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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

The Hermit of Battersea

. 32

Stage Bandits

. . 34

The Stage Seaman .

. 35

Fashions in tlie East .

. . 37

Singleton in a State of Mental

Ejaculation 41

6,7

A Small Family

. 44

Domestic Encumbrances

. . 44

Alexander taming Bucephalus

. 48

The Stage Lady's Maid

. . 50

One of the Old School

. 52

Illustrations of the Months

. 54, 55

Window Phenomena

56, 57

A Scamper on the Serpentine

. . 59

The Music-Master in China

. 63

Pig-tail and Short-cut .

. . 64

oma

. 21

Poet's Corner .

. 66

Grand Tournament

. . 73

The Lover and the Magician

. 74

The Stage Rustic

. . 76

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 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

212

235

279

155

201

125

134

175

159

265

30, 65

117

220

276

245

203

254

260

2iil

128

. 28,47,110

119, 144, 167, 193,

224,241,267

. 36

. . 56

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 ....

•

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

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

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.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS

Uti an& Out of Uonlron.

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

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.

" 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 ! "

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,

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

" 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.

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

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

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.

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, <fec.,

An Old Amateur.

VOL. I. NO. III.

.'34

SONG OF TPIE MONTHS.

'? ('

Wih*

^od^^^^^i

Hark to the squalling newborn Year !

Squalling with wind, and crying with sleet ;
Old Dame ^anuat]t> 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.

^>^^^~-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 !

/ ^

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,c<iMS.~

alldti

A SCAMPER OVER THE SERPENTINE. 57

P.S. — A friend of mine has just called in, and looking at the results of my observa-
tions, considers that the appearances may have something to do with the glass of the
window. You will at once perceive the chimerical character of such an idea.

Fig. 4.

A SCAMPER OVER THE SERPENTINE.

(a tale of the late frost.)

I AM passionately fond of skating. I can cut likenesses, dance the Polka, play at
football, hockey, or rounders, on the ice better than on terra firma, and I once challenged
all England to pick up sixpences with me on any frozen river in the universe. Such
is my love for skating, that even if I were to lose both my legs, I think I shoidd have
a pair of skates fastened on to my wooden substitutes, and go on skating upon crutches
all the same. I ought to have been born in Holland, where the pavements, I am told,
are made of ice, and the Fraus who come to market bring in their eggs and butter on
the " sliding scale." It is my confident belief that Sir John Ross never discovered the
passage of the North Pole, because he did not know how to skate. If a new world be
ever discovered, I pi-edict that it will be by a member of the Skating Club, and I am
sure that the next Columbus will go down to posterity with a pair of skates in his hand.

Well, with all my love for this manly pastime, I had not skated for years. For
several winters past, if anything like a good frost came, I was sure to be at the sea-side
(I hate the sea because it never freezes). The weather, too, lately had been obstinately
mild : or at most indulging in a series of small frosts overnight, followed in the morning
by rapid thaws. At last, there came to my relief, in 1838, a good serious Russian
frost. I was at that time in Lincolnshire The papers were full of glowing accounts of
skating matches on the Serpentine, of quadrille parties, and thrilling accidents every
day in the Regent's Park. I stood the temptation for a long frosty week, but the
thermometer having fallen one morning ten degrees, I packed up my best pair of patent
skates in my carpet-bag, and started in the mail for London. I took a lodging in the
neighbourhood of Hyde Park, and the following morning at day -break (I could not sleep
a wink all night) I was the first on the ice. Oh, how I skated ! I went round and round
— shrieking wildly — pirouetted, and cut an infinity of eiglits and sixes for vcrj joy !
must have written my initials all over the ice.

I never skated better in my life. The day was intensely cold. No great-coat
fettered the action of my legs, and, as I went through the most intricate evolutions,
executing them with a grace Taglioni would have envied, I felt that the eyes of the
Serpentine were upon me, and that every one was wondering who I could be. M}' self-
love warmed at these flattering notices, and I considered myself, in common gratitude,

68 A SCAMPER OVER THE SERPENTINE.

bound to prove my capability of doing in skates stillbigbor things. At tbat nioment Sir
William N., acknowledged to bo the best skater in the world, had arrived on the ice, and
was entertaining a select circle with some new figures. Conscious that he was, com-
paratively with myself, in the first steps only of the art, I flew into the circle, and,
regardless of his indignant glances, I began a valse d. deux temps, humming the last new
melody of Strauss, and scrupulously keeping time to the music.

I became animated with the danse, and quickened the measure. My legs
were positively flying, not skating. Sir William, either with cold or rage, was
quite blue in the face. His defeat was as complete as my triumph was certain.
The applause from mm'murs grew to "bravos." I smiled my thanks, and was pre-
paring to cut an entrechat, never yet attempted by a mortal in skates, when I
suddenly became paralyzed. My right leg, half raised in the air, fell powerless to
the ground ; I was transfixed to the spot, with my eyes riveted on one hideous
object, which was fastening its malignant spell upon me. I tried to shake off the
feeling, but all in vain. Its influence was too much for me. I madly plunged through
the gaping crowd, and with one spring cleared the circle. In another moment I was out
of sight.

The fact is, the public applause had not bhnded me to the recognition of a very
familiar friend, whose acquaintance I had made three years before I left London, when
he was in the habit of calling upon me every morning, and always waiting for me at the
corner of the street. His visits at last had become so troublesome that I had been com-
pelled, in self-defence, to leave London. I turned round in terror to see what bad
become of him, and lo, there he was, coming at full speed after me. He had the same
top-boots, the same knob-stick in his hand, the same bird's-eye handkerchief ; he was in
fact the same creature in every respect. A small piece of paper or parchment was
waving in his hand, which, as he saw me look round, he extended towards me. I only
redoubled my speed, but my friend in the top-boots was evidently a good skater. He
kept gaining on me every minute. I took him through the bridge, running through one
arch and darting back suddenly through another, but all in vain ; let me turn where I
would, he was sure to be close after me. I began to feel tired, but I still kept on con-
vidsively, rushing madly in every direction, plunging frantically into the thickest groups.
My strength, however, was fast failing me, (our chase had lasted for more than an hour,)
and yet my persecutor looked as fresh as ever. I felt nothing but a bold stroke covdd
save me. I therefore struck out for the least frequented part of the ice, where a board,
inscribed with the word "Dangerous," scared the boldest skaters awa}^ As I di-ew
nearer to the treacherous spot, I went slower, to allow my vindictive pm'suer to approach
closer to me. He hastened instantly forward, and I still rushed on. The people were
shouting from the bank, " Come back, you fools," — the Humane Society's men were
running with their hooks Uke madmen after us.

I summoned fresh courage, and struck out boldly to the very edge of the precipice.
The ice was cracking beneath me. I felt it giving way ; but at that moment my pur-
suer's fingers tapped my right shoulder, and ray legs instinctively became indued with
a supernatural agility. In a flash of lightning I had cleared the dangerous hole, and
was already lost in the crowd, ■which was rushing in hundi-eds, at the shouts of, "A
man in!" towards the spot I had just left. I guessed, with a cold shudder, who
it was, and paused to breathe more freely. I turned round : it was the poor fellow
who had been so hotly pursuing me ! I lingered long enough near the spot to ascertain
that he was got out, and then hastily repaired to the nearest hotel, Avhich I did not

A LITERARY CURIOSITY.

leave till the glad information was brought to me that my unfortunate pursuer was
drinking brandy-and-water, "warm within," at the receiving-house of the Society. I

left town the following day, and have never seen my friend since ; hut (I do not say it
hoastingly) I can now venture on the ice without the fear of being driven by a skating
baiUff to risk the Scylla of the Serpentine to avoid the Charybdis of the sponging-house.
As no tale is complete now-a-days without a moral, I subjoin mine : —
To YOUNG MEN WHO ARE PASSIONATELY FOND OF Ska¥ING. — Mind vou ncvcr venture
on the ice, unless you ai-e sure you can keep your heads above water.

A LITERARY CURIOSITY.

To the Editor of George Cruikshank's " Table-Book.''

My dear Sir, — I inclose you a copy of a literary curiosity which I lately picked
out from among the papers of my lamented and learned friend, Dr. Fisluip. It is an
old MS., but no date being affixed, its era cannot be ascertained.

Dr. Fishup "picked it up" at the Monastery of St. Gotopoto, in the Pyrenees,
where, as detained by heavy rain, he was amusing himself in the library, with looking
over the collection of the Fathers, between the leaves of an old missal he found this
curious production ; he immediately transferred it to his pocket-book, and, on the first
favourable occasion, carefully examined his new-found treasure, but could make nothing
of it ; nor can I find from any of his memoranda, that he ever discovered more than
that it was an epigram.

The notes are in his hand-writing.

It appears to me to have been the production of a very poor poet, for he has made
use of many abbreviations, as if to save ink. lie appears also to have had a knowledge

60 A LITERARY CURIOSITY.

of Greek, from the quotation in the last line but one ; but not understanding that
language myself, and very little Latin, I can give no critical opinion upon it.

BI DICO NE — EPIGRAM.

A dixe id tome, varai ave eu bene, —

V. I. ' tome sed ca Cros « in 0. E. R. s
Summisse it Brochitimi Bel de in

Andeno V.M.'' ec^ Losa re stivse lea Fro^ re
lo ! Peisa 7 leno tecum tarme,

I M.^ — vericolse de an dua ar^ me thylaci te,
Buteo '" dicus urae lis baud bee " varte me

Fore ave ona "* Rufrre Zeaj — ^jacit —
Hoi '^ ver Nouvae " /3pd;^6ois " '''

Fuller '^ ne Tosca '^ te dici natrice !

As I have found no translation of this epigram among the papers of my late friend,
I feel warranted, from my knowledge of his habits, in saying, that he never " did" one.
He may have considered it to be too insignificant to be honoured by a written version,
as being too plain for any one to need it ; though from his notes it would appear most
probable that in the unsuspecting simplicity of his mind he searched too deep for the
meaning, which, to one whom the dust of wisdom's volumes had not blinded, had been
made to shine forth clearly. This is my plea against being thought presumptuous, in
endeavouring to do that which a very learned man and a profound antiquary seems not
to have been able to do — or, at least, has not done ; and, therefore, I crave your indul-
gence in adding the following free translation : —

AN EPIGRAM BY DICK.

" Ah, Dick ! " said Tom, " where have you been ? "

" Why, Tom," said he, " in crossing o'er
Some ice, it broke, I tumbled in,

And now my clothes are stiffly frore —
I hope I shall not come to harm ;

I 'm very cold, and warmth I lack it."
" But, Dick ; you surely should be warm.

For you have got on s. frieze jacket.
However, now you 'vc broke the ice,
You '11 learn to skate, Dick, in a trice."

In conclusion I must remark, that in translating, I have substituted for any maxim,
proverb, or saying in the original, which would not be generally understood in the

(1.) V. 1. abbrev. pro vir Justus, sive illustris. (10.) Buteo (non est marchio, sed) a Syr. Br

(2.) Cros — cisntas Egypti. dirigere (anglicum Buzzard).

(3.) O. E. R. abbrev. pro ob earn rem. (H-) Be*? — tussis ovis est.

(4.) V. M. abbrev. pro Virginis Maria. (12.) Ona — abbrev, pro omnia.

(5.) ec, pro ex — (13.) Hoi — sive ol (h\

(6.) Fro — nominus est Dei Saxonium. (14.) A ^p6yxos ^p6x<pos — Lat. gula.

(7.) Peisa — lacus Noricus. (l-^-) Matbematicus — qua;re .-"

(8.) I. M. abbreviat pro ^Vfm. (16.) Tosca — i. e. Toscana in Italia.

(9.) Ar — pro ac sive ad.

A TALE BEFORE THE FIRE. 61

present day, the one most similar in sense, current in our vernacular idiom — thus
{Iressing the meaning of the ancient poet in modern phraseology.

Believe me, ever truly yours,

Charles Hookey Walker.

A TALE BEFORE THE FIRE.

It's all very fine to talk ahout creative fancy, as if this same fancy had a per-
petually productive power of its own, and called beuigs out of nothing whenever it
pleased. I stoutly maintain that fancy, generally, requires a tiUip from without before
it is set a-going. The merest touch in the world may suffice, but there must be a
jog of some sort or other. Wlien we fire a Catherine-wheel, we often find it necessary
to propel the wheel a little, even at the risk of burning our fingers — and are repaid by
seeing it scintillate and blaze, and by hearing it whiz and crackle. Our fancy is much
like a Catherine-wheel in this predicament — a dull, motionless thing, if left to itself ; a
sparlding brilliant energy, if it receives the necessary impulse. We inventive folks are
not half so independent as people suppose. My ancestress, the Countess, for instance,
was forced to get an Arabian tale almost by heart, before she coidd pen down her
" Chery and Fair Star."

And now do I, being in want of a subject for a tale, and being moreover decidedly
hard up for an inspiration, turn to my own fire, which is blazing through the grate, and
humbly crave its assistance — that, while it difl^uses a genial glow over the earthy frame
in which my fancy is cased, it may cause that fancy to whirl, and energise, until it shall
produce aU sorts of pleasantries. I have heard of an old woman who saw the whole
battle of Waterloo fought among her coals. This gives me hopes. I will look to my
fire, and watch the forms which these shining substances assume.

Lo, the centre is bright and clear,— so very clear that the burning coals arc of a
yellow, and not what we call a fiery colour. Little sparks flit about, and the midtitude
of shining protuberances looks like a multitude of tiny, ghttering heads. And what a
contrast is presented by the huge, black mass of coal to my left, from which protrudes-
a rude, fantastic imitation of a human face, with nose of formidable dimensions ! I
have my subject.

Once upon a time there was a land so bright and glittering, that the soil seemed to be
made of pm-e gold, and it was called the " Golden Region." The people were always
clad in brilliant garments, and passed a happy sort of existence, since they always
seemed to be flitting about and shining in each other's eyes. They were governed by
a king — that shining thing in the centre of the clear part, is as much Idcc a king as
the thing in a lobster's head is like a lady — who sat on a golden throne, and was
glorious in the eyes of his subjects. Indeed the whole population of this island,
sovereign and subjects, seemed to have but one piu-pose — shining themselves, and
admiring the brilliancy of their neighbours.

Well — and what then ? Let me see — Ah, there's a little black speck in the midst
of the clear, — that will do ! One day a man attired in black — costume unusual in that
happy country — stcppetl into the midst of 'the multitude Avho were assembled to dance
and sparkle, and spake to them thus : — " Vain and giddy people, to spend your time
thus in gauds and revelry, as if the evil day woidd never approach ! Know, oh ye silly

VOL. 1. — NO. III. K

62 THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

ones, that among the black rocks which encompass this sparkling country, there
dwelleth the fierce giant Aldiboronti, who will speedily drop down among you, and reduce
you all to mince meat." Thus do I ingeniously work into my nairative the dai'k human
form. Ye gods, this is the most delightful amusement ! This middle state between
borrowing and creating is the most exciting, and, paradoxical as it may seem, the most
soothing that can be imagined. The purpose of my light coals and my dark coals is
now determined, and I wait for more suggestions.

Whiz ! How has the stream of gas from that dark eminence opposite the giant
caught fire ! How vividly does it shine ! The inhabitants of the golden region have
lit signal fires upon their mountains — they call on their neighboui's to assist them
against the coming evil. And what a red glare is spread over the multitude ! Truly
their blood is up— they feel their danger, but they do not quail — hm-rah for that golden
race ! The story becomes interesting.

Yes ; I hope they may prosper, and that the ugly giant will be shaken into shape -
lessness. But I fear that the issue will not be so fortunate. Those light pieces of
black that the vulgar call " strangers," are quivering on the bars. Those are the
ravens, the bii'ds of ill-omen, that flutter over the Golden Region, and denote some dire
calamity. Oh, ye brave and brilliant race, will ye fall victims after all ?

Bang ! My fingers tingle, — what is this ? Oh, I see ! A piece of cinder has shot
into my hand. It is what the prophets of cinders call a "purse." And a purse let it
be. Aye, the king of the Golden Region has opened his treasury to me that I may assist
him. My sympathies were with him already ; now my sympathies and my interest go
together. I will be an auxiliary, a sort of British legion, and no longer a mere spectator.

I grasp the poker — I plant the point of it below the foot of the awful giant. One
sturdy move — crash ! Aldiboronti is destroyed ! Rejoice ye bright people, for I have
annihilated your foe. Alas ! they cannot rejoice ! My unlucky stir has been too
potent. Not only is the giant crushed, but the Golden Region is buried in a black mass.
Not a vestige of the former scene is left.

The golden people were short-sighted Avhen they summoned me to their assistance.
They had better have ti'usted to the forbearance of the giant, who, as I am now forced
to confess, was a veiy quiet sort of giant, in spite of all that the adviser of the people
• said to the contrary.

Moral.

Erring mortals often desire that, which, when granted, proves then- greatest calamity.

There ends my tale, which I contend is a very decent sort of tale, considering the
scantiness of the material. And if any of my readers think it a poor aftair, let them
try themselves, and see if they can get anything better out of a scuttle of Walls'-end.

B. D'A.

THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

Five hundred grand pianos have been sent out to China, by an enterprising specu-
lator, who, it is to be hoped, has sent out five hundred pianists to phiy upon them. It is
quite out of the question for the Chinese tliemselves, with nails some inches long, to
attempt to make any nse of the musical instruments that have been sent out, vmlcss five
hundred pairs of nail-scissors are despatched after them.

THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

These pianos may be destiaed to sound the note of civilisation in China, for if that
extraordinary nation should be induced to cut its nails, the people may soon have at
their fingers' ends many arts and sciences Avhich they are precluded at present from
the possibility of putting their hands to. But if they play on the pianos, it is probable
they will soon be desirous of dancing to the music, and the foot must then bo allowed
|0 unfold its powers.

At the news of five hundred pianos having gone out to China, the music-sellers will
naturally turn their attention to the exportation of songs ; but these must be written
expressly to suit the sentiments of the Chinese, who cannot be supposed to sympathise
with our " Marble Halls," our " Lights of other Days," and our requests to have our
" Arab Steeds" given back to us. An invitation from a lady to a gentleman to
" Meet him in the Willow Glen," might not be comprehended in the Celestial Empire;
though perhaps an invitation from a Chinese lover to his mistress to meet him in the
Willow pattern, might attain extensive popularity in the musical salons of Pckin.

With the view of facilitating as far as possible the introduction of vocal music
adapted to the pianos already sent out, we furnish a few specimens of songs, which a
Chinese bard may adapt from the English, for the benefit of his musical fellow-
countrymen : —

SPECIMEN No. I.— A CHINESE LOVE SONG.

I give thee all, I can no more, -"^

Except a pound of tea ;
My heart and gong are all the store

That I have got for thee.

/ ,.

THE MUSIC MASTER ABROAD.

A gong, whose thundering twang reveals

More noise than any hell ;
And better still, a heart that feels

Much more than s-ona: can tell.

SPECIMEN No. II.— A CHINESE DRINKING SONG.

A saucer of gunpowder fill, fill for me.

Give those who prefer it Pekoe :
No matter the tea, so a bumper it be,

Though I henceforth drink nothing but sloe.

For oh ! when the man is exceedingly dry,

And his dinner of rice may oppress him ;
When the tea 'o getting strong in the tea- pot that 's by,

Here 's a health to Loo-Choo, God bless him !

We hail the exportation of these five hundred pianos to China as the foimdation of
real harmony between the two coimtries. Those pianos will be the instruments of a
good understanding, and will comprise within themselves more effectual overtures than
any which diplomacy could have offered. The piano will necessitate the pianist, and
these will render requisite the dancing-master, so that if we take six of the first to one
of the second, we shall export about eighty pianists and a fraction to keep the five
hundred pianos in play, while if we allow a dancing-master to every instrument in ten,
we shall drain off at once half-a-hundred from the surplus of our Terpsichorean profes-
sors, even as far as the experiment of piano-exporting has yet been carried.

We should be glad, however, to see the Chinese sending us sometliing in return.
At present we have got only the enlarged sleeves which are so much in vogue, and the
enlarged estimate which the tm'bulent nature of our Chinese allies renders requisite.
Teacups and gongs they are particularly famous for, but as fairs in England are
on the decline, we fear five hundred gongs woidd not be the best consignment a Chinese
merchant could make to his correspondent in this country.

Perhaps as they are fond of opium, if tobacco is not a prohibited article, it might
answer the purpose of an Englishman, trading with China, to send out a cargo of

PIG-TAIL AND SHORT-CUT.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. 65

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS
in antr Out of IBLmxHan.

BY THE EDITOR.

FYTTE THE THIRD,

The Penitentiary across the water,
Now starts to view upon our larboard quarter,
Wliile just athwart omt mast — I mean the mizen —
High in mid air appears the Model Prison.
There in the custody of trusty jailors,

The ^\Tetched criminal a trade receives ;
There soldiers, sailors, ploughhoys, bakers, tailors.

Are manufactured out of rogues and thieves.

^ ¥^ ■^ ^ ^

Let go the spanker, clew the sail.

The wind has freshened to a gale,

Rig out, rig out, a flying boom,

Club-haul the craft while yet there 's room.

Upon the ground the vessel knocks,

Put her aport — the compass box ;

She scuds, and now begins to lurch.

Get under weigh for Lambeth Church.

The captain roars, the seamen shout,

A second time we tack about.

We near the bridge — that mass of stone,

Which so indifferently wears,
That it has never yet been known,

Mot to be under some repairs.

And tliis is Westminster, her palaced shore.

Imagination lingers to explore :

The Abbey first our admiration wins.

Conspicuous for its towers — monastic twins.

Now Fancy stops to take a stare —

At what ? The coronation chair :

That awkward scat, 'tis said, was won

By Gathclus, King C crops' son ;

But nearly all agree to own

A true anti([uc it must be rcckon'd,
Havino; been carried off to Scone

By that old King — Kenneth the Second.
When we reflect upon the lot

Of some it has been known to bear.
We can't help tliinking it is not

What may be call'd an easy chair.

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS.

A corner hero our nation's poets claim,

And here posterity shall read my name !

Near Chaucer's monument and Dryden's hust,

Let me deposit my congenial dust ;

'Tis my ambition (at a future day)

To find in Westminster a grave with Gay.

His spirit seems to lure me to his tomb,

Exclaiming, " Haste thee Greenhorn, there is room ! "

And I, regardless of tlie sneers of some.

Simply respond, "Be patient. Gay, I come!"

Yet Genius often is denied a nook

Within those walls that should its dust environ,
For vainly round the Abbey may we look

In search of an}^ monument to Byron.
'Tis sometimes said the narrow views

Of persons in a high position.
Made the authorities refuse

To Byron's monument admission.
But Phillips has a place assign 'd,

And, oh ! can latitude be wider.
That lets in wreaths, with apples twin'd,

To illustrate his poem on cider.*
How many an hour in youth I loved to while
In the recesses of that sacred pile ;

* Knight's " London " speaks of Phillips's monument in Westminster Abbey, " with its profile effigj- imd
■wreath of apple and laurel leaves, in illustration of his poem on cider."

GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS. G7

Its dim religious influeucc must i-eacli
The hearts of those who've paid theh three-pence each.
Strange mixture of the noble and the shabby,
Wonderful contrast ! three-pence and the Abbey ;

But ere I quit this venerable spot,
Let not the vaulted cloisters be forgot ;
How oft within those cloisters damp

I 've seen a feUow play at racquet,
Until the ball has hit the lamp,

And then, of course, 'twas siire to crack it.
Away at once I 've seen him fly.

In case of blame, rcsolv'd to shun it ;
And then an usher coming by.

Has " shown me up " for having done it.
Yet it was ever Greenhorn's fate
To be too soon — or else too late ;
The school of Westminster now courts the gaze,
Wliere Greenhorn pass'd at least two thousand days
There, as a boy, hobble-de-hoy, and youth.
He learn 'd to parse with ease and scan with truth.
Genius may well be rank'd 'mid mortal cm'ses ;

Greenhorn's poetic power was early known,
And the big boys would make him do their verses,

Nor let him have the time to do his own.
He 's seen another take the praise
Due to his own scholastic lays ;
While a six-cutter he has Avon
For, jyriynd facie, doing none.
'Tis true a Westminster reward

Was not a stimulus immense ;
The revenues will not aflbrd

A higher prize than silver pence.
A parent of a liberal turn.

To give a sovereign makes a rule.
For ev'ry prize his son may earn ;

That is to say — bring home from school.
Sixpence will any prize procure,
And thus the speculation's sure ;
An early lesson it imparts,

In truly economic science,
Straight to the principle it darts.

On which great statesmen place reliance.
The boy may i-eally buy a pound

With sixpence if he wiU embark it,
Thus acting on the doctrine sound,

Of selling in the dearest market ;

68 GUY GREENHORN'S WANDERINGS.

And buying also in the cheapest,
Wliich of the two is p'rhaps the deepest.

* * * * *

Southward, my fancy, I re-call
To Westminster's illustrious hall.
Here Denman — dignified and cool,

Lets counsel argue till he's hoarse.
In favour of a simple rule,

Which niight be granted as of course.
Here Tindal with experienced ease
Rules o'er the Court of Common Pleas ;
A lawyer shrewd yet always frank,

His varied qualities defy us,
To say where most he shines — in banc,

Or when he sits at Nisi Prius.
Pollock, who when he gave his mind

To Justice, did with honour deck her,
Holding her scales, we also find,

Upon the bench in the Exchequer.
Here, too, the Usher when a word
Above a whisper may be heard,
Disturbs the court with fearful shout.

Till none can hear what others say.
Because he will keep bellowing out —

" Do pray keep silence ! Silence pray ! "
Farewell, ye Courts of Common Law ;

Ye Courts of Equity adieu :
Faint is the pictm'e that I draw

Of such realities as you.

Close on the river's bank a pile appears

Wliich has already been the work of years ;

When its unfinished aspect we explore.

We guess 'twill be the work of many more.

'Tis the new Parliament which makes a show

Of nearly eighty windows in a row ;

To give so many windows they were right ;

On legislation they may tlii'ow a hght.

P'rhaps selfishness may cause the House to pass

The plan for taking off the tax on glass.

The many windows a vile pun explains —

Parliament means to take unusual panes !

Would that the couplet Greenhorn could revoke ;

But 'tis too late — made is the fatal joke.

Alas ! that poetry should sink so low.

A tear ! that has wash'd out ihejeu de mot.

C'~^t!<^f>d 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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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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

<j(;

THE STAGE ASSASSIN.

"gracefully curled " like the celebrated little volume of smoke in the old song of the
Woodpecker. The head-dress of the former is characteristic of the dark thoughts that
are passing through the Avearer's brain, but the lattcr's well Macassared hair confounds
the distinctions between innocence and guilt, for if the assassin can have recourse to a
cut and curl, how are we to know and beware of him ? Is it not enough to make us
start back in horror from the wax heads in the barber's windows, and to look with
suspicion on the innocent shop-boy or clerk, who having just paid his monthly sixpence
for having his hair cut, has undergone the operation of the irons because there is no
extra charge, and he likes to get as much as he can for his money ?

The old stage assassin is however not quite extinct ; and ere he vanishes altogether
we will paint him in his true colour. As that colour happens to be particularly black,

we cannot have anything more appropriate
than ink to paint with. The face of the
stage assassin is ploughed up with enorm-
ous furrows, to add no doubt to the harrow-
ing nature of his aspect. His forehead has
as many lines running across it as a Grand
Junction Railway ; and burnt cork, the
theatrical substitute for care, has traced
a lonff train of ffuilt from one terminus

to the other of his countenance. His
cheets are blanched with that chalk which
on the stage does the work of conscience,
and his eyes are blackened by that want
of mental repose which Indian ink so
effectually indicates. The career of the
stage assassin affords a curious illustration
of the rapidity with which a downward
course of guilt is accomplished. He
enters without having any murderous
object, when chance throws him in the way of a wicked nobleman who wants to get rid
of a good nobleman, on account of some family feud between their respective ancestors
in a former century. The wicked nobleman seldom makes any proposal in specific
terms, but the stage assassin is very apt ; and a few winks, a groan or two, some
exclamations about scotching a snake, followed up by the exhibition of an enormous
purse, with a little whispering into the stage assassin's ear, are quite sufficient to furnish
him with the particulars of the task he is about to enter upon.

Having become acquainted with the person of his contemplated victim, the stage
assassin is constantly at his heels, but never gets near enough to despatch him — and
generally comes on exclaiming, "Ha! he turns into the wood; he goes across the
copse ; now yon thicket shades him ; he emerges from the wood ; again he 's out of
sight! Ciu-ses on him, he has eluded me this time;" — and the stage assassin
immediately steals oft" in an opposite direction to that which the victim is supposed to
have taken. Sometimes the stage assassin succeeds in getting close behind the good
nobleman without being seen, when it is usual for him to go through sundry evolutions
with his dagger, each of which is more difticult than to kill the intended victim at once ;
but this superfluous foolery is kept up till the latter turns abruptly round, and the
stage assassin — managing to conceal his weapon — makes a most obsequious bow to

THE STAGE ASSASSIN.

the good nobleman, who walks coolly out as if nothing had happened, while the
assassin follows with a variety of threatening gestures.

It sometimes happens that the victim is caught in a storm on the borders of his
own estate, when he turns into a wretched
hovel to pass the night on a Windsor
chair, with his arm arranged as a bolster
for his head, which he reposes on a little
round kitchen tea-table. The stage
assassin usually contrives to come to the
window, which he opens gently in the
first instance, but after looking in,
he suddenly slams it violently with a
noise Avhich is echoed by an enormous
drum, and the victim, Avakiug up, looks
round in every direction but the right,
and, making a casual observation on high
winds, he goes off to sleep again. The
stage assassin looks again through the
window, and contrives to enter unheard,
but he must needs take several strides

about the room, in the course of which - - ^ :i _, ,.,■

he wilfully upsets a chair, and creeps

under the table. This noise being also responded to by a loud crash on the drum, the
victim starts up and observes that " Surely he heard a noise." He even proceeds to
look under the table, but the assassin creeps out, and contrives to dodge the victim,
who, having indulged in a short soliloquy on storms, settles down to go to sleep again.

He is what is tenned " oif " in no time, and the assassin then goes seriously to work,

^.,>r^fis;«gft-Yv'^,f,<fe---^-nm^^

by taking hold of the victim's cloak, which causes the good nobleman to wake up to a
sudden sense of his situation. With a degree of tact for which his former proceedings

THE STAGE ASSASSIN.

had not prepared us, the victim contrives to slip out of the cloak, and glide away
altogether from the room. When the stage assassin with his eyes averted — a
movement no douht designed to indicate his being slightly conscience-stricken —
plunges the weapon into the cloak, which he kills at least half-a-dozen times, as if to
make sure tliat the deed is done, and then retires with the comfortable conviction that
he has earned his money.

The intended victim seldom takes any public notice of the attempt upon his life, but
prefers the secret satisfaction of confounding the wicked nobleman by appearing in the
last scene, when the stage assassin, having got the bribe without doing the work, is
often seized with remorse, and denounces the wicked nobleman, who gives a savage
scowl, and takes his place gloomily between two supernumeraries in token of his beino-
prepared to resign himself into the hands of justice. The good nobleman is occasionally
so charmed with the change in the stage assassin's conduct, that a cottage and a
permanent income to keep it up, are placed by the former at the latter 's service, as a
premium for having stabbed an old cloak by mistake, taken a large sum for what he
has not done, and betrayed the individual who paid for his services. " No money
returned " is, however, no less the motto of the stage assassin than of the stage manager.

Though it is certainly the province of the character we have been describino- to
harrow up the audience by his hideous aspect, it is possible to carry the matter a little
too far, as was once the case at a theatre, where the assassin had "made up " so

frightfully Avell, that on his first entrance he sent all his fellow-performers terrified ofi
the stage, threw the whole orchestra into fits by his awful aspect, and, what was worse
than all, scai*ed away the audience.

THE MESMERIC DINNER. 99

{Written cxpresdy for the First of April, hut unavoidably postponed till the First of May.)

" Being offered refreshment, she chose some mesmerized water, a glass of which was on the table. It
seemed to exhilarate her, and she expressed great relish of the ' refreshment.' It struck us that we would
try, another evening, whether the mesmerist's mil could affect her sense of taste. In her absence, we agreed
that the water should be silently willed to be sheiry the next night. To make the experiment as clear as
possible, the water was first offered to her, and a little of it drank as water. Then the rest was silently willed
to be sherry ; she drank it off — half a tumbler-full — declared it very good ; but, presently, that it made her
tipsy. What was it.' 'Wine — white wine.*' And she became exceedingly merry and voluble * * *
I afterwards asked the mesmerist to let it be porter the next night. J. knew nothing of porter, but called
her refreshment 'a nasty sort of beer.'" — Miss Martineau's Letters on Mfsmerism.

" Is it true that the mesmerist and the patient taste, feel, &c., the same tilings at the same moment.'"
" Yes." — Ibid.

I HAD never been mesmerised ; so wanting my dinner, I tliought I would satisfy ray
appetite and curiosity at the same time, and dine for once at the "Mesmeric Dixixg

Rooms," in Street. Besides, I was leaving town the following day, and

knew it would never do to face my infinite series of country cousins without telling
them something of the marvels of Mesmerism.

On reaching the Hotel in question, I inquired if dinner was ready. "Perfectly
ready, sir," answered the drowsy waiter, who looked as if he were in a state of som-
nambulism ; "Mr. Vernon is just drawing the magnetic fluid off a Common Councilman,
and will be with you directly, sir." This last piece of information occupied a good
ten minutes in the delivery, and the sleepy creature then stepped away with the slow
solemnity of a stage criminal, who is being led off in the fifth act to execution.

Left to myself, I examined the room. It was meanly furnished ; the only ornaments
being a placard of "Dr. Sciilaffen's Mesmerised Soda Water," printed in the
meanest style of typography, in green colom-s, with a border of red poppies ; and a
triangular piece of paper over the mantelpiece, announcing to gourmands and enthu-
siasts that there would be

" Venison mid Clairvoyance to-morrow. ^^

I had no sooner completed this inventory, than the landlord appeared : he was to a
wink as sleepy as his waiter ; I could not look at him without yawning. He looked
like a person who had all his life been dreaming he dwelt in marble halls, and was
disgusted with himself on finding, when he awoke, that he was merely the landlord of
a mesmeric ordinary.

I will not record his observations, as his words did not travel at the rate of more
than ten monosyllables a minute. However, in something less than half-an-hour I learnt
that he was sorry he could not wait on me just at present ; all his professors were
serving private parties ; and he had a very lai-ge society in the public room who Avere
occupying all his spare hands ; that this club was celebrating its anniversary ; that it
was called " The Jolly Mutes ; " and that I might join the party if I consented not to
speak or disturb the harmony of the evening.

Having pledged my word to that effect, and deposited half-a-crown as the price of
my initiation into the festivities of the new Society, a thin shadowy waiter took me
mysteriously by the hand, and after enjoining silence, according to the manner of

100 THE MESMERIC DINNER.

pantomime conspirators, by putting his finger perpendicularly on his lips, he led me,
walking all the time on tiptoe, through a long, chilly corridor, into the place where the
"Jolly Mutes " were holding their midnight orgies. It was a large desert of a room,
hung with black curtains ; and so badly lighted, that it looked like a theatre during
the representation of a series of dissolving views, more than like a festive scene. Not a
sound, not a word was heard. The very waiter in attendance (there was only one)
moved about like a ghost in list slippers. The whole company was fast asleep. Some
had their eyes closed, others were staring fixedly before them. Afraid almost to breathe,
for fear of disturbing the solemnity of the meeting, I fell noiselessly into an easy arm-
chair, that had been placed by some unseen hand behind me, and was astonished the
next minute to find a pair of red hands, with long orang-outang fingers, moving up
and down before me, from my head to my knees, passing within a very inch of my face.
Not prepared altogether for this ridiculous piece of freemasonry, I moved the hands
gently aside, but they came back again the next minute, and actually grazed the tip of
my nose. This was carrying the familiarity, I thought, rather too far, and so I
instantly took up my stick, and gave the pair of hands a violent rap over the knuckles.
After this severe rebuke they did not come near me again the whole evening.

Left to myself, I turned my eyes to see what I could make a meal of — but Ugolino
in his prison would not have said " Thank you " for all the eatables on the table. Two or
three empty dishes, a bone or two, and some pieces of broken bread, seemed to have been
all their dinner ; but at this moment a fresh relay of dishes was brought in, by a brace
of ghostly waiters. The covers were removed, and the gentleman whose knuckles I
had rapped, having dipped his knife and fork into a jug of water, over which he
had previously passed his hands in the same ridiculous way as he had done before
my face, broke the deathlike silence by exclaiming, "Mr. Mori, will you have some
venison, sir ?" and, as Mr. Mori nodded his head in the affirmative, a plate of venison was
put before him, which, I could declare in an affidavit, if put to the expense, was nothing-
better than a scrag of the commonest cow-beef. In the same way a dish of tripe
was imposed upon the unconscious guests for a haunch of Welsh mutton, and, I am
ashamed to disclose it, some kidney pies were impudently passed off upon two corpulent
old gentlemen, who certainly ought to have known better, for a pate de foie gras,
" only just arrived from Strasburg : " common sparrows were cut up for woodcocks
— an old hen was, after great exertion, quartered for a young pheasant — and a
washy Irish stew was served out for "champignons sautes au Champagne.'" The
wines fared no better. Pump water was drank for port that had been twelve years in
bottle — cold coffee was sipped out of tea-cups for Chdteau-Margaux — and some ginger-
beer bottles were opened as a sort of make-believe for Mocfs Champagne. The greatest
indignity, however, was some cowslip being handed round for genuine Johannisberg ;
and yet, strange to say, not a person awoke to storm against this barbarous deception.
I could not help noticing the same right-and-left action was repeated over everything that
was served several times by the waiter, who looked aU hair and wristbands — a sort of
pantry Mephistopheles. This I thought at first was by way of saying grace, but at last
a new light burst in upon me. It occurred to me aU at once that these movements of
the hands must be the passes, (which I had heard was the name for the action used in
mesmerising anything), and that the waiter was en rapport with every Mute.

