouo-li a 186 A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI. band of men stood at the back of the room, and holding a number of wooden trumpets, liorns, i' sic tra.nslt If tA^ ^^^ndcrrs rf vA-t- ^nMU. hook. ^i y^cd S^- __ OctoicP )i^Jj. ODDITIES FROM THE RHINE. 213 BY ANGUS B. REACH. I HAVE just got back from the Rhine, and I count my departure from that extorting-money-upon-false-pretences stream as the most sensible thing I have done since I embarked upon it. Not but that the Rhine is not tolerably well in its way. On the contrary, it is a very respectable kind of river — pea-soupy in hue, perhaps, but not so decidedly a drab as the "Blue Moselle." You •will see lots of castles — any one of them appearing the twin brother of the last. The same grey stone ; the same pepper-box turrets ; the same telescope-looking tower ; the same — or nearly the same — wonderful legend of the Baron of Grogswig, or Count Thimblerigenberg. Happy thing it is that these — naughty old "fences" (I don't know the slang of chivalry for places for the reception of stolen goods) are uninhabited. Think of chmbing up there to dinner ! Terrible ! But think of coming down after dinner ! Mercy on us ! There could have been no stout gentlemen in the fourteenth century. Doubtless there is the wine. Most of it is eccentric vinegar, losing its right mind and turning sweetish. I asked for Johannisherger, and I got a sort of educated cider : I supposed it was all right, for I paid a pound for the bottle. I left the Rhine to its own devices, aud plunged boldly into Germany — I mean the real Germany, the imadulterated Germany, the sauer-kraid-Qdiimg, charcoal-burning, metaphy sic-jabbering Germany. I was nearly starved : Mungo Park's journey was a bagatelle to mine. I have no respect for Clapperton or Bruce after what I came through. I can't eat soup which is no soup, but only a clandestine marriage between dirty hot water and sour grease ; I can't eat shced turnip popped raw into melted butter and sugar ; I can't eat bouilli boiled to tatters, after pears preserved in sugar ; I can't eat nasty, cannibal-looking pike after the bouilli; I can't eat stews made the cook knows how, out of nobody knows what. But I made a shift — hunger is shaq) — and then — think of it, weep over it — ^just, every day, as I managed to spoil a good appetite by coaxing it Avith some of the least worst of these conglomerated scraps of chaotic cookery — lo and behold ! in would come roti and poulet and fricandeau, all very tolerable, but never, oh never did they make their appearance until you were utterly unable to attack them. Did any one ever understand Gennan money ? Did any one ever fathom the mysteries of kreutzers, pfennings, and groschen ? I defy Babbagc's Calculating Machine to make anything of those horrid little scintillas of silvery copper and coppery silver. The Germans themselves are quite in the dark on the matter, I assure you. Change a thaler, and contemplate in mute despair the handful of metallic rubbish you will get. It is of no use to any one — not even the owner. As for distinguishing the silver from the copper, the thing is out of the question. The only general rule I can give is, that the things which look most like silver are copper and vice versa. You had better act strictly upon this principle : it is the nearest approach which human ingenuity can make to the right one. The spots upon the coinage are curious studies of metallic cutaneous disease. You will be apt to think that a violent small-pox has broken out VOL. I. — NO. X. F F 214 ODDITIES FROM THE RHINE. in somebody's purse, and that the whole of the unliappy patients have been consigned over to you. The best thing you can do with your change is, generally speaking, to throw it away. Tliis simjile process obviates many inconveniencies. For example, you have been treasuring up what you flatter yourself is a small fortune of tolerably respectable-looking pieces of money, while you have been distributing to the poor all the most rascally inmates of your pockets. Presently you will be taken nicely aback. The dirty, shabby money, is the only portion of any real value ; the gentlemanly coins are only formed to "charm the eyes and grieve the heart." Not that they have not some odd theoretical value — but what is the worth of a coin when nobody will give you anything for it ? I repeat, you may just throw away yom* change for