produced from images generously made available by the kentuckiana digital library) zigzag journeys in northern lands. the rhine to the arctic. _a summer trip of the zigzag club through holland, germany, denmark, norway, and sweden._ by hezekiah butterworth, author of "young folks' history of america," "young folks' history of boston," "zigzag journeys in europe," etc. _fully illustrated._ boston: estes and lauriat, - washington street. . _copyright, _, by estes and lauriat. the zigzag series. by hezekiah butterworth, of the editorial staff of the "youth's companion," and contributor to "st. nicholas" magazine. _each volume complete in itself._ now published. _zigzag journeys in europe._ _zigzag journeys in classic lands._ _zigzag journeys in the orient._ _zigzag journeys in the occident._ new volume for . _zigzag journeys in northern lands._ --> _over , volumes of the zigzag books have already been sold._ [illustration: carrying siegfried's body.] preface. this fifth volume of the zigzag books, in which history is taught by a supposed tour of interesting places, might be called a german story-book. it was the aim of "zigzag journeys in europe" and "zigzag journeys in classic lands" to make history interesting by stories and pictures of places. it was the purpose of "zigzag journeys in the orient" to explain the eastern question, and of "zigzag journeys in the occident" to explain homesteading in the west. the purpose of this volume is the same as in "europe" and "classic lands." a light narrative of travel takes the reader to the places most conspicuously associated with german history, tradition, literature, and art, and in a disconnected way gives a view of the most interesting events of those northern countries that once constituted a great part of the empire of charlemagne. it is the aim of these books to stimulate a love of history, and to _suggest_ the best historical reading. to this end popular stories and pictures are freely used to adapt useful information to the tastes of the young. but in every page, story, and picture, right education and right influence are kept in view. in this volume many german legends and fairy stories have been used, but they are so introduced and guarded as not to leave a wrong impression upon the minds of the young and immature. h. b. contents. chapter page i. the river of story and song ii. ghost stories iii. a story-telling journey iv. german stories v. the second meeting of the club vi. night second vii. evening the third viii. evening the fourth ix. fifth meeting for rhine stories x. night the sixth xi. cologne xii. hamburg xiii. the bells of the rhine xiv. the songs of the rhine xv. copenhagen xvi. norway xvii. the greater rhine illustrations. page carrying siegfried's body _frontispiece._ introducing christianity into the north castle in rhine land tower of rüdesheim on the rhine mountain scenery in southern germany "i've seen de debble" cat and rat grandmother golden the frightened irishman duncan asleep witches the grand-ducal castle, schwerin ancient german houses ancient religious rites of the peasants old fortress on the rhine st. dunstan and the devil the murder of edward the emperor william and napoleon iii william before his father king william's helmet jamie at the strange-looking house mountain scene in germany jamie rushing towards his mother the dwarf and the goose eberhard bridge in the via mala john huss bismarck peter in the forest peter and the manikin peter surpassed the king of dancers peter and the giant a village in the black forest peasant's house in the black forest von moltke fountain at schaffhausen the old woman's directions the hen and the trench strasburg cathedral platform of strasburg cathedral thus didst thou to the vase of soissons street in strasburg clovis monsieur lacombe and the organ "here is an odd treasure" palace at heidelberg german student castle at heidelberg german students entrance to heidelberg castle little mook amputation the queer old lady who went to college "and it told to her the truth" "not very, very plain" "they you straightway in invite" "he of the philosophie" a battle between franks and saxons luther's house a tribe of germans on an expedition the murder of siegfried mayence bishop hatto and the rats view on the rhine the lorelei herman's eyes were fixed on the rock ehrenbreitstein goethe's promenade faust signing faust and mephistopheles a cleft in the mountains voltaire the unnerved hussar cathedral of cologne the mysterious architect st. martin's church, cologne charlemagne in the school of the palace charlemagne inflicting baptism upon the saxons the germans on an expedition canal in hamburg the palace in berlin grotto sans-souci peter the wild boy the silent castles hotel de ville, ghent bell-tower, ghent castle at heidelberg breslau finishing the bell at the inn the day of execution above the town old peasant costume the old city old peasant costume old peasant costumes city gate the neckar an old german town the rhinefels mayence in the olden time beethoven's home at bonn a city of the rhine the river of song the palace of rosenborg view of copenhagen palace of fredericksborg the king in the bag gustavus adolphus death of gustavus and his page cascade in norway lazaretto the naero fiord lake in norway the coast niagara falls a new england in the west near quebec zigzag journeys in northern lands. chapter i. the river of story and song. the rhine! river of what histories, tragedies, comedies, legends, stories, and songs! associated with the greatest events of the history of germany, france, and northern europe; with the rome of cæsar and aurelian; with the rome of the popes; with the reformation; with the shadowy goblin lore and beautiful fairy tales of the twilight of celtic civilization that have been evolved through centuries and have become the household stories of all enlightened lands! a journey down the rhine is like passing through wonderland; wild stories, quaint stories, legendary and historic stories, are associated with every rood of ground from the alps to the ocean. it is a region of the stories of two thousand years. the rhine is the river of the poet; its banks are the battle-fields of heroes; its forests and villages the fairy lands of old. when rome was queen of the world, cæsar carried his eagles over the rhine; titus sent a part of his army which had conquered jerusalem to the rhine; julian erected a fortress on the rhine; and valentinian began the castle-building that was to go on for a thousand years. the period of the goths, huns, celts, and vandals came,--the conquerors of rome; and the rhine was strewn with roman ruins. charlemagne cleared away the ruins, and began anew the castle-building. a christian soldier in one of the legions that destroyed jerusalem and tore down the temple, first brought the gospel to the rhine. his name was crescaitius. he was soon followed by missionaries of the cross. christianity was established upon the rhine soon after it entered rome. [illustration: introducing christianity into the north.] the great conquests of modern history are directly or indirectly associated with the wonderful river; cæsar, who conquered the world, crossed the rhine; attila, who conquered the city of the cæsars; clovis, who founded the christian religion in france; and charlemagne, who established the christian church in germany. frederick barbarossa and frederick the great added lustre to its growing history, and napoleon gave a yet deeper coloring to its thrilling scenes. [illustration: castle in rhine land.] when the northern nations shattered the roman power, people imagined that the dismantled castles of the rhine became the abodes of mysterious beings: spirits of the rocks, forests, fens; strange maidens of the red marshes; enchanters, demons; the streams were the abodes of lovely water nymphs; the glens of the woods, of delightful fairies. [illustration: tower of rÜdesheim on the rhine.] into these regions of shadow, mystery, of heroic history, of moral conflicts and christian triumphs, it is always interesting to go. it is especially interesting to the american traveller, for his form of christianity and republican principles came from the rhine. progress to him was cradled on the rhine, like moses on the nile. in the rhine lands luther taught, and robinson of leyden lived and prayed; and from those lands to-day comes the great emigration that is peopling the golden empire of america in the west. "i would be proud of the rhine were i a german," said longfellow. "i love rivers," said victor hugo; "of all rivers i prefer the rhine." it is our purpose in this story-telling volume to relate why the zigzag club was led to make the rhine the subject of its winter evening study, and to give an account of an excursion that some of its members had made from constance to rotterdam and into the countries of the north sea. "all hail, thou broad torrent, so golden and green, ye castles and churches, ye hamlets serene, ye cornfields, that wave in the breeze as it sweeps, ye forests and ravines, ye towering steeps, ye mountains e'er clad in the sun-illumed vine! wherever i go is my heart on the rhine! "i greet thee, o life, with a yearning so strong, in the maze of the dance, o'er the goblet and song. all hail, beloved race, men so honest and true, and maids who speak raptures with eyes of bright blue! may success round your brows e'er its garlands entwine! wherever i go is my heart on the rhine! "on the rhine is my heart, where affection holds sway! on the rhine is my heart, where encradled i lay, where around me friends bloom, where i dreamt away youth, where the heart of my love glows with rapture and truth! may for me your hearts e'er the same jewels enshrine. wherever i go is my heart on the rhine!" wolfgang mÜller. chapter ii. ghost stories. the zigzag club again.--some "ghost" stories. the academy had opened again. september again colored the leaves of the old elms of yule. the blue hills, as lovely as when the northmen beheld them nearly nine hundred years ago, were radiant with the autumn tinges of foliage and sky, changing from turquoise to sapphire in the intense twilight, and to purple as the shades of evening fell. the boys were back again, all except the graduating class, some of whom were at harvard, brown, and yale. master lewis was in his old place, and mr. beal was again his assistant. the zigzag club was broken by the final departure of the graduating class. but charlie leland, william clifton, and herman reed, who made a journey on the rhine under the direction of mr. beal, had returned, and they had been active members of the school society known as the club. we should say here, to make the narrative clear to those who have not read "zigzag journeys in classic lands" and "zigzag journeys in the orient," that the boys of the academy of yule had been accustomed each year to form a society for the study of the history, geography, legends, and household stories of some chosen country, and during the long summer vacation as many of the society as could do so, visited, under the direction of their teachers, the lands about which they had studied. this society was called the zigzag club, because it aimed to visit historic places without regard to direct routes of travel. it zigzagged in its travels from the associations of one historic story to another, and was influenced by the school text-book or the works of some pleasing author, rather than the guide-book. the zigzag books have been kindly received;[ ] and we may here remark parenthetically that they do not aim so much to present narratives of travel as the histories, traditions, romances, and stories of places. they seek to tell stories at the places where the events occurred and amid the associations of the events that still remain. the zigzag club go seeking what is old rather than what is new, and thus change the past tense of history to the present tense. [ ] more than one hundred thousand volumes have been sold. charlie leland was seated one day on the piazza of the academy, after school, reading hawthorne's "twice-told tales." master lewis presently took a seat beside him; and "gentleman jo," whom we introduced to our readers in "zigzags in the occident," was resting on the steps near them. gentleman jo was the janitor. he was a relative of master lewis, and a very intelligent man. he had been somewhat disabled in military service in the west, and was thus compelled to accept a situation at yule that was quite below his intelligence and personal worth. the boys loved and respected him, sought his advice often, and sometimes invited him to meetings of their society. "have you called together the club yet?" asked master lewis of charlie, when the latter had ceased reading. "we had an informal meeting in my room last evening." "what is your plan of study?" [illustration: mountain scenery in southern germany.] "we have none as yet," said charlie. "we are to have a meeting next week for the election of officers, and for literary exercises we have agreed to relate historic _ghost stories_. we asked tommy toby to be present, and he promised to give us for the occasion his version of 'st. dunstan and the devil and the six boy kings.' i hardly know what the story is about, but the title sounds interesting." "what made you choose ghost stories?" asked master lewis, curiously. "you gave us irving and hawthorne to read in connection with our lessons on american literature. 'rip van winkle,' 'sleepy hollow,' and 'twice-told tales' turned our thoughts to popular superstitions; and, as they made me chairman, i thought it an interesting subject just now to present to the club." "more interesting than profitable, i am thinking. still, the subject might be made instructive and useful as well as amusing." * * * * * "did you ever see a ghost?" asked charlie of gentleman jo, after master lewis left them. "we thought we had one in our house, when i was living with my sister in hingham, before the war. hingham used to be famous for its ghost stories; an old house without its ghost was thought to lack historic tone and finish." gentleman jo took a story-telling attitude, and a number of the pupils gathered around him. gentleman jo's ghost story. i shall never forget the scene of excitement, when one morning biddy, our domestic, entered the sitting-room, her head bobbing, her hair flying, and her cap perched upon the top of her head, and exclaimed: "wurrah! i have seen a ghoust, and it's lave the hoose i must. sich a night! i'd niver pass anither the like of it for the gift o' the hoose. bad kick to ye, an' the hoose is haunted for sure." "why, biddy, what have you seen?" asked my sister, in alarm. "seen? an' sure i didn't see nothin'. i jist shet me eyes and hid mesilf under the piller. but it was awful. an' the way it clanked its chain! o murther!" this last remark was rather startling. spirits that clank their chains have a very unenviable reputation. "pooh!" said my uncle. "what you heard was nothing but rats." then, turning to me, he asked: "where is the steel trap?" "stolen, i think," said i. "i set it day before yesterday, and when i went to look to it it was gone." "an' will ye be givin' me the wages?" said biddy, "afore i bid ye good-marnin'?" "going?" asked my sister, in astonishment. "an' sure i am," answered biddy. "ye don't think i'd be afther stayin' in a house that's haunted, do ye?" in a few minutes i heard the front door bang, and, looking out, saw our late domestic, with a budget on each arm, trudging off as though her ideas were of a very lively character. a colored woman, recently from the south, took biddy's place that very day, and was assigned the same room in which the latter had slept. we had invited company for that evening, and some of the guests remained to a very late hour. the sound of voices subsided as one after another departed, and we were left quietly chatting with the few who remained. suddenly there was a mysterious movement at one of the back parlor doors, and we saw two white eyes casting furtive glances into the room. "what's wanted?" demanded my sister, of the object at the door. [illustration: "i've seen de debble."] our new domestic appeared in her night clothes. "o missus, i've seen de debble, i done have," was her first exclamation. this, certainly, was not a sight that we should wish any one to see in our house, as desirable as a dignified spectre might have been. "pooh!" said my sister. "what a silly creature! go back to bed and to sleep, and do not shame us by appearing before company in your night clothes." "i don't keer nothing about my night clothes," she replied, with spirit. "jes' go to de room and git de things dat belong to me, an' i'll leave, and never disturb you nor dis house any more. it's dreadful enough to be visited by dead folks, any way, but when de spirits comes rattling a chain it's a dreadful bad sign, you may be sure." "what did you see?" asked i. "see? i didn't see nothin'. 'twas bad enough to hear it. i wouldn't hav' seen it for de world. i'll go quick--jest as soon as you gets de things." we made her a bed on a lounge below stairs. the next morning she took her bundles and made a speedy exit. we had a maiden aunt who obtained a livelihood by visiting her relations. on the morning when our last domestic left she arrived, bag and baggage, greatly to our annoyance. we said nothing about the disturbances to her, but agreed among ourselves that she should sleep in the haunted chamber. that night, about twelve o'clock, the household were awakened by a piercing scream above stairs. all was silent for a few minutes, when the house echoed with the startling cry of "murder! mur_der_! murder!" the accent was very strong on the last syllable in the last two words, as though the particular force of the exclamation was therein contained. i hurried to the chamber and asked at the door what was the matter. "i have seen an apparatus," exclaimed my aunt. "mur_der_! oh, wait a minute. i'm a dead woman." [illustration: cat and rat.] she unlocked the door in a delirious way and descended to the sitting-room, where she sat sobbing for a long time, declaring that she was a dead woman. _she_ had heard his chain rattle. and the next morning she likewise left. we now felt uneasy ourselves, and wondered what marvel the following night would produce. i examined the room carefully during the day, but could discover no traces of anything unusual. that night we were again awakened by noises that proceeded from the same room. they seemed like the footfalls of a person whose feet were clad in iron. then followed sounds like a scuffle. i rose, and, taking a light, went to the chamber with shaky knees and a palpitating heart. i listened before the door. presently there was a movement in the room as of some one dragging a chain. my courage began to ebb. i was half resolved to retreat at once, and on the morrow advise the family to quit the premises. but my better judgment at last prevailed, and, opening the door with a nervous hand, i saw an "apparatus" indeed. our old cat, that i had left accidentally in the room, had in her claws a large rat, to whose leg was attached the missing trap, and to the trap a short chain. "i knew the story would end in that way," said charlie. "but that is not a true colonial ghost story, if it did happen in old hingham." the sun was going down beyond the waltham hills. the shadows of the maples were lengthening upon the lawns, and the chirp of the crickets was heard in the old walls. charlie seemed quite dissatisfied with gentleman jo's story. the latter noticed it. "my story does not please you?" said gentleman jo. "no; i am in a different mood to-night." master lewis smiled. just then a quiet old lady, who had charge of a part of the rooms in the academy, appeared, a bunch of keys jingling by her side, much like the wife of a porter of a lodge in an english castle. "grandmother golden," said charlie,--the boys were accustomed to address the chatty, familiar old lady in this way,--"you have seen ghosts, haven't you? what is the most startling thing that ever happened in your life?" grandmother golden had seated herself in one of the easy piazza chairs. after a few minutes she was induced to follow gentleman jo in an old-time story. grandmother golden's only ghost story. the custom in old times, when a person died, was for some one to sit in the room and watch with the dead body in the night, as long as it remained in the house. a good, pious custom it was, in my way of thinking, though it is not common now. jemmy robbin was a poor old man. they used to call him "auld robin gray," after the song, and he lived and died alone. his sister dorothea--dorothy she was commonly called--took charge of the house after his death, and she sent for grandfather golden to watch one night with the corpse. we were just married, grandfather and i, and he wanted i should watch with him, for company; and as i could not bear that he should be out of my sight a minute when i could help it, i consented. i was young and foolish then, and very fond of grandfather,--we were in our honeymoon, you know. we didn't go to the house at a very early hour of the evening; it wasn't customary for the watchers to go until it was nearly time for the family to retire. [illustration: grandmother golden.] in the course of the evening there came to the house a traveller,--a poor irishman,--an old man, evidently honest, but rather simple, who asked dorothy for a lodging. he said he had travelled far, was hungry, weary, and footsore, and if turned away, knew not where he could go. it was a stormy night, and the good heart of dorothy was touched at the story of the stranger, so she told him that he might stay. after he had warmed himself and eaten the food she prepared for him, she asked him to retire, saying that she expected company. instead of going with him to show where he was to sleep, as she ought to have done, she directed him to his room, furnished him with a light, and bade him good-night. the irishman, as i have said, was an old man and not very clear-headed. forgetting his directions, and mistaking the room, he entered the chamber where lay the body of poor jemmy robbin. in closing the door the light was blown out. he found there was what seemed to be some other person in the bed, and, supposing him a live bedfellow, quietly lay down, covered himself with a counterpane, and soon fell asleep. about ten o'clock grandfather and i entered the room. we just glanced at the bed. what seemed to be the corpse lay there, as it should. then grandfather sat down in an easy-chair, and i, like a silly hussy, sat down in his lap. we were having a nice time, talking about what we would do and how happy we should be when we went to housekeeping, when, all at once, i heard a snore. it came from the bed. "what's that?" said i. "that?" said grandfather. "mercy! that was jemmy robbin." we listened nervously, but heard nothing more, and at last concluded that it was the wind that had startled us. i gave grandfather a generous kiss, and it calmed his agitation wonderfully. we grew cheerful, laughed at our fright, and were chatting away again as briskly as before, when there was a noise in bed. we were silent in a moment. the counterpane certainly moved. grandfather's eyes almost started from his head. the next instant there was a violent sneeze. i jumped as if shot. grandfather seemed petrified. he attempted to ejaculate something, but was scared by the sound of his own voice. "mercy!" says i. "what was it?" said grandfather. "let's go and call dorothy," said i. "she would be frightened out of her senses." "i shall die with fright if i hear anything more," i said, half dead already with fear. just then a figure started up in the bed. "and wha--and wha--and wha--" mumbled the object, gesticulating. i sprang for the door, grandfather after me, and, reaching the bottom of the stairs at one bound, gave vent to my terrors by a scream, that, for aught i know, could have been heard a mile distant. both of us ran for dorothy's room. there was a sound of feet and a loud ejaculation of "holy peter! the man is dead!" "it's comin'," shouted grandfather, and, sure enough, there were footsteps on the stairs. "dorothy! dorothy!" i screamed. dorothy, startled from her sleep, came rushing to the entry in her night-dress. [illustration: the frightened irishman.] "i have seen a ghost, dorothy," said i. "a what?" "i have seen the awfullest--" "it's comin'," said grandfather. "holy peter!" said an object in the darkness. "there's a dead man in the bed!" "why, it's that irishman," said dorothy, as she heard the voice. "what irishman?" asked i. "a murdered one?" "no; he--there--i suspect that he mistook his room and went to bed with poor jemmy." the mystery now became quite clear. grandfather looked anything but pleased, and declared that he would rather have seen a ghost than to have been so foolishly frightened. "is that all?" asked charlie. "that is all," said grandmother golden. "just hear the crickets chirp. sounds dreadful mournful." "i have been twice disappointed," said charlie. "perhaps, master lewis, you can tell us a story before we go in. something fine and historic." "in harmony with books you are reading?" "and the spirit of nature," added charlie. "how fine that there boy talks," said grandmother golden. "get to be a minister some day, i reckon." "how would the _true_ story of macbeth answer?" asked master lewis. "that would be excellent: shakspeare. the greatest ghost story ever written." "and if you don't mind, i'll just wait and hear that story, too," said good-humored grandmother golden. master lewis's story of macbeth. more than eight hundred years ago, when the roman wall divided england from scotland, when the scots and picts had become one people, and when the countries of northern europe were disquieted by the ships of the danes, there was a king of the scots, named duncan. he was a very old man, and long, long after he was dead, certain writers discovered that he was a very good man. he had two sons, named malcolm and donaldbain. now, when duncan was enfeebled by years, a great fleet of danes, under the command of suene, king of denmark and norway, landed an army on the scottish coast. duncan was unable to take the field against the invaders in person, and his sons were too young for such a trust. he had a kinsman, who had proved himself a brave soldier, named macbeth. he placed this kinsman at the head of his troops; and certain writers, long, long after the event, discovered that this kinsman appointed a relation of his own, named banquo, to assist him. macbeth and banquo defeated the danes in a hard-fought battle, and then set out for a town called forres to rest and to make merry over their victory. a thane was the governor of a province. the father of macbeth was the thane of glamis. there lived at forres three old women, whom the people believed to be witches. when these old women heard that macbeth was coming to the place they went out to meet him, and awaited his coming on a great heath. the first old woman saluted him on his approach with these words: "all hail, macbeth--hail to thee, thane of glamis!" and the second: "all hail, macbeth--hail to thee, thane of cawdor!" and the third: "all hail, macbeth--thou shalt be king of scotland!" macbeth was very much astonished at these salutations; he expected to become thane of glamis some day, and he aspired to be king of scotland, but he had never anticipated such a disclosure of his destiny as this. the old women told banquo that he would become the father of kings, and then they vanished, according to shakspeare, "into the air." macbeth and banquo rode on very much elevated in spirits, when one met them who informed them that the thane of glamis was dead. the melancholy event was not unwelcome to macbeth; his spirits rose to a still higher pitch; one thing that the old women had foretold had speedily come to pass,--he was indeed thane of glamis. as macbeth drew near the town, a glittering court party came out to welcome the army. they hailed macbeth as thane of cawdor. he was much surprised at this, and asked the meaning. they told him that the thane of cawdor had rebelled, and that the king had bestowed the province upon him. macbeth was immensely delighted at this intelligence, feeling quite sure that the rest of the prophecy would come to pass, and that he would one day wear the diadem. now the wife of macbeth was a very wicked woman, and the prophecy of the witches quite turned her head, so that she could think of nothing but becoming queen. she was much concerned lest the nature of her husband should prove "too full of the milk of human kindness" to come to the "golden round." so she decided that should an opportunity offer itself for an interview with the king, she would somewhat assist in the fulfilment of the last prophecy. then macbeth made a great feast in the grand old castle of inverness, and invited the king. lady macbeth thought this a golden opportunity for accomplishing the decrees of destiny, and when the old king arrived she told macbeth that the time had come for him to strike boldly for the crown. as shakspeare says:-- "_macbeth._ my dearest love, duncan comes here to-night. _lady m._ and when goes hence? _macbeth._ to-morrow. _lady m._ o never shall sun that morrow see." when this dreadful woman had laid her plot for the taking off of duncan, she went to the banquet-hall and greeted the royal guest with a face all radiant with smiles, and called him sweet names, and told him fine stories, and brimmed his goblet with wine, so that he thought, we doubt not, that she was the most charming creature in all the world. it was a stormy night, that of the banquet; it rained, it thundered, and the wind made dreadful noises in the forests, which events, we have noticed in the stories of the old writers, were apt to occur in early times when something was about to happen. we are also informed that the owls hooted, which seems probable, as owls were quite plenty in those days. duncan was conducted to a chamber, which had been prepared for him in great state, when the feast was done. before retiring he sent to "his most kind hostess" a large diamond as a present; he then fell asleep "in measureless content." when all was still in the castle lady macbeth told her husband that the hour for the deed had come. he hesitated, and reminded her of the consequences if he should fail. she taunted him as being a coward, and told him to "screw his courage up to the sticking-place, and he would not fail." then he took his dagger, and, according to shakspeare, made a long speech over it, a speech which, i am sorry to say, stage-struck boys and girls have been mouthing in a most unearthly manner ever since the days of queen bess. [illustration: duncan asleep.] macbeth "screwed his courage up to the sticking-place" indeed, and then and there was the end of the life of duncan. when the deed was done, he put his poniard into the hand of a sentinel, who was sleeping in the king's room, under the influence of wine that lady macbeth had drugged. [illustration: witches.] when the meal was prepared on the following morning, macbeth and his lady pretended to be much surprised that the old king did not get up. macduff, the thane of fife, who was one of the royal party, decided at last to go to the king's apartment to see if the king was well. he returned speedily in great excitement, as one may well suppose. as shakspeare continues the interesting narrative:-- "_macduff._ o horror! horror! horror! _macbeth._ what's the matter? _macd._ confusion now hath made his masterpiece. most sacrilegious murder hath broke ope the lord's anointed temple and stole thence the life o' the building. _macb._ what is 't you say? the life?" macbeth appeared to be greatly shocked by the event, and, with a great show of fury and many hot words, he despatched the sentinels of the king, whom he feigned to believe had done the deed. lady macbeth fell upon the floor, pretending, of all things in the world for a woman of such mettle, to faint. so macbeth came to the throne. but he remembered that the weird women had foretold that banquo should become the father of kings, which made him fear for the stability of his throne. he thought to correct the tables of destiny somewhat, and so he induced two desperate men to do by banquo as he had done by duncan. the spirit of banquo was not quiet like duncan's, but haunted him, and twice appeared to him at a great feast that he gave to the thanes. now banquo had a son named fleance, whom the murderers were instructed to kill, but who, on the death of his father, eluded his enemies and fled to france. the story-writers say that the line of stuart was descended from this son. macbeth, like all wicked people who accomplish their ends, was very unhappy. he lived in continual fear lest some of his relations should do by him as he had done by duncan and banquo. he became so miserable at last that he decided to consult the witches who had foretold his elevation, to hear what they would say of the rest of his life. he found them in a dark cave, in the middle of which was a caldron boiling. the old women had put into the pot a toad, the toe of a frog, the wool of a bat, an adder's tongue, an owl's wing, and many other things, of which you will find the list in shakspeare. now and then they walked around the pot, repeating a very sensible ditty:-- "double, double, toil and trouble; fire, burn; and, caldron, bubble." they at last called up an apparition, who said that macbeth should never be overcome by his enemies until birnam wood should come to the castle of dunsinane, the royal residence, to attack it. "macbeth shall never vanquished be until great birnam wood to high dunsinane hill shall come against him." now, birnam wood was twelve miles from dunsinane (pronounced dunsnan), and macbeth thought that the language was a mystical way of saying that he always would be exempt from danger. malcolm, the son of duncan, the rightful heir to the throne, was a man of spirit, and he went to england to solicit aid of the good king edward the confessor against macbeth. macduff, having quarrelled with the king, joined malcolm, and the english king, thinking favorably of their cause, sent a great army into scotland to discrown macbeth. when this army reached birnam wood, on its way to dunsinane, macduff ordered the men each to take the bough of a tree, and to hold it before him as he marched to the attack, that macbeth might not be able to discover the number and the strength of the assailants. thus birnam wood came against dunsinane. when macbeth saw the sight his courage failed him, and he saw that his hour had come. a battle ensued, in which he was conquered and killed. * * * * * such is the story, and it seems a pity to spoil so good a story; but i fear that shakspeare made his wonderful plot of much the same "stuff that dreams are made of." duncan was a grandson of malcolm ii. on his father's side, and macbeth was a grandson of the same king, though on the side of his mother. on the death of malcolm, in , each claimed the throne. macbeth, according to rule of scottish succession, had the best claim, but duncan obtained the power. macbeth was naturally dissatisfied, and the insolence of malcolm, the son of duncan, who placed himself at the head of an intriguing party in northumberland, changed his dissatisfaction to resentment, and he slew the king. he once had a dream, which he deemed remarkable, in which three old women met him and hailed him as thane of cromarty, thane of moray, and finally as king. upon this light basis genius has built one of the most powerful tales of superstition in the language. duncan was slain near elgin, and not in the castle of inverness. malcolm avenged his father's death, slaying macbeth at a place called lumphanan, and not at dunsinane, as recorded in the play. and then sir walter scott finds that "banquo and his son fleance" never had any real existence, which leaves no material out of which to construct a ghost. "so there were no witches, after all?" said charlie. "no; no witches." "no banquo?" "no banquo." "no ghost?" "no ghost. banquo never lived." "is that all?" asked grandmother golden. "that is all." chapter iii. a story-telling journey. the club reorganized.--the rhine and the lands of the baltic.--tommy toby's story of the six boy kings. at the first formal meeting of the club charlie leland was chosen president. he was the intellectual leader among the boys, now that the old class had gone; he was a lad of good principles, bright, generous, and popular. as may be judged from the somewhat discursive dialogue on the piazza, he had a subject well matured in his mind for the literary exercises of the club. "we all like stories," he said, "and the rhine lands are regions of stories, as are the countries of the baltic sea. the tales and traditions of the rhine would give us a large knowledge of german history, and, in fact, of the great empire of europe, over which charlemagne ruled, and which now is divided into the kingdoms of northern europe. the stories of haunted castles, spectres, water nymphs, sylvan deities, and fairies, if shapes of fancy, are full of instruction, and i know of no subject so likely to prove intensely interesting as the rhine and the baltic; and i would like to propose it to the club for consideration, although, owing to my position as president, i do not make a formal motion that it be adopted." [illustration: the grand-ducal castle, schwerin.] charlie's picturesque allusion to the myths of the rhine and the baltic seemed to act like magic on the minds of the club; and a formal motion that the rhine and the baltic be the subject of future literary meetings was at once made, seconded, and unanimously adopted. [illustration: ancient german houses.] master lewis had entered the room quietly while the business of the club was being thus happily and unanimously carried forward. the boys had asked him to be present at the meeting, and to give them his opinions of their plans. "i think," he said, "that your choice of a subject for your literary evenings is an excellent one, but i notice a tendency to place more stress on the fine old fictions of germany and the north than upon actual history. these fictions for the most part grew out of the disturbed consciences of bad men in ignorant and barbarous times. they were shapes of the imagination." he continued:-- "let me prepare your minds a little for a proper estimate of these alluring and entertaining stories." master lewis on popular superstitions. the front of northumberland house, england, used to be ornamented with the bronze statue of a lion, called percy. a humorist, wishing to produce a sensation, placed himself in front of the building, one day, and, assuming an attitude of astonishment, exclaimed:-- "it wags, it wags!" his eyes were riveted on the statue, to which the bystanders readily observed that the exclamation referred. quite a number of persons collected, each one gazing on the bronze figure, expecting to see the phenomenon. their imagination supplied the desired marvel, and presently a street full of people fancied that they could see the lion percy wag his tail! an old distich runs something as follows:-- "who believe that there are witches, there the witches are; who believe there aren't no witches, aren't no witches there." there is much more good sense than poetry in these lines. the marvels of superstition are witnessed chiefly by those who believe in them. [illustration: ancient religious rites of the peasants.] the sights held as supernatural are usually not more wonderful than those that arise from a disordered imagination. the spectres of demonology are not more fearful than those shapes of fancy produced by opium and dissipation; and the visions of the necromancer are not more wonderful than those that arise from a fever, or even from a troubled sleep. yet it is a fact, and a very singular one, that, however at random the fancies of unhealthy intellects may appear on ordinary subjects, those fancies obtain a greater or less credit when they touch upon supernatural things. instances of monomaniacs (persons insane on a single subject) who have imagined things quite as marvellous as the most superstitious, but whose illusions have been treated with the greatest ridicule, might be cited almost without limit. i once knew of an elderly lady, who thought that she was a goose. making a nest in one corner of the room, she put in it a few kitchen utensils, which she supposed to be eggs, and began to incubate. she found the process of incubation, in her case, a very slow one; and her friends, fearing for her health, called in a doctor. he endeavored to reason with her, but she only replied to his philosophy by stretching out her neck, which she seemed to think was a remarkably long one, and hissing. the old lady had a set of gilt-band china cups and saucers, which, in her eyes, had been a sort of household gods. the knowledge of the fact coming to the ears of the physician, he advised her friends to break the precious treasures, one after another, before her eyes. the plan worked admirably. she immediately left her nest, and ran to the rescue of the china, and the excitement brought her back to her sense of the proprieties of womanhood. another old lady, who also resided in a neighboring town, fancied she had become a veritable teapot. she used to silence those who attempted to reason with her by the luminous argument, "see, here (crooking one arm at her side) is the handle, and there (thrusting upward her other arm) is the spout!" what could be more convincing than that? another lady, whose faculties had begun to decline, thought her toes were made of glass; and a comical figure she cut when she went abroad, picking up and putting down her feet with the greatest caution, lest she should injure her precious toes. now these cases provoke a smile; but, had these ancient damsels fancied that they were bewitched, or that they were haunted, or that they held communion with the spirits of the invisible world, instead of exciting laughter and pity, they would have occasioned no small excitement among the simple-minded people of the neighborhood in which each resided. a young scottish farmer, having been to a fair, was riding homeward on horseback one evening over a lonely road. he had been drinking rather freely at the fair, according to the custom, and his head was far from steady, and his conscience far from easy. it was moonlight, and he began to reflect what a dreadful thing it would be to meet a ghost. his fears caused him to look very carefully about him. as he was approaching the old church in teviotdale, he saw a figure in white standing on the wall of the churchyard, by the highway. the sight gave him a start, but he continued his journey, hoping that it was his imagination that had invested some natural object with a ghostly shape. but the nearer he approached, the more ghostlike and mysterious did the figure appear. he stopped, hesitating what to do, and then concluded to ride slowly. there was no other way to his home than the one he was following. he knew well enough that his mind was somewhat unsettled by drinking, and what he saw might, after all, he thought, be nothing but an illusion. he would approach the object slowly and cautiously, and, when very near it, would put spurs to his horse and dash by. as he drew near, however, the figure showed unmistakable signs of life, gesticulating mysteriously, and uttering gibberish, that, although odd, sounded surprisingly human. it was a ghostly night: the dim moonlight filled the silent air, and the landscape was flecked with shadows; it was a ghostly place,--teviotdale churchyard; and, in perfect keeping with the time and place, stood the figure, doing as a ghost is supposed to do,--talking gibberish to the moon. the young man's nerves were quite unstrung as he put spurs to his horse for a rush by the object of his fright. as he dashed past, his hair almost bristling with apprehension, the supposed phantom leaped upon the back of the horse and clasped the frightened man about his waist. his apprehensions were startling enough before, but now he was wrought to the highest pitch of terror. he drove his spurs into his horse, and the animal flew over the earth like a phantom steed. such riding never before was seen in the winding road of teviotdale. in a wonderfully short time the reeking animal stood trembling and panting before his master's gate. the young man called lustily for his servants, who, coming out, were commanded in frantic tones to "tak aff the ghaist, tak aff the ghaist!" and "tak aff the ghaist" they did, which proved to be a young lady well known in teviotdale for her unfortunate history. she had married an estimable young man, to whom she was very strongly attached, and the brightest worldly prospects seemed opening before her. her husband was taken ill, and suddenly died. she had confided in him so fondly that the world lost its attractions for her on his decease, and she moodily dwelt upon her misfortune until she became deranged. her husband was buried in teviotdale churchyard, and she was in the habit of stealing away from her friends at night, to weep over his grave. these melancholy visits had the effect of giving a new impetus to her malady, making her for a time the victim of any fancy that chanced to enter her mind. on the night of our story she imagined that the young farmer was her husband, and awaited his approach with great exhilaration of spirits, determined to give him an affectionate greeting. the fright came near costing the young man his life. he was taken from his saddle to his bed, where he lay for weeks prostrated by a high nervous fever. an eminent writer, after relating the above authentic story, remarks:-- "if this woman had dropped from the horse unobserved by the rider, it would have been very hard to convince the honest farmer that he had not actually performed a part of his journey with a ghost behind him." true. teviotdale churchyard would have obtained the reputation of being haunted, and would have been a terror to weak-minded people for many years to come. the ignorant and simple are not alone subject to illusions of fancy. the great and learned pascal, than whom france has produced no more worthy philosopher, believed that an awful chasm yawned by his side, into which he was in danger of being thrown. this dreadful vision, with other fancies as gloomy, cast a shadow over an eventful period of his life, and gave a dark coloring to certain of his writings. yet pascal, on most subjects, was uncommonly sound in judgment. how unfavorable might have been the influence, had his disorder assumed a different form, and placed before him the delusion of a ghost! before giving credit to stories of supernatural events, even from sources that seem to be trustworthy, i hope my young friends will consider duly how liable to error are an unhealthy mind and an excited imagination. every man is not a knave or a cheat who claims to have witnessed unnatural phenomena, but the judgment of very excellent persons is liable to be infected by illusions of the imagination. i do not say that we may not receive impressions from the spiritual world. as the geologist, the botanist, the chemist, sees things in nature that the unschooled and undeveloped do not see, so it may be that a spiritually educated mind may know more of the spiritual world than the gross and selfish mind. i will not enlarge upon this topic or discuss this question; it might not be proper for me so to do. master lewis had aimed to make clear to the boys that it is easy to start a superstitious story, and to suggest that such stories in ignorant times became _legends_. [illustration: old fortress on the rhine.] "i propose," said willie clifton, "that the first seven meetings of the club be devoted to the rhine." "we might call this series of meetings _seven nights on the rhine_," added herman reed. "the old members of the club who made the rhine journey with mr. beal might give us an account of that journey," suggested one of the new boys. the plans suggested by these remarks met with approval, and a committee was appointed to arrange the literary exercises for seven meetings of the club, to be known as _seven nights on the rhine_. the literary exercises for the present evening consisted of the relation of historic ghost stories, chiefly by members of the old club. among these were the province house stories of hawthorne, the tradition of mozart's requiem, the cock lane ghost, and several incidents from scott's novels. the principal story, however, was given by tommy toby, an old member of the club, and a graduate of the academy. tommy toby's story of st. dunstan and the devil and the six boy kings. a splendid court had athelstane, and foreign princes came there to be educated. among these princes was louis, the son of charles the simple, of france, who, by his long residence in england, obtained the pretty name of _louis d'outremer_. splendid weddings were celebrated there. the king married one of his sisters to the king of france, another to the emperor of germany, another to hugo the great, count of paris, and another to the duke of aquitaine. after the fight with the cornish men, all of the land was at peace for many years, and the nobility became very scholarly and the people very polite. athelstane had a favorite, a friar, who made more mischief in his day and generation than any other man. this man is known in history by the name of st. dunstan. when dunstan was a boy, he was taken very ill of a fever. one night, being delirious, he got up from his bed, and walked to glastonbury church, which was then repairing, and ascended the scaffolds and went all over the building; and because he did not tumble off and break his neck, people said that he had performed the feat under the influence of inspiration, being directed by an angel. this was called dunstan's first miracle. when he recovered from the fever, and heard of the miracle that he was said to have wrought, he was greatly pleased, and thought to turn the good opinion of people to his own advantage by performing other miracles. so he made a harp that played in the wind,--now soft, now loud; now sweet, now solemn. he said that the harp played itself. the people heard the sounds, full of seeming expression, as though touched by airy fingers, and, as they could not discredit the evidence of their own ears, they too reported that the harp played itself. and great was the fame of dunstan's harp. but dunstan, according to old history, became a very bad man; so bad that i cannot tell you the worst things that he did. he discovered his true character at last, notwithstanding his sweetly playing harp. he pretended to be a magician. now a magician, in those old times, was one who was supposed to know things beyond the reach of common minds, who pretended to calculate the influence of the stars on a person's destiny, and who understood the effects of poisonous vegetables and minerals. the saxon magicians were chiefly nobles and monks, and all of their great secrets which are worth knowing are now understood as simple matters of science, even by schoolboys. athelstane's conscience must have been rather restless, i fancy, concerning young edwin, his brother, whom he caused to be drowned; and people with unquiet conscience are usually very superstitious. at any rate, he made a bosom friend of dunstan, after the latter took up the black art, and became greatly interested in magic, much to the sorrow of the people. at last a party of the king's friends resolved that the bad influence of the wily prelate should come to an end. they waylaid him one dark night, in an unfrequented place, and, binding him hand and foot, threw him into a miry marsh. but the water was shallow, and dunstan kept his nose above the mire, and, after shouting lustily for help, and floundering about for a long time, he succeeded in getting out, to make a great deal of noise and trouble in the world, and we have some strange stories to tell you about him yet. athelstane died in the year , and he was succeeded upon the throne by his half-brother, edmund, who was the first of the six boy kings. edmund was eighteen years of age when he took his place on the honorable saxon throne of alfred the great. he was a high-spirited young man, warm-hearted and brave. he conquered cumberland from the ancient britons, and protected his kingdom against the fierce sea-kings of the north. like his great ancestor, king alfred, he was fond of learning and art. he improved and adorned public places and buildings. he made a very elegant appearance, and held a showy court, and they called him the magnificent. but edmund was fond of convivial suppers, and used himself to drink deeply of wine. he lived fast, and his friends lived fast, though they appeared to live very happily and merrily. but young men given to festive suppers and to wine are not apt to make a long history; and the history of edmund the magnificent, the first boy king, was a short one. edmund was succeeded in the year by edred, his brother, a well-meaning youth, who was the second of the six boy kings of england. dunstan had become abbot of glastonbury abbey, the church where he performed the miracle when he was sick of the fever. he was very ambitious to meddle in affairs of state, but his bad name had weakened his influence with edmund, and it seemed likely to do the same with well-intentioned edred. he desired to create a public impression again that he was a saint. he retired to a cell and there spent his time working very hard as a smith, and--so the report went--in devotion. [illustration: st. dunstan and the devil.] then the people said: "how humble and penitent dunstan is! he has the back-ache all day, and the leg-ache all night, and he suffers all for the cause of purity and truth." then dunstan told the people that the devil came to tempt him, which, with his aches for the good cause, made his situation very trying. the devil, he said, wanted him to lead a life of selfish gratification, but he would not be tempted to do a thing like that; he never thought of himself,--oh, no, good soul, not he. the people said that dunstan must have become a very holy man, or the devil would not appear to him bodily. one day a great noise was heard issuing from the retreat of this man, and filling all the air for miles, the like of which was never known before. the people were much astonished. some of them went to dunstan to inquire the cause. he told them a story of a miracle more marvellous than any that he had previously done. the devil came to him, he said, as he was at work at his forge, and tempted him to lead a life of pleasure. he quickly drew his pincers from the fire, and seized his tormentor by the nose, which put him in such pain that he bellowed so lustily as to shake the hills. the people said that it was the bellowing of the evil one that they had heard. this wonderful story ended to dunstan's liking, for the artful do flourish briefly sometimes. the boy king edred was in ill-health, and suffered from a lingering illness for years. he felt the need of the counsel of a good man. he said to himself,-- "there is dunstan, a man who has given up all selfish feelings and aspirations, a man whom even the devil cannot corrupt. i will bring him to court, and will make him my adviser." then pure-hearted edred brought the foxy prelate to his court, and made him--of all things in the world!--the royal treasurer. edred died in the year , having for nine years aimed to do justly and to govern well. his decease, like his brother's before him, was sincerely lamented. he left a well-ordered government, except in the department of the treasury. some remarkable "irregularities"--as stealing is sometimes called nowadays--had taken place there, some of the public money having become mixed up with dunstan's. the next of the six boy kings of england was edwy the fair,--fifteen years of age when he ascended the throne. he was the son of edmund,--a handsome boy, and as good at heart as he was handsome. though so young, he had married a beautiful princess, named elgiva. so we have here a boy king and a girl queen. as if one bad prelate were not enough, there was, besides dunstan, another great mischief-maker, odo, the dane, archbishop of canterbury. the coronation of edwy was the occasion of great rejoicing. they had a sumptuous feast in the evening, attended by all the prelates and thanes. edwy liked the society of the girl queen better than that of these rude people, and in the midst of the festivities he retired to the queen's apartment to see her and the queen mother. odo, the archbishop, noticed that the boy king had left his place at the tables. he rightly guessed the reason, and deemed such conduct disrespectful to himself and to the guests. so he went and made complaint to dunstan, and dunstan went to look for the missing king. when the latter came to the queen's apartment, and was refused admittance, he broke open the door, upbraided edwy for his absence from the feast, and, seizing him by the collar, dragged and pushed him roughly back to the banqueting-hall. edwy, of course, resented this treatment. dunstan replied by accusing him of great impropriety, and talked in a very overbearing way, and edwy, though a considerate boy, and of a mild disposition, at last lost his temper. "you have a very nice sense of propriety," he said. "you were the treasurer in the last reign, i believe. i intend to call you to account for the way that you fulfilled your trust." dunstan was greatly astonished, and, guilty man that he was, he began to feel very unsafe. the boy king made the attempt which he had threatened, to call dunstan to account for his late doings in the treasury. but the latter, when he found that edwy was in earnest, fled to ghent. the nobles saw somewhat into his true character when he thus disappeared from court, and a party of men was sent in pursuit of him to put out his eyes. but he was too foxy to be caught, and arrived safely in belgium at last, to make a great deal of trouble in the world yet. incited by dunstan, odo raised a rebellion. when he had drawn to himself a sufficient party to insure his personal safety, he proclaimed edgar, the younger brother of edwy, king. dunstan returned to england, and joined odo, and this precious pair soon discovered the value of their piety, as you shall presently see. edwy the fair loved the girl queen. she was beautiful as well as amiable, and was as devoted to her husband as she was lovely. odo and dunstan wished to break the spirit of edwy, and thought to accomplish their end by capturing the queen. they caused her to be stolen from one of the royal palaces, and her cheeks to be burned with hot irons, in order to destroy the beauty that had so enchanted the boy king. they then sent her to ireland, and sold her as a slave. the irish people pitied the weeping maiden, and loved her. they healed the scars on her cheeks, that the hot irons had made. when her beauty returned, she grew light-hearted again, and all her dreams were of the king. then the irish people released her from bondage, and gave her money to return to edwy. she entered england full of joyful anticipations, and made rapid journeys towards the place where edwy held his court. but odo and dunstan, who had been apprised of her coming, intercepted her, and ordered that she should be tortured and put to death. they caused the cords of her limbs to be severed, so that she was unable to walk or move. the beautiful girl survived the cutting and maiming but a few days. weeping continually over her disappointments and sorrows, and shrieking at times from the acuteness of her pain, she died at gloucester,--perhaps the most unfortunate princess who ever came to the english throne. when edwy heard of her death, he ceased to struggle for his right; he cared for nothing more. he grew paler and thinner day by day, his beauty faded, his thoughts turned heavenward, and he aspired to a better crown and kingdom. he died of a broken heart before he reached the age of twenty, having aimed for three years to govern well. edwy's short reign was followed by that of his brother edgar, who succeeded to the anglo-saxon throne in the year , and was an unprincipled and dissolute king. he was fifteen years of age when he began to reign. one of his first acts was to reward the intriguing dunstan for his crimes by bestowing upon him the archbishopric of canterbury. think of conferring an archbishopric as the price of a brother's ruin and death! ah, better to be edwy the fair in his early grave, with the birds singing and the violets waving above him, than the cruel boy edgar upon the throne. he resigned the government almost wholly to dunstan, his primate, and spent his time in gayety, pleasure, and ease. he was unstable, profligate, and vicious. he once broke into a convent and carried off a beautiful nun, named editha. for this violation of the sanctuary, dunstan commanded him not to wear his crown for seven years, which was no great punishment, as he could ornament his head as well in some other way. dunstan certainly possessed great ability as a statesman. he employed the vast armaments of england against the neighboring sovereigns, and compelled the king of scotland and the princes of wales, of the isle of man, and of the orkneys, to do homage to edgar. the boy king annually made a voyage around england in great state, accompanied by princes and nobles. on one of these occasions, when he wished to visit the abbey of st. john the baptist, on the river dee, he appointed eight crowned kings to pull the oars of his barge, while he himself acted as steersman. the vainglorious young sovereign then went into the grand old abbey and said his prayers, after which he returned in the same pomp, rowed by the eight subject kings. this event is celebrated in the songs and ballads of the olden time, which tell of the glory of england, when the eight crowns glimmered on the sun-covered waters of the dee. edgar, who was king of england up to the year , married twice, and left two sons. the elder of these was named edward, the son of a good queen, ethelfreda; the other was named ethelred, the son of the bad queen, elfrida. edward had the best claim to the throne, but the intriguing elfrida endeavored to secure the succession to her own son, ethelred, a boy about seven years old. dunstan decided against her, and caused edward to be crowned. the boy king was at this time thirteen years of age. he was an amiable, susceptible boy, loving every one, and wishing every one well, and believing, with childish simplicity, that all the world was as pure at heart and as unselfish as himself. but elfrida hated him, and resolved that his reign should be a short one, if it was within the reach of her arts to make it so. she retired with little ethelred to crofe castle, a beautiful country seat in dorsetshire. green forests waved around it, and blue hills seemed to semicircle the sky. the silver horn of the hunter often echoed through the stream-cleft woodlands, and merrily blew before the castle gate. edward and a youthful court party went hunting one day in the dreamy old forests of dorsetshire. chancing to ride near crofe castle, edward thought that he would like to see elfrida and his little brother. so he separated himself from his attendants, rode to the castle, and blew his horn. elfrida presently appeared, her face glowing with smiles. "thou art welcome, dear king," she said, in a winning way. "pray dismount and come in, and we will have pleasant talk and good cheer." "no, madam," said edward. "my company would notice my absence, and think that some evil had befallen me. please bring me a cup of wine, and i will drink to your health and to my little brother's, in my saddle, and then i must away with speed." elfrida turned away to order the wine. she gave another order at the same time in a whisper to an armed attendant. the wine was brought. elfrida filled the cup and handed it to the boy king. as he held it up it sparkled in the light. elfrida stood in the gateway, holding little ethelred by the hand. "health," said edward, putting the bright cup to his lips. there crept up behind him softly an armed man, whose muscles stood out like brass, and whose eyes burned like fire. he sprang upon the boy king and stabbed him in the back. the affrighted horse dashed away, dragging the bleeding body by the stirrup,--on, on, on, over rut and rock, bush and brier. they tracked him by his blood. they found his broken body at last. they took it up tenderly and with many tears, and laid it beneath the moss and fern. [illustration: the murder of edward.] when little ethelred saw his brother stabbed and bleeding, and dragged over the rough earth, he began to weep. elfrida beat him and sent him to his chamber. what a night was that when the moon silvered the forest! one boy king mangled and dead on the cold ground, and another boy king weeping in the forest castle, and beaten and bruised for being touched at heart at the murder of his bright, innocent brother. ethelred came to the english throne at the age of ten. he was the last of the six boy kings. the people held him in disfavor from the first on account of his bad mother, and when dunstan put the crown on his head at kingston, he pronounced a curse instead of a blessing. neither the blessing nor the curse of a man like dunstan could be of much account, and we do not believe that the latter did the little boy ethelred any harm. dunstan was now old and as full of craft and wickedness as he was full of years. he continued to practise jugglery, which he called performing miracles, whenever he found his influence declining, or had an important end to accomplish. in the reign of ethelred dunstan died. as he had used politics to help the church, he was made a saint. this was in a rude and ignorant age. poor boy kings! edmund was murdered; edwy died of a broken heart; edward was stabbed and dragged to death at his horse's heels; and ethelred lost his kingdom. three of them were good and three were bad. only one of them was happy. edmund, eighteen years of age, reigned from to ; edred, to ; edwy, fifteen years of age, to ; edgar, fifteen years of age, to ; edward, thirteen years of age, to ; ethelred, ten years of age, to . so the boy kings reigned in all seventy-six years, and governed england in their youth for nearly fifty years. "i like your story, master toby," said master lewis; "as a story, i mean. the historic facts are mainly as you have given them, but i think st. dunstan's intentions may have been good, after all. he lived in an age of superstition, when it was believed that any political act was right that would increase the power of the church. christianity then was not what it had been in the early church nor what it is to-day. men must be somewhat regarded in the light of the times in which they lived." the literary exercises for the evening were thus closed. chapter iv. german stories. the story of the emperor william.--the story of "sneeze with delight."