The cloth was removed. I was very hungry, but trembled to caU for anything in a
house where everything was mesmerised to such an extent that fish was turned into
fowl, and flesh had the Parisian faculty of being changed into half-a-dozen dishes one

THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP. * 101

after the other. Accordingly, I restrained mj appetite, and prepared to listen to the
chairman, who, with his spectacles arranged at the back of his head, was reading aloud
a report, which Avas being held up to his occiput by the Avaitcr behind him. He said
the Jolly Mutes had been established three years, and he could not help congratulating the
Society on the promising aspect of its affairs, and their happy meeting that evening. He
then spoke of almshouses for the " Decayed Mutes," and read out a list of subscriptions,
at which interesting point the waiter was busy in running hterally from pole to pole,
mesmerising most strenuously on each member's head the organ of benevolence. The
consequence was, the bank-notes kept pouring in, the secretary having been umuesrae-
rised with a bottle of soda-water, purposely to receive the cheques and cash.

By eleven o'clock I rose to leave the Jolly Mutes. As I was going, the landlord
shpped into my hand a small bill to the following effect : —

Mr. T. Kaddy, Dr. to Gregory Flint.

For three courses of Mesmeric Dinner, served with the most scientific s. d.

passes by Professor Vernon ...... 16

The sum was paid, and I guessed, from the smallness of the charge, the ingenious
motive of those who had been feasting off so many delicacies for so little, and hailed
that science as a blessing to the poor in pocket but rich in taste, which would enable
them to dine off venison on paying the price of alamodc beef.

That day I fasted, for I coidd not help believing that everything I tasted had had
some mesmeric trick played upon it ; but before I went to sleep, I consoled myself
with the triumph I should experience on my retm-n home, when I told my little country
cousins all the astoundins; wonders I had seen at the Mesmeric Dinner.

THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP.

At a grand Court dinner, where the young and lovely Queen Musidora sat attired in
a splendid puce-coloured satin, an unlucky attendant, who was assisting her to some
stewed carp, dropped a large piece in her lap, to the manifest detriment of her costume.
The attendant was, of course, immediately led off by the guard, and hanged up on one
of the tallest trees of the garden. But this was a poor compensation for the beautiful
dress, which was one of the happiest " fits " of the Court milliner. The colour of the
spoiled gown, and the fish that had done the mischief, forced themselves together into
the Queen's mind with such intensity, that they united to one compound image, and she
exclaimed fretfully : — " I am determined that the next fish I have for dinner shall be
a puce-coloured carp."

The notion was further elaborated during the night by the sagacious sovereign, and
next morning a royal edict, written in fair round hand, was found aflixcd to the palace
gates, promising the hand of the Queen to any party, high or low, who should bring a
puce-coloured carp, and place it in a certain basket in the throne-room, before six
o'clock in the evening of the following Friday. After that period, the fish would, it
appeared, be of no use. On the contrary, the last clause in the document stated that
if any one should bring it after the appointed time, he shoiUd lose liis head for his pre-

VOL. I. — NO. V. r

102 THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP.

sumption. This shows the fine discriminating mind of Queen Musidora. She not only
cared for the singular fish, but she was anxious at the same time to give her subjects a
lesson of promptness and alacrity in obeying her wishes.

The excitement of the people was extreme. All the copies of Izaak Walton were
bought up before noon ; the manufacturers of nets and fishing-tackle were totally unable
to supply the demand ; and many a poor man, who had but a loaf of bread for his
dinner, pitched it into the river for ground-bait. The rivers were lined on both sides
with a mob, whose whole soul was intent upon watching a series of floats. Was the
puce-coloured carp a river or a sea-fish ? Was it to be snared by float or by fly ?
Nobody knew ; nobody had ever seen, heard, or dreamed of a puce-coloured carp, and
therefore every method was tried alike. The gallant Florio, a noble of the court,
famed for bis devotion to the Queen, his fine tenor voice, a plume of white feathers, and
very large roses in his shoes, seemed the only exception to the general rule. So
embarrassed was he by the uncertainty of attaining the object of pursuit, that he pre-
ferred doing nothing, and merely sauntered about the island, practising his Jcdsetto
passages, and staring at the ground. In the course of one of these lounges, he turned
sharp round a clump of rocks, and was much struck at finding himself by a large piece
of water he had never seen before. He thought he knew every inch of Queen
Musidora's island, which, by the way, would have been no great attainment, for her
power, though very intense, was exceedingly circumscribed.

The water was very clear, and Florio as he gazed listlessly upon it, occasionally
interrupting his reflections by forming what are called " ducks and drakes " with a
few small pebbles, felt his attention arrested by a fine plump fish that swam near to
the edge. Its hue was a kind of purple — its figure was that of a carp. It was indeed
a puce-coloured carp ! Such are the freaks of destiny. The zealots who were trolling,
bobbing, and dragging, never got a sight of the desired object ; but Florio, who took
no pains at all, found success thrust upon him. The fish was so near him, that he put
his hand into the water to take it, when with a twinkle of its bright eye, that almost
seemed to be in derision, it bounded away, and was out of sight. It reappeared, and
again bounded away ; and so on several times, till, at last, Florio, losing all patience,
resolved upon adopting a more decisive plan, and accordingly jumped in after it. He
heard his own splash, but the effect was not that of plunging into the water. He rather
seemed to have jumped through a sort of thin skin, like those artists whose talent
consists in conveying themselves through large tambourines of silver-paper. He alighted
on a soft bed of moss ; and when he had recovered a little, found that he was in the
presence of a number of young ladies, with pinkish silk stockings, white muslin frocks,
little bits of coral in their hair, and a fringe of duck-weed round the hem of their
garment. They were bounding about merrily enough ; and the first thought that struck
Florio was that he had somehow got upon the stage of the Court opera-house, while the
ballet was going on. However, as it was real moss he lay upon, and the prospect — some-
what of a sub-marine character — was quite the same all round, he dismissed the notion
at once, and recalled to mind the object of his jump.

" I come, fair damsels," said he, " in search of a puce-colom-ed carp — " He pro-
ceeded no farther ; for the nymphs, breaking out into an immense giggle, scampered ott'
among the rocks, and were out of sight in an instant.

" These silly children," said a grave-looking gentleman, with a bluish beard, who
appeared almost at the same moment from a great twisted shell, " will never learn
manners. No ; to them Chesterfield is a dead letter. Your request is reasonable

THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP. 103

enough. You want a puce-coloured carp, — a fish which, in the lake over which I have
the honour to he king, is common enough. But may I ask why you want it ? "

Hereupon Florio told all about the edict, while the king of the lake listened very
attentively. " Ha ! " said he, "is it possible to put the fish in the basket you mention,
so as to show the fore pai't of one's person alone ? ' '

" Certainly, ' said Florio. " The Queen sits on a throne, and her nobles stand on
each side of her. But why do you ask this ? "

" Simply," replied the king, " because I must help you in this affair by taking the
fish for you myself. The puce-coloui-cd carp is a very artful sort of animal, and will
not allow an earth-born man to catch it. Now, my back-bone is continued, as you may
see, into a tail, Avhich, though considered highly ornamental in this region, might
excite derision at your Court. I therefore wish it to remain a secret to all but yom-self,
when I appear at Court with the fish. This point being settled, I have only to promise
you that I will come in good time on Friday, and to wish you good-bye for the present."
So saying, he stepped nimbly behind Florio, and giving him a smart kick, sent him up
spinning like a shuttle-cock, till he found himself once more on the bank of the lake.

It was a quarter to six on Friday, and the temper of Queen Musidora was growing
terrible. Then she sat on her throne, with her courtiers on each side, and before her
stood the large golden basket, in which the carp ought to be placed. Close by it was a
large time-piece. Florio anxiously peeped out at the door, hoping every moment for
the arrival of his aquatic friend, who would realise, as he thought, his most ambitious
imaginings.

Minutes moved slowly on, and still no sign. At last, when but five were wanting
to complete the hour, a rattling like of dried scales struck the ear, and the king of the
lake entered the room, trailing his long tail upon the ground, but walking so sti-aight
towards the throne, that none but Florio, who stood at the side, could see it.

" I came," said he, drawing the desired fish from a large bag, *■' to present Queen
Musidora with this trifling gift, and to claim her hand."

" For me," suggested Florio.

" No, for myself ! " bellowed the aquatic monarch.

Here was a pretty turn to aff"airs ! The gallant Florio had been regularly taken in
— had given away his royal mistress to a fishified individual, lost to all feelings of
honour. The detestable king of the lake was actually walking forward to drop into the
basket the fish that would attain for him the hand of Musidora. The thought was
intolerable ; but the sagacious Florio did not lose his presence of mind. Stopping lightly
behind the king, he clapped his foot upon the long tail, and prevented further advance ;
while the peculiar position of the sovereign concealed the cause of detention from all the
Court.

" Why do you. not come forward ? " said Queen Musidora, very graciously.

" Because this cursed fellow has put his foot on my because I can't ! " roared

the monarch.

A vigorous tugging commenced ; the stalwart Florio keeping his foot as fii-m as a
rock, without moving a muscle of his countenance, or presenting any other appearance
than that of profound indiflerence. At last, the king leaped forward, and with a shriek
of pain — for he had left the tip of his tail beneath the potent foot — dropped the fish into
the basket. But in the meanwhile, the timepiece had struck six, and the consequence
was, that the king of the lake, according to the edict, was liable not to the bands of

104

THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP.

matrimony, but to the disagreeable process of decapitation. This part of the edict
Florio hud neglected to set forth.

When the king heard the little interesting matter explained to him, he was wroth
in the extreme, and told Queen Musidora that it was all very well for her to make laws

for her own abject people, but that he was an independent sovereign, over whom she
had no control, and who could not be touched without a gross violation of the law of
nations. Such a world of Grotius, Puffcndorf, and Vattel, did he quote, that he nearly
sent the Court to sleep, and the Queen blessed her stars that she was not doomed to
marry such a horrid bore. But all was of no use, for the Chancellor contended that all
inhabitants of the lakes, rivers, <kc., in the Queen's dominions, were just as much Queen
Musidora's subjects as the folks upon dry land ; and the unfortunate monarch was
led off, with the assurance he would be beheaded the following morning. As he passed
through the door, Florio gave him a clandestine wink of indescribable malice.

The king of the lake being safely lodged in the state prison, the Queen thought she
might as well indulge herself by feasting oif the puce-coloured carp. But when she
peeped in the basket, lo and behold ! the carp was gone. It had vanished dm-ing the
bustle. Some said it had been spirited away by the ghost of the attendant who had
spoiled the royal gown ; others contended that a favourite cat was the culprit. The
latter opinion, which I must confess was most rational, gained the more general
credence, and every cat and kitten in the palace was forthwith hanged upon the royal
fruit-trees. The question was how to get another puce-coloured carp. Florio set off
for the lake, but, wondrous to narrate ! no lake was to be found. The Queen was in
despair, and actually sent to the imprisoned monarch, offering a free pardon if he would
tell her where the mysterious lake was situated, and give a practicable recipe for
catching the fish. But the prisoner was very surly, and sent back as an answer, that
" he would see Musidora and all her Court first."

THE PUCE-COLOURED CARP.

105

By morning the scaffold was erected, and the usual crowd of vagahonds and pick-
pockets had assembled. The Queen took her seat on a temporary throne to witness the
ceremony, just as the King of Cyprus sits to see the execution of his wife in Balfe's
opera. She looked extremely ill and dejected ; while the aquatic sovereign appeared
most indecorously happy, and gallantly kissed his hand to Musidora ere he placed his
head on the block, where it was taken off by the headsman at a sino-lc blow. However,
no sooner was it off, than the body nimbly picked it up again, and restored it to its
place, and the king of the lake, as hearty-looking as ever, addressed the astonished
Court : "You are aware that several creatures that inhabit the water are enabled to
reimite their parts if they have been severed. Had you been also aware that I partook
of the nature of such creatures, you might have saved yourself a deal of unnecessary
trouble. But let that pass ! You want to know where the lake is situated. I would
not show you imder the appearance of compulsion, but now you see I am a free ao-ent, I
will comply with your request."

So saying, he leaped from the scaffold, and taking a fish-bone out of his girdle,
made a small orifice in the ground, from which a tiny fountain began to play. At first
it seemed diverting enough to look at the Jet (Vecm, but the prospect soon o-rew rather
al'arming, for the orifice increased, and extended itself into a large pool, drowning
several of the crowd as it spread, till at last it reached the foot of the throne where
Queen Musidora sat shrieking. — Not to dwell on this painful subject, it is enouo-h to
say, that the water spread till it reached the sea on evei-y side, and that not a vestio-e
was left of Queen Musidora or her people or her island, while the water-kino- proudly
swam over the site of the former kingdom.

At night, when saihng across the ocean, the mariner may perhaps observe on the
surface some pale, faint, death-like forms assembled round a dark table, on which is
placed a skeleton fish. When the attempt is made to cut the fish it vanishes, and the
ghastly company shriek with grief. A grim countenance then rises in the midst and
roars with laughter, upon which the whole scene melts away. When the mariner sees
this, he may be sure he is near the spot where once stood the Island of Queen
Musidora.

Balzac d'Anois.

106 ALICE BROMPTON ; Oli, THE LILY OF PARK LANE.

ALICE BROMPTON; or, THE LILY OF PARK LANE,

BY THE EDITOR.*

CHAPTER VI.

"Litera scripta manet." — Latin Quotation.

In the coffee-room of one of the hotels at the West End sat a venerahle figure, with
a devilled kidney untasted on a plate hefore him ; Avhile some yellow liquid sparkling
in a cruet at his side, made it evident that the venerable figure had been indulging in
sherry to the extent of what is technically termed " a go." The stranger— for such he
is to the reader until a formal introduction has taken place — was habited in the costume
of his own time, though that time, extending over a period of nearly three quarters of a
century — for the stranger was at least threescore and ten — allowed a tolerable latitude
in the way of dress, which comprised a mixtm-e of the fashions of the five last decades.
It is a beautiful trait in the human character that man clings in age to what he
cherished in youth ; and thus the octogenarian will be found to adliere in the evening
of his days to some article of dress which in the maturity of his manhood helped to
render him the glass of fashion as well as the mould of form. It is probable that some
incident of other years may be associated with the piece of clothing that is still retained,
and memories may hang around a pair of top-boots ; the spencer may be connected with
some oft-told tale, while the stockinet tights may recal the elasticity of youth, and the
Hessians may guide our steps back into the pleasant paths we once wandered in.

But to return to the venerable figure, who had by this time ordered that the
untouched kidney should be removed ; and the waiter having cleared away the cloth,
replaced the cruet and wine-glass before his guest, together with a doyley, which was
no doubt designed to be suggestive of dessert, but the venerable figure did not take the
hint that was offered him. As the stranger emptied the remainder of the sherry from
the cruet into the glass, he uttered a deep-drawn sigh ; and having tossed off the wine
at a single draught, he rested his cheek upon the knuckles of his right hand, and
groaned heavily.

The reader will by this time have discovered — or, if he has not discovered it, he
ought to be told — that the guest at the hotel was no other than the good old Earl of
Putney, the wretched father of the infatuated Lily. The venerable nobleman had
heard of the scene with Tutti Fare in his daughter's boudoir, and had hurried to
Hatchett's Hotel, from which he had written to his son, the Honourable Harry
Brompton, inviting him to a secret consultation upon the steps that should be taken to
save the noble house from the shame that seemed impending over it. The following
note will, however, best desci-ibe the feelings of the agonised Earl on the melancholy
occasion alluded to : —

" HatcJtctt's Coffee Room, Talk No. 3.
" My dear Harry,

" If I were to write as a parent ought always to write to a child, I should be
wanting in those feelings which nature has implanted in the patrician .as well as the
plebeian breast ; and this I know you will never believe I could be guilty of. You, my

* Concluded from page 83.

ALICE BROMPTON ; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE. 107

dear boy, who have studied the fine classical examples of ancient times, would not
expect me to act the cold part of a Brutus ; nor would the character of Titus become
you— though I do not see why I should compare you with that unhappy scion of one of
the noblest of Roman families,

" It would ill become me, at a moment like the present, to emulate the elegance of
a Chesterfield, whose letters I may perhaps admire, though I could never hope to equal ;
and I had rather dip my pen in my own heart's blood than place upon paper a sentiment,
ay even a word, that might bear the interpretation of my being indifierent to the honour
and happiness of my children. Ah, Harry, when I write the word children, my pen
sticks in my throat, emotion chokes up my inkstand, and tears drown my utterance.
Oh ! oh ! * * * * * * * * *

**********

" Excuse these tears ; they gush from the eye, but their fountain is the heart, like
those bubbles which are thrown up from the spring beneath, but burst only when they
reach the surface. You will have perceived by this time, my dear Harry, that your
sister — our own Alice — my Lily — your dear departed mother's Lily — your Lily — every-
body's Lily — is the subject of this letter. Tutti Fare, the villain whom we have all
fostered in our bosoms — the snake whom we have wrapped in the blanket of competence,
and warmed at the fire of hospitality, — Tutti Fare, the centipede whom we have set upon
his feet when he had not a leg to stand upon ; — yes, Tutti Fare is the wretch who has
rolled the house of Brompton in the dust by undermining its honour, which is the only
prop it has now left to rest upon.

" Oh ! Harry, my son, sole refuge of my declining years, what are we to do ?
Rush to Hatchett's, where you are anxiously waited for by your heart-broken and
distracted

■* " Putney."

CHAPTER VII.

" Sing, sing ; music was given us." — Moore's Melodies.

The receding rays of a spring sun were just shooting through the young foliage of a
particularly fine April, when Alice Brompton sat watching the approach of evening from
a window overlooking the Park. A robin red-breast perched upon the sill of the window,
and having given the bird a crumb, — a movement which first scared the little flutterer
away, aiyi then lured him back again to the spot, — she apostrophised him in the following
strain. Her thoughts arranged themselves into the form of stanzas ; and, having clutched
a lute from the wall, she turned her eyes tenderly on the bird, struck a few wild notes
on the instrument, and gave vent to her feelings in song : —

Ah ! wherefore, little fluttering thing.

Dost fly mc with averted beak ?
You cannot fear to hear me sing.

Though you can't answer when I speak.
Little bird, don't be afraid.
Tra la la, la la la.

Thus sung the pensive maid

To her wild, her wild guitar.

108 ALICE BROMPTON; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE.

Perhaps tliou hast left the native nest,

Where father, mother, brothers dear.
And all who knew and lov'd thee best

Were at thy side, thy song to hear.
Little bird, don't be afraid.
Tra la la, la la la.

Thus sung the pensive maid

To her wild, her wild guitar.

As Alice sung the refrain of the preceding verse, she dashed her delicate fingers on
to the chords of her lute with so much energy and passion, that she did not hear the
opening of the door behind her ; and the consequence was, that her brother, accom-
panied by his friend Singleton, entered the boudoir without the knowledge of its lovely
occupant. Harry Brompton woidd have at once rushed towards the Lily, and taxed her
with the shame and sorrow she was about to bring on her old ancestral house, but
Singleton caught him by the arm, and, motioning him not to interrupt Alice in her song,
took an attitude of deep attention, which Brompton, who felt he was still a brother,
whatever might, coidd, would, or should not have occurred, very soon fell into. By this
time the friends were completely motionless, the stormy and passionate twang of the
canda had ceased, and the voice of the Lily was heard carolling the concluding stanzas
of the mournful melody —

Perhaps, Httle bird, a sadder fate —

A heavier lot may yet be thine ;
Perhaps thou hast left a constant mate,

With fickle, false ones to combine.

Harry and Singleton exchanged a glance of intense meaning. Singleton would have
gone forward and placed his hand at the Lily's foot, but the Honourable Harry
Brompton restrained him ; and the struggle between the two might probably have
caught the ear of Alice, had she not swept the lute-strings with unusual vehemence, as
she bm-st forth into —

Little bird, don't be afraid,

Tra la la, la la la :
Thus sang the pensive maid
To her wUd, her wild guitar.

After a few more notes on the instrument, its tones echoed completely away ; and
Alice, with the lute still ua her hand, and her gaze tin-ned pensively upwards towards
the gathering clouds of evening, thus communed with herself in audible earnestness : —
" Alas ! what have I done ? I ask my heart, and its beatings are the only answer
it can give to me. Oh ! what a soid was Singleton's ! What a treasure have I thrown
away ! — and for what ? For whom ? For one whom my better judgment tells me I
never can, I never ought to call mine. Reflection has convinced me of my error. Oh,
if Singleton were only here, I woidd throw myself at his feet, claim his forgiveness for
the past, and offer him for the future the entire possession of this broken, but, alas ! still
faithful heart."

During the last passage of this touching outburst of overgushing feeUng, Singleton
had been making a desperate effort to release himself from the grasp of his friend ; and

ALICE BROMPTON ; OR, THE LILY OF PARK LANE.

109

the Lily had just concluded her soliloquy as our hero succeeded in making Brompton
unhand him.

"And he is here," cried Singleton, throwing himself on one knee before the
beautiful Alice, Avho, suffused with blushes, turned to her brother as if imploring his
forgiveness, and asking him what she ought to do.

" By my troth," cried the vivacious Harry, "you must not look to me, fair sister
mine ; the Knight En-ant must himself fight the battles of his ladye love, for I can
have nothing to do with them."

" But, at least, you will forgive me, Harry ? " cried Alice, throwing herself on her
brother's neck.

"Forgive you, Alice ! " said Brompton, as he dashed away a tear from his manly
eyelash. " Wlien did lovely repentance ever plead in vain to Harry Brompton ?
Believe me, Alice, though some think me frivolous, I have a heart for the woes of
others ; and when one of those others is an only sister, I should be stone — nay, I should
be adamant — if I refused the kiss of reconciliation to the proffered cheek of penitence."

With these words, he caught the Lily in his arms ; and, placing the hand of Alice
in that of his friend, remarked, with a solemnity somewhat unusual to him — " Take
her, Singleton ; you arc worthy of her ; and may the storms of the world never
obscure the sun of domestic happiness."

Singleton pressed the tip of the Lily's finger respectfully but fondly to his lip ; and
Harry resinning his wonted gaiety, and exclaiming Allons, immediately led the way to
the drawino'-room.

VOL. I. NO. V

no LEAVES FROM A NEW EDITION OF LEMPRIERE.

CHAPTER VIII.

" Marry, come up." — Shakspf.akr.

AnouT a month from the time when our last Chapter came to a ch>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

. 2

£3

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 <hity to
state to you that you are in an exceedingly dangerous condition, and will not probably
survive."

VOL. I. — MO. VII,

150 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

" Say you so, Sir Priest? then 'tis time I make my confession — hearken you,
priest, and you, Sir Knight, whoever you be."

Sir Ludwig, (who, much affected by the scene, had been tying liis horse up to a tree),
lifted his visor and said, " Gottfried of Godesbcrg ! I am tlie friend of thy kinsman.
Margrave Karl, whose happiness thou hast ruined ; I am the friend of hia chaste and
virtuous lady, whose fair fame thou hast belied ; I am the godfather of young Count Otto,
whose heritage thou wouldst basely have appropriated — therefore I met thee in deadly
fight, and overcame thee, and have well nigh finished thee. Speak on."

" I have done all this," said the dying man, " and here, in my last hour, repent
me. The lady Theodora is a spotless lady ; the youthful Otto the true son of his
father — Sir Hildehrandt is not his father, but his uncle.'"

" Gracious Bufl'b ! Celestial Bugo ! " here said the hermit and the knight of
riombourg simultaneously, clasping their hands.

" Yes, his uncle, but with the bar-sinister in his 'scutcheon. Hence he could never
be acknowledged by the family ; hence, too, the lady Theodora's spotless purity (though,
the young people had been brought up together) could never be brought to own the
relationship."

" May I repeat your confession ? " asked the hermit.

" With the greatest pleasure in life — carry my confession to the Margrave, and
pray him give me pardon. Were there — a notary-public present," slowly gasped the
knight, the film of dissolution glazing over his eyes, " I would ask — you — two —
gentlemen to witness it. I would gladly — sign the deposition, that is if I could
wr-wr-wr-wr-ite ! A faint shuddering smile — a quiver, a gasp, a gurgle — the blood
gushed from his mouth in jlack volumes * *

" He will never sin more," said the Hermit, solemnly.

" May Heaven assoilzie him ! " said Sir Ludwig. " Hermit, he was a gallant knight.
He died with harness on his back, and with truth on his lips ; Ludwig of Hombourg
would ask no other death " * * * *

An hour afterwards the principal servants at the Castle of Godesberg were rather
surprised to see the noble Lord Louis trot into the court-yard of the castle, with a
companion on the crupper of his saddle. 'Twas the venerable hermit of Rolandseck,
who, for the sake of greater celerity, had adopted this undignified conveyance,
and whose appearance and little dumpy legs might well create hilarity among the
" pampered menials " who are always found lounging about the houses of the great.
He skipped off the saddle with considerable lightness however ; and Sir LudAvig, taking
the reverend man by the arm, and frowning the jeering servitors into awe, bade them
lead him to the presence of his Highness the Margrave.

" What has chanced ? " said the inquisitive servitor ; " the riderless horse of Sir
Gottfried was seen to gallop by the outer wall anon. The Margrave's Grace has never
quitted your Lordship's chamber, and sits as one distraught."

"Hold thy prate, knave, and Ifead us on." And so saying, the knight and his
Reverence moved into the well-known apartment, where, accoi'ding to the servitor's
description, the wretched Margrave sate like a stone.

Ludwig took one of the kind broken-hearted man's hands, the hermit seized the
other, and began (but on account of his great age, with a prolixity which we shall not
endeavour to imitate) to narrate the events which we have already described. Let the dear
reader fancy, the while his Reverence speaks, the glazed eyes of the Margrave gradually
lighting up with attention ; the flush of joy which mantles in his countenance — the

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

151

start — the tlirob — the almost delirious outburst of hysteric exultation with which, when
the whole truth was made known, he clasped the two messengers of glad tidings
to his breast, with an energy that almost choked the aged recluse ! " Ride, ride
this instant to the Margravine — say I have wronged her, that it is all right, that

she may come back — that I forgive her — that I apologise if you will " — and a
secretary forthwith despatched a note to that cftect, which was carried off by a fleet
messenger.

" Now write to the Superior of the monastery at Cologne, and bid him send me
back my boy, my darUng, my Otto — my Otto of roses ! " said the fond father, making
the first play upon words he had ever attempted in his life. But what wiU not paternal
love effect ? The secretary (smiling at the joke) wrote another letter, and another fleet
messenger was despatched on another horse.

"And now," said Sir Ludwig, playfully, "let us to lunch. Holy Hennit, arc you
for a snack ?"

The hermit could not say nay on an occasion so festive, and the three gentles seated
themselves to a plenteous repast, for which the remains of the feast of yesterday ofl'ercd,
it need not be said, ample means.

" They will be home by dinner-time," said the exulting father, " Ludwig ! reverend
hermit ! We will carry on till then ; " and the cup passed gaily round, and the laugh
and jest circulated, while the three happy friends sate confidentially awaiting the return
of the Margravine and her son.

But alas ! said we not rightly at the commencement of a former chapter, that
betwixt the lip and the raised wine cup there is often many a spill ? that our hopes arc
high, and often, too often vain ? About three hours after the departure of the first

152 THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE.

messenger, he returned, and with an exceedingly long face knelt down and presented
to the Margrave a hillet to the following effect ;

"Sir, " Convent of NownenweHh, Friday Afternoon.

" I liavc submitted too long to your ill-usage, and am disposed to bear it no more. I v.all no longer
be made the butt of your ribald satire, and the object of your coarse abuse. Last week you tlireatcned me
with your cane ! On Tuesday last you threw a wine-decanter at me, which hit the butler it is true, but the
intention was evident. Tliis morning, in the presence of all the servants, you called me by the most vile,
abominable name, which. Heaven forbid I should repeat ! You dismissed me from your house under a false
accusation. You sent me to this odious convent to be immured for life. Be it so, I will not come back,
because forsooth, you relent. Anything is better than a residence with a wicked, coarse, violent, intoxicated,
brutal monster like yourself. I remain here for ever, and blush to be obliged to sign myself

" Theodora von Godesberg."

" P. S. I hope you do not intend to keep all my best gowns, jewels, and wearing apparel ; and make no
doubt you dismissed mc from your house in order to make way for some vile hussey, whose eyes I would like
to tear out. " T. V. G."

( To be continued.)

THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE.
^ Eale of ttjc Court ^Sall.

The superficial ohserver and shallow thinker may hare failed to recognise the
influence of the human whiskers over the female heart ; hut the following romance of
real life will show what importance really attaches to that most essential garniture of
the manly visage.

Hugh de Ilolborn, the son of a deceased knight, was the descendant of one of the
oldest houses in the city. His ancestors were the Walter Raleighs of their day, and
perhaps something more, for while the historian of the world imported tohaceo in its
raw state, the Holborns had been large introducers of the manufactured article. Two
of our hero's maternal uncles pursued another branch of trade at Stratford, the birth-
place of Shakspeare, and the commerce they cultivated may be inferred from the fact
that they were known familiarly as the Swan (and Edgar) of Avon.

Though not aspiring to the high position of merchant princes, the Holborns had
arrived at the honourable order of civic knighthood, which an address to the fourth
Willliam on his accession to that glorious piece of constitutional upholstery, the British
throne, had won for the father of the hero of this httle history. The knight having
won the civic purple, retired at length to repose on the peaceful palliass of his own
laurels, and centered all his ambition in the advancement of his son, who, entering the
army, became an ensign in that gallant regiment which serves its country in her various
sentry-boxes. Young de Holborn — for the family had assumed the de soon after the
knighting of its head — rapidly rose in the profession of arms ; for death having taken
oif some of his superior officers, our hero, with astonishing spirit, rushed forward to
supply the gap they had left, by purchasing their commissions as fast as possible.
As lieutenant, he distinguished himself throughout two Italian campaigns by heading a
detachment on duty at Her Majesty's Theatre, and in a forced march from the Bird-
cage Walk to Kensington Palace, he had evinced an energy beyond even what the
nature of the service appeared to require.

In the intervals not devoted to the study and practice of his profession, Hugh do

THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE. 153

Holborn gave himself up to the cultivation of light literatiu'e and dark Avhiskers — a
connection not so odd as it at first appears ; for Apollo and the hirsute Pan are
frequently mentioned together in mythological history. By frequent draughts at the
Pierian spring, and numerous bottles of Macassar, he had succeeded almost beyond his
expectations in both the objects of his ambition ; for his poetry was the pride and prop
of the Weekly Flute — a miscellany for the million — while his whiskers were the envy
or the admiration of all who gazed on them. Amono- those who had read his lines and
perused his manly countenance, was the Lady Leonora Lackington ; and after meeting
at a few balls, the youthful pair had polked themselves into such a violent passion as
true hearts and active heels can alone amve at. They had mazurka'd madly and
waltzed wildly into an affection that nothing could now control. At first it might,
perhaps, have been stopped when it had reached no further than the first quadi-ille, but
Strauss as well as straws may change the whole current of our lives ; and a waltz gave
the decisive turn to the destinies of the hero and heroine of this little history.

Hugh de Holborn and Leonora Lackington had been for some time in the position
which is usually described by the Avord " engaged," — a word equally applicable to
hii-ed cabs, servants in place, and the members of a theatrical company. Their
ma^'riage had been long upon the tapis — so long, indeed, that the housemaid who
swept the tapis had picked up the fact of the intended union, and sent it in the shape of
a paragraph — complete, all except grammar and spelling — to a fashionable journal.
The young couple were indeed tenderly attached, but tender attachments are obviously
not so calculated for wear and tear as those which are tough ; and love, like any other
article, is the better for being made of durable materials. One evening, the youthfid
pair had met at a soiree, where some amateurs were growling out a quantity of old
classical catches, Avhich they were in the habit of meeting at each other's houses to
study previous to inflicting them on their friends — a fact that Avould be good evidence of
malice jjrepense, were they to be indicted under the Nuisance Act, as they" richly
deserve to be.

The party of classical bores having been at length turned almost forcibly out of
possession of the piano, from which they might lawfully have been seized as animals
AamagQ feasant, Leonora was led to the instriuuent, and, accompanying herself Avith
great brilliancy, sung — or rather wood-larked — the following words ; which Hugh de
Holborn, who was a patron of the Manager, had written for the last new opera : —

I dreamt I saw a hoUow heart

In domino and mask ;
While lips, that look'd too fair to part,

Refus'd what none could ask.
And then there seem'd to come a light.

That gush'd in radiant beam ;
Then all was dark which once was bright-

But it was all a dream.

I thought the smile of other days,
\\naich once you used to Avear,

That round thy lip no longer plays,
'Mid ffriefs too great to bear ;

154 THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE.

And as you gave a tleep-ilrawn sigh,

I gave a recreant scream ;
But do not turn away thine eye,

For it was all a dream.

At the conclusion of this song, Leonora was literally besieged by fair creatm-es,
who, struck Avith the sentiment of the words, were anxious to know where it could he
procured ; and some minutes had elapsed before she could make her way to the side of
Hugh, from whom she expected to receive a thousand fervent compliments. To her
utter astonishment, she found him thoughtful ; and, after a few common-place
remarks, he addressed her gravely as follows :

" That song, Leonora, was, as you are aware, written by myself ; but do not regard
it as the mere outpouring of the poet's idle fancy : no ; it is a gush from the heart,
not a mere spirt from the inkstand."

Leonora looked surprised — perhaps hurt — but said nothing.

" I fancied," continued Holborn, with peculiar emphasis — " I fancied, that perhaps,
after all, my hopes might be all a dream — your affection all a dream — that, in fact,
all may be — all a dream."

" Stuff and nonsense ! " sharply replied Leonora, and passed to the other end of
the room ; nor did she, during the remainder of the night, approach that part of the
suite of salons in which her lover remained.

*****

It was some months after the incident we have just described that a man in very
dark Avhiskers was seated before a looking-glass, with a letter in one hand, and the
Court Neicsman in the other, while before him lay an invitation to Buckingham Palace
for the Queen's Fancy Dress Ball. The stranger in the whiskers was Holborn : the
letter in one hand was an intimation that Leonora wovdd be at the Palace : and the
Court Newsman in the other contained directions as to costume, prescribing powdered
wigs for the gentlemen, in accordance with the fashion that prevailed in the reign of the
second George. The mind of Hugh de Holborn was a good deal like that unhappy
victim spoken of in classical history, who was torn limb from limb by four horses, all
puUing different ways. On one side the hope of seeing Leonora, who had been cool to
him since the little aflfair at the soiree, on the other side, the instructions in the Co^lrt
Newsman, which involved a sacrifice — it might be temporary, but it was still a sacrifice
— of those whiskers, which, in conjunction with poetry, had been his passion and his
pride. Leonora pulled at his heart, but the Cottrt Neicsman tugged at his whiskers,
and he scarcely knew which way to turn. He at length decided on making the sacri-
fice of the latter, and in a moment of desperation he prepared the fatal lather, which he
smeared with frantic energy all over his face. He did not, however, immediately summon
resolution to apply the devastating blade, and it was a question for a moment whether
the whiskers would not have been saved, and Leonora lost, when, as if by a fatal
impulse, he shaved one completely off at a single stroke, and its companion Avas left, as
Lord Byron says in Werner, " Alone ! alone ! ! alone ! ! !

Our hero thought of the last rose of summer, and dabbed a quantity of fresh lather
on to the remaining whisker, and in a few minutes it was, as the song says, " Off, oft',
and away ! ! " and Hugh de Holborn was a Avretched, whiskerless man.

*********

The result may be briefly told. Hugh and Leonora met at the ball, and the

DISSOLVING VIEWS.

155

quarrel, or rather the coohiess, that had intervened was entirely forgotten. But the
course, &c., never did, &c. ; and, on the next morning, when Hugh went to make a
morning call at Lackington House, he was received hy Leonora with a shriek of horror.
The cause may be guessed. It was her lover that stood before her, but his whiskers —
where — where were they ? In vain did Hugh attempt to calm the agitated feelings of
his intended bride ; she could but scream and rally, and rally and scream, tiU it was
evident that her reason — for one morning, at least — vfas gone. Hugh took liis
departure in the deepest distress ; but Leonora had so far recovered by the next
morning as to be able to write a long letter renewing her vows of unaltered attcction,
but entreating her lover — as he valued her peace of mind — not to call till his whiskers
had grown again. This condition Hugh gladly accepted, as it would serve as a test to
the constancy of both, and in a few weeks philosophy and Macassar Oil sent him once
more to the arms of his Leonora, a happy and a whiskered man.

Their marriage was celebrated in due course, and Hugh dc Ilolborn, in remembrance
of the little incident, took for his family arms the motto of

CUT AND COME AGAIN.

DISSOLVING VIEWS.

TIIEIR USE, ABUSE, AND BETTER DEVELOPMENT.

We cannot help thinking that the Dissolving Views, as represented on the stage,
have been confined hitherto, like one of Dr. Arnott's stoves, to a very narrow range.
They have always been restricted to the misty representation of churches, ruins,
Napoleon's tomb, the Thames Tunnel, and dark interiors taken from Annuals and tea-
trays : one object generally fades into another with which it has no more connection than
the novel of Jack Sheppard has with the life of the original burglar ; and liberties are
taken with time, geography, and the probabilities, only worthy of a tragedy in the most
rampant days of the Syncretic drama. Thus, Nctlcy Abbey melts, in nine Dissolving
Views out of ten, into the Canal of Venice, and St. Paul's is lost in the Dungeon of

156

DISSOLVING VIEWS.

Chillon, the Prisoner of whicli is buried the next minute under the Great Pyramid of
Egypt. How unmeaning are these changes to those of real life, where the Dissolving
Views are just as rapid, but succeed one another so naturally, and with such beautiful
gradation, that we wonder our Dissolving Stanfields, instead of scouring the five quarters
of the globe for subjects, do not take up those of home manufacture !

For instance : Mr. Jeff 's shop for French pieces, in the BurHngton Arcade,
might, without any compromise of truth or nature, be changed into the Dramatic
Authors' Society ; — this into one of our national theatres ; — and this again into the
Insolvent Debtors' Court. This, in fact, would be a perfect epic poem, containing its
three great requisites, a beginning, a middle, and an end.