any real practical good it will do you. If, however, you can bring it home, and sell it to any purblind old antiquary as a series of coins of the Carthaginian Empire — of course, that is quite another affair. Do so, if you can. Not that with all my contempt for change — " they 'd find no change in me," for I have come home quite an altered being. It is said to be a wise child that knows its ovm father, but it must be a wise father who knows his own child when transmogrified in appearance and habits by a tour in Gennany. ^^^^-^/llK^^i^^r2:^ '^-f^ gr^^-^'/; ''^^^ ^ 'i/i"j^^ TWeM. I have been told that there is a word in German for " hurry." I reject the infor- mation as a clumsy attempt to deceive. I rather liked the way the Mail always came in. It used to pass my window at a hand walk. It had no horn- in particular. Any of the twenty-four, it was quite the same. It distributed its favom-s pretty equally over all. They had a delicious way, too, of harnessing the horses. There were generally two imhappy quadrupeds puUing, and half-a-dozen — true, on my word of honom- — attached behind. At first I thought that the hindmost were intended for pushing, like locomo- tives set to urge a heavy train np an incline, and I rather admired the novelty of the thing. Presently, however, I ascertained that this was the German mode of bringing NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. 215 home horses left at the last passed posting house. They were made fast to the diligence by long knotted bridles, and as, in nine cases out of ten, they were much more fitted for standing still than for going ahead, the result was that they pulled back — probably in the ratio of three out of seven — the real workers pulling forward in the ratio of four, the difiference of one being the amount of propulsive power employed. The speed attained is consequently not remarkable — but the slowness is. In fact, if you Avant to live cheaply in Germany for a week, you had better take your place in the Diligence for a coiiple of hundred miles or so, when you will find your object — so far as lodgin"- o-oes — perfectly accomplished. Of course you can't go to bed — but that is an advantage in Germany. Putting a feather-bed under a man is intelligible, but another above him is quite a different thino-. In Germany there are two things besides misfortune which never come single — fleas and feather-beds. The former are the most industrious of their race — the latter the most downy. I never got between the two masses of feathers without thinking of the infant princes smothered in the Tower. But I should like to see anybody try to smother a German. They are unsmotherable. Wlaat with the tobacco-smoke and the choky stove and unopening windows course of training they go through, fresh air is an article in no request at all. Put a big receiver over the Fadedand, exhaust the atmosphere, and horrify nature with a vacuum — the Germans would not care one whit. If any man be blase of dinners he can eat — beds he can sleep in — air he can breathe in — coaches which will go, and horses which will trot— let him put himself in a steamer, bound for the Rhine, thence put himself in a Diligence, bound for some place a couple of hundred miles from the Rhine, and, the word of a gentleman for it, he will come home a sadder, and a wiser, and a thinner man. To render his misery complete, let him arrive at Dover when the pier is inap- proachable, let him land in a small boat on a squally day, let him be made very ill by the motion of the little craft, and let him begin to cast up — the expenses which his trip to the Rhine may have put him to. When he sees the waves running high, he may remember also that for the expenses of his family at home he owes bills that may be as difficult to settle as the biUows. NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. CHAPTER I. The most prudent man in Birmingham was Caleb Botts. His maternal aunt had bequeathed him 3000/., which sum he received in the twenty-third year of his age. Caleb at first was greatly puzzled how to invest his little fortune to most advantage. At length, a happy thought struck him so forcibly, that he staggered back into his easy-chair, and remained silent for a quarter of an hour ; and no wonder ; for when he rose on his legs again he had determined to take a wife. He had a snug business, and was in excellent credit, which his 3000/. could