--poem-stories. at the first meeting of the club to study the history and to relate stories of the rhine and the north, master lewis was present, and, after the preliminary business had been transacted, said that he had some suggestions in mind which he wished to make. "i notice," he said, "that many of you have been obtaining from the boston public library english translations of the works of hauff, hoffman, baron de la motte fouqué, grimm, schiller, and tieck, and i think that there is danger that story-reading and story-telling may occupy too much of your time and thought. let me propose that a brief history of each author be given with the story at the meetings of the club, so that you may at least obtain some knowledge of german literature." the suggestion met with the approval of all, and it was voted that at future meetings the biographies of authors should be given with the stories, and that only the stories of the best authors should be selected, except in the case of legends of places. "i have another proposal to make," said master lewis. "you are not very familiar with german politics. suppose you let me give you from time to time some short talks about the german government and its ministers,--king william, count bismarck, and count von moltke." this kind offer was received with cheers and placed upon record with thanks. "perhaps you may be willing to open our exercises to-night with one of the talks you have planned," said the president. "it would be a helpful beginning, which we would appreciate." "i am not as well prepared as i would like," said the teacher; "but as i believe in making a first meeting of this kind a sort of a model in its plan and purpose, i will in a free way tell you something of the story of the emperor william. the life of the emperor of germany has been full of thrilling and dramatic scenes. when he was a boy, germany--the great germany of charlemagne--was divided into states, each having its own ruler. his father was frederick william iii., king of prussia, and his mother was louise, an excellent woman; his youth was passed amid the excitements of napoleon's conquests. russia and prussia combined against napoleon; russia was placed at a disadvantage in two doubtful battles, when she deserted the prussian cause, and made a treaty of peace. napoleon then sent for the king of prussia, to tell him what he would leave him. the lovely queen louise went with the unfortunate king to meet the french conqueror, hoping thereby to obtain more favorable terms. but napoleon treated her with scorn, boasting that he was like "waxed cloth to rain." he, however, offered the queen a rose, in a softer moment. "yes," said louise, thinking of her kingdom, "but with magdeburg." "it is _i_ who give, and _you_ who take," answered napoleon haughtily. napoleon took away from prussia all the lands on the elbe and the rhine, and, uniting these to other german states, formed a kingdom for his brother jerome. the good queen louise pined away with grief and shame at her country's losses, and died two years after of a broken heart. so the boyhood of william was very sad. it is said that children fulfil the ideals of their mothers. poor louise little thought that her second son would one day be crowned emperor of all germany in the palace of the french kings at versailles. william was born in ; he ascended the throne as king of prussia in . how widely these dates stand apart! on the day of his coronation as king of prussia, he exhibited his own character and religious faith by putting the crown on his own head. "i rule," he said, "by the favor of god and no one else." under his vigorous rule prussia grew in military power, and excited the jealousy of the french people. napoleon iii., on a slight pretext, declared war with prussia. in this war prussia was victorious. a memorable hour. that was indeed a memorable hour in the emperor's life when he met the fallen emperor of the french in the chateau bellevue, on a hill of the meuse overlooking sedan. the king and the emperor had met before; they then were equals, brother rulers of two of the most powerful nations on earth. they met now as conqueror and captive, and the one held the fate of the other in his hands. "we were both moved at seeing each other again under such circumstances," said king william. "i had seen napoleon only three years before, at the summit of his power. what my feelings were is more than i can describe." the king spoke first. "god has given victory to me in the war that has been declared against me." "the war," said napoleon, "was not sought by me. i did not desire it. i declared it in obedience to the public sentiment of france." "your majesty," said the king, "made the war to meet public opinion; but your ministers created that public opinion." "your artillery, sire, won the battle. the prussian artillery is the finest in the world." "has your majesty any conditions to propose?" "none: i have no power; i am a prisoner." "where is the government in france with which i can treat?" "in paris: the empress and the ministers. i am powerless." king william, as you know, marched to paris, and at last made conditions of peace almost as hard as napoleon i. had made with his father. the german princes in his hour of victory offered him the crown of southern germany, and he was crowned at versailles, in the great hall of mirrors, emperor of germany. let me now speak of the kaiser's military career. it is rare that men and women live to celebrate their seventy-fifth birthday. the age allotted to mortals by the psalmist is threescore and ten. [illustration: the emperor william and napoleon iii.] but the hale old emperor of germany has not only recently commemorated the completion of his eighty-sixth year, but--what is still more striking--at the same time marked the seventy-sixth year of his service as an officer in the prussian army. it is related that, on the d of march, , on which day william was just ten years old, his father, then king of prussia, called him into his study and said,-- "my son, i appoint you an officer in my army. you will serve in company no. of the first guard regiment." the little prince drew himself up, gave his father a prompt military salute, and retired. an hour later he reappeared before the king, attired in the uniform of his new rank; and, repeating the salute, announced to his royal father that "he was ready for duty." [illustration: william before his father.] even at so early an age, william was no fancy soldier, holding rank and title, and leaving to humbler officers the duties and hardships. he at once devoted himself to the task of a junior ensign; and from that time onward became an officer in truth, laboring zealously to master the military science, and rising step by step, not by favor, but by merit and seniority. at the age of eighteen, william was in blucher's army at waterloo, taking an active part in the overthrow of napoleon, and witnessing that mighty downfall. a little later, he was promoted to the rank of major for cool courage under heavy fire; and from that time on, for nearly half a century, william devoted himself wholly to the military profession. when he ascended the prussian throne, there was no more unpopular man in the kingdom. he had put down the revolutionary rising in berlin with grim and relentless hand; and the people believed that their new monarch was a cruel and haughty tyrant. it was not until after the great triumph over austria, in , that the prussians began to discover that king william was not only a valiant soldier, but an ardent lover of his country, and a kind-hearted, whole-souled father of his people. the statesman. for the last sixteen years, no sovereign in europe has been more devotedly beloved and revered by his subjects. although william is autocratic, and believes in his "divine right" to rule as sturdily as did his mediæval ancestors, and has not a little contempt for popular clamors and popular rights, his reign has been on the whole brilliantly wise and successful. while this has been in a great measure due to the presence of a group of great men around him,--notably of bismarck and von moltke,--the emperor himself has had no small share in promoting the power and towering fortunes of germany. his paternal ways with his people, his military knowledge, his fine, frank, hearty, chivalrous nature, his sound sense in the choice of his advisers, and his perception of the wisdom of their counsels, have much aided in raising prussia and germany to their present height in europe. [illustration: king william's helmet.] beneath his commanding and rugged exterior there beats a very kindly heart. many incidents have been related to show the simple good-nature of his character. in his study, on the table at which he writes, there has long remained a rusty old cavalry helmet, the relic of some military association of the emperor. whenever the death-warrant of a condemned criminal is brought to him to sign, the emperor looks at it, and then slyly slips the fatal document under the helmet. sometimes his ministers, anxious that the warrants should be signed, take occasion, in his absence from the study, to pull the papers out from beneath the helmet, just enough to catch their master's eye. most often, however william, on perceiving them, quietly pushes them back again, without a word. so great is his repugnance to dooming even a hardened criminal to death, by a mere scratch of his pen. at eighty-six, the stalwart old kaiser cannot hope to dwell much longer among his people; but it will be very long before his fine qualities, soldierly courage, and affectionate nature will grow dim in the memory of the fatherland. the stories related at this meeting were largely from grimm and fouqué, and are to be found in american books. the most pleasing of the stories, told by herman reed, is not so well known, and we give it here. sneeze with delight. many, many years ago there lived in an old german town a good cobbler and his wife. they had one child, jamie, a handsome boy of some eight years. they were poor people; and the good wife, to help her husband, had a stall in the great market, where she sold fruit and herbs. one day the cobbler's wife was at the market as usual, and her little boy was with her, when a strange old woman entered the stalls. the woman hardly seemed human. she had red eyes, a wizened, pinched-up face, and her nose was sharp and hooked, and almost reached to her chin. her dress was made up of rags and tatters. never before had there entered the market such a repulsive-looking person. "are you hannah the herb-woman?" she asked, bobbing her head to and fro. "eh?" "yes." "let me see, let me see; you may have some herbs i want." she thrust her skinny hands into the herbs, took them up and smelled of them, crushing them as she did so. having mauled them to her heart's content, she shook her head, saying,-- "bad stuff; rubbish; nothing i want; rubbish, rubbish,--eh?" "you are an impudent old hag," said the cobbler's boy, jamie; "you have crushed our herbs, held them under your ugly nose, and now condemn them." "aha, my son, you do not like my nose,--eh? you shall have one, too, to pay for this,--eh?" "if you want to buy anything, pray do so at once," said the cobbler's wife; "you are keeping other customers away." "i _will_ buy something," said the hag viciously; "i _will_ buy. i will take these six cabbages. six? that is more than i can carry, as i have to lean upon my stick. you must let your boy take them home for me." this was but a reasonable request, and the cobbler's wife consented. jamie did as he was bid, and followed the hag to her home. it was a long distance there. at last the beldam stopped in an out-of-the-way part of the town, before a strange-looking house. she touched a rusty key to the door, which flew open, and, as the two entered, a most astonishing sight was revealed to jamie's eyes. the interior of the house was like a throne-room in a palace, the ceilings were of marble and gold, and the furniture was jewelled ebony. the old woman took a silver whistle and blew it. little animals--guinea pigs and squirrels--answered the call. they were dressed like children, and walked on two legs; they could talk and understand what was said to them. was the beldam an enchantress, and were these little animals children, whom she had stolen and made victims of her enchantments? [illustration: jamie at the strange-looking house.] "sit down, child," said the old woman, in a soft voice, "sit down; you have had a heavy load to carry. sit down, and i will make you a delicious soup; one that you will remember as long as you live. it will contain some of the herb for which i was looking in the market and did not find. sit down." the beldam hurried hither and thither, and with the help of the guinea pigs and squirrels quickly made the soup. "there, my child, eat that. it contains the magic herb i could not find in the market. why did your mother not have it? whoever eats that will become a magic cook." jamie had never tasted such delicious soup. it seemed to intoxicate him. it produced a stupor. he felt a great change coming over him. he seemed to become one of the family of guinea pigs and squirrels, and, like them, to serve their mistress. delightful little people they were,--he came to regard them as brothers; and time flew by. years flew by, and other years, when one day the dame took her crutch and went out. she left her herb-room open, and he went in. in one of the secret cupboards he discovered an herb that had the same scent as the soup he had eaten years before. he examined it. the leaves were blue and the blossoms crimson. he smelt of it. he began to sneeze,--such a delightful sneeze! he smelt, and sneezed again. suddenly he seemed to awake, as from a dream,--as though some strange enchantment had been broken. "i must go home," he said. "how mother will laugh when i tell her my dream! i ought not to have gone to sleep in a strange house." he went out into the street. the children and idlers began to follow him. "oho, oho! look, what a strange dwarf! look at his nose! never the like was seen before." jamie tried to discover the dwarf, but could not see him. he reached the market. his mother was there, a sad old woman, in the same place. she seemed altered; looked many years older than when he left her. she leaned her head wearily on her hand. "what is the matter, mother dear?" he asked. she started up. "what do you want of me, you poor dwarf? do not mock me. i have had sorrow, and cannot endure jokes." "but, mother, what has happened?" he rushed towards her to embrace her, but she leaped into the air. the market-women came to her and drove him away. he went to his father's cobbler's shop. his father was there, but he looked like an old man. "good gracious! what is that?" said he wildly, as jamie appeared. "how are you getting on, master?" asked jamie. "poorly enough. i'm getting old, and have no one to help me." "have you no son?" "i _had_ one, years ago." [illustration: mountain scene in germany.] "where is he now?" "heaven only knows. he was kidnapped one market-day, seven years ago." "seven years ago!" jamie turned away. the people on the street stared at him, and the ill-bred children followed him. he chanced to pass a barber's shop, where was a looking-glass in the window. he stopped and saw himself. the sight filled him with terror. he was a dwarf, _with a nose like that of the strange old woman_. what should he do? he remembered that the old woman had said that the eating of the magic soup that contained the magic herb would make him a magic cook. he went to the palace of the duke and inquired for the major domo. he was kindly received, as dwarfs are in such places, and he asked to be employed in the kitchen, and allowed to show his skill in preparing some of the rare dishes for the table. no one in the ducal palace was able to produce such food as he. he was made chief cook in a little time, and enjoyed the duke's favor for two years. he grew fat, was honored at the great feasts, and became the wonder of the town. now happened the strangest thing of his strange life. (ye that have eyes, prepare to open them now.) [illustration: jamie rushing towards his mother.] one morning he went to the goose market to buy some nice fat geese, such as he knew the duke would relish. he purchased a cage of three geese, but he noticed that one of the geese did not quack and gabble like the others. "the poor thing must be sick," he said; "i will make haste to kill her." to his great astonishment, the goose made answer:-- "stop my breath, and i will cause your early death." then he knew that the goose was some enchanted being, and he resolved to spare her life. "you have not always had feathers on you, as now?" said the dwarf. "no; i am mimi, daughter of waterbrook the great." "prithee be calm; i will be your friend; i know how to pity you. i was once a squirrel myself." now the duke made a great feast, and invited the prince. the prince was highly pleased with the ducal dishes, and praised the cook. "but there is one dish that you have not provided," said the prince. "what is that?" asked the duke. "_pâté suzerain._" the duke ordered the dwarf to make the rare dish for the next banquet. the dwarf obeyed. when the prince had tasted, he pushed it aside, and said,-- "there is one thing lacking,--one peculiar herb. it is not like that which is provided for my own table." the duke, in a towering passion, sent for the dwarf. "if you do not prepare this dish rightly for the next banquet," he said, "you shall lose your head." now the dwarf was in great distress, and he went to consult with the goose. "i know what is wanting," said the goose; "it is an herb called sneeze with delight. i will help you find it." [illustration: the dwarf and the goose.] the dwarf took the goose under his arm, and asked of the guard, who had been placed over him until he should prepare the dish, permission to go into the garden. they were allowed to go. they searched in vain for a long time; but at last the goose spied the magic leaf across the lake, and swam across, and returned with it in her bill. "'tis the magic herb the old woman used in the soup," said the dwarf. "thank the fates! we may now be delivered from our enchantment." he took a long, deep sniff of the herb. he then sneezed with delight, and lo! he began to grow, and his nose began to shrink, and he was transformed to the handsomest young man in all the land. he took the goose under his arm, and walked out of the palace yard. he carried her to a great magician, who delivered her from her enchantment, and she sneezed three sneezes, and became the handsomest lady in all the kingdom. now, mimi's father was very rich, and he loaded jamie with presents, which were worth a great fortune. then handsome jamie married the lovely mimi; and he brought his old father and mother to live with them in a palace, and they were all exceedingly happy. "what is the moral of such a tale as that?" asked one of the club. "if you have any crookedness, to find the magic herb," said charlie. charlie leland, the president, closed the exercises with some translations of his own, which he called "stories in verse." we give two of them here; each relates an incident of eberhard, the good count, whom german poets have often remembered in song. the richest prince. in a stately hall in the city of worms, a festive table was laid; the lamps a softened radiance shed, and sweet the music played. then the saxon prince, and bavaria's lord, and the palsgrave of the rhine, and würtemberg's monarch, eberhard, came into that hall to dine. said the saxon prince, with pride elate, "my lords, i have wealth untold: there are gems in my mountain gorges great; in my valleys are mines of gold." "thou hast boasted well," said bavaria's lord, "but mine is a nobler land: i have famous cities, and castled towns, and convents old and grand." "and better still is my own fair land," said the palsgrave of the rhine: "there are sunny vineyards upon the hills; in the valleys are presses of wine." then bearded eberhard gently said, "my lords, i have neither gold, nor famous cities, nor castled towns, nor convents grand and old. "i have no vineyards upon the hills, in the valleys no presses of wine; but god has given a treasure to me as noble as any of thine. [illustration: eberhard.] "i wind my horn on the rocky steep, in the heart of the greenwood free, and i safely lay me down and sleep on any subject's knee." oh, then the princes were touched at heart, and they said, in that stately hall, "thou art richer than we, count eberhard; thy treasure is greater than all." equality. the banners waved, the bugles rung, the fight was hot and hard; beneath the walls of doffingen, fast fell the ranks of suabian men led on by eberhard. count ulric was a valiant youth, the son of eberhard; the banners waved, the bugles rung, his spearmen on the foe he flung, and pressed them sore and hard. "ulric is slain!" the nobles cried,-- the bugles ceased to blow; but soon the monarch's order ran: "my son is as another man, press boldly on the foe!" and fiercer now the fight began, and harder fell each blow; but still the monarch's order ran: "my son is as another man, press, press upon the foe!" oh, many fell at doffingen before the day was done; but victory blessed the suabian men, and happy bugles played again, at setting of the sun. chapter v. the second meeting of the club. constance.--the story of huss.--bismarck and the german government.--the story of the heart of stone.--poem.--seven nights on the rhine: night first. the second meeting of the club was opened by mr. beal with an account of constance, and of the great council that convened there in . * * * * * "_via mala!_ so the old romans called the road near the source of the rhine. it passed over and through dark and awful chasms, that the river, as it came down from the alps, had been tunnelling for thousands of years. "the rhine is the gift of the alps, as egypt is the gift of the nile. from its source amid the peaks of the clouds to its first great reservoir, the lake of constance, it passes through one of the wildest and most picturesque regions in the world. it is not strange that the romans should have called their old swiss road _via mala_. "lake constance! how our heads bent and our feelings kindled and glowed when we beheld it! it is the most beautiful lake that germany possesses. it is walled by snow-capped mountains, whose tops seem like islands in the blue lakes of the skies. quaint towns are nestled among the groves of the shore; towers, with bells ringing soft and melodious in the still air. the water is like emerald. afar, zigzagging sails flap mechanically in the almost pulseless air. "there is color everywhere, of all hues: high, rich tones of color; low tones. piles of gems on the mountains, gloomy shadows in the groves; a deep cerulean sky above, that the sunlight fills like a golden sea. at sunset the lake seems indeed like the vision that john saw,--'a sea of glass, mingled with fire.' [illustration: bridge in the via mala.] "the town of constance, once a great city, is as old as the period of constantine. when charlemagne went to rome to receive the imperial crown, he rested here. here a long line of german kings left the associations of great festivities; here those kings passed their christmases and easters. here convened brilliant regal assemblies. here the ambassadors from milan appeared before barbarossa, and delivered to him the golden key of the italian states. "but these events are of comparatively small importance in comparison with the so-called holy council of constance, in . it was a time of spiritual dearth in the world. arrogance governed the church, and immorality flourished in it. there were three popes, each at war with the others,--john xxiii., benedict xii., and gregory xii. "the council was called to choose a pope, and to reform the church. the town for four years became the centre of european history. hither came kings and princes; the court of the world was here. "the town filled, and filled. it was like a great fair. delegates came from the north and the south, the east and the west. there were splendid fêtes; luxury and vainglory. at one time there were present a hundred thousand men. "the council accomplished nothing by way of reform, except to induce the three rival popes to relinquish their claims to a fourth; but it stained its outward glory with a crime that will never be forgotten. "when we were in florence,--beautiful florence!--the tragedy of savonarola rose before us like a spectre in the history of the past. savonarola tried to reform the conduct of the clergy and to maintain the purity of the church, but failed. he made the republic of florence a model christian commonwealth. debauchery was suppressed, gambling was prohibited, the licentious factions of the times were there publicly destroyed. he arraigned rome for her sins. the roman party turned against him and accused him of heresy, the punishment of which was death. he declared his innocence, and desired to test it with his accusers by walking through a field of living fire. he believed god would protect him from the flames, like the worthies of old. his enemies were unwilling to go with him into the fiery ordeal. he was condemned and executed. the martyr of florence in after years became one of its saints. "at constance a like tragedy haunted us. constance has been called 'the city of huss.' "among the mighty ones who wended their way to the city of the lake, to attend the great council, was a pale, thin man, in mean attire. he had been invited to the council by the emperor sigismund, who promised to protect his person and his life. he was a bohemian reformer; a follower of wycliffe. he was graciously received, but was soon after thrown into prison on the charge of heresy. "they led him in chains before the council, which assembled in an old hall, which is still shown. the emperor sat upon the throne as president. "he confessed to having read and disseminated the writings of wycliffe. [illustration: john huss.] "he was required to denounce the english reformer as one of the souls of the lost. "'if he be lost, then i could wish my soul were with his,' he said firmly. "this was pronounced to be heresy. "the emperor declared that he was not obliged to keep his word to heretics, and that his promise to protect the life of the bohemian was no longer binding. "he was condemned to death. he was stripped of his priestly robes, and the cup of the sacrament was taken from his hands with a curse. "'i trust i shall drink of it this day in the kingdom of heaven,' he said. "'we devote thy soul to the devils in hell,' was the answer of the prelates. "he was led away, guarded by eight hundred horsemen, to a meadow without the gates. here he was burned alive, and triumphed in soul amid the flames. "such was the end of john huss, the savonarola of constance. "we made an excursion upon the lake. the appearance of the old city from the water is one of the most beautiful that can meet the eye. it seems more like an artist's dream than a reality,--floating towers in a crystal atmosphere. "'girt round with rugged mountains, the fair lake constance lies.' "the lake is walled with mountains, and wears a chain of castle-like towns, like a necklace. "it would be delightful to spend a summer there. excursions on the steamers can be made at almost any time of the day. one can visit in this way five different old countries,--baden, würtemberg, bavaria, austria, and switzerland." * * * * * mr. beal's succinct account of the old city led to a discussion of the gains of civilization from martyrdoms for principle and progress. he was followed by master lewis, who gave the class some account of bismarck and the german government. in the eyes of the multitude, bismarck is a great but unscrupulous statesman, intent upon uniting germany and making it the leading nation of europe. as a man, he seems hard-headed, self-willed, and iron-handed. as a ruler, he is looked upon as the incarnation of the despotic spirit,--a believer in force, an infidel as to moral suasion. many persons who sympathize with his policy censure the means by which he executes it. they do not consider that so long as that policy is threatened from within and without, the chancellor must trust in force; nor do they read the lesson of the centuries,--_force_ must rule until _right_ reigns. the fact is not apprehended by the unthinking multitude, that the work of grafting a statesman's policy into the life of a nation requires, like grafting a fruit-tree, excision, incision, pressure, and time. but it is not of bismarck's policy i would first speak, but of that which few credit him with possessing,--his moral convictions. strange as it may seem to those who know only the chancellor, bismarck is not only a religious man, but his religion is the foundation of his policy. dr. busch, one of the statesman's secretaries, in a recent book, "bismarck in the franco-german war," narrates incidents and reports private conversations which justify this assertion. on the eve of his leaving berlin to join the army, the chancellor partook of the lord's supper. the solemn rite was celebrated in his own room, that it might not appear as an exhibition of official piety. [illustration: bismarck.] one morning bismarck was called suddenly from his bed to see a french general. dr. busch, on entering the bedroom just after the chief had left it, found everything in disorder. on the floor was a book of devotion, "daily watchwords and texts of the moravian brethren for ." on the table by the bed was another, "daily refreshment for believing christians." "the chancellor reads in them every night," said bismarck's valet to dr. busch, seeing his surprise. one day, while dining with his staff, several of whom were "free-thinkers," bismarck turned the conversation into a serious vein. a secretary had spoken of the feeling of duty which pervaded the german army, from the private to the general. bismarck caught the idea and tossed it still higher. "the feeling of duty," he said, "in a man who submits to be shot dead on his post, alone, in the dark, is due to what is left of belief in our people. he knows that there is some one who sees him when the lieutenant does not see him." "do you believe, your excellency," asked a secretary, "that they really reflect on this?" "reflect? no: it is a feeling, a tone, an instinct. if they reflect they lose it. then they talk themselves out of it. "how," bismarck continued, "without faith in a revealed religion, in a god who wills what is good, in a supreme judge, and in a future life, men can live together harmoniously, each doing his duty and letting every one else do his, i do not understand." there was a pause in the conversation, and the chancellor then gave expression to his faith. "if i were no longer a christian," he said, "i would not remain for an hour at my post. if i could not count upon my god, assuredly i should not do so on earthly masters. "why should i," he continued, "disturb myself and work unceasingly in this world, exposing myself to all sorts of vexations, if i had not the feeling that i must do my duty for god's sake? if i did not believe in a divine order, which has destined this german nation for something good and great, i would at once give up the business of a diplomatist. orders and titles have no charm for me." there was another pause, for the staff were silent before this revelation of their chief's inner life. he continued to lay bare the foundations of his statesmanship. "i owe the firmness which i have shown for ten years against all possible absurdities only to my decided faith. take from me this faith, and you take from me my fatherland. if i were not a believing christian, if i had not the supernatural basis of religion, you would not have had such a chancellor. "i delight in country life, in the woods, and in nature," he said, in the course of the conversation. "take from me my relation to god, and i am the man who will pack up to-morrow and be off to varzin [his farm] to grow my oats." the surprise with which these revelations of a statesman's inner life are read is due to their singularity. neither history nor biography is so full of instances of statesmen confessing their faith in god and in christianity, at a dinner-table surrounded by "free-thinkers," as to prevent the reading of these revelations from being both interesting and stimulating. "i live among heathen," said the chancellor, as he concluded this acknowledgment that his religion was the basis of his statesmanship. "i don't seek to make proselytes, but i am obliged to confess my faith." prince von bismarck was born in . his political history is similar to emperor william's, which i related at our last meeting. the emperor and his chancellor, in matters of state, have been as one man. each has aimed to secure the unity of the german empire. each has sought to disarm, on the one hand, that branch of the catholic party who give their allegiance to rome rather than the government, the so-called ultramontanes; and the socialists, on the other hand, who would overthrow the monarchy. the two strong men have ruled with a firm hand, but with much wisdom. germany could hardly have a more liberal government, unless she became a republic. the stories of the evening were chiefly selected from hoffman. they were too long and terrible to be given here. among them were "the painter" and "the elementary spirit." in introducing these stories, mr. beal related some touching and strange incidents of their author. hoffman. hoffman died in berlin. his career as a musical artist had been associated with the prussian-polish provinces, where he seems to have acquired habits of dissipation in brilliant but gay musical society. hoffman had exquisite refinement of taste, and sensitiveness to the beautiful in nature and art, but the exhilaration of the wine-cup was to him a fatal knowledge. it made him in the end a poor, despised, inferior man. as he lost his self-mastery, he also seemed to lose his self-respect. he mingled with the depraved, and carried the consciousness of his inferiority into all his associations with better society. "i once saw hoffman," says one, "in one of his night carouses. he was sitting in his glory at the head of the table, not stupidly drunk, but warmed with wine, which made him madly eloquent. there, in full tide of witty discourse, or, if silent, his hawk eye flashing beneath his matted hair, sat this unfortunate genius until the day began to dawn; then he found his way homeward. "at such hours he used to write his wild, fantastic tales. to his excited fancy everything around him had a spectral look. the shadows of fevered thought stalked like ghosts through his soul." this stimulated life came to a speedy conclusion. he was struck with a most strange paralysis at the age of forty-six. his disease first paralyzed his hands and feet, then his arms and legs, then his whole body, except his brain and vital organs. in this condition it was remarked in his presence that death was not the worst of evils. he stared wildly and exclaimed,-- "life, life, only life,--on any condition whatsoever!" his whole hope was centred in the gay world which had already become to him as a picture of the past. but the hour came at last when he knew he must die. he asked his wife to fold his useless hands on his breast, and, looking at her pitifully, he said, "and we must think of god also." religion, in his gay years, as a provincial musician, and as a poet in the thoughtless society of the capital, had seldom occupied his thoughts. his last thought was given to the subject which should have claimed the earliest and best efforts of his life. "god also!" it was his farewell to the world. the demons had done their work. life's opportunities were ended. the words of his afterthought echo after him, and, like his own weird stories, have their lesson. herman reed presented a story from a more careful writer. it is a story with an aim, and left an impressive lesson on the minds of all. if it be somewhat of an allegory, it is one whose meaning it is not hard to comprehend. the heart of stone. the black forest, from time out of mind, has abounded with stories of phantoms, demons, genii, and fairies. the dark hue of the hills, the shadowy and mysterious recesses, the lonely ways, the beautiful glens, all tend to suggest the legends that are associated with every mountain, valley, and town. the old legends have filled volumes. one of the most popular of recent stories of the black forest is the "marble heart; or, the stone-cold heart," by hauff. wilhelm hauff, a writer of wonderful precocity, genius, and invention, was born at stuttgart in . he was designed for the theological profession, and entered the university of tübingen in . he had a taste for popular legends, and published many allegorical works. he died before he had completed his twenty-sixth year. there once lived a widow in the black forest, whose name was frau barbara munk. she had a boy, sixteen years old, named peter, who was put to the trade of charcoal-burner, a common occupation in the black forest. now a charcoal-burner has much time for reflection; and as peter sat at his stack, with the dark trees around him, he began to cherish a longing to become rich and powerful. "a black, lonely charcoal-burner," he said to himself, "leads a wretched life. how much more respected are the glass-blowers, the clock-makers, and the musicians!" the raftsmen of the forest, too, excited his envy. they passed like giants through the towns, with their silver buckles, consequential looks, and clay pipes, often a yard long. there were three of these timber-dealers that he particularly admired. one of them, called "fat hesekiel," seemed like a mint of gold, so freely did he use his money at the gaming-tables at the tavern. the second, called "stout schlurker," was both rich and dictatorial; and the third was a famous dancer. these traders were from holland. peter munk, the young coal-burner, used to think of them and their good fortune, when sitting alone in the pine forests. the black foresters were people rich in generous character and right principle, but very poor in purse. peter began to look upon them and their homely occupations with contempt. "this will do no longer," said peter, one day. "i must thrive or die. oh, that i were as much regarded as rich hesekiel or powerful schlurker, or even as the king of the dancers! i wonder where they obtain their money!" there were two forest spirits, of whom peter had heard, that were said to help those who sought them to riches and honor. one was glassmanikin, a good little dwarf; and the other was michael the dutchman,--dark, dangerous, terrible, and powerful,--a giant ghost. peter had heard that there was a magic verse, which, were he to repeat it alone in the forest, would cause the benevolent dwarf, glassmanikin, to appear. three of the lines were well known,-- "o treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, many, full many a century hast thou seen: thine are the lands where rise the dusky pine--" he did not know the last line, and, as he was but a poor poet, he was unable to make a line to fill the sense, metre, and rhyme. he inquired of the black foresters about the missing line, but they only knew as much as he, else many of them would have called the fairy banker to their own service. one day, as he was alone in the forest, he resolved to repeat, over and over, the magic lines, hoping that the fourth line would in some way occur to him. "o treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, many, full many a century hast thou seen: thine are the regions of the dusky pine." as he said these words he saw, to his astonishment, a little fellow peep around the trunk of a tree; but, as the fourth line did not come to him, mr. glassmanikin disappeared. peter went home, with his mind full of visions. oh, that he were a poet! he consulted the oldest wood-cutters, but none of them could supply the missing line. soon after, peter again went into the deep forest, his brain aching for a rhyme with _pine_. as he was hurrying along, a gigantic man, with a pole as big as a mast over his shoulder, appeared from behind the pine-trees. peter was filled with terror, for he felt that it was none other than the giant-gnome, michael the dutchman. [illustration: peter in the forest.] "peter munk, what doest thou here?" he thundered. "i want to pass this road on business," said peter, in increasing alarm. "thou liest. peter, you are a miserable wight, but i pity you. you want money. accept my _conditions_, and i will help you. how many hundred thalers do you want?" "thanks, sir; but i'll have no dealings with you: i am afraid of your _conditions_. i have heard of you already." peter began to run. the giant strode after him; but there was a magic circle in the forest that he could not pass, and, as he was near it, peter was able to escape. a great secret had been revealed to peter, and he now thought he had the clew to the charm. the good dwarf, glassmanikin, only helped people who were born on sunday. possessed of this fact, peter again ventured on into the deep forest. he found himself at last under a huge pine. he stopped there to rest, when suddenly a perfect line and rhyme occurred to him. he leaped into the air with joy, and exclaimed:-- "o treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, many, full many a century hast thou seen: thine are the regions of the dusky pine, and children born on sabbath-days are thine." a little old manikin arose from the earth at the foot of the pine. he wore a black jerkin, red stockings, and a peaked hat. his face had a kindly expression, and he sat down and began to smoke a blue glass pipe. "peter, peter," said the fairy, "i should be sorry to think that the love of idleness has brought you hither to me." "no; i know that with idleness vice begins. but i would like a better trade. it is a low thing to be a charcoal-burner. i would like to become a glass-blower." "to every sunday-child who seeks my aid, i grant three wishes. if, however, the last wish is a foolish one, i cannot grant it. peter, peter, what are your wishes? let them be good and useful." "i wish to dance better than the king of dancers." "one." "secondly, i would always have as much money in my pocket as 'fat hesekiel.'" "oh, you poor lad!" said the gnome sadly. "what despicable things to wish for! to dance well, and have money to gamble! what is your third wish?" "i should like to own the finest glass factory in the forest." "o stupid charcoal peter! you should have wished for wisdom. wealth is useless without wisdom to use it. here are two thousand guldens. go." peter returned home. at the frolics at the inn, he surpassed the king of dancers in dancing, and he was hailed with great admiration by the young. he began to gamble at the ale-houses, and was able to produce as much money as fat hesekiel himself. people wondered. he next ordered a glass factory to be built, and in a few months peter munk was rich and famous and envied. people said he had found a hidden treasure. but peter did not know how to use his money. he spent it at the alehouse; and at last, when the money in the pockets of fat hesekiel, for some reason, was low, he was unable to pay his debts, and the bailiffs came to take him to prison. [illustration: peter and the manikin.] in his troubles he resolved to go again into the deep forest, and seek the aid of the forest gnomes. "if the good little gnome will not help me," he said, "the big one will." as he passed along, ashamed of his conduct in not having better deserved of the good fairy, he began to cry,-- "michael the dutchman! michael the dutchman!" in a few moments the giant raftsman stood before him. "you've come to me at last," he said. "go with me to my house, and i will show you how i can be of service to you." peter followed the giant to some steep rocks, and down into an abyss; there was the gnome's palace. "your difficulties come from _here_," said the gnome, placing his hands over the young man's heart. "let me have your heart, and you shall have riches." "give you my heart?" said peter; "i should die." "no; follow me." he led peter into a great closet, where were jars filled with liquid. in them were the hearts of many who had become rich. among them were the hearts of the king of the dancers and of fat hesekiel. "the hinderance to wealth is feeling. i have taken, as you see, the hearts of these rich men. i have replaced them by hearts of stone. you see how _they_ flourish. _you_ may do the same." [illustration: peter surpassed the king of dancers.] "a heart of stone must feel very cold within," said peter. "but what is the use of a heart of feeling, with poverty? give me your heart, and i will make you rich." "agreed," said peter. the giant gave him a drug, which caused stupor. when peter awoke from the stupor his heart seemed cold. he put his hand on his breast: there was no motion. then he knew that he had indeed a heart of stone. nothing now brought him pleasure or delight. he loved nothing; pitied no one's misfortunes. beauty was nothing. he cared not for relatives or friends; but he had money, money. the supply never failed. he travelled over the world, but everything seemed dead to him. sentiment was dead within him. he lied, he cheated. he filled many homes with wretchedness and ruin. at last he became weary of life. [illustration: peter and the giant.] "i would give all my riches," he said, "to feel once again love in my heart." he resolved to go into the woods and consult the good fairy. he came to the old pine-tree,-- "o treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, many, full many a century thou hast seen; thine are the regions of the dusky pine, and children born on sabbath-days are thine." the glassmanikin came up again, as before. he met peter with an injured look. "what wouldst thou?" "that thou shouldst give me a feeling heart." "i cannot. i am not michael the dutchman." "i can live no longer with this stone heart." "i pity you. take this cross, and go to michael. get him to give you back your heart, under some pretext, and when he demands it again show him this cross, and he will be powerless to harm you." peter took the cross and hurried into the deep forest. he called,-- "michael the dutchman! michael the dutchman!" the giant appeared. "what now, peter munk?" "there is feeling in my heart. give me another. you have been deceiving me." "come to my closet, and we will see." the gnome took out the stone heart, and replaced it for a moment by the old heart from the jar. it began to beat. peter felt joy again. how happy he was! a heart, even with poverty, seemed the greatest of blessings. he would not exchange his heart again for the world. "let me have it now," said the gnome. but peter held out the cross. the gnome shrank away, faded, and disappeared. peter put his hand on his breast. his heart was beating. he became a wise, thrifty, and prosperous man. chapter vi. night second. seven nights on the rhine:--basle.--marshal von moltke.--the story of the enchanted hen. our second night on the rhine was passed at basle. leaving lake constance, the rhine, full of vivid life, starts on its way to the sea. at the rhinefall at schaffhausen the water scenery becomes noble and exciting. a gigantic rock, over three hundred feet wide, impedes the course of the river, and over it the waters leap and eddy and foam, and then flow calmly on amid green woods, and near villages whose windows glitter in the sun. we rode through the so-called forest towns. high beeches stood on each side of the river, and the waters here were as blue as the sky, and so clear we could see the gravelly bed. the river hastened to basle. we hastened on like the river. basle is the first town of importance on the rhine. here we obtained a fine view of the black forest range of hills, and beheld the distant summits of the jura and the vosges. [illustration: a village in the black forest.] basle was a roman fortified town in the days of the struggles of rome with the barbarians. it is gray with history,--with the battles of church and state, battles of words, and battles of deeds and blood. but the sunlight was poured upon it, and the rhine flowed quietly by, and the palaces of peace and prosperity rose on every hand, as though the passions of men had never been excited there, or the soil reddened with blood. [illustration: peasant's house in the black forest.] we took a principal street on our arrival, and followed the uncertain way. it led to the cathedral, on high ground. at the entrance to the grand old church stood the figures of st. george and st. martin on prancing horses. the interior was high and lofty, with an imposing organ. here we read on one of the tombs, "erasmus of rotterdam." the famous black forest is comprised within the lines of an isosceles triangle, which has basle and constance at each end of the line of base. the rhine turns toward the north at basle, and very nearly follows two lines of the figure. the forest covers an area of about twelve hundred square miles. it is a romantic seclusion, having basle, freiburg, and baden-baden for its cities of supply and exchange; full of pastoral richness, lonely grandeur; a land of fable and song. the black forest railway is one of the great triumphs of engineering skill. it is ninety-three miles long, and has some forty tunnels. it takes the traveller from baden at once into the primeval solitudes. freiburg, a very quaint town, is situated in the forest. * * * * * master lewis spoke briefly to the club of von moltke, the great prussian general. marshal von moltke. never was a nation more fortunate in its leaders than was prussia when she aimed to achieve german unity. it is often the case that when some great crisis comes upon a country, men able to deal with it rise and become the guides of the people. this was never more true than it was of prussia when, thirteen years ago, she entered upon the war with france which was to decide not only her own destiny, but that of the whole german people. three prussians towered, at that time, far above the rest,--william, the wise and energetic king; bismarck, the resolute and far-seeing statesman; and von moltke, the skilful and consummate soldier. it was the united action of these three, as much as the valor of the prussian army, which not only won the victory, but gathered and garnered its fruits. all three of these men are still living ( - ), and still active, each in his own sphere. the hale old king, now emperor, shows, at the age of eighty-six, little lessening of his sturdy powers. bismarck, at seventy, still sways with his strong and stubborn will the affairs of the youthful empire. von moltke, at eighty-two, remains the foremost military figure of germany. von moltke is a very interesting personage. from his earliest youth he has followed the profession of arms. he has always been every inch a soldier. in the course of years, he became an absolute master of his art. he had military science at his fingers' ends. in every emergency he knew just what to do. [illustration: von moltke.] to be sure, he has not been one of those brilliant and dashing military chiefs who, by their daring exploits and sudden triumphs, become heroes in the eyes of men. he has been a careful, studious, deliberate commander, losing sight of nothing, ready for every exigency, looking well ahead, and closely calculating upon every possibility of events. yet the sturdy old soldier is by no means a dull man outside of his quarters or the barracks. in a quiet way, he enjoys life in many of its phases. he has always been a great reader on a great variety of subjects. he is known as one of the most delightful letter-writers in germany. he is fond, too, of poetry, and reads history and fiction with much delight. there is a roman simplicity about von moltke's daily life. he lives in a building which serves as the headquarters of the general staff of the army in berlin. promptly at seven o'clock every morning, summer and winter, he enters his study, a plain room, with a table in the centre, covered with maps, papers, and books. there he takes his coffee, at the same time smoking a cigar. he proceeds at once to work, and keeps at it till nine, when his mail is brought to him. at eleven he takes a plain breakfast, after which he again works steadily till two, when he holds a reception of officers. the afternoon is devoted to work. after dinner, for the first time, this man of eighty-two enjoys some rest and recreation until eleven, at which hour he retires. in personal appearance, von moltke is tall, thin, and slightly stooping. on horseback, however, he straightens up, and bears himself as erect as a man of thirty. his close-shaven face is much wrinkled, and his profile somewhat reminds one of that of julius cæsar. he never appears in any other than a military dress; and is often seen walking alone in the thiergarten at berlin, his hands clasped behind him and his head bent forward, after the manner of the great napoleon. von moltke married, some years ago, an english girl many years younger than himself. she died suddenly in ; and this event cast a shadow over all his later life. he has always since worn a sad and thoughtful face. he often visits his wife's grave in the country; and on the mausoleum which he erected to her memory, he has caused to be engraved the sentence, "love is the fulfilling of the law." the rest of the evening was spent in rehearsing black forest tales, one of the most interesting of which we give here. scratch gravel; or, the enchanted hen. queer stories, as well as tragic ones, are related of the black forest; and one of the most popular legends of enchantment, the hen trench, is as absurd as it is amusing. children like this story, for among german children the industrious and useful hen is something of a pet. where, except in germany, did there ever originate an heroic legend of a _hen_? the main line of the baden railway runs southward towards freiburg, amid some of the most picturesque mountain scenery of the black forest. the second station is bühl, from which a delightful excursion may be made to forbach and the murg valley. here may be seen the extensive ruins of the old castle of windeck, which was destroyed in the year , about which a very remarkable story is told. the old lords of windeck were very quarrelsome people. they had feud after feud with the neighboring lords, and were continually at war with the prince bishops of strasburg. [illustration: fountain at schaffhausen.] queer times were those, and queer relations existed between the church and state. the lord of windeck was at one time kidnapped by the bishop of strasburg, and confined in a tower three years,--a thing that would not be regarded as a very clerical or spiritual proceeding to-day. a little later the dean of strasburg was surprised by the retainers of the lord of windeck, and was in turn carried a prisoner to the gray old castle of windeck. the captive dean had a niece, a lovely girl, who was deeply attached to him. when she heard of his captivity she was much grieved, and set herself to devising plans for his release. at the foot of the grim old castle, in the black forest, there lived an old woman. she was wiser than her neighbors, and was regarded as a witch. she was able to tell inquirers whatever they wished to know, and so was as useful as a newspaper, in her day and generation. she was the last of her family. she lived alone, and her only society was some pure white hens, so large that the biggest of modern shanghai fowls must have been mere pygmies to them. the people of the region were very shy of the old woman and her strange hens. the timid never ventured past her door after dark, after her hens went to roost. she was surprised one winter evening by a rap at her door. she listened. tap, tap, tap! "come in." a fair young girl lifted the latch. "i am belated in the forest. will you give me shelter?" "come in and sit down. whence did you come?" "i am on my way to the castle, but night has overtaken me." "you are very near it. if it were light, i could show you its towers. but what can a dove like you be seeking in that vulture's nest?" "my dear uncle, the dean of strasburg, is a prisoner there." "i saw him when he was dragged into the castle, and very distressed and woe-begone the good man looked." "i am going there to pray for his release." "umph. at that castle they don't give something for nothing. what ransom can you offer?" "nothing. i hope by prayers and tears to move the count's heart." "i am wiser than you in the world's ways,--let me advise you. cry with those pretty eyes, plead with your sweet voice, but not to the old count." "to whom?" "to his son." "will he influence his father?" "girl, i have taken a liking to you. you have a kind heart; i can see your disposition; i have met but few like you in the world. i will tell you what i will do. i will give you one of my white hens." "a _hen_?" "yes. go with the hen to the castle and inquire for bernard, the count's son. tell him that at daybreak the count of eberstein has planned an attack on the castle, and that you have come to warn him. bid him fear nothing. say that what he needs is a trench; and when he asks how one is to be made, tell him that you have brought him scratch gravel, the hen, who will immediately dig one for him." [illustration: the old woman's directions.] "how will that rescue my uncle?" "you shall see." the maiden took the white hen, and went out into the night. the old woman pointed out to her the way to the castle. as she drew near the castle, she heard a great noise in the highway. the count's son was returning late from the chase. as he drew near her on horseback, he accosted her politely and asked her errand. the beautiful girl related the story the old woman had told her. "i will take you to my father." she related her story to the count, and showed him the white hen. "pooh! pooh!" said the count. "i think her story is true," said the young man. "why?" "i see truth written on her beautiful face." "is that so? i don't see it. perhaps my eyes are not as good as they used to be. well, well; let us see what the white hen will do." they took the hen outside the castle, and put her down. presently the gravel began to fly. it was like a storm. the air was filled with earth and stones, and the old count was filled with astonishment. "the hen is bewitched," said the count. "did i not tell you that the girl is honest?" "and handsome?" "and handsome." before daybreak the white hen had dug a deep trench around the castle. the trench is shown to travellers to-day, a very remarkable proof of the truth of the story, with only one missing link in the chain of evidence. the next morning the enemy appeared, but when he came to the trench he forbore to storm the castle. [illustration: the hen and the trench.] the old count called the maiden into his presence. "what reward do you ask for so great a service?" "that you call the dean of strasburg to give thanks in the chapel." the count called the bishop, and attended the service. when it was over, he did not remand the good man to his cell. "i have one request to make of you," said bernard to the maid, as they left the church. "name it." "you promise to grant it?" "name it." "that you make your home in the castle." "on one condition." "name it." "that the dean is released." the young count went to his father. "the maiden has one request to make." "she shall have her request." so the dean was released and went back to strasburg. the maid became the wife of the young count, but what became of the hen the chroniclers do not tell. but the trench remains,--the _henne-graben_,--and all that is wanting to make the evidence of the story sure is to connect the hen with the trench, after four hundred years. this may not be hard; geologists make connections in like cases after the lapse of a thousand years. do they not? chapter vii. evening the third. strasburg.--a memorable christmas.