Another set of Dissolving Views might be made out of the Insurance Swindling system.
Scene the first, a garret ; the second, the West Diddlesex Insurance Office, beautifully
fitted uj), with Corinthian pillars, mahogany doors, glass handles, and revolving gas-
lights ; the third scene, a handsome house in Grosvenor Square, with a cab and fashion-
able horse, and a tiger the size of Tom Thumb ; the fourth, the Mansion-House and Sir
Peter Laurie ; the fifth, the Bankruptcy Court ; and the last scene of all, the treadmill,
or the Queen's Bench. The same figure — the Montague Tigg of the pictorial parable
— would be the hero, of course, of every scene. In the beginning, as a beggar ;
towards the middle, at the height of his jewellery and prosperity ; and at the last, as
the convicted felon in his rags and shame.

Wliat scenes, too, might be taken from pseudo-fashlonsible life ! The mother and her
daughters to be shown in the kitchen, dredged all over with flour, their whole souls intent
on whipping syllabubs, and hammering out clods of paste to their greatest transparency
for the supper-tarts. This scene of low life below-stairs to change immediately into
one of high life above-stairs — a ball-room brilliantly lighted up, with the same mother
and daughters smothered in satin, diamonds, and feathers. The next scene to be the
supper-room, the Camphines just expiring, and the same characters in cmd-papers and
flannel dressing-gowns, collecting salvage from the wreck of the supper, and locking it
up in the side-board.

The man about town, also, would furnish a capital subject for a Dissolving View.

THE STAGE PRINCE. 157

The first scene to be liis garret, in wliicli he is shown cleaning his hoots, his "dickey "
hanging up to dry, and a herring turning solemnly before the fire ; and the second, to
be the Park, where he is dressed to death, covered with frogs and mustachios, lounging
with an air as if he had the fee-simple of the whole world, and a reversionary interest
in the Solar System.

Successive scenes of the pothouse — the pawnbroker's — the Old Bailey, — and the
convict-ship sailing for Botany Bay, — would illustrate a temperance moral, and tell
as forcibly as a poem by Father Mathew, what was the last Dissolving View of
Drunkenness.

These hints, we think, arc sufficient. Amusement, we maintain, is the only style
of tutoring in which people do not tire of being lectured ; and our plan admits of the
eye being tickled whilst the mind is improved. It can be extended to every abuse, —
applied to every shallow scheme, railway, scientific, or philanthropic, of the day, — and
levelled against every quackery in the political or social world ; and the beauty of the
plan is, that gorgeous entertainment is given with sound instruction in the exposure of
each. Ha ! the heart-aches we should have been spared — the fortunes we should have
saved, if, in our younger days, we could only have looked into a prophetic mirror, like
the one we now propose, and have learnt, before rushing into some new Utopian folly,
or plunging headlong into a railway of half-a-crown shares from El Dorado to the
Exeter Change Arcade, what would have been their Dissolving Views !

THE STAGE PRINCE.

BY THE EDITOR.

Royalty on the stage is usually very unfortunate, and the treatment it receives is,
under even the most favourable circumstances, anything but what it ought to be. If
the stage monarch is in the height and plenitude of his power, there is very little respect
shown to him. He has to march about in processions with a pasteboard crown on his
head, while the royal ermine is nothing better than flannel with tufts of worsted fastened
on to it. As to his palace, though the walls are finely painted, there is scarcely one
room that he can comfortably sit down in, for the apartments are usually as barren of
furniture as if a distress for rent had recently cleared them. If he gives a banquet,
there is nothing to eat but a quantity of artificial flowers in vases, and some imitation
fruit, moulded all in one piece on a papier muche plateau ; so that, if the fruit were
eatable, the plate of which it forms a part would have to be devoured with it. The
stage monarch has generally very little to say, and perches himself quietly on a very
uncomfortable throne raised on a rickctty platform, with scarcely room for his feet ;
while some individuals, turning their backs upon his Majesty, amuse themselves with
dancing. He is frequently sworn at, and imperatively ordered by the stage-manager,
who is a viceroy over him, to get down from his throne, that it may be dragged otf at
the wing by the scene-shifters just before thofete concludes, when the monarch sneaks
in anywhere among the crowd of supernumeraries who constitute his " people."

His snubbed Majesty feels that he shall interfere with some Terpsiohorean grouping,
or destroy the final tableau oi a pas de d('ux,.\i he does not get out of the way ; and he

VOL, I. NO. VII. Y

158 THE STAGE PRINCE.

keeps backing and backing, until some of his court, irritated perhaps by the pressure of
the royal heels on their plebeian corns, check his further retreat with — " Now then,
stupid ! where are you coming to ? " But the stage monarch is not always a mere
nonentity, for he sometimes takes a very active part, and developes some very remark-
able traits of character. If he happens to be a king after the pattern of him known
familiarly as the " merry monarch," though in reality a very sad dog, he gets into
tavern rows, flirts Avith the barmaid, cheats the landlord, insults the guests, and is on
the point of being subjected to merited chastisement, when some tradesman of the
court — perhaps the milkman, or the butcher — recognises the King, from which it must
be inferred that his Majesty is in the habit of personally taking in the milk, or ordering
the meat for dinner. If the dramatists can take liberties even with royalty moulded on
the model of an English sovereign, it may be supposed that they wiU run into consider-
able rampancy when picturing one of the monarchs in miniature that are supposed to
swann on the Continent.

A foreign princedom standing like a suburban viUa in its own grounds, with cavalry
barracks for six horses, a large roomy outhouse for infantry, and the use of a paddock
for an occasional review, may admit of considerable latitude in the way of dramatic
treatment, for no one knows whether it is right or wrong ; and it may be, therefore,
perfectly en regie for the small fry of sovereigns to do the sort of things that on the
stage we find them doing. Thus it may be very natural for an Italian prince to go away
from his dominions, leaving the government in the hands of a younger brother or an
uncle, who spreads a report of the death of the " rightful heir," when the "rightful
heir " might settle the business with the " wrongful heir" by simply coming forward.
He, however, prefers sneaking about the outskirts of a forest, Avith one " trusty
retainer," and falhng in love with the daughter of some dealer in firewood, who comes
home every evening to talk sentiment about his child, after having been employed all
day in felling timber that does not belong to him.

The stage prince, when he does make up his mind to claim his rights, issues no
proclamation ; but muflles himself up in an enormous cloak that he may not be known,
and arrives in his own territories during some/e/e that is being given by the "wrongful
heir " to celebrate the feast of the grottos, [quaere, oyster-day ?) or anything else which
makes a line in the play-bill and admits of an incidental ballet. The "rightful heir"
keeps judiciously in the background during the dancing, and the " wrongful heir " eyes
liim without knowing why ; and in the intervals of the festivities comes mysteriously for-
ward to tell the orchestra that " he don't know how it is, but something seems to weigh at
his heart," and he will occasionally inquire politely of Conscience when it will allow peace
to enter the guilty breast, from which it has hitherto been a prohibited article. He will
ever and anon eye the " rightful heir " with a suspicion for which he — or any one else
— cannot account, and ultimately he will make some observation from which the
stranger in the cloak wiU dissent ; and high words will ensue, in which the " rightful
heir" will be addressed as " Caitiff ! " and asked by what right he interrupts the festival.
Every one will gather round, but no one will know the " rightful heir ;" until, throwing
off his cloak, he developes a blaze of orders including a terrific freemason's star and a
quantity of ornaments in paste, ticketed up cheap at a pawnbroker's.

The discovery of the orders, accompanied by a sudden throwing oft* of the hat, will
cause all to go down on their knees, the courtiers exclaiming " Sire I " the female
peasants murmuring out "the Prince," and turning round to each other with "My
gracious," " Only think," '/ Did you ever, " &c., in a series of facetious asides ; while

A GARLAND.

159

the male peasants shout " Our long-lost lord ! " the supernumeraries, who can only be
entrusted with a single word, cry simply " Sire ! " and the discomfited " wrongful heir,"

covering his face in shame and confusion, mutters out " My liege ! " while the chorus-
singers hurst into a concluding strain of joy, love, and loyalty.

BY EDWARD KENEALY.

AiiTOv jjioi ffricpavo'. ■wapa. SikX'kti ratffSf Kpefiaffrol

yii/xveTe, /x?; Trpoimws (pvWa Tivaaao/J.fvoi,
Ovs Saicpvois Karefipf^a (KaTO/x^pa yap oij.fj.aT ipwvrwv)

AA.A' OT avaL'yofXf:vr]S, avrov i^7)T6 Ovpr)s
2Ta|a0' vinp Ke<pa\ris e/xov uirov ws du ajxeivov

'H ^avQt} 76 K6ixr) to/uo haKpva ttiti. — Sir John Williams.

Rest my bright garland here by Psyche's door.
Nor rashly strew aromid your pm-plc leaves ;

160 A GARLAND.

Retain the tears with which my eyes run o'er,
For reft of her my lonely spirit grieves ;

Until the rosy nymph in beauty drest

Forth from the house like Day's glad Star appears,

Then shed about her golden hair and breast
The silver dews of her sad lover's tears.

SONETTO DI GUISEPPE PARINI.

AL SONNO.

SoNNO placido che con Uev' orme
Vai per le tenebre movendo 1' ali,
E intorno ai miseri lassi mortali,

Gii"i conl' agili tue varie forme

La dove Fillide secm-a dorme.
Stesa su candidi molli guanciali
Vanne ; e un imagine carca di mali,

In mente pingile trista e deforme

Tanto a me simili quell ombre inventa
E al color j)allido che in me si spande

Ch' ella destandosi, pieta ne senta
Si tu comedimi favor si grande

Con man vo' porgerti tacita e lenta

Due di papaveri freschi ghirlande.

sweet, placid Sleep, who lightly stealest

With wings of silence through the mirk midnight,
WIto to the slmnberer's gladden 'd eyes revealest

Thy phantom-peopled visions of delight ;
Go, where my beauteous Phyllida is sleeping,

Rest on her piUow, and mine image paint,
As one who for her cruel slights lies weeping.

Death-like my features and my footsteps faint ;
So may she pity when in tears she '11 waken,

And love me with a love as true as mine ; —
Do this — and two fair poppies shall be taken

From yonder field to grace thy silent shrine.

JULIUS C^SAR SCALIGER NOCTURNUM SUSPICIENS CCELUM.

CETERA quae nosti'O fulgent vaga sidera mundo

Extulit ex alto nox taciturna mari,
At mihi jam misero silet omni sidere coelum

Lumiua dum Pholose lucida somnus habet ;
Lucifer amati pecoris cordate magister

Coge gregem ; numei'um non habet ille suimi.

THE PRESERVATION OF LIFE. 161

SCALIGER LOOKING ON THE SKY BY NIGHT.

The other stars are beaming, love,

The night's bright orbs are gleaming, love,
But ah ! two stars of dewy light are absent from the sides ; —

Oh ! Phyllis clearest, waken, love,

And gild the skies forsaken, love,
Once more with these two truant stars — I mean thy gentle eyes.

THE PRESERVATION OF LIFE.

When walldng the streets of a great city, nothing has struck us so forcibly as the
general neglect of means for the preservation of life from the ravages of fire. There is
scarcely a street in London but has given frightful testimony to the horrors of death by
burning ; and yet there seems to be such universal apathy upon the subject, that nowhere
can you find that any earnest, persevering endeavours have been made to secure the
co-operation of neighbours for mutual preservation. The legislature has interfered for
the protection of property from fire, and made the erection of party-walls compulsory.
It has done nothing for the protection of life from the same fearful destroyer.

The streets have been tunnelled from one end to the other of this great metropolis,
to ensure the comfort of the in-dwellers — it was a gigantic thought to drain such a
mighty city !

Water has been brought from distant places, and conveyed through conduits and
pipes to the dwelhngs of the most humble. Earth had to be delved and rocks blasted
to 05*001 this tremendous work !

Gas, subtle and treacherous as it is, is brought safely to our doors, even into our
houses.

We walk as it were upon a mine ; but such has been the perseverance of man, such
the triumph of knowledge, that the mighty power is made subservient to his will, to
be used as a blessing and a security.* But the subjugation of gas was the labour of
nearly 200 years ! t And the conquest was worth the struggle !

Wlien such vast things have been done by co-operation for the comfort of the
commimity, is it not wonderful that nothing worthy the name of exertion has been tried
for the Preservation of Life from Fire, when the means must be so insignificant in
point of cost and difficulty, although so greatly conducive to the security from that most
horrible of deaths — death by fire ?

We feel that in devoting the pages of the Tablc-Book to the consideration of this
subject, we are discharging a duty wc owe to our fellow-creatures, and, therefore, ofter
no apology for the plans which we here put forward for the remedy of the evil of which
we complain. Our designs may be imperfect or objectionable, but they may suggest
to others better and more practicable modes of escape from the horrors of conflagration.

* It is calculated that the consumption of gas in London amounts to eight millions and a half cuhic
feet every twenty-four hours.

■j" Ahout 1660, Dr. Clayton first made coal-gas, whidi he hnriied as it came from small holes pricked in
a hi adder.

162

TUP: PRESERVATION OF LIFE.

The simplest and surest escape is a continuous balcony erected in front of the upper
windows of every house. This is so obvious, that it is unnecessary to advance one word
in favour of the plan. We shall confine ourselves simply to the objections that may be
uro'cd ac;ainst it,

1st. The facility that balconies are said to give to robbery.

To us nothing can be moi'e futile than this objection. Stronger fastenings to the
windows would as effectually secure the second or third-floor windows as locks and bolts
do the street-door. Even were this objection tenable, we consider that less is to be
apprehended from the burglar who filches the contents of a jewel-case or a drawer, than
from that fierce assailant, that devours a man's substance, and sufi"ocates him with reekings
of the feast. — The destroyer which bursts into the chamber, and curls about the bed
and breathes its smoke into the nostrils, until the head grows dizzy, and the heart
faint, leaving the wretch, thus made conscious of its desolating presence, scarcely time
or thought for flight. Bewildered as he is, he knows not where to seek a refuge ; his
mind, unaccustomed to revert to any means for safety in such an emergency, has to
Jh^-m its plans, and not to will the execution of those often considered and relied on.
Were the balcony understood by the household to be the escape from fire, impulse and
the instinctive love of life would generally guide the inmates of a burning house
to their place of refuge.

The plan which we annex seems to remedy the objection as originally stated, and
to render fire-ladders unnecessary.

The sketch represents a balcony extending in the front of the upper windows of a
house, and having two moveable ends, secured by a latch, and attached to a spring
which communicates with a bell. In the case of fire, the end a, being unfastened, falls
to the edge of the adjoining balcony, and at the same time rings a bell. The end b,
being released, falls inwards (c) and thus opens a communication with the adjoining
house. The bell would prevent any improper use being made of the balcony, and if so
constructed, serve as an alarum.

2nd. The formation of a continuous balcony would be impracticable where houses
were of dififerent altitudes.

In such case we would propose the erection of "Fire Galleries," made in the
form of a balcony, but having iron shutters between each window, in order that
persons seeking refuge might be protected from danger, should any flames issue from
the adjoining windows. Ten or twelve persons might remain uninjured for a length
of time in one of these fire-galleries, or until such time as the fire-ladders could be
brought to their rescue.

THE PRESERVATION OF LIFE.

163

Fig. 2.

•s- <.

A ladder of iron placed in the front of the house, and so constructed that a person
might descend between it and the wall, would also afford a safe mode of escape. (Fig. 2.)
We repeat that we do not put forward these plans as pre-
eminently advisable, but the legislature that compels the formation
of party-walls and sewers, ought to make the erection of some such

SIMPLE AND EFFECTIVE ESCAPE COMPULSORY UPON THE LANDLORD
OF EVERY HOUSE IN THE METROPOLIS,

As we are upon this subject, we shall not hesitate to speak
of another matter of gross neglect, Avhere the life of woman is
more particularly at stake. We allude to the construction of
fenders. How often is the pubhc heart wa-ung by statements of
some glad and lovely creatm'e being reduced to a mass of
hideousness by the ignition of the dress which was to have lent
adornment to her beauty, even by the unexpected opening of a
door ! Could not the frequency of such calamities be diminished
by adopting some other form of constiiiction for the fender ?
We would suggest the introduction of a perpendicular ornament
rising from the centre, as exhibited in Fig. 3.

We will now add an extract from a letter which we have
received from our worthy friend, " The Old Sailor " : —

" It is a fearful thing in a dismal and dreary night, when
the gale is howling above, and the breakers are roaring below,
to be lashed helpless to some cleat or mast or shroud, whilst the
wild waves beat over the sufferers, whose hopes have been driven
away by the threatened death that appears inevitable. Dreadful
are the feelings, as the ship writhes upon the rocks which
grind her stout timbers to mere powder — horrible to witness the
raging of the ocean as it seems to deride in mockery the cries
of the despairing crew and passengers.

' Alas ! from thence there 's no retreatins;.'

lOd The ship must be their coffin, and the billowy ocean their watery
grave. Those who have not experienced such visitations, can
never form an adequate idea of the horrors that rush out of the
blackness of darkness to torture the spirits of the afflicted, as they
behold first one, and then another, washed away, and, for a few

seconds, struggling in the white foam

of the sea against the destruction that

ensues. Even should the weather be

fine when a wreck takes place — it may

be after a storm — or, striking on the

rocks that the leak may still over-
whelm the sinking craft in smooth

water — the keen agony is the same ; —

and, oh I to hear the piercing shriek

as the last death-pang separates time

from eternity, its thrilling sounds are

never to be forgotten.

164

THE PRESERVATION' OF LIFE.

Fiff. 4.

" Now, much of this might be prevented, and that too by the simplest means. The
Chinese are far before us in this matter. When their large junks go to sea, each
passenger takes his own merchandise under his immediate care ; and it is rarely, if ever
known, that they neglect to carry with them three pieces of stout bamboo, formed into a
kind of triangular seat (Fig. 4) ; sometimes they have four pieces fixed in a square. These,
being hollow, will not only float, but will also sustain great weight ; and a friend assured
us that he was eye-witness to the wreck of one of these large
junks, when crew and passengers clapped these pieces of bamboo
round their bodies under their arms, and threw themselves into
the fickle waves. The bm*ning rays of the sun came down with
fierce intensity,* but John Chinaman was prepared even for
that. Like Paid Pry, the everlasting umbrella was at hand —
it was promptly hoisted, and away they went for the shore, con-
versing as freely as the noise would admit ; and truly ludicrous
was their appearance, resembling a fleet of gigantic mushrooms
broke adrift from their moorings, — but all were saved.

" And what does this simple contrivance suggest ? The
facility of preserving life. Let every article on board our ships
be made of a thoroughly floating nature ; chairs, stools, tables, mattresses and boats.
Nay, more — every individual, male and female, should furnish themselves, the men
with -waterproof "waistcoats, the ladies with pelerines, which may be blown out and
distended by the breath. We have seen some of this kind covered with black satin
that look quite handsome ; and, when their uses are taken into consideration, invalu-
able in the time of peril. When we hear of the melancholy occurrences that have taken
place in steam-boats, we would ask, why are they not all constructed in compartments
wath double bottoms, and especially at the most probable point of collision — the bows ?
It is, indeed, a matter for serious contemplation."

We trust that none of our readers will consider the small space which we have
devoted to this subject as misapplied — imperfectly as we feel we have executed the task
thus voluntarily undertaken : but having the advantages of illustration at command,
we have preferred the risk of disappointing a few of our good friends, who look to 'our
pages for mirthful sentences alone, to incurring the self-reproach of having maintained
silence upon a subject which we feel to be important, as affecting the good of many
of our fellow-creatures, and which could not have been so cleaidy put forward without
the elucidation of our pencil. G. C^-

^\'t<K^\^^^'^?^5^- -^

* See "Notes taken during the late War in China." By Capt. Cutaway. — TabU-Book, p. 91.

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SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ORNITHOLOGY. ICo

SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ORNITHOLOGY.

BY THE EDITOR.

When looking at Social Zoology ia all its branches, we cannot omit the birds ;
which may be said to perch on several branches of the great tree of Natm-al History.
We shall therefore favour our readers with a little ornithology, and shall commence by
taking a bird's-eye view of the progress of that important science.

Old Francis Willoughby wrote a work on the subject with the quaintness incident
to his time, which means that the spelling is so bad, and the expressions are so out of
the way, that the modern student can make neither head nor tail of it.

Ray came next with his Synopsis, in which he jumbled birds and fishes so beautifully
together, that it was impossible from reading him to "know a hawk from a hand-saw."

Some years later Pennant penned a Treatise in which he endeavoured to clear up
the ambiguities of his predecessors, but the old gentleman only succeeded in making
their " confusion worse confounded."

In 1789, William Lewin published a quarto on British birds, with portraits of
their eggs ; but as he gave an enumeration of several feathered creatures that no one
ever saw, he must have counted some of his chickens before they were hatched : which
was, as Donovan observed, "giving the student foul play by misleading him."

We must not omit to mention our old friend Button, who was very critical on the
subject of ornithology, and found fault with some birds on account of their mode of
construction ; he being under the delusion that he might have made a better hand of it
than Nature herself, had the manufacture of the feathered tribe been intrusted to him.
He would have put the bill of one to the claws of the other, and had he been a member
of Parliament he would probably have brouglit in a measure to amend certain bills, or
put a different construction on some claws which he might have an objection to.

The arrangement and classification of birds will be found anything but an easy
task ; for no sooner do you get them into something like order, than they are flying
about on all sides of you. A bird in hand is said to be worth two in the bush ; but
the philosopher who sits down to classify the feathered tribe without any one of them
in hand, will be obliged to beat about the bush to an awful extent before he can get a
firm hold of his subject. We shall, however, avoid this error, and plunge at once into
the subject of Social Ornithology, by coming down upon the birds of evcry-day life,,
like, if we may allow ourselves the comparison, the donkey among the chickens.

The first order of birds we shall pounce upon, arc those who are always pouncinf>-
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, <fcc. to their mouths, pretended to play music, though they uttered not a sound,
— although Leporello, availing himself of the bustle, contrived to devour by stealth a
quantity of macaroni to the value of full one farthing English, — notwithstanding all
this, we say, the heart of the said Leporello was heavy, for he knew that his master
had invited a great stone statue to supper, and was every moment afraid that the
strange guest woidd make his appearance.

And, sure enough, a noise was soon heard at the door, as if a cart-load of bricks
had been thrown against it. Off ran the females, and the noiseless musicians; but
Don Giovanni, fortifying his courage by a huge lump of French roll, ordered Leporello
to open the door and admit the visitor. The unwilling servant obeyed, and soon
returned, pale as death, and with his candle broken in half, so that the v/ick hung
downwards. Strange it was that not only he himself felt terror, but also the middling-
eight which served him for a light. It had never struck against anything, and yet
there it was in half. How could that have arisen, but by its own intrinsic fear ? The
statue-guest followed, looking exceedingly grave and important.

" Oh, you have come ?" said Giovanni, with much nonchcdcmce. " Well then, you
had better take something." And he hospitably offered him a goblet.

The statue motioned away the cup, with a very supercilious air, and growled forth :

" Non si pasce di cibo mortale
Chi si pasce di cibo celeste." *

" I assure you," said Giovanni, " that our provisions are a great deal more ethereal
than you imagine — I and the two ladies with me having been only quaffing a goblet
full of nothing for the last half-hour."

" Nonsense," exclaimed the statue, " would you have me believe that only an
empty cup has graced this ribald feast."

" Ah, my friend," said Giovanni, sighing, " you show that you little know what a
* property ' is ! "

"This," said the statue, "is a digression. My business is as follows. You
invited me to come here to sup with you ; I have, therefore, come from the shades
below to ask you to sup with me."

" Shades below !" said Giovanni. " Am I to collect from your words, that I am
addressing the ghost of Don Guzman ?"

" Of course. What else could you collect ?" retorted the statue, Avitli an air
approaching contempt.

" Then," observed Giovanni, with immense coolness and delibei'ation, " there
must be some mistake. I invited a statue, — a bond fide statue, and no ghost, — a
statue from the church-yard, at Seville, and not a spirit from the shades below."

" Ay — true — " said the statue, with visible marks of confusion — " I am a sort of
a statue, you see."

" Well then, make yourself comfortable, and don't bother about taking me to the
shades below, with which you have manifestly no connection."

" Ay, but I have," said the statue. " I am in some sort a ghost after all."

"This won't do," said Giovanni impatiently. " Y''ou are availing yourself of a
paltry ambiguity, whereas the case lies in a nut-shell. Either you are a statue or you

* He docs not feed on mortal food, who feeds on celestial food.

A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI. 187

are not. If you are a statue, made out of a good piece of marble, sucli as I saw in tlie
churcli-yard, you have no right to assume the prerogatives of a ghost, and talk about the
shades. If, on the other hand, you are a ghost and no statue, you are not the party
invited, and have no business to be here at all."

" Abandoned wretch !" growled the statue.

"That is an old device," observed Giovanni coolly ; "when people get weak in
argument, they begin to call names. The question at present under consideration is
simply this : are you a statue or are you not ? ' '

The statue paused for some seconds, and then exclaimed explosively : " May I be
pulverised if I precisely know what I am ! "

" It seems to me," remarked Giovanni, calmly smiling, that you are in a tarnation
fix."

" A what ?" roared the statue. " Wbat language, in the name of fortune, are you
talking ?"

" The language of a people discovered the other day, by my cousin Christopher
Columbus," said the Don.

" Heaven preserve us from such discoveries, as they will play the deuce with our
Spanish," said the ghost, delighted to dwell on any topic, rather than that of his own
personal condition.

Presently a lot of trap-doors opened in the floor, and out popped a number of little
persons with black stockings and hideous faces, each bearing a huge flaming torch in
his hand.

" Halloah — gentlemen — gentlemen — you are making rather free, considering this
is my house," said Giovanni sternly, but without losing his accustomed politeness.
" Who asked you here ?"

" I did," murmured the statue timidly.

" You did !" exclaimed the Don. " Why this is the coolest thing I ever heard.
You cannot make out your own right to come here, and yet you assume a privilege to
bring friends."

The statue walked up and down in a state of great agitation.

" What does all this mean ?" said the head torch-bearer very angrily to the
statue. " Did not you tell us that you had full right and title to enter this gentleman's
house, and deliver him into our hands ?"

The statue looked mournfully at the interrogator, and made no answer.

" Thus it is," said Giovanni, in a sonorous moral tone, "when once people depart
from the line of rectitude there is no end to the inconvenience. Here you have not
only put yourself into a most false and ridiculous position, but you have been the means
of misleading and wasting the time of all these gentlemen."

" You talk like a man of sense, seiior," said the torch-bearer, "it's scandalous I
We are people of business, and we would fain ask this ghost, statue, or whatever he
is, whether he has any claim upon you, or not ? "

The statue preserved a dogged silence, but Don Giovanni set forth all the reasonings
which we have already given, to the perfect conviction of the whole body of torch-
bearers.

" This Guzman is evidently an impostor," said the chief, "and it seems that all
we have to do, is to apologise to Don Giovanni for breaking into his house in such
unseemly fashion, and go back again. But, perhaps, the senor might hit on some
plan to save us from the disgrace of returning quite empty-handed."

188 A NEW TERMINATION TO THE HISTORY OF DON GIOVANNI.

" Certainly," replied Giovanni. " I suggest that you take away the statue, as the
origin of all the mischief."

" Agreed ! agreed ! " they all cried, with delight ; and, seizing upon the unfortunate
figure, they dragged it down a huge trap-door, amid a world of kicking and pommelling,
while Giovanni and Leporello, who emerged from a hiding-place behind one of the
columns, threw themselves into a couple of chairs, convulsed with laughter.

The incident, however, had a more serious effect on Giovanni than might at first he
imagined. Repenting of all his sins, he led a life of such privation and abstinence, that
he was canonised after his death as San Juanito de Sevila.

The reason why this true history differs so much from the tale as told by all the
playwrights, is owing to the following circumstance. One Don Ottavio, who afterwards
married Donna Anna, daughter to Don Guzman, perceiving that the facts of the case
put his father-in-law in rather a ridiculous light, composed a biography of Don
Giovanni, in which he gave the catastrophe quite another turn. This very mendacious
biography, written by Don Ottavio, has been the one employed by the dramatists.

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR. 189

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

Having made up our minds and our carpet-bag to go out of town, we began to
consider whether we should travel by earth, air, fire, or water ; and as all these are
now available for the purposes of a trip, no man has a right to complain of being out
of his proper element. The earth is going quite out of fashion with tourists, and a
turnpike road will soon become as great a curiosity as a bit of Roman pavement.
The highway from Hammersmith, over which William IV. used to come to the metro-
polis, will be pointed out by posterity as a relic no less singular than some of those
venerable ditches on the coast, where we are told the Romans first pitched their tents,
— and a very pretty pitch they must have arrived at after all their troubles. When
future geologists shall set to work on the surface of the earth — shaving its face, as it
were, with the keen razor of science, they will find beneath a stratum of iron rails, a
layer of wooden sleepers, with a tertiary deposit of the bones of engine-drivers, stokers,
and passengers.

Wishing to avoid having our bones rattled in a carriage, like dice in a box, which is
the very mildest form of railway treatment at present in vogue, Ave abandoned all
thoughts of the train ; and, getting into a new train of thought, the balloon suggested
itself as a pleasant mode of travelling. The graphic account of Mr. Green's two or
three last voyages, his " moving accidents by flood and field," his " airloreadth. 'scapes,"
his being caught in his own net by becoming entangled in the net-work of his own
balloon, his being dragged along tied to his own car like a victim at an ancient
triumph — all this brought us to the determination that it is safer to take the air than to
let the air take us whichever way it pleases. Having rejected earth in the shape of
road-travelling, which, by the way, it is difficult to find, having declined the assistance
of fire, the railway agent, and having thrown up the balloon as impracticable, we had
nothing left but water, which we accordingly prepared to plunge into.

It was early in the morning of a bleak and boisterous dog-day of the present year,
that we found ourselves standing on the wooden barge that, under the ambitious
title of a wharf, is consecrated to St. Katherine.

Father Thames, in accordance with modern fashion as applied to shirts, had his
bosom dreadfully ruflled, and he tossed about restlessly in his bed ; while the wind, who is
never long over the duties of the toilette, was getting up very rapidly. Before us lay a
fleet of steamers of various sorts and sizes, some of them bound to diff"erent, and others
destined for the same ports, but all alike eager for passengers. AU of them seemed
" sufficient to carry those out in safety who entered in confidence," with the exception
of one craft ; and the most crafty devices were resorted to for the purpose of getting it
patronised. The vessel had formerly been a Chelsea coaster, and was part of the
Battersea squadron, which had been gloriously engaged in the taking of passengers —
off anywhere within the limits of the voyage. The craft was a wherry-built, pitch-
bottomed, little thing, that was fit, perhaps, to see service as a mere looker-on, but
certainly not to do any. Her stern was not fit for any journey — sentimental or other-
wise, — and as to her head, it had been so diminished and cut down, that her most
graceful act would have been that of hiding it.

VOL. I. — NO. IX. c c

190

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

Nevertheless, there she was, in unblushing effrontery, soliciting passengers — her
captain and the boy, who performed the part of crew, crowing over the lowness of the
fares chalked on a board, hung at the mast-head, where the owners of the vessel
should have been. The captain, clutching at us with that desperate ferocity which
marks the tiger when he is deprived of his usual bill of fare, called our attention to his
bill of fares, with a shrieking entreaty that we would look at them ; but a tar, giving one
of the true steam tugs at our collar on the other side, contemptuously invited us to
" look at the steamer." We looked, and experienced the very reverse of love at first
sight, for a glance was sufficient to inspire us with the deepest aversion.

The sight of the captain ought, perhaps, to have been enough, for his costume
savoured more of Holywell Street than of the ocean, while the cut and character of his
coat bespoke an acquaintance with slops rather than with seas or even rivers. The
captain of a vessel in a seedy body-coat and a pair of threadbare landsmen's trowsers,
coidd not be entitled to confidence, — so resigning om-selves to the guidance of a real
tar in a tarpaulin hat, and a Byron tie, much worn by boys after the shutting up of the
shops, we foimd ourselves on board the regular Margate vessel. After the usual
series of newsmen's terrific leaps from the paddle-box to the shore — for they will risk
their lives in loitering to the last moment to sell a paper — the steamer went away amid
the inefficient jeer of the captain and crew — the man and boy — of the opposition boat,
which after a great deal of mysterious fizzing of the steam and banging of the boiler, got
off somehow or other into the middle of the stream, where it w^as bumped down the pool
by the friendly aid of collisions, and we fortunately saw no more of it.

The road down the river is so familiar to every one, that if familiarity does lead to
contempt, nothing can be more despicable than the banks of Old Thamesis between
London Bridge and Sheerness ; so called, according to some, from the docks there
being a matter of sheer necessity. We passed the gardens of the quiet little villa of
Kosher, with its bauquetting-hall of half-inch deal, and its cotton pocket-handkerchief

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

191

banners fluttering in the breeze that streams in through the broken windows. Though
a very interesting book has been written on the subject of Two Years Before the
Mast, it would be impossible to make much of an Afternoon Behind the Funnel. The
Seaman Ashore might amuse by his observations on men and manners, having been
accustomed all his Hfe to men without any manners at all ; but the Londoner Afloat
soon finds himself in the position of the Cockney Aground, when he attempts to dive
into the depths of nautical character.

We had, however, determined to make the most of our opportunity, and went
aft to have a bit of chat with the steersman, when our eye was caught by a request
" not to speak to the man at the helm," and, except the boy at the engine, there was
no one else among the crew to speak to. We were accordingly reduced to a tete-d-tete
with the compass, which we found boxed in a mahogany case, but the needle was a
great deal too sharp for us, and moved about in all directions, proving that it allowed
itself very extraordinary latitudes. We determined to test its much- vaunted fideUty to
the pole, and found it easily attracted by the loadstone, between which and the needle
a flirtation Avas carried on as long as the former remained in the vicinity of the
latter. It was clear that the needle did not care a pin for the pole, while under
the influence of "metal more attractive." Our passage was a stormy one, but
most of the company had taken precautions,
in conformity with their own views of seaman-
ship. One would have been puzzled to say what
the goodness of a sailor consisted in, if one had
judged from the various peculiarities of those
who professed to be " good sailors." In one
case, a pair of spectacles — perhaps to protect
the eyes from the spray — was the mark of the
professed mariner ; and, in another instance, a
sharp, cold nose, looking exceedingly blue in
the breeze, was the prominent feature of the
professed perfection of the naval character.

Amid all the ups and downs of the vessel,
the members of the band proved themselves
excellent sailors, for with their books on the
groimd, and the leaves blowing backwards and
forwards in the gale, they succeeded in eliciting
sounds — ay, even tunes, from their instruments.
Perhaps the variations in their performance
may have been caused by rude Boreas rudely
turning over the leaves of their books, now
opening them at a bit of Balfc, and then,
with a terrible gust of disgust, blowing about
the pages till they came to a delicious morsel
of Beethoven. As to the variations, we defy any one musician we ever heard to equal
them, for all the four performers not only varied the melody, but varied so far from
each other, that in the language of pleading, it amounted to a departure rather than
a variance.

The beautiful ad libitum, in which each professor indulged at the close of any
piece, was delightful for its finish, because the finish, or leaving off, was the only

192

A MOUTHFUL OF FRESH AIR.

agreeable effect produced by the efforts of
that if the musicians had been determined

recourse to the dangerous experiment of a
in the generality of cases, lead to a
little more ; for when once an attempt
is made to neutralise the effect of the
water by the infusion of spirit, one
has no idea of the quantity of the
latter that is required for mixing with
the former, before any beneficial effect
can be accomplished. We heard it
whispered that an old lady on board
had been heard to order, and others
said, seen to di'ink, nine glasses of
brandy- and-water and one bottle of
stout. We should not have believed
the testimony of our own eyes, unless
aided by the old lady's glasses, and
then it may be conceived that she
would, to make use of a well-known
and highly-respected pun, have pre-
sented a dreadful spectacle.

the orchestra. We wished at the time
to introduce their talents to the public,
they had chosen some other
channel than the British.

It is possible, however,
to be a very good man, no
doubt, but a very bad sailor ;
and though there is no posi-
tive crime in going to the
side of the vessel when "a
heavy sea " is running, a
ducking will probably be the
penalty of what is vmdoubt-
edly very bad seamanship.
An old sailor will take the
precaution of hoisting his
canvas, which is, we believe,
the proper nautical term for
putting up his lunbrella, and
he will keep his legs warm
in a cloak, to prevent, as
we believe the legitimate tar
would say, " his timbers
from shivering." The mode
in which the female sailor
prepares for the voyage, va-
ries according to the con-
stitution ; but some have
"little brandy-and-water," which must.

The Victim of Kxaggeration.

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE, 193

{Continued from page 175.)

CHAPTER IX.

CTje ilalri) of CZatntfcclfe.

As the bell with iron tongue called midnight, Wolfgang the Archer, pacing on his
watch, beheld before him a pale female figure. He did not know whence she came :
but there suddenly she stood close to him. Her blue, clear, glassy eyes were fixed upon
him. Her form was of faultless beauty ; her face pale as the marble of the fairy statue,
ere yet the sculptor's love had given it life. A smile played upon her features, but it
was no warmer than the reflection of a moonbeam on a lake ; and yet it was wondrous
beautiful. A fascination stole over the senses of young Wolfgang, He stared at the
lovely apparition with fixed eyes and distended jaws. She looked at him with incfi'able
archness. She lifted one beautifully rounded alabaster arm, and made a sign as to
beckon him towards her. Did Wolfgang — the young and lusty Wolfgang — follow ?
Ask the iron whether it follows the magnet ? — ask the pointer whether it pursues the
partridge through the stubble? — ask the youth whether the lollypop-shop does not
attract him ? Wolfgang did follow. An antique door opened as if by magic. There
was no light, and yet they saw quite plain ; they passed through the innumerable
ancient chambers, and yet they did not wake any of the owls and bats roosting there.
We know not through how many apartments the young couple passed ; but at last they
came to one where a feast was prepared ; and on an antique table, covered with
massive silver, covers were laid for two. The lady took her place at one end of the
table, and with her sweetest nod beckoned Wolfgang to the other seat. He took it.
The table was small, and their knees met. He felt as cold in his legs as if he were
kneeling against an ice-well.