not fail to improve. So a wife was just the thing to assist him in carrying out the great aim of his existence, namely, to make what ho termed " a heap of money." Many men will think Caleb a donkey for conceiving that a wife was necessary to accomplish his praiseworthy object, — be patient, good people ; as yet you don't know Caleb. In an adjoining street lived the lady upon whom Caleb had decided to confer the 216 NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. honour of becoming Mrs. Botts. She was neither old nor young — ugly nor pretty, lean nor stout — in fact, she was an cvery-day sort of person, that might walk from Dan to Bccrsheba without eliciting one remark by the way. To Caleb her great recommen- dation was a just appreciation of money. He had seen her haggle with a huckster at the door — he had heard her ujjbraid the butcher with false weight — and he had been told that she bartered her old clothes for jugs and pie-dishes. Caleb wooed her like himself. He waited upon her, and having civilly announced the pui-pose of his visit, proceeded at once to state the amount of his property, leaving the lady to discover any other eligible qualification which he might possess. Miss Fisk (we had forgotten to say the lady's name was Fanny Fisk) blushed a little, added up the items of Caleb's wealth, which she had jotted down in her pocket-book as her admirer had recounted them, and having found them satisfactory, consented to become Mrs. Botts in the course of a month. The wedding day arrived, and Caleb had been exceedingly liberal with invitations to his friends, a considerable number of whom assembled to assist at the awful ceremony. As the carriages were announced Botts stepped boldly into the middle of the room, and drew from his pocket a serious roll of parchment. Everybody stared except Dovesmilk, the lawyer — he grinned. Botts having cleared his throat, took the hand of Miss Fisk, and pressed it to his lips. "To convince you, my dear Fanny," he said, in accents as soft as eider-down, — "To convince you how devotedly — how disinterestedly I love you, I have here settled upon you and the and the and the " " Children of this union," murmured Dovesmilk. " And the — aforesaid," continued Caleb, " the sum of 3000?. in the 3^ per cents." A mm-mur of applause ran through the whole assembly, and Miss Fisk blushing a delicate rose-pink, buried her face in Caleb's magnificent shirt-frill. NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. 217 A few moments and a glass of water sufficed to restore the bride to consciousness, and Botts led her — " nothing loth" — to the altar. They were married. There were not a few stupid people who imhesitatingly pronounced Caleb a fool for making such a settlement ; but, as we said before, they did not know Caleb. Ten years passed away, and a pretty gentle girl was added to the household of the Bottses. She was christened Fanny after her mother, but every one who knew the child, declared that it was a shame to call her Botts. Dearly, very dearly did Caleb love his child — that is, he loved her in his way. He thought how rich she would be one day, and that he should be father-in-law to some great merchant or gentleman, who mi"-ht fall in love with her and marry her. Well, that was a father's dream. Caleb was doing a roaring business, and everybody prophesied that in a few years he would be the richest retailer in Brummagem. But Caleb was weary of shop-keepinf, and resolved to retire. And now the silly people that had sneered at Botts settling all upon his wife began to confess what a clever fellow he was. On the 16th of August, 1830, there was quite a panic in certain warehouses in Brummagem. Caleb Botts had declared himself insolvent ! 2s. Gd. in the pound, he said, was as much as could be expected xmder the most favourable circumstances. Nobody would believe it, so they made him a bankrupt. Uis books were examined, and there his creditors saw the cause of his misfortune : — Dr. Helkannah Snorts : New York. Cr. To Goods, as per Journal, ^4,037. By Composition of 7d. in the pound, ^117 15s. Every care was taken to sift this strange transaction to the bottom, but Caleb had so mystified matters, that the creditors at length gave it up in despair. The only thing they could do, they did — they refused Caleb Botts's certificate. The bankrupt shrugged his shoulders, and said it was very hard, but he must