--the story of the lost organist. our third night upon the rhine was spent at strasburg. "the cathedral is the wonder of the city. the excursionist thinks of but little else during his stay there. wherever he may be, the gigantic church is always in view. he beholds it towering over all. "its history is that of germany. it grew with the german empire, and has shared all its triumphs and reverses. it was founded by clovis. it has been imperilled by lightning some fifty times, and has as often repelled the shocks of war. in the tenth century it was burned; in the eleventh, plundered; and five years after it was nearly demolished by lightning. "it was after the last calamity that the present structure was begun. at one time a _hundred thousand_ men were employed upon it: can we wonder that it is colossal? "the giant grew. in , , and it was partly burned, but it rose from the flames always more great, lofty, and splendid. [illustration: strasburg cathedral.] "indulgences were offered to donors and workmen; to contributors of all kinds. men earned, or thought they earned, their salvation by adding their mites to the spreading magnificence. in it is said that all the peasants of alsace might be seen drawing stone into strasburg for the cathedral. master builder succeeded master builder,--died,--but the great work went on. in the french revolution the jacobins tore from the cathedral the statues of two hundred and thirty saints; but it was still a city of saints in stone and marble. in , in the franco-prussian war, its roof was perforated with shells, and on the th of august it burst into flames, and it was telegraphed over the world that the great cathedral was destroyed. but it stands to-day, majestic, regal, and beautiful, its spire piercing the sky. [illustration: platform of strasburg cathedral.] "we visited the cathedral in the afternoon. we were at once filled with wonder at the windows. they burned with color, and seemed to hang in air amid the shadows of the lofty walls. they represented scriptural subjects. "i was standing in awe, gazing upon a gorgeous circular window that seemed to blaze in the air like a planet, when charlie touched my arm. "'the clock?' "'what?' "'can we not go up and see the fixings, and how it is all done?' "'i am not thinking of that _toy_,' said i; 'you stand in a monument of art that it has taken a thousand years to build.' "'yes; i hope we shall be here to-morrow when the twelve apostles come out and the cock crows _at_ peter.'" a memorable christmas. the soldiers of aurelian, the roman emperor, used to sing,-- "we have slain a thousand franks." * * * * * "we have cut off the heads of a thousand, thousand, thousand, thousand. one man hath cut off the heads of a thousand, thousand, thousand, thousand, thousand; may he live a thousand years." the franks came out of the north, and established themselves in gaul and germania during the period of the early roman emperors. their most renowned king was clovis, with whom began the empire of france. he was a savage and passionate man, born to command and to conquer. he was a heathen. it is related of him that once, when he had enriched himself with spoils from some of the early christian churches, the bishop of rheims desired that he would return a valued vase that had been taken from the cathedral. "follow us to soissons," said clovis; "there the booty will be divided." in the division of the booty, a high-spirited and selfish frankish chieftain objected to the bishop's claim, and, to show his contempt for him and the church, struck the vase with his battle-axe. clovis was offended. he gave the bishop the vase, and soon after avenged the insult by striking the chieftain dead with his own battle-axe, saying,-- "thus didst thou to the vase at soissons." his wife, clotilde, was a christian, and she often tried to persuade him to embrace the christian faith. in the allemannians, a german confederation, who had been assailing the roman colonies on the rhine, crossed the river, and invaded the territory of the franks. clovis met the invaders near cologne. a severe battle followed. clovis was hard pressed. [illustration: thus didst thou to the vase of soissons.] he called upon his gods, but they did not answer him. he saw he was in danger of being utterly defeated and losing his army. he had with him a servant of the queen. "my lord king," said this man, "believe only on the lord of heaven, whom the queen, my mistress, preacheth." clovis raised his eyes in hope towards heaven,-- "christ jesus, thou whom my queen clotilde calleth the son of god, i have called upon my own gods, and they have left me. thee i invoke. give me victory, and i will believe in thee, proclaim thee to my people, and be baptized in thy name." the tide of battle now suddenly turned, the allemannians were beaten, and their king was slain. when his queen had learned of his vow, she sent for the bishop of rheims to instruct him in christianity. he publicly renounced his gods, and his people at the same time accepted the queen's faith. [illustration: street in strasburg.] christmas day, , will be ever memorable in christian history; it was on that day that the king of the franks was baptized. the occasion was one of barbaric splendor, and such as might be expected of a warlike king in those rude times. the road from the palace to the baptistery, over which the king was to pass, was curtained with silk, mottoes, and banners, like a triumphal way. the houses of rheims were hung with festive ornaments, and the baptistery itself was sprinkled with balm and "all manner of perfume." the procession moved from the palace like a pageant for a feast of victory. the clergy led, bearing the gospels, standards, and cross. hymns were chanted, as they swept along. then came the bishop of rheims, leading the king; after him, the rejoicing queen; and lastly the neophytes who were to receive baptism with the king. on the way, the king seemed impressed with the glittering pageant. "is this kingdom promised me?" he asked. "no," said the bishop; "but it is the entrance to the road that leads to it." at the baptistery the bishop said to the king,-- "lower your head with humility; adore what thou hast burned; burn what thou hast adored." clovis was then solemnly baptized, and with him three thousand warriors. with the imposing rite, christianity in france began, and with him began that great monument of the faith, strasburg cathedral. [illustration: clovis.] charlie leland furnished the most interesting story on this evening. it well illustrated features of german and french musical life that are unknown in america. in germany and in the french provinces the organist of the town is a very important person. the choice of an organist in these towns is a very interesting event, and during the last century excited more discussion than at the present time. the young organist: a mystery. the towns on the rhine are all famous for their organs, and proud of the eminent organists they have had in the past. each town points with pride to some musical legend and history. the story i have to tell is associated with an ancient provincial town. it is now hardly more than a small town, and possesses not above a thousand inhabitants; but in the latter part of the last century it was more than ten times its present size, and its church, now in ruins, was then one of the most beautiful ever seen in that part of the country. this church was finished in the year , and was for a long time the great object of curiosity for miles around. it was of the gothic and romanesque style of architecture, and was not only finely proportioned on the exterior, but had within a magnificence of decoration that astonished one more and more the longer he gazed upon it. the church, unlike some of the older ones standing at that time, had a magnificent organ. this had been paid for by a separate subscription, raised in small sums by the common people, and, having been built by skilful workmen in bordeaux, was at length set up in the church amid considerable enthusiasm and excitement. but who should play this grand instrument? how should a competent organist be selected? the people were greatly interested in the matter, and discussed it on the corner of the _rues_, in the _brasseries_ or taverns; and for a period of six or eight weeks you might be sure, if you saw more than two people talking earnestly together, that they were deliberating upon the choice of an organist. since the people, both high and low, had so freely contributed for the purchase of the organ, it was thought very proper that they should be allowed to choose a person to play it. and, the decision being thus left to the multitude, the most feasible plan that was suggested was that all should go, on an appointed day, to the church, and should then listen to the playing of the various candidates. there were, in all, nearly a score of aspiring musicians in and near the town; and each of these, hoping for a favorable decision for himself, gave no end of little suppers and parties, so that the influential ones among the townsmen fared sumptuously from all. but out of the entire number there were two, between whom the choice really lay. these were baptiste lacombe and raoul tegot. the former of these had lived in the town only five years. he had come from bruges, so he said; and although he astonished everybody by his skill, he had not been liked from the first. he was very reserved and parsimonious, and his eye never met frankly the person with whom he talked. but no harm was known of him, and he found in tranteigue plenty of exercise for his art. raoul tegot, on the contrary, was a native of the town; and, together with his young son, françois, was beloved by all. he had married one of the village maidens, and had been so inconsolable at her death, which occurred when françois was a baby, that he never thought more of marriage, but devoted himself to his child and his art. he was certainly a very able musician, and, being so universally liked, many people urged that a public performance be dispensed with, and that he be elected at once. but although baptiste lacombe was not _liked_, his _skill_ found many admirers; and, besides, it was flattering to the worthy countryfolk to think of sitting solemnly in judgment at the great church; and so the proposed plan was adhered to. [illustration: monsieur lacombe and the organ.] finally, the weeks of anticipation came to an end, the appointed day was at hand, and, according to the arrangements previously made, at nine o'clock in the forenoon the three great doors of the church were swung open, and the throng, orderly and even dignified, entered and filled the edifice. the seats, which in french churches and cathedrals are movable, had all been taken away, and the crowd quite filled the whole space. all male inhabitants of the town who were over twenty years of age were to vote, and each, the town officials and the poorest artisans alike, had one ballot. the great and beautiful organ took up nearly the whole of the large gallery over the entrance, and extended up and up into the clear-story until it was mingled with the supports of the roof. in the organ-loft the candidates were crowded together in eager expectation, and the glances that passed from one to another were not the kindliest. each of them had been allowed several hours, at some time during the past week, for practice on the instrument; and each doubtless considered himself deserving of the position. presently, when all was still, monseigneur jules Émile gautier, a very learned gentleman of the town, who had been chosen for that purpose, ascended two steps of the stairway which curved up and around the richly carved pulpit, and announced the name of the person who was to begin. i should not be able to give, in detail, the progress of the trial; for the history of the affair is not minute enough for that. but suffice it to say that the last name on the list was raoul tegot; and the name immediately preceding it was that of baptiste lacombe. at length, in his turn, monsieur lacombe, his iron-gray hair disordered, his hands rubbing together nervously, and his eyes flashing--as was afterwards remarked upon--with a malicious fire, stepped forward and along to the organ-seat, and for a few moments arranged his stops. then he began lightly and delicately, creeping up through the varied registers of the noble instrument, blending the beautiful sounds into wonderful combinations, now and then working in a sweet melody, and then again upward until the grand harmonies of the full organ rolled forth. there was something mysterious and awe-inspiring in the effort. it seemed to the people that they had never heard music before. the music ceased. the people came back to their prosaic selves again, looked in each other's faces, and said, with one breath, "wonderful!" gradually they recovered their sober judgment, and then, mingled with the murmurs of admiration, were heard the remarks, "that is fine, but raoul tegot will make us forget it!" "yes, wait until you hear raoul tegot!" soon gautier ascended the two steps of the pulpit, and called the name of their kind, generous townsman. all waited breathlessly. all eyes were turned towards the organ-loft. the musicians there looked around and at each other. but poor raoul tegot could not be seen. where was he? the people waited and wondered, but he did not come. monsieur baptiste lacombe was greatly excited, and was wiping the perspiration from his heated face. "perhaps he was afraid to come," he ventured to remark to a man near him, at the same time looking out of a window. several noticed his agitation; but they only said, "ah, mon dieu, how he did play! no wonder that he is nervous." the disquiet and confusion in the nave and aisles increased. a messenger had been sent to look for the missing man; but he could not be found. what was to be done? finally, some friends of monsieur lacombe made bold to urge his immediate election, declaring that he had far surpassed all competitors; and they even hinted at cowardice on the part of raoul tegot. this insinuation was indignantly denied by tegot's friends, who were very numerous but helpless; they knew their friend too well to believe him capable of such conduct. he was, they said, probably detained somewhere by an accident. but, wherever he was, he was _not_ present; and when a vote was taken, hastily, by a showing of hands, monsieur baptiste lacombe had ten times as many ballots as any other person, and, of course, poor monsieur tegot, not having competed, was not balloted for at all. the people dispersed to their homes; some in vexation that their favorite had not appeared, others in a little alarm at his strange absence. young françois tegot had not seen his father since early morning, and could not conjecture where he might be. the next day the missing organist did not appear, and his friends began to inquire and to search for him; but they were wholly unsuccessful. a little boy said that he had seen him go into the church with monsieur lacombe early that morning; but monsieur lacombe said, very distinctly and with some vehemence, that the missing man had left the church an hour later to go to a cottage at the edge of the town, where he was to give a lesson in singing. so the affair lay wrapped in mystery. there were many surmises, but nothing definite was known. a few expressed suspicion of the rival candidate; but the suspicion was too great to be thrown rashly upon anybody. thus no progress in the inquiry was made. a human life did not mean so much in those stormy days after the revolution as formerly; and the mysterious disappearance, without being in the least cleared up, gradually faded from men's minds and passed out of their conversation. months and years passed away, and nothing was known of the poor man. his son, now come to the years of manhood, always declared that his father would not have been absent from the trial willingly; and he firmly believed that he had met with a violent death. more than this he would not say; but sometimes when he looked towards monsieur baptiste lacombe,--still the respected organist of the church,--his eyes were observed to flash meaningly. there was to be a grand _fête_ in the church, and great preparation was made. as the organ needed repairs, it was decided to repair it thoroughly; and one of the builders from bordeaux was sent for. he was to come on thursday; but he chanced to arrive the day before, and was to begin work early the following morning. that night a light glimmered out of the darkness of the gallery of the church. two days passed. the repairing of the organ went on; but there was much to be done, and it might take a week. one afternoon, as françois passed through the centre of the village, two men came hurriedly out of the town-house, and hastened away towards the church. it was the organ-builder, very much excited, and one of the officials of the town. the young man, venturing on his well-known skill as an organist, followed them; and the three entered the building. a few worshippers were at the great altar, and the sacred edifice seemed unusually quiet and peaceful. the organ-builder seemed too agitated to answer the questions that the town official asked him, but led the way quickly to the organ-loft. "put your foot on that pedal!" he said excitedly, pointing to a particular one of the scale. the official was too bewildered to comply, and françois did it for him. "now try the next one!" said he. françois did so, but no sound came; only a queer, intermittent rumbling, like a bounding and rebounding. "it does not sound," said the organ-builder. "follow me and i will show you why." "it never has sounded since the great trial-day, years ago," muttered the young man. but he followed on. they clambered up a rickety staircase, a still more rickety ladder, and came to a platform at a level with the top of the organ; and all around them, reaching up out of the dim light below, were the open pipes. passing hurriedly around, on a narrow plank, to the back of the organ, their agitated guide paused before a row of immense pedal pipes, and, without allowing his own eyes to look, he held the light that he carried for the others. both looked down into the cavernous tube that he indicated, and both started back in surprise and fear. "it is a man's legs!" gasped the frightened town official. after the first moment of surprise had passed, they began to get back their wits; and the young man advised that they send for several strong men and lift out the pipe. [illustration: "here is an odd treasure."] this seemed sensible, and in a half-hour the men were at hand and the pipe was drawn down to the level of the organ-loft and laid horizontally. the workmen had been informed of the nature of their work, and all were under intense excitement. the pipe was very long, and the body was at least five feet from the top. one of the workmen reached in a pole having a hook at the end, and the next minute drew forth the dead body of the sinister old organist, baptiste lacombe. there was a pause of silent horror. nobody cared particularly for the dead man, but the manner of his death was terrible. "how did it happen?" whispered one. "perhaps it was suicide," answered another. they began more closely to examine the huge tube. françois tegot, who, although thus far cooler than the others, now seemed unable to stand, pointed to the hand of the dead man, which was tightly clenched upon a small cord. one of the workmen approached, and with some difficulty drew out the line: and a new thrill of expectation went through the silent company when they saw, attached to the end of the line, an old leather bundle covered with dust. young tegot now seemed to master himself by a great effort, and, motioning the workman back, he advanced, and, lifting the bag tenderly out into a more convenient position, he said solemnly, as if to himself, "i have long suspected something was wrong, and now i shall know." then he examined the bag, and at length took from his pocket a knife and carefully cut open one side. despite the fact that he expected the revelation that now came, he started back, for the opening revealed a piece of cloth,--a coat, which even the town official could recollect to be the coat of the long-lost organist, raoul tegot, françois's father. the young man stepped back and sank again into his seat, and the others, coming forward, laid the bag quite open, and drew forth a watch and an embroidered vest; in a pocket of the coat was found a purse. "here is an odd treasure," said one of the workmen, holding up a locket of dull gold. françois seized it and opened it. the color forsook his face and his eyes filled with tears. he simply said,-- "my mother." the town official now whispered to the surprised organ-builder, that the villanous lacombe had killed poor tegot on the morning of the trial, and had secreted the body in some unknown place and hidden the valuables here. frightened by the fear of discovery, he had attempted to remove the treasures, had fallen into the pipe, and had thus met a horrible death. "there is nothing secret," said françois, "but shall be revealed. sin is its own detector, and its secrets cannot rest." the excitement among the townspeople was for many days even greater than it had been at the time of tegot's disappearance, and many and bitter were the reproaches heaped upon the wicked organist's memory. françois was immediately chosen organist, and held the position during his entire life. chapter viii. evening the fourth. seven nights on the rhine:--heidelberg.--students.--student songs.--the story of little mook.--the queer old lady who went to college. "heidelberg," said mr. beal, "stands bright and clear beside neckar, a branch of the rhine, as though it loved the river. it is semicircled with blue mountain-walls, and is full of balmy air and cheerful faces. the streets have an atmosphere of hospitality. its history dates from the roman monuments on its hills, and is associated with the romantic times of the counts-palatine of the rhine. "the world-wide fame of heidelberg arises from its university. this was founded in , and is the oldest in germany. it made heidelberg a student-town; there art flourished and free thought grew, and it became the gem of german cities. "the ancient castle of heidelberg is one of the wonders of germany. it is like a ruined town of palaces, and historic and poetic associations are as thick as are the violets among its ruins. it is said that michael angelo designed it: we cannot tell. the names of the masters who upreared the pile of magnificence for centuries and peopled it with statues are lost. the ivy creeps over their conceptions in stone and marble, and the traveller exclaims in awe, 'can it be that all this glory was created for destruction?' [illustration: palace at heidelberg.] "we visited the castle at noon. a ruin green with ivy rose before us. the sunlight fell through the open doorways, and the swallows flitted in and out of the window-frames into roofless chambers. "i was dreaming of the past: of the counts-palatine of the rhine, of stately dames, orange-gardens, and splendid festivals, when one of the boys recalled my thoughts to the present. "'where is the tun?' "'what tun?' "'the one _we have come to see_,--the big wine-cask. it is said to hold two hundred and thirty-six thousand bottles of wine, or did in the days of the nobles.' "'i remember: when i was a boy my mental picture of heidelberg was a big wine-cask.' "'yes; well, please, sir, i am a boy now.'" * * * * * mr. beal then gave a brief account of german student life. the town of heidelberg nestles in one of the loveliest valleys in europe. the neckar winds between a series of steep, high, thickly wooded hills. it is amid such pleasant scenes that the famous university is situated, and that several hundred german students are gathered to pursue their studies. one of my chief objects in visiting heidelberg was to see the university, and to observe the curious student customs of which i had heard so much; and my journey was amply repaid by what i saw. the university itself was far less imposing than i had imagined; compared with the picturesque and hoary old college palaces of oxford and cambridge, or even with our own cosey harvard and yale edifices and greens, it seemed very insignificant. the buildings occupy a cheerless square in a central part of the quaint old german town. they are very plain, modest, and unpretending. the lecture-rooms are on one side of the square; in the rear are the museum and reading room, while opposite the lecture-rooms is a row of jewelry, clothing, confectionery, and other shops. i was most interested, however, in the students and their ways. as soon as you enter the town and pass up the main street, you espy groups of the students here and there. you are at once struck with the contrast they present to american or english students. very odd to american eyes are their dress and manners. let me describe one to you as an example. the german student. the heidelberg student is a rather large, heavy-looking fellow, with round face, broad shoulders, and a very awkward gait. his hair is cropped close to his head, and on one side of the head, in jaunty fashion, he wears a small round cap,--too small by far to cover it, as caps generally do. it is of red or blue or green, and worked with fanciful figures of gold or silver thread. on his feet are heavy boots, which rise, outside his trousers, nearly to the knees. his body is covered with a gay frock-coat, of green or gray or black. as he walks the street with his college mates, he puffs away on a very curious long pipe, the bowl being of porcelain, on which is painted some fanciful scene, or perhaps a view of the grand old castle. sometimes the stem of the pipe is two or three feet long. in his hand he carries a cane, or rather stick (for it is too short to be used as a cane), with some curiously carved figure for a handle. [illustration: german student.] many of the heidelberg students are attended, wherever they go, by a companion who is apt to produce fear and dislike in those who are not accustomed to him. this is a small, blear-eyed, bullet-headed, bloodthirsty-looking bull-dog, with red eyes and snarling mouth. you see such dogs everywhere with the students, running close to their heels, and ready, at an instant's notice, to defend their masters. [illustration: castle at heidelberg.] almost every heidelberg student belongs to one of the social societies, of which some are called "verbindungs," and others "corps;" and the caps they wear designate the particular societies of which they are members. these societies are both patriotic and social. the members devote themselves to "the glory of the fatherland;" and they pledge themselves by oaths to defend and aid each other. besides the cap, the students betray to what society they belong by various colored ribbons across their breasts or hung to their watch-chains. there is a great deal of rivalry among the societies, which results in frequent difficulties. the pastimes of the heidelberg students are almost entirely confined to the "good times" they have in their "verbindungs," in which they meet two nights in the week to sing, make funny speeches, and perform certain curious ceremonies. the students often make excursions to a beautiful spot on the neckar, called "wolfsbrunnen," where they obtain trout fresh from a pond, and eat them, nicely cooked, on tables set out under the trees near the river-side. another frequent recreation is to attend the peasant fairs in the neighboring villages, and to take jaunts to the lovely swetzingen gardens, or to the top of the konigsthul hill, back of the castle, from which a most beautiful view of the black forest and hartz mountains, with the broad valley of the rhine, is to be seen. on this hill is an inn where many resort to drink whey. many of the students are too poor to enjoy the pastimes of the others, or even to live at the university without doing something to support themselves. these go wandering about the country in vacation time, on foot, singing in the villages, and receiving money from the kindly disposed, with which to pay the expenses of their education. as you pass through germany you frequently meet parties of these poor students, who go about merrily; and to give them a few kreuzers is always a pleasure. mr. beal gave from translations a few specimens of these german student songs. the first was gaudeamus. let us then rejoice, ere youth from our grasp hath hurried; after cheerful youth is past, after cheerless age, at last, in the earth we're buried. where are those who lived of yore, men whose days are over? to the realms above thee go, thence unto the shades below, an' thou wilt discover. short and fleeting is our life,-- swift away 'tis wearing; swiftly, too, will death be here, cruel, us away to tear, naught that liveth sparing. long live academia,-- and our tutors clever; all our comrades long live they, and our female comrades gay, may they bloom forever. long live every maiden true, who has worth and beauty; and may every matron who kind and good is, flourish, too,-- each who does her duty. long may also live our state, and the king who guides us; long may live our town, and fate prosper each mecænas great, who good things provides us. perish melancholy woe, perish who derides us; perish fiend, and perish so every antiburschian foe who for laughing chides us. [illustration: german students.] mr. beal, finding the class interested, continued the subject by some account of one of the most popular writers of german songs. heine. the songs of heine are unmatched in german literature, and have been translated into all european tongues. their beauty of expression, and suggestive and evasive meanings, have made them household words in germany, and favorite quotations in france and england. the career of heine was exceptionably brilliant, and he won tributes of admiration that have seldom been equalled. it is said that on the appearance of his "reisebilder" in - , "young germany became intoxicated with enthusiasm." his writings on republicanism not only won the heart of the people, but carried his influence into other countries. from his youth heine was troubled by thoughts of personal religious responsibility. there were periods when he earnestly sought to know man's true relations to god. he sought the evidence of truth, however, more from nature, philosophy, and history, than by the prayers and the faith which god's word inculcates. he was born a jew, but abandoned judaism and was baptized in the lutheran church. then he became a free-thinker. he studied various philosophies and systems of belief, but was not able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusions. in he was attacked by a strange disease. it paralyzed his body, and confined him for many years to his chair. for seven years he was propped up by pillows, and read his praises on a couch of suffering, and they made his life more sad. "what good," he said, in despair, "does it do me to hear that my health is drunk in cups of gold, when i can only wet my lips with barley-water?" in this condition he read "uncle tom's cabin." it revealed to him the truth that religion is a matter of experience rather than philosophy, and that the humblest may receive the evidence of its truth through simple faith in christ. "with all my learning," he said, "the poor negro knew more about religion than i do now, and i must come to a knowledge of the truth in the same humble way as poor uncle tom." he left this testimony in his will: "i have cast aside all philosophical pride, and have again felt the power of religious truth." i will recite to you one of the songs of heine, which is popular among the german students. the lorelei. i know not whence it rises, this thought so full of woe; but a tale of times departed haunts me, and will not go. the air is cool, and it darkens, and calmly flows the rhine; the mountain-peaks are sparkling in the sunny evening-shine. and yonder sits a maiden, the fairest of the fair; with gold is her garment glittering, and she combs her golden hair: with a golden comb she combs it; and a wild song singeth she, that melts the heart with a wondrous and powerful melody. the boatman feels his bosom with a nameless longing move; he sees not the gulfs before him, his gaze is fixed above, till over boat and boatman the rhine's deep waters run: and this, with her magic singing, the lorelei has done! among the pleasing stories related on this evening was "little mook," by hauff, and a poetic account of a "queer old lady who went to college." little mook. there once lived a dwarf in the town of niceu, whom the people called little mook. he lived alone, and was thought to be rich. he had a very small body and a very large head, and he wore an enormous turban. he seldom went into the streets, for the reason that ill-bred children there followed and annoyed him. they used to cry after him,-- "little mook, o little mook, turn, oh, turn about and look! once a month you leave your room, with your head like a balloon: try to catch us, if you can; turn and look, my little man." [illustration: entrance to heidelberg castle.] i will tell you his history. his father was a hard-hearted man, and treated him unkindly because he was deformed. the old man at last died, and his relatives drove the dwarf away from his home. he wandered into the strange world with a cheerful spirit, for the strange world was more kind to him than his kin had been. he came at last to a strange town, and looked around for some face that should seem pitiful and friendly. he saw an old house, into whose door a great number of cats were passing. "if the people here are so good to cats, they may be kind to me," he thought, and so he followed them. he was met by an old woman, who asked him what he wanted. he told his sad story. "i don't cook any but for my darling pussy cats," said the beldame; "but i pity your hard lot, and you may make your home with me until you can find a better." so little mook was employed to look after the cats and kittens. [illustration: little mook.] the kittens, i am sorry to say, used to behave very badly when the old dame went abroad; and when she came home and found the house in confusion, and bowls and vases broken, she used to berate little mook for what he could not help. while in the old lady's service he discovered a secret room in which were magic articles, among them a pair of enormous slippers. one day when the old lady was out the little dog broke a crystal vase. little mook knew that he would be held responsible for the accident, and he resolved to escape and try his fortune in the world again. he would need good shoes, for the journey might be long; so he put on the big slippers and ran away. ran? what wonderful slippers those were! he had only to say to them, "go!" and they would impel him forward with the rapidity of the wind. they seemed to him like wings. "i will become a courier," said little mook, "and so make my fortune, sure." so little mook went to the palace in order to apply to the king. he first met the messenger-in-ordinary. "what!" said he, "you want to be the king's messenger,--you with your little feet and great slippers!" "will you allow me to make a trial of speed with your swiftest runner?" asked little mook. the messenger-in-ordinary told the king about the little man and his application. "we will have some fun with him," said the king. "let him run a race with my first messenger for the sport of the court." so it was arranged that little mook should try his speed with the swiftest messenger. now the king's runner was a very tall man. his legs were very long and slender; he had little flesh on his body. he walked with wonderful swiftness, looking like a windmill as he strode forward. he was the telegraph of his times, and the king was very proud of him. the next day the king, who loved a jest, summoned his court to a meadow to witness the race, and to see what the bumptious pygmy could do. everybody was on tiptoe of expectation, being sure that something amusing would follow. when little mook appeared he bowed to the spectators, who laughed at him. when the signal was given for the two to start, little mook allowed the runner to go ahead of him for a little time, but when the latter drew near the king's seat he passed him, to the wonder of all the people, and easily won the race. the king was delighted, the princess waved her veil, and the people all shouted, "huzza for little mook!" so little mook became the royal messenger, and surpassed all the runners in the world with his magic slippers. but little mook's great success with his magic slippers excited envy, and made him bitter enemies, and at last the king himself came to believe the stories of his enemies, and turned against him and banished him from his kingdom. little mook wandered away, sore at heart, and as friendless as when he had left home and the house of the old woman. just beyond the confines of the kingdom he came to a grove of fig-trees full of fruit. he stopped to rest and refresh himself with the fruit. there were two trees that bore the finest figs he had ever seen. he gathered some figs from one of them, but as he was eating them his nose and ears began to _grow_, and when he looked down into a clear, pure stream near by, he saw that his head had been changed into a head like a donkey. he sat down under the _other_ fig-tree in despair. at last he took up a fig that had fallen from this tree, and ate it. immediately his nose and ears became smaller and smaller and resumed their natural shape. then he perceived that the trees bore magic fruit. "happy thought!" said little mook. "i will go back to the palace and sell the fruit of the first tree to the royal household, and then i will turn doctor, and give the donkeys the fruit of the second tree as medicine. but i will not give the old king any medicine." [illustration: amputation.] little mook gathered the two kinds of figs, and returned to the palace and sold that of the first tree to the butler. oh, then there was woe in the palace! the king's family were seen wandering around with donkeys' heads on their shoulders. their noses and ears were as long as their arms. the physicians were sent for and they held a _consultation_. they decided on amputation; but as fast as they cut off the noses and ears of the afflicted household, these troublesome members grew out again, longer than before. then little mook appeared with the principles and remedies of homoeopathy. he gave one by one of the sufferers the figs of the _second_ tree, and they were cured. he collected his fees, and having relieved all but the king he fled, taking his homoeopathic arts with him. the king wore the head of a donkey to his latest day. the queer old lady who went to college. [illustration: the queer old lady who went to college.] there was a queer old lady, and she had lost her youth; she bought her a new mirror, and it told to her the truth. did she break the truthful mirror? oh, no, no; no, no, no, no. but she bought some stays quite rare, some false teeth and wavy hair, some convex-concave glasses such as men of culture wear, and then she looked again, and she said, "i am not plain,-- i am not plain, 'tis plain, not very, very plain, i did not think that primps and crimps would change a body so. i'll take a book on art, and press it to my heart, and i'll straightway go to college, where i think i'll catch a beau." [illustration: "and it told to her the truth."] [illustration: "not very, very plain."] ii. she made her way to college just as straight as straight could be, and she asked for the professor of the new philosophie; he met her with a smile and said, "pray rest awhile, and come into my parlor and take a cup of tea. we will talk of themes celestial,-- of the flowery nights in june when blow the gentle zephyrs; of the circle round the moon; of the causes of the causes." these college men are quite and very much polite, and when you call upon them they you straightway in invite. [illustration: "they you straightway in invite."] iii. but the lady she was modest, and she said, "you me confuse; i have come, o man of wisdom, to get a bit of news. there's a problem of life's problems that often puzzles me: tell me true, o man of science, when my wedding-day will be." iv. quick by the hand he seized her, he of the philosophie, and his answer greatly pleased her when they had taken tea: "'twill be, my fair young lady, when you are _twenty-three_!" v. at her window, filled with flowers, then she waited happy hours, scanned the byways and the highways to see what she could see. if the postman brought a letter, it was sure to greatly fret her,-- fret her so her maid she'd frighten, if a dun it proved to be. if it came not from a lover, sadly she her face would cover, hide her face and say in sorrow, "truly _he_ will come to-morrow, for he knew, that man of science, and i'm _almost_ twenty-three." vi. he deceived her, he deceived her, oh, that too kind man deceived her,-- he of compasses and lenses, he of new-found influences, he of the philosophie. oh the chatterer, oh the flatterer, oh the smatterer in science, to whom all things clear should be! had he taken the old almanac, that true guide to worldly wisdom, he would have seen that there was something-- some stray figure, some lost factor, something added the extractor-- wrong in his chronologie, in his learned chronologie. moral. there are few things, one, two, three, in the earth, the air, and sea, that the schoolmen do not know. when you're going to catch a beau, and a few like occultations, in a few things here below, men of wisdom do not know; and to them for these few items it is never wise to go. [illustration: "he of the philosophie."] chapter ix. fifth meeting for rhine stories. seven nights on the rhine:--worms.--luther's monument.--the story of siegfried and the dragon.--mayence.--boat journey.--stories of the castles on the middle rhine.--the wonderful story of the lorelei.--kerner. mr. beal continued the narrative of travel at the fifth meeting of the club for the rehearsal of rhine stories. * * * * * "we passed over a road along the right bank of the rhine towards worms. we journeyed amid green forests, and past fields which had heaped up harvests for a thousand years. spires gleamed on the opposite bank, and in the flat landscape worms came to view, the rhine flowing calmly by. "we stopped at worms to see the cathedral and the luther monument. it is a dull town. we recalled that it was here great cæsar stood, and attila drove his cavalry of devastation over the rhine. here lived the hero of german classic song,--siegfried. the cathedral has a monumental history. in war was declared in it against the saxons. here was held the famous diet of worms at which luther appeared, and said,-- "'here i stand; i cannot do otherwise. god help me.' "the cathedral is of the style called romanesque. it is lofty and gloomy. worms itself is a shadowy and silent city as compared with the past. "the luther monument is a history of protestantism in stone and bronze. it is one of the noblest works of art of modern times, and its majesty and unity are a surprise to the traveller. luther is of course the central figure. he stands with his bible in his hands, and his face upturned to heaven. around him are the figures of the great reformers before the reformation: wycliffe, of england; waldo, of france; huss, of bohemia; and savonarola, of italy. the german princes who befriended and sustained the reformer occupy conspicuous places, and the immense group presents a most impressive scene, associated with lofty character and commanding talent. [illustration: a battle between franks and saxons.] "we went to the place where luther sat beneath a tree, when his companions sought to dissuade him from entering worms. "'i would go to worms,' he said, 'were there as many devils as there are tiles upon the roofs.' "the high pitched roofs and innumerable tiles on them everywhere met our eyes, and recalled the famous declaration. [illustration: luther's house.] "i should here tell you the story of siegfried and the nibelung heroes. the early nations of europe seem to have come out of the northwest of asia. the celts or gauls came first; other tribes followed them. these latter tribes called themselves _deutsch_, or _the people_. they settled between the alps and the baltic sea. in time they came to be called ger-men, or war-men. they lived in rude huts and held the lands in common. they were strong and brave and prosperous. [illustration: a tribe of germans on an expedition.] they worshipped the great god woden. his day of worship was the fourth of the week; hence woden's-day, or wednesday. woden was an all-wise god. ravens carried to him the news from earth. his temples were stone altars on desolate heaths, and human sacrifices were offered to him. woden had a celestial hall called valhall, and thither he transported the souls of the brave; hence the name valhalla. there were supposed to be water gods in the rivers and elves throughout the forest. the heavens were peopled with minor gods, as well as the great gods, and the spirits of the unseen world could make themselves visible or invisible to men as they chose. most great nations have heroes of song sung by the poets, like those of homer and virgil. the early german hero was siegfried, and the song or epic that celebrates his deeds is called the _nibelungen lied_. its story is as follows. in the land of mist there was a lovely river, where dwelt little people who could assume any form they wished. one of them was accustomed to change himself into an otter when he went to the river to fish. as he was fishing one day in this form he was caught by loki, one of the great gods, who immediately despatched him and took off his skin. when his brothers fafner and reginn saw what had been done, they reproved loki severely, and demanded of him that he should fill the otter's skin with gold, and give it to them as an atonement for his great misdeed. "i return the otter skin and give you the treasure you ask," said loki; "but the gift shall bring you evil." their father took the treasure, and fafner murdered his father to secure it to himself, and then turned into a dragon or serpent to guard it, and to keep his brother from finding it. reginn had a wonderful pupil, named siegfried, a samson among the inhabitants of the land. he was so strong that he could catch wild lions and hang them by the tail over the walls of the castle. reginn persuaded this pupil to attack the serpent and to slay him. now siegfried could understand the songs of birds; and the birds told him that reginn intended to kill him; so he slew reginn and himself possessed the treasure. serpents and dragons were called _worms_ in old deutsch, and the germans called the town where siegfried lived worms. siegfried had bathed himself in the dragon's blood, and the bath made his skin so hard that nothing could hurt him except in one spot. a leaf had fallen on this spot as he was bathing. it was between his shoulders. siegfried, like samson, had a curious wife. his romances growing out of his love for this woman would fill a volume. she had learned where his one vulnerable spot lay. but she was a lovely lady, and the wedded pair lived very happily together at worms. at last a dispute arose between them and their relatives, and the latter sought to destroy siegfried's life. his wife went for counsel to a supposed friend, but real enemy, named hagen. "your husband is invulnerable," said hagen. "yes, except in one spot." "and you know the place?" "yes." "sew a patch on his garment over it, and i shall know how to protect him." the poor wife had revealed a fatal secret. she sewed a patch on her husband's garment between the shoulders, and now thought him doubly secure. [illustration: the murder of siegfried.] there was to be a great hunting-match, and siegfried entered into it as a champion. he rode forth in high spirits, but on his back was the fatal patch. hagen contrived that the wine should be left behind. "that," he said, "will compel the hunters to lie down on their breasts to drink from the streams when they become thirsty. then will come my opportunity." he was right in his conjecture. siegfried became tired and thirsty. he rode up to a stream. he threw himself on his breast to drink, exposing his back, on which was the patch, revealing the vulnerable place. there he was stabbed by a conspirator employed by hagen. they bore the dead body of the hero down the rhine, and lamented the departed champion as the barque drifted on. the scene has been portrayed in art and song, and has left its impress on the poetic associations of the river. you will have occasion to recall this story again in connection with drachenfels. "our fifth night on the rhine was passed at mayence, at the hôtel de hollande, near the landing-place of the rhine steamers. the balconies and windows of the hotel afforded fine views of the river and of the taunus mountains. "mayence is said to have arisen by magic. the sorcerer nequam wished for a new city; he came to this point of the rhine, spoke the word, and the city rose. it is almost as old as the christian era. here the twenty-second roman legion came, after its return from the conquest of jerusalem, and brought christianity with it, through some of its early converts. it was one of the grand cities of charlemagne, who erected a palace at lower ingelheim, and introduced the cultivation of the vine. here lived bishop hatto, of bad repute, and good bishop williges. "here rose gutenberg, the inventor of printing, and here thorwaldsen's statue of the great inventor announces to the traveller what a great light of civilization appeared to the world. "at mayence we began the most delightful zigzag we had ever made,--a boat journey on the rhine. "'if you would see the rhine of castles and vineyards.' said an english friend, 'hire a boat. the most famous river scenery in the world lies between mayence and cologne. if you take the railroad you will merely _escape_ it in a few hours; if a steamboat, your curiosity will be excited, but not gratified; it will all vanish like a dream: take a boat, my good american friend,--take a boat.' "between mayence and bingen the rhine attains its greatest breadth. it is studded with a hundred islands. its banks are continuous vineyards. here is the famous district called the rheingau, which extends along the right bank of the river, where the rhine wines are produced. [illustration: mayence.] "it is all a luxurious wine-garden,--the rheingau. the grapes purple beside ruins and convents, as well as on their low artificial trellises, and everywhere drink in the sunshine and grow luscious in the mellow air. "castles, palaces, ruins, towers, and quaint towns all mingle with the vineyards. a dreamy light hangs over the scene; the river is calm, and the boat drifts along in an atmosphere in which the spirit of romance seems to brood, as though indeed the world's fairy tales were true. "we came in sight of bingen. "'we must stop there,' said willie clifton. "'why?' i asked curiously. "'because--well-- "for i was born at bingen,--at bingen on the rhine."' "he then repeated slowly and in a deep, tender voice the beginning of a poem that almost every schoolboy knows:-- 'a soldier of the legion lay dying in algiers, there was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears; but a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, and bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. the dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, and he said, "i nevermore shall see my own, my native land: take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine; for i was born at bingen,--at bingen on the rhine."' "bingen is a town of about seven thousand inhabitants, and is engaged in the wine trade. we visited the chapel of st. rochus, on a hill near the town, because one of our party had somewhere read that bulwer had said that the view from st. rochus was the finest in the world. "again upon the river, all the banks seemed filled with castles, villages, and ruins. every hill had its castle, every crag its gray tower. we drifted by the famous mouse tower, which stands at the end of an island meadow fringed with osier twigs. it is little better than a square tower of a common village church, nor is there any truth in the story that southey's poem has associated with it. poor bishop hatto, of evil name and memory! he died in , and the tower was not built until the thirteenth century. for aught that is known, he was a good man; he certainly was not eaten up by rats or mice. the legend runs:-- [illustration: bishop hatto and the rats.] "in the tenth century hatto, bishop of fulda, was raised to the dignity of archbishop of mayence. he built a strong tower on the rhine, wherein to collect tolls from the vessels that passed. "a famine came to the rhine countries. hatto had vast granaries, and the people came to him for bread. he refused them, and they importuned him. he bade them go into a large granary, one day, promising them relief. when they had entered the building, he barred the doors and set it on fire, and the famishing beggars, among whom were many women and children, were consumed. "the bishop listened to the cries of the dying for mercy as the building was burning. "'hark!' he said, 'hear the rats squeak.' "when the building fell millions of rats ran from the ruins to the bishop's palace. they filled all the rooms and attacked the people. the bishop was struck with terror. '"i'll go to my tower on the rhine," replied he; "'tis the safest place in germany: the walls are high, and the shores are steep, and the stream is strong, and the water deep." 'bishop hatto fearfully hastened away, and he crossed the rhine without delay, and reached his tower, and barred with care all windows, doors, and loopholes there. 'he laid him down and closed his eyes; but soon a scream made him arise: he started, and saw two eyes of flame on his pillow, from whence the screaming came. 'he listened and looked; it was only the cat: but the bishop he grew more fearful for that; for she sat screaming, mad with fear at the army of rats that were drawing near. 'for they have swam over the river so deep, and they have climbed the shores so steep; and up the tower their way is bent, to do the work for which they were sent. 'they are not to be told by the dozen or score; by thousands they come, and by myriads and more: such numbers had never been heard of before, such a judgment had never been witnessed of yore. 'down on his knees the bishop fell, and faster and faster his beads did tell, as, louder and louder drawing near, the gnawing of their teeth he could hear. 'and in at the windows, and in at the door, and through the walls, helter-skelter they pour, and down from the ceiling, and up through the floor, from the right and the left, from behind and before, from within and without, from above and below, and all at once to the bishop they go. 'they have whetted their teeth against the stones; and now they pick the bishop's bones: they gnawed the flesh from every limb; for they were sent to do judgment on him!' "we passed ruin after ruin which the boatman said were 'robber castles.' "'and what do you mean by _robber_ castles?' asked herman. "'the old lords of the rhine used to collect tolls from the vessels that passed their estates. the tax was regarded as unjust, and hence the lords were themselves called robbers, and their castles robber castles.' "one of these castles, called the _pfalzgrafenstein_, is said to resemble a stone ship at anchor in the river. it was formerly a rock, with one little hut upon it, and it was associated with a touching incident of history. "louis le debonnaire, the son of charlemagne, became weary of state-craft and the crown. he felt that his end was near. he desired to die where he could hear the waves of the rhine. he was taken to this rock, and there with the ebb of the river his troubled life ebbed away. "most of the old castles are built on the narrows of the river. these narrows are between high rocks and rocky hills. they are in the middle rhine, or between mayence and bonn. the middle rhine has some thirty conspicuous castles on its banks. it is sometimes called the castellated rhine, and its narrows are termed the castellated rhine pass. [illustration: view on the rhine.] "on, on we drifted. every high rock seemed a gateway to some new scene of beauty; wonder followed wonder. "and now the water seemed agitated. dark rocks projected into the river; the view was intercepted. "the boatman conversed in an animated way with me, and i looked up to a high rock with an interested expression and an incredulous smile. "he turned to us quietly and said,-- "'this is the lorelei pass.' "he presently added,-- "'that is the lorelei.' [illustration: the lorelei.] the wonderful story of the lorelei. who has not heard it, repeated it in verse, echoed it in song? it is the best known of the rhine tales, not because it is the most interesting, but because it is associated with the noblest scenery of the river, with poetry and music. it is hardly equal to such legends as the "drachenfels" and the "two brothers," but it is lifted into historic prominence by its associations. still the story is richer in incident than the mere song would indicate. the origin and development of the popular legend is as follows:-- in the shadowy days of the palatines of the rhine,--shadowy because of ignorance and superstition,--the boatmen among the rocks above st. goar on the rhine used to fancy that they could see at night the form of a beautiful nymph on the "lei," or high rock of the river. her limbs were moulded of air; a veil of mist and gems covered her face; her hair was long and golden, and her eyes shone like the stars. her robe was blue and glimmering like the waves, decked with water flowers and zoned with crystals. she was most distinctly seen by pale moonlight. they called this recurring vision of mist and gems lore, the enchantress. they believed that her favor brought good luck, but her ill will destruction. nothing could be more natural than for the simple fishermen to think that they saw a form of mist, very bright and lovely, above the rocks at night, when once the story had been told them. in the days of superstition such a story was sure to grow. it was said that this undine of the rhine, the enchantress lore, had a most melodious and seductive voice. when she sang those who heard her listened spellbound. if the boatmen displeased her, she entranced them by her song, and drew them into the whirlpools under the rocks, where they disappeared forever. to the landsmen who offended her, she made the river appear like a road, and led them to fall over the rocks to destruction. with all her beauty and charms, she was the evil genius of the place. herman, the only son of the last palatine, a youth of some fifteen summers, was delicate in health. instead of devoting himself to chivalrous exercises, he gave his attention to music and song. one night he and his father were descending the rhine, when he felt an inspiration come over him to sing. his voice was silvery and flute-like, and breathed the emotional sentiment of the heart of youth. as the boat drew near the lei, lore, the enchantress, heard the song, and she herself became spellbound by the sentiment and deep feeling expressed in the mellifluent music. she tried to answer him, but her voice failed. as herman grew to manhood his ill health disappeared, and his character changed. he became rugged and manly, and abandoned the arts for the chase, horsemanship, and the preparations for martial contests. he became a renowned hunter. he rode the wildest steeds, and ventured into places and merrily blew his horn where no huntsman dared follow him. the enchantress lore, from the time she had heard his song, disappeared from the rocks. the change that came over his person and character seemed like enchantment: was the siren invisibly following him? and now a strange thing began to startle him by its mystery. when alone, crossing a wild mountain or a ravine, he would seek to keep up a communication by shouting through his hands,-- "hillo-ho-o-o-o!" immediately a sweet voice would answer,-- "ho-o-o-o!" he would follow the sound. "hillo-ho-o-o-o!" "ho-o-o-o!" it always led him towards the lei. he became alarmed at this occurrence. he believed that he was followed by a spirit, and that a spell was upon him, which boded destruction. he resolved to abandon the chase and devote himself to the arts again. he was sitting by the window of the castle on a summer evening. a purple mist lay on the forests and river, and the moon poured her light over it, making all things appear like an enchanted realm. he heard a nightingale singing in the woods. did ever a bird sing like that? he listened. there was a witchery in the song. he rose and went into the woods. the song filled the air like a shower of golden notes. he followed it. it retreated. he went on. but the song, more and more enchanting and alluring, floated into the shadowy distance. he found himself at last on the lei. he beheld there a dazzling grotto, full of stalactites, and a nymph of wondrous beauty on a coral throne. he felt his being thrill with love. he was about to enter the grotto, when, oh thought of darkness and horror! the recollection of the enchantress came to him, and he crossed his bosom and broke the spell. he hurried home with a beating heart. but the temptation and vision had proved fatal to him. he was never himself again. he dreamed constantly of lore. all his longings were for her. at eve he would hear the same nightingale singing. he would long to follow the voice. it inflamed his love. his will, his senses, all that made life desirable, were yielding to the fatal passion. he went to a good priest for advice. "father walter, what shall i do?" "shake off the spell, or it will end in your ruin." one day herman and the priest went fishing on the rhine. the boat drifted near the lei. the moon rose in full splendor in the clear sky, strewing the water with countless gems. herman took a lute and filled the air with music. it was answered from the lei. oh, how wonderful! the air seemed entranced with the spiritual melody. herman was beside himself with delight. the priest also heard it. "the lore! in the name of the virgin, let us make for the shore!" [illustration: herman's eyes were fixed on the rock.] herman's eyes were fixed on the rock. there she sat, the siren! the priest plied the oar, to turn the boat back. but nearer, nearer drifted the boat to the rock. nearer and nearer! the moon poured her white light upon the crags. nearer and nearer! there was a shock. the boat was shivered like glass. walter crossed himself, and floated on the waves to the shore. but herman--he was never seen again! mr. beal's narrative nearly filled the evening. a few stories were told by other members of the club, but they were chiefly from grimm, and hence are somewhat familiar. charlie leland closed the meeting with a free translation of a poem from kerner. justinus kerner was born in ludwigsburg, in . he was a physician and a poet. he belonged to the spiritualistic school of poets, and his illustrations of the power of mind over matter, in both prose and poetry, are often very forcible. the following poem will give you a view of his estimate of physical as compared with mental power:-- in the old cathedral. in the vaults of the dim cathedral, in the gloaming, weird and cold, are the coffins of old king ottmar, and a poet, renowned of old. the king once sat in power, enthroned in pomp and pride, and his crown still rests upon him, and his falchion rusts beside. and near to the king the poet has slumbered in darkness long, but he holds in his hands, as an emblem, the harp of immortal song. hark! 'tis the castles falling! hark! 'tis the war-cry dread! but the monarch's sword is not lifted, there, in the vaults of the dead! list to the vernal breezes! list to the minstrels' strain! 'tis the poet's song they are singing, and the poet lives again. chapter x. night the sixth. the beautiful rhine.--coblentz.--a zigzag to weimar.--goethe and schiller.--the strange story of faust.--faust in art.--the seven mountains.--the drachenfels.--the story of the dragon.--stories of frederick the great.--the unnerved hussar. mr. beal occupied much of the time this evening. he thus continued the narrative of travel:-- * * * * * "from st. goar to boppard, two stations at which the rhine boats call, is about an hour's run; but the journey is an unfailing memory. the rocky walls of the river, the continuous villages, the quaint churches amid the vineyards and cherry orchards, the mossy meadows about the mountains, the white-kerchiefed villagers, present so many varied and delightful objects, that the eye feasts on beauty, and wonders expectantly at what the next turn of the river will reveal. the rock shadows in the water contrast with the bright scenes above the river, and add an impression of grandeur to the effect of the whole, like shadows on the cathedral walls that heighten the effect of the rose-colored windows. beautiful, beautiful, is the rhine. "grand castles, perched on high cliffs and mountain walls, surprise us, delight us, and vanish behind us, as the boat moves on;--the brother castles, marksburg, the mountain palace solzenfels, with their lofty, gloomy, and barbaric grandeur, reminding one always of times whose loss the mind does not regret. "and now a beautiful city comes in view, nestled at the foot of the hills, and protected by a stupendous fortress on the opposite side of the river. the fortress is ehrenbreitstein, the gibraltar of the rhine, capable of holding an army of men. it is a great arsenal now, well garrisoned in peace as in war; in short, it may be called the watch on the rhine. [illustration: ehrenbreitstein.] "the lovely city under its guns, on the opposite side of the river, is coblentz. it is a gusset of houses, a v-shaped city, at the confluence of the rhine and moselle. the romans called it the city of the confluence, or confluentia; hence, corrupted, it is known as coblentz. [illustration: goethe's promenade.] "it is the half-way city between cologne and mayence, and a favorite resting place of tourists. the summer residence of the king of germany is here. "from coblentz we made a détour into the heart of germany, going by rail to weimar, once called the athens of the north. it was once the literary centre of germany. here lived goethe, schiller, wieland, and herder. what the english lake district, in the days of wordsworth, southey, coleridge, christopher north, and de quincey was once to england, what cambridge and concord have been to america in the best days of its authors and poets, weimar was to germany at the beginning of the present century. we went there to visit the tombs and statues of goethe, and to gain a better knowledge of the works of these poets from the associations of their composition. "weimar is a quaint provincial-looking town on the river ilm. it has some sixteen thousand inhabitants, and is the residence of the grand duke of saxe-weimar. the grounds of the palace are wonderfully beautiful. they extend along the river, and communicate with a summer palace called belvedere. "we visited the tombs of the two great poets. they are found beneath a small chapel in the grand ducal burial vault. the grand duke charles augustus desired that the bodies of the two poets should be interred one on each side of him: but this was forbidden by the usages of the court. "in the old stadtkirche, built in , are the tombs of the ancient dukes, now forgotten. among them is that of duke bernard, who died in . he was the friend of gustavus adolphus, and one of the most powerful of the leaders of the reformation. "goethe, the most gifted of the german poets, and the most accomplished man of his age, was born at frankfort-on-the-main, in . in he made the intimate acquaintance of charles augustus, grand duke of saxe-weimar, who induced him to take up his residence at weimar, the capital. here he held many public offices, and at last became minister of state. he died at the age of eighty-four. "goethe's most popular work is a novel called _the sorrows of werther_, but his great and enduring work is _faust_, a dramatic poem, in which his great genius struggles with the problems of good and evil. "his life was full of beautiful friendships. in schiller, the second in rank of great german poets, was invited to reside at weimar. goethe became most warmly attached to him, and the two pursued their high literary callings together. the literary circle now consisted of goethe, schiller, wieland, herder, and the grand duke. it was the golden age of german literature. the strange story of faust. no myth of the middle ages has had so large a growth and so long a life as this. it has been made the subject of books, pamphlets, and articles almost without number. the faust literature in germany would fill a library. in painting, especially of the holland school, the dark subject as prominently appears. it is also embodied in sculpture. but it is in poetry and music that it found a place that carried it over the world. it was made the subject of marlowe's drama, of goethe's greatest poem, and it is sung in three of the greatest operas of modern times. but to the legend. about the year there was born at roda, in the duchy of saxe-weimar, a child whose fame was destined to fill the world of superstition, fable, and song. he was named john faustus, or faust. he studied medicine, became an alchemist, and was possessed with a consuming desire to learn the secrets of life and of the spiritual world. he studied magic, and his thirst for knowledge of the occult sciences grew. he wished to know how to prolong life, to change base metals to gold, to do things at once by the power of the will. one night, as he was studying, the evil one appeared before him. "i will reveal to you all the secrets you are seeking, and will enable you to do anything you wish by the power of the will alone--" dr. faustus was filled with an almost insane delight. "--on one condition." "name it." "that i shall have your soul in return." "when?" "at the end of twenty-four years--at this time of night--midnight." "i shall have pleasure?" [illustration: faust signing.] "pleasure." "gold?" "gold." "i shall know the secrets of nature?" "the secrets of nature." "i may do what i like at will?" "at will." "i will sign the compact." "sign!" faust signed his name to a compact that was to give the evil one his soul for twenty-four years of pleasure, gold, and knowledge, that were to come to an end at midnight. "i will give you an attendant," said the evil one, "to help you." he caused a dark but very elegant gentleman to appear, whom he presented to faust as mephistopheles. dr. faustus and mephistopheles now began to travel into all lands, performing wonders to the amazement of all people wherever they went. in a wine-cellar at leipsig, where he and mephistopheles were drinking, some gay fellows said,-- "faust, make grapes grow on a vine on this table." "be silent." there was dead silence. [illustration: faust and mephistopheles.] a vine began to grow from the table, and presently it bore a bunch of grapes for each of the revellers. "take your knives and cut a cluster for each." there was an explosion. faust and mephistopheles were seen flying out of the window; the _window_ is still shown in leipsig. the vine had disappeared, and each of the revellers found himself with his knife over his nose, about to cut it off, supposing it to be a cluster of grapes. the wonders that it is claimed that dr. faustus did in the twenty-four years fill volumes. the faust marvels have gathered to themselves the fables of centuries. the twenty-four years came to an end at last. faust became gloomy, and retired to rimlich, at the inn, among his old friends. the fatal night came. "should you hear noises in my chamber to-night, do not disturb me," he said, on parting from his companions to go to his room. near midnight a tempest arose,--a wild, strange tempest. the winds were like demons. it thundered and the air was full of tongues of lightning. at midnight there was heard a fearful shriek in faust's chamber. the next morning the room was found bespattered with blood, and the body of faust was missing. the broken remains of the alchemist were discovered at last in a back yard on a heap of earth. this was the village story. it grew as such a dark myth would grow in the superstitious times in which it started. goethe created the character of marguerite and added it to the fable. the transformation of faust from extreme old age to youth was also added. the opera makers have greatly enlarged even the narrative of goethe; in the latest evolution, mephistopheles is summoned into the courts of heaven and sent forth to tempt faust, and faust is shown visions of the greek vale of tempe and helen of troy. faust has come to be a synonym of the great problem of good and evil; the contest between virtue and vice, temptation and ruin, temptation and moral triumph. it is not a good story in any of its evolutions, but it is one that to know is almost essential to intelligence. "returning to coblentz, we passed our sixth night on the rhine. we there hired a boatman to take us to bonn. between coblentz and andernach we passed what are termed the rhine plains. these are some ten miles long, and are semicircled by volcanic mountains, whose fires have long been dead. "we now approached the seven mountains, among which is the drachenfels, famous in fable and song. these are called: lohrberg, , feet; neiderstromberg, , feet; oelberg, , feet; wolkenberg, , feet; drachenfels, , feet; petenberg, , feet; lowenberg, , feet. "the drachenfels is made picturesque by an ancient ruin, and it is these ancient ruins, and associations of old history, that make the rhine the most interesting river in the world. apart from its castles and traditions, it is not more beautiful than the hudson, the upper ohio, or the mississippi between st. paul and winona. but the rhine displays the ruined arts of two thousand years. "the drachenfels has its wonderful story. it is said that siegfried killed the dragon there. the so-called dragon cave or rock is there, and of this particular dragon many curious tales are told. "in the early days of christianity the cross was regarded as something more than a mere emblem of faith. it was believed to possess miracle-working power. "in a rocky cavern of the drachenfels, in ancient times, there lived a dragon of most hideous form. he had a hundred teeth, and his head was so large that he could swallow several victims at a time. his body was of enormous length, and in form like an alligator's, and he had a tail like a serpent. "the pagans of the rhine worshipped this monster and offered to him human sacrifices. "in one of the old wars between rival princes, a christian girl was taken captive, and the pagan priest commanded that she should be made an offering to the dragon. "it was the custom of the pagans to bind their sacrifices to the dragon alive to a tree near his cave at night. at sunrise he would come out and devour them. "they led the lovely christian maiden to a spot near the cave, and bound her to a tree. "it was starlight. priests and warriors with torches had conducted the maiden to the fatal spot, and stood at a little distance from the victim, waiting for the sunrise. [illustration: a cleft in the mountains.] "the priests chanted their wild hymns, and the light at last began to break and to crown the mountains and be scattered over the blue river. "the roar of the monster was heard. the rocks trembled, and he appeared. he approached the maiden, bound to an oak. "her eyes were raised in prayer towards heaven. "as the dragon approached the victim, she drew from her bosom a crucifix, and held it up before him. "as soon as he saw it, he began to tremble. he fell to the earth as if smitten. he lost all power and rolled down the rocks, a shapeless mass, into the rhine. "the pagans released the girl. "'by what power have you done this?' they asked. "'by this,' said the maiden, stretching out the cross in her hand. 