" Gallant archer," said she, " you must be hungry after your day's march. What
supper will you have ? Shall it be a delicate lobster-salad ? or a dish of elegant tripe
and onions ? or a slice of boar's-head and truffles ? or a Welsh rabbit, a la cave au
cidre ? or a beefsteak and shallot ? or a couple of roynons ci la brochette ? Speak, brave
bowyer : you have but to order."

As there was nothing on the table but a covered silver dish, Wolfgang thought that
the lady who proposed such a multiplicity of delicacies to him was only laughing at
him ; so he determined to try her with something extremely rare.

**Fair pi'incess," he said, "I should like very much a pork-chop and some mashed
potatoes."

She lifted the cover : there was such a pork-chop as Simpson never served,
with a dish of mashed potatoes that would have formed at least six portions in om- dege-
nerate days in Rupert-street.

When he had helped himself to these delicacies, the lady put the cover on the dish
again, and watched him eating with interest. He was for some time too much
occupied with his own food to remark that his companion did not cat a morsel ; but big
as it was, his chop was soon gone ; the shining silver of his plate was scraped quite

104 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

clean -vvitli his luiife, and, heaving a great sigh, he confessed a humble desire for some-
thing to drink.

" Call for what you like, sweet sir," said the lady, lifting up a silver fiUagree bottle,
with an India-rubber cork, ornamented with gold.

" Then," said Master Wolfgang — for the fellow's tastes were, in sooth, very humble
— " I call for half-and-half." According to his wish, a pint of that delicious beverage
was poured from the bottle, foaming, into his beaker.

Having emptied this at a draught, and declared that on his conscience it was the
best tap he ever knew in his life, the young man felt his appetite renewed ; and it is
impossible to say how many different dishes he called for. Only enchantment, he was
afterwards heard to declare (though none of his friends beheved him) coidd have given
him the appetite he possessed on that extraordinary night. He called for another pork-
chop and potatoes, then for pickled salmon ; then he thought he would try a devilled
turkey-wing. " I adore the devil," said he.

" So do I," said the pale lady, with unwonted animation, and the dish was served
straightway. It was succeeded by black-puddings, tripe, toasted cheese, and — what
was most remarkable — every one of the dishes which he desired came from under the
same silver cover — which circumstance, when he had partaken of about fourteen dif-
ferent articles, he began to find rather mysterious.

" Oh," said the pale lady, with a smile, "the mystery is easily accoimted for:
the servants hear you, and the kitchen is below. ^^ But this did not account for the
manner in which more half-and-half, bitter ale, punch (both gin and rum), and even oil
and vinegar, which he took with cucumber to his salmon, came out of the self-same bottle
from which the lady had first pom-ed out his pint of half-and-half.

" There are more things in heaven and earth, Voracio," said his arch entertainer,
when he put this question to her, "than are dreamt of in your philosophy ;" and, sooth
to say, the archer was by this time in such a state, that he did not find anything won-
derful more.

"Are you happy, dear youth ? " said the lady, as, after his coUation, he sank back
in his chair.

" Oh, Miss, aint I ! " was his interrogative and yet affirmative reply.

" Shoidd you like such a supper every night, Wolfgang?" continued the pale
one.

" Why, no ; " said he — " no, not exactly ; not everi/ night : some nights I should
like oysters."

"Dear youth," said she, "be but mina, and you may have them all the year
round ! " The unhappy boy was too far gone to suspect anything, otherwise this
extraordinary speech would have told him that he was in suspicious company. A
person who can offer oysters all the year round can live to no good purpose.

" Shall I sing you a song, dear archer ? " said the lady. " Sweet love I " said he,
now much excited, " strike up, and I will join the chorus."

She took down her mandolin, and commenced a ditty. 'Twas a sweet and wild one.
It told how a lady of high lineage, cast her eyes on a peasant page ; it told how
nought could her love assuage, her suitor's wealth and her father's rage : it told how
the youth did his foes engage ; and at length they went oft" in the Gretna stage, the
high-born dame and the peasant page. Wolfgang beat time, waggled his head, sung
wofuUy out of tune as the song proceeded ; and if he had not been too intoxicated with
love and other excitement, he would have remarked hoAv the pictures on the wall, as the

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 195

lady sung, began to waggle tlieir heads too, and nod and grin to the music. The song-
ended, I am the lady of high lineage : Archer, will you be the peasant page ?

" I '11 follow you to the devil ! " said Wolfgang.

" Come," replied the lady, glaring wildly on him — "come to the chapel ; we'll be
married this minute ! "

She held out her hand — Wolfgang took it. It was cold, damp — deadly cold ; and
on they went to the chapel.

As they passed out, the two pictures over the wall, of a gentleman and lady, tripped
lightly out of their frames, skipped noiselessly down to the ground, and making the
retreating couple a profound curtsey and bow, took the places which they had left at
the table.

Meanwhile the young couple passed on towards the chapel, threading innumerable
passages, and passing through chambers of great extent. As they came along, all the
portraits on the wall stepped out of their frames to follow them. One ancestor, of whom
there was only a bust, frowned in the greatest rage, because, having no legs, his
pedestal would not move ; and several sticking-plaster profiles of the former lords of
Windeck looked quite black at being, for similar reasons, compelled to keep their places.
However, there was a goodly procession formed behind Wolfgang and his bride ; and
by the time they reached the church, they had near a hundred followers.

The church was splendidly illuminated ; the old banners of the old knights glittered
as they do at Drury Lane. The organ set up of itself to play the Bridesmaid's Chorus.
The choir-chairs were fiUed with people in black.

" Come, love," said the pale lady.

" I don't see the parson," exclaimed Wolfgang, spite of himself rather alarmed.

"Oh, the parson ! that's the easiest thing in the world! I say, Bishop ! " said
the lady, stooping down.

Stooping down — and to what ? Wliy, upon my word and honour, to a great brass
plate on the floor, over which they were passing, and on which was engraven the figure
of a bishop — and a very ugly bishop, too — with crosier and mitre, and lifted finger, on
Avhich sparkled the episcopal ring. "Do, my dear lord, come and marry us," said the
lady, with a levity which shocked the feelings of her bridegroom.

The Bishop got up ; and directly he rose, a dean, who was sleeping under a large
slate near him, came bowing and cringing up to him ; while a canon of the cathedral
(whose name was Schidnischmidt) began grinning and making fun at the pair. The
ceremony was begun, and *******

As the clock struck twelve, young Otto bounded up, and remarked the absence of
his companion Wolfgang. The idea he had had, that his friend disappeared in com-
pany with a white-robed female, struck him more and more. " I will follow them," said
he ; and, calling to the next on the watch (old Snozo, who was right unwilling to
forego his sleep), he rushed away by the door through M'hich he had seen Wolfgau"- and
his temptress take their way.

That he did not find them was not his faidt. The castle was vast, the chamber
dark. There Avere a thousand doors, and what wonder that, after he had once lost
sight of them, the intrepid Childe should not be able to foUow in their steps ? As might
be expected, he took the wrong door, and M-andered for at least three hours about the
dark enormous solitary castle, calling out Wolfgang's name to the careless and indif-

196

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

ferent echoes, knocking his young shins against the ruins scattered in the darkness, but
still with a spirit entirely undaunted, and a firm resolution to aid his absent comrade.
Brave Otto ! thy exertions were rewarded at last !

For he lighted at length upon the very apartment where Wolfgang had partaken of
supper, and where the old couple who had been in the picture-frames, and turned out to
be the lady's father and mother, were now sitting at the table.

" Well, Bertha has got a husband at last," said the lady,

" After waiting four hundred and fifty -three years for one, it was quite time," said
the gentleman. (He was dressed in powder and a pigtail, quite in the old fashion.)

"The husband is no great things," continued the lady, taking snuff: "A low
fellow, my dear : a butcher's son, I believe. Did you see how the wretch ate at
supper ? To think my daughter should have to marry an archer ! "

" There are archers and archers," said the old man. " Some archers are snobs, as
your ladyship states ; some, on the contrary, are gentlemen by birth, at least, though

not by breeding. Witness young Otto, the Landgrave of Godesberg's son, who is
listening at the door like a lackey, and whom I intend to run through the — "

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 197

" Law, Baron ! " said the lady,

" I will, thougli," replied the Baron, drawing an immense sword, and glaring round
at Otto : hut though at the sight of that sword and that scowl a less valorous youth
■would have taken to his heels, the undaunted Childe advanced at once into the apart-
ment. He wore round his neck a relic of St. Buffo (the tip of the saint's ear, which
had been cut off at Constantinople). " Fiends I I command you to retreat ! " said he,
holding up this sacred charm, which his mamma had fastened on him ; and at the sight
of it, with an unearthly yell, the ghost of the Baron and the Baroness sprung hack into
their picture-frames, as Clown goes through a clock in a pantomime.

He rushed through the open door by which the unlucky Wolfgang had passed with
his demoniacal bride, and went on and on through the vast gloomy chambers lighted by
the ghastly moonshine : the noise of the organ in the chapel, the lights in the
kaleidoscopic windows, directed him towards that edifice. He rushed to the door : 'twas
barred ! He knocked : the beadles were deaf. He applied his inestimable relic to the
lock, and — whizz ! crash ! clang I bang ! whang ! — the gate flew open ! the organ
went off in a fugue — the lights quivered over the tapers, and then went off towards the
ceiling — the ghosts assembled rushed away with a skurry and a scream — the bride
howled, and vanished — the fat bishop waddled back under his brass plate — the dean
flounced down into his family vault — and the canon Schidnischmidt, who was making a
joke, as usual, on the bishop, was obliged to stop at the very point of his epigram, and
to disappear into the void whence he came.

Otto fell fainting at the porch, while Wolfgang tumbled lifeless down at the altar-
steps ; and in this situation the archers, when they arrived, foimd the two youths.
They were resuscitated, as we scarce need say ; but when, in incoherent accents, they
came to tell their wondrous tale, some sceptics among the archers said — " Pooh ! they
were intoxicated! " while others, nodding their older heads, exclaimed — *' They have seen
the Lady of Windeck ! " and recalled the stories of many other young men, who,
inveigled by her devilish arts, had not been so lucky as Wolfgang, and had dis-
appeared — for ever !

This adventure bound Wolfgang heart and soul to his gallant preserver ; and the
archers — it being now morning, and the cocks crowing lustily round about — pursued
their way without farther delay to the castle of the noble patron of ToxophiUtes, the
gallant Duke of Cleves.

CHAPTER X.

tS^'^t 3iJattIe of tljc auatotncn.

Although there lay an immense number of castles and abbeys between Windeck and
Cleves, for every one of which the guide-books have a legend and a ghost, who might,
with the commonest sti-etch of ingenuity, be made to waylay our adventurers on the
road ; yet, as the journey would be thus almost interminable, let us cut it short by
saying that the travellers reached Cleves without any farther accident, and found the
place thronged with visitors for the meeting next day.

And here it would be easy to describe the company which arrived, and make display
of antiquarian lore. Now we would represent a cavalcade of knights arriving, with their

VOL. I. NO. IX. D D

198 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

pages carrying their shining helms of gold, and the stout esquires, bearers of lance and
banner. Anon would arrive a fat abbot on his ambling pad, surrounded by the white-
robed companions of his convent. Here should come the glcemen and jongleurs, the
minstrels, the mountebanks, the jsarty-coloured gipsies, the dark-eyed nut-brown
Zigcunerinnen ; then a troop of peasants, chanting Rhine-songs, and leading in their
ox-drawn carts the peach-cheeked girls from the vine-lands. Next we would depict the
litters blazoned with armorial bearings, from between the broidercd curtains of which
peeped out the swan-like necks and the haughty faces of the blonde ladies of the castles.
But for these descriptions we have not space ; and the reader is referred to the account
of the tournament in the ingenious novel of Ivanhoe, whei-e the above phenomena are
described at length. Suffice it to say, that Otto and his companions arrived at the town
of Cleves, and, hastening to a hostel, reposed themselves after the day's march, and
prepared them for the encounter of the morrow.

That morrow came ; and as the sports were to begin early, Otto and his comrades
hastened to the field, armed with their best bows and arrows, you may be sure, and
eager to distinguish themselves, as were the multitude of other archers assembled.
They were from all neighbouring countries — crowds of English, as you may fancy,
armed with Murray's guide-books, troops of chattering Frenchmen, Jews with roulette-
tables, Frankfort and Tyrolese, Avith gloves and trinkets — all hied towards the field
where the butts were set up, and the archery practice w^as to be held. The Childe and
his brother archers were, it need not be said, early on the ground.

But what words of mine can describe the young gentleman's emotion when, preceded
by a band of trumpets, bagpipes, ophicleides, and other wind instruments, the Prince of
Cleves appeared with the Princess Helen, his daughter ? And, ah ! what expressions of
my humble pen can do justice to the beauty of that young lady ? Fancy every charm
which decorates the person, every virtue which ornaments the mind, every accomplish-
ment which renders charming mind and charming person doubly charming, and then
you will have but a faint and feeble idea of the beauties of her highness the Princess
Helen. Fancy a complexion such as they say (I know not with what justice) Rowland's
Kalydor imparts to the users of that cosmetic ; fancy teeth, to which orient pearls are
like Wallsend coals ; eyes, which were so blue, tender, and bright, that while they run
you through with then- lustre, they healed you with their kindness ; a neck and waist,
so ravishingly slender and graceful, that the least that is said about them the better ;
a foot which fell upon the flowers no heavier than a dewdrop — and this charming-
person, set off by the most elegant toilet that ever milliner devised I The lovely
Helen's hair (which was as black as the finest varnish for boots) was so long, that it
was borne on a cushion several yards behind her by the maidens of her train ; and a
hat, set off with moss-roses, sun-flowers, bugles, birds of paradise, gold lace, and pink
ribbon, gave her a distingue air, which would have set the editor of the Morning Post
mad with love.

It had exactly the same effect upon the noble Childe of Godesberg, as leaning on
his ivory bow, with his legs crossed, he stood and gazed on her, as Cupid gazed on
Psyche. Their eyes met : it was all over with both of them. A blush came at one
and the same minute budding to the cheek of either. A simultaneous throb beat
in those young hearts ! They loved each other for ever from that instant. Otto
still stood, cross-legged, enraptured, leaning on his ivory bow ; but Helen, calling
to a maiden for her pocket-handkerchief, blew her beautiful Grecian nose in order
to hide her agitation. Bless ye, bles? ye, pretty ones ! I am old now ; but not so

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 199

old but that I kindle at the tale of love. Theresa Mae Wlairter too has lived and
loved. Ileigho !

Who is that chief that stands behind the truck whereon are seated the Princess and
the stout old lord, her father ? Who is he whose hair is of the carroty hue ? whose
eyes, across a snubby bunch of a nose, are perpetually scowhng at each other ; who has
a hump-back, and a hideous mouth, surrounded with bristles, and crammed full of
jutting yellow odious teeth. Although he wears a sky-blue doublet laced with silver, it
only serves to render his vulgar punchy figure doubly ridiculous ; although his nether
garment is of salmon-coloured velvet, it only draws the more attention to his legs, which
are disgustingly crooked and bandy. A rose-coloured hat, with towering pea-green
ostrich plumes, looks absurd on his bull head ; and though it is time of peace, the
vn-etch is armed with a midtiplicity of daggers, knives, yataghans, dirks, sabres, and
scimitars, which testify his truculent and bloody disposition. ' Tis the terrible Rowsky
de Donnerblitz, Margrave of Eidenschreckenstein. Report says he is a suitor for the
hand of the lovely Helen. He addresses various speeches of gallantry to her, and grins
hideously as he thrusts his disgusting head over her lily shoidder. But she turns away
from him ! turns and shudders — aye, as she woidd at a black dose !

Otto stands gazing still, and leaning on his bow. "What is the prize? " asks
one archer of anotlier. There are two prizes — a velvet cap, embroidered by the hand
of the Princess, and a chain of massive gold, of enormous value ; both he on cushions
before her.

"I know which I shall choose, when I -mn the first prize," says a swarthy,
savage, and bandy-legged archer, who bears the owl gules on a black shield, the
cognisance of the Lord Rowsky de Donnerblitz.

" Which, fellow ? " says Otto, turning fiercely upon him.

" The chain, to be sure ! " says the leering archer. " You do not suppose I am
such a flat as to choose that velvet gimcrack there ? " Otto laughed in scorn, and
began to prepare his bow. The trumpets sounding proclaimed that the sports were
about to commence.

Is it necessary to describe them ? No : that has ah-eady been done in the novel of
Ivanhoe, before mentioned. Fancy the archers clad in Lincoln green, all coming
forward in turn, and firing at the targets. Some hit, some missed ; those that missed
were fain to retire amidst the jeers of the midtitudinous spectators. Those that hit
began new trials of skill ; but it was easy to see, from the first, that the battle lay
between Squintoff" (the Rowsky archer) and the young hero, Avith the golden hair and
the ivory bow. SquintofF's fame as a marksman was known throughout Europe ; but
who was his young competitor ? Ah I there was 07ie heart in the assembly that beat
most anxiously to know. 'Twas Helen's.

The crowning trial arrived. The bull's-eye of the target, set up at three quarters
of a mile distance from the archers, was so small, that it required a very clever man
indeed to see, much more to hit it ; and as Squintoff" was selecting his arrow for the
final trial, the Rowsky flung a purse of gold towards his archer, saying — "Squintoff',
an ye win the prize, the purse is thine." " I may as well pocket it at once, your
honour," said the bowman, with a sneer at Otto. " This young chick, who has been
lucky as yet, will hardly hit such a mark as that ; " and, taking his aim, Squintoff" dis-
charged his arrow right into the very middle of the bull's-eye.

"Can you mend that, young springald ? " said he, as a shout rent the air at his
success, as Helen turned pale to think that the champion of her secret heart was likely

200 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

to be overcome, and as Squintoff, pocketing the Rowsky's money, turned to the noble
boy of Godesberg.

" Has anybody got a pea ? " asked the lad. Everybody laughed at his droll
request ; and an old woman, who was selUng porridge in the crowd, handed him the
vegetable which ho demanded. It was a dry and yellow pea. Otto, stepping up to the
target, caused Squintoff to extract his arrow from the bidl's-eye, and placed in the
orifice made by the steel point of the shaft, the pea which he had received from the old
woman. He then came back to his place. As he prepared to shoot, Helen was so
overcome by emotion, that 'twas thought she would have fainted. Never, never had
she seen a being so beautiful as the young hero now before her !

He looked almost divine. He flung back his long clusters of hair from his bright
eyes and tall forehead ; the blush of health mantled on his cheek, from which the
barber's weapon had never shorn the down. He took his bow, and one of his most
elegant aiTows, and, poising himself lightly on his right leg, he flung himself forward,
raising his left leg on a level with his ear. He looked like Apollo, as he stood balancing
himself there. He discharged his dart from the thrumming bowstring : it clove the
blue air — whizz !

" He has split the pea ! " said the Princess, and fainted. The Rowskj, with one
eye, hui-led an indignant look at the boy, while with the other, he levelled (if aught so
crooked can be said to level anything) a furious glance at his archer.

The archer swore a sulky oath. " He is the better man ! " said he. " I suppose,
young chap, you take the gold chain ? ' '

" The gold chain?" said Otto. " Prefer a gold chain to a cap worked by your
august hand ? Never ! " and, advancing to the balcony where the Princess, who now
came to herself, was sitting, he kneeled down before her, and received the velvet cap,
which, blushing as scarlet as the cap itself, the Princess Helen placed on his golden
ringlets. Once more their eyes met — their hearts thrilled. They had never spoken,
but they knew they loved each other for ever.

" Wilt thou take service with the Rowsky of Donnerblitz ? " said that individual to
the youth. " Thou shalt be captain of my archers in place of yon blundering nincom-
poop, whom thou hast overcome."

"Yon blundering nincompoop is a skilful and gallant archer," replied Otto,
haughtily ; " and I wiU not take service with the Rowsky of Donnerblitz."

"Wilt thou enter the household of the Prince of Cleves?" said the father of
Helen, laughing, and not a httle amused at the haughtiness of the humble archer.

" I would die for the Duke of Cleves and hisfamili/," said Otto, bowing low. He
laid a particular and a tender emphasis on the word family. Helen knew what he meant.
She was the family. In fact, her mother was no more, and her papa had no other
offspring.

" What is thy name, good fellow ? " said the Prince, that my steward may enrol
thee.

^' Sir," said Otto, again blushing, " I am Otto the Archer."

THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY. 201

THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY.

BY BALZAC D'ANOIS.

The youtli, whom we shall call " Tom " — and nothing but " Tom " — was one of
those individuals who lahour with a fierce, burning anxiety, to burst through the
trammels imposed upon them by a limited education, — one of those votaries of science,
whose energy seems to grow all the more, because it has nothing to feed upon. He wag
very slightly formed, and had eyes so bright and shining, that when one gazed on him,
one was inclined to overlook all his other thin, sharply-defined features. Never was
there a more complete appearance of a clear intelligence in a corporeal form.

The few halfpence which Tom was enabled to save from his scanty earnings at a
laborious trade, he regularly expended at the book-stall, and on one occasion was
highly delighted at jjicking up a small book on Anatomy. The work was one of those
that had long been superseded by more modern and better treatises, and the little plates
were as ill and coarsely done as possible. Nevertheless, with him It had not the
disadvantage of comparison. He thought it a mine of science yet unexplored, and he
sufi'ered his whole soid to be absorbed by it.

In a few weeks he had transferred the entire contents of the work into his own
brain ; and though he invariably carried the book in his pocket, it was more out of
respect to it, as an old friend, than from any further benefit to be derived from it. The
names of every bone, cartilage, ligament, and muscle, of which he had read, were deeply
imprinted in his mind ; and he could have passed with glory through the sharpest
examination, provided it had been based on the contents of the little book.

But Tom, in spite of his knowledge, was too intelligent not to perceive the defective
state of his acquirements. He soon felt that his anatomy was, after all, a science of
names rather than of things ; that though he could have described accurately all the
intricate bones of the skull, and all the muscles of the exti-emities, his descriptions would
have been little more than a repetition of words committed to memory. He had not
seen a single real object connected with his science. If he could but have set eyes upon
a skeleton, what an advantage it would have been !

We once read of a celebrated anatomist, who, far from admiring human beauty,
regarded the skin as an impertinent obstacle to the acquisition of science, concealing, as
it does, the play of the muscles. Whether such a clear notion as this ever entered the
mind of our hero, we cannot say ; but certainly if some tall lean beggar passed him on
the road, he would clutch convulsively at his knife, and follow the man with a sad
wistful look.

One autumnal evening he sat in the ale-house parlour, watching the smoke of his
pipe, and indulging in his own reflections ; for though the conversation in the room was
noisy and animated, it had no interest for him. Devoted to his own pursuits, births,
deaths, and marriages, were to him things of nought, and he paid no heed to the
constant discussions which were held in the village on the extraordinary case of old
Ebenezer Grindstone, who had been thought extremely rich, but in whose house not a
farthing had been found after his decease, to the great disappointment of his creditors.

Soon, however, there was such a violent dash of rain against the window, that even
Tom was compelled to start, Avhen he saw the door open, and a stranger cuter, com-

202

THE ENTHUSIAST IN ANATOMY.

plctcly muffled in a cloak. The new-comer stood before the fire, as if to dry himself,
and seemed to be of the same taciturn disposition as Tom, for he made no answer to the
different questions that were addressed to him, nor did he even condescend to look at
the speakers. The shower having ceased, and the moon shining brightly through the
window, the stranger walked out again, without any sign of leave-taking.

" That be a queer chap," said the ostler. " I '11 run and see where he 's going," —
and he followed the stranger, who had awakened a curiosity in every one except Tom.
Scarcely five minutes had elapsed, when the ostler rushed into the room, pale as death.

" Udds huddikins ! " said he ; and it was not before a glass of spirits had been
poured down his throat, that he could state the cause of his alarm. " Old chap ju.st
gone out — got no proper face like — only a death's head — he just looked round on me in
the moon-light."

" Do you mean to say," exclaimed Tom, " that he is nothing but a skeleton ? "

" Aye — sure I do," said the ostler.

*' And which way did he go ? "

" Why, towards the churchyard, sure," said the ostler.

Tom waited for no more, but dashing down his pipe, he rushed out of the room, and
tore along the road to the churchyard. When he had got there, he saw the stranger
standing by the tomb of old Ebenezer Grindstone. The moon was shining full upon him.

and as Tom approached, the cloak fell down, leaving nothing but a bare skeleton

before him.

" Thank my stars ! " exclaimed Tom, " I have seen a skeleton at last I "

" Young man, " said the skeleton in a hollow voice, while it hideously moved its

jaws, " Attend ! "

HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE, BOOKS SHOULD BE READ. 203

" How beautifully, " cried Tom, enraptured, "can I sec the play of the lower
maxillary !"

"Attend!" repeated the skeleton; "but, rash man, what are you about?" it
added, turning suddenly round. The fact is, Tom was running his finger down the
vertebrge, and counting to see if their number corresponded with that given in his book.
" Seven cervical, twelve dorsal," he cried, with immense glee.

The skeleton lost all patience, and, raising its arm, shook its fist angrily at Tom,
who, with his eyes fixed on the elbow, merely shouted his joy, at perceiving the
"ginglymoid" movement.

The skeleton, who had been accustomed to terrify other people, was completely
amazed at the scientific position taken by the young anatomist. In fact, the most
extraordinary scene that can be conceived presently occurred ; for the apparition,
feeling panic-struck at Tom's coolness and scientific spirit, darted away from him, and
endeavoured to escape by dodging among the tombstones. Tom was too anxious to
pursue his studies to allow himself to be baffled in this way ; and putting forth all his
strength, soon overtook the skeleton, and held him tight. A conversation ensued, in
the course of which the skeleton explained that he was Old Grindstone himself, who
had buried a quantity of money under ground, and coidd not rest in peace till it was
dug up and distributed among the creditors. This office he requested Tom to perform.

" It will be some trouble," said Tom, " and the afi'air is none of mine — but look ye
— I 'm willing to comply with your request, if, as a reward, you will allow me to come
and study you every night for the next month. You may then retire to rest for as
long a time as you please."

" Agreed," said the skeleton ; and, quite recovered from his alarm, he shook
hands with Tom in ratification of the bargain.

Tom found the money, distributed it among the creditors, and passed every night for
the next month in the old churchyard, observing his beloved skeleton, which as it
moved into any position he desired, gave him an opportunity of studying the motion of
the bones, in a way that had not been enjoyed by any other anatomist.

The young enthusiast sitting at midnight with the strange assistant to his pursuits,
would have been a delightful sight, had any one possessed the courage to stop and look
at the party. When the month had expired, Tom and lus good friend shook hands and
parted with great regret ; but Tom had completely retained in his mind aU he had seen,
and laid the foundation of that profound anatomical science by which he was afterwards
so much distinguished.

It is needless to state that the above is the early history of the celebrated Dr.

and that all other accounts are baseless fabrications.

HOW, WHEN, AND W^HERE, BOOKS SHOULD BE READ.

Many a good book has been estimated at less than a trumpery Annual, because it has
not been properly read. There is as great a secret in reading a book, as there is in
reading the face of nature or a person's mind. A lovely landscape, or the most Raphaclic
countenance, would give any one, who sees them foi- the first time, but a poor notion of
their intrinsic beauty, if the one were veiled by a British fog, or the other were swollen
with a dreadful toothache. Precisely the same with books. A fit of bile or a tight

204 now, WHEN, AND WHERE, BOOKS SHOULD BE READ.

boot — a smoky room or a St. S within 's day — will make jingling prose of the most
musical poetry, and bring the Pleasures of Memory into the category of Paine on Man.
There is a season for books as there is for oysters ; they should be opened only at a
certain period, or else a divine Milton will go down with persons of no taste as nothing
better than a common native.

Such is our conviction that there is a time and place for the reading of books, that
we would not be reviewers for any consideration, not even if we were allowed ourselves
to review all the books we wrote. Only imagine a reviewer being obliged to read every
book that is sent to him, no matter when or Avhere ! No wonder such a number
of Spensers are prematurely cut down every year. Why, a princess battue is
nothing to a reviewer's ! In our opinion, every one of the tribe should be com-
pelled to take out a license to kill before he is allowed to sport over the reputations
(those valuable preserves!) of the literary public, making game of all their works.
Only think ! a headache might knock on the head a second Shakspere ! There
really should be a College of Health for critics ; for if Napoleon lost the battle of Leipsic
owing to a dish of haricots, it is just as natural to suppose that a Fielding is frequently
swamped in a bowl of punch, taken over-night by the too-luxurious critic. The head,
alas ! too often only sees through the stomach.

We hope, therefore, the following hints may be serviceable to critics, teaching them
how to cut up a book on the most humane pi-inciples. We would have the scalping-
knife tempered to the edge with mercy, and the critical rod kept in a milder pickle.
There are beauties in every book, as there are jewels in every toad's head — if a person
only knows where to look for them;

To enjoy Zimmerman, you should retire to some lonely spot, where even the voice
of Echo has not been heard — where the sole of a Wellington has never penetrated.
The interior of Leicester Square offers these great advantages. When you are
embosomed in the nettles that grow so luxuriantly in that beautiful wilderness, and are
fully imbued with the spirit of solitude that reigns around, then take out your
cherished Zimmerman, and you will feel the enjoyments of being alone in a manner
you never felt before.

The grave History of England should be studied at Astley's, where the stage is
an animated history in itself. Battles are being fiercely fought — twelve Frenchmen
licked by one British sailor — the English always victorious — fresh kings every night —
nothing but bloodshed, show, and tinsel ; but do not faint, or be indignant at this :
refer to your Hume and Smollett, and you will find the very same horrors and the
same absurdities going on as gravely in the book before you.

In the midst of Bilhngsgate Market, draw inspiration from the eloquent Parlia-
mentary debates. There deliberately spell them ; and the people around you, as they
soar in rival flights of classic oratory, wiU serve as running commentaries to the
text.

To commune with Byi-on you must throw your shirt-collar back, expose your
poetical neck, and brush your curly hair off your alabaster forehead. Then fancy
yourself very ill-used and miserable, and cast yourself at full length on the soft sward
under one of the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. The Kennington omnibuses, as they
peal loud thunder over your aching head, will be all that will remind you of the
existence of deceitful man and treacherous woman : and nothing will break the flowing
current of your melancholy, save the faint cries of the Thames bargemen swearing
in the distance.

HOW, WHEN, AND WHERE, BOOKS SHOULD BE READ.

205

To sympathise with the sufferings of Robinson Crusoe you should go out in a
wager-boat, and get wrecked with one shirt on the Isle of Dogs ; there build yourself a
hut with the remnants of your wherry, and read the masterpiece of Defoe whilst you
munch hard biscuit, and are exposed to the pelting of the pitiless storm. You will
then know what it really is to be cast on a desert island.

Seat yourself in the pit of the Victoria Theatre, and read Mrs. Radcliffe's
mysterious works. See, the inquisition room is full of masks ; a dismal lamp hangs
from the ceiling ; the dread executioner is in the room with his pincers. Between the
folds of a sepulchral curtain peeps the screw of the excruciating rack ; and hark ! the
shriek of a lovely female in distress breaks upon the affrighted car. All around
breathes of Italian treachery and English innocence.

The novels of Young England should be read in an apartment hung with baronial
cricket-bats, and stumps and wickets of the middle ages. The painted blinds should
represent a banquetting hall similar to the one at Rosherville Gardens, emblazoned with
the arms of " our old nobility," shedding their mild effidgence on a rich Mosaic
pavement of the proud Caucasian era. A handsome jerkin dress, with galligaskins
tipped with feudal partisans, and trunk-hose of Lincoln green, must be borrowed
of Nathan for the occasion ; have a cup of goodly sack by your side, and in a
few minutes you will be alternately weeping and laughing at Young England's
romance.

The oriental feeling that hangs about a cigar divan will harmonise best with the
gorgeous letters of the literal Lady Mary Wortley Montague. No jarring piece of
furniture of the present year is there to upset the voluptuous accuracy of the lady's
descriptions ! It is a region for luxury and smoke ; for chess, chibouks, and chicory
fresh every day from Constantinople.

The formal Chesterfield shoidd be dipped into only at the Grecian saloon, or at the

VOL. I. — NO. IX.

E E

206 THE OLD AND NEW NURSERY.

eightecnpcnny ordinary. There test the actions of every one hy the maxims of
yom' lordly preceptor, and you never will forget the value of them as long as you
live.

Revel with Old Chaucer only in an omnibus. The motley pilgrims that crowd in
and out, if you but follow them closely, will transport you to Canterbury in a way you
never could have done by stopping at home.

Thus, by our new system of reading — suiting the place to the book, and the book
to the place — the beauties of the author will be brought out a hundred-fold by the
genius loci. We only beg of our readers to try it. But should our plan become
popidar, as we expect it will, we must remind authors that, with every book they
publish, they will have to print a List of Directions how they wish it to be read ; or else
reviewers, in default of knowing, and not exactly finding out the way, may review the
work without reading it at all, and that would be no improvement upon the present
plan. The directions for reading our own book would be very simple, — " It may be
read anyhow, anywhere, and everywhere, being warranted to keep in every climate."

THE OLD AND NEW NURSERY.

To the reflecting philanthropist nothing can be clearer than that the delightful task
of rearing the tender thought, and teaching the young idea how to shoot, must, in
these days, be performed on an entirely new principle. The grand object of modern
education is the inculcation of Truth, which Is now in course of being pumped up from
that well at the bottom of which It has lain for so many ages.

Now the first shot which the young idea makes, is, through the external senses, at
the various objects surrounding it. Toys, therefore, are placed within the scope of its
vision, so that by shooting, as it were, at these targets it may hit ofi", whilst in arms, a
notion of things which it will afterwards meet with on its legs. Hence, very properly,
wooden houses, horses, dogs, cows, pigs, and sheep, are given to babies to play with.
Here, at the very outset of education, there are several most important improvements
to be made. A coach and horses was a very pretty plaything in our young days, but
steam has exploded the coach and horses, and well would it be if steam caused no
other explosion. Consequently, instead of a coach and horses, a child should have a
railway train ; though children would scarcely play as pretty games with railways as
those played by speculating shareholders. The Noah's Ark, too, of the Old Nursery
must be remodelled ; or at least a large addition must be made to the nmnber of its
inmates ; so that the improved Ark may correspond to the Zoological Gardens. The
New Nursery, also, should contain a section of the Earth, exhibiting its fossilised
strata, which might be termed a Companion to Noah's Ark. Instead of sets of
tea-things and knives and forks in miniature, the infant should be made to amuse itself
with little retorts, receivers, models of galvanic batteries, and other philosophical
implements, which will teach it to think rather of mental than of bodily food.
Oxygen and hydrogen are much higher objects of contemplation than mutton and
potatoes.

We will now develop our views with regard to education proper, and state what we

THE OLD AND NEW NURSERY. 207

consider to be the proper sort of education, beginning at the beginning ; that is, with
the A, B, C. We would do away Avith the old rhyming alphabet, and substitute for it
a new one which should really teach the child something besides its mere letters.
What does the infant learn by being told that —

" A was an Archer that shot at a frog ?"

The young idea should not be taught to shoot in this way, whence it derives nothing
but a lesson of gratuitous cruelty. So, when the little student comes to hear, in the
next place, that —

" B was a Butcher who kill'd a fat hog,"

the only fact presented to the mind is one calculated to mislead it, for butchers, gene-
rally speaking, do not kill hogs, either fat or lean ; this being the specific business of
the pork-butcher. The new rhyming alphabet should consist of a series of statements
of scientific and j^hilosophical facts ; as, for instance,

" A was an Alkali, Potash by name.
B was a Blowpipe for fusing the same."

Then C, of course, woxild be a chemist who performed the operation. D, to change
ground a little on the field of science, might be " A Disk like the face of the sun," and
" E an Eclipse taking place thereupon," and so on to Z Avhich might be Zinc, Zodiac,
Zenith, Zoophyte, or Zoology. In like manner, in teaching numeration, instead ui'
making the child repeat

" One two, buckle my shoe.
Three four, open the door,"

we would teach it to say, for example,

" One, two. Indigo 's blue.
Three, four. Copper 's an ore ;"

thus causing it, in a manner, to buckle-to to science, and opening to it the door of philo-
sophy. Words of one and two syllables having been mastered, and children being able
to read, we would put books of an entirely novel character, antl not the old childish
novels, into their hands. The Jack the Giant Killer of the new nursery should be an
Infant Genius, who made gigantic discoveries instead of killing giants. His namesake
of the Bean- Stalk should be a scientific little aeronaut. For the uninstructive legend
of St. George and the Di*agon we would substitute an antediluvian romance, wherein
the hero destroys an Ichthyosam-us, and we would refer our parallel to Beauty and the
Beast to the same period, under the title of Beauty and the Megatherium, or Great Beast,
or, which might be better, the Deinotherium, or Dreadful Beast. We shoidd then cause
Geology in joke to become Science in earnest, and in a similar manner wc would connect
all the other branches of philosophy with fun. The old nursery resounded with weeping
and waihng ; its besetting evil was a crying evil, to the disturbance of the rest and
comfort of parents and families. We would make the new nursery echo with merri-
ment, and set the juvenile table in a roar of the right sort, rendering its little inmates
philosophers — but laughing ones. And we will lay any bet that our plan of instruction,
if carried out in the new nursery, will make the yomig idea a sharper shooter than the
best shot in Her Majesty's Rifle Brigade.

208 SONGS OF THE SENTIMENTS.

SONGS OF THE SENTIMENTS.

It is a remarkable trait in the English character that a gentleman or lady with a
voice, and even without one, can adopt immediately the various feelings under which
sentimental songs are supposed to have been written. Thus an individual with a good
low G is seized with a desire to bid " Farewell to the Mountain," and he makes the
fm-ther discovery that it is " too lovely for him"; though he has never particularly
considered what amount of loveliness in the way of " sunlighted vales," and other
overwhelming beauties of nature, he has hitherto found himself proof against. Every
one is supposed to feel what he sings, and when a gentleman therefore strikes up "Oh,
give me but my Arab steed," he is supposed to be advertising, through the mediiun of
song, for an animal warranted to go quiet in the " battle field," and not to shy at the
sound of trumpets. If we are to judge by the diiference of the sentiment in songs for
difterent voices, high tenors appear to be always desperately in love, baritones
extremely ill-used and out of spirits, while basses are wrapt in such a cloud of gloom
that they are on terms of intimacy with King Death, whom they familiarly allude to as
" a rare old fellow."