endeavour to live upon his wife's little property. Yes, — the identical 3,000/. which he had settled upon her on his wedding-day ! And w^onderfuUy he managed on the interest of 3,000/. ; for he kept a pair of bay ponies and a groom in drab livery. His dinners were reported as first-rate, and his wines declared to be une.xceptionable : and all this on " Mrs. B.'s httlo property." Two or three honest people, who had been ruined by his bankruptcy, thought it very extraordinary, and now and then indulged in remarks which, as they proved nothing, only served to show what Botts called " their unabated malevolence to a highly unfortunate, but by no means unprincipled man." CHAPTER II. lu Street, Mayfair, Mrs. Snow kept a lodging-house. She had been a widow for many years, and having made up her mind to continue Mrs. Snow to the end of her days, she had adopted her nephew, Henry Hilton, to be heir to whatever her industry could garner up for him. Hilton was clerk to a surveyor, and a very steady, painstaking fellow he was. The house opposite had been taken a short time before the date of this chapter by a family, which, as Mary, Mrs. Snow's housemaid, said, " Had come-in in weeds, and was just gone into colours." But why should we make a mystery 218 NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. of tlic matter — It was Botts and his pretty gentle daughter, Fanny, now grown into maidcnliood, and as unHkc Botts as a moss-rose is to an artichoke. Poor Mrs. Botts (to use lier hushand's figurative language) " had gone to her proper sphere above the cerulean." Her 3,000/., therefore, according to the tenor of the marriage settlement, devolved upon Fanny. Miss Botts, the heiress, was soon the theme of every area in Street, Mayfair, and Caleb spared no pains to magnify the amount of his daughter's expectations. Mrs. Snow's "first-floor and bedroom for a single gentleman" were to let, when, to her great gratification, a green cab, with a very diminutive tiger behind, and a most imposing gentleman inside, drove to the door— it was Julian Pitt Chatham, Esq., of Cow Hall and Blanket House, Yorkshire, and, — as he said, — a direct descendant of" the pilot that weathered the storm." Mrs. Snow's rooms suited him to a T, and in less than two hours he was smoking his Turkish hookah in the widow's balcony. Who Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham really was will be explained by the following colloquy : — It was in the dusk of the evening as Mary announced Mr. Leo Carrol, and as that gentleman did not hesitate to follow Mary into the room, she naturally concluded that he was a very intimate friend of the new lodger.— She was right. " Well, my boy — here I am," said Julian Pitt Chatham, when Mary had left the room and closed the door; " here I am— before the doomed citadel. Eh?" and he jerked the end of his pipe towards the house of Botts. "Egad, it 's a desperate venture, Tom — I mean, Pitt," rephed Carrol. " Pooh ! have you got the cards engraved ? " " What, your own ? " "No— no. Mother Snow's late lodger's— Captain Luttrell." "I shall have them in the morning — by Jove! that was a master-thought," exclaimed Carrol. " Well, I do feel proud of that suggestion," said Chatham, " and see — here is the hst of Luttrell's visiting acquaintance. I procured it from a discharged valet. He says that his master was a most popular man, and is expected in town early next month— so^ we have no time to lose. The girl has been looking over here repeatedly smce SIX o clock, and I saw old Botts examining me through an opera-glass." The next day the green cab was seen in all the fashionable streets in London. The tiger had changed his livery, and was hopping up and down, knocking at doors, and then hastily dehvering small pieces of pasteboard, on which was engraven, " Capt. Luttrell, Street, May Fair." The ruse succeeded. The next day Mrs. Snow's house was besieged by the carnages and cabs of the first people in town. The grand object was attained ; a favourable impression had been made on Botts, and the rest of the plan was thought to be easy of accomplishment. Nor was Botts idle— Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham was a chance not to be lost, and Caleb made all the display possible of the goodness of his circumstances. The confederates were not bhnd to Botts's manoeuvres, and worked accordingly. Carrol played the piano excellently, and as " such an instrument he was to use," a superb grand was procured on hire. Chatham had his rooms brilliantly illuminated, as though for a soiree ; and whilst Carrol rattled away at polkas and quadrilles, Chatham, assisted by the tiger and Mrs. Carrol, performed a sort of Ombres Chinoises on the NEVER TRUST TO OUTWARD APPEARANCES. 