'i am a christian.' "'then we will become christians,' said the pagans, and they led the lovely apostle away to be their teacher. her first convert was one of the rival princes, whom she married. their descendants were among the most eminent of the early christian families of the seven mountains of the rhine. "such is the fable as told by the monks of old. the figure of the power of the cross over the serpent, employed in early christian writings, undoubtedly was its origin, but how it became associated with the story of the captive maiden it would be hard to tell." * * * * * master lewis introduced the story-telling of the evening by anecdote pictures of frederick the great. frederick the great, king of prussia, was born in . he was a wilful youth, and his father subjected him to such severe discipline that he revolted against it, and, like other boys not of royal blood, formed a plan of running away from home. his father discovered the plot, and caused his son's most intimate friend, who had assisted him in it, to be put to death, and made the execution as terrible as possible. he early came to hate his father, his father's religion, and everything that the old king most liked. his father was indeed a hard, stern man, of colorless character; but he managed the affairs of state so prudently that he left his undutiful son a powerful army and a full treasury, and to these as much as to any noble qualities of mind or soul the latter owed the resources by which he gained the title the great. his mother was a daughter of george i. frederick loved her, and from her he inherited a taste for music and literature, like many of the family of the georges. he formed an intimate friendship with voltaire, the french infidel writer, and interested himself in the french infidelity of the period, which was a reaction against the corrupt and degenerate french church. he entered the field as a soldier in , and was victorious again and again in the two silesian wars. the seven years' war, begun in , gained for him a position of great influence among the rulers of europe. he was prudent, like his father; his government was wise, well ordered, and liberal, and he left to his successor a full treasury, a great and famous army, enlarged territory, and the prestige of a great name. the family affairs of kings during the last century were in rather a queer state, as the following story of frederick's marriage will show. the prince was told that his father was studying the characters of the young ladies of the courts of europe in order to select a suitable wife for him. he admired talent, brilliancy, wit, and he said in substance to the minister of state,-- "influence my father if you can to obtain for me a gifted and elegant princess. of all things in the world i would hate to have a dull and commonplace wife." his father made choice of the princess elizabeth christine of brunswick, a girl famous for her awkwardness and stupidity. the prince did everything in his power to prevent the marriage. but the old king declared that he should marry her, and the wedding ceremony was arranged, frederick in the mean time protesting that he held the bride in utter detestation. frederick had a sister whom he dearly loved, wilhelmina. two days after his marriage, he introduced the bride to her, and said,-- "this is a sister whom i adore. she has had the goodness to promise that _she_ will take care of you and give you good advice. i wish you to do nothing without her consent. do you understand?" [illustration: voltaire.] the young bride, scarcely eighteen, was speechless. she expected "care" and "advice" from her husband, and not from his sister. wilhelmina embraced her tenderly. frederick waited for an answer to his question. but she stood dumb. "plague take the _blockhead_!" he at last exclaimed, and with this compliment began the long and sorrowful story of her wedded life. she was a good woman and bore her husband's neglect with patience. strangely enough, in his old age frederick came to love her; for he discovered, after a prejudice of years, that she had a noble soul. frederick died in . in his will he made a most liberal allowance for his wife, and bore testimony to her excellent character, saying that she never had caused him the least discontent, and her incorruptible virtue was worthy of love and consideration. she survived the king eleven years. willie clifton related a true story. the unnerved hussar. a man once entered the vaults of a church by night, to rob a corpse of a valuable ring. in replacing the lid he nailed the tail of his coat to the coffin, and when he started up to leave, the coffin clung to him and moved towards him. supposing the movement to be the work of invisible hands, his nervous system received such a shock that he fell in a fit, and was found where he fell, by the sexton, on the following morning. now, had the fellow been honestly engaged, it is not likely that the blunder would have happened; and even had it occurred, he doubtless would have discovered at once the cause. but very worthy people are sometimes affected by superstitious fear, and run counter to the dictates of good sense and sound judgment. a magnificent banquet was once given by a lord, in a very ancient castle, on the confines of germany. among the guests was an officer of hussars, distinguished for great self-possession and bravery. many of the guests were to remain in the castle during the night; and the gallant hussar was informed that one of them must occupy a room reputed to be haunted, and was asked if he had any objections to accepting the room for himself. he declared that he had none whatever, and thanked his host for the honor conferred upon him by the offer. he, however, expressed a wish that no trick might be played upon him, saying that such an act might be followed by very serious consequences, as he should use his pistols against whatever disturbed the peace of the room. he retired after midnight, leaving his lamp burning; and, wearied by the festivities, soon fell asleep. he was presently awakened by the sound of music, and, looking about the apartment, saw at the opposite end, three phantom ladies, grotesquely attired, singing a mournful dirge. the music was artistic, rich, and soothing, and the hussar listened for a time, highly entertained. the piece was one of unvarying sadness, and, however seductive at first, after a time lost its charm. [illustration: the unnerved hussar.] the officer, addressing the musical damsels, remarked that the music had become rather monotonous, and asked them to change the tune. the singing continued in the same mournful cadences. he became impatient, and exclaimed,-- "ladies, this is an impertinent trick, for the purpose of frightening me. i shall take rough means to stop it, if it gives me any further trouble." he seized his pistols in a manner that indicated his purpose. but the mysterious ladies remained, and the requiem went on. "ladies," said the officer, "i will wait five minutes, and then shall fire, unless you leave the room." the figures remained, and the music continued. at the expiration of the time, the officer counted twenty in a loud, measured voice, and then, taking deliberate aim, discharged both of his pistols. the ladies were unharmed, and the music was uninterrupted. the unexpected result of his violence threw him into a state of high nervous excitement, and, although his courage had withstood the shock of battle, it now yielded to his superstitious fears. his strength was prostrated, and a severe illness of some weeks' continuance followed. had the hussar held stoutly to his own sensible philosophy, that he had no occasion to fear the spirits of the invisible world, nothing serious would have ensued. the damsels sung in another apartment, and their figures were made to appear in the room occupied by the hussar, by the effect of a mirror. the whole was a trick, carefully planned, to test the effect of superstitious fear on one of the bravest of men. in no case should a person be alarmed at what he suspects to be supernatural. a cool investigation will show, in most cases, that the supposed phenomenon may be easily explained. it might prove a serious thing for one to be frightened by a nightcap on a bedpost, for a fright affects unfavorably the nervous system, but a nightcap on a bedpost is in itself a very harmless thing. the sixth evening closed with an original poem by mr. beal. chapter xi. cologne. bonn.--holy cologne.--the story of the mysterious architect.--"unfinished and unknown."--visit to cologne cathedral.--the tomb of the magi.--the church of skulls.--queer relics.--the story and legend of charlemagne.--the story and legend of barbarossa. "we emerged from the majestic circle of the seven mountains, the most beautiful part of the rhine scenery, and broad plains again met our view. the river ran smoothly, the middle rhine was passed, bonn was in view, and there we dismissed our boatman. "we stopped in bonn only a short time. we went to the market-place and walked past the university, which was once a palace. "we took the train at bonn for cologne, in order to pass rapidly over a part of the rhine scenery said to be comparatively uninteresting. "holy cologne! "the rome of the northern empire! the ecclesiastical capital of the ancient german church! "the unfinished cathedral towers over the city like a mountain. 'unfinished?' everything has a legend here, and a marvellous one, and the unfinished cathedral stands like a witness to such a tale. [illustration: cathedral of cologne.] "above cologne the river runs broad, a blue-green mirror amid dumpy willows and lanky poplars, and the windmills on its banks throw their arms about like giants at play. the steamers swarm in the bright waters; at evening their lights are like will-o'-the-wisps. the long bridge of boats opens; a steamer passes, followed by a crowd of boats; it closes, and the waiting crowd upon it hurry over. the rhine at night here presents a most animated scene. "the river seems alive, but the city looks dead. there is a faded glory on everything. there are steeples and steeples, towers and towers. cologne is said to have had at one time as many churches as there are days in the year. but life has gone out of them; they are like deserted houses. they belonged to the religious period of evolution, and are like geologic formations now,--history that has had its day, and left its tombstone. "cologne is as old as rome in her glory,--older than the christian era. she was the second great city of the church in the middle ages. "cologne is full of wonders in stone and marble, wonders in legend and story as well; and among these the cathedral holds the first place, in both art and fable. the mysterious architect. in the thirteenth century--so the story goes--archbishop conrad determined to erect a cathedral that should surpass any christian temple in the world. who should be the architect? he must be a man of great genius, and his name would become immortal. there _was_ a wonderful builder in cologne, and the archbishop went to him with his purpose, and asked him to attempt the design. "it must not only surpass anything in the past, but anything that may arise in the future." the architect was awed in view of such a stupendous undertaking. "it will carry my name down the ages," he thought; "i will sacrifice everything to success." he dreamed; he fasted and prayed. he made sketch after sketch and plan after plan, but they all proved unworthy of a temple that should be one of the grandest monuments of the piety of the time, and one of the glories of future ages. in his dreams an exquisite image of a temple rose dimly before him. when he awoke, he could vaguely recall it, but could not reproduce it. the ideal haunted him and yet eluded him. he became disheartened. he wandered in the fields, absorbed in thought. the beautiful apparition of the temple would suddenly fill him with delight; then it would vanish, as if it were a mockery. one day he was wandering along the rhine, absorbed in thought. "oh," he said, "that the phantom temple would appear to me, and linger but for a moment, that i could grasp the design." he sat down on the shore, and began to draw a plan with a stick on the sand. "that is it," he cried with joy. "yes, that is it, indeed," said a mocking voice behind him. he looked around, and beheld an old man. "that is it," the stranger hissed; "that is the cathedral of strasburg." he was shocked. he effaced the design on the sand. he began again. "there it is," he again exclaimed with delight. "yes," chuckled the old man. "that is the cathedral of amiens." the architect effaced the picture on the sand, and produced another. "metz," said the old man. he made yet another effort. "antwerp!" "o my master," said the despairing architect, "you mock me. produce a design for me yourself." "on one condition." "name it." "you shall give me yourself, soul and body!" the affrighted architect began to say his prayers, and the old man suddenly disappeared. the next day he wandered into a forest of the seven mountains, still thinking of his plan. he chanced to look up the mountain side, when he beheld the queer old man again; he was now leaning on a staff on a rocky wall. he lifted his staff and began to draw a picture on a rock behind him. the lines were of fire. oh, how beautiful, how grand, how glorious, it all was! [illustration: the mysterious architect.] fretwork, spandrels, and steeples. it _was_--it _was_ the very design that had haunted the poor architect, that flitted across his mind in dreams but left no memory. "will you have my plan?" asked the old man. "i will do all you ask." "meet me at the city gate to-morrow at midnight." the architect returned to cologne, the image of the marvellous temple glowing in his mind. "i shall be immortal," he said; "my name will never die. but," he added, "it is the price of my soul. no masses can help me, doomed, doomed forever!" he told his strange story to his old nurse on his return home. she went to consult the priest. "tell him," said the priest to the old woman, "to secure the design before he signs the contract. as soon as he gets the plan into his hand let him present to the old man, who is a demon, the relics of the martyrs and the sign of the cross." at midnight he appeared at the gate. there stood the little old man. "here is your design," said the latter, handing him a roll of parchment. "now you shall sign the bond that gives me yourself in payment." the architect grasped the plan. "satan, begone!" he thundered; "in the name of this cross, and of st. ursula, begone!" "thou hast foiled me," said the old man, his eyes glowing in the darkness like fire. "but i will have my revenge. your church shall never be completed, and your name shall never be known in the future to mankind." "the cathedral of cologne is unfinished, and its architect's name is unknown. it may harm the story, but it is but just to say that many of the old cathedrals of europe are in these respects like that of cologne. "we were impatient to visit the cathedral on our arrival at cologne. the structure stood as it were _over_ the city, like its presiding genius; and so it was. wherever we went the great roofs loomed above us in the air. "the interior did not disappoint us, even after all we had seen in other cathedral towns. it was like a forest: the columns were like tree stems of a vast open woodland, the groined arches appearing like interweaving boughs. the gorgeous windows were like a sunset through the trees. the air was dusky in the arches, but near the lofty windows vivid with color. "it was sunday. the service had begun. it was like a pageant, an opera. the organ was pouring a solemn chant through the far arches, like fall winds among the trees. there was a flute-like gush of music, far off and mysterious, like birds. it came from the boy-choristers. priests in glittering garments were kneeling before the cupola-crowned altar; there rose a cloud of incense from silver censers, and the organ thundered again, like the storm gathering over the woods. at the side of the altar stood the archiepiscopal throne, half in shadow amid the tall lights, red and gold; amid the piles of barbaric splendor, canopies, carvings, emblems. "we visited the chapels on the following day. in one of them a latin inscription tells the visitor,-- "'here repose the three bodies of the holy magi.' "the guide said,-- "'this is the tomb of the three kings of cologne.' "'the wise men of the east who came to worship at the cradle at bethlehem.' "'ask him how he _got_ them,' said willie. "'the empress helena, mother of constantine, recovered them and sent them to milan. when frederick barbarossa took the city of milan, he received them among the spoils and sent them to cologne. the names of the magi were gaspar, melchior, balthazar.' "'do you believe the legend?' asked willie. "'i do not know; we shall find things harder than this to believe, i fancy, as we go on.' "and we did. [illustration: st. martin's church, cologne.] "leaving the tomb,--a pile of jewels,--we went out, and near the outskirts of the city found the famous church of skulls,--a gilded ossuary, associated with a mediæval legend. it was full of cabinets of bones, said to be those of eleven thousand virgins slain for their faith by the huns. "here we were shown-- "_a part of the rod with which the saviour was scourged._ "_a thorn from the crown of thorns,--the spicula._ "_the pitcher in which jesus turned water into wine._ "'the mediæval church,' said our english-speaking guide, who had little faith in the genuineness of the relics, 'has exhibited some relics from time to time that would repay a long and arduous pilgrimage if they were what they purported to be; as, for instance, a feather of the angel gabriel, the snout of a seraph, a ray from the star of bethlehem, _two_ skulls of the same saint,--one taken when the departed saint was somewhat younger, as flippantly explained to an astonished tourist, who found in two cities the same consecrated cranium. "'but of all the relics of which we ever read, some germans who visited italy in search of these precious mementos received the most remarkable. "'one of these gentlemen, having applied to an ecclesiastic for some memento of scripture history which he could take back to germany, was both astonished and delighted by receiving a carefully prepared package, which he was assured contained a veritable leg of the ass on which was made the triumphal entry into jerusalem, when the people strewed palm branches in the way and shouted hosannas. "'he was enjoined to keep the treasure a secret until he reached home, which injunction he scrupulously obeyed. "'arriving in germany, he disclosed to his four companions the wonderful relic. they were much surprised, for each had been secretly intrusted with the same remarkable treasure. so it appeared that the ass had _five_ legs, which, of itself, would have been something of a miracle. "'whether these wiseacres ever visited the latin kingdom in search of relics again i am not apprised.' "cologne is full of relics. the people regard them with reverence; they serve the purpose of scriptural object-teaching to them. but they only shock the tourist who has been educated to believe that religion is a spiritual life, and that christ's kingdom is a spiritual kingdom, and not of this world." * * * * * several of the stories related by the boys this evening were historical. the story and legend of charlemagne. charles the great, or charlemagne, king of the franks and roman emperor, was born, probably at aix-la-chapelle, in . his empire at first embraced the larger part of what is now france and germany, but it extended under his wars until at last it nearly filled europe, and he wore the crown of rome and the west. napoleon, at the height of his power, governed nearly the whole territory that was once ruled by the mighty charlemagne. he was one of the greatest and wisest men in the history of the world. he encouraged learning, and opened a school in his palace; he maintained morality and aimed to spread christianity throughout the world. the saxons were heathens. they honored a great idol called the irmansaul. they were opposed to charlemagne, and constantly threatened his frontiers. charlemagne invaded their country, overthrew the great image, and after many struggles reduced the people to submission. in accordance with the rude customs of the time, he compelled them to accept christianity and receive baptism. he is said to have baptized the prisoners of war with his own hand. he divided saxony into eight bishoprics, and supported the bishops with guards of soldiers. we should look upon such missionary work as this as very questionable to-day, although enlightened nations of this age have sometimes adopted a policy in dealing with other countries that is as open to criticism and censure. the pope of rome became involved in troubles with the lombards. he appealed for help to the victorious king of the franks, the recognized champion of the church. charlemagne crossed the alps, conquered lombardy, and crowned himself with the iron crown of the ancient lombard kings. [illustration: charlemagne in the school of the palace.] he then repaired to rome and entered the city in triumph. as he came to st. peter's he stooped to kiss the steps in memory of the illustrious men that had trodden it before him. the pope there received him in great ceremony, and the choir chanted, "blessed is he that cometh in the name of the lord." he now became the most powerful monarch in the world. he gained great victories over the moors in spain, and it was in one of the mountain passes there that the chivalrous young roland, of heroic song, perished. his lands stretched from the baltic sea to the mediterranean. in the year he went to rome. it was christmas day. he entered the basilica of st. peter's to attend mass. he approached the altar, and bowed to pray. the pope secretly uplifted the crown of the world and placed it upon his head. the people shouted, "_long live charles augustus, crowned of god, emperor of the romans!_" from this time charlemagne was the kaiser, or cæsar, of the holy roman empire on the tiber and the rhine. the rhine was loved by charlemagne. he lived much on its borders, and he was buried near it, in a church that he had founded, at aix-la-chapelle. "i'd dwell where charlemagne looked down, and, turning to his peers, exclaimed: 'behold, for this fair land i've prayed and fought for years.' then all the rhine towers shook to hear the earthquake of their cheers. "that day the tide ran crimson red (but not with rhenish wine); not with those vintage streams that through the green leaves gush and shine: 'twas blood that from the lombard ranks rushed down into the rhine. "'twas here the german soldiers flocked, burning with love and pride, and threw their muskets down to kiss the soil with french blood dyed. 'the rhine, dear rhine!' ten thousand men, kneeling together, cried." thornbury. there is a beautiful legend that charlemagne visits the rhine yearly and blesses the vintage. he comes in a golden robe, and crosses the river on a golden bridge, and the bells of heaven chime above him as he fulfils his peaceful mission. the fine superstition is celebrated in music and verse. "by the rhine, the emerald river, how softly glows the night! the vine-clad hills are lying in the moonbeams' golden light. "and on the hillside walketh a kingly shadow down, with sword and purple mantle, and heavy golden crown. "'tis charlemagne, the emperor, who, with a powerful hand, for many a hundred years hath ruled in german land. "from out his grave in aachen he hath arisen there, to bless once more his vineyards, and breathe their fragrant air. "by rudesheim, on the water, the moon doth brightly shine, and buildeth a bridge of gold across the emerald rhine. "the emperor walketh over, and all along the tide bestows his benediction on the vineyards far and wide. "then turns he back to aachen in his grave-sleep to remain, till the new year's fragrant clusters shall call him forth again." emanuel geibel. the story and legend of barbarossa. frederick of germany was a very handsome man. there was a tinge of red in his beard, and for that reason he came to be called frederick barbarossa. he was an ambitious man, and he went to rome to be crowned. [illustration: charlemagne inflicting baptism upon the saxons.] it was a time of rival popes, and barbarossa entered into the long controversy, which would make a history of itself. he captured milan, and levelled the city. the sacred relics in the churches were sent to enrich the churches of germany. among these were the reputed bodies of the three wise men of the east; these were sent to cologne, and are still exhibited there amid heaps of jewels. barbarossa was constantly at war with popes and kings: he gained victories and suffered reverses; but his career was theatrical and popular in those rude times, and he was regarded as a very good monarch as kings went. [illustration: the germans on an expedition.] he once held a great peace festival at mentz, to which came forty thousand knights. a camp of tents of silk and gold was set up by the rhine, and musicians, called minnesingers, delighted the nobles and ladies with songs of heroes and knights. the songs and ballads then sung became famous, and this festival may be said to be the beginning of musical art in music-loving germany. europe was now startled with the news that the saracens under saladin had taken jerusalem. barbarossa was about inaugurating a new war with the pope; but when this news came he and the pope became reconciled, and he resolved to go on a crusade. he was an old man now, but he entered into the crusade with the fiery spirit of youth. his war-cry was,-- "christ reigns! christ conquers!" he won a great victory at iconium. there was a swift, cold river near the battle-field, called kaly kadmus. a few days after the victory, barbarossa went into it to bathe. he was struck by a chill and sank into the rapid current, and was drowned. he was seventy years of age. his body was found and interred at antioch. of course the germans attached to barbarossa a legend, as they do to everything. they said that he was not dead, but had fallen a victim to enchantment. he and his knights had been put to sleep in the kyffhauser cave in thuringia. they sat around a stone table, waiting for release. his once red, but now white, beard was growing through the stone. they also said that the spell that bound barbarossa and his knights would some day be broken, and that they would come back to germany. this would occur when the country should be in sore distress, and need a champion for its cause. ravens flew continually about the cave where the monarch and his knights were held enchanted. when they should cease to circle about it, the spell would be broken, and the grand old monarch would return to the rhine. they looked for him in days of calamity; but centuries passed, and he did not return. the legend is thus told in song:-- "the ancient barbarossa by magic spell is bound,-- old frederick the kaiser, in castle underground. "the kaiser hath not perished, he sleeps an iron sleep; for, in the castle hidden, he's sunk in slumber deep. "with him the chiefest treasures of empire hath he ta'en, wherewith, in fitting season, he shall appear again. "the kaiser he is sitting upon an ivory throne; of marble is the table his head he resteth on. "his beard it is not flaxen; like living fire it shines, and groweth through the table whereon his chin reclines. "as in a dream he noddeth, then wakes he, heavy-eyed, and calls, with lifted finger, a stripling to his side. "'dwarf, get thee to the gateway, and tidings bring, if still their course the ancient ravens are wheeling round the hill. "'for if the ancient ravens are flying still around, a hundred years to slumber by magic spell i'm bound.'" friedrich rÜckert. the seven evenings with historic places on the rhine had proved a source of profitable entertainment to the club. it was proposed to continue the plan, and to follow mr. beal's and the boys' journey to the north. "let us add to these entertainments," said charlie leland,-- "( ) a night in northern germany. we will call it a hamburg night. "( ) a night in denmark. "( ) a night in sweden and norway." the proposal was adopted, and master beal was asked to continue the narrative of travel, and all the members of the club were requested to collect stories that illustrate the history, traditions, manners, and customs of these countries. chapter xii. hamburg. hamburg.--berlin.--potsdam.--palace of sans-souci.--story of the struggles and triumphs of handel.--story of peter the wild boy. "hamburg, the fine old city of the elbe, is almost as large as was boston before the annexation; it is familiar by name to american ears, for it is from hamburg, as a port, that the yearly army of german emigrants come. "i looked sadly upon hamburg as i thought how many eyes filled with tears had turned back upon her spires and towers, her receding harbor, and seen the germany of their ancestors, and the old city of charlemagne, with its historic associations of a thousand years, fade forever from view. down the elbe go the steamers, and the emigrants with their eyes fixed on the shores! then westward, ho, for the prairie territories of the great empire of the new world! "more than six thousand vessels enter the harbor of hamburg in a year. the flags of all nations float there, but the british red is everywhere seen. "we visited the church of st. michael, and ascended the steeple, which is four hundred and thirty-two feet high, or one hundred feet higher than the spire of st. paul's in london. we looked down on the city, the harbor, the canals. our eye followed the elbe on its way to the sea. on the north was holstein; on the south, hanover. [illustration: canal in hamburg.] "from hamburg we made a zigzag to berlin and potsdam. the railroad between the great german port and the brilliant capital is across a level country, the distance being about one hundred and seventy-five miles, or seven hours' ride. "berlin, capital of prussia and of the german empire, the residence of the german emperor, is situated in the midst of a vast plain; 'an oasis of stone and brick in a sahara of sand.' it is about the size of new york, and it greatly resembles an american city, for the reason that everything there seems new. "it has been called a city of palaces, and so it is, for many of the private residences would be fitting abodes for kings. the architecture is everywhere beautiful; all the elegances of greek art meet the eye wherever it may turn. ruins there are none; old quarters, none; quaint gothic or mediæval buildings, none. the streets are so regular, the public squares so artistic, and the buildings such models of art, that the whole becomes monotonous. "'this is america over again,' said an american traveller, who had joined our party. 'let us return.' "many of the buildings might remind one of the hanging gardens of old, so full are the balconies of flowers. the fronts of some of the private residences are flower gardens from the ground to the roofs. "the emperor's palace is the crowning architectural glory of the city. it is four hundred feet long. "we visited the zoölogical gardens and the national gallery of pictures, the entrance to which makes a beautiful picture. "we rode to potsdam, a distance of some twenty miles. potsdam is the versailles of germany. the road to potsdam is a continuous avenue of trees, like the roads near boston. "of course our object in visiting the town was to see the palace and gardens of sans-souci, the favorite residence of frederick the great. [illustration: the palace in berlin.] "frederick loved everything that was french in art. the french expression is seen on everything at sans-souci. the approach to the palace is by an avenue through gardens laid out in the louis quatorze style, with alleys, hedges, statues, and fountains. "the famous palace stands on the top flight of a series of broad terraces, fronted with glass. beneath these terraces grow vines, olives, and orange-trees. in the rear of the palace is a colonnade. there frederick used to pace to and fro in the sunshine, when failing health and old age admonished him that death was near. as his religious hopes were few, his reflections must have been rather lonely when death's winter came stealing on. [illustration: grotto.] "the room where frederick studied, and the adjoining apartment where he died, are shown. the former contains a library consisting wholly of books in french. "we returned to hamburg. "we were in old danish territory already. we stopped but one night at hamburg on our return; then we made our way to the steamer which was to take us to the denmark of to-day, copenhagen." * * * * * among the stories on the hamburg night was one by a music-loving student of yule, which he called the city of handel's youth. the composer of the "messiah," george frederick handel, was born at halle, germany, feb. , . he sang before he could talk plainly. his father, a physician, was alarmed, for he had a poor opinion of music and musicians. as the child grew, nature asserted that he would be a musician; the father declared he should be a lawyer. little george was kept from the public school, because the gamut was there taught. he might go to no place where music would be heard, and no musical instrument was permitted in the house. but nature, aided by the wiser mother, triumphed. in those days musical nuns played upon a dumb spinet, that they might not disturb the quiet of their convents. it was a sort of piano, and the strings were muffled with cloth. one of these spinets was smuggled into the garret of dr. handel's house. at night, george would steal up to the attic and practise upon it. but not a tinkle could the watchful father hear. before the child was seven years of age he had taught himself to play upon the dumb instrument. one day dr. handel started to visit a son in the service of a german duke. george begged to go, as he wished to hear the organ in the duke's chapel. but not until he ran after the coach did the father consent. they arrived at the palace as a chapel service was going on. the boy stole away to the organ-loft, and, after service, began playing. the duke, recognizing that it was not his organist's style, sent a servant to learn who was playing. the man returned with the trembling boy. dr. handel was both amazed and enraged. but the duke, patting the child on the head, drew out his story. "you are stifling a genius," he said to the angry father; "this boy must not be snubbed." the doctor, more subservient to a prince than to nature, consented that his son should study music. [illustration: sans-souci.] during three years the boy studied with zachau, the organist of the halle cathedral. they were years of hard work. one day his teacher said to george, "i can teach you no longer; you already know more than i do. you must go and study in berlin." berlin was at once attracted to the youthful musician by his playing on the harpsichord and the organ. but the death of his father compelled him to earn his daily bread. willing to descend, that he might rise, he became a violin player of minor parts at the hamburg opera house. the homage he had received prompted his vanity to create a surprise. he played badly, and acted as a verdant youth. the members of the orchestra sneeringly informed him that he would never earn his salt. handel, however, waited his opportunity. one day the harpsichordist, the principal person in the orchestra, was absent. the band, thinking it would be a good joke, persuaded handel to take his place. laying aside his violin, he seated himself at the harpsichord, amid the smiles of the musicians. as he touched the keys the smiles gave place to looks of wonder. he played on, and the whole orchestra broke into loud applause. from that day until he left hamburg, the youth of nineteen led the band. handel's extraordinary skill as a performer was not wholly due to genius. he practised incessantly, so that every key of his harpsichord was hollowed like a spoon. handel's greatest triumphs, as a composer, were won in england. but the music-loving irish of dublin had the honor of first welcoming his masterpiece, the "messiah." such was the enthusiasm it created that ladies left their hoops at home, in order to get one hundred more listeners into the room. a german poet calls the "messiah" "a christian epic in musical sounds." the expression is a felicitous description of its theme and style. it celebrates the grandest of events with the sublimest strains that music may utter. the great composer commanded, and all the powers of music hastened with song and instrument to praise the life, death, and triumph of the christ. no human composition ever voiced, in poetry or prose or music, such a masterly conception of the virgin's son as that uttered by this magnificent oratorio. the sacred scriptures furnish the words. the seer's prophecies, the psalmist's strains, the evangelist's narrative, the angels' song, the anthem of the redeemed, are transferred to aria, recitative, and chorus. the sentiment is as majestic as the music is grand. he who sought out the fitting words had studied his bible, and he who joined to them musical sounds dwelt in the region of the sublime. all the emotions are touched by the oratorio. words and music quiver with fear, utter sorrow, plead with pathos, or exult in the joy of triumph. a symphony so paints a pastoral scene that the shepherds of bethlehem are seen watching their flocks. one air, "he was despised," suggests that its birth was amid tears. it was; for handel sobbed aloud while composing it. it is the threnody of the oratorio. the grandeur of the "messiah" finds its highest expression in the "hallelujah chorus." "i did think," said handel, describing, in imperfect english, his thought at the moment of composition,--"i did think i did see all heaven before me, and the great god himself." when the oratorio was first performed in london, the audience were transported at the words, "the lord god omnipotent reigneth." they all, with george ii., who happened to be present, started to their feet and remained standing until the chorus was ended. this act of homage has become the custom with all english-speaking audiences. "you have given the audience an excellent entertainment," said a patronizing nobleman to handel, at the close of the first performance of the "messiah" in london. "my lord," replied the grand old composer, with dignity, "i should be very sorry if i only _entertained_ them; i wish to make them _better_." a few years before his death handel was smitten with blindness. he continued, however, to preside at his oratorios, being led by a lad to the organ, which, as leader, he played. one day, while conducting his oratorio of "samson," the old man turned pale and trembled with emotion, as the bass sung the blind giant's lament: "total eclipse! no sun, no moon!" as the audience saw the sightless eyes turned towards them, they were affected to tears. seized by a mortal illness, handel expressed a wish that he might die on good friday, "in hope of meeting his good god, his sweet lord and saviour, on the day of his resurrection." this consolation, it seems, was not denied him. for on his monument, standing in the poets' corner of westminster abbey, is inscribed: "died on good friday, april , ." another story, which is associated with the woods of hanover, near hamburg, was entitled peter the wild boy. in the year , a few years after the capture of marie le blanc, a celebrated wild girl in france, there was seen in the woods, some twenty-five miles from hanover, an object in form like a boy, yet running on his hands and feet, and eating grass and moss, like a beast. the remarkable creature was captured, and was taken to hanover by the superintendent of the house of correction at zell. it proved to be a boy evidently about thirteen years of age, yet possessing the habits and appetites of a mere animal. he was presented to king george i., at a state dinner at hanover, and, the curiosity of the king being greatly excited, he became his patron. in about a year after his capture he was taken to england, and exhibited to the court. while in that country he received the name of peter the wild boy, by which ever after he was known. marie le blanc, after proper training, became a lively, brilliant girl, and related to her friends and patrons the history of her early life; but peter the wild boy seems to have been mentally deficient. [illustration: peter the wild boy.] dr. arbuthnot, at whose house he resided for a time in his youth, spared no pains to teach him to talk; but his efforts met with but little success. peter seemed to comprehend the language and signs of beasts and birds far better than those of human beings, and to have more sympathy with the brute creation than with mankind. he, however, at last was taught to articulate the name of his royal patron, his own name, and some other words. it was a long time before he became accustomed to the habits of civilization. he had evidently been used to sleeping on the boughs of trees, as a security from wild beasts, and when put to bed would tear the clothes, and hopping up take his naps in the corner of the room. he regarded clothing with aversion, and when fully dressed was as uneasy as a culprit in prison. he was, however, generally docile, and submitted to discipline, and by degrees became more fit for human society. he was attracted by beauty, and fond of finery, and it is related of him that he attempted to kiss the young and dashing lady walpole, in the circle at court. the manner in which the lovely woman received his attentions may be fancied. finding that he was incapable of education, his royal patron placed him in charge of a farmer, where he lived many years. here he was visited by lord monboddo, a speculative english writer, who, in a metaphysical work, gives the following interesting account:-- "it was in the beginning of june, , that i saw him in a farmhouse called broadway, about a mile from berkhamstead, kept there on a pension of thirty pounds, which the king pays. he is but of low stature, not exceeding five feet three inches, and though he must now be about seventy years of age, he has a fresh, healthy look. he wears his beard; his face is not at all ugly or disagreeable, and he has a look that may be called sensible or sagacious for a savage. "about twenty years ago he used to elope, and once, as i was told, he wandered as far as norfolk; but of late he has become quite tame, and either keeps the house or saunters about the farm. he has been, during the last thirteen years, where he lives at present, and before that he was twelve years with another farmer, whom i saw and conversed with. "this farmer told me he had been put to school somewhere in hertfordshire, but had only learned to articulate his own name, peter, and the name of king george, both which i heard him pronounce very distinctly. but the woman of the house where he now is--for the man happened not to be home--told me he understood everything that was said to him concerning the common affairs of life, and i saw that he readily understood several things she said to him while i was present. among other things she desired him to sing 'nancy dawson,' which he accordingly did, and another tune that she named. he was never mischievous, but had that gentleness of manners which i hold to be characteristic of our nature, at least till we become carnivorous, and hunters, or warriors. he feeds at present as the farmer and his wife do; but, as i was told by an old woman who remembered to have seen him when he first came to hertfordshire, which she computed to be about fifty-five years before, he then fed much on leaves, particularly of cabbage, which she saw him eat raw. he was then, as she thought, about fifteen years of age, walked upright, but could climb trees like a squirrel. at present he not only eats flesh, but has acquired a taste for beer, and even for spirits, of which he inclines to drink more than he can get. "the old farmer with whom he lived before he came to his present situation informed me that peter had that taste before he came to him. he has also become very fond of fire, but has not acquired a liking for money; for though he takes it he does not keep it, but gives it to his landlord or landlady, which i suppose is a lesson they have taught him. he retains so much of his natural instinct that he has a fore-feeling of bad weather, growling, and howling, and showing great disorder before it comes on." another philosopher, who made him a visit, obtained the following luminous information:-- "who is your father?" "king george." "what is your name?" "pe-ter." "what is _that_?" (pointing to a dog.) "bow-wow." "what are you?" "wild man." "where were you found?" "hanover." "who found you?" "king george." about the year he ran away, and, entering scotland, was arrested as an english spy. his captors endeavored to force from him some terrible disclosure, but could obtain nothing, not even an answer, and it was something of a puzzle to them to determine exactly what they had captured. they at last resolved to inflict punishment upon him for his obstinacy, but were deterred by a lady who recognized him and disclosed his history. in his latter years he made himself useful to the farmer with whom he lived, but he required constant watchfulness, else he would make grave blunders. an amusing anecdote is told of his manner of working when left to himself. he was required, during the absence of his guardian, to fill a cart with compost, which he did; but, having filled the cart in the usual way, and finding himself out of employment, he directly shovelled the compost out again, and when the farmer returned the cart was empty. but poor peter, with all his dulness, possessed some remarkable characteristics. he was very strong of arm, and wonderfully swift of foot, and his senses were acute. his musical gifts were most marvellous. he would reproduce, in his humming way, the notes of a tune that he had heard but once,--a thing that might have baffled an amateur. he also had a lively sense of the beautiful and the sublime. he would stand at night gazing on the stars as though transfixed by the splendors blazing above. his whole being was thrilled with joy on the approach of spring. he would sing all the day as the atmosphere became warm and balmy, and would often prolong his melodies far into the beautiful nights. he died aged about seventy years. chapter xiii. the bells of the rhine. legends of the bells of basel and speyer.--story of the harmony chime.--the bell-founder of breslau. one evening, after the story-telling entertainments, mr. beal was speaking to the class of the great bell of cologne which has been cast from the french cannon captured in the last war. "it seems a beautiful thing," he said, "that the guns of war should be made to ring out the notes of peace." "there is one subject that we did not treat at our meetings," said charlie leland,--"the bells of the rhine." "true," said mr. beal. "a volume might be written on the subject. almost every belfry on the rhine has its legend, and many of them are associated with thrilling events of history. the raftmen, as they drift down the river on the sabbath, associate almost every bell they hear with a story. the bells of basle (basel), strasburg, speyer, heidelberg, worms, frankfort, mayence, bingen, and bonn all ring out a meaning to the german student that the ordinary traveller does not comprehend. bell land is one of mystery. "for example, the clocks of basel. the american traveller arrives at basel, and hurries out of his hotel, and along the beautiful public gardens, to the terrace overlooking the rhine. he looks down on the picturesque banks of the winding river; then far away his eye seeks the peaks of the jura. "the bells strike. the music to his ears has no history. "the german and french students hear them with different ears. the old struggles of alsace and romaine come back to memory. they recall the fact that the city was once saved by a heroic watchman, who confused the enemy by causing the bells to strike the wrong hour. to continue the memory of this event, the great bell of basel during the middle ages was made to strike the hour of one at noonday. "the bells of speyer have an interesting legend. henry iv. was one of the most unfortunate men who ever sat upon a throne. his own son, afterward henry v., conspired against him, and the pope declared him an outlaw. "deserted by every one, he went into exile, and made his home at ingleheim, on the rhine. one old servant, kurt, followed his changing fortunes. he died at liege. "misfortune followed the once mighty emperor even after death. the pope would not allow his body to be buried for several years. kurt watched by the coffin, like rizpah by the bodies of her sons. he made it his shrine: he prayed by it daily. "at last the pope consented that the remains of the emperor should rest in the earth. the body was brought to speyer. kurt followed it. it was buried with great pomp, and tollings of bells. "some months after the ceremonious event kurt died. as his breath was passing, say the legendary writers, all the bells began to toll. the bellmen ran to the belfries; no one was there, but the bells tolled on, swayed, it was believed, by unseen hands. "henry v. died in the same town. he was despised by the people, and he suffered terrible agonies in his last hours. as his last moments came the bells began to toll again. it was not the usual announcement of the death of the good, but the sharp notes that proclaim that a criminal is being led to justice; at least, so the people came to believe. [illustration: the silent castles.] "one of the most beautiful stories of bells that i ever met is associated with a once famous factory that cast some of the most melodious bells in holland and the towns of the rhine. i will tell it to you. the harmony chime. many years ago, in a large iron foundry in the city of ghent, was found a young workman by the name of otto holstein. he was not nineteen years of age, but none of the workmen could equal him in his special department,--bell casting or moulding. far and near the fame of otto's bells extended,--the clearest and sweetest, people said, that were ever heard. [illustration: hotel de ville, ghent.] of course the great establishment of von erlangen, in which otto worked, got the credit of his labors; but von erlangen and otto himself knew very well to whom the superior tone of the bells was due. the master did not pay him higher wages than the others, but by degrees he grew to be general superintendent in his department in spite of his extreme youth. "yes, my bells are good," he said to a friend one day, who was commenting upon their merits; "but they do not make the music i will yet strike from them. they ring alike for all things. to be sure, when they toll for a funeral the slow measure makes them _seem_ mournful, but then the notes are really the same as in a wedding peal. i shall make a chime of bells that will sound at will every chord in the human soul." "then wilt thou deal in magic," said his friend, laughing; "and the holy inquisition will have somewhat to do with thee. no human power can turn a bell into a musical instrument." "but i can," he answered briefly; "and, inquisition or not, i will do it." he turned abruptly from his friend and sauntered, lost in thought, down the narrow street which led to his home. it was an humble, red-tiled cottage, of only two rooms, that he had inherited from his grandfather. there he lived alone with his widowed mother. she was a mild, pleasant-faced woman, and her eyes brightened as her son bent his tall head under the low doorway, as he entered the little room. "thou art late, otto," she said, "and in trouble, too," as she caught sight of his grave, sad face. "yes," he answered. "when i asked herr erlangen for an increase of salary, for my work grows harder every day, he refused it. nay, he told me if i was not satisfied, i could leave, for there were fifty men ready to take my place. ready! yes, i warrant they're ready enough, but to be _able_ is a different thing." his mother sighed deeply. "thou wilt not leave herr erlangen's, surely. it is little we get, but it keeps us in food." "i must leave," he answered. "nay, do not cry out, mother! i have other plans, and thou wilt not starve. monsieur dayrolles, the rich frenchman, who lives in the linden-strasse, has often asked me why i do not set up a foundry of my own. of course i laughed,--i, who never have a thaler to spend; but he told me he and several other rich friends of his would advance the means to start me in business. he is a great deal of his time at erlangen's, and is an enthusiast about fine bells. ah! we are great friends, and i am going to him after supper." "people say he is crazy," said his mother. "crazy!" indignantly. "people say that of everybody who has ideas they can't understand. they say _i_ am crazy when i talk of my chime of bells. if i stay with erlangen, he gets the credit of my work; but my chime must be mine,--mine alone, mother." his eyes lighted with a kind of wild enthusiasm whenever he talked on this subject. his mother's cheerful face grew sad, as she laid her hand on his shoulder. "why, otto, thou art not thyself when thou speakest of those bells." "more my real self, mother, than at any other time!" he cried. "i only truly live when i think of how my idea is to be carried out. it is to be my life's work; i know it, i feel it. it is upon me that my fate is woven inextricably in that ideal chime. it is god-sent. no great work, but the maker is possessed wholly by it. don't shake your head, mother. wait till my 'harmony chime' sounds from the great cathedral belfry, and then shake it if you can." his mother smiled faintly. "thou art a boy,--a mere child, otto, though a wonderful genius, i must confess. thy hopes delude thee, for it would take a lifetime to carry out thine idea." "then let it take a lifetime!" he cried out vehemently. "let me accomplish it when i am too old to hear it distinctly, and i will be content that its first sounds toll my dirge. i must go now to monsieur dayrolles. wish me good luck, dearest mother." and he stooped and kissed her tenderly. otto did not fail. the strange old man in his visits to the foundry had noticed the germs of genius in the boy, and grown very fond of him. he was so frank, so honest, so devoted to his work, and had accomplished so much at his early age, that monsieur dayrolles saw a brilliant future before him. besides, the old gentleman, with a frenchman's vanity, felt that if the "harmony chime" _could_ be made, the name of the munificent patron would go down to posterity with that of the maker. he believed firmly that the boy would some day accomplish his purpose. so, although the revolt of the netherlands had begun and he was preparing to return to his own country, he advanced the necessary funds, and saw otto established in business before he quitted ghent. in a very short time work poured in upon otto. during that long and terrible war the manufacture of cannon alone made the fortunes of the workers in iron. so five years from the time he left von erlangen we find otto holstein a rich man at twenty-four years of age. but the idea for which he labored had never for a moment left his mind. sleeping or waking, toiling or resting, his thoughts were busy perfecting the details of the great work. "thou art twenty-four to-day, otto," said his good mother, "and rich beyond our hopes. when wilt thou bring gertrude home to me? thou hast been betrothed now for three years, and i want a daughter to comfort my declining years. thou doest thy betrothed maiden a grievous wrong to delay without cause. the gossips are talking already." "let them talk," laughed otto. "little do gertrude or i care for their silly tongues. she and i have agreed that the 'harmony chime' is to usher in our marriage-day. why, good mother, no man can serve two mistresses, and my chime has the oldest claim. let me accomplish it, and then the remainder of my life belongs to gertrude, and thou, too, best of mothers." "still that dream! still that dream!" sighed his mother. "thou hast cast bell after bell, and until to-day i have heard nothing more of the wild idea." "no, because i needed money. i needed time, and thought, too, to make experiments. all is matured now. i have received an order to make a new set of bells for the great cathedral that was sacked last week by the 'iconoclasts,' and i begin to-morrow." [illustration: bell-tower, ghent.] as otto had said, his life's work began the next day. he loved his mother, but he seemed now to forget her in the feverish eagerness with which he threw himself into his labors. he had been a devoted lover to gertrude, but he now never had a spare moment to give to her,--in fact, he only seemed to remember her existence in connection with the peal which would ring in their wedding-day. his labors were prolonged far over the appointed time, and meanwhile the internal war raged more furiously, and the netherlands were one vast battle-field. no interest did otto seem to take in the stirring events around him. the bells held his whole existence captive. [illustration: bell tower of heidelberg.] at last the moulds were broken, and the bells came out of their husks perfect in form, and shining as stars in otto's happy eyes. they were mounted in the great belfry, and for the test-chime otto had employed the best bell-ringers in the city. it was a lovely may morning; and, almost crazed with excitement and anxiety, otto, accompanied by a few chosen friends, waited outside the city for the first notes of the harmony chime. at some distance he thought he could better judge of the merits of his work. at last the first notes were struck, clear, sonorous, and so melodious that his friends cried aloud with delight. but with finger upraised for silence, and eyes full of ecstatic delight, otto stood like a statue until the last note died away. then his friends caught him as he fell forward in a swoon,--a swoon so like death that no one thought he would recover. but it was not death, and he came out of it with a look of serene peace on his face that it had not worn since boyhood. he was married to gertrude that very day, but every one noticed that the ecstasy which transfigured his face seemed to be drawn more from the sound of the bells than the sweet face beside him. "don't you see a spell is cast on him as soon as they begin to ring?" said one, after the bells had ceased to be a wonder. "if he is walking, he stops short, and if he is working, the work drops and a strange fire comes in his eyes; and i have seen him shudder all over as it he had an ague." in good truth, the bells seemed to have drawn a portion of otto's life to them. when the incursions of the war forced him to fly from ghent with his family, his regrets were not for his injured property, but that he could not hear the bells. he was absent two years, and when he returned it was to find the cathedral almost a ruin, and the bells gone no one knew where. from that moment a settled melancholy took possession of otto. he made no attempt to retrieve his losses; in fact, he gave up work altogether, and would sit all day with his eyes fixed on the ruined belfry. people said he was melancholy mad, and i suppose it was the truth; but he was mad with a kind of gentle patience very sad to see. his mother had died during their exile, and now his wife, unable with all her love to rouse him from his torpor, faded slowly away. he did not notice her sickness, and his poor numbed brain seemed imperfectly to comprehend her death. but he followed her to the grave, and turning from it moved slowly down the city, passed the door of his old home without looking at it, and went out of the city gates. after that he was seen in every city in europe at different intervals. charitable people gave him alms, but he never begged. he would enter a town, take his station near a church and wait until the bells rang for matins or vespers, then take up his staff and, sighing deeply, move off. people noting the wistful look in his eyes would ask him what he wanted. "i am seeking,--i am seeking," was his only reply; and those were almost the only words any one ever heard from him, and he muttered them often to himself. years rolled over the head of the wanderer, but still his slow march from town to town continued. his hair had grown white, and his strength had failed him so much that he only tottered instead of walked, but still that wistful seeking look was in his eyes. he heard the old bells on the rhine in his wanderings. he lingered long near the belfries of the sweetest voices; but their melodious tongues only spoke to him of his lost hope. he left the river of sweet bells, and made a pilgrimage to england. it was the days of cathedrals in their beauty and glory, and here he again heard the tones that he loved, but which failed to realize his own ideal. when a person fails to fulfil his ideal, his whole life seems a failure,--like something glorious and beautiful one meets and loses, and never again finds. "be true to the dreams of thy youth," says a german author; and every soul is unhappy until the dreams of youth prove true. one glorious evening in midsummer otto was crossing a river in ireland. the kind-hearted boatman had been moved by the old man's imploring gestures to cross him. "he's mighty nigh his end, anyhow," he muttered, looking at the feeble movements of the old pilgrim as he stumbled to his seat. suddenly through the still evening air came the distant sound of a melodious chime. at the first note the pilgrim leaped to his feet and threw up his arms. "o my god," he cried, "found at last!" "it's the bells of the convent," said the wondering man, not understanding otto's words spoken in a foreign tongue, but answering his gesture. "they was brought from somewhere in holland when they were fighting there. moighty fine bells they are, anyhow. but he isn't listening to me." no, he heard nothing but the bells. he merely whispered, "come back to me after so many years,--o love of my soul, o thought of my life! peal on, for your voices tell me of paradise." the last note floated through the air, and as it died away something else soared aloft forever, free from the clouds and struggles of life. [illustration: breslau.] his ideal was fulfilled now. otto lay dead, his face full of peace and joy, for the weary quest of his crazy brain was over, and the harmony chime had called him to his eternal rest. and, past that change of life that men call death, we may well believe that he heard in the ascension to the celestial atmosphere the ringing of welcoming bells more beautiful than the harmony chime. "i will relate another story," said mr. beal. "it is like the harmony chime, but has a sadder ending." the bell-founder of breslau. there once lived in breslau a famous bell-founder, the fame of whose skill caused his bells to be placed in many german towers. according to the ballad of wilhelm müller,-- "and all his bells they sounded so full and clear and pure: he poured his faith and love in, of that all men were sure. but of all bells that ever he cast, was one the crown, that was the bell for sinners at breslau in the town." he had an ambition to cast one bell that would surpass all others in purity of tone, and that should render his own name immortal. he was required to cast a bell for the magdalen church tower of that city of noble churches,--breslau. he felt that this was opportunity for his masterpiece. all of his thoughts centred on the magdalen bell. after a long period of preparation, his metals were arranged for use. the form was walled up and made steady; the melting of the metals in the great bell-kettle had begun. the old bell-founder had two faults which had grown upon him; a love of ale and a fiery temper. while the metals were heating in the kettle, he said to his fire-watch, a little boy,-- "tend the kettle for a moment; i am overwrought: i must go over to the inn, and take my ale, and nerve me for the casting. "but, boy," he added, "touch not the stopple; if you do, you shall rue it. that bell is my life, i have put all i have learned in life into it. if any man were to touch that stopple, i would strike him dead." [illustration: finishing the bell.] [illustration: at the inn.] the boy had an over-sensitive, nervous temperament. he was easily excited, and was subject to impulses that he could not easily control. the command that he should not touch the stopple, under the dreadful penalty, strongly affected his mind, and made him wish to do the very thing he had been forbidden. he watched the metal in the great kettle. it bubbled, billowed, and ran to and fro. in the composition of the glowing mass he knew that his master had put his heart and soul. it would be a bold thing to touch the stopple,--adventurous. his hand began to move towards it. the evil impulse grew, and his hand moved on. he touched the stopple. the impulse was a wild passion now,--he turned it. then his mind grew dark--he was filled with horror. he ran to his master. "i have turned the stopple; i could not help it," he said. "the devil tempted me!" the old bell-founder clasped his hands and looked upward in agony. then his temper flashed over him. he seized his knife, and stabbed the boy to the heart. he rushed back to the foundry, hoping to stay the stream. he found the metal whole; the turning of the stopple had not caused the metal to flow. the boy lay dead on the ground. [illustration: the day of execution.] the old bell-founder knew the consequences of his act, and he did not seek to escape them. he cast the bell; then he went to the magistrates, and said,-- "my work is done; but i am a murderer. do with me as you will." the trial was short; it greatly excited the city. the judges could not do otherwise than sentence him to death. but as he was penitent, he was promised that on the day of his execution he should receive the offices and consolations of the church. "you are good," he said. "but grant me another favor. my bells will delight many ears when i am gone; my soul is in them; grant me another favor." "name it," said the judges. "that i may hear the sound of my new bell before i die." the judges consulted, and answered,-- "it shall toll for your execution." the fatal day came. toll, toll, toll! there was a sadness in the tone of the bell that touched every heart in breslau. the bell seemed human. toll, toll, toll! how melodious! how perfect! how beautiful! the very air seemed charmed! the years would come and go, and this bell would be the tongue of breslau! the old man came forth. he had forgotten his fate in listening to the bell. the heavy clang was so melodious that it filled his heart with joy. "that is it! that is it; my heart, my life!" he said. "i know all the metals; i made the voice! ring on, ring on forever! ring in holy days, and happy festivals, and joy eternal to breslau." toll, toll, toll! on passed the white-haired man, listening still to the call of the bell that summoned him to death. he bowed his head at the place of execution to meet the stroke just as the last tone of the bell melted upon the air. his soul passed amid the silvery echoes. the bell rings on. "ay, of all bells that ever he cast, is this the crown, the bell of church st. magdalen at breslau in the town. it was, from that time forward, baptized the sinner's bell; whether it still is called so, is more than i can tell." "there is a sadness in the bells of the rhine," continued mr. beal, "as they ring from old belfries at evening under the ruins of the castles on the hills. the lords of the rhine that once heard them are gone forever. the vineyards creep up the hills on the light trellises, and the sun and the earth, as it were, fill the grapes with wine. the woods are as green as of old. the rafts go drifting down the light waves as on feet of air. but the river of history is changed, and one feels the spirit of the change with deep sadness as one listens to the bells." the lights have gone out in the castle. i. the boatmen strike lightly the zither as they drift 'neath the hillsides of green, but gone from the rhine is the palgrave, and gone is the palgravine. play lightly, play lightly, o boatman, when the shadows of night round thee fall, for the lights have gone out in the castle, the lights have gone out in the hall. and the rhine waters silently flow, the old bells ring solemn and slow, o boatman, play lightly, play lightly, o boatman, play lightly and low. ii. awake the old runes on the zither, o boatman! the lips of the rhine still kiss the green ruins of ivy, and smile on the vineyards of wine. play lightly, play lightly, o boatman, when the shadows of night round thee fall, for the lights have gone out in the castle, the lights have gone out in the hall. and the rhine waters silently flow, the old bells ring solemn and slow, o boatman, play lightly, play lightly, o boatman, play lightly and low. [illustration: above the town.] iii. the lamps of the stars shine above thee as they shone when the vineyards were green, in the long vanished days of the palgrave, in the days of the palgravine. play lightly, thy life tides are flowing, thy fate in the palgrave's recall, for the lights have gone out in the castle, the lights have gone out in the hall. and the rhine waters silently flow, and the old bells ring solemn and slow, o boatman, play lightly, play lightly, o boatman, play lightly and low. the narratives of the evening devoted to the bells on the rhine were closed by a story by master lewis. "i do not often relate stories," he said; "but i have a german story in mind, the lesson of which has been helpful to my experience. it is a legend and a superstition, and one that is not as generally familiar to the readers of popular books as are many that have been told at these meetings. i think you will like it, and that you will not soon forget it." "to-morrow." once--many years, perhaps centuries ago--a young german student, named lek, was travelling from leipsig to the middle rhine. his journey was made on foot, and a part of it lay through the thuringian forest. he rested one night at the old walled town of saalfeld, visited the ruins of sorenburg, and entered one of the ancient roads then greatly frequented, but less used now, on account of the shorter and swifter avenues of travel. towards evening he ascended a hill, and, looking down, was surprised to discover a quaint town at the foot, of which he had never heard. it was summer; the red sun was going down, and the tree-tops of the vast forests, moved by a gentle wind, seemed like the waves of the wide sea. lek was a lover of the beautiful expressions of nature, of the poetry of the forests, hills, and streams; and he sat down on a rock, under a spreading tree, to see the sunset flame and fade, and the far horizons sink into the shadows and disappear. "i have made a good journey to-day," he said, "and whatever the strange town below me may be, it will be safe for me to spend the night there. i see that it has a church and an inn." lek had travelled much over germany, but he had never before seen a town like the one below him. it wore an air of strange antiquity,--as a town might look that had remained unchanged for many hundred years. an old banner hung out from a quaint steepled building; but it was unlike any of modern times, national or provincial. the fires of sunset died away; clouds, like smoke, rose above them, and a deep shadow overspread the forests. lek gathered up his bundles, and descended the hill towards the town. as he was hurrying onward he met a strange-looking man in a primitive habit,--evidently a villager. lek asked him the name of the place. the stranger looked at him sadly and with surprise, and answered in a dialect that he did not wholly understand; but he guessed at the last words, and rightly. "why do you wish to know?" "i am a traveller," answered lek, "and i must remain there until to-morrow." "to-morrow!" said the man, throwing up his hands. "to-morrow! for _us_," pointing to himself, "there is no to-morrow. i must hurry on." he strode away towards a faded cottage on the outskirts of the town, leaving lek to wonder what his mysterious answer could mean. [illustration: old peasant costume.] lek entered the town. the people were strange to him; every one seemed to be in a hurry. men and women were talking rapidly, like travellers when taking leave of their friends for a long journey. indeed, so earnest were their words that they seemed hardly to notice him at all. he presently met an old woman on a crutch, hurrying along the shadowy street. [illustration: the old city.] "is this the way to the inn?" he asked. the old one hobbled on. he followed her. "is this the way to the inn? i wish to remain there until to-morrow." the cripple turned on her crutch. "to-morrow!" she said. "who are you that talk of to-morrow? all the gold of the mountains could not buy a to-morrow. go back to your own, young man! they may have to-morrows; but my time is short,--i must hurry on." away hobbled the dame; and lek, wondering at her answer, entered what seemed to him the principal street. he came at length to the inn; a faded structure, and antique, like a picture of the times of old. there men were drinking and talking; men in gold lace, and with long purses filled with ancient coin. the landlord was evidently a rich old fellow; he had a girdle of jewels, and was otherwise habited much like a king. he stared at lek; so did his jovial comrades. "can you give a stranger hospitality until to-morrow?" asked the young student, bowing. "until to-morrow! ha, ha, ha!" laughed the innkeeper. "he asks for hospitality until to-morrow!" he added to his six jolly companions. "to-morrow--ha, ha, ha!" echoed one. "ha, ha, ha!" repeated another. "ha, ha, ha!" chorused the others, slapping their hands on their knees. "to-morrow!" then a solemn look came into the landlord's face. "young man," said he, "don't you know, have you not heard? _we_ have no to-morrows; our nights are long, long slumbers; each one is a hundred years." [illustration: old peasant costume.] the six men were talking now, and the landlord turned from lek and joined in the conversation eagerly. the shadows of the long twilight deepened. men and women ran to and fro in the streets. every one seemed in a hurry, as though much must be said and done in a brief time. presently a great bell sounded in a steeple. the hurrying people paused. each one uplifted his or her hands, waved them in a circle, and cried,-- "alas! to-morrow! hurry, good men, all, good women, all, hurry!" what did it mean? "have i gone mad?" asked lek. "am i dreaming?" near the inn was a green, parched and faded. in the centre was a withered tree; under it was a maiden. she was very fair; her dress was of silk and jewels, and on her arms were heavy bracelets of gold. unlike the other people, she did not seem hurried and anxious. she appeared to take little interest in the strangely stimulated activities around her. lek went to her. "pardon a poor student seeking information," he said. "your people all treat me rudely and strangely; they will not listen to me. i am a traveller, and i came here civilly, and only asked for food and lodging until to-morrow." "to-morrow! the word is a terror to most of them; it is no terror to me. i care not for to-morrows,--they are days of disappointments; i had them once,--i am glad they do not come oftener to me. i shall go to sleep at midnight, here where i was deserted. you are a stranger, i see. you belong to the world; every day has its to-morrow. go away, away to your own people, and to your own life of to-morrows. this is no place for you here." again the bell sounded. the hurrying people stopped again in the street, and waved their hands wildly, and cried,-- "haste, haste, good men, all, good women, all. the hour is near. good men, all, good women, all, hurry!" [illustration: old peasant costumes.] it was night now; but the full moon rose over the long line of hills, and behind it appeared a black cloud, from which darted tongues of red flame, followed by mutterings of thunder. the moon ascended the clear sky like a chariot, and the cloud seemed to follow her like an army,--an awful spectacle that riveted lek's gaze and made him apprehensive. "a storm is coming," he said. "i must stay here. tell me, good maiden, where can i find food and shelter?" "have you a true heart?" "i have a true heart. i have always been true to myself; and he who is true to himself is never unfaithful to god or his fellow-men." "then you will be saved when the hour comes. they only go down with us who are untrue. all true hearts have to-morrows." the moon ascended higher, and her light, more resplendent, heightened the effect of the blackness of the rising cloud. the lightnings became more vivid, the thunder more distinct. "you are sure that your heart is true?" said the maiden. "by the cross, it is true." "then i have a duty to do. follow me." she rose and walked towards the hill from which lek had come. lek followed her. as he passed out of the town the bell sounded: it was the hour of eleven. the people stopped in the streets as before, waving their hands, and crying,-- "good men, all, good women, all, hurry! the hour is near. good men, all, good women, all, hurry!" [illustration: city gate.] the maiden ascended the hill to the very rock from which the student had first seen the town, and under which he had rested. "sit you here," she said, "and do not leave the place until the cocks crow for morning. a true heart never perished with the untrue. my duty is done. farewell!" "but the tempest?" said the student. "this is no place of shelter. let me return with you, only until to-morrow." there burst upon the hill a terrific thunder-gust. the maiden was gone, the black cloud swept over the moon, and lek could no longer discern the town in the valley. everything around him grew dark. the air seemed to turn into a thick inky darkness. fearful flashes of lightning and terrific thunder followed. the wind bent the forest before it; but not a drop of rain fell. there was a moment's silence. the bell in the mysterious steeple smote upon the air. it was midnight. another hush, as though nature had ceased to breathe. then a thunder-crash shook the hills, and seemed to cleave open the very earth. lek crossed himself and fell upon his knees. the cloud passed swiftly. the moon came out again, revealing the lovely valley. _the village was gone._ in the morning a cowherd came up the hill at the rising of the sun. "good morrow," said lek. "that was a fearful tempest that we had at midnight." "i never heard such thunder," said the cowherd. "i almost thought that the final day had come. you may well say it was a fearful night, my boy." [illustration: the neckar.] "but what has become of the village that was in the valley yesterday?" asked lek. "there is no village in the valley," said the cowherd. "there never was but one. that was sunk hundreds of years ago; if you saw any village there yesterday it was that: it comes up only once in a hundred years, and then it remains for only a single day. woe betide the traveller that stops there _that_ day. unless he have a true heart, he goes down with the town at midnight. the town was cursed because it waxed rich, and became so wicked that there was found in it but one heart that was true." "tell me about this strange village," said lek, in fear and awe, recalling his adventure. "i never before heard of a thing so mysterious." "it is a sorry story. i will tell it as i have heard it. "the hills of reichmanndorf used to abound with gold, and the people of the old town all became rich; but their riches did not make them happy and contented. it made them untrue. "the more their wealth increased, the more unfaithful they became, until the men met in the market-place daily to defraud each other, and the women's only purpose in life was to display their vanity. "at the inn were nightly carousals. the young men thought only of their gains and dissipations. men were untrue to their families, and lovers to their vows. "the sabbath was not kept. the old priest, van ness, said masses to the empty aisles. "in those evil days lived one frederic wollin. he was a brave man, and his soul was true. "it was the custom of this good man to instruct the people in the market-place. but at last none came to hear him. "one day, near christmas, the council met. wine flowed; rude jests went round. the question was discussed as to how these days of selfish delights might be made perpetual. "a great cry arose:-- "'banish the holy days: then all our to-morrows will be as to-day!' "then wollin arose and faced the people. his appearance was met by a tumult, and his words increased the hatred long felt against him. "'the days of evil have no to-morrows.' he said. 