Young ladies with little voices want to be butterflies, and the whole musical popula-
tion of the female sex has for the last year been dreaming it has " dwelt in marble
halls," a dream that the porter at the Reform Club, as well as hundreds of other
porters, may every day of their Ufe see reaUsed.

Though we are aware that the sentiments of songs cannot be adapted to the
peculiar situations of all the individuals who sing them, we are of opinion that ballads
might at least be written to suit particular classes, and we conclude this paper by an
adaptation of the celebrated "Marble Halls" as a "Song from the Chair," to be
sung in every large hall by the porter. -^^^n / -u, /- 1 < - c -

I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls.

With tradesmen and duns outside.
And a large assembly of morning calls.

In carriage pomp and pride.
There were crowds too great to count, and most

For bills unsettled came ;
But I also dreamt that at my post

I sat dosing all the same.

I dreamt that footmen raised their hand.

And knock 'd to a high degree.
With a noise few porters' ears could withstand.

But they wasted it all on me.
I dreamt that one of the noisy host

Came forth and bawl'd my name ;
But I also dreamt that fast as a post

I slept there all the same.

SONGS OF THE SENTIMENTS.

209

'.i^^UCL'^Y' <J C

cryu^.

f yV'^^^'^ ^^ CAuL^ -^^ \

210 ORDERS FOR THE PLAY.

ORDERS FOR THE PLAY.

AN EDITORIAL NUISANCE,

Sir, AthencEum, August llth.

I AM the Editor of a Sunday newspaper, the circulation of which is between
10,000 and 50,000. I should not have stated this fact, only I think it better to tell
you who I am before I venture to find fault. I beg to refer you, Sir, to the sixth
Number of your Table-Book. In an admirable article in that Number, in which you
feehngly narrate the miseries of an Editor, you have singularly omitted one, compared
to which all other miseries are positive luxuries. I allude. Sir, to the system of
" Orders."

I need not tell you an " Order " is the privilege a newspaper, with any pre-
tensions to circulation, enjoys of sending to any theatre or exhibition a piece of paper,
which admits the bearer free of expense. It generally franks two persons.

An Editor, as you know, has the power of exercising this privilege regularly once
a day with every theatre and exhibition in the town in which his newspaper rules the
taste. I have never had the patience to count the number of theatres and exhibitions
that are open in London, but including the Dioramas, Industrious Cockchafers, Infant
Grimaldis, and the sixpenny theatres in the suburbs, there cannot be one less, I am
sure, than one hundred. This makes one hundred orders the Editor has the power of
disposing of every day. Hence arises his greatest misery.

These one hundred orders are sure to bring two hundred letters ; — to say nothing
of the hundred persons who call on the Editor at all hours of the day : no matter
whether he is in the agonies of composition or not.

I myself am never free from these applications. I really wish aU the orders were
burnt in a heap in Smithfield Market. I cannot move out, or enter a room, but I am
driven into a corner for an order. I never go out to dinner, but I am sure the value of
what I eat and drink will be taken out at dessert in tickets. I cannot buy a pair of
gloves, or have a tooth pulled out, or pay a bill, or do the strangest action in life, but
the inquiry is certain to be, " You couldn't oblige me. Sir, with an order ? "

I say nothing of the injury these confounded orders do to the theatres and exhibitions
they are supposed to benefit — for, recollect, a person who has once tasted the pleasure
of going to a theatre for nothing, never thinks of paying again ; but I do inveigh
most indignantly against the perpetual bore they are to an Editor ! He must, in
common civiUty, answer every one of his letters ; this makes 200 letters a day. Those
persons he does not oblige — that is to say, fifty out of every hundred — call him all
sorts of complimentary names, and tell him, the first opportimity, what they think of
his " meanness."

The expense, too, is another consideration. I once promised an old General an
order for the opera. His wife was in the country. She came up sixty miles purposely,
spending some six pounds to save a paltry half-guinea. When the night came, I
found I had given away the order to some one else. The old gentleman fumed ; his wife
looked cats and dogs at me ; and the consequence was, that in order to save myself
being assailed through life as a " stupid, disobliging fellow," I rushed out and
bought them two tickets myself. A treat like this occurs generally once a-Aveek.

The greediness of some people, too, is revolting. Mothers with large families arc

SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ICHTHYOLOGY. 211

not content witli asking for a single order, but unblushingly write for tickets for two,
four, and six, "as the little ones are home for their holidays." You cannot gracefully
refuse a lady you have been dining with the day before, so you jump into a cab, and
lose a day in calling upon the Editor of this and the Editor of that, to beg for an order
for Astley's, till the requisite number is made up. Some voracious apphcants, also,
actually send for private boxes. I know a lady, who keeps her carriage and a black
footman, do this regularly twice a year.

Many inveterate beggars not only beg for themselves, but make a practice of
begging for their friends ; these friends, again, oblige their friends, and even their
friends' friends ; so, in signing an order, an Editor never knows whether he is sending
a chimney-sweep or a grand-duchess into a theatre — whether he is obliging his bosom
friend or his greatest enemy.

I only wonder the Editors of London do not form a league to put down all orders.
Their combined opposition would have the good effect of averting an evil which I am
positive is one of the real causes of the decline of the drama, besides relievino- them-
selves of a host of petty annoyances, which upset them regularly every day. As for
myself, I am resolved to assign my power of signing orders to my footman, to whom
I shall refer all my friends who do me the honour of applying for them. I shall invest
him with all my orders to-morrow.

I implore you. Sir, to do the same, and to exert all your influence in persuading
every Editor you know to hand over their odious privilege to one of their servants — for
instance, their boots or scullery-maid. Then, and not till then, will people be ashamed
to beg, and our profession will be relieved of a nuisance it has been exposed to ever
since free admissions have been the orders of the night.

If you can secure this reform, the Press of England will live to bless you, Sir, for
this suggestion of

Your brother Editor,

Dr. Dionysids S***h,

Trin Coll., Cambridge.

SOCIAL ZOOLOGY.— ICHTHYOLOGY.

Every day's experience will prove that there are in society a great many fish out of
water, and the Social Zoologist, though confining his observations to the human species,
wiU meet with many of the fish alluded to.

The most destructive creature belonging to this tribe is the Shark, or, as some
vulgarly call it, the Lawyer-fish, which Naturalists very naturally place in the family
of SqualidcB. The Social Shark, though including many of the legal class, has been
improperly identified with the genus alluded to, though the length of jaw, the immense
number and power of the teeth, the coldness of the blood, and repulsive hardness, which
are all characteristic of the Shark, are sometimes to be foimd in the Lawyer, which
may have given rise to the very odious comparison.

The Eel is a very strange fish, and the Social Zoologist is puzzled where to place
him. His windings and turnings, with the general slipperiness of his nature, would
seem to indicate that he belonged to the political tribe ; an hypothesis which is

212 TO AN OLD MAN.

strengthened by the fact that the Eel is often found on dry ground ; and there is
certainly no drier ground anywhere than the field of politics.

Other Social Zoologists have considered the Eel as a kind of Author-fish, in
consequence of his being able to exist even after having been cut to pieces, which is
often done by the Carp or Critical-fish, which is said to immerse itself so deep in the
mud that there is no getting hold of it. The classification of the Eel, as an Author-fish,
is further justified by the fact that some Eels are charged with electric fluid, while some
authors send forth shocking stufi", and thus assist the parallel.

The Flounder, or Flat-fish, is remarkable for having both its eyes on the same side
of the head ; and thus the social Flat-fish may always be hooked if any one will take
the trouble to get on the blind side of it. A fish of this description can of course only
see one side of every question, which seldom happens to be the right side, and after
floundering about for some time, it usually blunders into some net that has been
artfully spread for the purpose of catching it. Flat-fish are, some of them, very rich,
and include the Tm-bot tribe, which the Social Shark loves to feed upon. The same
class comprises what is termed the Dab, but this must be on the lucus a non lucendo
principle, for the social Flat-fish, if he attempts any achievement, is seldom found to be
a dab at it.

The Flying-fish is a very scaly creature, and ti-ies to keep its head above water
at the expense of others. When it has got all it can, it has recourse to flight ; but the
Gull, which is its natural enemy, will sometimes drop unexpectedly down upon it.

Of the Crustaceous Fish, the Social Ichthyologist finds few worth mentioning.
There is the well-known unboiled Lobster, or Police-fish, remarkable chiefly for casting
its shell ; that is to say, getting a new coat once a year : and it is a very awkward fish
for any one to fall into the claws of. " When the Lobster is completely equipped
in its new shell," we are told by Buffbn that " it appears to have grown by the
operation ;" and every one who has seen the Lobster, or Police-fish in his new coat, will
observe that he seems to have grown much greater by the change of attire. *' The
most common way of taking the Lobster," says Bufi'on, "is with a basket or pot, in
which they put the bait ; " and many a Police-fish has been taken in the same way by
a basket of provisions or a pot of porter, that the cook will frequently angle with.

TO AN OLD MAN.

AFTER HAFIZ.

In youth we saw thee cut thy teeth.
While the nurse, peeping from beneath,

Announced the news with glee ;
But now, as if wrought up to rage.
Retaliating on thine age —

We see thy teeth cut thee.

Kclnrn^^rQVt ^ IdiX^f-vil Tri|i. , oit Ot^ toniincnh

#. - ■ y»>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, <fec.

" We must have those ringlets of thine cut, good fellow," said the Duke of Cleves
good-naturedly, but wishing to spare the feelings of his gallant recruit. " 'Tis against
the regulation cut of my archer guard."

"Cut off my hair !" cried Otto agonised.

"Ay, and thine ears with it, yokel," roared Donnerblitz.

" Peace, noble Eulenschreckenstein," said the Duke with dignity, " let the Duke
of Cleves deal as he will with his own men-at-arms — and you, yomig Sir, unloose the
grip of thy dagger."

Otto, indeed, had convulsively grasped his snickersnee, with intent to plunge it into
the heart of the Rowski, but his politer feelings overcame him. " The Comit need not
fear, my lord, ' ' said he — ' ' a lady is present. ' ' And he took off his orangc-tawny cap and
bowed low. Ah ! what a pang shot through the heart of Helena, as she thought that
those lovely ringlets must be shorn from that beautiful head !

Otto's mind was too in commotion. His feelings as a gentleman — let us add, his
pride as a man — for who is not, let us ask, proud of a good head of hair ? — Avaged
war within his soul. He expostulated with the Prince. "It was never in his
contemplation," he said, " on taking service, to undergo the operation of hair-cutting."

" Thou art free to go or stay, Sir archer," said the Prince pettishly. " I will have
no churls imitating noblemen in my sei-vice ; I will bandy no conditions with archers of

my guard."

" My resolve is taken," said Otto, irritated too in his tiu-n. " I will . . ."

" What!" cried Helena, breathless with intense agitation.

" I will stay," answered Otto. The poor girl almost fainted with joy. The
Rowski frowned with demoniac fury, and grinding his teeth and cm-sing in the horrible
German jargon stalked away. " So be it," said the Prince of Cleves, taking his
daughter's arm — " and here comes Snipwitz, my barber, who shall do the business for
you." With this the Prince too moved on, feeling in his heart not a little compassion

226

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

for the lad ; for Adolf of Clevcs had been handsome in his youth, and distinguished for
the ornament of which he was now depriving his archer.

Snipwitz led the poor lad into a side-room, and there — in a word — operated upon
him. The golden curls — fair curls that his mother had so often played with ! — fell
under the shears and round the lad's knees, until he looked as if he was sitting in a
bath of sunbeams.

Wlien the frightful act had been performed, Otto, who entered the little chamber
in the tower, ringletted like Apollo, issued from it as cropped as a charity-boy.

See how melancholy he looks, now that the operation is over ! — And no wonder. He
was thinking what would be Helena's opinion of him, now that one of his chief personal
ornaments was gone. " Will she know me?" thought he, " will she love me after this
hideous mutilation ?"

Yielding to these gloomy thoughts, and, indeed, rather unwilling to be seen by his
comrades, now that he was so disfigured, the young gentleman had hidden himself
behind one of the buttresses of the wall, a prey to natural despondency, Avhen he saw
something whi.ch instantly restored him to good spirits. He saw the lovely Helena
coming towai'ds the chamber where the odious barber had performed upon him, —
coming forward timidly, looking round her anxiously, blushing with delightful agitation,
— and presently seeing, as she thought, the coast clear, she entered the apartment.
She stooped down, and, ah ! what was Otto's joy when he saw her pick up a beautifid
golden lock of his hair, press it to her lips, and then hide it in her bosom ! No car-

nation ever blushed so redly as Helena did when she came out after performing this ,
feat. Then she hurried straightway to her own apartments in the castle, and Otto,

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 227

whose first impulse was to come out from his hiding-place, and, falling at her feet, call
Heaven and Earth to witness to his passion, with difficulty restrained his feelings, and
let her pass : hut the love-stricken young hero was so delighted with this evident proof
of reciprocated attachment, that all regret at losing his ringlets at once left him, and
he vowed he would sacrifice not only his hair, hut his head, if need were, to do her
service.

That very afternoon, no small bustle and conversation took place in the castle, on
account of the sudden departure of the Rowski of Eulenschreckenstein, with all his
train and equipage. He went away in the greatest wrath, it was said, after a long and
loud conversation with the Prince. As that potentate conducted his guest to the gate,
walking rather demm-ely and shamefacedly by his side, as he gathered his attendants in
the court, and there mounted his charger, the Rowski ordered his trumpets to sound, and
scornfully flung a largesse of gold among the servitors and men-at-arms of the house
of Cleves, Avho were marshalled in the court. " Farewell, Sir Prince," said he to his
host ; "I quit you now suddenly ; but remember, it is not my last visit to the Castle of
Cleves ;" and, ordering his band to play " See the Conquering Hero comes," he
clattered away through the drawbridge. The Princess Helena was not present at his
departiu"e ; and the venerable Prince of Cleves looked rather moody and chap-fallen
when his guest left him. He visited all the castle defences pretty accurately that
night, and inquired of his officers the state of the ammunition, provision, &c. He said
nothing ; but the Princess Helena's maid did : and everybody knew that the Rowski
had made his proposals, had been rejected, and, getting up in a violent fui'y, had
called for his people, and sworn by his great gods that he would not enter the castle
again until he rode over the breach, lance in hand, the conqueror of Cleves and all
belonging to it.

No little consternation was spread through the garrison at the news. For every-
body knew the Rowski to be one of the most intrepid and powerful soldiers in all Ger-
many, — one of the most skilful generals. Generous to extravagance to his own followers,
he was ruthless to the enemy : and a hundred stories were told of the dreadful bar-
barities exercised by him in several towns and castles which he had captured and
sacked. And poor Helena had the pain of thinking, that in consequence of her refusal
she was dooming all the men, women, and children of the principality to indiscriminate
and horrible slaughter.

The dreadful surmises regarding a war received in a few days drcadfid confirmation.
It was noon, and the worthy Prince of Cleves was taking liis dinner (though the
honest warrior had little appetite for that meal for some time past), when trumpets
were heard at the gate ; and presently the herald of the Rowski of Donncrblitz, clad
in a tabard on which the arms of the Count were blazoned, entered the diniug-hall.
A page bore a steel gauntlet on a cushion ; Bleu Sanglier had his hat on his head.
The Prince of Cleves put on his own as the herald came up to the chair of state where
the Sovereign sate.

" Silence for Bleu Sanglier," cried the Prince, gravely. " Say your say, Sir
Herald."

'* In the name of the high and mighty Rowski, Prince of Donncrblitz, Margrave
of Eulenschreckenstein, Count of Krijtenwald, Schnauzestadt, and Galgonhiigel,
hereditary Grand Bootjack of the Holy Roman Empire — to you, Adolf the Twenty-
third, Prince of Cleves, I, Bleu Sanglier, bring war and defiance. Alone, and
lance to lance, or twenty to twenty in field or in fort, on plain or on mountain, the

228 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

noble Rowski defies you. Here, or wherever lie shall meet you, he proclaims war to
the death between you and him. In token whereof, here is his glove." And taking
the steel glove from the page, Bleu Boar flung it clanging on the marble floor.

The Princess Helena turned deadly pale : but the Prince with a good assurance
flung down his own glove, calling upon some one to raise the Rowski's ; which Otto
accordingly took up and presented to him, on his knee.

" Boteler, fill my goblet," said the Prince to that functionary, who, clothed in tight
black hose with a white kerchief, and a napkin on his dexter arm, stood obsequiously by
his master's chair. The goblet was filled with Malvoisie : it held about three quarts ;
a precious golden hanap carved by the canning artificer, Benvenuto the Florentine.

" Drink, Bleu Sanglier," said the Prince, " and put the goblet in thy bosom. Wear
this chain, furthermore, for my sake." And so saying, Prince Adolf flimg a
precious chain of emeralds round the herald's neck. " An invitation to battle was ever
a welcome call to Adolf of Cleves." So saying, and bidding his people take good care
of Bleu Sanglier 's retinue, the Prince left the hall with his daughter. All were
marvelling at his dignity, courage, and generosity.

But, though aff"eeting unconcern, the mind of Prince Adolf was far from tranquil.
He was no longer the stalwart knight who, in the reign of Stanislaus Augustus, had,
with his naked fist, beaten a lion to death in three minutes ; and alone had kept the
postern of Peterwaradin for two hours against seven hundi-ed Turkish janissaries,
who were assailing- it. Those deeds which had made the heir of Cleves famous were
done thirty years syne. A free liver since he had come into his principality, and of a
lazy turn, he had neglected the athletic exercises which had made him in youth so
famous a champion, and indolence had borne its usual fruits. He tried his old battle-
sword — that famous blade with which, in Palestine, he had cut an elephant-driver in
two pieces, and split asunder the skull of the elephant which he rode. Adolf of Cleves
could scarcely now lift the weapon over his head. He tried his armour. It was too
tight for him. And the old soldier burst into tears, when he found he could not buckle
it. Such a man was not fit to encounter the terrible Rowski in single combat.

Nor could he hope to make head against him for any time in the field. The
Prince's territories were small. His vassals proverbially lazy and peaceable. His
treasury empty. The dismallest prospects were before him : and he passed a sleepless
night writing to his friends for succour, and calculating with his secretary the small
amount of the resources which ho could bring to aid him against his advancing and
powerful enemy,

Helena's piUow that evening was also unvisited by slumber. She lay awake
thinking of Otto, — thinking of the danger and the ruin her refusal to marry had brought
upon her dear Papa. Otto, too, slept not : but his Avaking thoughts were brilliant and
heroic : the noble Childe thought how he shoidd defend the Princess, and win los and
honour in the ensuinej combat !

{To he continued.)

VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845. 229

VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845.

(The following is the substance of a paper which was read before the " SociSte des Monumens Antiqwes"
at Paris, on the 15th of September last. It created a great sensation at the time, and the Boulogne Dili-
gences of Messrs. LaiEtte et Caillard have been crowded ever since. Scientific men are outrunning one
another in rushing to London, with the view of exploring its interesting ruins. Monsieur Pierre dc la
Viel-Pompe, the talented author of this antiquarian paper, is already favourably known to science, by his
celebrated " Researches amongst the AVlieelbarrows of England," which was read with such rapture at the
last meeting of the Antiquarian Society.)

" I started ou August the 29tb. I took Avitli me a small basket of provisions, a
flask of eau sucree, a cotton pocket-handkerchief, on which was printed a map of
London, a thick stick to keep the dogs off, a gig umbrella, and a mackintosh, — for
during the Vauxhall season the rain in London is incessant — and, hiring a guide
from the Blind Asylum, I made a bargain with him, that his dog was not to leave me
till he had shown everything worth seeing. We started at daybreak. Here and there
we passed the humble stall of a picturesque apple-woman ; occasionally we stopt to write
down the classic inscription of a venerable old pump ; and, finally, in the midst of a;s
great a degree of solitude as one meets with in the Theatre Frangais, or on the Pont
des Arts, I foimd myself all of a sudden walking on the wood pavement of a city — a
city apparently of the dead — the depopulated London. There is something truly awful
in this sudden starting up before us of the ruins of a city, in which not a living soul is
to be found, and in which we know each street was a throbbing artery of busy life but a
little month ago.

" We at length came to a place called a Square, because it has seven sides to it.
Two little battered fountains were still playing, and my guide infonned me, they had
originally been built in honour of a great battle, won by the English over the French,
called Trafalgar, I need not interrupt my narrative by mentioning, that no such battle
is alluded to in French history. But, even admitting the victory, I can only say
that the miserable aspect of the fountains is a playful satire upon it, and clearly shows
the English never thought much of it. The whole square is, in fact, a melancholy
libel upon the name it bears. At one end a low building, the windows of which
have been bricked up, is half buried in the ground, and opposite to it is a lanky
column, standing on a pedestal of rubbish, which is defended by an enceinte contimiee
of wooden walls. Here Ave met with one of the first signs of vitality. An old
gentleman, who seemed to have the snow of forty years upon his brow, was throwing
pebbles into one of the basins, which fed the sickly fountains. I endeavoured to
approach him, but he hastened away, evidently alarmed at the sight of a human being.

" After this, we visited another square, christened after the well-known Earl of
Leicester. The interior of this place was choked up with weeds, which seemed to afford
a capital jungle for a horde of wild cats, who were ravaging the plantation in all direc-
tions. My guide told me there were the remains of an equestrian statue in the centre ;
but, though I put on my spectacles, I coidd sec nothing but a black head peeping over
the rank vegetation, as if it were a scarecrow planted there to frighten away the
savage animals who made the wilderness their daily haunt.

" Hastening away from this dreary spot, we reached a long avenue of houses,
wliich, though Regent-street was written up in several places, I have taken the

VOL. I. NO. X. II 11

230 VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845.

liberty to call the Street of Tombs. It was painfully lonely ; the grass was growing
on the pavement. Some shops were open, but most of them half closed, looking
pictures of insolvency; one had written over it 'Awful Failure,' and another was
covered with enormous bills, announcing an ' Alarming Sacrifice, ' — ' in consequence of
the proprietor retiring to the sea-side. ' Not a person was to be seen. I looked in at a
pastry-cook's ; mice were running about the stale tarts ; the sponge cakes looked like
pumice-stones ; one Bath bun had the dust of months upon it, and the jelly glasses
were filled with dead Hies. I fled from this painful spectacle, and summoned courage
to enter a place over which was written ' Verey's.' Some empty coffee cups were lying
about the tables ; a Times newspaper, almost black with age, was lying across a chair.
I ventured to look at its date ; it was July the 16th ! Not a soul, then, had entered
this once crowded spot for nearly six weeks I I felt very uncomfortable, but looked
I'ound once more. I discovered a cigar, half burnt, lying on the ledge of a looking-
glass ; it was clear the owner had left it there in the hurry of his flight, for fear of
remaining the last in this lonely place. Before leaving, I raised my voice as well as I
could, and cried out • Garden. ' I heard the word repeated several rooms off, till,
gradually becoming fainter, the ' gon' was echoed almost inaudibly at the end of the
street. I felt inclined to weep at my extreme solitude. I respected, however, the
property that was about me, and did not take anything away with me.

" After this I wandered through streets and squares, the guide and his dog that
went before me being the only living things in this sepulchral town. A church clock
that was still going cheered me, however, for a while. It was at least a proof of the
recent existence of man. A foot-print, too, in the mud, buoyed up my sinking spirits.
it was as a flower in the desert. Some oyster-shells also gave me peculiar pleasure,
for as the oyster season only commences in England on the 5th of August, I reckoned,
by the number of shells, that there must have been four men less than a month ago
in this part of London : tliis somewhat revived me.

" We passed a number of shops — but I did not see a soul in any one of them.
The number of ' Ale and Sandwich ' shops is surprising, and proves that the con-
sumption of sandwiches in England must be enormous. A sandwich is a thin piece of
ham put between two thinner pieces of bread. It is very dry, and that is the reason
why the ale is always sold with it. A thick layer of mustard is always spread on the
bread, to make people drink the more. I have great pleasure in submitting a specimen
of the English sandwich to yom- notice. I beg you will pass it round the room, and
let the ladies examine it.

" The theatres, of course, were closed. I managed to get into the one the
English most patronise — the Italian Opera House. The interior of the theatre pre-
sented, as well as I could see — for immense cobwebs hung in festoons from side to side
— nothing but an immense amphitheatre of brown holland, which must look very bad
when it is lighted up at night. Two other theatres, the one in a Garden, the other in
a Lane, are fitted up in the same style of decoration. Over the portico of the latter
is a statue of Shakspeare ; my guide could not tell me anything about him ; he
believes he was an author, whose plays were acted some thirty years ago.

" I was lucky enough to see the interior of one of the London Houses. A printed
notice was hanging up in the window of " A Room for a Single Gentleman to let."
I ventured to knock at the door. It Avas opened by a young, ghost-looking woman,
whose hungry looks somewhat frightened me.

" She showed me over the house. The little furniture that was left in the place

VISIT TO LONDON IN THE AUTUMN OF 1845. 231

was very striking*. Some portraits of herself and a gentleman, taken all in black,
seemed to me so very peculiar tliat T have taken sketches of them. It seems to be a

style of portraiture admirably adapted for countries where there is a large negro
population. I was told that the artists who take them live mostly on steamers, or at
the sea-side, and that they use no brushes, but take them with a pair of scissors. If
this is true, it is very wonderful, and deserves further investigation.

" After this my attention was directed to the mantelpiece. The ornaments were
singularly English. They included a fine specimen of stone fruit, a peach cut in half
purposely, to show the stone, a chimney-sweep, dressed in black velvet, with two bits of
yellow tinsel for his eyes, a china cow, with a gold tree growing out of his head ; and
a wooden apple, which contains a set of wooden tea-cups, spoons, and saucers, — for
the use, I suppose, of English fairies.

" This apartment Avas on the ground-floor. She then showed me the bedroom,
which was on the floor above. As I did not see the bed, I asked to look at it. She
pointed to a chest of drawers. I laughed at the notion of sleeping, like a boa-constrictor,
in a drawer four feet by two, and went to open one of them, to see if it were possible
by any stretch, or rather the reverse of one, to get into it, when the chest opened in
the middle, and a mattress and bedding fell instantly upon me, and broke my hat in.
The good woman turned the bed up again, and laughed at my innocence, b\it all I
can say is, if Englishmen are in the habit of sleeping in such cupboards, they must
sleep with their heads downwards and their feet dangling in the air. for the pillow is
at the bottom of the chest.

" I visited another house, for I found tliat houses were to let in every direction.
Most of the windows were darkened Avith the shutters, and all London looked as if it
had been stricken with a new plague, and every house was mourning the loss of its
inmates. I asked myself if it could be the eff'ect of the Income Tax, but received no
answer.

" I was tired, and felt too melancholy to pursue my researches. So I sat down on
a door step, and taking out my eon micree, refreshed myself. I laid my handkerchief
over my knees, and was preparing to enjoy my frugal repast, when a singular wild
creature came up some steps that were underground of a large house opposite. I
described him to my guide as a morose-looking animal witli immense whiskers, an

232 THE UNLUCKY QUESTION.

oilskin cape, and spray feet. He told mc he was a policeman. To my astonishment,
this man came up to mo, and taking hold of me hy the collar, told me I must ' move
on.' I thought it folly to argue with a man who clearly showed he had no notion of
civihty, so, without felling him on the spot, I ohcycd his surly injunction.

" I was getting very hungry, and longed to get back to my hotel at Little Chelsea.
I paid the blind man liberally for the few hours I had engaged his dog, and, taking my
hat off to him, wished him a good day.

" I had turned the corner of the street, Avhen it struck me I might as well ask him
one or two questions about the deserted state of London.

" Accordingly I ran back, and asked him what had become of all the inhabitants ?
' Oh ! they be plenty of folks left in London still, sir, if you only goes to the proper
part of town to look for 'em.' * Nonsense, my good man,' I said, nearly losing my
temper, ' look about you, and you will see there 's not a person to be seen. ' ' Yes,
sir, all the folks hereabouts, sir, has gone to the seaside ; they can't abide London,
at this time of the year. ' I saw the stupid fellow could give me no information, so I
left him, with an unutterable feeling of pity for his ignorance. All the lower classes
are sadly uneducated in England.

" My visit, however, was not without some fruit. I have brought away with
me many curious specimens of the arts and sciences and manufactures of the Londoners.
I beg to show you one of their drinking vessels. It is made, I am told, of pewter. We
have nothing like it in our own country. It will hold a quart, but an Englishman will
empty it at one draught. Their drink is a beer that is thickened with treacle. I beg
to offer you, gentlemen, a wine-glassful, just to taste it. Their pipes are made of a
sort of refined mud, and their tobacco is grown in large market-gardens in the neigh-
bourhood of London.

" I shall never forget my visit to London. My revelations, I think, form a new era
in the history of cities. If the French are desirous of taking London, now is their time
or never, — as there is not an inhabitant left in the place to defend it."

THE UNLUCKY QUESTION.

BY BALZAC D'ANOIS.

Don Alvarez had passed through some fivc-and-thirty years of his life without the
incumbrance of a single virtue, imless a kind of brutal courage which he had in common
with the buU-dog, deserved that name. Nevertheless, he was in great favour with
the Government and the Inquisition, for he showed a peculiar talent in hunting out
the Moors ; and was, in fact, a kind of caterer for the dungeon and the rack.

This sort of talent, advantageous as it was in some sort to the possessor, was not of
a kind to produce universal aftection. A kind of low murmur reached the ears of Don
Alvarez, to the effect that his days might be terminated at no distant period ; and a
wish for his decease was observed to be prevalent not only among the Moorish part of
the population, but also among several Christians whose families he had wronged.
Therefore did Don Alvarez feel a constant uneasiness respecting his personal safety,
and was remarkably anxious to know how long he had a chance of living.

One day, when walking through a wood, he was suddenly accosted by a very

THE UNLUCKY QUESTION. 233

ordinary-looking Moorish girl, dressed in a very <^lingy costume, and with a sliabby-
genteel turban on her head.

" You wish to know how long you will last, Senor," said the girl.

" Right ! " exclaimed the startled Alvarez.

" Then you have only to shew the palm of your hand to poor Zamora, and she will
inform you."

"Zamora!" said the Don, "who is — oh, exactly — you are Zamora. But I
thought the art of chiromancy belonged rather to the Gyps}"^ than the Moor ?

" Tliat is my affair!" said Zamora, fretfully; "As long as I can give you the
information you require, it is quite sufficient for your purpose."

Alvarez admitted the justice of the reproof, and exhibited his hand.

" Oh ! " cried the girl, with a toss of her head ; " Your business is soon settled,"

" Business soon settled ! That is an ominous phrase." thought Alvarez.

" You will live for " ^AHien Zamora had got so far, down went a black cloak

over her head, and deprived her of the power of further utterance. Some emissaries of
the Inquisition, who had been concealed among the trees, had captured her.

" Stop a moment ! " involuntarily ejaculated Don Alvarez.

" Think yourself fortunate, Senor," said the chief of the party, " that your known
enmity to this accursed race places you above the reach of suspicion. Had it been
otherwise, we should have made you a prisoner also." Don Alvarez talked largely
about the services he had done to the Inquisition ; but finding all he said was of
no avail, he walked off, grumbling as he went.

Poor Zamora appeared a few weeks after as one of the victims of a grand Azito da
Fe, at which Alvarez, who was a great connoisseur in such matters, attended as
a spectator. She passed him on her way to the pile that was to consume her, and to
his astonishment, no sooner set her eyes upon him, than she bm-st into a loud fit of
laughter, at the same time flinging to him very dexterously a bit of crumpled paper,
which he immediately concealed. As for the laughter, it was inextinguishable ; for
even when she was tied to the stake, and the flames blazed round her, the peal of
merriment penetrated the surrounding volumes of smoke, and reached the ears of
Alvarez.

Wlien he had seen Zamora fairly reduced to a heap of ashes, he was able to
extricate himself from the throng, and lost no time in seeking some solitary place
where he could examine the paper. He found that it was a map of the environs of the
town, and saw on a patch of green representing a heath, a little dot, under which was
written, " Cottage of Abu Fez."

Alvarez knew the heath perfectly, but he had never seen anything like a cottage
upon it. He repaired to the spot at once — and there, sure enough, stood a little mean-
looking hut. He knocked at the door.

" Come in," cried a voice; and accordingly Alvarez pushed open the door and
entered.

He was perfectly amazed at the size and splendour of the apartment in wliicli he
found himself. Large massive candelabra lit it up with dazzling brilliancy, and seven
large golden statues representing the seven planets, stood around, each with a lamp in
front, burning Avith a flame coloured like the luminary it symbolised. Magical
instruments richly and cm'iously embossed lay about in confusion, and there was no end
of objects to arrest the eyes of Don Alvarez. An elegantly dressed young Moor, who
reclined indolently on a velvet sofa, seemed to bo the proprietor of the establishment.

234

THE UNLUCKY QUESTION.

" TIow in tho name of Fortune," said Alvarez, "did you contrive to get this large
room into such a little hut ? "

"Friend," said the Moor, drily, "that cannot possihly be any business of yours.
What do you want ? "

" This paper, said Alvarez, very humbly, " was, put into my hands — "

"I see — I see," said the Moor, " Zamora gave you this. Ay, she was bunied
to-day — to be sure. She is my sister, but the circumstance had escaped my memory.
Do you know whether she bore it well ? "

"As far as I could judge, she seemed rather to like it," replied the Don.

" Likely enough, " remarked the Moor ; " there is not much in it when one is used
to it. I have been reduced to ashes dozens of times. Well, what are you staring at?'"

" Nothing," said Alvarez ; for he saw it would not do to be inquisitive. As for
doubting the fact, he never thought of such a thing. A gentleman who could put a
room as large as Guildhall into an edifice about the size of a cobbler's stall, could not
say anything too wonderful for credence.

"You," observed the Moor, "want to know how long you have to live. Don't
ask how I learned that. Enough — so it is. This little gold book gives the answer to
your question." The Don was breathless with expectation.

" You will live," said the Moor, " till " —

" The term of our contract has expired," thundered forth a tremendous voice, and

at that moment a huge thumb and finger forced their way through the ceiling and
twisted ofl" the Moor's head. The statues and decorations fell down with a terrific

ANOTHER WORD ABOUT PLAY-ORDERS. 235

crash, and every one of them in its descent, gave a smart hlow to Don Alvarez, who
was no less annoyed than amazed at the occm-rence. When the four walls fell upon
him, he dropj^ed, completely stunned.

Waking, he found himself upon the heath, on which not a vestige of the edifice
remained — not so much as a splinter or a hrick-hat. Evening was drawing in. A little
ugly Moor, very unlike the elegant Ahu Fez, came up to him.

"That was smart Avork, senor!" said the stranger. "I stood in the further
corner of the heath, and I may say, I never saw a more efficient operation."

" A very disagreeahle operation," cried Alvarez, shuddering at the remembrance.
" But pray who Avas this Abu Fez ? He seemed to be an extraordinary person."

" \es — yes — a clever man in his way," said the ugly httlc Avretch, shrugging his
shoulders ; " but he was a miserable arithmetician."

" Oh ! that accounts for his attempting to answer my question at the very moment
Avhen the term of his compact Avith the Evil One had expired."

" What was your question ?"

" I Avanted to kuoAV Avhen I shoidd die," said the Don.

" Well, you need not have gone bothering Abu Fez about such a foolish thing as
that," said the Moor. "I am no conjuror, but I coidd have satisfied you on that
point. ' '

" Indeed !" exclaimed Alvarez.

" Of course I could."

" Well then, pray do," said the Don.

" Follow my directions then," said the Moor. " lie Avho Avears steel cannot
receive the prophecy ; therefore, give meyom- sword." — Don Alvarez did so. "He with
open eyes cannot hear the prophecy, therefore, shut yours." — Don Alvarez did so.
" And these preliminaries being settled, Senor, I have to tell you — you will die xow."

So saying, the little Moor thrust the sword through the heart of Alvarez, who
fell instantly, Avith a sound like the laughter of Zamora ringing in his cars.

Next morning, a little tombstone of very neat Avorkmanship Avas found on the
heath, bearing this inscription : —

" To the Memory of Don Alvarez, Avho met his death in a stupider manner than
any man in Spain."

ANOTHER WORD ABOUT PLAY-ORDERS.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TABLE BOOK.

Sir,

A WORD in the ear of Diouyslus. He Avrote to you last month concerning the
afilictions of an Editor who signs orders for the play. I also am an Editor, like
yourself, [This proposition Ave beg utterly to deny. — Ed. T. B.] but the circulation of
my jom-nal does not exceed lUUU. Indeed, I may as Avell inform you, in confidence,
that a third of that number Avould cover my sale — exchanges, free-list, and all. Now,
sir, I am about to come doAvn upon your Trinity Doctor with truths.

Does your friend know Avhat an advertisement is ? I should think he must. We
have heard that in the "deep soUtudes " of a college there are " aAvful sells," but

236 ANOTHER WORD ABOUT PLAY-ORDERS.

your friend cannot be so viricl as not to be aware that ccrtaiu newspapers exist by means
of the advertisements they contain. And does he think that to the offices of such
newspapers tradcsjicople come rushing, frantically tendering their five-and-sixpenccs for
the insertion of their announcements ? A Friday afternoon in my office would enlighten
"your brother Editor." No, Doctor, — in these days a fresco painting is the only
thing that can stand without a canvass.

Give away tickets for the play to friends ! Friends have just as much right to ask
me for eight shillings sterhng, a shilling more for the boxkccper, sixpence for the bonnet
woman, fourpence for the porter, and half-a-crown for the cab to Islington. Tickets are
part of my capital, and — I suppose you '11 cut the pun out if I make it — my columns
would suffer if my capital were damaged. No, Doctor, I '11 tell you how to use tickets
for the play, and then you won't Avrite again abusing your mercies.