219 window-blinds, conveying by their frantic gyrations and evolutions the idea of a party in the highest state of enjoyment. Botts's regard for his opposite neighl)our increased amazingly, and he retired to rest resolved at all hazards to force himself into an acquaintance. In the morning Botts fulfilled his determination, and was delighted to find a corre- sponding anxiety to establish a friendly intercoui'se existing on the part of the opulent and aristocratic Mr. Julian Pitt Chatham. We have neither time nor inclination to detail the manoiuvrcs played oft' upon each other by these worthy men. Enoug;li to know that their hopes seemed to be ripening, and each calculated on securing a splendid crop of knavery — Botts having ingeniously added a nought to the amount of Fanny's 3000/., whilst Julian Pitt Chatham had taken (imaginary) possession of three-fourths of the county of Yorkshire, During this knavish strategery, the gentle dove-like Fanny was left much to herself; for, though her wealthy suitor paid her the usual attentions, he nevertheless passed much of his time in the society of his dear friend Carrol, kindly assisting him in the management of a " little hell " in the neighbourhood of Leicester Square. Towards the close of a delicious evening in the month of June, Botts had just risen from his siesta when Chatham entered the room, accompanied by a friendly lawyer bearing a blue bag containing a marriage settlement of more than ordinary bulk. The deed stated that, whereas Julian Pitt Chatham, of Cow Hall and Blanket House, in the county of Yorkshire, being about to unite himself in the bonds of wedlock with Frances Botts, only daughter of Caleb Botts, of St., May fair, in the county of Middlesex, did, by this deed, settle upon the said Frances Botts all his right and title in Cow Hall, and also the interest of 3000/., now standing in the name of the said Frances, in the Three-and-a-half per Cents., on the said Caleb Botts for his natm-al life, &;c., *tc., &c. ; from which it may be inferred that Caleb had not been unmindful of himself in his care for his daughter, having secured for his own necessities all her real property, leaving her future husband absolute control over the imaginary, with which he had invested her. The worthy fellows expressed themselves mutually satisfied, and were anxiously awaiting the return of Fanny from her customary evening's walk, when a letter was brought in by the servant, addi-essed to Caleb Botts. It ran as follows : — " Dear Father, "You will perceive by the inclosed marriage certificate, that I am now the wife of Mr. Henry Hilton, a young gentleman whom I have known for some time, and known only to love. " Being aware of the intended transfer of myself and property by you to Mr. .luliun Pitt Chatham, I considered the proceeding so unwarrantable, that I resolved to free myself from the possibility of such a sacrifice, and have married (as I am of age, my property and hand are at my own disposal) the object of my first and only love. " Your affectionate daughter, " Fanny Hilton." Botts read the letter again and again ! Could his " gentle Fanny" have taken such a desperate step ? Could she, that he had looked upon as a long annuity, have so cruelly deceived him ! Could — but, like the modest painter of Greece, let us draw a veil over the paternal grief of old Botts. * * * If you take a stroll in the Bayswater Road any fine afternoon, you will see a fair, 220 THE HERMIT OF VAUXHALL. clumpy little woman, with something of a viragoish expression of face, driving a flock of small children before her ; an old man is usually with her, laden with shawls and cloaks, and leading a fat wheezing spaniel in a string. The lady is the " gentle Fanny," and the old man is Caleb Botts. He is miserably discontented, and grumbles accordingly — the only pleasurable reflection of his long and busy life seems to be the recollection of the sentence of transportation which he had the satisfaction to hear passed upon one Thomas Biggs alias Juhan Pitt Chatham. THE HERMIT OF VAUXHALL. A BALLAD, AFTER OLIVER GOLDSMITH. BY THE EDITOR. Turn, gentle hermit of Vauxhall, And let me know the way In which, within that cavern small, You pass your time away. There 's nothing but a little lamp, A pitcher, and a cat ; The place must be extremely damp- Why don't you wear a hat ? " No chaff, my son," the hermit cries, " But walk your chalks along ; Your path to the rotunda lies — They 're going to sing a song." THE HERMIT OF VAUXHALL. 