'he that liveth to himself is dead.' "'give him a holy day once in a hundred years!' cried one. "the voice was hailed with cheers. the council voted that all future days should be as that day, except that wollin and the old priest, van ness, should have a holy day once in a hundred years. "christmas came. no bell was rung; no chant was heard. easter brought flowers to the woods, but none to the altar. purple pentecost filled the forest villages with joy; but here no one cared to recall the descent of the celestial fire except the old priest and wollin. "it was such a night as last night when van ness and wollin came out of the church for the last time. the people were drinking at the inn, and dancing upon the green. spring was changing into deep summer; the land was filled with blooms. "a party of young men who had been carousing, on seeing wollin come from the church, set upon him, and compelled him to leave the town. he came up this hill. when he had reached the top, he paused and lifted his face towards heaven, and stretched out his hand. as he did so, a sharp sound rent the valley, and caused the hills to tremble. he looked down. the village had disappeared. only van ness was standing by his side. "but as the villagers had promised wollin a holy day once in a hundred years, so once in a hundred years these people are permitted to rise with their village into the light of the sun for a single day. if on that day a stranger visits them whose heart is untrue he disappears with them at midnight. such is the story. you will hardly believe it true." the student crossed himself, and went on his journey towards the rhine. "_they_ have one day in a hundred years," he said. "how precious must that one day be to them! if i enter the ways of evil, and my heart becomes untrue, shall _i_ have _one_ day in one hundred years when life is ended and my account to heaven is rendered?" he thought. he read the holy books. he tried to find a single hope for an untrue soul; but he could discover none. then he said,-- "the days of evil have no to-morrows,--no, not once in a hundred years. only good deeds have to-morrows. i will be true: so shall to-morrows open and close like golden doors until time is lost in the eternal." and his heart remained true. chapter xiv. the songs of the rhine. the watchman's song.--the wild hunt of lÜtzow.--the author of the erl king.--beethoven's boyhood.--the organ-tempest of lucerne. rhineland is the land of song. it is the wings of song that have given it its fame. every town on the rhine has its own songs; every mountain, hill, and river. america has few local songs,--few songs of the people. the singers who give voices to rivers, lakes, mountains, and valleys have not yet appeared. the local poets and singers of america are yet to come. in england, germany, and some of the provinces of france, every temple, stream, and grove has had its sweet singer. go to basle, and you may hear the clubs singing the heroic songs of alsace and lorraine. go to heidelberg, and you may listen to student-songs through which breathe the national spirit of hundreds of years. the bands tell the story, legend, or romance of such towns at night, wherever they may play. in one of the public grounds to which the class went for an evening rest, one of the bands was playing the _fremersberg_. it related an old romance of the region of baden-baden: how that a nobleman was once wandering with his dogs in the mountains, and was overtaken by a storm; how he was about to perish when he heard the distant sounds of a monastery bell; how, following the direction of the sound, he heard a chant of priests; and how, at last, he was saved. the piece was full of melody. the wind, the rain, the horns, the bells, the chant, while they told a story, were all delightfully melodious. the ballad is almost banished from the intellectual american concert-rooms. in germany a ballad is a gem, and is so valued. it is the best expression of national life and feeling. the class went to hear one of germany's greatest singers. she sang an heroic selection, and was recalled. her first words on the recall hushed the audience: it was a ballad of the four stages of life. it began with an incident of a child dreaming under a rosebush:-- "sweetly it sleeps and on dream wings flies to play with the angels in paradise, and the years glide by." as an english translation gives it. in the last stanza, the child having passed through the stages of life, was represented as again sleeping under a rosebush. the withered leaves fall upon his grave. "withered and dead they fall to the ground, and silently cover a new-made mound, and the years glide by." these last lines were rendered so softly, yet distinctly, that they seemed like tremulous sounds in the air. the singer's face hardly appeared to move; every listener was like a statue. the silence was almost painful and impressive. one could but feel this was indeed art, and not a pretentious affectation of it. [illustration: an old german town.] the reign of the organ as the monarch of musical instruments began with charlemagne, and nearly all of the towns on the rhine have historic organs. many of the organ pieces are local compositions and imitative. on the great organs at basle and frieburg the imitation of storms is sometimes produced. none of these storm-pieces, however, equal that which is daily played in summer on the organ of lucerne. this organ tempest more greatly excited the class than any music that they heard during their journeys; and master beal made a record of it in verse, which we give at the close of the chapter. the children of germany learn to read music at the same age that they learn to read books. music is a part of their primary school--kindergarten--education. the poorest children are taught to sing. [illustration: the rhinefels.] the consequence is that the germans are a nation of singers. the organ is a power in the church, the military band at the festival, and the ballad in the concert-room and the home. these ballad-loving people are familiar with the best music. to them music is a language. says mayhew, in his elaborate work on the rhine, in speaking of the free education in music in germany: "to tickle the gustatory nerves with either dainty food or drink costs some money; but to be able to reproduce the harmonious combinations of a beethoven or a weber, or to make the air tremble melodiously with some sweet and simple ballad, or even to recall the sonorous solemnities of some prayerful chorus or fine thanksgiving in an oratorio, is not only to fill the heart and brain with affections too deep for words, but it is to be able to taste as high a pleasure as the soul is capable of knowing, and yet one that may be had positively for nothing." it is to be regretted that so much of the good music of germany is performed in the beer-gardens. the too free use of the glass and the pipe cannot tend to make the nation strong for the future; and one cannot long be charmed with the music and mirth of such places without fearing for the losses that may follow. all trades and occupations have their own songs, even the humblest. take for example the pleasing miller's song, which catches the spirit of his somewhat poetic yet homely calling:-- "to wander is the miller's joy, to wander! what kind of miller must he be, who ne'er hath yearned to wander free? to wander! "from water we have learned it, yes, from water! it knows no rest by night or day, but wanders ever on its way, does water. "we see it by the mill-wheels, too, the mill-wheels! they ne'er repose, nor brook delay, they weary not the livelong day, the mill-wheels. "the stones, too, heavy though they be, the stones, too, round in the giddy circle dance, ee'n fain more quickly would advance, the stones would. "to wander, wander, my delight, to wander! o master, mistress, on my way let me in peace depart to-day, and wander!" wilhelm mÜller. the watchman, too, has his peculiar songs. one of these is very solemn and stately. a favorite translation of it begins:-- "hark ye, neighbors, and hear me tell _eight_ now strikes the loud church bell." an almost literal translation thus reproduces the grand themes which were made to remind the old guardians of the night in their ghostly vigils:-- the watchman's song. hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of eight, good sirs, has struck. eight souls alone from death were kept, when god the earth with deluge swept: unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of nine, good sirs, has struck. nine lepers cleansed returned not;-- be not thy blessings, man, forgot! unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of ten, good sirs, has struck. ten precepts show god's holy will;-- oh, may we prove obedient still! unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour eleven, good sirs, has struck. eleven apostles remained true;-- may we be like that faithful few! unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of twelve, good sirs, has struck. twelve is of time the boundary;-- man, think upon eternity! unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of one, good sirs, has struck. one god alone reigns over all; nought can without his will befall: unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of two, good sirs, has struck. two ways to walk has man been given: teach me the right,--the path to heaven! unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of three, good sirs, has struck. three gods in one, exalted most, the father, son, and holy ghost. unless the lord to guard us deign, man wakes and watches all in vain. lord! through thine all-prevailing might, do thou vouchsafe us a good night! hark, while i sing! our village clock the hour of four, good sirs, has struck. four seasons crown the farmer's care;-- thy heart with equal toil prepare! up, up! awake, nor slumber on! the morn approaches, night is gone! thank god, who by his power and might has watched and kept us through this night! the class devoted an autumn evening to singing the songs of the rhine; the "watch on the rhine," the "loreley," the student-songs, folk-songs, and some of the chorals of luther. the song that proved most inspiring was the "wild chase of lützow." master beal awakened a deep interest in this song before it was sung, by relating its history. "the wild hunt of lÜtzow." all musical ears are familiar with the refrain: "yes, 'tis the hunt of lützow the free and the bold,"--if not with these exact words, with other words of the same meaning. the music of c. m. von weber has carried the "hunt" of lützow over the world. the song and music alike catch the spirit and the movement of a corps of cavalry bent on the destruction of an enemy. one sees the flying horsemen in the poem, and hears them in the music. it was one of the few martial compositions that starts one to one's feet, and stirs one's blood with the memory of heroic achievements. i will give you one of the most vigorous translations. longfellow has adopted it in his "poems of places." it catches the spirit of the original, and very nearly reproduces the original thought. lÜtzow's wild chase. what gleams from yon wood in the bright sunshine? hark! nearer and nearer 'tis sounding; it hurries along, black line upon line, and the shrill-voiced horns in the wild chase join, the soul with dark horror confounding: and if the black troopers' name you'd know, 'tis lützow's wild jäger,--a-hunting they go! [illustration: mayence in the olden time.] from hill to hill, through the dark wood they hie, and warrior to warrior is calling; behind the thick bushes in ambush they lie, the rifle is heard, and the loud war-cry, in rows the frank minions are falling: and if the black troopers' name you'd know, 'tis lützow's wild jäger,--a-hunting they go! where the bright grapes glow, and the rhine rolls wide, he weened they would follow him never; but the pursuit came like the storm in its pride, with sinewy arms they parted the tide, and reached the far shore of the river; and if the dark swimmers' name you'd know, 'tis lützow's wild jäger,--a-hunting they go! how roars in the valley the angry fight; hark! how the keen swords are clashing! high-hearted ritter are fighting the fight, the spark of freedom awakens bright, and in crimson flames it is flashing: and if the dark ritters' name you'd know, 'tis lützow's wild jäger,--a-hunting they go! who gurgle in death, 'mid the groans of the foe, no more the bright sunlight seeing? the writhings of death on their face they show, but no terror the hearts of the freemen know. for the franzmen are routed and fleeing; and if the dark heroes' name you'd know, 'tis lützow's wild jäger,--a-hunting they go! the chase of the german, the chase of the free, in hounding the tyrant we strained it! ye friends, that love us, look up with glee! the night is scattered, the dawn we see, though we with our life-blood have gained it! and from sire to son the tale shall go: 'twas lützow's wild jäger that routed the foe! lützow, the cavalry hero of prussia, in the german war for freedom against the rule of napoleon, was born in . he was a famous hunter, and when europe arose against bonaparte in , he called for volunteers of adventurous spirit for cavalry service: "hunters" of the enemy, who should hang about the french army, and, with the destructive vigilance of birds or beasts of prey, give the enemy no rest on the german side of the rhine. the boldest young men of germany rushed to lützow; noblemen, students, foresters. his corps of cavalry became the terror of the french army. the enemy could never tell where they would be found. among the young volunteers was körner, the young german poet. he was a slender young man; but he had an heroic soul, and the cavalry corps of the fiery lützow seemed to him the place for it. he joined the "wild hunters" in . "germany rises," he said. "the prussian eagle beats her wings; there is hope of freedom. "i know what happiness can fruit for me in life; i know that the star of fortune shines upon me; but a mighty feeling and conviction animates me: no sacrifice can be too great for my country's freedom!" the words glow. he added,-- "i must forth,--i must oppose my breast to the storm. can i celebrate the deeds of others in song, and not dare with them the danger?" körner's battle-songs became firebrands. he consecrated himself to his country in the village church near zobten. he wrote the battle-hymn for the occasion, which was a service for the departing volunteers. "we swore," he said, "the oath of fidelity to our cause. i fell upon my knees and implored god's blessing. the oath was repeated by all, and the officers swore it on their swords. then martin luther's 'a mighty fortress is our god' concluded the ceremony." he wrote a thrilling war-song on the morning of the battle of danneberg, may , . it ended with these words:-- "hark! hear ye the shouts and the thunders before ye? on, brothers, on, to death and to glory! we'll meet in another, a happier sphere!" on may , , major von lützow determined to set out on an expedition towards thuringia, with his young cavalry and with cossacks. körner begged to accompany him. lützow commissioned him as an officer. he was wounded, and left for a time helpless in a wood, on the th of june. in this condition he wrote his famous "farewell to life." "my deep wound burns," &c. körner recovered, but was suddenly killed in an engagement on august th. the "sword song" of körner which von weber's music has made famous, was written a few hours before his death. it was an inspiration to the german cause. "lützow's wild chase" thrilled prussia. like the "watch on the rhine" in the recent war, it was the word that fired the national pride, and nerved men to deeds that crowned the cause with glory. "the rhine! the rhine!" shouted the young german heroes at last, looking down on the river. "is there a battle?" asked the officers, dashing on in the direction of the shout. "no, the enemy has gone over the rhine," was the answer. "the rhine! the rhine!" mr. beal introduced a number of selections from german composers, the loved tone-poets, with interesting stories and anecdotes. we reproduce a part of these musical incidents, as they properly belong to the history of the river of song. taking up a selection from schubert's famous symphony, he spoke feelingly of the author, and then gave some pictures of the lives of beethoven and bach. the author of the erl king. poor schubert! the composer of what operas, symphonies, overtures, choruses, masses, cantatas, sonatas, fantasias, arias! what tenderness was in his soul!--listen to the "last greeting;" what fancy and emotion! listen to the "fisher maiden" and "post horn;" what refinement! listen to the "serenade;" what devotion! hear the "ave maria"! dead at the age of thirty-one; dead after a life of neglect, leaving all these musical riches behind him! franz schubert was born at himmelpfortgrand, in . his father was a musician, but a poor man. franz was placed at the age of eleven among the choir-boys of the court chapel, where he remained five years, absorbed in musical studies, and making himself the master of the leading instruments of the orchestra. to compose music was his life. his restless genius was ever at work; always seeking to produce something new, something better. the old masters, and especially haydn, mozart, and beethoven, were his sources of study and inspiration. music became his world, and all outside of it was strange and unexplored. all of his moods found expression in music: his love, his hopes, his wit, his sadness, and his dreams. he seems to have composed his best works for the pure love of his art, with little thought of money or fame. many of his best works he never heard performed. he left his manuscript scores scattered about his rooms, and so they were found in confusion after his decease. a monument was erected to his memory. on it is the following simple but touching inscription:-- "the art of music buried here a rich possession, but yet far fairer hopes. franz schubert lies here. born on the th of january, , died on the th of november, , thirty-one years old." fame almost failed to overtake him in life; his course was so rapid, and his works were so swiftly produced. it crowned his memory. schubert's magnificent symphony in c is one of the most beautiful works of the kind ever written, and lovers of orchestral music always delight to find it on the programme of an evening concert. it is a charm, an enchantment; it awakens feelings that are only active in the soul under exceptional influences. yet the listener does not know to what he is listening: it is all a mystery; no one can tell what the composer intended to express by this symphony. we know that the theme is a noble one,--but what? that the soul of the writer must have been powerfully moved during its composition,--by what influences? it is an enigma: each listener may guess at the theme, and each will associate it with the subject most in harmony with his own taste. in robert schumann, while looking over a heap of dusty manuscripts at vienna, found this wonderful symphony, until then unknown. he was so much charmed with it that he sent it to mendelssohn at leipzig. it was there produced at the gewandhaus concerts, won the admiration it deserved, and thence found its way to all the orchestras of the world. the youthful composer had been dead nearly twenty years when the discovery was made. one of the best known of the dramatic german ballads is the erl king. the erl king is death. he rides through the night. he comes to a happy home, and carries away a child, galloping back to the mysterious land whence he came. in this ballad a father is represented as riding with a dying child under his cloak. the erl king pursues them. schubert gave the ballad its musical wings. i need not describe the music. it is on your piano. let it tell the story. beethoven's boyhood at bonn. literary men have often produced their best works late in life. longfellow cites some striking illustrations of this truth in _morituri salutamus_:-- "it is too late! ah, nothing is too late till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. cato learned greek at eighty; sophocles wrote his grand oedipus, and simonides bore off the prize of verse from his compeers, when each had numbered more than fourscore years. and theophrastus, at fourscore and ten, had but begun his characters of men. chaucer, at woodstock with the nightingales, at sixty wrote the canterbury tales; goethe at weimar, toiling to the last, completed faust when eighty years were past." such examples of late working are seldom found in musical art. men seem to become musicians because of the inspiration born within them. this impelling force is very early developed. handel, the greatest musical composer of his own or any age, was so devoted to music in childhood that his father forbade his musical studies. at the age of eleven he as greatly delighted and surprised frederick i. of prussia by his inspirational playing; he was in youth appointed to a conspicuous position of organist in halle. haydn surprised his friends by his musical talents at his _fifth_ year. he had a voice of wonderful purity, sweetness, and compass, and was received as a choir-boy at st. stephen's church, vienna. mozart's childhood is a household story. he was able to produce chords on the harpsichord at the age of three, and wrote music with correct harmonies at the age of six. glück had made a musical reputation at the age of eighteen. mendelssohn was a brilliant pianist at six, and gave concerts at nine. verdi was appointed musical director at milan in youth. rossini composed an opera at the age of sixteen, and ceased to compose music at forty. no other art exhibits such remarkable developments of youthful genius; though many eminent poets like pindar, cowley, pope, mrs. hemans, l. e. l., have written well in early youth. music is a flower that blossoms early, and bears early fruit. music may justly be called the art of youth. beethoven was born at bonn on the rhine, . he lived here twenty-two years. his musical character was formed here. beethoven was put at the harpsichord at the age of four years. he was able to play the most difficult music in every key at twelve years; and was appointed one of the court organists when fifteen. the boy received this appointment, which was in the chapel of the elector of cologne, by the influence of count waldstein, who had discovered his genius. here he was the organ prince. the following curious anecdote is told of his skill at the organ:-- "on the last three days of the passion week the lamentations of the prophet jeremiah were always chanted; these consisted of passages of from four to six lines, and they were sung in no particular time. in the middle of each sentence, agreeably to the old choral style, a _rest_ was made upon one note, which rest the player on the piano (for the organ was not used on those three days) had to fill up with a voluntary flourish. [illustration: beethoven's home at bonn.] "beethoven told heller, a singer at the chapel who was boasting of his professional cleverness, that he would engage, that very day, to put him out, at such a place, without his being aware of it, so that he should not be able to proceed. he accepted the wager; and beethoven, when he came to a passage that suited his purpose, led the singer, by an adroit modulation, out of the prevailing mode into one having no affinity with it, still, however, adhering to the tonic of the former key; so that the singer, unable to find his way in this strange region was brought to a dead stand. "exasperated by the laughter of those around him, heller complained to the elector, who (to use beethoven's expression) 'gave him a most gracious reprimand, and bade him not play any more such clever tricks.'" at bonn young beethoven devoted himself almost wholly to the organ. the memories of the rhine filled his life, which ended so sadly on the danube. bonn and beethoven are as one name to the english or american tourist. the father of organ music. bach, the greatest organist and composer of organ music of the last century, was born at eisenach, , and had truly a remarkable history. his art was born in him. he wrote because he must write, and sung because he must sing. his father was a court musician, and had a twin brother who occupied the same situation, and so much resembled him that their wives could not tell them apart. these twin brothers produced music nearly alike; their dispositions were identical; when one was ill, the other was so likewise, and both died at the same time. john sebastian bach was the brightest ornament of this music-loving family. his parents died in his boyhood, and his musical education was undertaken by his eldest brother, a distinguished organist. he fed on music as food. an incident will show his spirit. he was eager to play more difficult music than his brother assigned. he noticed that his brother had a book of especially difficult pieces; and he begged to be allowed to use it, but was denied. this book was kept locked in a cupboard, which had an opening just wide enough to admit the boy's thin hand. he was able to reach it, and, by rolling it in a certain way, to bring it out and replace it without unlocking the door. he began to copy it by moonlight, as no candle was allowed him in the evening, and in six months had reproduced in this manner the whole of the music. about this time his brother died, and the friendless lad engaged himself as a choir-singer, which gave him a temporary support. organ-music became a passion with him. he determined, at whatever sacrifice, to make himself the master of the instrument. he might go hungry, lose the delights of society; but the first organist in germany he would be: nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of this purpose in life. he studied all masters. he made a long journey on foot to lubeck to hear a great german master play the organ; and when he heard him, he remained three months an unknown and secret auditor in the church. a youth in which a single aim governs life early arrives at the harvest. young manhood found bach court organist in that athens of germany, weimar. his fame grew until it reached the ears of frederick the great. "old bach has come," joyfully said the king to his musicians, on learning that the great organist arrived in town. he became blind in his last years, as did handel. ten days before his death his sight was suddenly restored, and he rejoiced at seeing the sunshine and the green earth again. a few hours after this strange occurrence, he was seized with an apoplectic fit. he died at the age of sixty-eight. his organ-playing was held to be one of the marvels of germany. he made the organ as it were a part of his own soul; it expressed his thoughts like an interpreter, and swayed other hearts with the emotions of his own. his oratorios and cantatas were numbered by the hundred, many of which were produced only on a single occasion. his most enduring work is the passion music. in a bach society was formed in london, and a revival of the works of the master followed. bach wrote five passions, but only one for two choirs. to the general audience much of the passion music, as arranged for english choral societies, seems too difficult for appreciation; but the over-choir at the beginning, the expression of suffering and darkness, and the so-called earthquake choruses, with its sudden and stupendous effects, impress even the uneducated ear. the beauty and power of the oratorio as a work of art are felt in proportion to one's musical training; but as a sublime tone-sermon, all may feel its force, and dream that the awful tragedy it represents is passing before them. [illustration: a city of the rhine.] the organ-tempest of lucerne. we came to fair lucerne at even,-- how beauteous was the scene! the snowy alps like walls of heaven rose o'er the alps of green; the damask sky a roseate light flashed on the lake, and low above mt. pilate's shadowy height night bent her silver bow. we turnèd towards the faded fane, how many centuries old! and entered as the organ's strain along the arches rolled; such as when guardian spirits bear a soul to realms of light, and melts in the immortal air the anthem of their flight; then followed strains so sweet, so sadly sweet and low, that they seemed like memory's music, and the chords of long ago. a light wind seemed to rise; a deep gust followed soon, as when a dark cloud flies across the sun, at noon. it filled the aisles,--each drew his garments round his form; we could not feel the wind that blew, we could only hear the storm. then we cast a curious eye towards the window's lights, and saw the lake serenely lie beneath the crystal heights. fair rose the alps of white above the alps of green, the slopes lay bright in the sun of night, and the peaks in the sun unseen. a deep sound shook the air, as when the tempest breaks upon the peaks, while sunshine fair is dreaming in the lakes. the birds shrieked on their wing; when rose a wind so drear, its troubled spirit seemed to bring the shades of darkness near. we looked towards the windows old, calm was the eve of june, on the summits shone the twilight's gold, and on pilate shone the moon. a sharp note's lightning flash upturned the startled face; when a mighty thunder-crash with horror filled the place! from arch to arch the peal was echoed loud and long; then o'er the pathway seemed to steal another seraph's song; and 'mid the thunder's crash and the song's enraptured flow, we still could hear, with charmèd ear, the organ playing low. [illustration: the river of song.] as passed the thunder-peal, came raindrops, falling near, a rain one could not feel, a rain that smote the ear. and we turned to look again towards the mountain wall, when a deep tone shook the fane, like the avalanche's fall. loud piped the wind, fast poured the rain, the very earth seemed riven, and wildly flashed, and yet again, the smiting fires of heaven. and cheeks that wore the light of smiles when slowly rose the gale, like pulseless statues lined the aisles and, as forms of marble, pale. the organ's undertones still sounded sweet and low, and the calm of a more than mortal trust with the rhythms seemed to flow. the master's mirrored face was lifted from the keys, as if more holy was the place as he touched the notes of peace. then the sympathetic reeds his chastened spirit caught, as the senses met the needs and the touch of human thought. the organ whispered sweet, the organ whispered low, "fear not, god's love is with thee, though tempests round thee blow!" and the soul's grand power 'twas ours to trace, and its deathless hopes discern, as we gazed that night on the living face of the organ of lucerne. then from the church it passed, that strange and ghostly storm, and a parting beam the twilight cast through the windows, bright and warm. the music grew more clear, our gladdened pulses swaying, when alpine horns we seemed to hear on all the hillsides playing. we left the church--how fair stole on the eve of june! cool righi in the dusky air, the low-descending moon! no breath the lake cerulean stirred, no cloud could eye discern; the alps were silent,--we had heard the organ of lucerne. soon passed the night,--the high peaks shone a wall of glass and fire, and morning, from her summer zone, illumined tower and spire; i walked beside the lake again, along the alpine meadows, then sought the old melodious fane beneath the righi's shadows. the organ, spanned by arches quaint, rose silent, cold, and bare, like the pulseless tomb of a vanished saint:-- the master was not there! but the soul's grand power 'twas mine to trace and its deathless hopes discern, as i gazed that morn on the still, dead face of the organ of lucerne. chapter xv. copenhagen. copenhagen.--the story of ancient denmark.--the royal family.--story of a king who was out into a bag. on the denmark night mr. beal gave a short introductory talk on copenhagen, and several of the boys related stories by hans christian andersen. master lewis gave some account of the early history of denmark and of the present royal family; and herman reed related an odd story of one of the early kings of denmark. * * * * * "copenhagen, or the merchants' haven, the capital of the island kingdom of denmark, rises out of the coast of zealand, and breaks the loneliness and monotony of a long coast line. it was a beautiful vision as we approached it in the summer evening hours of the high latitude,--evening only to us, for the sun was still high above the horizon. the spire of the church of our saviour--three hundred feet high--appeared to stand against the sky. palaces seemed to lift themselves above the sea as we steamed slowly towards the great historic city of the north. "the entrance to the harbor is narrow but deep. the harbor itself is full of ships; copenhagen is the station of the danish navy. "we passed very slowly through the water streets among the ships of the harbor,--for water streets they seemed,--and after a tedious landing, were driven through the crooked streets of a strange old town to a quiet hotel where some english friends we had met on the continent were stopping. "the city is little larger than providence, rhode island. its public buildings are superb. it is an intellectual city, and its libraries are the finest of europe. [illustration: the palace of rosenborg.] "it is divided into two parts, the old town and the new. in the new part are broad streets and fine squares. "we visited the rosenborg palace, the old residence of the danish kings;--it is only a show palace now. in the church we saw thorwaldsen's statues of the twelve apostles, regarded as the finest of his works. [illustration: view of copenhagen.] the story of ancient denmark. it is a strange, wild romance, the early history of the nations of the north. the greeks and romans knew but little about the scandinavians. they knew that there was a people in the regions from which came the north winds. the north wind was very cold. was there a region beyond the north wind? if so, how lovely it must be, where the cold winds never blow. they fancied that there was such a region. they called the inhabitants hyperboreans, or the people beyond the north wind. they imagined also that in this region of eternal summer men did not die. if one of the hyperboreans became tired of earth, he had to kill himself by leaping from a cliff. the northmen, or the inhabitants of denmark, norway, and sweden, were of the same origin as the tribes that peopled germany, and that came from the east, probably from the borders of the black sea. they were fire-worshippers, and their chief god was odin. denmark means _a land of dark woods_. in ancient times it was probably covered with sombre firs. one of its early kings was dan the famous. his descendants were called danes. many ages after the reign of this king, the land was filled with peace and plenty. it was the golden age of the north. frode the peaceful was king in the golden age. he ruled over all lands from russia to the rhine, and over two hundred and twenty kingdoms of two hundred and twenty subjugated kings. there was no wrong, nor want, nor thieves, nor beggars in the golden age. this happy period of northern history was at that age of the world when christ was born. according to the scalds, the god odin used to appear to men. he appeared the last time at the battle of bravalla, a contest in which the frisians, wends, finns, lapps, danes, saxons, jutes, goths, and swedes all were engaged. the dead were so thick on the field, after this battle, that their bodies reached to the axle-wheels of the chariots of the victors. at the time of this battle christianity was being proclaimed in england. it was approaching the north. with the battle of bravalla the mythic age of denmark and the north comes to an end. i have told you something of louis le debonnaire, who went to die on a rock in the rhine, that the waters might lull him to his eternal repose. he was a missionary king, and he desired nothing so much as the conversion of the world to christ. he was the son of charlemagne. "it is nobler to convert souls than conquer kingdoms" was his declaration of purpose. he sent missionary apostles to the north to convert denmark. his missions at first were failures, but in the end they resulted in giving all the northern crowns to christ's kingdom, that louis loved more than his own. the danes in the middle ages became famous sea-kings. before england, denmark ruled the sea. one stormy day in december gorm the old appeared before paris with seven hundred barks. he compelled the french king to sue for peace. the sea-kings conquered england. canute the dane was king of all the regions of the northwest of europe. his kingdom embraced denmark, england, sweden, norway, scotland, and cumberland. such is the second wonderful period of denmark's history. the royal family of denmark. royal people, as well as "self-made men," often undergo remarkable changes of fortune. no one, however high or low, is free from the accidents of this world. all men have surprises, either good or bad, in store for them. few families have experienced a more striking change in position than the present royal house of the little northern kingdom of denmark. twenty years ago, the present king, christian ix., was a rather poor and obscure gentleman, of princely rank, to be sure, residing quietly in copenhagen, and bringing up his fine family of boys and girls in a very domestic and economical fashion. he was only a remote cousin of frederick vii., the reigning monarch, and he seemed little likely to come to the throne. but death somewhat suddenly prepared the way for him, so that when old frederick died, in , christian found himself king. this, however, was but the beginning of the fortunes of this once modest and little-known household. just before christian came to the throne, his eldest daughter, alexandra, a beautiful and an amiable girl, attracted the attention of the prince of wales. the prince became attached to her, and in due time married her. about the same time, christian's second son, george, was chosen king of greece, and was crowned at athens, and is still reigning there. after three years had passed, the second daughter, maria dagmar, who, like her sister alexandra, was a very lovely and attractive girl, was married to the czarowitch alexander of russia, after having been betrothed to his elder brother nicholas, who died. she is now empress of russia. [illustration: palace of fredericksborg.] somewhat later, the eldest son of the danish king married the only daughter of oscar ii., king of sweden and norway, thus forming a new link of national friendship between the three scandinavian nations. it is thus quite possible that in the not distant future no less than four of king christian's children, who were brought up with little more expectation than that of living respectably and wedding into danish noble families, will occupy thrones in europe. it may happen that the two daughters will share two of the greatest of those thrones,--that one will be queen of england; the other is empress of russia,--while the two sons will be respectively king of denmark and king of greece. this great good fortune, in a worldly point of view, which has come to the danish royal family, cannot certainly be attributed solely, or even mainly, to luck or chance. it has been, after all, chiefly its virtues which have won it such a high position in europe. the good breeding and excellent character of the king's children have won for them the prominence they now hold; for the daughters are as womanly and virtuous as they are physically attractive, and the sons are models of manly bearing and irreproachable habits. the story of a king who was put into a bag. "his realm was once a cradle, and now it is a coffin," might be said of the most powerful monarch that ever lived. kings are but human, and they are pitiable objects indeed when they fall from their high estate into the power of their enemies. never did a king present a more humiliating spectacle in his fall than valdemar ii., called the conqueror. under the early reign of this king, the golden age seemed to have returned to denmark. never was a young monarch more prosperous or glorious in so narrow a kingdom. his empire grew. he annexed pomerania. he wrested from the german empire all the territories in their possession north of the elbe and elde, and he finally became the master of northern germany. he was a champion of the church. a papal bull conceded to him the sovereignty of all the people he might convert, and he entered the field against the pagans of esthonia, with an army of , men, and , ships! he baptized the conquered with kingly pomp and pride. his reign was now most splendid. denmark was supreme in scandinavia and northern germany. the pope revered the danish power, and the world feared it. but secret foes are often more dangerous than open enemies. the conquered princes of germany hated him, and planned his downfall. among these was the count-duke of schwerin. he pretended great respect and affection for valdemar. he laid many snares for the king's ruin, but they failed. he was called "black henry" in his own country on account of his dark face and evil nature, and valdemar had been warned against him as a false friend. [illustration: the king in the bag.] but he was warm, obsequious, and fascinating to the king, and the king liked him. in the spring of valdemar invited him to hunt with him in the woods of lyo. "tell the king i am disabled and cannot leave my couch," said the artful count, who now thought of a way to accomplish his long-cherished purpose. he left his couch at once, and sent his spies to shadow the king. the king landed at lyo with only a few attendants. one night the king was sleeping in the woods of lyo in a rude, unguarded tent. his son was by his side. they were awaked from slumber by an assault from unknown foes, and a sense of suffocation. what had happened? the king could not move his arms; his head seemed enveloped in cloth. he could not see; his voice was stifled. he _felt_ himself carried away. black henry had entered the tent with his confidants, and had put the king of the north and his son into two bags, and tied them up, and was now hurrying away with them to the river. black henry laid his two captives in the bottom of a boat like two logs, and hoisted sail; and valdemar, whose kingdom was now only a bag, was blown away towards the german coast. he was thrown into prison, and there lived in darkness and neglect. the pope ordered his release, but it was not heeded. the danes tried to rescue him, but were defeated. he was at last set free on the agreement that he should pay a large ransom. he returned to his kingdom, but found his territory reduced to its old narrow limits. his glory was gone. his empire had been the north; it had also been a bag; and at last it was a coffin. poor old man! his last years were peaceful, and in them he served denmark well. chapter xvi. norway. stockholm.--story of the hero king.--upsala.--norway.--christiania.-- king olaf.--drontheim.--the fisherman of faroe. the narrative of travel and history was continued by mr. beal. * * * * * "strange is the evolution of cities. "we are about to glance at stockholm. let us go back in imagination six hundred years. "there are some rocky islands in the baltic, at the foot of the northern peninsula. sea birds wheel above them in the steel-gray air; they build their nests there. storms sweep over these lonely islands; sunlight bursts upon them, and now and then a viking's ship finds a haven among them, and scares away the birds. "years pass. fishermen build huts on the islands. hunters come there. there come also the sea kings. a mixed, strange people. "they build a village on the holms, or islets. they defend themselves with stockades, and they found on stocks, or beams, their strong houses. the growing town rises from stock holms; hence, stockholm. [illustration: gustavus adolphus.] "the years pass, and the sea birds fly away. there are wings of gables where once were wings of birds. stockholm becomes a fortress, and, as in the case of st. petersburg in recent times, the sea desolation pulses with life and energy, and is transformed into a city. churches, palaces, gardens, arise. battles are fought, and here tread the feet of kings. "the wonder grows. the birds scream far away now. the islands are spanned by bridges. stockholm stands a splendid city, one of the crowns of earth. "the city lies before us. noble structures, villas, steeples, are seen among the green trees. the ships of many flags lie together like a town in the sea. "it is sunset. the tops of the linden-trees are crowned with sunlight, the gothic windows burn. a shadow falls from the gray sky. afar fly the white sea-gulls. the shadow deepens. it is night. we are in stockholm. "every nation has its hero. "you have been told how that poor louis le debonnaire, the son of charlemagne, preferred to win crowns for christ's kingdom rather than for his own. he lost his own kingdom; but the missionaries he sent forth, though at first not successful, were the means of giving christianity to all the nations of the north. the hero king of sweden. there was born in stockholm, in , an heir to the swedish throne, whose influence was destined to be felt throughout the world and to very distant periods of time. the child was named gustavus adolphus. he was educated for the kingdom. at the age of ten he was made to attend the sittings of the diet and the councils of state. in boyhood he was able to discuss state affairs in latin, and in youth he was able to speak nearly all european tongues. he was schooled in the arts of war as well as peace. in early manhood he entered russia at the head of an army, and compelled the czar to sue for peace. after the war the young king gave his whole heart to the development of the industries and institutions of his kingdom. he founded schools, assisted churches, and everywhere multiplied influences for good. never did a monarch devote himself more earnestly to the improvement of his people, or accomplish more in a short time. his influence for good has ever lived in sweden, and is felt strongly to-day. he was an ardent protestant. the catholic powers of the south and the protestant powers of the north had become very hostile, and war between them seemed impending. in this crisis the protestant leaders looked to gustavus adolphus as the champion of their cause. in gustavus called a diet in stockholm, and reported the danger that was threatening the protestant states of germany, and which would involve sweden unless checked. he announced that he had decided to espouse the cause of the german princes, and to enter the field. he took his little daughter in his arms, and commended her to the diet as the heir to the crown. he landed in germany on midsummer's day in . he had an army of fifteen thousand men. it was a small army indeed for so perilous an undertaking. "_cum deo et victricibus armis_ is my motto," he declared, and trusting in this watchword he advanced on his dangerous course. the imperialists, as the foes of the reformed faith were called, were led by wallenstein. they were greatly superior in numbers to the swedes and their allies. at lutzen the great battle of protestantism was fought, nov. , . "i truly believe that the lord has given my enemies into my hands," said gustavus, just before the battle. the morning dawned gray and gloomy. a heavy mist hung over the two armies. the swedish and german army united in singing luther's hymn,-- "ein' feste burg ist unser gott." then gustavus said,-- "let us sing 'christ our salvation.'" [illustration: death of gustavus and his page.] "be not dismayed, thou little flock, although the foe's fierce battle-shock, loud on all sides, assail thee. though o'er thy fall they laugh secure, their triumph cannot long endure; let not thy courage fail thee. "thy cause is god's,--go at his call, and to his hand commit thy all; fear thou no ill impending: his gideon shall arise for thee, god's word and people manfully, in god's own time, defending. "our hope is sure in jesus' might; against themselves the godless fight, themselves, not us, distressing; shame and contempt their lot shall be; god is with us, with him are we: to us belongs his blessing." clad in his overcoat without armor, he mounted his horse and rode along the lines. "the enemy is within your reach," he said to the allies. "swedes," he said to his old army, "if you fight as i expect of you, you shall have your reward; if not, not a bone of your bodies will ever return to sweden." to the germans he said,-- "if you fail me to-day, your religion, your freedom, and your welfare in this world and in the next are lost." he prophesied to the germans,-- "trust in god; believe that with his help you may this day gain a victory which shall profit your latest descendants." he waved his drawn sword over his head and advanced. the swedes and finns responded with cheers and the clash of arms. "jesus, jesus, let us fight this day for thy name," he exclaimed. the whole army was now in motion, the king leading amid the darkness and gloom of the mist. the battle opened with an immediate success for the swedes. but in the moment of victory the king was wounded and fell from his horse. "the king is killed!" the report was like a death-knell to the swedes, but only for a moment. the king's horse with an empty saddle was seen galloping wildly down the road. "lead us again to the attack," the leaders demanded of george of saxe-weimar. the spirit of the dead king seemed to infuse the little army with more than human valor. the men fought as though they were resolved to give their lives to their cause. the memory of the king's words in the morning thrilled them. nothing could stand before such heroism. pappenheim fell. the imperialists were routed. the swedes at night, victorious, possessed the field, but they had lost the bravest of kings, and one of the most unselfish of rulers. "we left stockholm for upsala, the student city. the paddles of the boat brushed along the waters of the mälar; the old city retreated from view, and landscape after landscape of variegated beauty rose before us. "the mälar lake is margined with dark pines, bright meadows and fields, light green linden-trees, gray rocks, and shadowy woods. here and there are red houses among the lindens. "we pass flat-bottomed boats, that dance about in the current made by the steamer. "the hills of upsala come into view. the university next appears, like a palace; then a palace indeed, red like the houses; then the gabled town. "we went to the church, and were conducted into a vaulted chamber where were crowns and sceptres taken from the coffins of dead kings. we wandered along the aisle after leaving the treasure-room of the dead, and gazed on cold tombs and dusty frescos. "here sleeps gustavus vasa. "in the centre aisle, under a flat stone, lies the great botanist, linnæus. "we visited the garden of linnæus, or the place where it once bore the blossoms and fruits of the world. nettles were there; the orangeries were gone; the winter garden had disappeared. the place wore a desolate look; the master had departed, leaving little there but the ghost of a great memory. "we left stockholm for norway. [illustration: cascade in norway.] "we were landed from the steamer at christiansand. this sea-port is a rude town, and except from the wild, strange expression of both land and sea, which affects one gloomily, yet with a kind of poetic sadness, revealed little to interest us or to remember. there was a lazaretto, or pest-house, on a high rock, from which we felt sure that no disease would ever be communicated. [illustration: lazaretto.] "the scenery of norway is unlike any other in the world. take the map and scan the western coast. it looks like a piece of lace-work, so numerous are the inlets or fiords. "these fiords are many of them surrounded by headlands as high as mountain walls. they are little havens, with calm water of wondrous beauty and with walls that seem to reach to the sky. on a level spot in the mountainous formation, a hamlet or a little church is sometimes seen, one of the most picturesque objects with its setting in the world." [the artist can give one a better view of these fiords than any description, and he has faithfully done it here.] [illustration: the naero fiord.] "the mountains and valleys of norway are unlike any other. summer finds them as winter leaves them. great hills are worn into cones by the snow and ice. the cataracts are numerous and wonderful. the water scenery has no equal for romantic beauty and wildness. "a twelve hours' farther sail brought us to christiania. it is situated in a lovely valley on the northern side of christiania fiord. it has a population of about eighty thousand. here are the royal palace and university. "all of the cities of the north have great schools and libraries. the university at christiania has nearly a thousand students, and a library of one hundred and fifty thousand books. "the port is covered with ice during some four months in the year. during the mild seasons some two thousand vessels yearly enter the harbor. "olaf, the saint, the king of 'norroway,' who preached the gospel 'with his sword,' is the hero of the western coast. i might relate many wonderful stories of him, but i would advise you to read 'the saga of king olaf,' by longfellow, in the 'wayside inn.' "his capital was drontheim, far up among the northern regions, where the sun shines all night in summer, and where the winters are wild and dreary, cold and long. it is a quaint old town. summer tourists to the western coast of norway sometimes visit it. its cathedral was founded by olaf, and is nearly a thousand years old. * * * * * "and now in ten nights' entertainments, you have taken hasty views of germany and the old kingdom of charlemagne. narratives of travel and history have been mingled with strange traditions and tales of superstition; all have combined to give pictures of the ages that are faded and gone, and that civilization can never wish to recall. men are reaching higher levels in religion, knowledge, science, and the arts. kingcraft is giving way to the governing intelligence of the people, and superstition to the simple doctrines of the sermon on the mount and to the experiences of a spiritual life. the age of castles and fortresses, like churches, is gone. the age of peace and good-will comes with the fuller light of the gospel and intelligence. the pomps of cathedrals will never be renewed. the church is coming to teach that character is everything, and that the soul is the temple of god's spiritual indwelling." the tenth evening was closed by charlie leland. he read an original poem, suggested by an incident related to him by a fisherman at stockholm. [illustration: lake in norway.] the fisherman of faroe. when life was young, my white sail hung o'er ocean's crystal floor; in the fiords alee was the dreaming sea, and the deep sea waves before. the faroe fishermen used to call from the pier's extremest post: "strike out, my boy, from the ocean wall; there's danger near the coast. beware of the drifting dunes in the nights of the watery moons, beware of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blows free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat; strike out for the open sea, strike out for the open sea!" "o pilot! pilot! every rock you know in the ocean wall." "no, no, my boy, i only know where there are no rocks at all, where there are no rocks at all, my boy, and there no ship is lost. strike out, strike out for the open sea; there's danger near the coast. beware, i say, of the dunes in the nights of the watery moons, beware of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blows free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat; strike out for the open sea, strike out for the open sea!" low sunk the trees in the sun-laved seas, and the flash of peaking oars grew faint and dim on the sheeny rim of the harbor-dented shores. and far faroe in the light lay low, where rode like a dauntless host the white-plumed waves o'er the green sea graves of the rock-imperilled coast. and i thought of the drifting dunes in the nights of the watery moons, and i thought of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blew free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat, and i steered for the open sea, i steered for the open sea. to far faroe i sailed away, when bright the summer burned, and i told in the old norse kirk one day the lesson my heart had learned. then the grizzly landvogt said to me: "of strength we may not boast; but ever in life for you and me there's danger near the coast. then think of the drifting dunes in the nights of the watery moons, and think of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blows free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat; strike out for the open sea, strike out for the open sea!" "o landvogt, well thou knowest the ways wherein my feet may fall." "oh, no, my boy, i only know the ways that are safe to all, the ways that are safe to all, my boy, and there no soul is lost. strike out in life for the open sea, there's danger near the coast. then think of the drifting dunes in the nights of the watery moons, and think of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blows free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat; strike out for the open sea, strike out for the open sea! "false lights, false lights, are near the land, the reef the land wave hides, and the ship goes down in sight of the town that safe the deep sea rides. 'tis those who steer the old life near temptation suffer most; the way is plain to life's open main, there's danger near the coast. beware of the drifting dunes in the nights of the watery moons, beware of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blows free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat; strike out for the open sea, strike out for the open sea!" and so on life's sea i sailed away, where free the waters flow, as i sailed from the old home port that day for the islands of far faroe. and when i steer temptation near, the pilot, like a ghost, on the wave-rocked pier i seem to hear: "there's danger near the coast. beware of the drifting dunes in the nights of the watery moons, beware of the maelstrom's tide when the western wind blows free, of the rocks of the skagerrack, of the shoals of the cattegat; strike out for the open sea, strike out for the open sea!" [illustration: the coast.] chapter xvii. the greater rhine. the return homeward.