On Wednesday morning — it is useless to begin earlier — pocket as many tickets
as the managers will let you write — and go round your "advertising connection."
Some Editors are silly enough to think that this is not a gentleman's vocation
— who says it is ? The question is not about gentlemanliness, but about adver-
tisements. If you want these, go for them — if not, send your clerks. Go into
the shops and see the principals. Say something of this kind. " Ah ! Choppings,
how are you ? " (Your friend is, e.g., a sausage-maker.) " Coining money, as usual ?
Oh ! don't tell me — I 'm coming to borrow a few thousands of you one of these days.
I say, old fellow, you haven't given us a turn lately. Oh nonsense ! can't afford it.
You can afford anything. What! advertising don't bring retm-ns ? — Stuff! I pledge
you my sacred honour, that one of the Queen's tradesmen came to me yesterday,
swearing he had made ninety-four pounds by one advertisement only. Come, give us
a ' repeat ' of that about the Royal Albert Brawn and Pettitoes. No ? Yes, you
will. Oh ! by the way, woiddn't you like to go to the theatre ? What theatre ? Any
you like. Here 's the ' Garden, ' and the ' Wells ' — have 'em both — take Mrs.
Choppings — how is she ? There — I 'm always happy to oblige you ; and now, good bye
— 1 shall insert the Royal Albert's. Good bye."

There, Doctor. Now if Mrs. Warner and Mr. Phelps had not granted you the
privilege of " writing for " Sadler's Wells, and Mr. Who-shall-we-say had not done
the same as to C event Garden, the Royal Albert Brawn and Pettitoes would not have
been advertised in your paper, and you would have lost five shillings. But the tickets
gained Choppings. Don't you abuse orders for the play any more.

But you may say that the privilege was given to enable the newspapers to fm-nish
reports of the theatrical performances, and not that sausage-makers and their wives
should get into dress-circles for nothing. What's that to you ? Get advertisements.

I remain, dear brother, and particularly my brother of the Table Book,

Yours affectionately, ,

Fleet Street. Hanker Grdbb.

Tk. a/iti£L/MlaL tffeds (^ h Hadwuy calls,

RAILWAY CALLS. 237

BY THE EDITOR.

Every man ia the present day is a holder of shares in a Railway, that is to say,
he has got some pieces of paper, called scrip, entitling him to a proportionate part of a
hlue, red, or yellow line drawn across a map, and designated a Railway. If the
coloured scratch runs from south to north, it is generally called a Trunk line ; if it
"turns ahout and wheels about" in aU directions, leading to nowhere, on its own
account, but interfering with every Railway that does, ten to one but it is a Grand
Junction ; and if it lies at fuU length along the shore it is, of course, a Coast hne.
Trunk lines are generally the best, because the word trunk naturally connects itself in
the mind of the pubUc with the idea of luggage, and a good deal of traffic is consequently
rehed upon. Grand Jimctions are good speculations, as troublesome customers hkely to
be bought off by larger concerns, which would consider them a nuisance ; and as street-
musicians genei'ally expect a consideration for moving on, a Grand Junction may ask a
good price for taking itself off from an old estabhshed company. As to a Coast line, it
is usually thought to afford an opportunity for boasting of the support of the Govern-
ment ; and certainly, in case of an invasion there might be the traffic of a few troops,
though otherwise it does not seem very likely that the Government would want to keep
sending the soldiers up and down, for the mere sake of the sea-air by the side of
the water.

Until lately, however, traffic was not the consideration with Railway speculators. How
the line will come out has been the only point worth thinking of. Mountains that
can't be cut through, gradients which are impracticable, and other difficulties of an
insurmountable kind, so far from being objectionable in a projected Railway, were so
many inducements to make applications for shares, because the only real danger in
making one's self hable for any of the new schemes arises from the possibility of their
being proceeded with.

It is a well-known fact that shares in a Railway which never can be made, are con-
sidered much safer and more desirable than those which will actually be constructed,
and which, if completed, would notoriously never be profitable to the shareholders,
because in the former case there is no Uability beyond the deposit, while in the latter
there is a certainty of more money being required for their completion. We once heard
of, and, indeed, knew a horse that was worth a pound while living ; but it was acknow-
ledged on all hands that the creature would be worth at least thirty shillings when dead ;
and so it is with the bubble Railways, an allotment of shares in any of which may be of
the value of ten per cent, of the whole capital, but which would be wwth some-
thing more if there were a certainty that it would die off before obtaining an Act of
Parliament.

The process of completion raises the very difficult question of calls ; and to the question
"Where is the money to come from?" Echo, vibrating through millions of empty
pockets, despairingly answers " WJiere ! " Persons not in the habit of visiting will
find themselves beset by morning calls ; and indeed, not only by morning calls, but calls

VOL. I. — NO. XI. I I

238 RAILWAY CALLS.

tit all hours of the day will be dropping in upon them. Then it is that the game will
commence in reality ; for thousands of people have placed themselves under liabilities
to an extent far beyond their entire means, and they have calculated on the profits of
one to meet the demands of another — a piece of acuteness worthy of the proposition to
lengthen the ladder by joining on to the top a piece cut off from the bottom.

We hear a great deal of the inexhaustible resources of John Bull, hut there are a
few impossibilities that even he cannot accomplish. For instance, if he could even
make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, the purse would he of no use to him in paying his
calls, if it happened to be an empty vne. What his condition will be in a few months,
may be seen in the accompanying etching. Calls AA'ill literally tear him to pieces, and
there will not he an article he possesses that the great interests of locomotion will not
carry away from him. A Grand Trunk will run away with his strong-box ; a Junction
of some kind or other will tear his coat in two ; some stupendous cutting will cut away
with his cash-box ; a tremendous tunnel will run through all he has ; and excavations
on an extensive scale will empty all his pockets ; his establishment will dwindle by
degrees, as he continues making efforts to pay up his calls ; his servants, one by one,
will be put down as some new demand is made ; and every fresh gradient will help to
send him down the hill with fearful rapidity. First, the butler will be given up as a
sacrifice to some intermediate station, and gradually, footman, housemaid, servant of all
work, will he thrown in, to make a splendid terminus. Plate will be melted into iron,
watches will go to make sleepers, diamonds will be converted into coals, and silver
tea-kettles into steam-boilers.

When this period arrives, instead of a struggle to get hold of scrip, there wiU he an
eagerness to get rid of it. The last possessor will be the unhappy victim to all its
liabilities, and every man will go about like the unfortunate individual who had bought
the " Bottle Imp " and could only transfer its horrid responsibilities by getting hold of
another purchaser. Every one who has seen Keeley in the character of Willibcdd, the
temporary tenant in possession of the ill-fated bottle, unable to find any one willing to
be let in as remainder-man, will appreciate the misery of the last scrip-holder. Scrip is
the imp by the agency of which many have gratified their mercenary wishes, but soon it
may be impossible to get any one to relieve them from the awful burden. Already,
symptoms of the panic have appeared, and directors are beginning to repudiate the
Railway Bottle Imp. Bubbles are beginning to burst ; and, to wind up with

AN EPIGRAM.

The engineers who are retain'd

To make a survey of a bubble,
Now the delusion is explain 'd.

May save themselves a world of trouble.
Since knavish schemes have got a shake

By their imposture being known —
Levels there is no need to take.

The Railways having found their own.

( _ J^^'^u) % (y^ OL. (nMa^. ^GLI do (/u^ cu L-titit. '\

^^^^^^. ...£/-.

MR. JOHN BULL,

In Keeley's celebrated character of " WiLLinALD," in the Poi'I'lar

EXTRAVAGAXZA OF THE ** BOTTI.E I.MI'."

^ ^kccti

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

241

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

{Cmitiwmd from page .228.)

T.VV

CHAPTER XII.
Cijc C^nntpton.

And now the noble Cleves began in good earnest to prepare bis castle for the
threatened siege. He gathered in all the available cattle round tlio property, and the
pigs round many miles ; and a dreadful slaughter of horned and snouted animals took
place, — the whole castle resounding with the lowing of the oxen and the squeaks of the
gruntlings, destined to provide food for the garrison. These, when slain, (her gentle
spirit, of course, would not allow of her witnessing that disagreeable operation,) the lovely
Helena, with the assistance of her maidens, carefully salted and jiickled. Corn was
brought in in great quantities, the Prince paying for the same wlicn he had money,
giving bills when he could get credit, or occasionally, marry, sending out a few stout
men-at-arms to forage, who brought in wheat without money or credit cither. The
charming Princess, amidst the intervals of her labours, went about encouraging the gar-
rison, who vowed to a man they would die for a single sweet smile of hers ; and in order
to make their inevitable sufferings as easy as possible to the gallant fellows, she and
the apothecaries got ready a plenty of efficacious simples, and srrnped a vast (|uantity

242 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

of lint to bind their warriors' wounds withal. All tho fortifications were strengthened ;
the fosses carefully filled with spikes and water ; largo stones placed over the gates,
convenient to tumble on the heads of the assaulting parties ; and cauldrons prepared,
with furnaces to molt up pitch, brimstone, boiling oil, &c., wherewith hospitably
to receive them. Having the keenest eye in the whole garrison, young Otto was
placed on the topmost tower, to watch for the expected coming of the beleaguering host.

They were seen only too soon. Long ranks of shining spears were seen glittering
in the distance, and the army of the Rowski soon made its appearance in battle's
magnificently stern array. The tents of the renowned Chief and his numerous Avarriors
were pitched out of arrow-shot of the castle, but in fearfid proximity ; and when his
army had taken up its position, an officer with a flag of truce and a trumpet was seen
advancing to the castle-gate. It was the same herald who had previously borne " his
master's " defiance to the Prince -of Cleves. He came once more to the castle-gate,
and there proclaimed that the noble Count of Eulenschreckenstein was in arms without,
ready to do battle with the Prince of Cleves, or his champion ; that he would remain in
arms for three days, ready for combat. If no man met him, at the end of that period
he would deliver an assault, and would give quarter to no single soul in the garrison.
So saying, the herald nailed his lord's gauntlet on the castle-gate. As before, the
Prince flung him over another glove from the wall ; though how he was to defend
himself from such a warrior, or get a champion, or resist the pitiless assaidt that must
follow, the troubled old nobleman knew not in the least.

The Princess Helen passed the night in the Chapel, vowing tons of wax-candles to
all the patron saints of the House of Cleves, if they would raise her up a defender.

But how did the noble girl's heart sink — how were her notions of the purity of man
shaken within her gentle bosom, by the dread intelligence which reached her the next
morning after the defiance of the Rowski. At roll-call it was discovered that he on
whom she principally relied — he whom her fond heart had singled out as her champion,
had proved faithless ! Otto, the degenerate Otto, had fled ! His comrade, Wolfgang,
had gone with him. A rope was found dangling from the casement of their chamber,
and they must have swum the moat and passed over to the enemy in the darkness of
the previous night. " A pretty lad was this fair spoken archer of thine ! " said the
Prince her father to her ; " and a pretty kettle of fish hast thou cooked for the fondest
of fathers." She retired weeping to her apartment. Never before had that yoimg
heart felt so wretched.

That morning, at nine o'clock, as they were going to breakfast, the Rowski 's
trumpets sounded. Clad in complete armour, and mounted on his enormous piebald
^charger, he came out of his pavilion, and rode slowly up and down in front of the Castle.
He was ready there to meet a champion.

Three times each day did the odious trumpet sound the same notes of defiance.
Thrice daily did the steel-clad Rowski come forth challenging the combat. The first
day passed, and there was no answer to his summons. The second day came and went,
but no champion had risen to defend. The taimt of his shrill clarion remained without
answer ; and the sun went down upon the wretchedest father and daughter in all the
land of Christendom.

The trumpets sounded an hour after sunrise, an hour after noon, and an hour before
sunset. The third day came, but with it brought no hope. The first and second
summons met no response. At five o'clock the old Prince called his daughter and
blessed her. " I go to meet this Rowski," said he. " It may be, we shall meet no

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 243

more, my Helen— my child— the innocent cause of all this grief. If I shall fall
to-night the Eowski's victim, 'twill be that life is nothing without honour," And
so saying, he put into her hands a dagger, and bade her slieathc it in her own breast
so soon as the terrible champion had carried the Castle by storm.

This Helen most faithfully promised to do ; and her aged father retired to his
armoury, and donned his ancient war-worn corslet. It had borne the shock of a
thousand lances ere this, but it was now so tight as almost to choke the knightly
wearer.

The last trumpet sounded — tantara ! tantara! — its shrill call rang over the wide
plains, and the wide plains gave back no answer. Again ! — but when its notes died
away, there was only a mournful, an awful silence. " Farewell, my child," said the
Prince, bulkily lifting himself into his battle-saddle. " Remember the dagger. Hark !
the trumpet sounds for the third time. Open, warders ! Sound, trumpeters ! And
good Saint Benedict, guard the right."

But Puffendorf, the trumpeter, had not leisure to lift the trumpet to his lips ;
when, hark ! from without there came another note of another clarion ! — a distant
note at first, then swelling fuller. Presently, in brilliant variations, the full rich notes
of the " Huntsman's Chorus " came clearly over the breeze ; and a thousand voices of
the crowd gazing over the gate, exclaimed — "A champion ! a champion !

And, indeed, a champion had come. Issuing from the forest came a knight and
squire : the knight gracefully cantering an elegant cream-coloured Arabian of
prodigious power — the squire mounted on an unpretending grey cob, which never-
theless was an animal of considerable strength and sinew. It was the squire who blew
the trumpet through the bars of his helmet ; the knight's visor was completely down.
A small prince's coronet of gold, from which rose three pink ostrich feathers, marked
the warrior's rank : his blank shield bore no cognizance. As gracefully poising his
lance he rode into the green space where the Rowski's tents were pitched, the hearts
of all present beat with anxiety, and the poor Prince of Cleves, especially, had con-
siderable doubts about his new champion. " So slim a figure as that can never compete
with Donnerblitz," said he, moodily, to his daughter ; " but whoever he be, the fellow
puts a good face on it, and rides like a man. See, he has touched the Rowski's shield
with the point of his lance I By Saint Bendigo, a perilous venture ! "

The unknown knight had indeed defied the Rowski to the death, as the Prince of
Cleves remarked from the battlement where he and his daughter stood to witness the
combat ; and so, having defied his enemy, the Incognito galloped round under the
Castle wall, bowing elegantly to the lovely Princess there, and then took his ground and
waited for the foe. His armom- blazed in the sunshine as he sate there, motionless, on
his cream-coloured steed. He looked like one of those fau-y knights one has read of —
one of those celestial champions who decided so many victories before the invention of
gunpowder.

The Rowski's horse was speedily brought to the door of his pavilion ; and that
redoubted warrior, blazing in a suit of magnificent brass armour, clattered into his
saddle. Long waves of blood-red feathers bristled over his helmet, which was farther
ornamented by two huge horns of the aurochs. His lance was painted white and red, and
he whirled the prodigious beam in the air and caught it with savage glee. lie laughed
when he saw the slim form of his antagonist ; and his soul rejoiced to meet the coming
battle. He dug his spurs into the enormous horse he rode. The enormous horse
snorted, and squealed, too, with fierce pleasure. He jerked and curvetted him with n

244 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

brutal playfulness, and after a few minutes' turning and wheeling, during which
everybody had the leisure to admire the perfection of his equitation, he cantered round
to a point exactly opposite his enemy, and pulled up his eager charger.

The old Prince on the battlement was so eager for the combat, that he seemed
quite to forget the danger which menaced himself, should his slim champion be
discomfited by the tremendous knight of Donnerblitz. " Go it ! " said he, flinging his
truncheon into the ditch ; and at the word, the two warriors rushed with whirring
rapidity at each other.

And now ensued a combat so terrible, that a weak female hand, like that of her
who pens this tale of chivalry, can never hope to do justice to the terrific theme. You
have seen two engines on the Great Western Line rush past each other with a pealing
scream ? So rapidly did the two warriors gallop towards one another, the feathers of
either streamed yards behind their backs as they converged. Their shock as they met
was as that of two cannon-balls ; the mighty horses trembled and reeled with the con-
cussion ; the lance aimed at the Rowski's helmet bore off the coronet, the horns, the
helmet itself, and hurled them to an incredible distance : a piece of the Rowski's left
ear was carried off on the point of the nameless warrior's weapon. How had he fared ?
His adversary's weapon had glanced harmless along the blank surface of his pohshed
buckler ; and the victory so far was with him.

The expression of the Rowski's face, as, bare-headed, he glared on his enemy with
fierce blood-shot eyeballs, was one worthy of a demon. The imprecatory expressions
which he made use of can never be copied by a feminine pen.

His opponent magnanimously declined to take advantage of the opportunity thus
offered him of finishing the combat, by splitting his opponent's skull with his curtal-axe,
and, riding back to his starting-place, bent his lance's point to the ground, in token that
he would wait until the Count of Eulenschreckenstein was helmeted afresh.

" Blessed Bendigo ! " cried the Pi'ince, "thou art a gallant lance ; but why didst
not rap the schelm's brain out ? "

" Bring me a fresh helmet ! " yelled the Rowski. Another casque was brought to
him by his trembling squire.

As soon as he had braced it, he drew his great flashing sword from his side, and
rushed at his enemy, roaring hoarsely his cry of battle. The unknown knight's sword
was unsheathed in a moment, and at the next the two blades were clanking together
the dreadful music of the combat !

The Donnerblitz wielded his with his usual savageness and activity. It whirled
round his adversary's head with frightful rapidity. Now it carried away a feather of
his plume ; now it shore off a leaf of his coronet. The flail of the thrasher does not
fall more swiftly upon the corn. For many minutes it was the Unknown's only task to
defend himself fi'om the tremendous activity of the enemy.

But even the Rowski's strength would slacken after exertion. The blows began to
fall less thick anon, and the point of the unknown knight began to make di'eadful play.
It found and penetrated every joint of the Donnerblitz's armour. Now it nicked him
in the shoulder, where the vambrace was budded to the corslet ; now it bored a shrewd
hole under the light brassart, and blood followed ; now, with fatal dexterity, it darted
through the vizor, and came back to the recover deeply tinged with blood, A scream
of rage followed the last thrust ; and no wonder ; — it had penetrated the Rowski's
left eye.

His blood was tricklino; throuch a dozen orifices : he was almost chokinjr in his

A HINT TO PROJECTORS. 245

helmet with loss of breath, and loss of blood, and rage. Gasping with fury, he drew
back his horse, flung his great sword at his opponent's head, and once more plunged at
him, wielding his curtal-axe.

Then you should have seen the unknown kniglit employing the same dreadful
weapon ! Hitherto he had been on his defence ; now he began the attack ; and the
gleaming axe whirred in his hand like a reed, but descended like a thunderbolt !
" Yield ! yield ! Su- Rowski," shouted he, in a calm, clear voice.

A blow dealt madly at his head was the reply. 'Twas the last blow that the Count
of Eulenschreckenstein ever struck in battle I The curse was on his lips as the crashing
steel descended into liis brain, and split it in two. lie rolled like a log from his horse ;
and his enemy's knee was in a moment ou his chest, and the dagger of mercy at his
throat, as the knight once more called upon him to yield.

But there was no answer from within the helmet. When it was withdrawn, the teeth
were crunched together ; the mouth that should have spoken, grinned a ghastly silence ;
one eye still glared with hate and fury, but it was glazed witli the fihn of death !

The red orb of the sun was just then dipping into the Rhine. The unknown knight,
vaulting once more into his saddle, made a graceful obeisance to the Prince of Cloves
and his daughter, without a word, and galloped back into the forest, whence he had
issued an hour before sunset.

{To he concluded in our next.)

A HINT TO PROJECTORS.

Balloons h»ve hitherto been used only for traversing the skies. We are confident
if they were applied to terrestrial purposes, they might give many persons a lift who
have a great difficulty of getting on in the world. In this railway age, persons are not
content with walking a cool three miles an hour. They see a whole train fly by them,
and feel how slow a coach is man compared to a steam-engine. No one likes being
left behind ; but unless some new power of speed is discovered, we shall never bo able to
keep pace with the objects around us. One half of the world will have the mortification
of seeing the other half always ahead of it. Whilst New York is quietly going to bed
some night, England will be already in the middle of next week ; and in that case
America would be puzzled to know by what gigantic strides she would be able to catch
up the " Englishers " again.

We anticipate the " fix " the Yankees would be in, and propose to them the use of
balloons. We suggest that each American should be provided with a jacket inflated
with gas sufficient to take him off his legs. The consequence would bo, he would feel
so buoyant, that he would jump over the Atlantic with as much case as he would step
over a puddle, and clear St. Paul's at a single bound. Small safety-valves would be
put to the dress, under each arm, so that the person travelling in the air might come
down directly he chose. He might also take up in his pockets a quantity of ballast,
to throw out whenever he wanted to ascend higher. A number of Pennsylvanian
bonds would answer capitally for this purpose, as they are known to be slower than
anything else in rising, only the difficulty would be in persuading anybody to take one
up. It would' be very awkward, however, if a strong wind was to carry the balloon
traveller in a contrary direction. London might be surprised, some boisterous morning in

VOL. I. — NO. XI. K K

246

A HINT TO PROJECTORS.

March, by an extraordinary flight of Americans dropping in the middle of tlie Thames ;
for the jacket would make the holder so extremely light, that a young boy who had it
on might be thrown up like a feather, to sec which way the wind blew.

The use of this gas-spencer might be turned, in fact, to a thousand every-day
purposes. There should be a depot of them at Melton Mowbray, and at every stable
where hunters are kept. It might be called the Huntsman's Life Preserver; for, with

a red jacket inflated with gas, he would, if thrown, fall so very lightly, that broken
necks and dislocated shoulders would become matters of impossibility in the field.

Races also might be established, in which Mr. Green, the celebrated balloon-runner,
might be matched against Devil-amongst-the-Tailors, or any other celebrated race-horse

A HINT TO PROJECTORS.

247

of the day ; or else foot-races might take place on a railway, amongst as many runners
as the breadth of the line would permit : the person who arrived at Edinburgh,
or Southampton the first, to receive the prize, which might be made to consist of a
jewelled grappling-stick, with Avhich it would be necessary each runner should be
provided, to enable him to stop himself. Again, amongst ballet dancers, — with whom
ascending to the greatest height is always such a matter of professional competition, —
only consider how the balloon might

help them to rise to the very top of
their profession. They might go so
high, that a notice would be necessary
in the bills, to save any alarm in the
audience when a dancer was gone
out of sight, that "five minutes will
elapse between Monsieur Napoleon
Vestris' entrechat and his descent."
At present, cutting six is the greatest
number of saltations ever achieved by a
mercmial pair of calves ; but with such
an ascending impulse, it is impossible
to calculate the number of cuts a
Dieu de la Danse might execute when
he had started on one of his aerial
ti'ips. Instead of cutting six, it would
be more like six hundred.

There are numerous other avoca-
tions to which the balloon might lend
its accelerating influence. Sherifis'
ofiicers should never be without one ;
soldiers, too, who are too bashful to
face the enemy, and smugglers, who
have cargoes of goods to run ; and
railway directors and bankrupts, who
are recommended the air of the Con-
tinent, would derive immense advan-
tage from the use of a portable
balloon. Little boys, also, might be
like pigeons, to carry cx-
by means of this balloon-

trained
presses
spencer

and we should not be at all astonished to see a number of duodecimo children
let off from the roofs of the houses near Palace Yard, when the committees ai'e sitting
next session, for the purpose of carrying the railway decisions to the Stock Exchange.

We are confident the balloon will take its stand eventually b}^ the side of the steam-
engine ; and that a person, whenever he is going out for an airing, will put on his
registered balloon instead of his paletot, and fiy to Brighton and back in less time
than an omnibus would take him from Paddington to the Bank. Such is our faith
in its success, that if any one will start an Ecerj/hodif-his-own-DaUoon-Navigatioii-
Compamj, we will take all the shares in it the very day they arc quoted at a premium.

248 MISS MATILDA JOHNSON JONES.

MISS MATILDA JOHNSON JONES.

BY THE EDITOR.

Miss Matilda Johnson Jones,

You and I at length must part ;
There are things call'd paving-stones,

You have got one for a heart.
When you hear the roaring sea

Making wild and Avondrous moans,
You may sit and think of me.

False Matilda Johnson Jones.

Young Matilda Johnson Jones,

Pride has made you what you are ;
Though I think my lineage owns

Better men than your papa !
On the field of Waterloo

My sire and grandsire left their bones ;
But what is that to me or you ?

Ask your heart, Matilda Jones.

Well I know you, Johnson Jones,

You at times are very sad ;
And your broken spirit groans

Over what it might have had.
'Tis in vain — your fickle soul

My much nobler soul disowns ;
You have taught me to control

E'en myself, young 'Tilda Jones.

Oh ! Matilda Johnson Jones,

What is all this wayward hfe ?
Tears and laughter, gifts and loans,

Joy and sorrow, peace and strife.
If I could have shared with thee

Either cottages or thrones,
Both had been the same to me ;

But 'tis past, light-minded Jones.

Young coquettish Johnson Jones,

If beloved you still would be.
Go to one a heart that owns.

You have stolen mine from me.
Give it back, — ha ! ha ! 'tis here.

But 'tis hardened into bones ;
Feeling 's dead, and so is fear.

Kind Matilda Johnson Jones.

THE STAGE SUPERNUMERARY. 249

THE STAGE SUPERNUMERARY.

There is uot ia the wliole range of dramatic character a more striking instance of
the weakness of theatrical human natm-e, than is presented by the Supernumerary,
whose career, from the last bar of the overture to the speaking of the " tag," is one
continued course of feeble-minded vacillation, abject subservience, or abominable
treachery. He is led away by a bit of bombast from any ranting hero who will ask
him if he is a man, or a Briton, or a Roman, or whether the blood of his ancestors
runs through his recreant veins ; and he will agree, at a moment's notice, to take part
in any desperate enterprise. He will appear at one moment as the friend of freedom,
dressed in green baize, pointing with a property sword to the sky borders, and joining
some twenty others in an oath to rid his country of the tyrant : but he will be found
five minutes afterwards rigged out in cotton velvet as a seedy noble in the very identical
tyrant's suite. He will swear allegiance to the House of Hapsburg, at half-past seven,
and by the time the second price comes in, he will be marching as one of a select
party of the friends of freedom who have taken an oath to roU the House of
Hapsburg in the dust. Perhaps, like a perfidious villain as he is, he will be carrying
a banner inscribed with the words, " Down with the oppressor," on one side, while on
the other — which he keeps artfully out of sight in order to hide his treachery from the
audience — are emblazoned the arms of the House of Hapsburg, of which the alleged
oppressor is the chief. On the field of battle the conduct of the Stage Supernumerary
is contemptible in the extreme, for he either falls down before he is hit, or takes a
mean advantage of a fallen foe by striking an attitude, with his foot resting on the
chest of one of the vanquished enemy.

Sometimes the Supernumerary gives himself up from seven until ten to a reckless
career of crime, carousing in a canvas cave, or plundering pasteboard caravans, except
at inteiwals during the evening, when, perhaps, to swamp the voice of conscience, he
drinks half-and-half in the dressing-room, with his wicked accomplices. The face of the
Supernumerary generally shows the traces of a long career of crime and burnt cork ; nor
is there a feature upon which remorse or rouge has not committed ravages. He frequently
has his arms and legs bare, but, as if he had shrunk within himself, his skin or fleshing
is frequently too large for him, and forms folds of a most extraordinary kind at the joints
of his knees or elbows. Sometimes his chest is left bare, and his skin, as far as the
neck, appears to be of a rich orange colour ; but the throat, which is cut off, as it were,
by a distinct line, is of a different shade altogether. Sometimes, when the scene is laid
in India, the Supernumerary has his skin tied on to him, from which it would seem to
be a theatrical theory that the darkness of colour peculiar to the negro race is owing
to the use of leggings and waistcoats of black worsted.

The Stage Supernumerary is something like the antelope in his facility of
descending precipices, and he will make his way with the greatest case among rocks
that appear inaccessible. He will come from the vci-y highest mountain-pass in two or
three minutes, and he undertakes needless diflaculty by going a roundabout way and
traversing the same ground several times over ; though he knows that the remotest
peak is not a minute's walk from the footlights.

Though the Stage Supernumerary is frequently a ruffian while upon the scene, he

250 THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN IN A NEW LIGHT!

is exceedingly liurmless and humble directly he gets to the wing, when he is glad to
creep into any quiet corner to avoid being ordered out of the way by the prompter,
tumbled over by the call-boy, and sworn at as well as knocked down with a blow from
a flat by one or two of the carpenters.

THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN IN A NEW LIGHT!

Archaiology has of late become a fashionable science, and we, among others, have
devoted a certain share of attention to it. A science is only valuable — we will not say
for what can be got by it, but — for Avhat can be got out of it. Therefore, occasionally,
when we have had nothing else to do, we have reflected, in our small way, on the facts
with which our antiquarian studies have acquainted us, in order to see whether we could
elicit anything worth mentioning in the shape of useful conclusions. The subject of
our meditations has been the Elizabethan era in general, and its costume in particular ;
and from them, with respect at least to the latter, we came to some very satisfactory
conclusions.

When, looking at the past through the telescope of common sense, we bring its
scenes, in a manner, under our noses, they by no means wear that romantic
aspect which they assume when viewed from the heights of imagination. This
observation is especially applicable to the Old English Gentleman ; a personage
whose celebrated "doublet and trunk hose," and predilection for sack, particularly
refer him to the epoch of Elizabeth. The Old English, or Elizabethan gentleman,
seen from the dress boxes of a theatre, is certainly a picturesque object ; but a
little consideration will teach us that he was really an object in another sense of
the word. His costume, it should be recollected, consisted of a doublet or a tunic,
the trunk hose above alluded to, long stockings, and wide boots. The doublet
was slashed and vandyked, and was generally either puce-coloured, white, sky-blue,
bright-green, red, orange, or yellow ; and very often parti-coloured, so as to exhibit
a majority of the tints of the rainbow. Then it was trimmed with ribbons of all sorts of
dyes, and with gold and silver lace and fringe ; and it was very commonly made of silk,
satin, or velvet. A description in a great measure similar may be applied to the hose ;
which were also tagged and tasselled, and otherwise showily decorated. The stockings
were very often of crimson or peach-coloured silk, and the boots — Avhose tops formed a
kind of large bucket around the legs — were, for the most part, of yellow morocco leather,
with red heels. Thus the Old English Gentleman went about, as daintily and
delicately attired as a modern English lady. Now, umbrellas were not in use in the
days of Queen Elizabeth, whereas showers were just as common as they are now, and
the streets were much dustier in dry, and much muddier in wet weather, than they are
at present. Imagine, then, the Old English Gentleman as he must have appeared
after having been first involved in a cloud of dust and then caught in a shower of rain.
The Old English Arch was defended by a dripstone ; but the Old English Gentleman
had no such pi'otection. Conceive the state of his chaussure when, with his yellow boots
on, he encountered a puddle, or fancy him splashed up to the ears by a passing waggon.
There was no cab for him to call, or even hackney-coach to rush into, when overtaken
by the wet, and his only resource could have been to draw up under an arch-way. Even

I
J

THE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN IN A NEW LIGHT !

251

that he could not have done when he had an appointment to keep ; and what, we would
ask, must have been his plight after a run through a " regular soaker ? " Some idea
of it might be formed by taking an unhappy peacock in the moulting season, and
putting him under a pump. A spectacle more pitiably draggletailcd than the Old English
Gentleman under these circumstances it
is impossible to imagine : and, to add to

his discomfort, his boots must have got ~S^

full of water, by reason of their bucket-
like tops, which seem to have been
expressly constructed to collect the rain.
We omitted to mention that his hat, or
beaver, generally of some bright colour,
was by no means washable, or all the
better for a shower. Nor Avas the feather
in it more calculated to be improved by
a thorough drenching.

In the time of Elizabeth, no less than
in this, there was such a thing as smoke ;
and then coal, as regularly as in these
days, evolved sulphurous acid during com-
bustion ; and such gases were just as
prone as they are at present to tarnish
silver. Consequently the silver lace of
the Elizabethan doublet, after a few
days' wear, must have assumed the tint
of a neglected egg-spoon.

It is thus clear, that however spruce
the Old English Gentleman may have
looked, fresh from the hands of his tailor,

he must, in a very short time, have assumed the appearance of a tatterdemalion.
In ruffled, crumpled, drenched, stained, smoked, and dusty finery, the Elizabethan
gallant, in clothes a week old, must, except in very fine weather, have looked very
much like a ragamuffin.

We derive, from the above considerations, what we will venture to term a useful
moral. They teach us not to envy the fine feathers of those fine birds who fluttered
at the period whose costumes we have been briefly animadverting on. We learn, that
if the reign of Elizabeth was a golden one, yet that all is not gold that glitters ; wliilst
gold itself does not glitter in a state of dust and disorder. Let us not sigh, therefore,
for the golden reign of Queen Bess, but rejoice that we live under the railway rvgima of
Queen Victoria. Let us be content with the surtout, coat, and trousers that will
wash, and let ua leave the silks and satins to om- wives, our waistcoats, and our
forefathers.

252 TAXES ON RESPECTABILITY.

TAXES ON RESPECTABILITY.

Dear Sir,

I don't mind telling you I have a great love for the good things of this world,
especially when they are to be had cheap. No fellow enjoys a capital dinner more than
I do, when there 's nothing to pay for it. My father did mo the great injustice of
accustoming me from my pinafore-hood to the luxm-ies of the table, and I have lived to
reproach him bitterly, for at his death he only left me fifty pounds a-year to carry out
the aristocratic taste he had implanted in me. The consequence is, I have been all my
life the victim of my education. My stomach was pampered too long with venison and
turtle ever to brook bread and cheese — porter somehow tasted flat after champagne —
and the society of a tap-room is necessarily revolting to one who was taught to look at
the world from a di-awing-room window. I have all the pride of a gentleman, with the
pocket of a pauper ; for what 's fifty pounds a-year to a fellow who was weaned at the
rate of two thousand pounds ? However, what with billiards and the railways, dining
out, accepting invitations in the country when acting charades are going on, and getting
bills discounted for young friends who have close-fisted governors, I manage not only to
live upon my income, but to keej) every one of my debts under a trifle less than twenty
pounds. My lodging is as great a mystery as Abd-el-Kader's ; but by having my letters
always addressed to the best hotel, good-natured tradesmen at last persuade themselves
I actually live there. I make it a principle always to be well-dressed ; for, depend
upon it, there 's more in a good coat than meets the eye. I am continually seen on
horseback ; for, as I make it a practice to buy all my friends' horses, I invariably try a
horse a week or so first, before I decide upon the one that will suit my friend best. I
have only two failings, and those are, betting and white kid gloves ; but as the former
generally more than pays the expenses of the latter, I have no right to complain of my
extravagance in that respect. But I cannot help feeling that my ingenuity in keeping
up a respectable appearance often leads me into disagreeable outlays wliicli punish my
pocket — and through that, my pride — more severely than I like to confess. By-the-bye,
Sir, this is the very subject I wanted to write to you about.

I have heard — for I haven't much time for reading — that you attack all sorts of
abuses. Well then, here is one which, if not instantly nipt in the bud, will assuredly
blow all over England, and blight the prospects of many a young man who is obliged,
like myself, to study plaguy hard how to live like a gentleman from one meal to
another.

It is the custom in Dublin (I am supposed to be residing at the Shelbourne Hotel,
-but my real address — entre nous, of course — is 7^, Little Thomas Street), as soon as
" the season " is getting " slow," as the ladies call it, to get up a series of picnics to
set it a-going a little longer, just as a theatre has "positively the last night " for a
fortnight together, when it is anxious to make the most of a profitable season. Well,
as business was rather dull with me, I allowed myself to accept an invitation to one of
these picnics from two beautiful young ladies, who seemed to be very anxious I should
go. The pretty dears smiled their thanks, and I really looked forward to a cheap day's
amusement, and something more, as I had overheard that an heiress or two wez'e to be
there. Before going, however, I sauntered into the Shelbourne to light my cigar, Avhen
the waiter informed me that a letter, marked " Immediate," had just been left for me.

TAXES ON RESPECTABILITY. 253

I thought it might probably contain a cheque for some protracted debt of honour, which
no doubt had escaped my recollection, and accordingly I opened the letter with no small
degree of trepidation. Judge of my indignation, Sir, when — but I will keep my
temper ; — only to convince you I had good reason to be angry, I send you a copy of the
identical letter I received.

"The Ladies of the Giiigle Picnic Committee present their compliments to Mr. Herbert Clieezcy, and feel
great pleasure in sending him an invitation for the Gingle that is to take place to-morrow, at three o'clock."

In the corner of this innocent-looking note there lurked, like a snake in the grass,
an insidious T.O., which, translated into common English, means " Turn over ; " which
I had no sooner done, than my surprise was such, it almost had that effect upon me.
You can imagine what my feehngs were, when I devoured the following : —

" The Ladies of the Gingle Picnic Committee have gi'cat pleasure in informing Mr. Herbert Cheezcy
tliat he has been allotted the following articles : —

One ham, Four quarts of beer. Two dozen plates.

Three roast fowls, Two quartern loaves. Three napkins,

Two ditto boiled. Half-a-dozen apricot tarts. One salmon.

Six umbrellas. One lobster. One butler.

One flute. Two guitars. One musician (a drummer).

Two dozen silver forks, Six chairs. One tent."

I did not read any fm-ther, but Avas preparing, as calmly as I could, to fulfil the
object of my calling at the hotel, by lighting my cigar with the letter in question, when
the following postscript caught ray indignant eye : —

" ]\Ir. Cheezey is requested to be punctual, as there is a fine of fifteen shillings for being late."

I had no sooner read this than I came to the conclusion it would be better to forfeit
a miserable fifteen shillings than mortgage a whole year's allowance by falling into the
stupid conventionalities of a humdrum picnic party. I must say, when I accepted the
invitation I had no idea there was to be any nonsense of that sort. If it had been
only the "four quarts of beer," I might have laughed at the absm-dity of the thing,
but have gone sooner than disappoint anybody ; but when it comes to " two dozen
champagne," I think it is carrying the joke a little too far. It is needless to go over
the other items a second time ; but I should like to know where I was to borrow a
butler, and who would have lent me two dozen silver forks for a picnic party ?