221 " Father, I care not for the strain Of tlaat young girl in blue ; But, if you please, I will remain, And liave a cliat Avith you." " My son, you surely wish to hear The music of the band ; But if you stop — a drop of beer I think you ought to stand." *' Father, to grant what you require, I '11 not a moment fail ; * Here, waiter, bring the holy friar A pint of Burton Ale.' " The waiter brought the welcome draught, I took a little sup ; The liquor then the hermit quaff 'd, He fairly mop't it up. " Father," I cried, " now, if you please, Philosophy we 'U talk — As the wind murmurs through the trees Skirting the long dark walk." " My son, forbear," exclaimed the sage, " Nor on me make a call — • My life is but a pilgrimage From Lambeth to Vauxhall. " At eve, when shops their shutters shut. And tolls the curfew-bell, I quit my room in the New-Cut, To sit within this cell. " A friendly ounce of Cheshire cheese My landlady provides ; Save what to give the public please, I 've nothing, son, besides." " Father, yom- salary, of course, You must receive," I said ; " Your sitting here is not by force : IIow do you get your bread ? The sago replied, " Alas! my son, I light the lamps by day — The hermit's work, at evening done. Brings me no extra pay." VOL. I. — NO. X. G G 222 POETICAL INVITATIONS. And get you cheese alone to eat ?" I asked the good okl man. Sometimes," he said, " I buy a treat From hak'd potato can. The hixury I sometimes bring With butter — a small lump, And water from the crystal spring- That rises 'neath our pump," Father," I cried, "your tale is long, You tire my patience quite ; I 'm off to hear the comic song, Lidl-li-e-te, good night." POETICAL INVITATIONS. If all the young ladies who sit down to a piano to sing a song were to be taken at their words — that is to say, at the words of the poet, which, for the time being, they adopt as their o-^yn — much awkwardness might be the consequence. If the invitations that are frequently issued were to he literally accepted, we shoidd have people rushing to willow glens the day after an evening party ; or jumping into cabs and giving direc- tions to the cabmen to drive " where the aspens quiver," " down by the shining river," whither they had been requested to " bring their guitar " by some syren of last night's soiree. Four or five years ago it was customary to recommend a whole roomful of company to hurry "Away, away to the mountain's brow ! " and many of our readers will recollect being intreated to "leave the gay and festive scene " considerably before supper, and to " rove 'mid foi-ests green," for the purpose of watching the lingering ray " that shoots from evert/ star ; " which, as the stars happen to be imimnerable, would have been a very endless business. To ask a gentleman to come and watch the rays that shoot from every star, is almost as bad as inviting him to come and count the " five milhon additional lamps " at Vauxhall, a task xmder Avhich even Cocker must have fallen prostrate. The coolness with which a request for a meeting " by moonlight alone " is frequently conveyed may be all very Avell in a crowded room full of guests, but if the solitary interview were to come off at the appointed hour, the strongest of female nerves might be shaken. As the invitation is general, any one present is at liberty to accept it, provided he fulfil the condition of coming alone ; and if Spring-heeled Jack should happen to overhear the song, he might take it into his head — and heels — to keep the appointment. Young ladies should be very careful in issuing notes of invitation to a moonlight soiree, for they do not know who may overhear them, and attend the rendezvous. The Cock Lane Ghost, had he been living when the song of " Meet me by moonlight " was composed, would have been a very likely sort of gentleman to be waiting " in the grove at the end of the vale," for the purpose of bestowing the sweet light of his eyes — glaring through two holes in a turnip — upon any one who had asked for it. We must say, we prefer the present system of Avriting songs with no meaning at all. POETICAL INVITATIONS. 