--on the terrace,--quebec. the class made their return voyage by the way of liverpool to quebec, one of the shortest of the ocean ferries, and one of the most delightful in midsummer and early autumn, when the atlantic is usually calm, and the icebergs have melted away. as the steamer was passing down the mersey, and liverpool with her thousands of ships, and birkenhead with its airy cottages, were disappearing from view, mr. beal remarked to the boys,-- "we shall return through the straits, and so shall be probably only four and a half days out of sight of land." "i did not suppose it was possible to cross the atlantic from land to land in four days and a half," said charlie leland. "we shall stop to-morrow at moville, the port of londonderry," said mr. beal. "a few hours after we leave we shall sink the irish coast. make notes of the time you lose sight of the light-houses of ireland, and of the time when you first see labrador, and compare the dates towards the end of the voyage," said mr. beal. past the green hills of ireland the steamer glided along, among ships so numerous that the sea seemed a moving city, or the suburbs of a moving city; for liverpool itself, with her seven miles of wonderful docks, is a city of the sea. the giant's causeway, the sunny port of moville, the rocky islands with their white light-houses, were passed, and at one o'clock on monday morning the last light dropped into the calm sea, fading like a star. the atlantic was perfectly calm--as "calm as a mill-pond" as the expression is, during the tranquillity of the ocean that follows the settled summer weather. the steamer was heavily loaded, and had little apparent motion; bright days and bright nights succeeded each other. a flock of gulls followed the steamer far out to sea. for three days no object of interest was seen on the level ocean except the occasional spouting of a whale. the sky was a glory in the long twilights. the sun when half set made the distant ocean seem like an island of fire, and the light clouds after sunset like hazes drifting away from a paradisic sphere. on thursday morning the shadowy coast of labrador appeared. the voyage seemed now virtually ended after four days from land to land. there were three days more, but the steamer would be in calm water, with land constantly in view. the straits of belle isle, some six miles wide, were as calm as had been the ocean. the gulf of st. lawrence--the fishing field of the world--was like a surface of glass. the sunrise and moonrise were now magnificent; the sunsets brought scenes to view as wonderful as the skies of italy; gigantic mountains rose; clustering sails broke the monotonous expanse of the glassy sea, and now and then appeared an indian canoe such as jacques cartier and the early explorers saw nearly three centuries ago. the wild shores of anticosti rose and sunk. "we are now in the greater rhine," said mr. beal to the boys,--"the rhine of the west." "how is that?" asked charlie leland. "is not the hudson the american rhine?" [illustration: niagara falls.] "it is the new york rhine," said mr. beal, smiling. "the river st. lawrence is, by right of analogy, the american rhine, and so deserves to be called." "which is the larger river?" asked charlie. "the larger?" "yes, the longer?" "it does not seem possible that an american schoolboy could seriously ask such a question! i am sometimes astonished, however, at the ignorance that older people of intelligence show in regard to our river of which all americans should be proud. "ours is the greater rhine. the german rhine is less than a thousand miles long; our rhine is nearly twenty-five hundred miles long: the german rhine can at almost any point be easily spanned with bridges; our rhine defies bridges, except in its narrowest boundaries. the great inland seas of superior, huron, michigan, ontario, and erie require a width of miles for their pathway to the ocean. the rhine falls cannot be compared with niagara, nor the scattered islands of the old river with the lake of a thousand islands of the new. quebec is as beautiful as coblentz, and montreal is in its situation one of the loveliest cities of the world. "the tributaries of the old rhine are small; those of the new are almost as large as the old rhine itself,--the gloomy saguenay, and the sparkling ottawa. "think of its lakes! lake ladoga, the largest lake in europe, contains only , square miles. lake superior has , square miles, and michigan , square miles. "you will soon have a view of the mountain scenery of the lower st. lawrence. the pine-covered walls along which trail the clouds of the sky are almost continuous to montreal." "but why," asked charlie leland, "is the german rhine so famous, and ours so little celebrated?" "the german rhine gathers around it the history of two thousand years; ours, two hundred years. what will our rhine be two thousand years from to-day?" he added:-- "i look upon new england as one of the best products of civilization thus far. but there is rising a new new england in the west, a vast empire in the states of the northwest and in canada, to which new england is as a province,--an empire that in one hundred years will lead the thought, the invention, and the statesmanship of the world. every prairie schooner that goes that way is like a sail of the 'mayflower.' "in yonder steerage are a thousand emigrants. the easy-going, purse-proud cabin passengers do not know it; they do not visit them or give much thought to them: but there are the men and women whose children will one day sway the empire that will wear the crown of the world. "the castles are fading from view on the hills of the old rhine; towns and cities are leaping into life on the new. the procession of cities, like a triumphal march, will go on, on, on. the canadian empire will probably one day lock hands with the imperial states of the northwest; mexico, perhaps, will join the confederacy, and western america will doubtless vie with eastern russia in power, in progress, and in the glories of the achievements of the arts and sciences. our rhine has the future: let the old rhine have the past." the class approached quebec at night. the scene was beautiful: like a city glimmering against the sky, the lights of the lower town, of the upper town, and of the castle standing on the heights, shone brightly against the hills; and the firing of guns and the striking of bells were echoed from the opposite hills of the calm and majestic river. the class spent a day at quebec, chiefly on the terrace,--one of the most beautiful promenades in the world. from the terrace the boys saw the making up of the emigrant trains on the opposite side of the river, where the steamer had landed, and saw them disappear along the winding river, going to the great province of ontario, the lone woods of muskoka, and the far shores of the georgian bay. [illustration: a new england in the west.] [illustration: near quebec.] "i wish we might make a zigzag journey on the st. lawrence," said charlie leland. "and collect the old legends, stories, and histories of the indian tribes, and the early explorers and french settlers," added mr. beal. "perhaps some day we may be able to do so. i am in haste to return to the states, but i regret to leave a place so perfectly beautiful as the terrace of quebec. it is delightful to sit here and see the steamers go and come; to watch the bright, happy faces pass, and to recall the fact that the river below is doubtless to be the water-path of the nations that will most greatly influence future times. but our journey is ended: let us go." on the terrace,--quebec. alone, beside these peaceful guns i walk,--the eve is calm and fair; below, the broad st. lawrence runs, above, the castle shines in air, and o'er the breathless sea and land night stretches forth her jewelled hand. amid the crowds that hurry past-- bright faces like a sunlit tide-- some eyes the gifts of friendship cast upon me, as i walk aside, kind, wordless welcomes understood, the spirit's touch of brotherhood. below, the sea; above, the sky, smile each to each, a vision fair; so like faith's zones of light on high, a sphere seraphic seems the air, and loving thoughts there seem to meet, and come and go with golden feet. below me lies the old french town, with narrow rues and churches quaint, and tilèd roofs and gables brown, and signs with names of many a saint. and there in all i see appears the heart of twice an hundred years. beyond, by inky steamers mailed, point levi's painted roofs arise, where emigration long has hailed the empires of the western skies; and lightly wave the red flags there, like roses of the damask air. peace o'er yon garden spreads her palm, where heroes fought in other days; and honor speaks of brave montcalm on wolfe's immortal shaft of praise. what lessons that i used to learn in schoolboy days to me return! fair terrace of the western rhine, i leave thee with unwilling feet, i long shall see thy castle shine as bright as now, in memories sweet; and cheerful thank the kindly eyes that lent to me their sympathies. go, friendly hearts, that met by chance a stranger for a little while; friendship itself is but a glance, and love is but a passing smile. i am a pilgrim,--all i meet are glancing eyes and hurrying feet. farewell; in dreams i see again the northern river of the vine, while crowns the sun with golden grain the hillsides of the greater rhine. and here shall grow as years increase the empires of the rhine of peace. university press: john wilson & son, cambridge. transcriber's note this book contains some archaic spelling, which has been preserved as printed. minor punctuation errors have been repaired. there is some variable spelling, particularly of place names; this has been repaired where there was a definite prevalence of one form over the other, but is otherwise left as printed. page --"castle at" amended to "bell tower of"--"bell tower of heidelberg " there are two references on page to "crofe castle" in dorsetshire, which appear to be an author error for "corfe castle". these have been preserved as printed. character dialogue sometimes transitions into tales, which do not use continuing quote marks. as a result, some closing quotes are omitted, and this has been preserved as printed. the frontispiece illustration and advertising material have been moved to follow the title page. other illustrations have been moved where necessary so that they are not in the middle of a paragraph. the list of illustrations included some captions which were not included with their corresponding image in the main text. these have been added. a pointing hand symbol is indicated with -->. [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: "it's a beautiful old place, helen," sighed ruth.] ruth fielding at briarwood hall or solving the campus mystery by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding at lighthouse point," etc. _illustrated_ new york cupples & leon company publishers books for girls by alice b. emerson ruth fielding series l mo cloth. illustrated. ruth fielding of the red mill or, jasper parloe's secret. ruth fielding at briarwood hall or, solving the campus mystery. ruth fielding at snow lodge or, lost in the backwoods. ruth fielding at lighthouse point or, nita, the girl castaway. ruth fielding at silver ranch or, schoolgirls among the cowboys. cupples & leon co., publishers, new york. copyright, , by cupples & leon company ruth fielding at briarwood hall contents chapter i. the exodus ii. the man with the harp iii. approaching the promised land iv. the rivalry of the upedes and the fussy curls v. the duet vi. the entering wedge vii. the upedes viii. the marble harp ix. the ghostly tribunal x. something more than ghosts xi. the voice of the harp xii. the mystery deepens xiii. beginnings xiv. the sweetbriars xv. the night of harpocrates xvi. the hawk among the chickens xvii. goody two-sticks xviii. the mystery again xix. the triumvirate xx. at triton lake xxi. on the ice xxii. the harpist once more xxiii. the secret xxiv. who is the "tattle-tale?" xxv. getting on ruth fielding at briarwood hall chapter i the exodus the sun was a regular lie-abed on this autumn morning, banked about by soft clouds and draperies of mist; but they glowed pink along the horizon--perhaps blushing for old sol's delinquency. the mist hung tenderly over the river, too--indeed, it masked the entire valley of the lumano--lying thick and dank upon the marshes and the low meadows, but wreathed more lightly about the farmhouses and their outbuildings, and the fodder and haystacks upon the higher ground. but suddenly the sun flung off the bedclothes and leaped right into the sky. that long, low bank of cloud that had been masking him, melted away and the shreds of mist were burned up in a hurry as his warm rays spread abroad, taking the entire valley in their arms. farmhouses, where the kitchen chimney smoke had been rising straightly into the air, immediately put on a new bustle. doors opened and shut. there was the stamping of horses in the stables as they crunched their corn; cows lowed as the milk-pails rattled; sheep baa-a-ed in their folds, and the swine, fearing that some other of the farm stock would get _their_ share of the breakfast, squealed in eager anticipation. on a knoll by the river side stood the rambling buildings belonging to jabez potter, who kept the red mill. the great wheel beside the mill end of the main structure had not yet begun to turn, but there was plenty of bustle about the pleasant house. the sun had scarcely popped up when a very pretty, bright-looking girl ran out upon the porch and gazed earnestly along the road that followed the lumano toward osago lake. she looked out from under a shielding hand, for the sun was in her eyes. around the corner of the house came a tall, dark-faced man whose long jaws were cleanly shaven and deeply lined. his clothing was full of milldust and it seemed to have been ground into his face for so many years that it was now a part of the grain and texture of his skin. he did not smile at the girl as he said: "you ain't looking for them yet; air you, ruth? it's much too early. help your aunt alviry put breakfast on the table. she'll hev it all to do when you're gone." the tone was stern, but the girl seemed to be used to it, for her face did not cloud over, and the smiles rippled about her mouth as she replied: "i'm so full of happiness, uncle jabez, that you mustn't mind if i'm looking for helen and tom ahead of time. it doesn't seem possible that i am actually going with them." "it seems real enough to me," grumbled jabez potter. "i hope you'll get enough out of it to pay us for all the trouble and cost of your going--that i do." but even this seemingly unkind speech did not ruffle the girl's temper. "you wait and see, uncle jabez--you just wait and see," she said, nodding to him. "i'll prove it the best investment you ever made." he didn't smile--jabez potter was not one of the smiling kind; but his face relaxed and his eyes twinkled a little. "i sha'n't look for cent. per cent. interest on my money, niece ruth," he said, and stumped into the house in his heavy boots. ruth fielding, who had come to the red mill only a few months before, having lost all other relatives but her great-uncle, who owned the mill, ran into the kitchen, too, where a little old woman, with bent back and very bright eyes, was hovering over the stove. the breakfast was ready to be served and this little woman was pottering about, muttering to herself a continual complaining phrase: "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" aunt alvirah boggs (who was everybody's aunt alvirah, but no blood relation to either ruth or her uncle) was not a morose person, however, despite her rheumatic troubles. she smiled on ruth and patted her hand as the girl sat down beside her at the table. "seems like we'd be lost without our pretty leetle creetur about," said aunt alvirah. "i don't see what the old house will do without her." "i'll be home at thanksgiving--if uncle will let me," said ruth, quickly, and glancing at the old man; "and again at christmas, and at easter. why, the intervals will go like _that_," and she snapped her fingers. "all this junketing up and down the country will cost money, niece ruth," admonished uncle jabez. he was, by nature, a very close and careful man with money--a reputed miser, in fact. and that he did hoard up money, and loved it for itself, must be confessed. when he had lost a cash-box he kept in the mill, containing money and other valuables, it had been a great trouble to uncle jabez. but through a fortuitous train of circumstances ruth fielding had recovered the cash-box for him, with its contents untouched. it was really because he considered himself in her debt for this act, and that he prided himself upon paying his debts, that jabez potter had come to agree that ruth should go away to school. he had not done the thing in a niggardly way, when once he gave his consent. ruth's new trunk was at the cheslow railroad station and in it was an adequate supply of such frocks and necessities as a girl of her age would need in the school to which she was bound. her ticket was bought, too, and in her purse was a crisp ten-dollar note--both purse and money being a special present from uncle jabez. ruth had learned that the miller was by no means as grim as he looked, and she likewise knew that now he was kindly disposed toward her and really was doing a great deal for her. she was determined to never be ungrateful to uncle jabez for satisfying the greatest longing she had ever had--to go to briarwood hall, a boarding school. suddenly a young man put his head in at the kitchen door, grinned, and said: "they're a-comin', miss ruthie. i see 'em up the road." ruth jumped up at once and ran for her coat and hat. "there, child!" cried aunt alvirah, "ye haven't eaten enough breakfast to keep a fly alive. lucky i've got a good basket of lunch put up for ye. it'll be a long journey--by train, boat, and stage coach. you'll be hungry enough before ye git there---- oh, my back and oh, my bones!" she added, as she hobbled to the dresser for the luncheon box. ruth flashed back into the room and cried to the youth on the porch: "is the car really in sight, ben?" "it's almost here, miss." indeed, they could hear the purring of a motor-car coming up the river road. ruth flung her arms about uncle jabez's neck, although he did not rise from the table where he was methodically putting his breakfast away as though nothing unusual was happening. "you've been a dear, good uncle to me," she whispered, "and i love you for it. i'll be careful of the money, and i'll get all the learning i can for the money you pay out--now just you see if i don't!" "i ain't sure that it'll do either of us much good," grumbled uncle jabez, and he did not even follow her to the door as she ran out. but aunt alvirah hobbled after her, and pressed her close before she would let the girl run down the walk. "blessin's on ye, ye pretty creetur," she crooned over ruth. "i'll think of ye ev'ry moment ye air away. this is your home, ruthie; ye ain't got nary 'nother--don't fergit that. and yer old a'nt alviry'll be waitin' for ye here, an' jest longin' for the time when ye come home." ruth kissed her again and again. two excited young voices called to her from the automobile. "come on! come on, ruth. do come away!" she kissed aunt alvirah once more, waved her hand to bashful ben, who was uncle jabez's man-of-all-work, and ran down to the waiting car. in the seat beside the chauffeur was a bright-looking, black-haired boy in a military uniform of blue, who seized her lunch basket and handbag and put them both in a safe place. in the tonneau was a plainly dressed lady and a brilliantly pretty girl perhaps a year older than ruth. this young lady received the girl from the red mill rapturously when she sprang into the tonneau, and hugged her tightly as the car started on. she was ruth's dearest friend, helen cameron. it was her brother tom in front, and the lady was mrs. murchiston, who had been the governess of the cameron twins since their babyhood, and was now to remain in the great house--"outlook"--mr. macy cameron's home, as housekeeper, while his son and daughter were away at school. for tom was bound for seven oaks military academy, and that was only ten miles, or so, this side of lumberton, near which was situated briarwood hall, the boarding school which was the girls' destination. tom had attended cheslow high school for a year; but ruth and helen were about equally advanced in their studies and expected to be both roommates and classmates at the hall. ruth stood up in the car as it rolled up the hill toward cheslow and looked back at the red mill. she fluttered her handkerchief as long as she could see the little figure of aunt alvirah on the porch. uncle jabez came out and strode down the path to the mill. then the car shot around a curve in the road and the scene was blotted out. how much was to happen to her before she saw the red mill again! chapter ii the man who played the harp in the first volume of this series, entitled, "ruth fielding of the red mill; or, jasper parloe's secret," is related how ruth and helen and tom came to be such close friends. the camerons had been with ruth when the lost cash-box belonging to uncle jabez potter was found, and out of which incident ruth's presence in the camerons' automobile on this beautiful september morning, and the fact that she was accompanying helen to school, arose. mr. macy cameron, a wealthy dry-goods merchant, and a widower, had selected the best school for his daughter to attend of which he could learn. briarwood hall, of which the preceptress was mrs. grace tellingham, was a large school (there being more than two hundred scholars in attendance for the coming term), but it remained "select" in the truest sense of the word. it was not an institution particularly for the daughters of wealthy people, nor a school to which disheartened parents could send either unruly girls, or dunces. without mrs. murchiston's recommendation helen cameron could not have gained entrance to briarwood; without the attested examination papers of miss cramp, teacher of the district school, who had prepared ruth for entering cheslow high school before it was supposed that she could go to briarwood, the girl from the red mill would not have been starting on this journey. "my goodness me!" exclaimed helen, when ruth had sat down and cheslow was coming into view before them. "i'm just as excited as i can be. aren't you afraid of meeting mrs. tellingham? she's got an a. b. after her name. and her husband is a doctor of almost everything you can think!" mrs. murchiston smiled, but said with some sternness; "i really hope, helen, that briarwood will quell your too exuberant spirits to a degree. but you need not be afraid of dr. tellingham. he is the mildest old gentleman one ever saw. he is doubtless engaged upon a history of the mound builders of peoria county, illinois; or upon a pamphlet suggested by the finding of a fossilized man in the caves of arizona." "is he a great writer, mrs. murchiston?" asked ruth, wonderingly. "he has written a great many histories--if that constitutes being a great writer," replied the governess, with a quiet smile. "but if it was not for mrs. tellingham i fear that briarwood hall could not exist. however, the doctor is a perfectly harmless person." from this ruth drew the conclusion (for she was a thoughtful girl--thoughtful beyond her years, as well as imaginative) that mrs. grace tellingham was a rather strong-minded lady and that the doctor would prove to be both mild and "hen-pecked." the car sped along the beautifully shaded road leading into cheslow; but there was still ample time for the travelers to catch the train. on the right hand, as they advanced, appeared a gloomy-looking house with huge pillars upholding the portico roof, which was set some distance back from the road. on two posts, one either side of the arched gateway, were set green lanterns. a tall, stoop-shouldered old gentleman, with a sweeping mustache and hair that touched his coat collar, and a pair of keen, dark eyes, came striding down the walk to the street as the motor-car drew near. "doctor davison!" cried helen and ruth together. the chauffeur slowed down and stopped as the doctor waved his hand. "i must bid you girls good-bye here," he said, coming to the automobile to shake hands. "i have a call and cannot be at the station. and i expect all of you to do your best in your studies. but look out for your health, too. take plenty of gym work, girls. tom, you rascal! i want to hear of you standing just as well in athletics as you do in your books. ah! if mercy was going with you, i'd think the party quite complete." "what do you hear from her, doctor?" questioned ruth, eagerly. "my little goody two-sticks is hopping around pretty lively. she will come home in a few days. too bad she cannot see you before you go. but then--perhaps you'll see her, after all." "what do you mean?" demanded helen, looking sharply at the physician. "you're hiding something. i can see it! you've got something up your sleeve, doctor!" "quite so--my wrist!" declared the physician, and now, having shaken hands all around, he hurried away, looking vastly mysterious. "now, what do you suppose he meant by that?" demanded helen. "i'm suspicious of him. he's always bringing unexpected things about. and poor mercy curtis----" "if she could only go to briarwood with us," sighed ruth. "she would make you and helen hustle in your work, all right," declared tom, looking over the back of his seat. "she's the smartest little thing that i ever saw." "that's what dr. davison says," ruth observed. "if the surgeons have enabled her to walk again, and dispense with the wheel chair, why couldn't she come to briarwood?" "i don't think sam curtis is any too well fixed," said tom, shaking his head. "and mercy's long illness has been a great expense to them. hello! here we are at the station, with plenty of time to spare." mrs. murchiston was not going with them; the trio of young folk were to travel alone, so tom took the tickets, got the trunk checks, and otherwise played escort to the two girls. there were several friends at the station to bid the camerons good-bye; but there was nobody but the stationmaster to say a word to ruth fielding. it was his lame daughter whom they had been discussing with dr. davison--an unfortunate girl who had taken a strong liking for ruth, and for whom the girl from the red mill, with her cheerful spirit and pleasant face, had done a world of good. the train was made up and they got aboard. just below cheslow was the y where this train branched off the main line, and took its way by a single-track, winding branch, through the hills to the shore of lake osago. but the young folks did not have to trouble about their baggage after leaving cheslow, for that was checked through--tom's grip and box to seven oaks, and the girls' over another road, after crossing lake osago, to lumberton, on triton lake. lake osago was a beautiful body of water, some thirty miles long, and wide in proportion; island-dotted and bordered by a rolling country. there were several large towns upon its shores, and, in one place, a great summer camp of an educational society. steamboats plied the lake, and up and down the rivers which either emptied into the osago, or flowed out of it, as far as the dams. the trio of school-bound young folk left the train very demurely and walked down the long wharf to the puffy little steamboat that was to take them the length of the lake to portageton. tom had been adjured by his father to take good care of his sister and ruth, and he felt the burden of this responsibility. helen declared, in a whisper to ruth, that she had never known her twin brother to be so overpoweringly polite and thoughtful. nevertheless, the fact that they were for the very first time traveling alone (at least, the camerons had never traveled alone before) did not spoil their enjoyment of the journey. the trip down the lake on the little side-wheel steamer was very interesting to all three. first the camerons and ruth fielding went about to see if they could find any other girl or boy who appeared to be bound to school like themselves. but tom said he was alone in that intention among the few boys aboard; and there were no girls upon the _lanawaxa_, as the little steamboat was named, save ruth and helen. tom did not neglect the comfort of the girls, but he really could not keep away from the engine-room of the _lanawaxa_. tom was mightily interested in all things mechanical, and in engines especially. so the girls were left to themselves for a while upon the upper deck of the steamboat. they were very comfortable under the awning, and had books, and their luncheon, and a box of candy that tom had bought and given to ruth, and altogether they enjoyed the trip quite as much as anybody. the breeze was quite fresh and there were not many passengers on the forward deck where the girls were seated. but one lady sitting near attracted their attention almost at first. she was such a little, doll-like lady; so very plainly and neatly dressed, yet with a style about her that carried the plain frock she wore, and the little hat, as though they were both of the richest materials. she was dark, had brilliant eyes, and her figure was youthful. yet, when she chanced to raise her veil, ruth noted that her face was marred by innumerable fine wrinkles--just like cracks in the face of a wax doll that had been exposed to frost. "isn't she a cunning little thing?" whispered helen, seeing how much ruth was attracted by the little lady. "she's not a dwarf. there's nothing wrong with her," said ruth. "she's just a lady in miniature; isn't she? why, helen, she's no taller than you are." "she's dainty," repeated her chum. "but she looks odd." below, on the other deck, the music of a little orchestra had been tinkling pleasantly. now a man with the harp, another with a violin, and a third with a huge guitar, came up the companionway and grouped themselves to play upon the upper deck. the three musicians were all foreigners--french or italian. the man who played the harp was a huge, fleshy man, with a red waistcoat and long, black mustache. the waistcoat and mustache were the two most noticeable things about him. he sat on a little campstool while he played. the musicians struck into some rollicking ditty that pleased the ear. the two girls enjoyed the music, and helen searched her purse for a coin to give whichever of the musicians came around for the collection at the end of the concert. there was but one person on the forward deck who did not seem to care for the music. the little lady, whose back was to the orchestra, did not even look around. all the time he was playing the huge man who thrummed the harp seemed to have his eyes fixed upon the little lady. this both ruth and helen noted. he was so big and she was so fairy-like, that the girls could not help becoming interested in the fact that the harpist was so deeply "smitten." "isn't he funny?" whispered helen to ruth. "he's so big and she's so little. and he pays more attention to her than he does to playing the tune." just then the orchestra of three pieces finished its third tune. that was all it ever jingled forth before making a collection. the man who played the guitar slipped the broad strap over his shoulders and stood up as though to pass his cap. but instantly the huge harpist arose and muttered something to him in a guttural tone. the other sat down and the big man seized the cap and began to move about the deck to make such collection as the audience was disposed to give for the music. although he had stared so at the unconscious lady's back, the big man did not go in her direction at first, as the two girls quite expected him to do. he went around to the other side of the deck after taking helen's toll, and so manoeuvred as to come to the end of the lady's bench and suddenly face her. "see him watch her, ruth?" whispered helen again. "i believe he knows her." there was such a sly smile on the fat man's face that he seemed to be having a joke all to himself; yet his eyebrows were drawn down over his nose in a scowl. it was not a pleasant expression that he carried on his countenance to the little lady, before whom he appeared with a suddenness that would have startled almost anybody. he wheeled around the end of the settee on which she sat and hissed some word or phrase in her ear, leaning over to do so. the little woman sprang up with a smothered shriek. the girls heard her chatter something, in which the word "_merci_" was plain. she shrank from the big man; but he was only bowing very low before her, with the cap held out for a contribution, and his grinning face aside. "she is french," whispered helen, excitedly, in ruth's ear. "and he spoke in the same language. how frightened she is!" indeed, the little lady fumbled in her handbag for something which she dropped into the insistent cap of the harpist. then, almost running along the deck, she whisked into the cabin. she had pulled the veil over her face again, but as she passed the girls they felt quite sure that she was sobbing. the big harpist, with the same unpleasant leer upon his face, rolled down the deck in her wake, carelessly humming a fragment of the tune he had just been playing. he had collected all the contributions in his big hand--a pitiful little collection of nickels and dimes--and he tossed them into the air and caught them expertly as he joined the other players. then all three went aft to repeat their concert. an hour later the _lanawaxa_ docked at portageton. when our young friends went ashore and walked up the freight-littered wharf, ruth suddenly pulled helen's sleeve. "look there! there--behind the bales of rags going to the paper-mill. do you see them?" whispered ruth. "i declare!" returned her chum. "isn't that mysterious? it's the little foreign lady and the big man who played the harp--and how earnestly they are talking." "you see, she knew him after all," said ruth. "but what a wicked-looking man he is! and she _was_ frightened when he spoke to her." "he looks villainous enough to be a brigand," returned her chum, laughing. "yet, whoever heard of a _fat_ brigand? that would take the romance all out of the profession; wouldn't it?" "and fat villains are not so common; are they?" returned ruth, echoing the laugh. chapter iii approaching the promised land tom had tried to remove the smut of the steamboat engine-room from his face with his handkerchief; but as his sister told him, his martial appearance in the uniform of the seven oaks cadets was rather spoiled by "a smootchy face." there wasn't time then, however, to make any toilet before the train left. they were off on the short run to seven oaks in a very few minutes after leaving the _lanawaxa_. tom was very much excited now. he craned his head out of the car window to catch the first glimpse of the red brick barracks and dome of the gymnasium, which were the two most prominent buildings belonging to the academy. finally the hill on which the school buildings stood flashed into view. they occupied the summit of the knoll, while the seven great oaks, standing in a sort of druidical circle, dotted the smooth, sloping lawn that descended to the railroad cut. "oh, how ugly!" cried helen, who had never seen the place before. "i do hope that briarwood hall will be prettier than _that_, or i shall want to run back home the very first week." her brother smiled in a most superior way. "that's just like a girl," he said. "wanting a school to look pretty! pshaw! i want to see a jolly crowd of fellows, that's what i want. i hope i'll get in with a good crowd. i know gil wentworth, who came here last year, and he says he'll put me in with a nice bunch. that's what i'm looking forward to." the train was slowing down. there was a handsome brick station and a long platform. this was crowded with boys, all in military garb like tom's own. they looked so very trim and handsome that helen and ruth were quite excited. there were boys ranging from little fellows of ten, in knickerbockers, to big chaps whose mustaches were sprouting on their upper lips. "oh, dear me!" gasped ruth. "see what a crowd we have got to go through. all those boys!" "that's all right," tom said, gruffly. "i'll see you to the stage. there it stands yonder--and a jolly old scarecrow of a carriage it is, too!" he was evidently feeling somewhat flurried himself. he was going to meet more than half the great school informally right there at the station. they had gathered to meet and greet "freshmen." but the car in which our friends rode stopped well along the platform and very near the spot where the old, brown, battered, and dust-covered stage coach, drawn by two great, bony horses, stood in the fall sunshine. most of the academy boys were at the other end of the platform. gil wentworth, tom's friend, had given young cameron several pointers as to his attitude on arrival at the seven oaks station. he had been advised to wear the school uniform (he had passed the entrance examinations two months before) so as to be less noticeable in the crowd. very soon a slow and dirge-like chant arose from the cadets gathered on the station platform. from the rear cars of the train had stepped several boys in citizen's garb, some with parents or guardians and some alone, and all burdened with more or less baggage and a doubtful air that proclaimed them immediately "new boys." the hymn of greeting rose in mournful cadence: "freshie! freshie! how-de-do! we're all waiting here for you. hold your head up! square each shoulder! thrust your chest out! _do_ look bolder! mamma's precious--papa's man-- keep the tears back if you can. sob! sob! sob! it's an awful job-- freshie's leaving home and mo-o-ther!" the mournful wailing of that last word cannot be expressed by mere type. there were other verses, too, and as the new boys filed off into the path leading up to the academy with their bags and other encumbrances, the uniformed boys, _en masse_, got into step behind them and tramped up the hill, singing this dreadful dirge. the unfortunate new arrivals had to listen to the chant all the way up the hill. if they ran to get away from the crowd, it only made them look the more ridiculous; the only sensible way was to endure it with a grin. tom grinned widely himself, for he had certainly been overlooked. or, he thought so until he had placed the two girls safely in the big omnibus, had kissed helen good-bye, and shaken hands with ruth. but the girls, looking out of the open door of the coach, saw him descend from the step into the midst of a group of solemn-faced boys who had only held back out of politeness to the girls whom tom escorted. helen and ruth, stifling their amusement, heard and saw poor tom put through a much more severe examination than the other boys, for the very reason that he had come dressed in his uniform. he was forced to endure a searching inquiry regarding his upbringing and private affairs, right within the delighted hearing of the wickedly giggling girls. and then a tall fellow started to put him through the manual of arms. poor tom was all at sea in that, and the youth, with gravity, declared that he was insulting the uniform by his ignorance and caused him to remove his coat and turn it inside out; and so helen and ruth saw him marched away with his stern escort, in a most ridiculous red flannel garment (the lining of the coat) which made him conspicuous from every barrack window and, indeed, from every part of the academy hill. "oh, dear me!" sighed helen, wiping her eyes and almost sobbing after her laughter. "and tommy thought he would escape any form of hazing! he wasn't so cute as he thought he was." but ruth suddenly became serious. "suppose we are greeted in any such way at briarwood?" she exclaimed. "i believe some girls are horrid. they have hazing in some girls' schools, i've read. of course, it won't hurt us, helen----" "it'll be just fun, i think!" cried the enthusiastic helen and then she stopped with an explosive "oh!" there was being helped into the coach by the roughly dressed and bewhiskered driver, the little, doll-like, foreign woman whom they thought had been left behind at portageton. "there ye air, ma'mzell!" this old fellow said. "an' here's yer bag--an' yer umbrella--an' yer parcel. all there, be ye? wal, wal, wal! so i got two more gals fer briarwood; hev i?" he was a jovial, rough old fellow, with a wind-blown face and beard and hair enough to make his head look to be as big as a bushel basket. he was dressed in a long, faded "duster" over his other nondescript garments, and his battered hat was after the shape of those worn by grand army men. he limped, too, and was slow in his movements and deliberate in his speech. "i s'pose ye _be_ goin' ter briarwood, gals?" he added, curiously. "yes," replied ruth. "where's yer baggage?" he asked. "we only have our bags. our trunks have gone by the way of lumberton," explained ruth. "ah! well! all right!" grunted the driver, and started to shut the door. then he glanced from ruth and helen to the little foreign lady. "i leave ye in good hands," he said, with a hoarse chuckle. "this here lady is one o' yer teachers, ma'mzell picolet." he pronounced the little lady's name quite as outlandishly as he did "mademoiselle." it sounded like "pickle-yet" on his tongue. "that will do, m'sieur dolliver," said the little lady, rather tartly. "i may venture to introduce myself--is it not?" she did not raise her veil. she spoke english with scarcely any accent. occasionally she arranged her phrases in an oddly foreign way; but her pronunciation could not be criticised. old dolliver, the stage driver, grinned broadly as he closed the door. "ye allus make me feel like a frenchman myself, when ye say 'moosher,' ma'mzell," he chuckled. "you are going to briarwood hall, then, my young ladies?" said miss picolet. "yes, ma'am," said ruth, shyly. "i shall be your teacher in the french language--perhaps in deportment and the graces of life," the little lady said, pleasantly. "you will both enter into advanced classes, i hope?" helen, after all, was more shy than ruth with strangers. when she became acquainted she gained confidence rapidly. but now ruth answered again for both: "i was ready to enter the cheslow high school; helen is as far advanced as i am in all studies, miss picolet." "good!" returned the teacher. "we shall get on famously with such bright girls," and she nodded several times. but she was not really companionable. she never raised her veil. and she only talked with the girls by fits and starts. there were long spaces of time when she sat huddled in the corner of her seat, with her face turned from them, and never said a word. but the nearer the rumbling old stagecoach approached the promised land of briarwood hall the more excited ruth and helen became. they gazed out of the open windows of the coach doors and thought the country through which they traveled ever so pretty. occasionally old dolliver would lean out from his seat, twist himself around in a most impossible attitude so as to see into the coach, and bawl out to the two girls some announcement of the historical or other interest of the localities they passed. suddenly, as they surmounted a long ridge and came out upon the more open summit, they espied a bridle path making down the slope, through an open grove and across uncultivated fields beyond--a vast blueberry pasture. up this path a girl was coming. she swung her hat by its strings in her hand and commenced to run up the hill when she spied the coach. she was a thin, wiry, long-limbed girl. she swung her hat excitedly and although the girls in the coach could not hear her, they knew that she shouted to old dolliver. he pulled up, braking the lumbering wheels grumblingly. the newcomer's sharp, freckled face grew plainer to the interested gaze of ruth and helen as she came out of the shadow of the trees into the sunlight of the dusty highway. "got any infants, dolliver?" the girl asked, breathlessly. "two on 'em, miss cox," replied the stage driver. "then i'm in time. of course, nobody's met 'em?" "hist! ma'mzell's in there," whispered dolliver, hoarsely. "oh! she!" exclaimed miss cox, with plain scorn of the french teacher. "that's all right, dolliver. i'll get in. ten cents, mind you, from here to briarwood. that's enough." "all right, miss cox. ye allus was a sharp one," chuckled dolliver, as the sharp-faced girl jerked open the nearest door of the coach and stared in, blinking, out of the sunlight. chapter iv the rivalry of the upedes and the fussy curls the passengers in the seven oaks and lumberton stage sat facing one another on the two broad seats. mademoiselle picolet had established herself in one corner of the forward seat, riding with her back to the driver. ruth and helen were side by side upon the other seat, and this newcomer slid quickly in beside them and smiled a very broad and friendly smile at the two chums. "when you've been a little while at briarwood hall," she said, in her quick, pert way, "you'll learn that that's the only way to do with old dolliver. make your bargain before you get into the ark--that's what we call this stage--or he surely will overcharge you. oh! how-do, miss picolet!" she spoke to the french teacher so carelessly--indeed, in so scornful a tone--that ruth was startled. miss picolet bowed gravely and said something in return in her own language which made miss cox flush, and her eyes sparkle. it was doubtless of an admonishing nature, but ruth and helen did not understand it. "of course, you are the two girls whom we ex--that is, who were expected to-day?" the girl asked the chums, quickly. "we are going to briarwood hall," said ruth, timidly. "well, i'm glad i happened to be out walking and overtook the stage," their new acquaintance said, with apparent frankness and cordiality. "i'm mary cox. i'm a junior. the school is divided into primary, junior and senior. of course, there are many younger girls than either of you at briarwood, but all newcomers are called infants. probably, however, you two will soon be in the junior grade, if you do not at once enter it." "i am afraid we shall both feel very green and new," ruth said. "you see, neither helen nor i have ever been to a school like this before. my friend is helen cameron and my name is ruth fielding." "ah! you're going to room together. you have a nice room assigned to you, too. it's on my corridor--one of the small rooms. most of us are in quartettes; but yours is a duet room. that's nice, too, when you are already friends." she seemed to have informed herself regarding these particular newcomers, even if she _had_ met them quite by accident. helen, who evidently quite admired mary cox, now ventured to say that she presumed most of the girls were already gathered for the autumn term. "there are a good many on hand. some have been here a week and more. but classes won't begin until saturday, and then the work will only be planned for the real opening of the term on monday. but we're all supposed to arrive in time to attend service sunday morning. mrs. tellingham is very strict about that. those who arrive after that have a demerit to work off at the start." mary cox explained the system under which briarwood was carried on, too, with much good nature; but all the time she never addressed the french teacher, nor did she pay the least attention to her. the cool way in which she conducted the conversation, commenting upon the school system, the teachers, and all other matters discussed, without the least reference to miss picolet, made ruth, at least, feel unhappy. it was so plain that mary cox ignored and slighted the little foreign lady by intention. "i tell you what we will do," said mary cox, finally. "we'll slip out of the stage at the end of cedar walk. it's farther to the dormitories that way, but i fancy there'll be few of the girls there. the stage, you see, goes much nearer to briarwood; but i fancy you girls would just as lief escape the warm greeting we usually give to the arriving infants," and she laughed. ruth and helen, with a vivid remembrance of what they had seen at seven oaks, coincided with this suggestion. it seemed very kind of a junior to put herself out for them, and the chums told her so. "don't bother," said mary cox. "lots of the girls--especially girls of our age, coming to briarwood for the first time--get in with the wrong crowd. you don't want to do that, you know." now, the chums could not help being a little flattered by this statement. mary cox was older than ruth and helen, and the latter were at an age when a year seemed to be a long time indeed. besides, miss cox was an assured junior, and knew all about what was still a closed book to ruth fielding and helen cameron. "i should suppose in a school like briarwood," ruth said, hesitatingly, "that all the girls are pretty nice." "oh! they are, to a degree. oh, yes!" cried mary cox. "briarwood is very select and mrs. tellingham is very careful. you must know _that_, miss cameron," she added, point-blank to helen, "or your father would not have sent _you_ here." helen flushed at this boldly implied compliment. ruth thought to herself again that mary cox must have taken pains to learn all about them before they arrived, and she wondered why the junior had done so. "you see, a duo-room costs some money at briarwood," explained miss cox. "most of us are glad, when we get to be juniors, to get into a quarto--a quartette, you understand. the primary girls are in big dormitories, anyway. of course, we all know who your father is, miss cameron, and there will be plenty of the girls fishing for your friendship. and there's a good deal of rivalry--at the beginning of each year, especially." "rivalry over what?" queried ruth. "why, the clubs," said mary cox. helen became wonderfully interested at once. everything pertaining to the life before her at briarwood was bound to interest helen. and the suggestion of society in the way of clubs and associations appealed to her. "what clubs are there?" she demanded of the junior. "why, there are several associations in the school. the basket ball association is popular; but that's athletic, not social. anybody can belong to that who wishes to play. and we have a good school team which often plays teams from other schools. it's made up mostly of seniors, however." "but the other clubs?" urged helen. "why, the principal clubs of briarwood are the upedes and the fussy curls," said their new friend. "what ridiculous names!" cried helen. "i suppose they _mean_ something, though?" "that's just our way of speaking of them. the upedes are the up and doing club. the fussy curls are the f. c.'s." "the f. c.'s?" questioned ruth. "what do the letters really stand for?" "forward club, i believe. i don't know much about the fussy curls," mary said, with the same tone and air that she used in addressing the little french teacher. "you're a upede!" cried helen, quickly. "yes," said mary cox, nodding, and seemed to have finished with that subject. but helen was interested; she had begun to like this cox girl, and kept to the subject. "what are the upedes and the f. c.'s rivals about?" "both clubs are anxious to get members," mary cox said. "both are putting out considerable effort to gain new members--especially among these who enter briarwood at the beginning of the year." "what are the objects of the rival clubs?" put in ruth, quietly. "i couldn't tell you much about the fussy curls," said mary, carelessly. "not being one of them i couldn't be expected to take much interest in their objects. but _our_ name tells our object at once. 'up and doing'! no slow-coaches about the upedes. we're all alive and wide awake." "i hope we will get in with a lively set of girls," said helen, with a sigh. "it will be your own fault if you don't," said mary cox. oddly enough, she did not show any desire to urge the newcomers to join the upedes. helen was quite piqued by this. but before the discussion could be carried farther, mary put her head out of the window and called to the driver. "stop at the cedar walk, dolliver. we want to get out there. here's your ten cents." meanwhile the little foreign lady had scarcely moved. she had turned her face toward the open window all the time, and being veiled, the girls could not see whether she was asleep, or awake. she made no move to get out at this point, nor did she seem to notice the girls when mary flung open the door on the other side of the coach, and ruth and helen picked up their bags to follow her. the chums saw that the stage had halted where a shady, winding path seemed to lead up a slight rise through a plantation of cedars. but the spot was not lonely. several girls were waiting here for the coach, and they greeted mary cox when she jumped down, vociferously. "well, mary cox! i guess we know what you've been up to," exclaimed one who seemed older than the other girls in waiting. "did you rope any infants, mary?" cried somebody else. "'the fox' never took all that long walk for nothing," declared another. but mary cox paid her respects to the first speaker only, by saying: "if you want to get ahead of the upedes, madge steele, you fussy curls had better set your alarm clocks a little earlier." ruth and helen were climbing out of the old coach now, and the girl named madge steele looked them over sharply. "pledged, are they?" she said to mary cox, in a low tone. "well! i've been riding in the ark with them for the last three miles. do you suppose i have been asleep?" returned miss cox, with a malicious smile. ruth and helen did not distinctly hear this interchange of words between their new friend and madge steele; but ruth saw that the latter was a very well dressed and quiet looking girl--that she was really very pretty and ladylike. ruth liked her appearance much more than she did that of mary cox. but the latter started at once into the cedar plantation, up a serpentine walk, and helen and ruth, perforce, went with her. the other girls stood aside--some of them whispering together and smiling at the newcomers. the chums could not help but feel strange and nervous, and mary cox's friendship seemed of value to them just then. ruth, however, looked back at the tall girl whose appearance had so impressed her. the coach had not started on at once. old dolliver did everything slowly. but ruth fielding saw a hand beckoning at the coach window. it was the hand of miss picolet, the french teacher, and it beckoned madge steele. the latter young lady ran to the coach as it lurched forward on its way. miss picolet's face appeared at the window for an instant, and she seemed to say something of importance to madge steele. ruth saw the pretty girl pull open the stage-coach door again, and hop inside. then the ark lumbered out of view, and ruth turned to follow her chum and mary cox up the winding cedar walk. chapter v "the duet" helen, by this time, having recovered her usual self-possession, was talking "nineteen to the dozen" to their new friend. ruth was not in the least suspicious; but mary cox's countenance was altogether too sharp, her gray eyes were too sly, her manner to the french teacher had been too unkind, for ruth to become greatly enamored of the junior. it did really seem very kind of her, however, to put herself out in this way for two "infants." "how many teachers are there?" helen was asking. "and are they all as little as that miss picolet?" "oh, _she_!" ejaculated mary cox, with scorn. "nobody pays any attention to her. she's not liked, i can tell you." "why, she seemed nice enough to us--only not very friendly," said helen, slowly, for helen was naturally a kind-hearted girl. "she's a poverty-stricken little foreigner. she scarcely ever wears a decent dress. i don't really see why mrs. tellingham has her at the school at all. she has no friends, or relatives, or anybody that knows her----" "oh, yes she has," said helen, laughing. "what do you mean?" inquired mary cox, suspiciously. "we saw somebody on the boat coming over to portageton that knew miss picolet." "oh, helen!" ejaculated ruth, warningly. but it was too late, mary cox wanted to know what helen meant, and the story of the fat man who had played the harp in the boat orchestra, and who had frightened the french teacher, and had afterward talked so earnestly with her on the dock, all came out in explanation. the junior listened with a quiet but unpleasant smile upon her face. "that's just what we've always thought about miss picolet," she said. "her people must be dreadfully common. friends with a ruffian who plays a harp on a steamboat for his living! well!" "perhaps he is no relative or friend of hers," suggested ruth, timidly. "indeed, she seemed to be afraid of him." "he's mixed up in her private affairs, at least," said mary, significantly. "i never could bear miss picolet!" ruth was very sorry that helen had happened upon this unfortunate subject. but her chum failed to see the significance of it, and the girl from the red mill had no opportunity of warning helen. mary cox, too, was most friendly, and it seemed ungrateful to be anything but frank and pleasant with her. not many big girls (so thought both ruth and helen) would have put themselves out to walk up to briarwood hall with two infants and their baggage. through breaks in the cedar grove the girls began to catch glimpses of the brown old buildings of briarwood hall. ivy masked the entire end of one of the buildings, and even ran up the chimneys. it had been cut away from the windows, and they showed brilliantly now with the descending sun shining redly upon them. "it's a beautiful old place, helen," sighed ruth. "i believe you!" agreed her chum, enthusiastically. "it was originally a great manor house. that was the first building where the tower is," said mary cox, as they came out at last upon the more open lawn that gave approach to this side of the collection of buildings, which had been more recently built than the main house. they were built around a rectangular piece of turf called the campus. this, however, the newcomers discovered later, for they came up in the rear of the particular dormitory building in which mary declared their room was situated. "you can go to the office afterwards," she explained, kindly. "you'll want to wash and fix up a little after traveling so far. it always makes one so dirty." "this is a whole lot better than the way poor tom was received at his school; isn't it?" whispered helen, tucking her arm in ruth's as they came to the steps of the building. ruth nodded. but there were so many new things to see that ruth had few words to spare. there were plenty of girls in sight now. it seemed to the girl from the red mill as though there were hundreds of them. short girls, tall girls, thin girls, plump girls--and the very plumpest girl of her age that ruth had ever seen, stood right at the top of the steps. she had a pretty, pink, doll-like face which was perpetually a-smile. whereas some of the girls--especially the older ones--stared rather haughtily at the two infants, this fat girl welcomed them with a broadening smile. "hello, heavy," said mary cox, laughing. "it must be close to supper bell, for you're all ready, i see." "no," said the stout girl. "there's an hour yet. are these the two?" she added, nodding at ruth and helen. "i always get what i go after," ruth heard mary say, as they whisked in at the door. in the hall a quiet, pleasant-faced woman in cap and apron met them. "this is helen cameron and ruth fielding, miss scrimp," said mary. "miss scrimp is matron of our dormitory, girls. i am going up, miss scrimp, and i'll show them to their duet." "very well, miss cox," said the woman, producing two keys, one of which she handed to each of the chums. "be ready for the bell, girls. you can see mrs. tellingham after supper." ruth stopped to thank her, but mary swept helen on with her up the broad stairway. the room the chums were to occupy (mr. cameron had made this arrangement for them) was up this first flight only, but was at the other end of the building, overlooking the campus. it seemed a long walk down the corridor. some of the doors stood open, and more girls looked out at them curiously as they pursued their way. mary was talking in a low voice to helen now, and ruth could not hear what she said. but when they stopped at the end of the corridor, and helen fitted her key into the lock of the door, she said: "we'd be delighted, miss cox. oh, yes! ruth and i will both come." mary went away whistling and they heard her laughing and talking with other girls who had come out into the corridor before the chums were well in their own room. and what a delightful place it seemed to the two girls, when they entered! not so small, either. there were two single beds, two dressing tables, running water in a bowl, two closets and two chairs--all this at one end of the room. at the other end was a good-sized table to work at, chairs, a couch, and two sets of shelves for their books. there were two broad windows with wide seats under them, too. "isn't it just scrumptious?" cried helen, hugging ruth in her delight. "and just think--it's our very own! oh, ruthie! won't we just have good times here?" ruth was quite as delighted, if she was not so volubly enthusiastic as helen. it was a much nicer room, of course, than the girl from the red mill had ever had before. her tiny little chamber at the red mill was nothing like this. the girls removed such marks of travel as they could and freshened their dress as well as possible. their trunks would not arrive at the school until morning, they knew; but they had brought their toilet articles in their bags. these made some display--on helen's dresser, at least. but when their little possessions came they could make the room look more "homey." barely had they arranged their hair when a gentle rap sounded at the door. "perhaps that's miss cox again," said helen. "isn't she nice, ruth?" her friend had no time to reply before opening the door to the visitor. it was not miss cox, but ruth immediately recognized the tall girl whom mary cox had addressed as madge steele. she came in with a frank smile and her hand held out. "i didn't know you were going to come to my corridor," she said, frankly. "which of you is miss fielding, and which is miss cameron?" it made the chums feel really grown up to be called "miss," and they liked this pretty girl at once. ruth explained their identity as she shook hands. helen was quite as warmly greeted. "you will like briarwood," said madge steele. "i know you will. i understand you will enter the junior classes. i have just entered the senior grade this year. there are lots of nice girls on this corridor. i'll be glad to introduce you after supper." "we have not been to the office yet," said ruth. "i believe that is customary?" "oh, you must see the preceptress. she's just as nice as she can be, is mrs. tellingham. you'll see her right after supper?" "i presume so," ruth said. "then, i tell you what," said madge. "i'll wait for you and take you to the forward club afterwards. we have an open meeting this evening. mrs. tellingham will be there--she is a member, you know--so are the other teachers. we try to make all the new girls feel at home." she nodded to them both brightly and went out. ruth turned to her chum with a smile. "isn't that nice of her, helen?" she said. "we are getting on famously---- why, helen! what's the matter?" she cried. helen's countenance was clouded indeed. she shook her head obstinately. "we can't go with her, ruth," she declared. "can't go with her?" "no." "why not, pray?" asked ruth, much puzzled. "we can't go to that forward club," said helen, more emphatically. "why, my dear!" exclaimed ruth. "of course we must. we haven't got to join it. maybe they wouldn't ask us to join it, anyway. you see, it's patronized by the teachers and the preceptress herself. we'll be sure to meet the very nicest girls." "that doesn't follow," said helen, somewhat stubbornly. "anyway, we can't go, ruth." "but i don't understand, dear," said the puzzled ruth. "why, don't you see?" exclaimed helen, with some exasperation. "i told miss cox we'd go with her." "go where?" "to _her_ club. _they_ hold a meeting this evening, too. you know, she said there was rivalry between the two big school clubs. hers is the upedes." "oh! the up and doings," laughed ruth. "i remember." "she said she would wait for us after we get through with mrs. tellingham and introduce us to _her_ friends." "well!" gasped ruth, with a sigh. "we most certainly cannot go to both. what shall we do?" chapter vi the entering wedge since ruth fielding had first met helen cameron--and that was on the very day the former had come to the red mill--the two girls had never had a cross word or really differed much on any subject. ruth was the more yielding of the two, perhaps, and it might be that that was why helen seemed so to expect her to yield now. "of course, ruthie, we can't disappoint miss cox," she said, with finality. "and after she was so kind to us, too." "are you sure she did all that out of simple kindness, helen?" asked the girl from the red mill, slowly. "why! what do you mean?" "aunt alviry says one should never look a gift-horse in the mouth," laughed ruth. "what _do_ you mean?" demanded her chum. "why, helen, doesn't it seem to you that mary cox came out deliberately to meet us, and for the purpose of making us feel under obligation to her?" "for pity's sake, what for?" "so that we would feel just as _you_ do--that we ought if possible to attend the meeting of her society?" "i declare, ruth fielding! how suspicious you have become all of a sudden." ruth still laughed. but she said, too: "that is the way it has struck me, helen. and i wondered if you did not see her attention in the same light, also." "why, she hasn't asked us to join the upedes," said helen. "i know. and neither has miss steele----" "you seem to have taken a great fancy to that madge steele," interrupted helen, sharply. "i think she is nice looking--and she was very polite," said ruth, quietly. "well, i don't care," cried helen. "miss cox has shown us much more kindness. and i promised for us, ruth. i said we'd attend her club this evening." "well," said her chum, slowly. "it _does_ look as though we would have to go with miss cox, then. we'll tell miss steele----" "i believe your head has been turned by that madge steele because she's a senior," declared helen, laughing, yet not at all pleased with her friend. "and the f. c.'s are probably a fussy crowd. all the teachers belonging to the club too. i'd rather belong to the upedes--a real girls' club without any of the teachers to boss it." ruth laughed again; but there was no sting in what she said: "i guess you have made up your mind already that the up and doing club is the one helen cameron wants to join." "and the one ruth fielding must join, too!" declared helen, in her old winning way, slipping her arm through ruth's arm. "we mustn't go separate ways, ruthie." "oh, helen!" cried ruth. "don't talk like that. of course we will not. but let us be careful about our friendships here." "what do you mean?" "i mean," said ruth, smiling, "that we must be careful about joining any crowd of girls until we know just how things are." "well," said helen, dropping her arm and walking to the other end of the room for no reason whatsoever, for she walked back again, in a moment, "i don't see why you are so suspicious of mary cox." "i don't know that i am," laughed ruth. "but we have no means of comparison yet----" a mellow bell began to ring from some other building--probably in the tower of the main building of briarwood hall. "there!" ejaculated helen, in some relief. "that must be to announce supper." "are you ready, helen?" asked ruth. "yes." "then let us go." there was a card on which were printed several simple rules of conduct tacked to the door. the chums had read them. one was that rooms should be left unlocked in the absence of the occupants, and ruth and helen went out into the corridor, leaving their door open. there were other girls in the passage then, all moving toward the stairway. some of them nodded kindly to the infants. others only stared. ruth saw miss steele in advance, and whispered to helen: "come, dear; let us speak to her and tell her we cannot accept her invitation for this evening." but helen held back. "you can tell her if you like," she said, rather sullenly. "but, let us be nice about it," urged ruth. "i'll tell her we overlooked the fact that we were already engaged for the meeting of the up and doing club. i'll explain." helen suddenly seized her chum's arm more tightly. "you _are_ a good little thing, ruthie," she declared. "come on." they hurried after the senior and caught up with her at the foot of the stairs. she was not alone, but ruth touched her arm and asked to speak with her. "what's the matter, infants?" demanded the senior, but smiling at them. helen flushed at the expression, but ruth was too earnest in her intention to smooth over the difficulty to notice so small a thing. "oh, miss steele," she said, "i am sorry to beg off from the kind invitation you gave us. we cannot go with you this evening. it seems that it was already understood with miss cox that we should go with her." "oh!" exclaimed madge steele, a little stiffly, "you are already pledged, then?" "yes, we are pledged to attend the meeting of the up and doing club this evening. it was very kind of miss cox to invite us," said ruth, calmly. "and it was kind of you to invite us to the f. c.'s, too. but we cannot attend both meetings--not in one evening." madge steele was looking at her earnestly and found that ruth neither dropped her gaze nor appeared confused by her scrutiny. helen was the one who seemed confused. "it is not our usage to interfere with those who are pledged to other school clubs," said miss steele, speaking distinctly. "i understand, then, that you are _not_ pledged?" "only to attend this meeting as visitors of miss cox," said ruth, simply. "very well, then," said madge steele, her pleasant face breaking into a smile again, "i shall hope to see you at some future meeting of the forward club. here we are on the campus. it is cool and shady here, even in the hottest weather. we think it is a decidedly pleasant place." she walked beside them, conversing pleasantly. helen recovered her good temper and ventured a remark about the fountain which graced the center of the campus. it was a huge marble figure of a sitting female, in graceful draperies and with a harp, or lyre, on the figure's knee. the clear water bubbled out all around the pedestal, and the statue and bowl were sunk a little below the level of the greensward, like a small italian garden. "what is the figure supposed to represent, miss steele?" asked helen. "you are allowed three guesses--and then you won't know," laughed the senior. "you can see by the stains and moss on it that the fountain has been there a great many years. long before briarwood hall was a school. but it is supposed to represent either _poesy_, or _harmony_. nobody knows--not even mrs. tellingham." the bell stopped tolling with three, sharp, jerky taps. madge steele quickened her pace along the path and the newcomers followed her. other girls were pouring into the building nearest to the main structure of briarwood. a broad stairway led up to assembly rooms; but out of the lower hall opened a large dining room, in which were ten or twelve long tables, and at which the girls were already being seated by some sort of system. "i don't know where you will be seated," said madge steele, hastily. "i am at the second senior table. here comes miss picolet. she will attend to you infants." "oh, it's the little french teacher," said helen. ruth met the little lady with a smile. miss picolet nodded to them both and put out her tiny hand. she really was no taller than helen. "i am glad, young ladies, to see you in such good company. miss steele is well worth cultivating," she said. "come this way. you will be seated in the junior division. it is probable that you will be placed in that grade permanently. mrs. tellingham will see you in her office in the next building immediately after supper." ruth and helen followed the doll-like teacher to their seats. the girl whom mary cox had called "heavy" (and, indeed, it was a most appropriate name) was already seated, and was right at ruth's elbow. "oh, i hope they'll be seated soon," ruth heard this over-plump girl murmur. "this is cup-custard night, and i'm so-o hungry." the tables were laid nicely. there were several waitresses, and besides miss picolet, there were at least four other ladies whom ruth knew must be teachers. the hall was by no means filled. there were not more than a hundred and fifty girls present. the door at the far end opened and a handsome, white-haired, pink-cheeked lady entered. she mounted a slightly raised platform and stood for a moment overlooking the room. "it's mrs. tellingham," whispered the fat girl to ruth, seeing the question in the latter's face. the preceptress was a really handsome lady--perhaps forty-five, perhaps ten years older. her perfectly white hair, thick and well arranged, seemed to have been the result of something besides age. here face was quite free from any age-marks. there was a kind look in her eyes; a humorous expression about her mouth. helen leaned toward ruth and whispered: "i know i shall just love her, ruth--don't you?" "and you won't be alone in that, infant," said the girl on helen's other hand. "now!" mrs. tellingham raised her hand. the school arose and stood quietly while she said grace. another motion of the hand, and they sat down again. the bustle of supper then began, with the girls talking and laughing, the waitresses serving a plain, hot meal, and everybody in apparent good-nature, and happy. ruth could scarcely pay attention to the food, however, she was so much more interested in these who were to be her school-fellows. chapter vii the upedes it was all so new and strange to helen and ruth that neither had considered the possibility of homesickness. indeed, how could they be homesick? there was too much going on at briarwood hall for the newcomers to think much of themselves. the plump girl next to ruth seemed of a friendly disposition, for when she had satisfied the first cravings of her appetite--oh, long before she came to the cup-custard!