Now, what I complain of is this — the infamous tax that is put upon a young man's
good nature, but especially his purse, by fashionable follies of this kind. Supposing I
had had the weakness to go ? I should have been obliged to cut oft" my breakfasts all
the year round, merely to convince some two dozen people, with whom I had never
dined once in my life, that I was the gentleman they had taken me to be, I never
should have forgiven myself ! so I sacrificed my heiress or two, and loft Dublin early
the following morning.

There are many other expedients in society for obtaining subscriptions under
fashionable pretences, which are the ruin of many a fine voiuig follow with a large
heart but limited means. I am not the only one who has suftcred in this way. So I
want you, Sir, to expose these shabby expedients. I '11 help you, if you like ; and I '11
bet one hundred to one, we '11 smash the whole system in less than a week. It would

VOL. I. — XO. XI. L L

254

A HUSBAND'S VENGEANCE.

really be conferring a heartfelt boon on many who, like myself, are tryhig then- hardest
to keep respectable, in spite of their education, and the world, and all its pomp, and
picnics.

I remain, old fellow,
Yours, all over the world and further,

Herbert Littleton Cheezey.

I say, if you are coming this way, I shall be happy to see you.

A HUSBAND'S VENGEANCE.

A MELTING TALE.

dmu

Mrs. Mornington Swale had contrived to get together a very amusing set, but
how she had managed it was one of those questions which, if put, indicate the possession
of an inquiring rather than a practical mind. For, in the first place, nobody knew, and
in the second, nobody cared.

Indeed, the lady herself was a kind of mystery ; and if she had not given such very
pleasant parties, it is probable that the carelessness we have alluded to might have been
superseded by a spirit of interrogation. Her name was in the Court Guide, corrected
up to April, and that was all. She never talked about her father, or her mother, or
any other of the people mentioned in the long list at the end of the Prayer-book, as folks
one must not marry ; nor did she ever vaunt acquaintance with the Peerage, friendship

A HUSBANDS VENGEANCE. 255

with the Baronetage, or intimacy with the Landed Commoners, as usual with genteel
people of a eertaui order. When she had a hox at the Opera, which happened ahout
three times in the season, she never pretended to know who all the subscribers around her
were ; and when we add that she insisted on listening to the music instead of chattering
during its performance, we shall convince every reader of elegance that she was " not
the sort of person to know." Nevertheless, a good many people held an opposite
opinion, and proved that they did so by coming to her parties.

Mrs. Moruington Swale's beauty, — for though not a very young woman, she teas
beautiful — was of the commanding order. Her height, queenly aspect, and glossy
black braids, struck terror into the minds of youngish men, and made them, very need-
lessly, stammer out greater nonsense than they had intended. Her arrangements were
a little despotic, and it was not easy, even if you wished it, to escape the partner or the
companion to the supper-table whom she had selected for you. Everybody was a little
afraid of her, and that is the truth.

Her parties were, as aforesaid, very pleasant. She did not fill her rooms Avith
negative eligibles — men who could only dress, and women who could only simper.
She always infused a large quantity of character into her reunions; — not that the
individuals were much in themselves, but in the aggregate they gave a tone to the
party. We used to meet a popular actor or two — generally dull creatures enough,
who spent the evening in alternately di'oning and snarling upon dramatic matters.
We had authors — small authors, but still men who occasionally rushed into print, and
wished to be thought eccoutric, and usually got tipsy at supper. We had very small
poets, who utterly disbeheved in Byron and Moore, but believed a little in one another,
and violently in themselves, and wrote stumbling odes about skipping-ropes and public
executions. We had second-rate concert singers, chiefly with stubby fingers, who
contributed greatly to the harmony of the evening, and sneered in corners at each other's
pei-formance. We had a fcAv young barristers, who, by way of advertising their
profession, wrangled, over everything with much elaborateness of manner, and blocked
up the doorways, and talked about "moot points," to the discomfiture of the listeners.
And there was a fat German Count, who always came, and Avho had moustaches and a
very pensive expression, and was greatly addicted to declaring that he wanted some-
tliing to love him. Now, when the usual litter of a ball-room is diversified with shreds
and patches such as we have mentioned, there is sm-e to be some fun ; and our opinion
is, that fun is better than formality, any day in the week.

But ajn-opos of days in the week, it was a curious fact that there were certain days
on which Mrs. Mornington Swale was never at home, never was seen out, and never
gave a party. And this was brought to our minds by the extraordinary incident which
we are about to relate.

Mrs. Mornington had assembled one of the very best of her parties. There was an
excellent show of pretty faces, and an acre or so of white waistcoats, and nmch polking.
The actors were there, grmubling, and the authors were putting themselves in wild
attitudes, and the poets were gazing sternly at nothing, and the singers were looking
spiteful, and the barristers were squabbling outside the door, and the fat German Count
was telling a yomig lady, with a Norma wreath, that he wanted somebody to love
him. The evening was going off remarkably well, and a large double quadrille had
just been formed. Mrs. Mornington Swale was standing up, at the top, with a very
indifierent young poet, who would have made a very invaluable scarecrow.

We were just going to begm La Poule, when a very loud voice was heard in the

256 RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.

hall, announcing that somebody, whose lungs were clearly in excellent order, was
determined to come up stairs. And presently a group of the barristers was scattered
forward into the room, and, rushing after them, and into the very centre of the
quadrille, came a very short, very stout, and very sturdy man, in the dirtiest dress ever
seen, his brawny arms bared to the elbow, and his whole apparel saturated with grease,
lie glared round upon us all — the effect was dramatic. Nobody remembered to faint,
an oversight for which several young ladies never forgave themselves. Mrs. Mornington
Swale stood petrified.

" Now, Sue," said the stranger, confronting her.

"Now, Sue." And this to her! Some of us half expected that he would be
annihilated. But she continued aghast.

" Mark my words. Sue," continued the unknown, suddenly seating himself on the
carpet, with a bang which made the lustres rattle. " I told you that if ever you dared
to stay away from me on a melting-day, I 'd come for you myself. Now, you come
along. I 've got a cab."

He scrambled from the floor, and seized her by the wrist. Since the abduction of
Don Juan by the Statue, there never was so appalling a situation. But, apparently
stupified, Mrs. Mornington Swale silently yielded. They disappeared together, without
further explanation.

But we agreed that though we had lost our hostess, there would be no sense in
losing our time. So the German Count, and the young lady with the Norma wreath,
stood up in the place of the departed. The quadrille was danced, and so were other
quadrilles, and supper was eaten, and all went merrily — so merrily, that the German
Count Avas discovered at six in the morning, endeavouring to make a lamp-post in
Bedford Square admit that he wanted somebody to love him. But Mrs. Mornington
Swale is as much a mystery as ever, and what is worse, she has given no more parties.

RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.

BY HORACE MAYHEW.

The following anecdotes have been collected together, from the belief that they are
too wonderful to be lost. They illustrate principally the instinct of animals. There
cannot be a doubt of their authenticity, for we assure our readers that they have
appeared previously, with a few exceptions, in the country newspapers.

The Turtle is naturally of a sluggish temperament, but, when roused, it has been
known to do fearful things. Giinter, the great Swiss naturalist, tells an anecdote of
one that is quite dramatic in its pathos. He had presented a very fine specimen of a
turtle to the Lord Mayor, who sent it to the London Tavern to be taken care of. The
day before the 9th of November, this turtle was allowed to walk up and down the pave-
ment in front of the tavern ; but to prevent people running over it, a label was hung
round its neck, on which was written, " Will be killed to-morrow." This seemed to
prey very heavily upon the turtle's mind, for it waddled to and fro, evidently in a very
excited state, and a tear was seen distinctly to course down its left cheek, and bedew
the surrounding flag-stones. The poor creature rolled about with increasing imeasiness
every minute, till the Lord Mayor's state carriage happening to pass, it slipped off the
pavement, and fell dehberately under the forewheels of the cumbrous vehicle. It was

RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.

257

picked up a shapeless mass of hopeless callipash and mutilated callippee. " There is
no doubt," says Gunter, " that this was a premeditated act of suicide, for it was proved
afterwards that nothing hut the immense weight of the Lord Mayor's carriao-e could have
crushed its shell. Grief at its impending fate evidently impelled the distracted tm-tle to
the rash act."

Horses have been known to predict a frost by going to the blacksmith's the day
before to be roughshod. Franconi tells a story of a mare who would never perform on
the stage unless she was on the side of the French. Her spirit of nationality was such,
that if she was carrying an Englishman, or an Austrian, she would invariably throw
him, and then run over to the side of the Emperor. In this way she has often thrown
Blucher, and the Duke of Wellington. Napoleon, hearing of this extraordinary trait of
patriotism in a horse, went expressly to the Cirque, and having witnessed the fact with
his own imperial eyes, offered Franconi a whole regiment of cavalry in exchange for
the mare ; but the French Ducrow, to his credit let it be said, would not part with her.
Napoleon was piqued, but afterwards decorated the mare with the Grand Cross of the
Legion of Honour.

Pigs have been taught to spell. A singular anecdote is told of one, that indubitably
proves the force of early habit in animals generally, but in a pig especially. A learned
sow, that was called " Bacon," would always spell Vauxhall with a ^V. This was always
a matter of wonderment, till it was ascertained that she had been born on a market-day
in Smithfield market. This inveterate misuse of the W at once confirmed her Cockney
origin.

Le Vaillant, the African traveller, tells some wonderful stories about the instinct of
the Baboon. He ti-avelled with one for a long time as a guide. Its name was Snecs.
He knew the shops Avhere the best sherbet was to be got. Being short of butter once,
Snees brought him a number of cocoa-nuts, Avhich he had thrown about till the milk

258

RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.

inside had become cliurned. He watched by his master's side every night, killing the
mosquitoes and fleas which swarm about the banks of the Nile. He often helped
Le Vaillant in unrolling the mummies, and packing up his trunks. Le Vaillant
brought this baboon to Europe, and Snees showed his gratitude by saving his master's
life. Thieves were plundering the house, when Snees ran to the alarm-bell, and never
ceased pulling it till the inmates were alarmed ; the thieves were apprehended just in
time, for Le Vaillant says, when he awoke there were two gentlemen at his
bedside, one with a pistol, the other with a camng-knife. The day Le Vaillant died,
this sagacious baboon broke a blacking-bottle — whether accidentally or not is not
proved — which blacked him from head to foot ; but many persons, who knew Snees
well, declare this was done purposely, from a desire of the faithful animal to show
respect to the memory of his kind master by going into mourning for him.

The instinct of Bears is equally wonderful. There was one at the Zoological
Gardens, who would never mount the pole on a Sunday, because on that day no cakes
are allowed to be sold.

A lady of title informed Buffon that she knew a Blackbird who looked at the
barometer every morning, and would not go out if it pointed to wet. An anecdote told
by a German naturalist, of a Beaver, is no less wonderful than the above : he declares
he saw a beaver weeping over the crown of an old hat. Soon another beaver approached
it, and she cried more piteously than the first ; then a nmnber of young beavers,
attracted by their sobs, came running up, and they all cried too. He accounts for this
by saying, that the hat, being made of beaver, the animals had evidently recognised
in it the skin of one of their own kindred. " Who can say," he asks, "whether this
very hat was not to them the sad remains of an affectionate son — the only remembrance
of a favourite brother ? "

Captain Parry tells a story of a Polar Bear, which puts the instinct of this animal
beyond all doubt ; he had given It to one of his sailors, who, with this small capital,
started showman, and having taught the bear to dance, used to take it about the
streets. The sailor afterwards assured Captain Parry that he never could get the bear
to pass a barber's shop : he accounted for this by saying, that as " Bear's Grease " was
sold only at those places, the animal was in a constant state of fear, lest it should be
its fate some day to be sold in sixpenny pots.

The Sociable Grosbeak, a bird which is found about the Cape of Good Hope, displays
great ingenuity in building its nest, which is constructed as strongly as possible, so as
to keep out the March rains. A Genevese traveller records the fact of finding a whole

RECREATIONS IN NATURAL HISTORY.

259

row of their nests covered over at the roof ■\vlth bits of an old mackintosh, which
they had evidently picked up from one of the frequent wrecks off the coast. What but
instinct could have told these sociable grosbeaks that mackintoshes were waterproof ?

Many singular anecdotes are told of the instinct of the Fox. The most probable of
those we have read is the one of the fox plundering a hen every morning of its eggs,
and leaAdng a piece of chalk, of the same size as an egg, for every one he stole.

The following is amusing, for it proves that the Parrot is not so stupid as he is
generally represented. Jack Sheppard, when he had just escaped from Newgate,
heard called out in a shrill voice, ** Does your mother know you 're out ? " Jack
was frightened at first, but recovei'ed his usual courage when he found it was only a
parrot that was hanging over a green-grocer's door.

The instinct of the Dog, and the Cat, and the Rat, is so well known that one
anecdote, we think, will suffice to illustrate the three. A terrier and a tom-cat were
pursuing a large rat down the street. The rat was almost caught, Avhen it dodged
suddenly and ran into a sausage shop. The cat and dog stopped conviUsively at the door,
and looking up at the yards of sausages, hung down their heads, and slunk away quite
terror-stricken. This anecdote indubitably shows that self-preservation is the first law
of nature, besides proving that the feeling of veneration for the dead is much stronger
in animals than in men.

The following anecdote, however, is so astonishing that we cannot help repeating it.
We should really doubt the truth of it, unless it was supported by the testimony of the
celebrated Walker. — Mr. Tiedemann, the famous Saxon dentist, had a valuable toi*toise-
shell cat, that for days had done nothing but moan. Guessing the cause, he looked into
its mouth, and seeing a decayed tooth, soon relieved it of its pain. The following morning
there were at least ten cats outside his door — the day after that, twenty ; and they
went on increasing at such a rate, that he was obliged to keep a bull-dog to drive them
away. But nothing would help him. A cat who had the toothache would come any
number of miles to submit its jaw to him. It would come down the chimney even, and
not leave his room till he had taken its tooth out. It grew such a nuisance at last, that
he never was free from one of these feline patients. However, being one morning very
nervous, he broke accidentally the jaw of an old tabby. The news of this spread like
wildfire. Not a single cat ever came to him afterwards. It is extraordinary how the
cats, in the above instance, acted like human beings !

2G0 INTELLECTUAL WALL-PAPER.

INTELLECTUAL WALL-PAPER.

BY THE EDITOR.

There is every prospect of a new and extensive market being opened to the literary
man by the incipient demand that has recently sprung up for intellectual wall-paper. It
is really high time that there should be an end to those unmeaning patterns in which
scroll-work seems to have run mad — flowers appear to have blown themselves into
unnatural luxuriance, and birds form impossible combinations with trees and trellis. The
glut of mind with which we have been overstocked has hitherto had no room to expand
itself, but henceforth it will have every room — including bed-room, drawing-room, and
dining-room — to revel in.

There may be, amongst some over-scrupulous authors, a reluctance to allow their
lucubrations to go to the wall ; but surely it is better to write for the paper-hangers at
ninepence a yard, than for posterity at a much lower figure. One sparrow with his tail
regularly in salt is better than a couple of owls in an ivy-bush, and the smallest sum in
" cash down " is superior to the most magnificent />os^ obit on immortahty.

It has been ascertained that poets are a good deal like early peas, very liable to be
nipped in the bud; and a calculation has been made, that not one verse in a hundred
finds its way into print, while even many of those that do are left to " blush unseen,"
and waste their sweetness on the " Dorset butter." By calling in an author as well as
a bricklayer, a carpenter, and a paper-hanger, when a house is being built, the literary
talent of England will be enabled to assert itself. If a wall has become damp, so that
the pattern of the papering has been expunged, it will be necessary to send only for a
poet and a plasterer to put aU to rights ; for while the plasterer repairs the breach, the
poet may write something so very dry, that its apphcation even to a dead wall may
preclude the possibility of future moisture.

"We have some idea of estabhshing a literary house-agency for supplying builders
and others with intellectual wall-paper, at the cheapest rate, from moral essays for the
study, to narcotics for the bed-rooms, and polite literature for the butler's pantry. We
would undertake to paper a six-roomed house complete, with a ghost-story for the two
attics, a sketch of -character and a comic song for the two best bed-rooms, a series of
charades, in sets of three to the yard, for the sitting-room, and for the kitchen a
romance of real life, to be called the " Scull of the Scullery, or the Fatal Kitchen-
StufF." We contemplate inserting in the Times an advertisement to the following
eifect, in order to get together an eificient stafi" for our new speculation : —

" Wanted, a number of persons in the literary line, to whom constant employment
and good wages will be given. A few sentimental hands are required at once, and a
person accustomed to fiction may find this advertisement worth attending to. Poets
treated with on liberal terms, either by time or piece-work, or at the rate of so much
per poem, couplet, or stanza. There is a vacancy for a pupil in the ethical depart-
ment. A good price given for ready-made maxims adapted for bordering. Jokes
purchased by weight or measurement, in quantities of not less than a bushel.

" N.B. No punster need apply, as it is the determination of the proprietor to keep
the concern respectable."

1-- -^-^

^ Is dine-, J Cam. h .

Jccrrrt^' ^ ^ yozc u/i h

"^fvt Jid^iU^clij l)TdJMrrh

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE PANIC.

261

€8e igatinxal ^iMm'^ ^f f^t i)apk*

BY ANGCS B. REACn.

A TERRIBLE creature in every sense of tlie word — a fright of a creature, an encounter
with whicli wouki be a new edition of a "monster mcetinof " — a draa'on more terrible
than the dragon of Wantley, more fierce than the dragon of St. George ; aye, fiercer than
any of his Christmas brethren, the tribe of " Snap-dragons " — this monster, hatched in
" Capel Court," as they hatch chickens in Egypt, by "artificial means " — in fine, the
Dragon of the Panic has gone triumphantly forth — abroad himself when installed in the
homes of everybody else — staring with his evil eye, promising schemes out of all counte-
nance, and blowing by his pestiferous breath the new lines of projectors into anything
but pleasant places !

"Pray what is a Panic, Pa ? " inquire the young Masters and Misses Bull, with
charming naivete. Look to the opposite side of the page, young ladies and gentlemen,
and you will see what the monster is, and what he is capable of doing — the embodied
spirit of swindling by steam, gobbling up the Christmas dinners of his creators.

Again we say, a most dire monster — his animal heat supported by glowing coke ;
the bubbling fluid in his trunk by no means producing the fatal effects of water in the
chest ; his lungs keeping up the steam without ever throwing him into the vapours ;
his metal limbs crushing all they reach ; his iron fingers grasping sovereigns as the
tongs catches up cinders ; the coals under the monster emblematic of the coals over
which his worshippers are pulled ; casting down everywhere his gauge, broad or narrow,
of battle — a really formidable monster is "the Railway Panic."

" And where is he to be seen ?" Take care he does not pay you a visit. Take
care he does not bolt into the kitchen, and while Cook, the dresser of the Christmas
dinner, faints at the prodigy on
the nearest piece of furniture, pre-
senting the spectacle of a human
dresser on the top of a deal one,
take care that the monster does
not take the culinary department
under his management, beginning
by cooking your Papa's goose,
presenting you — in token of an
atmospherical line — with a tureen
of only air soup, and transforming
the nice cod's head and shoulders
into a " Pretty Kettle of Fish."

Wliere is the Panic ? Our en-
graving shows that he can walk
into the parlour as well as the
kitchen, to gobble up in the former
place any dinner he may have
spared in the latter. Amid the
fracrrant steam of roasting turkey.

VOL. I. — NO. XII.

M M

262

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE PANIC.

may be sniffed the unsavoury steam of boiling water ; and while you, masters and
misses, start back aghast, the monster, as he devours the roast-beef, will show that he
makes no bones of the meat ; that he can walk into mince-pies without mincing the
matter ; and finally, that he can leave the respectable family of the Bulls — who
thought they were worth a plum — hardly worth a plum-pudding !

For alas, John has been spurring one of his hobbies, that is to say, he has been
like the 'Possum " riding on a rail." He thought, poor man, that he was a rich old
*' buffer " — while he may turn out to be no better than a very hard-up "railway buffer "
— for having had so many irons — railway ones, of course — in the fire, no wonder that, in
trying to take some of them out, he has " burnt his fingers."

It is to be hoped, however, that he will not — by actually "going to pot" — find himself

some fine morning in a most melting
mood beside his irons.

The Panic has not yet, fortu-
nately, behaved so rudely to our friends
the Bulls — but it has been playing
terrible pranks with our friends the
" Stags." The former, if — speaking
musically — they adopt a rather more
andantino movement than they have
"been ffoino- at, and check the furious
crescendo of wind instruments blow-
ing bubbles — may chance to avoid
the uiipleasant finale of a crash : but
the latter have had their crash al-
ready.

The poor Stag is disconsolate ;

his horns — he having pulled them in

— are anytliing but exalted. Like his

quadruped brother of the " Forest of

Ardennes," jostled and hustled on

'Change, he sees sweep unconcernedly

by, the " herd of fat and greasy

citizens." How, indeed, is the " Stag " to have a Christmas dinner ? We have heard

of an ancient pilgrim carrying his grub in his " scrip ; " but very little grub would the

modern Capel Court pilgrim's " scrip" furnish forth.

For the prospect of a promising turkey nicely done — he could only give us a pro-
spectus of a promising line there— also nicely done — while, instead of a chop from a
Middlesex sheep — he could only produce his stake in a Diddlesex hoax !

Steam has done it — may do us all. The Panic is the executioner which hangs
us in our own lines, which overthrows the pillars of their fame — that is to say, the
columns of their advertisements — and which, although it may come with a knock, may
leave us not worth a rap.

Be warned, then, of the Panic Monster. Distrust the screeching music of its
steam-whistle, which may suddenly change its tune from the merry ditty of gold " in
both pockets, " to the doleful dirge of

"That's the way the money goes."

THE RAILWAY DEPOSITS.

263

THE RAILWAY DEPOSITS,

" What has become of the Deposits ? " is now the leading question of the day ; but
to this question neither answer nor money is likely to be returned. The Deposits are
in everybody's mouth, and out of everybody's pocket. Nothing satisfactory is to be
heard at public meetings, and private meetings arc being held among the dupes
themselves. The Falls of Niagara, with their millions of bubbles, are the only things
to be compared to the falls in Shares. It is all up with the Railways, and all down
with the Scrip.

At a meeting, the other day, of a small party of female Stags, the following Petition
was drawn up by a mutual male friend, who had been called in as being "a bit of a

lawyer"— the less the better, perhaps — to give his advice on the possibility of getting
the Provisional Directors to pay some of the Deposits back out of the premiums they liad i
realised before the panic : —

THE STAG'S PETITION.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old Stag,

Brought by the panic to the workhouse door ;
Whose Scrip has dwindled into worthless rag :

Oh ! give relief ; part of his loss restore !

264 THE RAILWAY DEPOSITS.

These tatter 'd Shares my poverty bespeak ;

These horrid deeds proclaim my length of cars ;
1 signed for many thousands every week :

I cannot liquidate the calls with tears.

Yon line, projected on no solid ground,

With tempting prospects drew me of my cash ;

For plenty there the lawyer said he found,
And the Directors grandly cut a dash.

Hard is the fate of him who holds the Shares ;

For when a slice of their rich gains I sought.
The pamper 'd Secretary only stares,

And tells me to go back to Capel Court.

Oh ! take me to your comfortable board :

Down is the Scrij) — the Times are very cold I

Some of your premium you might afford,
For I 'm let in, while you for profits sold.

Should I reveal the sources of your wealth,
I think that I could gibbet every name ;

For to yourselves you have done " good by stealth,'
And even you might blush to find it fame.

You sent allotments, — and 'tis very fine

That, spite of panics, you unharmed should be ;

Some of your premium should have been mine ;
Why should the discount all devolve on me ?

A little batch of ten you did allot,

Then, like a trump, I my deposit paid ;

But ah ! the panic to the City got.

And not a sixpence now is to be made !

My broker once his friendship used to brag ;

Check'd by the panic in his zeal to pay.
He casts me off, a poor abandon'd Stag,

And sternly bids me think of settling day.

My creditors, who know I 've dealt in Shares,
Struck with suspicion at the wreck they see,

Tell me for worthless Scrip there 's no one cares.
But ready money they must have from me.

Pity the sorrows of a poor old Stag,

Brought by the panic to the workhouse door ;

Whose Scrip has dwindled into worthless rag :
Oh ! give reHef ; part of his loss restore !

A GENUINE GHOST STORY. 265

An Apparition of 1842-3-4-5.

It was in the lovely autumn of 1843 : Augustus Snobleigh was sitting, in his shirt-
sleeves, reading " Whistling without a Master." He was practising some of the most
difficult airs : the window was open, and a circle of admiring boys were spell-bound
round his window by the melody of his notes. The night was sultry : an hour's
severe study of " The Earth is a Toper " had made Augustus thirsty : he rose from
his/auteuil, and ordered a bottle of wine, " merely," as he said, " to wet his whistle."

The servant had just left the room, when I heard the cry of " Bc-er ! " I knew
by that it must be eight o'clock. There was no light in the room, save the dancing
rays of a gas-lamp opposite, that gambolled like " a creature of light " on our carpet-
green. Augustus proposed a cigar ; I cheerfully consented. His box, however, was
empty : I volunteered to fetch some. He seemed reluctant that I should leave him.
"Wait," he said nervously, "till the servant returns." I lau"-hed at his fears, and
in a moment had turned the corner of the street.

When I returned, there was no one in the room. I called " Augustus " in my
loudest voice ; I Avhistled ; I looked in the turn-up bedstead ; I inquired of the servant ;
of the policeman ; at the nearest pubHc-house ; — but all in vain. I sat down in despair,
and smoked my cigar alone. The hours rolled on ; but no tidings of my friend. I
finished the bottle, and left at twelve o'clock ; but, dreading the worst, I wrote my
address on a fly-leaf of the " \^Tiole Duty of Man," and gave it to the servant, as I
had a presentiment Augustus would require bail before the morninf.

*********

Three months had elapsed, when I met Augustus Snobleigh one night at half-price at
the Adelj)hi. He was looking anything but well : I ventured to inquire the cause.
" I have left my lodgings again," he said, in a desponding voice. " This makes the
fourth time this year ; I cannot endure this life much longer. I tell you what, my dear
boy," he whispered into my ear, " if these sort of visits continue, 1 am afraid to say
what will become of me ; " and saying this, he squeezed my hand with all the aftcctionate
tightness of former years, and hurriedly disappeared in the slips.

*********

The next time I saw him was at Greenwich Fair. He looked haggard, but I thought
that might be the eflect of the dust. He tried to whistle some of his favourite times,
but his lips faltered as soon as he saw that my eye was upon him. " He lias been to
me again," he said, with a loud laugh, but despair, too plainly, at the bottom of it,
" but I have bafiled him, I think, this time. I am safe from his visits now. I have
taken lodgings in the Exeter 'Change Arcade." As he said this, he looked at me
triumphantly, expecting I should compliment him on his ingenuity. " But who is it
that haunts you in this way ? " 1 inquired, tremblingly.

" An apparition," he said, " which pursues me from place to place. He follows
me like a fiend. I cannot avoid him. Let me go where I Avill, he is sure to find me
out." I told him it Avas only an optical delusion. He got angry at this, and asked mo
impetuously if I thought he was mad. I considered it better not to answer this question,
so I asked him where he was lodging now. He gave mc his address, after extracting

266 A GENUINE GHOST STORY.

from mo a promise not to show it to a living person, and invited mc to sup with him
the following evening.

I went, of course. I was too eager to learn the issue of this frightful mystery,
which had now been involved in darkness for the last two years. Poor Augustus ! If
the face is really the index of the mind, then it sometimes lays bare a deplorable list of
contents. The index of my friend seemed to contain nothing but a melancholy chapter
of accidents. I could read every feature as plainly as if it had been set up in the
largest type. It spoke volumes of unpublished romance.

He pressed me to partake of some bread and cheese, and ale ; but I had no appetite,
no thirst save for the particulars of his troubled life. We were quite alone. He drew
his chair close to mine, and, slightly coughing, began thus : —

" Charles, I believe you are my friend." I nodded. " Listen then to me, and
throw all doubt, as you would a bad cigar, far away from you. For the last three
years I have been troubled with an apparition. Start not, for it is only at stated times
that it troubles me. I saw it first in Union Street, in the Borough ; it called upon me
in the evening ; it said, in a tone I never can forget, * Your name is Augustus
Sloman ? ' It then spoke to me about my resources, and reminded me in a solemn
Toice of certain obligations I had neglected to discharge. I was frightened, and
endeavoured to laugh it off ; but shortly afterwards, some three months perhaps, the
same vision haunted me again. It was dressed exactly alike, spoke in the same harsh
unnatural tone, but looked more sternly at me : it actually threatened that, if I did
not obey its injunctions, and that speedily, ' I should hear from it again ! ' Too
faithfully has it kept its word ! I changed my lodgings ; the same apparition followed
me. I then went to an opposite part of the town : again was I haunted by it. Let
me go where I would — -and I have tried every parish in the metropolis — but I was
always doomed to see it. Sometimes I thought I had eluded its baneful vigilance —
five months, perhaps, would elapse without a visit — but at last the hateful figure would
be sure to cross my path, and I had to fly afresh. It haunts me everywhere. I have
taken refuge in this lonely spot, but I expect to see it every day ; I am safe nowhere.
It is the plague-spot of my life ; it embitters my whole existence, and I only tremble
lest some day, in a moment of weakness, I should succumb to it, and then I am lost —
lost — lost — for ever."

Here Augustus buried his head in the ale-jug, and did not speak for five minutes.
After considerable emotion he passed me the jug, but the poor fellow had drained it
completely dry. As he raised his head off his heaving breast, he started violently to
his feet, and clasping his forehead with one hand, and covering his eyes with the other,
shrieked, in a voice of the wildest despair, " See, it is here ! It haunts me even now.
Oh ! this is too much ! " He was rivetted to the floor : his eyes flashed fire ; his
whole face was lighted up with rage. Fear then put her deathlike touch upon him,
and he became as pale as Bass's Ale. At last he rushed like a madman out of the
room. I heard a scuflie on the stairs, some angry words, a heavy fall, and then all
was still, save the melancholy tread of the beadle patroUing in the Arcade.

*********

A month afterwards I received a letter from Augustus Snobleigh. He told me he
had been so tormented with his apparition that he had been obliged to go abroad : he
assured me he was happy, and hoped never to be troubled with the vision again.

I think there is the strongest probability of this, as I ascertained afterwards from a
bosom friend of his that the apparition he raved so much about was nothing more or

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. 207

less than an Income-Tax gatherer. He had been on the point of marrying a very rich
girl, and had overstated his income in the paper he had filled up, in order to deceive her
father, who had told him he never would marry his daughter •' to a beggar." The
consequence was, Augustus was assessed according to his own statement, and the
match being broken off, he had found it a matter of impossibility to pay the amount.
Hence the secret of his always changing his lodgings ; hence the secret of his leaving
the kingdom.

From his history we learn this wholesome moral : that a falsehood is sure to haunt
the person who utters it ; and that no ghosts are so difficult to be laid as those which a
man raises himself.

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

(CoTicluded from par/e 245.)

CHAPTER XIII.

The consternation which ensued on the death of the Rowski, speedily sent all his
camp-followers, army, &lc., to the right-about. They struck their tents at the first
news of his discomfiture ; and each man laying hold of what he could, the whole of the
gallant force which had marched under his banner in the morning had disappeared ere
the sun rose.

On that night, as it may be imagined, the gates of the Castle of Cleves were not
shut. Everybody was free to come in. Wine-butts were bi'oached in all the courts ;
the pickled meat prepared in such lots for the siege was distributed among the people,
who crowded to congratulate their beloved Sovereign on his victory ; and the Prince,
as was customary with that good man, who never lost an opportunity of giving a dinner-
party, had a splendid entertainment made ready for the upper classes, the whole con-
cluding with a tasteful display of fireworks.

In the midst of these entertainments, our old friend the Count of Ilombourg
arrived at the Castle. The stalwart old warrior swore by Saint Bugo tliat he was
grieved the killing of the Rowski had been taken out of his hand. The laughing
Cleves vowed by Saint Bendigo, Hombourg could never have finished oft' his enemy so
satisfactorily as the unknown knight had just done.

But who was he ? was the question which now agitated the bosom of these two old
nobles. How to find him — how to reward the champion and restorer of the honour and
happiness of Cleves ? They agreed over supper that he should be sought for every-
where. Beadles were sent round the principal cities witliin fifty miles, and the
description of the knight advertised in the Journal de Franrfort and the AU</emeine
Zeituug. The hand of the Princess Helena was solemnly offered to him in these
advertisements, with the reversion of the Prince of Clevcs's splendid though somewhat
dilapidated property.

"But we don't know him, my dear papa," faintly ojacnlatod that young lady.
" Some impostor may come in a suit of plain armour, and pretend that he was the
champion who overcame the Rowski (a Prince who had his faults certainly, but whose
attachment for me I can never forget) ; and how are you to say whether he is the real

268 A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

kniglit or not? There are so many deceivers in this world," added the Princess in
tears, " that one can't be too cautious now." The fact is, that she was thinking of
the desertion of Otto in the morning, by which instance of faithlessness her heart was
well-nigh broken.

As for that youth and his comrade Wolfgang, to the astonishment of everybody at
their impudence, they came to the archers' mess that night, as if nothing had hap-
pened : got their supper, partaking both of meat and drink most plentifully ; fell asleep
when their comrades began to describe the events of the day, and the admirable
achievements of the unknown warrior ; and, turning into their hammocks, did not
appear on parade in the morning until twenty minutes after the names were called.

When the Prince of Cleves heard of the return of these deserters he was in a tower-
ing passion. " Where were you, fellows," shouted he, "during the time my Castle
was at its utmost need ?

Otto replied, " We were out on particular business."

" Does a soldier leave his post on the day of battle. Sir? " exclaimed the Prince.
" You know the reward of such — Death ! and death you merit. But you are a soldier
only of yesterday, and yesterday's victory has made me merciful. Hanged you shall
not be, as you merit — only flogged, both of you. Parade. the men. Colonel Tickelstern,
after breakfast, and give these scoundrels five hundred a piece."

You should have seen how young Otto bounded, when this information was thus
abruptly conveyed to him. " Flog jne," cried he. "Flog Otto, of- -."

" Not so, my father," said the Princess Helena, Avho had been standing by during
the conversation, and who had looked at Otto all the while with the most ineffable scorn.
" Not so, although these persons have forgotten their duty," (she laid a particularly sar-
castic emphasis on the word persons,) " we have had no need of their services, and have
luckily found others more faithful. You promised your daughter a boon, papa ; it is the
pardon of these two persons. Let them go, and quit a service they have disgraced ; a
mistress — that is, a master — they have deceived."

" Drum 'em out of the Castle, Tickelstern ; strip their uniforms from their backs,
and never let me hear of the scoundrels again." So saying, the old Prince angrily
turned on his heel to breakfast, leaving the two young men to the fun and derision of
their surrounding comrades.

The noble Count of Hombourg, who was taking his usual airing on the ramparts
before breakfast, came up at this juncture, and asked what was the row? Otto blushed
when he saw him, and turned away rapidly ; but the Count, too, catching a glimpse of
him, with a hundred exclamations of joyful surprise seized upon the lad, hugged him to
his manly breast, kissed him most affectionately, and almost burst into tears as he
embraced him. For, in sooth, the good Count had thought his godson long ere this
at the bottom of the silver Rhine.

The Prince of Cleves, who had come to the breakfast-parlour window (to invite his
guest to enter, as the tea was made), beheld this strange scene from the window, as did
the lovely tea-maker likewise, with breathless and beautiful agitation. The old Count
and the archer strolled up and down the battlements in deep conversation. By the
gestures of surprise and delight exhibited by the former, 'twas easy to see the young
archer was conveying some very strange and pleasing news to him, though the nature
of the conversation was not allowed to transpire.

" A godson of mine," said the noble Count, when interrogated over his muffins. " I
know his family ; worthy people ; sad 'scapegrace ; run away ; parents longing for

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE. . 269

him ; glad jou did not flog hira ; devil to pay, and so forth." The Count was a man
of few woi'ds, and told his tale in this brief, artless manner. But why, at its conclusion,
did the gentle Helena leave the room, her eyes filled with tears ? She left the room
once more to kiss a certain lock of yellow hair she had pilfered. A dazzling, delicious
thought, a strange wild hope, arose in her soul !

When she appeared again, she made some side-handed inrpiiries regarding Otto
(with that gentle artifice oft employed by women) ; but he was gone. He and his
companion Avere gone. The Count of Hombourg had likewise taken his dcpai-ture,
under pretext of particular business. How lonely the vast castle seemed to Helena^
now that he was no longer there. The transactions of the last few days ; the beautiful
archer-boy ; the offer from the Rowski (always an event in a young lady's life) ; the
siege of the castle ; the death of her truculent admirer ; all seemed like a fevered dream
to her ; all was passed away, and had left no trace behind. No trace ? yes ! one ; a
little insignificant lock of golden hair over which the young creature wept so much that
she put it out of curl : passing hours and hours in the summer-house, where the opera-
tion had been performed.

On the second day (it is ray belief she would have gone into a consumption and
died of languor, if the event had been delayed a day longer) a messenger, with a
trumpet, brought a letter in haste to the Prince of Cleves, who was, as usual, taking
refreshment. " To the High and Mighty Prince," &c. the letter ran. " The Cham-
pion who had the honour of engaging on Wednesday last with his late Excellency the
Rowski of Donnerblitz presents his compliments to H.S.H. the Prince of Cleves.
Through the medium of the public prints the C. has been made acquainted with the
flattering proposal of His Serene Highness relative to a union between himself (the
Champion) and Her Serene Highness the Princess Helena of Cleves. The Champion
accepts with pleasure that polite invitation, and will have the honour of waiting upon
the Pi-ince and Princess of Cleves about half an hour after the receipt of this letter."

" Tol lol do rol, girl," shouted the Prince with heartfelt joy. (Have you not
remarked, dear friend, how often in novel books, and on the stage, joy is announced
by the above burst of insensate monosyllables ?) " Tol lol de rol. Don thy best kirtlo,
child ; thy husband will be here anon." And Helena retired to arrange her toilet for this
awful event in the life of a young woman. When she returned, attired to welcome her
defender, her young cheek was as pale as the white satin slip and orange sprigs she
wore.