223 to the old method of asking people to a moonlight tete-a-tete, a meeting in " a tranquil cot at a pleasant spot," or a conversazione "where the aspens quivcj-." "You'll " O ! meet nic by moonlight alone." remember me," pledges you to nothing, unless n Avaitcr sings it while jou nod your assent, and a promise to do something "When hollow hearts shall wear a mask " is certainly void, for impossibility. 224 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. {^Continued from paye 200.) CHAPTER XI. Wit Mra:X\\x nf %oht. HE archers who had travelled in company with young Otto, gave a handsome dinner in compliment to the success of oui- hero ; at which his friend distin- guished himself as usual in the eating and drinking department. SquintofF, tlie Rowski howman, decUned to attend, so great was the envy of the hrute at the youthful hero's superiority. As for Otto himself, he sate on the right hand of the chairman, hut it was re- marked that he could not eat. Gentle reader of my page ! thou knowest why full well. He was too much in love to have any appetite ; for though I myself, when lahouring under that passion, never found my consumption of victuals diminish, yet rememher our Otto was a hero of romance, and they never are hungry when they 're in love. The next day, the young gentleman proceeded to enrol himself iu the corps of Archers of the Prince of Cleves, and with him came his attached squire, who vowed he never would leave him. As Otto threw aside his own elegant dress, and donned the livery of the House of Cleves, the noble Childe sighed not a little — 'twas a splendid uniform 'tis true, hut still it was a livery, and one of his proud spirit ill hears another's cognizances. " They are the colours of the Prince's, however," said he, consoling himself ; " and what suffering woidd I not undergo for her ? " As for Wolfgang, the squire, it may well be supposed that the good-natured, low-horn fellow, had no such scruples ; but he was glad enough to exchange for the pink hose, the yellow jacket, the pea-green cloak, and orange-tawny hat, with which the Duke's steward supplied him, the homely patched doublet of green which he had worn for years past. " Look at yon two archers,'' said the Prince of Cleves to his guest the Rowski of Donnerblitz, as they were strolling on the battlements after dinner, smoking their cigars as usual. His Highness pointed to our two young friends, who were mounting guard for the first time. " See yon two bowmen — mark their bearing ! One is the youth who beat thy Squintofi", and t'other, an I mistake not, won the third prize at the butts. A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 225 Both wear the same uniform — the colours of my house — yet, would'st not swear that the one was hut a churl, and the other a nohle gentleman? " " Wliich looks like the nobleman ? " said the Rowski, as black as thunder. " Which ? why young Otto, to be sure," said the Princess Helena, eagerly. The young lady was following the pair, but under pretence of disUking the odour of the cigar, she had refused the Rowski 's proffered arm, and was loitering behind with her parasol. Her interposition in favour of her young protege only made the black and jealous Rowski more ill-humoured. " How long is it. Sir Prince of Cleves," said he, "that the churls who wear yom- livery permit themselves to wear the ornaments of noble knights ? Wliat but a noble dare wear ringlets such as yon spring-aid's ? Ho, archer I " roared he, "come hither, fellow." And Otto stood before him. As he came, and presenting amis stood respectfully before the Prince and his savage guest, he looked for one moment at the lovely Helena — their eyes met, their hearts beat simultaneously : and, quick, two little blushes appeared in the cheek of either. I have seen one ship at sea answering another's signal so. While they are so regarding each other let us just remind our readers of the great estimation in which the hair was held in the North. Only nobles were permitted to wear it long. When a man disgraced himself, a shaving was sm-e to follow. Penalties were inflicted upon villains or Vassals who sported ringlets. See the works of Aurclius Tonsor ; Hirsutus de Nobilitate Capillari ; Rolandus de Oleo Macassari ; Schnun-bart Frisirische Alterthumskunde,