--she said: "which are you--cameron, or fielding? i'm stone--jennie stone." ruth told her their names and asked in return: "are you on our corridor, too? i know you are rooming in the same building as helen and i." "yes," said the fat girl. "i'm in a quartette with mary cox, lluella fairfax and belle tingley. oh, you'll see plenty of us," said heavy. "and i say! you're going to the upede meeting to-night; aren't you?" "why--yes. do you all belong?" "our quartette? sure," said the plump girl in her off-hand way. "we'll show you some fun. and i say!" "well?" asked ruth. "how often are they going to send you boxes from home?" "boxes from home?" repeated the girl from the red mill. "yes. you know, you can have 'em sent often if you keep up with your classes and don't get too many demerits in deportment. i missed two boxes last half because of black marks. and in french and deportment, too. _that_ was picolet's doing--mean thing!" "i had no idea that one would be allowed to receive goodies," said ruth, who of course expected nothing of the kind from home, but did not wish to say so. "well, you want to write your folks that you can receive 'em right away. a girl who gets things from home can be very popular if she wants to be. ah! here's the custard." ruth had difficulty in keeping from laughing outright. she saw plainly that the nearest way to miss jennie stone's heart lay through her stomach. meanwhile helen had become acquainted with the girl on the other side who had called them "infants." but she was a good-natured girl, too, and now helen introduced her to her chum as miss polk. she was a dark-haired, plain-faced girl and wore eye-glasses. she was a junior and already helen had found she belonged to the f. c.'s. "i guess most of the stiff and starched ones belong to that forward club," whispered helen to her chum. "but the jolly ones are upedes." "we'll wait and see," advised ruth. supper was over then and the girls all rose and strolled out of the room in parties. ruth and helen made their way quietly to the exit and looked for the office of the preceptress. the large building with the tower--the original briarwood hall--was partly given up to recitations and lecture rooms and partly to the uses of the tellinghams and the teachers. besides this great building there were two dormitory buildings, the gymnasium, the library building, and a chapel which had been built only the year before by subscriptions of the graduates of the school and of the parents of the scholars then attending. but it was growing dusk now and the two friends could not see much of the buildings around the campus. mrs. grace tellingham and her husband (the doctor never by any chance came first in anybody's mind!) had started the school some years before in a small way; but it had grown rapidly and was, as we have seen, very popular. many girls were graduated from the institution to the big girls' colleges, for it was, in fact, a preparatory school. the chums went in at the broad door and saw a library at the right hand into which a tidy maid motioned them, with a smile. it was a large room, the walls masked by bookshelves, all filled so tightly that it did seem as though room for another book could not be found. but mrs. tellingham was not there. bending over the table, however, (and it was a large, leather-covered table with a great student lamp in the center, the shade of which threw a soft glow of light in a circle upon it) was a gentleman whose shoulders were very round and who seemed to be so near-sighted that his nose must have been within an inch or so of the book which he read. he was totally unconscious of the girls' presence, and he read in a half whisper to himself, like a child conning a lesson. ruth and helen looked at each other, each thinking the same question. could this be doctor tellingham, the great historian? they glanced again at the hoop-shouldered man and wondered what his countenance was like, for they could not see a feature of it as he read. but ruth _did_ notice one most surprising fact. the stooping gentleman wore a wig. it was a brown, rather curly wig, while the fringe of natural hair all around his head was quite white--of that yellowish-white that proclaims the fact that the hair was once light brown, or sandy in color. the brown wig matched the hair at one time, without doubt; but it now looked as though two gentlemen's heads had been merged in one--the younger gentleman's being the upper half of the present apparition. for several minutes the chums stood timidly in the room and the old gentleman went on whispering to himself, and occasionally nodding his head. but at length he looked up, and in doing this he saw the girls and revealed his own countenance. "ah-ha!" he ejaculated, and stood upright. he was not a small man, but he was very bony. he had a big, long, smoothly-shaven face, on which his beard had sprouted in patches only, and these shaven patches were gray, whereas the rest of his face was smooth and dead-white. indeed he had so much face, and it was so bald, that if the brown wig had chanced to tumble off ruth thought that his appearance would have been actually terrifying. "ah-ha!" he said again, and smiled not unkindly. the thick spectacles he wore hid his eyes, however, and to look into his big face was like looking at the white wall of a house with the windows all shuttered. "you want something!" he said it as though he had made a most profound discovery. indeed, they found afterward that doctor tellingham always spoke as though he were pronouncing a valedictory oration, or something quite as important as that. the doctor never could say anything lightly. his mind was given up entirely to deep subjects, and it seldom strayed from his work. "you want something," he repeated. "stop! never mind explaining. i shouldn't be able to aid you. mrs. tellingham--my wife, my dears--will be here anon." he at once bobbed down his head, revealing nothing to the eyes of the two girls but the brown wig and the hair that didn't match, and went on whispering to himself. helen and ruth exchanged glances and helen had difficulty in keeping from laughing outright. in a moment more mrs. tellingham came into the room. at close view ruth saw that she was even more attractive than she had seemed at a distance. her countenance was firm without being stern--the humor about the mouth relieved its set expression. "my dear! my dear!" ejaculated the doctor, raising his head so that the long, bald expanse of his face came into view again for a moment, "somebody to see you--somebody wants something." mrs. tellingham approached helen first and took her hand. her handclasp was firm, her manner one to put the girl at her ease. "you are mr. macy cameron's daughter?" she questioned. "we are glad to see you here. you have found your room?" "yes, mrs. tellingham," replied helen. the preceptress turned to ruth and shook hands with her. "and you are ruth fielding? do as well this first half as your last teacher tells me you did, and we shall be good friends. now, girls, sit down. let us talk a bit." she had a quick, bright way of speaking; yet her words were not wasted--nor her time. she did not talk idly. nor did the two chums have much to say but "yes" and "no." in the course of her remarks she said: "this is your first experience, i understand, away from home and in a school of this character? yes? ah, then, many things will be new and strange to you, as well as hard to bear at first. among two hundred girls there are bound to be girls of a good many different kinds," and she smiled. "you will find some thoughtless and careless--forgetting what they have been sent to the school for. avoid that class. they will not aid you in your own intention to stand well in the classes. "keep before you the fact that your friends have sent you here for improvement--not to kill time. all girls like fun; i hope you will find plenty of innocent amusement here. i want all my girls happy and content. use the advantages of our gym; join the walking club; we make a point of having one of the best basketball teams in this part of the state. tennis is a splendid exercise for girls, and we have an indoor as well as outdoor courts. yes, do not neglect the good times. but remember, too, that amusement isn't the main issue of life at briarwood hall. let nothing interfere with the study hour. keep the rules--we strive to have as few as possible, so that there may be less temptation to break them," and the preceptress smiled her quick, understanding smile again. "by the way, there are social clubs in the school. to-night--have you been invited to any gathering?" "both the forward club and the up and doings have invited us to attend their meetings," said ruth, quietly. "ah!" "we are going to the up and doings, mrs. tellingham," said helen. "ah!" was again the lady's comment, and they learned nothing from her countenance. nevertheless, ruth thought it better to explain: "we were very kindly received by miss cox, and shown our room by her, and she invited us to her club first of all." "indeed! we shall be glad to have you come to our club, too, before you make up your minds to join any," said mrs. tellingham, with an accent on one word that made both ruth and helen mark it well. the f. c.'s were plainly approved by the preceptress. "there!" she continued, nodding smilingly at the chums. "i am sure we shall get on together. you will become acquainted with both your school-fellows and your instructors in course of time. there are not so many at briarwood hall but that we are still one great family. one thing girls come away from home for, to an institution like this, is to learn self-control and self-government. if you need help do not be afraid to go to your instructors, or come to me. confide in us. but, on the other hand, you must learn to judge for yourself. we do not punish an act of wrong judgment, here at briarwood." and so the preceptress bade them good-evening. "isn't she nice?" whispered ruth, as she and helen made their exit from the room. "ye-es," admitted her chum. "but you can see she is dreadfully 'bossy.'" at that ruth laughed heartily. "you foolish child!" she said, shaking her chum a little. "isn't she here to 'boss'? my goodness! you didn't expect to do just as _you_ pleased here at briarwood; did you?" helen cameron had been used to having her own way a good deal. being naturally a sweet-tempered girl, she was not much spoiled. but mrs. murchiston had been unable to be very strict with the twins when mr. cameron was so indulgent himself. mary cox and "heavy" stone were waiting on the steps for the friends as they came out. there was another group of girls on the path, too, who eyed ruth and helen interestedly as the latter came down the steps with the two juniors. "'the fox' has been in the poultry yard again, and has caught two chickabiddies," laughed one of these idle girls. ruth flushed, but helen did not hear the gibe, being much interested in what mary cox was saying to her. ruth walked beside the good-natured jennie stone. "my, my!" chuckled that damsel, "aren't those fussy curls jealous? they had to take the teachers into their old club so as to be more numerous than the upedes. but i guess mary cox will show 'em! she _is_ a fox, and i guess she always will be!" "is that what they call miss cox?" asked ruth, not a little troubled. "oh, she's foxy, all right," said this rather slangy young lady. "she will beat the fussy curls every time. she's president of the upedes, you know." ruth was still troubled, and she hastened to say: "you know, we haven't been asked to join the club, miss stone. and my chum and i are not sure that we wish to join any of the school clubs at first. we--we want to look around us, you know." "that's all right," said jennie stone, cordially. "you'll be put up for membership when you want to be. but we'll show you some fun. no use getting in with those poky f. c.'s. you'll never have a bit of fun if you train with them." they went back to the building in which they had supped and upstairs to one of the assembly rooms. the stairway and hall were well filled with girls now, and several of them nodded smilingly to ruth and helen; but their escorts did not let the chums stop at all, ushering them at once into the room where the up and doing clan was gathering. mary cox left heavy to introduce the newcomers while she went at once to the rostrum and with two or three of the other girls--who were evidently officers of the club, likewise--held a short executive session in secret. by and by mary rapped on the desk for order, and the girls all took seats. ruth, who was watchful, saw that the company numbered scarcely a score. if these were all the members of the club, she wondered how many of the briarwood girls belonged to the rival association. the meeting, as far as the business went, was conducted briskly and to the point. then it was "thrown open" and everybody--but the visitors--talked just as they pleased. helen and ruth were made to feel at home, and the girls were most lively and good-natured. they heard that the upedes were to have a picnic at a grove upon the shore of lake triton on the saturday week, and that old dolliver and his ramshackle stage, and another vehicle of the same caliber, were engaged for the trip. "but beware of black marks, girls," warned mary cox. "picolet will be watching us; and you know that, this early in the term, two black marks will mean an order to remain on the school premises. that old cat will catch us if she can." "mean little thing!" said heavy, wheezily. "i wish anybody but miss picolet lived in our house." from this ruth judged that most of these up and doings were in the dormitory in which she and helen were billeted. "i don't see what mrs. tellingham keeps picolet for," complained another girl. "for a spy," snapped mary cox. "but we'll get the best of her yet. she isn't fit to be a teacher in this school, anyway." "oh, she's a good french teacher--of course. it's her native tongue," said one of the other girls, who was called belle tingley. "that's all very well," snapped mary. "but there's something secret and underhand about her. she claims to have nobody related to her in this country; but if the truth were known, i guess, she has reason to be ashamed of her family and friends. i've heard something----" she stopped and looked knowingly at ruth and helen. the former flushed as she remembered the man in the red waistcoat who played the harp aboard the steamboat. but helen seemed to have forgotten the incident, for she paid no attention to mary's unfinished suggestion. it worried ruth, however. she heartily wished that her chum had said nothing to the cox girl about the man who played the harp and his connection with the little french teacher. chapter viii the marble harp the social meeting of the up and doing club lasted less than an hour. it was quite evident that it had been mainly held for the introduction of ruth fielding and her chum into the society of the briarwood girls. those gathered in the assembly room did not number any seniors, but were all of the junior grade, and all older than ruth and helen. "primes" were not allowed by mrs. tellingham to join any of the class-governed societies. in spite of the fact that ruth suspected mary cox of deliberately throwing herself in the way of helen and she on their arrival at the school, with the sole object of getting them pledged to this society, the girl from the red mill could not fail to appreciate the good-natured attempts of the upedes to make them both feel at home in their new surroundings. they _must_ be grateful for that. nor were they urged at this time to join the club. at least, nobody said more to ruth about joining than had the stout girl, jennie stone, on their way to this meeting. the party broke up in such good season, that it was scarcely dark when the chums left the room in the dining hall and strolled back to their dormitory with their new friends. the lamps around the campus were being lighted by a little old irishman, who wore a wreath of short, gray whiskers and hair about his face--a regular frame. his long upper lip and his chin were shaven, and this arrangement gave him a most comical appearance. "you're late again to-night, tony," jennie stone remarked, as she and ruth came down the steps of the dining hall together. the little irishman backed down the short flight of steps he carried, with a groan. he had just lighted the final lamp of the series that surrounded the campus. "and well i might be--well i might be," grumbled the man. "'tis me needs fower pair of hands, instead of wan pair, and as many legs as a cinterpig." tony evidently meant _centipede_. "'tis 'tony, here!' and 'tony, there!' iv'ry blissid minute av th' day. an' 'tis movin' trunks an' boxes, and the like--mis' grace should hire a nelephant at this time of the year, an' so i tell her. an' what with these here foreigners too--bad 'cess to them! i have to chase ev'ry rag tag and bobtail on the place, so i do----" "not tramps again, tony?" cried jennie stone. "'tis worse. musickle bodies, they be. playin' harps an' fiddles, an' the loikes. sure, 'twill be hand-organs an' moonkeys to-morrer, belike. ah, yes!" "maybe some of these traveling musicians can play the marble harp yonder," said heavy, with a chuckle, pointing to the now half-shrouded figure in the center of the campus. "oh, wirra, wirra! don't be sayin' it," grumbled the old man. "there's bad luck in speakin' of _thim_ folks." jennie stone squeezed ruth's arm, still laughing, as they went on and left the old irishman. "he's just as superstitious as he can be," she whispered. "he really believes the old story about the harp." "he ought to believe in a harp," laughed ruth, in return, "he being irish. tell me, who is he?" "anthony foyle. he's the only workman about the place who sleeps on the premises. his wife's our cook. they're a comical old couple--and she _does_ make the nicest tarts! they'd melt in your mouth if you could only make up your mind to hold them long enough on your tongue," sighed heavy, rapturously. "but what's the story about the marble harp?" queried ruth, as they came to the dormitory and joined the other girls. "you mean the harp held by that figure at the fountain?" "hello!" cried belle tingley. "heavy's trying to scare the infant with the campus ghost story." "oh! a real ghost story!" cried helen. "do let's hear it." "come into our room, cameron," said lluella fairfax, lazily, "and i will tell the tale and harrow up thy young soul----" "and make thy hair stand on end like quills upon the fretful 'porkypine,'" finished mary cox. "yes! let lluella tell it. it is well for infants to learn the legends as well as the rules of briarwood hall." helen was used to being called "infant" by now and didn't mind so much. she was so much taken with their new friends and the upedes in general that she went right into the room occupied by mary cox and her chums, without a word to ruth, and the latter followed with heavy, perforce. the windows of the "quartette" looked out upon the campus. the lights in the other dormitory shone brightly and the lamps around the open space, which the buildings of briarwood surrounded, glimmered in the dark. voices came up to them from the walks; but soon these ceased, for the girls were all indoors. the campus was deserted. "don't let's light the lamp," said lluella. "i can tell stories better in the dark." "and ghost stories, too," laughed helen. "not so much of a ghost story--at least, there's nothing really terrible about it," returned miss fairfax, slowly. "i suppose there are not many people who talk about it, outside of our own selves here at briarwood. but once--before the school came here--the marble statue down there was the talk of the whole countryside. i believe mrs. tellingham doesn't like the story to be repeated," added miss fairfax. "she thinks such superstitions aren't good for the minds of the primes and infants," and the story-teller laughed. "however, it is a fact that the original owner of briarwood hall had a beautiful daughter. she was the apple of his eye--all beautiful daughters are apples of their fathers' eyes," said lluella, laughing. "jennie is _her_ father's apple----" "adam's apple," suggested mary cox. "such a size for an adam's apple would choke a giant," murmured belle tingley, for the three were always joking poor heavy because of her over-plumpness. "don't you bother about my father," said jennie, calmly. "he gives me a dollar every month for chocolate creams, and you girls help eat them, i notice." "hurrah for the stone _pere_!" cried mary cox. "go on, lluella." "you sound as though you cheered for a sea-wall of masonry, or some such maritime structure," complained jennie. "'stone _pere_,' indeed!" "she sha'n't have any of the next box of creams, heavy," said lluella, soothingly. "and i'm not sure that _you_ will, either," replied the fat girl. "_do_ tell your story, miss!" and heavy yawned monstrously. "how _dare_ you yawn before 'taps'?" cried belle. "i'll douse the water-pitcher over you, jennie." at this threat the fat girl sat up promptly and again urged lluella to continue her tale. so miss fairfax continued: "this rich old gentleman with the apple in his eye--in other words, a beautiful daughter--had a great deal more money than sense, i think. he engaged a sculptor to design a fountain for his lawn, and the draped figure you have seen upon that pedestal down yonder, is supposed to be the portrait of the beautiful daughter cut into enduring marble by the man who _sculped_. but, unfortunately for the old gentleman's peace of mind while he _sculped_ the marble the artist likewise made love to the young lady and they ran away and were married, leaving the old gentleman nothing but the cold marble statue playing the marble harp, in place of a daughter. "the father's heart at once became as adamant as the marble itself, and he refused to support the sculptor and his wife. now, either the runaway couple died miserably of starvation in a garret, or were drowned at sea, or were wrecked in a railroad accident, or some other dreadful catastrophe happened to them--i'm not sure which; for after a time there began to be something strange about the fountain. the old man lived here alone with his servants for a number of years; but the servants would not remain long with him, for they said the place was haunted." "oh my!" exclaimed helen. "that's right, miss cameron. please show the proper amount of thrilling interest. they said the fountain was queer. the water never poisoned anybody; but sometimes the marble strings of the marble harp in the marble hand or the marble daughter would be heard to twang in the night. weird music came from the fountain at ghostly hours. of course, the little harp the statue holds is in the form of a lyre; and what the people were who told these stories about the ghostly twanging of the instrument--you may draw your own conclusions," laughed lluella fairfax. "however, the old gentleman at last broke up his household, or died, or moved to town, or something, and briarwood was put up for sale and the school came here. that was a good many years ago. dr. tellingham's wig matched his fringe of hair when the school first began here, so that must have been a good while ago. the twanging of the marble harp has been heard down through the school ages, so it is said--particularly at queer times----" "queer times?" asked ruth. "why, when something out of the common was about to happen. they say it twanged the night before our team beat the basket-ball team from varden preparatory. there was a girl here once who ran away because her folks went to europe and left her behind at school. she was determined to follow them, and she got as far as new york and stole aboard a great steamer so as to follow her parents; only the steamship she boarded had just come in instead of just going out. they say the marble harp twanged _then_." "and when heavy failed to oversleep one morning last half the marble harp must have twanged _that_ time," declared mary cox. a gentle snore answered from the window seat, where jennie stone had actually gone to sleep. "wasted humor," said mary, laughing. "heavy is in the land of nod. it's been a hard day for her. at supper she had to eat her own and miss fielding's share of the cup-custards." ruth and helen had already risen to go. "you'll remember, infants," said lluella, "when you hear the twang of the ghostly harp, that something momentous is bound to happen at briarwood hall." "but more important still," warned mary, "be sure that your lights are out within twenty minutes after retiring bell sounds. otherwise you will have that cat, picolet, poking into your room to learn what is the matter." chapter ix the ghostly tribunal "aren't they just fine? isn't it just fun?" these were the enthusiastic questions that helen cameron hurled at ruth when they returned to their own room. the girl from the red mill was glad that their school life had opened so pleasantly; but she was by no means blinded--as helen seemed to be--to the faults of their neighbors in the room they had just left. "they have been very friendly and we have no complaint to make, that is sure, helen," she said. "how exasperating you are at times!" exclaimed her chum. "just the same, i am glad we didn't go with those poky fussy curls to _their_ meeting." ruth made no reply to this. the bell in the tower had tolled nine, and they knew that there were twenty minutes only in which to get ready for retiring. those girls who had lights after twenty minutes past nine were likely to be questioned, and any who burned a lamp after half after nine would find a demerit against their names in the morning. the chums hurried, then, to get ready for sleep. "don't you hope we'll dream something very nice?" whispered helen as she plunged into bed first. "i hope we will," returned ruth, waiting to see her comfortable before she turned out the light and bent over her chum to kiss her. "good-night, helen. i hope we'll be just as good friends here, dear, as we have been since we met." "of course we will, ruthie!" declared helen, quite as warmly. "we will let nobody, or nothing, come between us?" said ruth, a little wistfully in the dark. "of course not!" declared helen, with added emphasis. then ruth crept into her own bed and lay looking at the whiter patch of the nearest window long after helen's gentle, regular breathing announced her chum asleep. there were few other sounds about the dormitory. a door shut softly in the distance. somewhere a dog barked once. ruth was not sleepy at all. the day's doings passed in a not unpleasant procession through her mind. it seemed a week--yes! a month--since she had left the red mill that morning. she again went over the pleasant road with the camerons and mrs. murchiston to cheslow. she remembered their conversation with good dr. davison, and wondered if by any possibility the time would come when poor mercy curtis could go to school--perhaps come to this very briarwood hall. the long ride on the train to lake osago was likewise repeated in ruth's mind; then the trip by boat to portageton. she could not fail to recount the mysterious behavior of the big man who played the harp in the boat orchestra, and mademoiselle picolet. and while these thoughts were following in slow procession through her mind she suddenly became aware of a sound without. the nearest window was open--the lower sash raised to its full height. it was a warm and windless night. the sound was repeated. ruth raised her head from the pillow. it was a faint scratching--at the door, or at the window? she could not tell. ruth lay down again; then she sat upright in her bed as the sound continued. every other noise about the house now seemed stilled. the dog did not bark. there was no rustle in the trees that shaded the campus. where was that sound? at the door? ruth was not afraid--only curious. if somebody was trying to attract her attention--if somebody wished to communicate with her, to get into the room---- she hopped out of bed. helen still slept as calmly as though she was in her own bed at home. ruth went softly to the door. she had latched it when they came in. now she pushed the bolt back softly. was there a rustle and a soft whisper behind the panels? suddenly, as the fastening was removed, the door was pushed inward. ruth stepped back. had she been of a very nervous disposition, she would have cried aloud in fright, for two figures all in white stood at the door. "hush!" commanded the taller of the two shrouded figures. "not a word." thus commanded, and half frightened, as well as wholly amazed, ruth remained passive. the two white figures entered; two more followed; two more followed in turn, until there were eight couples--girls and all shrouded in sheets, with pillow-case hoods over their heads, in which were cut small "eyes"--within the duet room. somebody closed the door. somebody else motioned ruth to awaken helen. ruth hesitated. she at once supposed that some of their school-fellows meant to haze them; but she did not know how her chum would take such a startling awakening from sound sleep. she knew that, had she been asleep herself and opened her eyes to see these shrouded figures gathered about her bed, she would have been frightened beyond expression. "don't let her see you first!" gasped ruth, affrightedly. instantly two of the girls seized her and, as she involuntarily opened her lips to scream, one thrust a ball of clean rags into her mouth, thrusting it in so far that it effectually gagged her, nor could she expel the ball from her mouth. it was not a cruel act, but it was awfully uncomfortable, and being held firmly by her two assailants, ruth could do nothing, either in her own behalf, or for helen. but she was determined not to cry. these big girls called them "infants," and ruth fielding determined not to deserve the name. she had no idea that the hazing party would really hurt them; they would have for their principal object the frightening of the new-comers to briarwood hall; and, secondarily, they would try to make ruth and helen appear just as ridiculous as possible. ruth was sorry in a moment that she had breathed a syllable aloud; for she was not allowed to awaken helen. instead, a girl went to either side of the bed and leaned over ruth's sleeping chum. the tall, peaked caps made of the pillow-cases looked awful enough, and ruth was in a really unhappy state of mind. all for helen's sake, too. she had opened the door to these thoughtless girls. if she only had not done it! suddenly helen started upright in bed. her black eyes glared for a moment as she beheld the row of sheeted figures. but her lips only opened to emit a single "oh!" "silence!" commanded one of the figures leaning over the bed, and ruth, whose ears were sharpened now, believed that she recognized mary cox's voice. she immediately decided that these girls who had come to haze them were the very juniors who had been so nice to them that evening--"the fox" and her fellow-members of the upedes. but ruth was more interested just then in the manner in which helen was going to take her sudden awakening. fortunately her chum seemed quite prepared for the visitation. after her first involuntary cry, she remained silent, and she even smiled across the footboard at ruth, who, gagged and held captive, was certainly in no pleasant situation. the thought flashed into ruth's mind: "did helen have reason for expecting this visit, and not warn _me_?" "up!" commanded the previous speaker among the white-robed company. "your doom awaits you." helen put her bare feet out of bed, but was allowed to put her slippers on. the chums were in their night apparel only. fortunately the air breathed in at the open window was warm. so there was no danger of their getting cold. the two new girls were placed side by side. helen was not gagged as ruth was; but, of course, she had uttered only that single startled cry when she awoke. there was great solemnity among the shrouded figures as the chums stood in their midst. the girl who had previously spoken (and whom ruth was quite positive was mary cox--for she seemed to be the leader and prime mover in this event) swept everything off the table and mounted upon it, where she sat cross-legged--like a tailor, or a turk. "bring the culprits before the throne!" she commanded, in a sepulchral voice. helen actually giggled. but ruth did not feel much like laughing. the ball of rags in her mouth had begun to hurt her, and she was held tightly by her two guards so that she could not have an instant's freedom. she was not, in addition, quite sure that these girls would not attempt to haze their prisoners in some unbecoming, or dangerous, way. therefore, she was not undisturbed in her mind as she stood in the midst of the shrouded company of her school-fellows. chapter x something more than ghosts helen pinched ruth's arm. it was plain that her guards did not hold helen as tightly as they did ruth. and why was _that_? ruth thought. could it be possible that her chum had had warning of this midnight visitation? not that ruth felt very much fear of the outcome of the exercises; but the possibility that her old friend had kept any secret knowledge of the raid from her troubled ruth immensely. since they had come among the girls of briarwood hall--and that so few hours before--ruth felt that she and helen were not so close together. there was danger of their drifting apart, and the possibility troubled ruth fielding exceedingly. the thought of it now, however, was but momentary. naturally she was vitally interested in what was about to be done to her by the party of hazers. "i am pained," said the girl sitting on the table, "that one of the neophytes comes before us with a bigger mouthful than she can swallow. if she understands fully that a single word above a whisper--or any word at all unless she is addressed by the sisters--will be punished by her being instantly corked up again, the gag may be removed. do you understand, neophyte? nod once!" ruth, glad to get rid of the unpleasant mouthful on any terms, nodded vigorously. immediately her captors let go of her arms and one of them pulled the "stopper" out of her mouth. "now, remember!" uttered the girl on the table, warningly. "a word aloud and the plug goes back." helen giggled again, but ruth didn't feel like laughing herself. "now, culprits!" continued the leader of the hazing party, "you must be judged for your temerity. how _dared_ you come to briarwood hall, infants?" "please, ma'am," whispered helen, who seemed to think the whole affair a great lark, "our guardians sent us here. we are not responsible." "you may not so easily escape responsibility for your acts," hissed the girl on the table. "those who enter briarwood hall must show themselves worthy of the high honor. it takes courage to come under the eye of mrs. tellingham; it takes supernatural courage to come under the eye of picolet!" "if she wasn't out of the house to-night you may believe we wouldn't be out of bed," murmured another of the midnight visitors, whom ruth was quite sure was belle tingley. "and i hope you made no mistake about _that_, miss!" snapped the girl on the table. "_you_ went to her door." "and knocked, and asked for toothache drops," giggled another of the shrouded figures. "and she wasn't there. i pushed the door open," muttered the other girl. "i know she went out. i heard the door open and shut half an hour before." "she's a sly one, she is," declared the girl on the table. "but, enough of picolet. it is these small infants we have to judge; not that old cat. we say they have shown temerity in coming to briarwood--is it not so, friends and fellow members--ahem! is it not so?" there was a responsive giggle from the shrouded figures about the room. "then punishment must be the portion of these infants," declared the foremost hazer. "they claim that they were sent here against their will and that it was not reckless bravery that brought them to these scholastic halls. let them prove their courage then--what say the sisters?" the sisters giggled a good deal, but the majority seemed to be of the opinion that proof of the infants' courage should be exacted. "then let the golden goblet be brought," commanded the leader, her voice still carefully lowered, for even if miss picolet was out of the dormitory, miss scrimp, the matron, was asleep in her own room, likewise on the lower floor of the building. somebody produced a vase which had evidently been covered with bright gold-foil for the occasion. "here," said the leader, holding the vase out to helen. "take this golden goblet and fill it at the fountain on the campus. you will be taken down to the door by the guards, who will await your return and will bring you back again. and remember! silence!" the lights all around the campus had gone out ere this. there was no moon, and although it was a clear night, with countless stars in the heavens, it seemed dark and lonely indeed down there under the trees between the school buildings. "do not hesitate, infant!" commanded the leader of the hazing party. "nor shall you think to befool us, miss! take the golden goblet, and fill and drink at the fountain. but leave the goblet there, that we may know you have accomplished the task set you!" this was said most solemnly; but the solemnity would not have bothered helen cameron at all, had the task been given to somebody else! the thought of venturing out there in the dark on the campus rather quelled her propensity for giggling. but there seemed to be no way of begging off from the trial. helen cast a look of pleading at her chum; but what could ruth do? she was surprised that the task had not been given to her instead; she believed that these girls were really more friendly in feeling toward helen than toward herself. at least, it was mary cox on the table, and mary cox had shown helen much more attention than she had ruth. two of the sheeted visitors seized helen again and led her softly out of the room. a sentinel had been left in the corridor, and the word was whispered that all was silent in the house; miss scrimp was known to be a heavy sleeper, and the french teacher was certainly absent from her room. the girls led helen downstairs and to the outer door. this opened with a spring lock. the guards whispered that they would remain to await her return, and the new girl was pushed out of doors, with nothing over her nightgown but a wrapper, and only slippers on her feet. although there was little breeze now, it was not cold. but it was dark under the trees. ruth, who could look out of the windows above, wondered how her chum was getting on. to go clear to the center of the campus with that vase, and leave it at the foot of the figure surmounting the fountain, was no pleasant experience, ruth felt. the minutes passed slowly, the girls in their shrouds whispering among themselves. suddenly there came a sound from outside--a pattering of running feet on the cement walk. ruth sprang to the nearest window in spite of the commands of the hazing party. helen was running toward the house at a speed which betrayed her agitation. besides, ruth could hear her sobbing under her breath: "oh, oh, oh!" "you've scared her half to death!" exclaimed ruth, angrily, as the girls seized her. "put in the stopper!" commanded the girl who had seated herself on the table, and instantly the ball of rags was driven into ruth's mouth again and she was held, in spite of her struggles, by her captors. ruth was angry now. helen had been tricked into going to the fountain, and by some means the hazers had frightened her on her journey. but it was a couple of minutes before her chum was brought back to the room. helen was shivering and sobbing between the guards--indeed they held her up, for she would have fallen. "what's the matter with the great booby?" demanded the girl on the table. "she--she says she heard something, or saw something, at the fountain," said one of the other girls, in a quavering voice. "of course she did--they always do," declared the leader. "isn't the fountain haunted? we know it is so." this was all said for effect, and to impress _her_, ruth knew. but she tried to go to helen. they held her back, however, and she could not speak. "did the neophyte go to the fountain?" demanded the leader, sternly. helen, in spite of her tears, nodded vigorously. "did she drink of the water there?" "i--i was drinking it when i--i heard somebody----" "the ghost of the very beautiful woman whose statue adorns the fountain," declared mary cox, if it were she, in a sepulchral voice. ruth knew now why the story of the fountain had been told them earlier in the evening, but personally she had not been much impressed by it then, nor was she frightened now. she was only indignant that helen and she should be treated so--and by these very girls for whom her chum had conceived such a fancy. helen was still trembling. they let her sit down upon her bed, and ruth wanted to go to her more than ever, and comfort her. but the girl on the table brought her up short. "now, miss!" she exclaimed. "you are the next. the first infant has left the golden goblet at the fountain--you _did_ leave it there; didn't you, you 'fraid-cat?" she demanded sharply, of helen. helen bobbed her head and sobbed. "then," said the leader of the hazing party, "you go and bring it here." ruth stared at her in surprise. she did not move. "take out her gag. lead her to the door. if she does not come back with the golden goblet, lock her out and let her cool her temper till morning on the grass," said the girl on the table, cruelly. "and if she stirs up trouble, she'll wish she had never come to briarwood!" chapter xi the voice of the harp "among two hundred girls there are bound to be girls of a good many different kinds." so had said mrs. tellingham when ruth fielding and her chum presented themselves before the preceptress not many hours before. and ruth saw plainly that some of these shrouded and masked figures, at least, were of the kind against whom mrs. tellingham had quietly warned them. these were not alone careless and thoughtless, however; but the girl whom ruth believed to be mary cox, their whilom friend and guide, was cruel likewise. ruth fielding was no coward. she believed these girls had arranged to terrify their victims by some manifestation at the fountain--why, otherwise, had they sent helen there and now were determined to make ruth repeat the experience? nor was it necessary for the leader of the crew of hazers to remind the girl from the red mill how unpleasant they could make it for her if the dared report them to the teachers. "now, first neophyte!" exclaimed the leader of their visitors. "where did you leave the golden goblet?" "on the pedestal, right between the feet of the figure," sobbed helen. "you hear?" repeated the other, turning her shrouded face to ruth. "then go, drink likewise of the fountain, and bring back the goblet. failure to perform this task will be punished not only in the present, but in the future. take her away--and remember your orders, guards." the door was opened ever so quietly and the sentinel outside assured them that nobody had stirred. all had been so far conducted so carefully that even the other girls not in the plot were not awakened. as ruth was led past the door of the larger room, which she knew mary cox and her three chums occupied, she heard the unmistakable snoring of a sound sleeper within. it made her doubt if, after all, those four who had appeared so friendly to helen and herself that evening, were among the hazers; and she heard one of her guards whisper: "miss picolet never has to look into _that_ room to learn if they're asleep. listen to heavy, will you?" but this puzzlement did not stick in ruth's mind for long; the guards hustled her down the stairs and the outer door was opened. "if the cat should suddenly come back, wouldn't we just _catch_ it?" whispered one girl to the other. "now, don't you be forever and ever going to that fountain," said the other to ruth. "for if you are long, we'll just shut the door on you and run back." as she spoke she let go of ruth's arm and jerked the gag out of her mouth. then the two pushed the new girl out of the door and closed it softly. ruth could hear them whispering together behind the panels. like helen, she had been given her bath-gown. she was not cold. but it was truth that the memory of her chum's state of mind when she had come back from the visit to the fountain, gave ruth fielding an actual chill. helen had set out upon _her_ venture without much worriment of mind; but she had been badly frightened. ruth believed this fright had been wickedly planned by the hazing crew of girls; nevertheless she could not help being troubled in her own mind as she looked out into the dimness of the campus. not a sound rose from this court between the buildings. a few dim night-lights were visible in the windows about the campus; but the lamps that illumined the walks and the park itself were burned out. the breeze was so faint that it did not rustle the smallest branches of the trees. there was not a sound from anywhere upon the campus. remembering the promise of the two girls who had thrust her out of the house, ruth thought it best for her to get the unpleasant business over as quickly as possible. although she could not see the sunken fountain from the steps of the dormitory where she stood, she knew which path to take to get to it the quickest. she started along this path at once, walking until she was surely out of view of the girls in the windows above, and then running to the fountain. she had some objection to giving her new schoolmates the satisfaction of seeing that she was at all frightened by this midnight jaunt. she sped along the path and there was the statue looming right before her. the trickle of the water, spouting into the basin, made a low and pleasant sound. nothing moved about the fountain. "perhaps, after all, helen only _imagined_ there was somebody here," thought ruth, and she pattered down the steps in her slippers, and so climbed upon the marble ledge from which she could reach the gilded goblet which was, as helen had declared, placed between the feet of the marble statue. and then, suddenly, there was a rustle near at hand. was that a whisper--a sharp, muffled gasp? ruth was startled, indeed, and shuddered so that the "goose-flesh" seemed to start all over her. nevertheless, she clutched the goblet firmly and held it beneath one of the spouts of the fountain. she was convinced that if there was anybody behind the figure of marble, he was there for the express purpose of frightening her--and she was determined not to be frightened. the goblet was quickly filled and ruth held it to her lips. she might be watched, and she was determined to obey the mandate of the masked leader of the hazing party. she would not give them the right to say that _she_ was panic-stricken. and then, with an unexpectedness that held her for an instant spellbound, she heard a hasty hand sweep the taut strings of a harp! she was directly below the figure and--if the truth must be told--she looked up in horror, expecting to see the marble representation of a harp vibrating under that sudden stroke! there was no movement, of course, in the marble. there was no further sound about the fountain. but the echo of that crash of music vibrated across the campus and died away hollowly between the buildings. it had been no sound called up by her imagination; the harp had been sounded with a sure and heavy hand. ruth fielding confessed her terror now on the instant. when power of movement returned to her, she leaped from the basin's edge, scurried up the steps to the path, and dashed at top speed for the dormitory, bearing the goblet in one hand and catching up the draperies of her long garment so as not to ensnare her feet. she reached the building and dashed up the steps. the door was ajar, but the shrouded guards were nowhere visible. she burst into the hall, banged the door after her, and ran up the stairs in blind terror, with no care for anybody, or anything else! into the room at the end of the corridor she hurried, and found it---- deserted, save for her chum, helen cameron, cowering in her bed. the masked and shrouded figures were gone, and ruth found herself standing, panting and gasping, in the middle of the room, with the half-filled goblet in her hand, her heart beating as though it would burst. chapter xii the mystery deepens there was some movement downstairs now. ruth fielding heard a door open and a voice speak in the lower corridor. perhaps it was miss scrimp, the matron. but every one of the skylarkers had cut to bed, and the dormitories were as still as need be. "oh, ruth!" gasped helen, from her muffling bed clothes. "did you hear it?" "did i hear what?" panted ruth. "oh! i was so frightened. there is something _dreadful_ about that fountain. i heard whisperings and rustlings there; but the harp----" "they did it to scare us," declared ruth, in both anger and relief. she _had_ been badly frightened, but she was getting control of herself now. "then they frightened themselves," declared helen, sitting up in bed. "you heard the harp?" "i should say so!" "we were all at the window listening to hear if you would be frightened and run," whispered helen. "oh, ruthie!" "what's the matter, now?" demanded her chum. "i--i tried to help them. it was mean. i knew they were trying to scare you, and i helped them. i wasn't so scared myself as i appeared when i came in." "what?" "i don't know what's made me act so mean to you this evening," sobbed helen. "i'm sure i love you, ruth. and i know you wouldn't have treated me so. but they said they were just going to have some fun with you----" "_who_ said?" demanded ruth. "mary cox--and--and the others." "they told you they were coming to haze us?" "the upedes--ye-es," admitted helen. "and of course, it wouldn't have amounted to anything if that---- oh, ruth! was it truly the harp that sounded?" "how could that marble harp make any sound?" demanded ruth, sharply. "but i know the girls were scared--just as scared as i was. they expected nothing of the kind. and the twang of the strings sounded just as loud as--as--well, as loud as that fat man's playing on the boat sounded. do you remember?" ruth remembered. and suddenly the thought suggested by her frightened chum entered her mind and swelled in it to vast proportions. she could, in fact, think of little else than this new idea. she hushed helen as best she could. she told her she forgave her--but she said it unfeelingly and more to hush her chum than aught else. she wanted to think out this new train of thought to its logical conclusion. "hush and go to sleep, helen," she advised. "we shall neither of us be fit to get up at rising bell. it is very late. i--i wish those girls had remained in their own rooms, that i do!" "but there is one thing about it," said helen, with half a sob and half a chuckle. "they were more frightened than we were when they scuttled out of this room before you returned. oh! you should have seen them." ruth would say no more to her. there had been no light lit in all this time, and now she snuggled down into her own bed. the excitement of the recent happenings did not long keep helen awake; but her friend and room-mate lay for some time studying out the mystery of the campus. miss picolet was out of her room. the old irishman, tony foyle, had mentioned chasing itinerant musicians off the grounds that very evening--among them a harpist. the evil-looking man who played the harp on board the steamship, and who had so frightened little miss picolet, had followed the french teacher ashore. had he followed her to briarwood hall? was he an enemy who plagued the little french teacher--perhaps blackmailed her? these were the various ideas revolving in ruth fielding's head. and they revolved until the girl fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and they troubled her sleep all through the remainder of the night. for that the man with the harp and miss picolet had a rendezvous behind the marble figure on the campus fountain was the sum and substance of the conclusion which ruth had come to. in the morning ruth only mentioned these suppositions to helen, but discussed them not at all with the other girls, her new school-fellows. indeed, those girls who had set out to haze the two infants, and had been frightened by the manifestation of the sounding harp upon the campus, were not likely to broach the subject to ruth or helen, either. for they had intended to surround their raid upon the new-comers' peace of mind with more or less secrecy. however, sixteen frightened girls (without counting ruth and helen) could not be expected to keep such a mystery as this a secret among themselves. that the marble harp had been sounded--that the ghost of the campus had returned to haunt the school--was known among the students of briarwood hall before breakfast time. jennie stone was quite full of it, although ruth knew from the unimpeachable testimony of jennie's nose that _she_ was not among the hazers; and the sounding of the mysterious harp-strings in the middle of the night really endangered heavy's appetite for breakfast. the members of the upedes who had been so pleasant with them at the evening meeting seemed rather chary of speaking to ruth and helen how; and, anyway, the chums had enough to do to get their boxes unpacked and their keepsakes set about the room, and to complete various housekeeping arrangements. they enjoyed setting up their "goods and chattels" quite as much as they expected to; and really their school life began quite pleasantly despite the excitement and misunderstanding on the first night of their arrival. if the crowd that ruth was so sure had hazed them were slow about attending on the two infants in the west dormitory (as their building was called) there were plenty of other nice girls who looked into the duet in a friendly way, or who spoke to ruth and helen on the campus, or in the dining room. miss polk and madge steele were not the only seniors who showed the chums some attention, either; and ruth and helen began secretly to count the little buttons marked "f. c." which they saw, as compared with the few stars bearing the intertwined "u" and "d" of the upedes. just the same, helen cameron's leaning toward the lively group or girls in their house who had (it seemed) formed their club in protest against the forward club, was still marked. the friends heard that the last named association was governed by the preceptress and teachers almost entirely. that it was "poky" and "stuffy." that some girls (not altogether those who formed the membership of the upedes) considered it "toadying" to join the forward club. and on this second day ruth and helen saw that the rivalry for membership between the clubs was very keen indeed. a girl couldn't have friends among the members of both the f. c.'s and the upedes--that was plain. many new girls arrived on this day--mostly from the lumberton direction. that was another reason, perhaps, why ruth and helen were shown so little attention by the quartette of girls next door o them. they were all busy--even heavy herself--in herding the new girls whom they had entangled in the tentacles of the upedes. the chums found themselves untroubled by the f. c.'s; it seemed to be a settled fact among the girls that ruth and helen were pledged to the upedes. "but we are _not_," ruth fielding said, to her friend. "i don't like this way of doing business at all, helen--do you?" "well--but what does it matter?" queried helen, pouting. "we want to get in with a lively set; don't we? i'm sure the upedes are nice girls." "i don't like the leadership of them," said ruth, frankly. "miss cox?" "miss cox--exactly," said the girl from the red mill. "oh--well--she isn't everything," cried helen. "she comes pretty near being the boss of that club--you can see that. now, the question is, do we want to be bossed by a girl like her?" "then, do you want to be under the noses of the teachers, and toadying to them all the time?" cried helen. "if that is what is meant by belonging to the forward club, i certainly do not," admitted ruth. "then i don't see but you will have to start a secret society of your own," declared helen, laughing somewhat ruefully. "and perhaps _that_ wouldn't be such a bad idea," returned ruth, slowly. "i understand that there are nearly thirty new girls coming to briarwood this half who will enter the junior classes. of course, the primary pupils don't count. i talked with a couple of them at dinner. they feel just as i do about it--there is too much pulling and hauling about these societies. they are not sure that they wish to belong to either the upedes or the f. c.'s." "but just think!" wailed helen. "how much fun we would be cut out of! we wouldn't have any friends----" "that's nonsense. at least, if the whole of us thirty infants, as they call us, flocked together by ourselves, why wouldn't we have plenty of society? i'm not so sure that it wouldn't be a good idea to suggest it to the others." "oh, my! would you dare?" gasped helen. "and we've only just arrived ourselves?" "self-protection is the first selfish law of nature," paraphrased ruth, smiling; "and i'm not sure that it's a bad idea to be selfish on such an occasion." "you'd just make yourself ridiculous," scoffed helen. "to think of a crowd of freshies getting up an order--a secret society." "in self-protection," laughed ruth. "i guess mrs. tellingham would have something to say about it, too," declared helen. it was not the subject of school clubs that was the burden of ruth fielding's thought for most of that day, however. nor did the arrival of so many new scholars put the main idea in her mind aside. this troubling thought was of miss picolet and the sound of the harp on the campus at midnight. the absence of the french teacher from the dormitory, the connection of the little lady with the obese foreigner who played the harp on the _lanawaxa_, and the sounding of harp-strings on the campus in the middle of the night, were all dovetailed together in ruth fielding's mind. she wondered what the mystery meant. she saw tony foyle cleaning the campus lanterns during the day, and she stopped and spoke to him. "i heard you tell jennie stone last night that you had to drive street musicians away from the school grounds, sir?" said ruth, quietly. "was there a man with a harp among them?" "sure an' there was," declared tony, nodding. "and he was a sassy dago, at that! 