She was scarce seated on the dais by her father's side, when a huge flourish of
trumpets from without proclaimed the arrival of the Champion. Helena felt quite sick ;
a draught of ether was necessary to restore her tranquillity.

The great door was flimg open. He entered, — the same tall warrior, slim, and
beautiful, blazing in shining steel. He approached the Prince's throne, supported on
each side by a friend likewise in armour. He knelt gracefully on one knee.

" I come," said he, in a voice trembling with emotion, " to claim, as per advertise-
ment, the hand of the lovely Lady Helena ; " and he held out a copy of the AU(jemeine
ZcHnng, as he spoke.

" Art thou noble, sir knight ?'' asked the Prince of Cleves.

" As noble as yourself," answered the kneeling steel.

" Who answers for thee ? "

" I, Carl Margrave, of Qodosberg, his father ! " said the l<nii:lit on the rii:lit hnnd,
lifting up his visni'.^ -^•

VOL. I. — xo. XII.

270

A LEGEND OF THE RHINE.

"And I — Liidwig, Count of Ilombourg, his godfather ! " said the knight on the left,
doing likewise.

The kneeling knight lifted up his visor now, and looked on Helena.

" I knew it was," said she, and fainted as she saw Otto, the archer.
But she was soon brought to, gentles, as I have small need to tell ye. In a very
few days after, a great marriage took place at Cleves, under the patronage of Saint
Bugo, Saint Buffo, and Saint Bendigo. After the marriage ceremony, the happiest and
handsomest pair in the world drove oif in a chaise-and-four, to pass the honey-moon at
Kissingen. The Lady Theodora, whom we left locked up in her convent a long while
since, was prevailed to come back to Godesberg, where she was reconciled to her
husband. Jealous of" her daughter-in-law, she idolised her son, and spoiled all her
little grandchildren. And so all are happy, and my simple tale is done.

I read it in an old — old book, in a mouldy old circulating library. 'Twas written
in the French tongue, by the noble Alexandre Dumas, Marquis de la Pailleterie ; but
'tis probable that he stole it from some other, and that the other had filched it from a
former tale-teller. For nothing is new under the sun. Things die and are reproduced
only. And so it is that the forgotten tale of the great Dumas reappears under the
signature of

WMstlebinkie, N.B., December 1. Theresa Mac Whirter.

THE PESSIMIST. 271

THE PESSIMIST.

BY HORATIUS COCKNIENSIS.

You have often heard of an Optimist ; but I 'II bet you a case of Champagne to a
pint of Bucellas you never heard of a Pessimist. Yet the world abounds with them.
For every Optimist there are at least ten Pessimists. But what is a Pessimist ?
Patience, — and I '11 tell you. Did you never meet with a person who was only happy
in predicting- the misfortunes of others ? — a creature with a paving-stone for a heart, and
a face the joyous colour of an old law book, who took a savage pleasure in assuring you,
when a boy, that " some day you would be hanged "? — a long drawn-out packthread of
a man, whose thread of life had become all worsted ? — a human vessel, whose milk of
human kindness had all turned sour from the thunder of his o^vn denunciations ? — an
animated refrigerator, who chilled everything he touched, making the warmest person
change, in a moment, into concentrated ice ? No — you never met such a character ?
Well, I '11 introduce him to you, so that, knowing him, you may carefully avoid him.

The Pessimist delights in the horrors of life. If he reads a newspaper, you will
find him revellino^ to his heart's discontent amonf!;st the " Accidents and Offences." lie
is always talking of this world being a very wicked world, with a pompous manner, as
much as to say, if he had had the making of the world he would have made a much
better thing of it. If your little boy happens to break a window, or to tread upon his
corns, he will instantly prophesy " That boy will come to no good." The Pesssmist is
immense at prophecies — and he has a spitefid good memory in reminding you of the
fulfilment of any one that happened to come true ; for instance, if you are going on
the ice, he will say, " Take my word for it, young man, you will fall in : " and if you do
happen to fall in, it is a little dunghill of triumph that he keeps crowing upon to the last
day of his life. He congratulates himself upon it every time he meets you. " Oh,
you 're looking better ; but you have never thoroughly recovered from that narrow
escape you had from drowning, when you would go upon the ice after I told you so
positively you shouldn't ;" and he leaves you with a face beaming with melancholy. He
is the best person in the world of whom to inquire — " What news ? " It is sure to be au
'awful fire,' or a ' fearful loss of life,' or * a panic,' or something equally pleasant.

He is, also, a most jovial companion at a dinner-table, lie takes wine as if it
were physic, and drinks " your health " in the voice of a clerk reading the funeral
service. At dessert he enlarges upon the frightful effbets of intemperance, and waxes
melancholy upon the many fine young men who have drunk themselves into premature
graves. A good crisis is to the Pessimist a rare delicacy. The Railways lately liave
afi"orded him immense comfort. He has been assuring his friends, fur the last three
months, that every one of them must be ruined. According to him, all England before
1846 is to go through the Insolvent Debtors' Court. The accidents on Railways are
another of his favourite hobbies, and one which lie rides with great eff"ect before ladies.
He terrifies them to such a degree that at last the poor trembling creatures believe
that steam-engines were specially invented by Dr. Malthus to thin the population, and
that the stokers receive a premium for every person that is killed. He persuades
them that the " Railway King" is no other than King Death.

What a capital peace-maker the Pessimist makes ! In matrimonial differences
especially, his evil genius shines the mosf. He tells Mr. Brown, " Really, I do not sec

272 THE PESSIMIST.

how you can ever take .to your bosom again a person who has so grossly deceived you;"
whilst he says to Mrs. 13., " Indeed, my dear madam, I see nothing but misery before
you. — What else can you expect from such a man as Brown ? " In fact, the Pessi-
mist is the genuine distm-ber of the peace of private families. If a father talks to
him about a racketty son, his kind advice is to " Let the young scamp go to the dogs
his OAvn way ;" and if a parent is abused by his runaway son, he upholds the young
delinquent in his notions of parental despotism, and elaborates a most painful picture
of the consequences of their ever living under the same roof again. He is also a
cheering person of whom to ask advice. If you are anxious to get married, consult
the Pessimist first, by all means. He will talk so eloquently about the expenses of
matrimony, expatiate so warmly on the responsibiUties and troubles of children, and
talk so reasonably about "ill-assorted minds" and "uncongenial dispositions," that
you wiU leave hhu with the conviction, it is nothing less than criminal in a man to
marry, unless he has a large fortune, or has made up his mind to die in the workhouse.
In short, the Pessimist sees everything couleur de bile. He won't allow you to eat half-a-
dozen oysters, without teUing you you are sure to be ill in consequence of it. He seems
to live, like a broker, by the distresses he makes it his business to levy upon other
people. He only sees the world, like an owl, on its black side. Over his head ought
to be written Dante's inscription : " Hope never enters here." His congratulation is a
croak — he will not even admit it is a fine day, without predicting, " It will be sure to
rain before the evening." His compliments bring the tears into your eyes, and when
he administers comfort, you have the sensation of cold water trickling down your back.
Children connect him, somehow, with their nursery notions of " Old Bogie ; " young men
call him " a slow coach," meaning by this, I suppose, a mourning-coach, for he is just
as slow in his movements, and every bit as cheerful ; but the elderly gentlemen talk of
his " strong mind," whilst with the elderly ladies he is a complete refutation of the old
proverb, that " No one is a prophet in his own country," for the Pessimist is certainly
the Raphael of private life, and his predictions are as religiously believed, by old women,
as any contained in that gentleman's Prophetic Almanack.

The Pessimist generally resides on the other side of forty. He wears gaiters,
goloshes, a great-coat in July, and has generally a very red nose. He hates children,
and music, and singing, and theatres, and round games, — in fact, there is not a thing
he is fond of with the exception of himself. He is generally single, and in this
particular only proves he is not totally destitute of kindness for his fellow-creatures —
for if the stock were to increase, the world might very probably attain that high state of
ruin he is always predicting for it. Altogether, his appearance is not prepossessing. He
has all the dreariness of a comic actor off the stage, combined with the pleasant
expression of a merchant on settling-day. A "full length" of him might serve as
an admirable frontispiece to the Anatomy of Melancholy . Beware, how you let him
come into your house, for you will find him undermine everything ; and that he is
as difficult to get out as the dry-rot.

Well, Reader, do you recognise the character from the above portrait ? It is, I assure
you, taken from the life. If you do not, however, I can only say I envy your good
luck, for I Avould sooner meet a bill any day than a Pessimist ; but if you do know
such a gentleman, I can give you an infallible recipe for making him invisible. Ask
him to lend you 100/. You will not get it, but you will gain this greater advantage
— you will never see the Pessimist again. — N.B. Never attempt a joke with a Pessimist.
The chances are, that he will knock j^ou down. ^

MY OPINIONS ON UMBRELLAS.

273

MY OPINIONS ON UMBRELLAS.

BY ANGUS B. UEACU.

HE number of uuibrcllas which pass through my hands is enormous.

I generally steal one once a week, and all my friends steal the stolen

goods in turn. I confess the felony without remorse. I think stealing

umbrellas to be a law of nature which I am born to fulfil. Certain

great problems are yet unsolved. No one can tell why coal-hoavers

wear white stockings ; or how the longitude may be best discovered,

or Avherefore — as killing may be no mm-der — stealing umbrellas is no theft. I have no

real respect for people who buy or borrow umbrellas. The first process shows a great

lack of moral firmness ; the second is, after all, only a shabby Avay of steahng the article.

However, there was once a man who borrowed an umbrella, for whom I entertain a
strong sympathy.

The victim called for his gingham. It was raining cats and dogs. lie met the
victimiser in the act of sallying forth — the whalebone ribs of the implement in question
in the act of expansion.

" Give me my umbi'ella ? "

" Can't."

" But what am I to do ? "

'* What I have done — borrow another."

Now this I take to have been a great moral lesson. Another gentleman of my
acquaintance is also in the habit of borrowing umbrellas. But it is for long periods.
He always solicits the loan on the approach of November, and returns the article with
many thanks on the 1st of June. I have no objection to borrowing umbrellas for the
winter.

In stealing umbrellas, the obvious rule to be observed is never to take a cotton affair
when you can get a silk. Of course, if you are somehow encumbered with one of the
former, you will lose no time in exchanging it for one of the latter.

The time for snug evening parties is now coming on. It is the harvest season for
the umbrella gatherer. I count an ordinary tea-and-turn-out as worth, on an average, a
good si\]i. jjcira/iluie with a monster's head carved in ivory for the handle. Good hats
may be occasionally bagged also. It puzzles the people at home to find out the
rationale of my frequently going out with a four-and-nine and coming home with an
eight-and-twenty. Nothing so simple. The lobby table generally boasts a very good
assortment. I much prefer it to the hatter's coimter.

The varieties of the umbrella breed are very remarkable. There is
first, the low-Ufe, plebeian umbrella. It is terribly fat, and is always in
a state of perspiration. Its proportions are squab, and its composition
pufty cotton. It is usually out of order in its inside, and, on an averagr,
three of its ribs are to be seen through its skin. When opened, tin.-
stains on its rotundity give a very good notion of a terrestrial globe —
with all its continents and islands.

This species of imibrclla is generally the property of old women,
who go to tea-and-turn-out parties, in unknown street.-^, on damp
evenings. N.B. It is not worth stealing.

274

MY OPINIONS ON UMBRELLAS.

The dandy virabrcUa is quite a contrast to the last. It has a smirking, jaunty air,
and looks as if it wore stays. It afFectionates a glazed case, and requires, Avhen used, to
be skinned like an eel. Vauxhall on gala nights is the best place for seeing the process,
but there is no chance of laying hold of a good umbrella there — seeing that they are
never laid aside for a moment. Tlie dandy umbrella is not unfrcqucntly carried by nice
young men for small tea -parties — who never go to the Cider Cellars — only know latch-
keys by ancestral tradition — buy Berlin wool for their sisters — play " I dreamt I dwelt
in marble halls " on the flute — think the ballet not quite proper — and admire Bowdler's
"Family Shakspore."

These unfortunate individuals are, of caurse, fair game for the practice of umbrella
conveyancing.

Parasols, everybody knows, are female umbrellas. The flirt rustles in the flutter of
the gaudy fringe. The coquette flashes her sparkling eye through the shifting shades
of the shot silk. No afiinity have the butterfly creations to the every-day, hard-working,
rain-parrying male umbrella. The latter, even the best of them, have a coarse, masculine
look about them.

There is no mistaking the gender of the parasol. The delicate ivory handle,
is it not most lady-finger-like ? That • fragile rib, does it not put you in mind of your
own ? The whole afi'air — has it not a most sweet-flavoured and young-lady-like
appearance ? — fit only to be laid up in lavender, or taken abroad when the heavens
rain eau de Cologne !

Of course I study deeply the physiology of umbrellas and their bearers. I note
with industrious eye the peculiarities of both, distinguishing the cases in which the
umbrella seems to belong to the biped, and those in which the biped seems to belong
to the umbrella.

There is one numerous class of individuals who always parade the streets with their
ginghams stuck under their arms at right angles to their back-bones ; and as the

interesting couple are always stopping to look into print-
shop windows, the ferrule of the umbrella seems endowed
with a singular attraction towards the noses and eyes of
society in general.

Another race, who button their
frock-coats to the chin, either to
give themselves a military air, or
to avoid giving their shirts any air
at all, treat their appendages as
though they were sabres, and carry
them with a martial port which
there is no beai'ing. Here is a
specimen.

The old lady umbrella-fancier
is to be met with on sunny afternoons, trotting along quiet
streets, in ancient stained lavender-colom-cd silks, at the rate of
fully a quarter of a mile an hour. Wonderful to relate, these
venerable tabbies carry their umbrellas like babies ; they have
a fumbling fashion of hugging their gingham jyrotegcs across
their faded shawls, and are speechless with indignation if you
accidentally brush by them as they are immeped in the geo-

MY OPINIONS ON UMBRELLAS.

graphical studies afforded by an omnibus panel, having of course stopped the vehicle
before they began to read where it goes to.

The uses of umbrellas are as multifarious as their forms. They are our walking-
sticks when it is dry— our walking-houses when it is wet. They are capital things for

applauding at a theatre — I have known
more than one author batter his ferrule oflF
at his own farce. On the other hand, they
cannot expound disapprobation — wherefore
new pieces ought to be brought out, when
M. Arago has predicted dry weather, and
when the barometer accordingly stands at
" much rain." You will, therefore, not
fail to borrow — j-ou know what I mean by
that — an umbrella wlien you go to the first
night of your friend's tragedy. If the
piece be damned, as most hkely it will,
you will always have the satisfaction of
knowing that you did your duty by it —
and of keeping the umbrella in token
thereof. N.B. Possession is generally nine
points of the law — in the case of umbrellas it is ten.

P. S. Good heavens ! would you believe it ? I was out at supper last night, at Whiffens'
— good fellow Whiffens — never knew a drop of British brandy within his doors. We
had something to drink of course — eifxht glasses, or some
trifle thereabouts, and I left his place to come home as sober
as a judge ; that is to say, I suppose so — for I don't quite
remember. However, I must have passed through Covent
Garden, for I am just served with a summons from my
friend Hall, of Bow-street, for making oft' with one of these
huge umbrellas, under the extending shade of which female
leek-sellers sit like so many petticoatcd Tityruses (excuse

the unclassical plural), but with nothing green about them fe--^ 1 J^ K '- f L/

except their grocery. JW V-«^^ ^"^""l/V

It is too true. The Brobdignag umbrella was found lying '■' ** ^^^5Sdl

in the area. Z 45 saw me walking down the Strand with
it exactly in this fashion —

I would write more, but the policeman is waiting for me.

N.B. I have horrid visions of the prison-van aiul a short crop. !My sentiments on the
subject I have been writing of are changed; and I add, by way of Mohal — Don't steal

Umbrellas.

A. B. R.

276 HINTS FOR A DOMESTIC POLICE.

HINTS FOR A DOMESTIC POLICE.

BY SHIRLEY BROOKS.

Among the fabulous animals, a description whereof has not yet found its way into the
appendix to Buffon, is a singular being called a Policeman. We never saw one, nor do
we credit the assertion of its existence, although we have no desire to be thought
sceptical, but, on the contrary, believe firmly all ghost stories, managers' announce-
ments, and French newspapers. But the hold which the idea of such a creature has
obtained upon the minds of many — especially among the lower classes — is strong, and
as the restraint which this superstition causes upon some of their habits is often
salutary, it woidd ill become a philanthropist to attempt to stagger their faith.
Thinking persons will, notwithstanding, place all auecdotes of the appearance of this
fabled creature beside the " Rec^-eations in Natural History," wherewith they have
lately been edified by a supernaturally acute observer.

"But," says Sir Thomas Brown, with much wisdom and antithesis, "out of the
fable of the vulgar springeth the lesson of the sage." Upon which hint, and con-
sidering the crying necessities of the times, we have to propose an institution which
will, one of these days, entitle us to a statue in the New Houses of Parliament.

We have founded it upon the popular traditions concerning the Policeman, but have
adapted it to supply a great social want.

Looking, then (to borrow the manner of a Parliamentary report), at the crowded
state of drawing-rooms, and the facility thereby oftered for the commission of various
offences — remarking the unprotected condition of young ladies, and ladies not so young
as they have been, who are exposed to the reckless conduct of their partners — having
regard to the cruelties, in the form of speeches, nightly practised upon unsuspecting
supper-eaters — and observing the immense increase of attempts at wit, and the quantity
of stolen jokes In circidation, to the injury of the honest manufacturer and seller thereof,
— it is proposed to organise and establish a Domestic Police, some of whose duties
shall be as follows : —

I. Any person narrating a story, or anything he imagines to be one, and becoming
prosy, or parenthetical, or forgetting " where he was," shall be desired by the police
on duty to " move on."

IL Any person guilty of disturbing the peace of his neighbours, by vaunting an
alleged friendship with the Duke of Wellington, the Railway King, the Editor of the
Times, or the author of "Junius," shall be taken to the station, and taught to
remember his o^vn.

III, Any young gentleman detected in saying to more than six partners on any one
evening, " Been to the Opera much this season ? " shall be removed from the room,
as having fulfilled his mission in this world ; and the same shall be done in the case of
any person affecting a reluctance to dance his pas setd in La Pastorale ; or exclaiming,
" Oh ! ladies' pasforale ; " or executing the said pas seid in any other than the
ordinary and Christianlike manner taught him by his dancing-master. N.B. An
affectation of indolence or eccentricity In this figure being very prevalent In a certain
set, the police arc to be unusually vigilant.

IV. Any person who, in reply to a simple nuestion, shall make a facetious reply, to

HINTS FOR A DOMESTIC POLICE. 277

puzzle and not instruct the querist, or shall " take one up," shall for such " gentish "
act be himself taken up.

V. Any person alluding to Railways, except as means of travelling, shall be removed ;
but this regulation not to come into operation until the 1st of April next, when an
extensive christening of scrip-holders is expected.

VI. Great injury having been occasioned by the incautious explosion of fireworks
after supper, the said fireworks being charged with sentiments dangerous to the peace
of persons not about to marry, or already married, the police will prevent the practice.
But any eligible match, giving security that his intentions are as per motto, may be
permitted to pull a cracker with not more than one young lady, with the consent of her
mamma for the time being.

VII. The police will arrange the cardinal points of every quadrille, so that there
maybe no disputes about "who's to begin," or dashing charges of "sides" upon
each other. Partners' heads to be turned towards each other, and no " setting down"
to be practised upon younger sons by worldly-minded chaperons.

VIII. Complaint having been made that divers young men, of a spoony turn of
mind, do cluster about the doors of ball-rooms, smiling uncomfortably, but not putting
themselves to any other use, and moreover grievously interfering with flirtations in the
passage and on the stairs, the police will disperse such groups, and distribute their
members among the Avallflowers.

IX. During a song the police will patrol the rooms, and preserve silence and order,
unless the singer be an EngUsh girl and the song an Italian bravura, in which case
common humanity will dictate excessive inattention. If any person in the knuwn habit
of singing had " really rather not " after the eleventh asking, the police shall compel
him or her to be taken at his or her word ; and if, as is sure to be the case, such person
in consequence do sulk, he or she is to be passed to his parish,

X. During supper, the police will take all expedient measures for preventing the
starvation of plain girls and elderly ladies. " Lips, not rosy, must still be fed."

XI. After supper, any person asking "permission to propose a toast" shall be
taken into custody, and examined as to his intentions. He shall be permitted to give
the health of "our hostess " in the following form, now most popular, and in no other.
No stops to be allowed.

" I — that is — gentlemen — I have our worthy host's permission who has given me
kindly leave with your permission to propose a health and when we look around and
when we consider Avhat has been done for our comfort and happiness to-night knowing I
may say because it is very well known to you that nobody but the ladies can manage
such things that I am sure you will all join me in drinking long life and prosperity to
our hostess and many happy years."

XII. Such toast, or the matei'ial part thereof, shall then be drunk, without any
hammering of mahogany, or what are absurdly called the " honoiu's ; " and if any
person shoidd insinuate, or endeavour to induce a confession by other.s, that their hostess
is a jolly good fellow, he shall be confined to the station-house and Lindley Murray.
The host shall return thanks in the form following, being that most esteemed,

" Gentlemen [cheers) I thank you heartily for the honour you have done my wife,

[cheers). Though I say it that shouldn't say it [lavghter) she deserves it all [rheer.<>) and I

sincerely hope that such of you as are bachelors ma}' soon find wives like her [la.uphfer

and applause). I shall not fail to inform her of the honour you have done her and 1 hope

to see you all here many a time to come," [Cheers.)

VOL. I. — NO. XII.

278 THE STAGE NEGRO.

XIII. No other toasts to be permitted, under any circumstances, inasmuch as
drinking the health of the host at an evening ])arty is merely recognising the fact that
he can draw a cheque on a banker ; and inasmuch as •' The Ladies " prefer their
partners' return to the drawing-room to hearing themselves testified by shouts to be
wari'anted excuses for the glass. Besides, vociferation and excitement prevent digestion
and promote intoxication, and one owes a little to one's partner, and a great deal to
one's inside.

XIV. At all dinner-parties a police-officer shall be present, in order to prevent the
horrible atrocities thereat committed by persons weakly allowed to be denominated
"jolly." Any such individual hazarding the slightest attempt at a joke in reference to
"tongue," "brains," "calf's head," "collaring the beef," "puffs," "man at the
weal," "bless my sole," " this 'ere or that hare," " steak in the country," " my fare is
fowl," "none of your sauce," or the like villany, shall incontinently be hurried out of
the room. It is hoped that a discriminating public will, by invai-iably groaning in a
frightful manner at any such perpetration, assist the police in reining in the jocosity of
so-called "jolly " persons.

With such additions to these regulations as experience may dictate, we should like
to "go down to posterity with our code in our hand." The Spectator mentions an
infirmary which was instituted for the recovery of persons suffering under maliidies like
those we would provide against ; but it is more in accordance with the spirit of our age
to punish affliction than to cure it.

The only objection which can be lu'ged is the difficulty of finding the necessary
officials, but we consider this a merit and a beauty, for thereby our police more
strikingly resemble their fabulous prototypes.

THE STAGE NEGRO.

BY THE EDITOR.

The character of the Negro, as exhibited on the stage, is a strange compound of
physical and moral singularities, that are well Avorthy the attention of the student of
human nature in its dramatic, which is certainly its most astounding form. The Stage
Negro seems to be deeply imbued with the beauties of the British Constitution, and is
constantly indulging in sentiments of gratitude towards England, that must be delight-
ful to the ears of the most patriotic native of our highly-favoured isle. The Stage Negro
is continually running about in an ecstacy of delight at the reflection, that, " di'eckly
him put him foot on British groim, him free as de air, free as Massa himself :" an
announcement which is usually followed up in an early scene by the Negro receiving a
variety of cufts or kicks, (in which, by-the-bye, he seems to delight,) from some of the
other chai-acters in the drama. Sometimes the Stage Negro grows sentimental, and
asks in reference to some cruel practical joke that has been played upon him, " Whether
him not a man and a brother ; for though him face black as him coal, him heart white
as him lily." The old constitution-loving and sentiment-spluttering Stage Nigger is
however rapidly disappearing from the stage ; and we get, in these days, very few of
those cutting allusions to the traffic in slaves, and those tender appeals to the equality

AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS. 279

of the liiiraan race wliicli were the charm of the dramatic negroes of our infancy. The
Stage Negro has hecome a vulgar dancing brute, with a banjo in liis hand, and without
a bit of sentiment at liis heart ; a wretch constantly jumping about, wheeling about, and
turning about, but wholly devoid of that solemn admiration for the British Constitution
and for the liberating influence of the sands at Margate, or the shingles at Dover, which
we once used to hear with a feeling of pride at being natives of a land that admitted of
so much puffing on the part of our dramatists. The Stage Negro of the present day can
only indulge in frivolous allusions to Miss Lucy Long, Coal Black Rose, and other light
characters, or call upon some imaginary individual, of the name of Josey, to Jim alon"- —
a process that we are utterly at a loss to form any conception of.

Thus much for the moral attributes of the Stage Negro, whose physical peculiarities
remain, for the most part, unchanged ; and to these we can, therefore, turn our
attention, without any feeling of disappointment, at the alteration which has occurred in
the intellectual character. The Stage Negro still exhibits that remarkable peculiarity
of the skin, which is shown by the dark colour, generally finishing abruptly at the
wrist, the hand being perfectly the same as that of one of the white population. The
variety of hues is also very remarkable ; for while the arm is of the colour of a black
worsted stocking, the face is somewhat less opaque, and, indeed, it would appear that
Nature dealt for her blacking with two different manufacturers, trying Warren for the
limbs, and using Day and Martin for the features of the Stage Negro.

BY HORACE MAYHEW.

An Autograph Hunter generally rideth his hobby to death. He will hunt down
any poor author, to rob him of his name ; but as some people cannot have their game
too high, so with him the higher an author's name, the better ho likctli it. Every
man who hath risen In the world, though it be no higher flight tlian that of a Catnach,
is fair game to him, and he taketh aim at him accordingly, like a little boy with a pop-
gun, by means of a quill. The Court Guide is his pointer, and every postman his
whipper-in. A double barrel is not his weapon, but a double knock. He will go to
any distance to secure his prey. Every country is a Leicestershire to him. He will
hunt Miss Bremer in Sweden, or Washington Irving on the banks of the Mississijipi,
and woidd have started in pursuit of the King of the Cannibal Islands, only the scent
did not lie well in that direction. Fleschi was an Immense feather in his cap. Ho
treasureth still the quill he plucked from him. Your Autograph Hunter is also a man
of unbounded address. He Is the very man to hunt down a Railway Stag, for he hath
a marvellous trick of tracking the wildest creature to its lair ; but the ardour of the
chase often taketh him abroad. He hath been known to start in search of Knicker-
bocker, who, he Avas told, lived on the flats of New York, and was astonished that not
a single letter, though he fired volleys after him, ever reached him.

Your true Ninirod of Autographs hunteth without a license ; he trespasseth on the
smallest grounds, and poacheth on everybody's good manors. Men arc to him like
horses, diff"erlng only by so many hands. An Album is his preserve, which he stockcth
every year with the strangest birds, — black-bhds, such as the dcepcst-dycd criminals,

280 AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS.

— singing-birds, of the ^emts Grisi, Persiani, and Paul Bedfordini — birds of prey, like
the French and German birds who migrate annually to our hospitable shores, — besides
birds that are fond of crowing, like the Syncretic bird, and humming birds, that with
borrowed feathers hang about the walls of a theatre ; to say nothing of birds of
paradise and gaol birds, such as Victoria and Jack Sheppard. Everything, in fact,
is game that comes to his book.

The Autograph Hunter, like the learned pig, hath a great love for letters, but when
he cannot get one, he doth not mind taking a lesson from those cunning foxes in the
Secret Letter Office, and breaking cover. He abuseth the penny postage, and
bewaileth the day of the expulsion of the Franks from England. lie divideth mankind
into two packs — those who do write, and those who do not ; but he hunteth both with
equal ardour. The former he valueth for their fine running hands — for a good hand he
considereth, like Lord Byron, to be the palm of good-breeding ; but the latter, though
generally men of great X naark, he thinketh no better than a cross. Yet he is not
proud, for he is always too happy to take any man's fist ; in fact, his book — and he
excelleth in making a good book — might well be called " Fistiana."

Ladies hunt, also, for Autographs. Your true-born gentlewoman maketh a most
intrepid huntress. When once she hath started an Album, nothing stoppeth her in the
mad pursuit. Directly a new writer, or preacher, or clown, or artist, or literary
dustman, springeth up, she runneth after him and hunteth him to death, till she hath
bagged his autograph. Her weapon of attack mostly is of French manufacture, called
a billet-doux.

With this weapon will she jun:ip over seas, and clear continents in a day, for the
billet-doux will carry many hundred miles at a single charge. The charge, however,
increaseth in strength according to the distance it travelleth ; and not unfrequently the
charge hath come so strong that the billet-doux hath been sent back all the way it came.
The lady sometimes pulleth the long-bow, but only in the cause of charity, for she will
take the produce of her chase to a fair, and sell it at a common stall for as much gold as
she can get. This she doeth with the philanthropic purpose of washing the blackamoor
white, or else sending out a cargo of Rowland's Kalydor to the poor freckled
Kamschatkians.

Your Jew, too, is an indefatigable hunter after Autographs. He will exert the whole
of his persuasion to catch a good one. The Autograph of a young pigeon, who hath
a fine crest, he fancieth most ; if taken before he is thoroughly plucked, it yieldeth
him great interest. So exciting is this game, that five brothers have been known
to turn wine-merchant, money-lender, attorney, bailifi", and broker, purposely to join
in the pleasures of the sport. There is a firm, too, somewhere about Chancery-
lane, which hath down in its books (facetiously called the " Sherifi"s Album,") the
finest collection of Autographs in the whole kingdom. The Doomsday Book con-
taineth not half so many noble names. Such a high value is set upon them that
an Officer keepeth them under lock and key, in what is called a " lock-up house," for
fear they should leave the shores of merry England.

Beware of your Autograph Hunter. Above all, play not at cards with him, for you
cannot tell what that man will turn up who looketh over everybody's hand. Recollect,
too, many a pony has been posted in the City, by simply having a piece of paper with a
good round signature to back it. Look well to the colour of that man's legs who
asketh you to sign your name. Be sure his honesty is at a discount : like a wolf, he
hovereth round the pens of the sheep, seeking whom he can devour. Give him but

JOLLIPUMP ON HAPPINESS. 281

your hand, and three months afterwards he will stop you in the street, and make you
deliver up your money. An Autograph Hunter of tluit stamp is the Dick Tin-pin of
the present day.

Reader, reserve all your down strokes for the head of such a man, and, if he
asketh you after that to endorse anything for him, mind you do it with a bold hand
across his back.

JOLLIPUMP ON HAPPINESS.

AN EXPERIMENTAL LECTURE.

The advantages of Lectures, as a mode of imparting knowledge, particularly on
abstruse and metaphysical subjects, will be obvious to those who consider how easy it
is to follow a train of close reasoning uttered with A^olubility : to recollect it all ; and
to attend to what the speaker is saying, and reflect on what he has just said at the
same time. How much less troublesome to acquire knowledge in this way, than from
books, which require to be constantly referred to !

A contingency, however, unluckily incident to this slightly complex exertion of the
mind, is the sudden prostration of its faculties in sleep. It has divested itself of all
ideas foreign to the subject : it acquires none relative to it ; and the consequence is
audible in those snores which so often resound in the temples of Science. To our
thinking, a very pretty picture for an Institute would be Philosophy delivering the
Student into the arms of Morpheus.

It may be all very well to produce "sound and refreshing sleep at will :" but it is
not so well to produce sleep, which, if sound, is not refreshing, against the will, as,
from much experience, we can state that most lecturers do. It is, therefore, highly
desirable that those gentlemen should try to be a little lively, and to blend, as it were,
the rose and the honeysuckle with those poppies which are the chief flowers of their
oratory.

Of all lectures, the least soporific are those on Chemistry : by reason of the explo-
sions, changes, transformations, and other attractive phenomena which abound in them.
Their experiments are an antidote to their narcotic influence. We believe that every
kind of lecture may be similarly illustrated, to as good a purpose. We are personally
satisfied that the driest subject is susceptible of this agreeable treatment.

Last evening, at Intellect Hall, Professor Jollipump delivered an interesting lecture
on Happiness, whereat we had the happiness to be present. The Professor gave us a
better idea of happiness than we ever derived from any other philosopher in our lives ;
and so brilliant was his discourse, that we are sure that not even one ladv in the
assembly had her ears bored.

The interior of Intellect Hall was, in the first place, fitted up in a manner admirably
appropriate to the occasion. The scats were so many easy-chairs, provided with spring-
cushions, covered with the softest red velvet ; moreover, they were so Avidely separated
as to allow the audience to stretch their legs as far as they pleased, and a footstool
was allotted to each person. The walls were tastefully hung with pictures. an<l vases
of flowers were disposed around the room. The floor, handsomely carpeted, had been
sprinkled with eau de Cologne.

282

JOLLIPUMP ON HAPPINESS.

Noiseless waiters attended with elegant refreshments, including pine-apple and
Champagne, which they handed round at intervals to the company. However, there
was beer for those who preferred it ; also ham-sandwiches, fruit-pics, and meat.

To meet the views of everybody, there were pipes and tobacco, inclusive of the
very best cigars, in the gallery; whence the smoke, ascending through the skylight,
occasioned no inconvenience. All were thus satisfied, and none incommoded.

The hall was crowded full half-an-hour before the time appointed for the lecture.
Professor Jollipump, on his entrance, was received with loud plaudits, which were
redoubled on the delivery of his first sentence. He said, that it was scarcely neces-
sary for him to define happiness, as he should think that they had been long enough
in that room to know pretty well what it was by this_ time.

However, he continued, he would ask them what they liked best? Happiness
consisted in enjoying that, whatever it was. And now, before he went any farther,
he woidd recommend glasses all round. This was a little experimeait illustrative of his
subject, and he thought it had answered tolerably. His lecture would mainly consist
of experiments. He would demonstrate the nature of happiness, not by a metaphysical
rigmarole, but by positive facts, in that interval of time familiarly designated a jiffy.
For instance —

Here the Professor pulled a string, which caused a green curtain behind his table to

Aui^ibiMiU-Q^

draw up, displaying a temporary stage. The scene thus disclosed consisted of a rustic
gate, with an individual rustic seated thereon.

There (continued the Professor) was a picture of happiness. They saw before them

JOLLIPUMP ON HAPPINESS. 283

one of those rural swains termed plougliboys. The object in his right hand was a clasp-
knife : that in the left, between the finger and thumb, was a lump of bread : the other,
between the little finger and the palm, was a bit of fat bacon. (The lecturer pointed out
all these objects in succession, with his wand.) The swain would now eat the bread and
bacon. The audience was, perhaps, too far off to catch the expression of his eye — it
was ditficult to discern any expression in the rustic at a distance— or hear the smacking
of his lips ; but these phenomena were distinctly perceptible to liimself. He would
now, to complete the experiment, add a quantity of strong ale to the bread and bacon,
and they would then see, immediately, that the rustic was as happy as he could be.

The Professor here poured out a foaming tankard of XXX, and handed it up to
the subject of the experiment, who having quaffed its contents began to caper with
delight, and to sing, " Gee ho, Dobbin," whilst the curtain descended amid loud
applause.

He would next (he said) show them an example of happiness, similar in kind to
the foregoing, but more intense ia degree. The curtain would now rise again. They
beheld the celebrated soup-room at Birch's, Cornhill. The corpulent gentleman at the
table was an alderman. The basin before him contained turtle — real turtle. Real
turtle was real happiness to the alderman — who scorned the illusive blandishments
of mock.

The scene to which he would now direct their attention was a boudoir. They
would there observe a young lady contemplating herself in the looking-glass — she
would have the goodness to turn her head about, and those who were near enough would
perceive the ecstatic smile on her countenance. He would call on them to notice her
dress — it was a ball-costume of the newest fashion — that dress had just been presented
to her : hence the state of happiness in which they now beheld her.

The next view was that of the exterior of the New Royal Exchange. The stout
gentleman in front, in the blue coat and brass buttons, was a capitalist. He had just
sold a lot of Railway Shares at a profit of 20,000/., and was in the most intense
condition of happiness that he was capable of.

He should have one more tableau to exhibit to them ; but previously he would try a
few experiments on his audience. The jars before him on the table contained sweetmeats.
Would any young gentleman present step forward ? He was delighted at the alacrity
with which his request was complied with. He now held up a pot of tamarinds. He would
present it to the young gentleman nearest him. He would give the next a quantity of
barley-sugar ; and the remainder should scramble for some lollipops. He begged
ladies and gentlemen woidd note the amount of happiness which he had thus
generated.

One more rise of the curtain would reveal his concluding picture of happiness, which
was a living representation of the marriage ceremony. He regretted that he could not
present them with a real wedding: however, he could assure them that the jiartics
whom they beheld had been united that very morning, and he would leave it to his
hearers to determine whether they had not thus been made happy. This was his last
exemplification of beatitude. His lecture would end with a wedding. So far it was
like a farce ; but, on the whole, he trusted it was much less of a farce than lectures in
general. He hoped he had instructed as well as amused his audience : at any rate, he
was confident they would carry something away with them, for he bogged that none of
them would have any delicacy in pocketing such of the good things before them as they
could not eat.

284 ADVERTISEMENT.

The learned and benevolent Professor here made his bow, and retired amid
thunders of applause, like Avliich nothing was ever before heard in a lecture-room. It
was universally agreed, that Jollipump, on the subject of Happiness, had shown himself,
whilst he had rendei-ed others so, particularly happy.

ADVERTISEMENT.

TTAVING now brought the " Table Book " to a close, Mr. George Cruikshank,
encouraged by the success of this, his first Annual Volume, begs to announce,
that on the First of January, he will commence

A NEW WORK,

differing materially from the Table Book, and to be called,

"OUR OWN TIMES,"

ILLUSTRATED BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

It will, like the Table Book, be published on the 1st of every month,
pi-ice One Shilling.

THE END.

BRADBURY AND KVAXS, PRINTBRS, WDITBFniAnS.

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