'tis well i'm a mon who kapes his temper, or 'twould ha' gone har-r-rd wid him." "a big man, was he, mr. foyle?" asked ruth. "what had that to do wid it?" demanded the old man, belligerently. "when the foyles' dander is riz it ain't size that's goin' to stop wan o' that name from pitchin' into an' wallopin' the biggest felly that iver stepped. he was big," he added; "but i've seen bigger. him an' his red vest--and jabberin' like the foreign monkey he was. i'll show him!" ruth left tony shaking his head and muttering angrily as he pursued his occupation. ruth found herself deeply interested in the mystery of the campus; but if she had actually solved the problem of the sounding of the harp at midnight, the reason for the happening, and what really brought that remarkable manifestation about, was as deep a puzzle to her as before. chapter xiii beginnings youth adapts itself easily and naturally to all change. ruth fielding and her chum, before that second evening at briarwood hall drew in, felt as though they had known the place for months and some of the girls all their lives. it was thus the most natural thing in the world to assemble at meals when the school-bell tapped its summons, to stand while the grace was being said, to chatter and laugh with those at the table at which they sat, to speak and laugh with the waitresses, and with old tony foyle, and with miss scrimp, the matron of their house, and to bow respectfully to miss picolet, miss kennedy, the english teacher; miss o'hara, before whom ruth and helen would come in mathematics, and the other teachers as they learned their names. dr. tellingham, although affording some little amusement for the pupils because of his personal peculiarities, was really considered by the girls in general a deeply learned man, and when he chanced to trot by a group of the students on the campus, in his stoop-shouldered, purblind way, their voices became hushed and they looked after him as though he really was all he pretended to be--or all he thought he was. he delved in histories--ate, slept, and seemed to draw the breath of his nostrils from histories. that the pamphlets and books he wrote were of trivial importance, and seldom if ever saw the light of print, was not made manifest to the briarwood girls in general. ruth and helen were not unpopular from the start. helen was so pretty and so vivacious, that she was bound to gather around her almost at once those girls who were the more easily attracted by such a nature; while for ruth's part, the little primes found that she was both kind and loving. she did not snub the smaller girls who came to her for any help, and before this day was over (which was friday) they began to steal into the chums' duet, in twos and threes, to talk with ruth fielding. it had been so at the school near the red mill, and ruth was glad the little folk took to her. late in the afternoon the two friends from cheslow went out to the main entrance of the grounds to meet old dolliver's stage from seven oaks. it had been noised abroad that a whole _nursery_ of infants was expected by that conveyance, and mary cox and madge steele, each with her respective committee, were in waiting to greet the new-comers on behalf of their separate societies. "and we'll welcome them as fellow-infants," whispered ruth to helen. "let's hold a reception in our room this evening to all the newcomers. what say, helen?" her chum was a little doubtful as to the wisdom of this course. she did not like to offend their friends in the upedes. yet the suggestion attracted helen, too. "i suppose if we freshmen stick together we'll have a better time, after all," she agreed. as the time for the appearance of the stage drew near, approximately half the school was gathered to see the infants disembark from old dolliver's ark. mary cox arranged her upedes on one side of the path and they began to sing: "uncle noah, he drove an ark-- one wide river to cross! he made a landing at briarwood park-- one wide river to cross! one wide river! one wide river of jordan! one wide river! one wide river to cross!" old dolliver, all one wide grin and flapping duster, drove his bony horses to the stopping place with a flourish. "here we be!" he croaked. "the old craft is jest a-bulgin' over with infants." mary cox pulled open the door and the first newcomer popped out as though she had been clinging to the handle when the fox made the movement. "the infants got out, one by one-- one wide river to cross! first infant bumps into a great big stone-- one wide river to cross!" and there really was heavy to receive the newcomer with open arms, who said, while the others chanted the refrain: "my name's jennie stone, and you're very welcome to briarwood, and what's your name, infant?" the girls in the stage-coach had been forewarned by old dolliver as to their probable greeting, and they took this all in good part. they disembarked with their bags and parcels, while tony foyle appeared to help old dolliver down with the heavier luggage that was strapped upon the roof and in the boot behind. mary cox continued to line out the doggerel, inventing some telling hits as she went along, while the upedes came in strongly on the refrain. there was much laughter and confusion; but the arriving infants were lined up two by two between the long rows of briarwood girls and were forced to march toward the hall by this narrow path. "come! we are infants, too," exclaimed ruth, pulling helen by the sleeve. "we will lead the march." she drew her chum away with her, and they introduced themselves to the girls at the head of the column of freshies. "we are helen cameron and ruth fielding," said ruth, cordially. "we only got here yesterday, so we are infants, too. we will take you to the office of the preceptress." so the chums bore their share of the indignity of being marched up through the grounds like culprits, and halted the file at the steps of the main building. "we have duet number in the west dormitory," said ruth, boldly, to the new-comers. "when you have found your rooms and got settled--after supper, that will be,--you are all invited to come to our room and get acquainted with the other infants. we're going to get as many together this evening as we can. now, _do_ come!" "oh, ruth!" whispered helen, when they were out of ear-shot of the others. "what will the upedes say?" "we're not interfering with either of the school clubs," declared her chum, emphatically. "but i guess it won't hurt us to become acquainted with those who are as new here as ourselves. the old girls don't feel strange, or lost; it is these new ones that need to be made to feel at home." timid for herself, ruth had begun to develop that side of her character which urged her to be bold for the general good. she appreciated keenly how awkward she had felt when she arrived at briarwood the day before. helen, although not lacking in kindliness, was less thoughtful than her chum; and she was actually less bold than her chum, too. ruth made it a point to see and speak with all the new scholars whom she could find, repeating her invitation for a meeting in her room. whether helen helped in this matter she did not know. her chum was _not_ enthusiastic in the task, that was certain. and indeed, when the hour came, after supper, helen was closeted with mary cox in the quartette room next door to the chamber and study which she and ruth fielding shared together. that ruth felt more than a little hurt, it is unnecessary to say. she had felt the entering wedge between them within a few hours of their coming to the school. the upedes were much more friendly to helen than to herself, and helen was vastly interested in mary cox, belle tingley, lluella fairfax, and some of the other livelier members of the up and doing club. but, after a while helen strolled into her own room and mingled with the infants who had there assembled. they had come almost to their full strength. there were no sessions of either the f. c.'s or the upedes on this evening, and miss picolet, to whom ruth had spoken about the little reception to be held in her room, approved of it. helen was bound to be popular among any crowd of girls, for she was so gay and good-tempered. but when somebody broached the subject of school clubs, ruth was surprised that helen should at once talk boldly for the upedes. she really urged their cause as though she was already a member. "i am not at all sure that i wish to join either the forwards or the up and doings," said ruth, quietly, when one of the other infants asked her what she intended doing. "but you'll have no friends here--not among the juniors and seniors, at least--if you don't join some club!" helen exclaimed. "there are enough of us right here to found a society, i should say," laughed ruth. "and we're all in the same boat, too." "yes!" agreed sarah fish, one of the infants just arrived. "and what do these older girls really care about us? very little, i am sure, except to strengthen their own clubs. i can see that," she continued, being a very practical, sensible girl, and downright in speech and manner. "two of them came into our room at once--the girl they call the fox, and miss steele. one argued for the forwards and the other for the up and doings. i don't want either." "i don't want to join either," broke in another girl, by name phyllis short. "i think it would be nicer for us infants, as they call us, to keep together. and we're no younger than a good many of the juniors!" ruth laughed. "we expect to take all _that_ good-naturedly. but i don't like the idea of being driven into one society, or the other. and i don't mean to be," she said, emphatically. "hear! hear!" cried miss fish. "well, i don't think it will be nice at all," said helen, in some heat, "to refuse to associate with the older girls here. i, for one, want to get into the real school society----" "but suppose we start a club of our own?" interrupted the practical sarah. "why, what could just a handful of new girls do in a society? it would look silly," cried helen. "we won't keep the older girls out of it, if they want to join," laughed sarah. "and there has to be a beginning to everything," rejoined phyllis short. "i don't believe those upedes have many more members than are right in this room to-night," said ruth, quietly. "how many do we number here--twenty-six?" "twenty-six, counting your room-mate," said sarah. "well, you can count her room-mate out," declared helen, sharply. "i am not going to make myself a laughing-stock of the school by joining any baby society." "well," said phyllis short, calmly. "it's always nicer, _i_ think, to be a big frog in a little puddle than to be an unrecognised croaker in a great, big pool." most of the girls laughed at that. and the suggestion of a separate club for the infants seemed to be well received. ruth, however, was very much troubled by helen's attitude, and she would say no more beyond this: "we will think of it. there is plenty of time. only, those who feel as we do----" "as _you_ do!" snapped helen. "as _i_ do, then, if you insist," said ruth, bravely, "would better not pledge themselves to either the f. c.'s or the upedes until we have talked this new idea over." and with that the company broke up and the new girls went away to their rooms. but helen and ruth found a barrier raised between them that evening, and the latter sprinkled her pillow with a few quiet tears before she went to sleep. chapter xiv the sweetbriars mail time! until saturday morning ruth and helen had not realized how vital that hour was when the mail-bag came out from the lumberton post office and the mail was distributed by one of the teachers into a series of pigeonholes in a tiny "office" built into the corridor at the dining-room door. the mail arrived during the breakfast hour. one could get her letters when she came out of the dining-room, and on this saturday both ruth and helen had letters. miss cramp, her old teacher, had written to ruth very kindly. there was a letter, too, from aunt alvirah, addressed in her old-fashioned hand, and its contents shaky both as to spelling and grammar, but full of love for the girl who was so greatly missed at the red mill. uncle jabez had even declared the first night that it seemed as though there had been a death in the house, with ruth gone. helen had several letters, but the one that delighted her most was from her twin brother. "although," she declared, in her usual sweet-tempered manner, "tom's written it to both of us. listen here, ruthie!" the new cadet at seven oaks began his letter: "dead [transcriber's note: dear?] sweetbriars," including ruth as well as helen in his friendly and brotherly effusion. he had been hazed with a vengeance on the first night of his arrival at the academy; he had been chummed on a fellow who had already been half a year at the school and whose sister was a senior at briarwood; he had learned that lots of the older students at seven oaks were acquainted with the seniors at briarwood, and that there were certain times when the two schools intermingled socially. "dear old tom!" exclaimed helen. "nice of him to call us 'sweetbriars'; isn't it? i guess there's a good many thorns on _this_ 'sweetbriar'; 'eh, ruthie?" and she hugged and kissed her chum with sudden fierceness. "and tom says he can get permission to come over and see me some saturday afternoon if mrs. tellingham will allow it. i'll have to get her to write to major paradell, who commands at seven oaks. my! it sounds just as though poor old tom was in the army; doesn't it?" cried helen. "it will be nice to have him over," said ruth, agreeing. "but i suppose we'll have to meet him in the office? or can we walk out with our 'brother'?" and she laughed. "we'll go to triton lake; tom will take us," said helen, decidedly. "i guess mrs. tellingham will have something to say about that, my dear." helen seemed to have forgotten the little difficulty that had troubled her chum and herself the night before, and ruth said nothing further about the infants forming a society of their own. at least, she said nothing about it to helen. but sarah fish and phyllis short, and some of the other infants, seemed determined to keep the idea alive, and they all considered ruth fielding a prime mover in the conspiracy. it was noised abroad that neither the f. c.'s nor the upedes were getting many new names enrolled for membership. saturday morning the remainder of the expected new girls arrived at briarwood, and with then came the last of the older scholars, too. there was an assembly called for two o'clock which mrs. tellingham addressed. she welcomed the new-comers, greeted the returning pupils, and briefly sketched the plans for the school year then beginning. she was a quick, briskly-speaking woman, who impressed the most rattle-pated girl before her that she meant to be obeyed and that no wild prank would go unpunished. "proper amusement will be supplied in due time, young ladies. for the present we shall all have enough to do getting settled into our places. i have heard something regarding picnics and outings for the near future. postpone all such junketing until we are pulling well together. and beware of demerits. remember that ten of them, for whatever cause, will send a girl home from briarwood immediately." this about the picnics hit the upedes. ruth and helen knew that they were planning just such amusements. helen took this interference on mrs. tellingham's part quite to heart. "isn't it mean of her?" she asked of ruth. "if it had been the fussy curls who wanted to go to triton lake, it would have been another matter. and--besides--i was going to write to tom and see if he couldn't meet us there." "why, helen; without asking mrs. tellingham?" cried ruth. "i suppose tom and some of his chums could _happen_ to go to triton lake the same day we went; couldn't they?" helen asked, laughing. "dear me, ruthie! don't you begin to act the miss prim--please! we'll have no fun at all if you do." "but we don't want to make the bad beginning of getting mrs. tellingham and the teachers down on us right at the start," said ruth, in a worried manner. "i don't know but that you _are_ a miss prim!" ejaculated helen. ruth thought, probably, from her tone of voice, that helen had heard some of her friends among the upedes already apply that term to her, ruth. but she said nothing--only shook her head. however, the girl from the red mill did her best to dodge any subject in the future that she thought might cause helen to compare her unfavorably with the girls next door. for ruth loved her chum dearly--and loved her unselfishly, too. helen and tom had been so kind to her in the past--all through those miserable first weeks of her life at the red mill--that ruth felt she could never be really angry with helen. it only made her sorrowful to think that perhaps helen, in this new and wider school life, might drift away from her. the regular program of the working days of the school included prayers in the chapel before the girls separated for their various classes. these were held at nine o'clock. but on sunday ruth found that breakfast was an hour later than usual and that at ten o'clock several wagonettes, besides old dolliver's ark, were in waiting to take those girls who wished to ride to the churches of the several denominations located in lumberton. a teacher, or a matron, went in each vehicle, and if any of the girls preferred to walk in pleasant weather there was always a teacher to walk with them--for the distance was only a mile. dinner was at half-past one, and at three there was a sabbath school, conducted by mrs. tellingham herself, assisted by most of the teachers, in the large assembly hall. at night there was a service of music and a lecture in the chapel, too. the teacher of music played the organ, and there was a small string orchestra made up of the girls themselves, and a chorus to lead the singing. this service ruth found delightful, for she had always loved music and never before had she had the opportunity of studying it under any teacher. her voice was sweet and strong, however; and she had a true ear. at the end of the service miss maconahay, the organist, came and spoke to her and advised her that, providing she would give some time to it, there was a chance for her to become a member of the chorus and, if she showed improvement, she might even join the glee club. on monday school began in earnest. ruth and helen were side by side in every class. what study one took up, the other voted for. the fact that they had to work hard--especially at first--kept ruth and helen together, and during the first week neither had much time for any society at all. between supper and bedtime each evening they faithfully worked at their lessons for the ensuing day and every hour of daylight brought its separate duty. there seemed to be little opportunity for idle hands to find mischief at briarwood hall. mrs. tellingham, however, did not propose that the girls should be so closely confined by their studies that their physical health would be neglected. those girls who stood well in their classes found at least two hours each day for outdoor play or gym work. the tennis courts at briarwood were in splendid shape. helen already was a fair player; but ruth had never held a racket in her hand until she was introduced to the game by her chum during this first week at school. the girl from the red mill was quick and active. she learned the rules of play and proved that her eye was good and that she had judgment before they had played an hour. she knew how to leap and run, too, having been country bred and used to an active life. "oh, dear me!" gasped helen, out of breath. "you are tireless, ruth. why, you'll be an athlete here." "this is great fun, helen," declared her chum, "i believe i can learn to play _this_ game." "learn to play!" gasped helen. "why, all you want is practice to beat tom himself, i believe. you'll be a crack player, ruthie," prophesied her friend. it was while they were loitering on the tennis courts after the game that sarah fish and phyllis short, with a number of the other infants, joined them. sarah came out bluntly with: "when are we going to form our club, ruth fielding? i think we should do it at once. i've told both the forwards and the upedes that i am not in the market. i guess they'll let me alone now." "i think they will," said helen, sharply. "at least, the upedes don't want you, miss." "you seem to knew exactly what they _do_ want," said sarah, good-naturedly. "have you joined them?" "i intend to," declared helen. "oh, helen!" ejaculated ruth. "yes, i am," said miss cameron. "and i am not going to join any baby society," and so walked off in evident ill-humor. therefore the new club was not formed in the number duet room in the west dormitory. the infants considered ruth the prime mover in the club, however, and that evening she was put in the chair to preside at the informal session held in the quartette in the east dormitory occupied by sarah fish and three other infants. she was made, too, a member of the committee on organization which was elected to draw up a constitution and by-laws, and was likewise one of three to wait on mrs. tellingham and gain permission to use one of the small assembly rooms for meetings. and then came up the subject of a name for the society. it was not intended that the club should be only for new scholars; for the new scholars would in time be old scholars. and the company of girls who had gathered in sarah's room had no great or important motive in their minds regarding the association. its object was social and for self-improvement simply. "and so let's find a name that doesn't sound bigger than we are," said sarah. "the forward club sounds very solid and is quite literary, i understand. what those upedes stand for except raising particular sam hill, as my grandmother would say, i don't know. what do _you_ say, ruth fielding? it's your idea, and you ought to christen it." "i don't know that i ought," ruth returned. "i don't believe in one person doing too much in any society." "give us a name. it won't hurt you if we vote it down," urged sarah. now ruth had been thinking of a certain name for the new society for some days. it had been suggested by tom cameron's letter to helen. she was almost afraid to offer it, but she did. "sweetbriars," she said, blushing deeply. "dandy!" exclaimed phyllis short. "goody-good!" cried somebody else. "we're at briarwood hall, and why _not_ sweetbriars?" "good name for initials, too," declared the practical sarah fish. "make two words of it--sweet and briars. the 's. b.'s '--not bad that, eh? what say?" it was unanimous. and so the sweetbriars were christened. chapter xv the night of the harpocrates it was from heavy stone that ruth first learned of an approaching festival, although her own room-mate was the prime mover in the fete. but of late she and helen had had little in common outside of study hours and the classes which they both attended. since the launching of the sweetbriars helen had deliberately sought society among the upedes, and especially among the quartette who dwelt next door to the chums. "and she is going to have almond cakes. she says she has an old nurse named babette who makes the most de-lic-i-ous almond cakes--is that so, ruth fielding?" heavy had been enthusiastically discussing this subject with her nearest neighbor on the other side from ruth, at the dining table. but ruth had caught the name of "babette" and knew that heavy spoke of helen cameron. "is what so?" she asked the plump girl. "why, it's about your spoon's box from home. i told _you_, you know, to be sure and have the folks send you one; but helen cameron's got ahead of you. and whisper!" pursued jennie stone, in a lowered tone, "tell her not to invite too many girls to the night of harpocrates. remember!" ruth was a bit puzzled at first. then she remembered that harpocrates was the egyptian god of silence, and that his sign was a rose. the expression "sub-rosa" comes from that root, or "under the rose." it was evident that there were to be "midnight orgies" when helen's goodies came from home. one of the quartettes on their corridor had indulged in a fudge party after hours already, and ruth had been invited to be present. but she found that helen was not going, so she refused. besides, she was very doubtful about the propriety of joining in these forbidden pleasures. all the girls broke that retiring rule more or less--or so it seemed. but miss picolet could give such offenders black marks if she wished, and ruth craved a clean sheet in deportment at the end of the half. she wondered how and when helen proposed to hold the "supper sub-rosa"; but she would not ask. not even when the great hamper arrived (being brought up from lumberton by old dolliver, who only drove his stage every other day to seven oaks at this time of year) did she ask helen a single question. tony foyle brought the hamper up to duet two in the west dormitory and it just fitted into the bottom of helen's closet. heavy could not keep away from the door of the room; whenever the door was opened and ruth raised her eyes from the table where she was at work, there was the broad, pink and white face of the fat girl, her eyes rolling in anticipation of the good things--mary cox declared heavy fairly "drooled at the mouth!" the arrival of the hamper was not unnoticed by the sharp eyes of miss picolet; but advised by the wily miss cox, helen unpacked a certain portion of the good things and, during the afternoon, asked permission of miss scrimp to make tea and invite some of the girls to the duet to sample her goodies. the french teacher was propitiated by the gift of a particular almond cake, frosted, which helen carried down to her room and begged her to accept. helen could be very nice indeed, if she wished to be; indeed, she had no reason to be otherwise to miss picolet. and the teacher had reason for liking helen, as she had shown much aptitude for the particular branch of study which miss picolet taught. but although most of the girls in the west dormitory, and some others, were asked to helen's tea (at which ruth likewise did the honors, and "helped pour") there was an undercurrent of joking and innuendo among certain of the visitors that showed they had knowledge of further hidden goodies which would, at fit and proper season, be divulged. jennie stone, gobbling almond cakes and chocolate, said to ruth: "if this is a fair sample of what is to be divulged upon the night of harpocrates, i shall fast on that day--now mind!" when the girls had gone ruth asked her chum, point-blank, if she proposed to have a midnight supper. "a regular debauch!" declared helen, laughing. "now, don't be prim and prudish about it, ruthie. i won't have it in here if you don't want----" "why not?" demanded ruth, quickly. "don't think of going to any other room." "well--i didn't know," stammered her chum. "you being such a stickler for the rules, ruth. you know, if we _should_ get into trouble----" "do you think that _i_ would complain?" asked ruth, proudly. "don't you trust me any more, helen?" "oh, ruthie! what nonsense!" cried her chum, throwing her arms about ruth fielding's neck. "i know you'd be as true as steel." "i did not think the suggestion could have come from your own heart, helen," declared ruth. so the second night thereafter was set for the "sub-rosa supper." slily the chums borrowed such plates and cups as the other girls had hidden away. not a few quartette rooms possessed tea-sets, they being the joint possession of the occupants of that particular study. at retiring bell on this eventful night all things were ready, including a spirit lamp on which to make chocolate, hidden away in helen cameron's shirt-waist box. ruth and helen went to bed after removing their frocks and shoes only and waited to hear the "cheep, cheep" of miss scrimp's squeaky shoes as she passed up through the house, turning down the hall lights, and then went down again. the hour for the girls to gather was set for half-past ten. first of all, however, the fox was to go down and listen at miss picolet's door to make sure that she had gone to bed. then miss cox was to tap softly but distinctly at the door of each invited guest as she came back to their corridor. meanwhile helen and ruth popped out of bed (it had been hard to lie there for more than an hour, waiting) and began to lay out the things. the bedspreads were laid back over the foot of each bed and the feast was laid out upon the bed-clothes. mary cox warned them to have the spreads ready to smooth up over the contraband goodies, should the french teacher get wind of the orgy. "forewarned is forearmed," urged mary cox. "we know what old picolet _is_!" "but 'four-armed' doesn't always mean 'fore-handed'," chuckled jennie stone. "nor quadrumanous!" snapped the fox. "if _you_ had four hands, heavy, there would be little chance for any of the rest of us at helen's party. my goodness me! how you _would_ mow the good things away if you had four hands instead of two." "it isn't that i'm really piggish," complained miss stone. "it's because i need more nourishment; there is so much of me, you know, mary." "and if you hadn't been stuffing yourself like a strasburg goose all your life, there wouldn't be so much of you. ha! it's the old story of the hen and the egg--which was here first? if you didn't eat so much you wouldn't be so big, and if you weren't so big you wouldn't eat so much." all this, however, was said after the girls had begun to gather in number duet, and belle tingley, who had drawn the unlucky short toothpick, was banished to the corridor to keep watch--but with a great plateful of goodies and the "golden goblet" used in the hazing exercises, filled to the brim with hot chocolate. "though, if miss picolet is awake she'll smell the brew and will be up here instanter," declared the fox, crossly, as belle insisted in having her share of the drinkables as well as eatables. miss picolet was forgotten in the fun and the feasting, however. there were twenty girls in the room, and they had to sit on the floor in two rows while ruth and helen passed out the good things. and my! they were good! lovely chicken salad mayonnaise, served on a fresh lettuce leaf (the lettuce being smuggled in that very day in the chums' wash basket)--a little dab to each girl. there were little pieces of gherkins and capers in the mayonnaise, and heavy reveled in this dish. the most delicious slices of pink ham between soft crackers--and other sandwiches of anchovy paste and minced sardines. _these_ were the "solids." cakes, sweet crackers, babette's cookies and lady-fingers were heaped on other plates, ready to serve. "my!" exclaimed lluella fairfax, "isn't that lay-out enough to punish our poor digestive organs for a month? the last time we were caught and brought up before mrs. tellingham she warned us that sweetcake and pickles were as immoral as yellow-covered novels!" "and she proved it, too," laughed the fox. "she declared that a girl, or woman without a good digestion could not really fill her rightful place in the world and accomplish that which we are each supposed to do. oh, the madam always proves her point." "and i _was_ sick for a week afterward," sighed lluella. "and had to take _such_ a dose!" at that moment, without the least forewarning, there came a smart rap on the door. the sound smote the company of whispering, laughing girls into a company of frightened, trembling culprits. they hardly dared breathe, and when the commanding rap came for a second time neither ruth nor helen had strength enough in their limbs to go to the door. chapter xvi the hawk among the chickens lluella and the fox, more used to these orgies than some of the other girls, had retained some presence of mind. their first thought--if this should prove to be the teacher or the matron--was to try and save such of the feast as could be hidden. each girl flung up a spread to the pillows, and so hid the viands on the two beds. then mary cox went quickly to the door. the cowering girls clung to each other and waited breathlessly. mary opened the door. there stood the abashed belle tingley, her plate in one hand, the gilded vase in the other, and beside her was the tiny figure of mademoiselle picolet, who looked very stern indeed at the fox. "i might have expected _you_ to be a ringleader in such an escapade as this, miss cox," she said, sharply, but in a low voice. "i very well knew, miss cox, when the new girls came this fall that _you_ were determined to contaminate them if you could. every girl here will remain in her seat after prayers in the chapel to-morrow morning. remember!" she whipped out a notebook and pencil and evidently wrote mary cox's name at the head of her list. the fox was furiously red and furiously angry. "i might have known you would be spying on us, miss picolet," she said, bitingly. "suppose some of us should play the spy on _you_, miss picolet, and should run to mrs. tellingham with what we might discover?" "go to your room instantly!" exclaimed the french teacher, with indignation. "you shall have an extra demerit for _that_, miss!" yet ruth, who had been watching the teacher's face intently, saw that she became actually pallid, that her lips seemed to be suddenly blue, and the countless little wrinkles that covered her cheeks were more prominent than ever before. mary cox flounced out and disappeared. the teacher pointed to the chums' waste-basket and said to bell, the unfaithful sentinel: "empty your plate in that receptacle, miss tingley. spill the contents of that vase in the bowl. now, miss, to your room." belle obeyed. so she made each girl, as she called her name and wrote it in her book, throw away the remains of her feast, and pour out the chocolate. one by one they were obliged to do this and then walk sedately to their rooms. jennie stone was caught on the way out with a most suggestive bulge in her loose blouse, and was made to disgorge a chocolate layer cake which she had sought to "save" when the unexpected attack of the enemy occurred. "fie, for shame, miss stone!" exclaimed the french teacher. "that a young lady of briarwood hall should be so piggish! fie!" but it was after all the other girls had gone and ruth and helen were left alone with her, that the little french teacher seemed to really show her disappointment over the infraction of the rules by the pupils under her immediate charge. "i hoped for better things of you two young ladies," she said, sorrowfully. "i feared for the influence over you of certain minds among the older scholars; but i believed you, ruth fielding, and you, helen cameron, to be too independent in character to be so easily led by girls of really much weaker wills. for one may _will_ to do evil, or to do good, if one chooses. one need not _drift_. "miss fielding! take that basket of broken food and go down to the basement and empty it in the bin. miss cameron, _you_ may go to bed again. i will wait and see you so disposed. _alons_!" but before ruth could get out of the room, and while helen was hastily preparing for bed, miss picolet noticed something "bunchy" under ruth's spread. she walked to the bedside and snatched back the coverlet. the still untasted viands were revealed. "ah-ha!" exclaimed the french teacher. "at once! into the basket with these, if you will be so kind, miss fielding." had heavy seen those heaps of goodies thus disposed of she must have groaned in actual misery of spirit! but helen, being quick in her preparations for bed, hopped into her own couch before miss picolet turned around to view that corner of the room, and with helen under the bedclothes the hidden dainties (though she _did_ mash some of them) were not revealed to the eye of the teacher, who stood grimly by the door as ruth marched gravely forth with the basket of broken food. for a minute or two helen was as silent as miss picolet; then she ventured in a very small voice: "miss picolet--if you please?" "well, mademoiselle?" snapped the little lady. "may i tell you that my chum ruth had nothing to do with this infringement of the school rules? that the feast was all mine; that she merely partook of it because we roomed together? that she had nothing to do with the planning of the frolic?" "well?" "i thought perhaps that you might believe otherwise," said helen, softly, "as you made ruth remove the--the provisions," said helen. "and really, she isn't at all to blame." "she cannot be without blame," declared miss picolet, yet less harshly than she had spoken before. "an objection from her would have stopped the feast before it began--is it not, miss cameron?" "but she is not so _much_ to blame, miss picolet," repeated helen. "of that we shall see," returned the little lady, and waited by the door until ruth returned from the basement. "now to bed!" ejaculated miss picolet. "wait in chapel after prayers. i really hoped the girls of my dormitory would not force me to call the attention of the preceptress to them because of demerits this half--and i did not believe the trouble would start with two young ladies who had just arrived." so saying, she departed. but helen whispered ruth, before she got in bed, to help remove the remaining goodies to the box in the closet. "at least, we have saved this much from the wreck," chuckled helen. ruth, however, was scarcely willing to admit that that the salvage would repay them for the black marks both surely had earned. chapter xvii goody two-sticks to tell the truth the young ladies of the west dormitory who attended helen's sub-rosa supper looked pretty blue when the rest of the school filed out of chapel and left them sticking, like limpets, to their seats. mrs. tellingham looked just as stern as helen imagined she could look, when she ended a whispered conference with miss picolet, and stood before the culprits. "being out of bed at all hours, and stuffing one's self with all manner of indigestible viands, is more than a crime against the school rules, young ladies," she began. "it is a crime against common sense. besides, i take a pride in the fact that briarwood hall supplies a sufficient and a well-served table. fruit at times between meals is all very well. but a sour pickle and a piece of angel cake at eleven or twelve o'clock at night would soon break down the digestive faculties of a second samson. "however," she added grimly, "that will bring its own punishment. i need not trouble myself about this phase of the matter. but that distinct rules of the school have been broken cannot be ignored. each of you who were visitors at the study of misses fielding and cameron last evening after hours will have one demerit to work off by extra exercises in latin and french. "miss cox!" she spoke so sharply that the fox hopped up quickly, knowing that she was especially addressed. "it is reported to me by miss picolet that you spoke to her in a most unladylike manner. you have two demerits to work off, instead of one." mary cox ruffled up instantly. she flounced into her seat and threw her book aside. "miss cox," repeated the preceptress, sharply, "i do not like your manner. most of these girls are younger than you, and you are their leader. i believe you are all members of the up and doing club. have a care. let your club stand for something besides infractions of the rules, i beg. and, when you deliberately insult the teacher who has charge of your dormitory, you insult _me_." "i suppose i'm to be given no opportunity of answering miss picolet's report, or accusation?" cried mary fox. "i don't call it fair----" "silence!" exclaimed the preceptress. "you may come to me after session this afternoon. miss cameron may work off a full demerit, and before the christmas holidays, for being the prime mover in this orgy, i am told about," said mrs. tellingham, bitingly. "i understand there are some extenuating circumstances in the case of ruth fielding. she will have one-half mark against her record--to be worked off, of course. and, young ladies, i hope this will be the last time i shall see you before me for such a matter. you are relieved for classes." two unexpected things happened to ruth fielding that morning. as they came out from breakfast she came face to face with mary cox, and the older girl "cut" her plainly. she swept by ruth with her head in the air and without returning the latter's nod, and although ruth did not care much about mary cox, the unkindness troubled her. the fox had such an influence over helen! the second surprising happening was the receipt of a letter from mercy curtis, the lame girl. dr. davison's protege wrote: "dear ruth: "mrs. kimmons, next door, is trundling her twin babies--awfully homely little mites--up and down her long piazza in my wheel-chair. to what base uses have the mighty fallen! do you know what your uncle jabez--dusty miller--has done? he had waiting for me when i got home from the sanitarium a pair of the loveliest ebony crutches you ever saw--with silver ferrules! i use 'em when i go out for a walk. fancy old miserable, withered, crippled me going out for a walk! of course, it's really a hobble yet--i hobble-gobble like a rheumatic goblin; but i may do better some day. the doctors all say so. "and now i'm going to surprise you, ruth fielding. i'm coming to see you--not for a mere 'how-de-do-good-bye' visit; but to stay at briarwood hall a while. dr. cranfew (he's the surgeon who helped me so much) is at lumberton and he says i can try school again. public school he doesn't approve of for me. i don't know how they are going to 'rig' it for me, ruth--such wonderful things happen to me all the time! but dr. davison says i am coming, and when he says a thing is going to happen, it happens. like my going to the red mill that time. "and isn't old dusty miller good to me, too? he stops to see me every saturday when he is in town. they miss you a lot at the red mill, ruthie. i have been out once behind dr. davison's red and white mare, to see aunt alviry. we just gabbled about you all the time. your pullets are laying. tell helen 'hullo!' for me. i expect to see you soon, though--that is, if arrangements can be made to billet me with somebody who doesn't mind having a goody two-sticks around. "now, good-bye, ruthie, "from your fidgetty friend, "mercy curtis." this letter delighted ruth, and she went in search of helen to show it to her. the chums were due at their first recitation in a very few moments. ruth found helen talking with mary cox and belle tingley on the steps of the building in a recitation room in which ruth and helen were soon to recite. ruth heard belle say, earnestly: "i believe it, too. miss picolet wasn't downstairs in her room at all. when she caught me she came from upstairs, and that's how i didn't give any warning. i didn't expect her from that direction and i was looking downstairs." "she had been warned, all right," said the fox, sharply. "it's plain enough who played the traitor. nasty little cat!" "i believe you," said belle. "and she only got half a demerit. they favored her, of course." "but why any demerit at all, if she was a spy for miss picolet?" demanded helen, in a worried tone. "pshaw! that's all for a blind," declared the fox. and then all three saw ruth at the bottom of the steps. the fox and belle tingley turned away without giving ruth a second glance, and went into the building. but helen smiled frankly on ruth as her chum approached, and slipped an arm within her own: "what have you got there, ruthie?" she demanded, seeing the open letter. "it's from mercy. read it when you get a chance," ruth whispered, thrusting it into her chum's hand as they went in. "it's just as you said--dr. davison is going to bring it about. mercy curtis is coming to briarwood, too." helen said nothing at all about the fox and her room-mate. but ruth saw that the upedes--especially those who had been caught in the french teacher's raid on duet number --whispered a good deal among themselves, and when they looked at ruth they did not look kindly. after recitation, and before dinner, several of the girls deliberately cut her as mary cox had. but helen said nothing, nor would ruth speak first. she saw plainly that the fox had started the cabal against her. it made ruth feel very unhappy, but there was nothing she could do to defend herself. chapter xviii the mystery again the organization of the sweetbriars had gone on apace. two general meetings had been held. every new-comer to the school, who had entered the junior classes, saving helen cameron, had joined the new society. the committee on constitution and by-laws was now ready to report and this very afternoon ruth and two other girls waited on mrs. tellingham to ask permission to hold social meetings in one of the assembly rooms on stated occasions, as the other school societies did. the trio of sweetbriars had to wait a little while in the hall outside the library door, for mrs. tellingham was engaged. mary cox came out first and as she passed ruth she tossed her head and said: "well, are you here to tattle about somebody else?" ruth was stricken speechless, and the girls with her asked wonderingly what the older girl had meant. "i--i do not know just what she means," gasped ruth, "only that she means to hurt me if she can." "she's mad with you," said one, "because you started the s. b.'s and wouldn't join her old upede club. "that's it," said the other. "don't you mind, miss fielding." then the maid told them they could go into the library. mrs. tellingham looked very grave, and sat at her desk tapping the lid thoughtfully with a pencil. this was one occasion when dr. tellingham was not present. the countenance of the preceptress did not lighten at all when she saw ruth come in. "what is it, miss fielding?" she asked in her brusque way. ruth stated the desire of the new society briefly, and she was positive before mrs. tellingham replied at all that the mention of the sweetbriars did not please the lady. "you girls will fill your time so full, with societies and leagues, and what all, that there will be little space for studies. i am half sorry now that i ever allowed any secret, or social clubs, to be formed at briarwood. but while we have the forward club, i cannot well deny the right of other girls to form similar societies. "but i am not pleased with the up and doing club. i understand that every girl but one reported out of her room after retiring bell last evening, in the west dormitory, was a member of the up and doings--and the other girl was you, miss fielding!" she added sternly. "and you are a member of this new organization-- what do you call it? the 's. b.'s,' is it?" "the sweetbriars," said ruth bravely. "and i am sorry i did anything to bring any cloud upon the name of the new club. i promise you, mrs. tellingham, that i will do nothing in the future to make you sorry that you sanctioned the formation of _our_ society." "very well! very well!" said the preceptress, hastily. "you may have the same rights, and under the same conditions, that the older clubs have. and now, miss fielding, stop here a moment, i have another matter to speak to you about." the other girls went away and ruth, somewhat troubled by the manner of mrs. tellingham, waited her pleasure. the preceptress took up a letter from her desk and read it through again. "dr. davison you know, ruth," she said, quietly. "he and your uncle, mr. jabez potter, have arranged to send here to school a lame girl named curtis------" "my uncle!" gasped ruth. "o, i beg your pardon, mrs. tellingham. but are you sure it is my uncle who is sending mercy curtis?" "with dr. davison--yes," the preceptress said, in some surprise. "they have equally charged themselves with her expenses at briarwood--if she can remain here. you know her, of course?" "helen and i have talked of her almost every day, mrs. tellingham," said ruth warmly. "she is very quick and sharp. and she is much improved in disposition from what she used to be." "i hear you speak of her so kindly, with pleasure, miss fielding," said the head of the school. "for it opens the way to a suggestion that dr. davison makes. he wishes mercy curtis to room with you." "with helen and me!" cried ruth, in delight. "of course, i slept in mercy's room all the time she was at the red mill last summer, and we got on nicely together." "but you do not know how miss cameron will receive the suggestion of having a third girl in your small room?" "oh, helen is so kind!" ruth cried. "i do not believe she will object. and she is sorry for mercy." "i know you have been helen's constant companion. do you think you have been as good friends as you were when you came to briarwood, ruth?" asked mrs. tellingham, with sharpness. "helen! oh, i hope so, mrs. tellingham!" cried ruth, in great distress. "i am sure i love her just the same--and always shall." "but she evidently finds her friends among the upedes. why did she not join this new society that you have started?" "i--i did not mean to start it without her," stammered ruth. "it was really only my suggestion. the other infants took it up----" "but you named it?" "i _did_ suggest the name," admitted ruth. "and you did not join the up and doing club with your chum." "no, mrs. tellingham. nor did i join the f. c.'s. i did not like the manner in which both societies went about making converts. i didn't like it the very first day we came." "miss picolet, your french teacher, told me something about mary cox meeting the stage and getting hold of you two girls before you had reached briarwood at all." "yes, ma'am." "by the way," said the preceptress, her brow clouding again and the stern look coming back into her face that had rested on it when ruth had first entered the room, "you had met miss picolet before you arrived at the school?" "she spoke to us in the stage--yes, ma'am." "but before that--you had seen her?" "ye-es, ma'am," said ruth, slowly, beginning to suspect that mrs. tellingham's curiosity was no idle matter. "where?" "on the _lanawaxa_--the boat coming down the lake, mrs. tellingham." "miss picolet was alone aboard the boat?" ruth signified that she was. "did you see her speaking with anybody?" "we saw a man speak to her. he was one of the musicians. he frightened miss picolet. afterward we saw that he had followed her out upon the wharf. he was a big man who played a harp." "and you told this to your school-fellows after you became acquainted here?" mrs. tellingham spoke very sternly indeed, and her gaze never left ruth's face. the girl from the red mill hesitated but an instant. _she_ had never spoken of the man and miss picolet to anybody save helen; but she knew that her chum must have told all the particulars to mary cox. "i--i believe we _did_ mention it to some of the girls. it impressed us as peculiar--especially as we did not know who miss picolet was until after we were in the stage-coach with her." "then you are sure you have not been one who has circulated stories among the girls about miss picolet--derogatory to her, i mean?" "oh, mrs. tellingham! never!" cried ruth, earnestly. "do you know anything about this silly story i hear whispered that the marble harp out there on the fountain was heard to play the night you and miss cameron arrived here?" "oh!" ejaculated ruth. "i see you know about it. did you hear the sound?" "ye-es, ma'am," admitted ruth. "i will not ask you under what circumstances you heard it; but i _do_ ask if you have any knowledge of any fact that might explain the mystery?" ruth was silent for several moments. she was greatly worried; yet she could understand how this whole matter had come to mrs. tellingham's knowledge. mary cox, angry at miss picolet, had tried to defame her in the mind of the preceptress. now, what ruth _knew_ was very little indeed. what she _suspected_ regarding a meeting between the french teacher and the man with the harp, at the campus fountain, was an entirely different matter. but mrs. tellingham had put her question so that ruth did not have to tell her suspicions. "i really know nothing about it, mrs. tellingham," she said, finally. "that is all. i do not believe you--or miss cameron--would willingly malign an innocent person. i have known miss picolet some time, and i respect her. if she has a secret sorrow, i respect _it_. i do not think it is nice to make miss picolet's private affairs a subject for remark by the school. "now, we will leave that. sound miss cameron about this mercy curtis. if you girls will take her in, she shall come on trial. it lies with you, and your roommate, miss fielding. come to me after chapel to-morrow and tell me what you have decided." and so ruth was dismissed. chapter xix the triumvirate mercy curtis came in a week. for helen of course was only too delighted to fall in with mrs. tellingham's suggestion. duet number , west dormitory, was amply large enough for three, and ruth gave up her bed to the cripple and slept on a couch. helen herself could not do too much for the comfort of the newcomer. dr. davidson and dr. cranfew came with her; but really the lame girl bore the journey remarkably well. and how different she looked from the thin, peaked girl that ruth and helen remembered! "oh, you didn't expect to see so much flesh on my bones; did you?" said mercy, noting their surprise, and being just as sharp and choppy in her observations as ever. "but i'm getting wickedly and scandalously fat. and i don't often have to repeat aunt alviry's song of 'oh, my back and oh, my bones!'" mercy went to bed on her arrival. but the next day she got about in the room very nicely with the aid of two canes. the handsome ebony crutches she saved for "sunday-best." ruth arranged a meeting of the sweetbriars to welcome the cripple, and mercy seemed really to enjoy having so many girls of her own age about her. helen did not bring in many members of the upedes; indeed, just then they all seemed to keep away from duet two, and none of them spoke to ruth. that is, none save jennie stone. the fat girl was altogether too good-natured--and really too kind at heart--to treat ruth fielding as jennie's roommates did. "they say you went and told picolet we were going to have the party in your room," heavy said to ruth, frankly, "and that's how you got out of it so easily. but i tell them that's all nonsense, you know. if you'd wanted to make us trouble, you would have let helen have the party in our room, as she wanted to, and so you could have stayed home and not been in it at all." "as she wanted to?" repeated ruth, slowly. "did helen first plan to have the supper in your quartette?" "of course she did. it was strictly a upede affair--or would have been if you hadn't been in it. but you're a good little thing, ruth fielding, and i tell them you never in this world told picolet." "i did not indeed, jennie," said ruth, sadly. "well, you couldn't make the fox believe that. she's sure about it, you see," the stout girl said. "when mary cox wants to be mean, she can be, now i tell you!" indeed, heavy was not like the other three girls in the next room. mary, belle and lluella never looked at ruth if they could help it, and never spoke to her. ruth was not so much hurt over losing such girls for friends, for she could not honestly say she had liked them at the start; but that they should so misjudge and injure her was another matter. she said nothing to helen about all this; and helen was as firmly convinced that mary cox and the other upedes were jolly girls, as ever. indeed, they were jolly enough; most of their larks were innocent fun, too. but it was a fact that most of those girls who received extra tasks during those first few weeks of the half belonged to the up and doing club. that helen escaped punishment was more by good fortune than anything else. in the study, however, she and ruth and mercy had many merry times. mercy kept both the other girls up to their school tasks, for all lessons seemed to come easy to the lame girl and she helped her two friends not a little in the preparation of their own. "the triumvirate" the other girls in the dormitory building called the three girls from cheslow. before thanksgiving, ruth, helen, and mercy began to stand high in their several classes. and ruth was booked for the glee club, too. she sang every sunday in the chorus, while helen played second violin in the orchestra, having taken some lessons on that instrument before coming to briarwood. dr. cranfew came often at first to see mercy; but he declared at last that he only came socially--there was no need of medical attendance. the cripple could not go to recitations without her crutches, but sometimes in the room she walked with only ruth's strong arm for support. she was getting rosy, too, and began to take exercise in the gymnasium. "i'll develop my biceps, if my back is crooked and my legs queer," she declared. "then, when any of those _miss nancy_ seniors make fun of me behind my back, i can punch 'em!" for there were times when mercy's old, cross-grained moods came upon her, and she was not so easily borne with. perhaps this fact was one of the things that drove the wedge deeper between ruth and helen. ruth would never neglect the crippled girl. she seldom left her in the room alone. mercy had early joined the sweetbriars, and ruth and she went to the frequent meetings of that society together, while helen retained her membership in the up and doing club and spent a deal of her time in the quartette room next door. few of the girls went home for thanksgiving, and as mercy was not to return to cheslow then, the journey being considered too arduous for her, ruth decided not to go either. there was quite a feast made by the school on thanksgiving, and frost having set in a week before, skating on triton lake was in prospect. there was a small pond attached to the briarwood property and ruth tried helen's skates there. she had been on the ice before, but not much; however, she found that the art came easily to her--as easily as tennis, in which, by this time, she was very proficient. for the day following thanksgiving there was a trip to triton lake planned, for that great sheet of water was ice-bound, too, and a small steamer had been caught 'way out in the middle of the lake, and was frozen in. the project to drive to the lake and skate out to the steamer (the ice was thick enough to hold up a team of horses, and plenty of provisions had been carried out to the crew) and to have a hot lunch on the boat originated in the fertile brain of mary cox; but as it was not a picnic patronized only by the upedes, mrs. tellingham made no objection to it. besides, it was vacation week, and the preceptress was much more lenient. of course, helen was going; but ruth had her doubts. mercy could not go, and the girl of the red mill hated to leave her poor little crippled friend alone. but mercy was as sharp of perception as she was of tongue. when helen blurted out the story of the skating frolic, ruth said "she would see" about going; she said she wasn't sure that she would care to go. "i'm such a new skater, you know," she laughed. "maybe i'd break down skating out to the steamboat, and wouldn't get there, and while all you folks were eating that nice hot lunch i'd be freezing to death--poor little me!--'way out there on the ice." but mercy, with her head on one side and her sharp blue eyes looking from helen to ruth, shot out: "now, don't you think you're smart, ruth fielding? why, i can see right through you--just as though you were a rag of torn mosquito netting! you won't go because i'll be left alone." "no," said ruth, but flushing. "yes," shot back mercy. "and _i_ don't have to turn red about it, either. oh, ruthie, ruthie! you can't even tell a _white one_ without blushing about it." "i--don't--know----" "i do know!" declared mercy. "you're going. i've got plenty to do. you girls can go on and freeze your noses and your toeses, if you like. me for the steam-heated room and a box of bonbons. but i hope the girls who go will be nicer to you than some of those upedes have been lately, ruthie." helen blushed now; but ruth hastened to say: "oh, don't you fuss about me, mercy. some of the sweetbriars mean to go. this isn't confined to one club in particular. madge steele is going, too, and miss polk. and miss reynolds, mrs. tellingham's first assistant, is going with the party. i heard all about it at supper. poor heavy was full of it; but she says she can't go because she never could skate so far. and then--the ice might break under _her_." "whisper!" added helen, her eyes dancing. "i'll tell you something else--and this i know you don't know!" "what is it?" "maybe tom will be there. good old tom! just think--i haven't seen him since we left home. won't it be just scrumptious to see old tom again?" and ruth fielding really thought it would be. chapter xx at triton lake so on the morning following the feast-day there were two wagonettes waiting at the entrance to the briarwood grounds to take the girls two miles by road to a certain boathouse on triton lake. when ruth and helen came out of their room, leaving mercy cozily ensconced in the window-seat with her books and the box of bonbons, the door of the quartette was open and a faint groan sounded from within. helen's eyes twinkled, as she said: "the others have gone, but jennie's up in dry-dock for repairs. no wonder she wouldn't promise to be one of the skating party. the pleasures of the table must be paid for---- how do you feel now, heavy?" she added, putting her head in at the door. "no better. oh!" came back the complaining voice. "i _do_ have such dreadful ill-fortune. i can't eat _just a little bit_ without its distressing me abominably!" the chums ran down to the wagonettes and found most of the girls who were going already there. ruth, seeing that there was more room in the second carriage, whisked into it, and helen was following her when mary cox came up. "going to get in here, cameron?" she said. "well, i'll get in with you--no, i won't!" she suddenly exclaimed, seeing ruth peering out. "come on to the other wagonette; belle and lluella are there." for a moment helen hesitated. then mary said, jerking at her sleeve: "come on! we want to start in a minute. i've heard from the boys and i want to tell you. they've sent a whole sleighload of things out to the _minnetonka_--the boat that's frozen in, you know--and music, and we'll have great fun. sh! miss reynolds don't know. she's such a fuss-budget! if she knew the boys were coming--well!" "oh, tom, too!" gasped helen, delighted. then she turned and said, in a whisper: "ruth!" "come on and let that tattle-tale alone!" exclaimed mary cox. "tell her, and she'll run to miss reynolds with it." helen went with her. had ruth fielding possessed the power of movement just then, she would have gotten out of the wagon and run away to the dormitory. but she was stricken motionless as well as speechless by her chum's defection, and before she could recover her poise the wagons had begun to move, rattling over the frozen road toward triton lake. ah! how it hurt! for weeks ruth had endured slights, and haughty looks, and innuendoes from mary cox and her upedes--and the girl from the red mill had accepted all uncomplainingly. she had heretofore believed helen only thoughtless. but this was more than ruth fielding could bear. she was the last girl to get into the wagonette, and she turned her head away, that her companions might not see her tears. the other girls chattered, and laughed, and sang, and enjoyed themselves. ruth fielding passed the few minutes which elapsed during the drive to the boathouse in trying to stifle her sobs and remove the traces of her emotion. she was tempted to remain in the wagonette and go back to the school at once--for the carriages would return to town, coming out again for the party of briarwood students late in the afternoon. this thought was her first intention; but as her sobs subsided she felt more the hurt of the treatment she had received. and this hurt stirred within her a self-assertion that was becoming a more prominent characteristic of ruth every day. why should she relapse into tears because her chum had done a cruel thing? hurt as she was, why should she give the fox the satisfaction of _knowing_ she felt the slight? ruth began to take herself to task for her "softness." let helen go with the upedes if she wished. here were nice girls all about her, and all the sweetbriars particularly thought a great deal of her, ruth knew. she need not mope and weep just because helen cameron, her oldest friend, had neglected her. the other girls stood ready to be her friends. they had not noticed ruth's silence and abstraction--much less her tears. she wiped her eyes hard, gulped down her sobs, and determined to have a good time in spite of either the upedes or helen's hardness of heart. the first wagonette reached the shore of the lake some time ahead of the second. and perhaps this fact, as well as the placing of miss reynolds in the latter, had been arranged by the wily miss cox. "oh, mary cox!" cried helen, looking out, "there's a whole lot of folks here--boys!" but when one of the boys came running to help her down the steps, helen shouted with delight. she came "flopping" down into tom cameron's arms. "how scrumptious you look, nell!" cried her brother, kissing her frankly. "here is bob steele--i want you to know him. he's my bunkie at seven oaks. isn't his sister with you--madge steele?" "yes. miss steele's here," gasped helen. "but where's ruth?" demanded the excited tom. "come on and get her. we want to get our skates on and make for the steamer. the ice is like glass." "why--ruth's in the other wagonette," said helen. "she's not with you?" exclaimed tom, rather chagrined. "why, how's that?" "we--we happened to get into different ones," said his sister. to tell the truth, she had not thought of ruth since leaving the school. "is that the other one coming--'way back on the road there?" "yes," said helen. "here's miss cox, tom. mary, this is my brother." bob steele, who was a tall, blond fellow, was at hand to be introduced, too. his sister jumped out of the wagon and said: "hullo, bobbie! how's your poor croup?" madge was a year and a half older than her brother and always treated him as though he were a very small boy in knickerbockers--if not actually in pinafores. the girls giggled over this, and bob steele blushed. but he took his sister's chaffing good-naturedly. tom cameron, however, was very much disturbed over the absence of ruth fielding. "we'd better hurry out on the ice. we've got an awful strict teacher with us," said mary cox, hastily. "you take care of my sister, too; will you, bob?" said tom, bluntly. "i shall wait and bring miss fielding down." "oh, she'll look out for herself," said mary cox, slightingly. "we must hurry if we want any fun." "helen and i wouldn't have much fun if ruth were left behind," declared master tom, firmly. "go on, bob; we'll catch up with you." "hadn't you better come, too, tom?" whispered helen, doubtfully. "why, we want ruth with us; don't we?" demanded the puzzled tom, looking at her in wonder. "go on, nell. we'll be with you shortly." "why, i want to introduce you to the other girls," said helen, pouting. "and i haven't seen you myself for so long." "it's too bad you got separated from your spoon, nell," said her brother, calmly. "but i shall wait and bring her." the others--even madge steele--were already trooping down to the landing, where there were settees for the girls to sit on while their skates were being adjusted. helen had to run after them, and tom waited alone the arrival of the second wagonette from briarwood hall. chapter xxi on the ice if ruth fielding's eyes were a bit red when the wagonette finally came to the landing, nobody would have suspected her of crying. least of all tom cameron, for she jumped down with a glad cry when she saw him, and dropped her skates and shook both his hands in a most cordial greeting. "helen hinted that you might be here, tom, but i could hardly believe it," she said. "we want to hurry and catch up with them," he said. some of the girls were already on the ice. "we'd better go." but the other girls had alighted, and following them came miss reynolds. now, ruth liked miss reynolds very much, but the teacher came towards them, looking rather grave. "this is helen cameron's brother tom, miss reynolds," said ruth. "he attends the seven oaks military academy." "i see," said the teacher, quietly. "and where is miss cameron?" "she has gone on with bob steele and his sister," explained tom, seeing instantly that all was not right. "you see, some of us fellows got permission to come over here to triton lake to-day. mr. hargreaves, one of our tutors, is with us." "i know mr. hargreaves," said miss reynolds. "but i had no warning--nor had mrs. tellingham, i believe--that any of the young gentlemen from major parradel's school were to be here." "well, it will make it all the nicer, i am sure," tom suggested, with his winning smile. "we'll all--all us fellows, i mean--try to behave our prettiest, miss reynolds." "undoubtedly you will be on your good behavior," said the teacher, drily. but tom and ruth could not hurry on ahead now. miss reynolds walked sedately with them down to the landing. by that time mary cox and most of the upedes were on the ice--and they were joined by all the boys but tom. the fox had laid her plans well. mr. hargreaves skated back to shake hands with miss reynolds. "this is a surprise," he said. "i am sure i did not expect to find you and your young ladies here, miss reynolds." "are you sure that the meeting is _quite_ unexpected by both parties?" she returned, with a grave smile. "if we are surprised, mr. hargreaves, i fancy that our young charges may have been rather better informed in advance than we were." the gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "i give that up!" he said. "it may be. i see you have your hands full here. shall i take my--er--my remaining young man away with me?" he asked, looking aside at tom, who was already fastening ruth's skates. "oh, no," said miss reynolds, grimly. "i'll make use of him!" and she most certainly did. tom was anxious to get ruth away at once so that they could catch up with the foremost skaters; but he could not refuse to aid her teacher. and then there were others of the girls to help. they were all on the ice before master tom could get his own skates on. then there was a basket to carry, and of course tom could not see the teacher or one of the girls carry it. he took it manfully. then miss reynolds gave ruth her hand and skated with her, and master tom was fain to skate upon ruth's other hand. and so they went on slowly, while the lively crowd ahead drew farther and farther away. it was not an unpleasant journey out across the smooth lake, however, and perhaps the party who had but one boy for escort had just as pleasant a time in many respects as those in advance. ruth made her friend acquainted with all the sweetbriars who were present and whispered to him how he had really named the new briarwood society. that vastly tickled tom and he made himself just as agreeable to the girls as he knew how. miss reynolds was no wet blanket on the fun, either, and she was as good a skater as tom himself. ruth had improved greatly, and before they reached the frost-bound _minnetonka_ the teacher relieved tom of his basket and told him to give the girl from the red mill a lesson in skating with a partner--practice which she sorely needed. it was spirited indeed to fly over the ice, guided by tom's sure foot and hand. they described a great curve and came back to miss reynolds and the other girls, who progressed more sedately. then tom gave his hands to two of the older girls and with their arms stretched at full length the trio went careening over the ice on the "long roll" in a way that made ruth, looking on with shining eyes, fairly hold her breath. "it's wonderful!" she cried, when the three came back, glowing with the exercise. "do you suppose i can ever learn that, tom?" "why, ruthie, you're so sure of yourself on the skates that i believe i could teach you to roll very easily. if miss reynolds will allow me?" "go on, master tom," the teacher said, laughing. "but don't go too far away. we are nearing the boat now." the first party that had struck out from the shore had all arrived at the ice-bound _minnetonka_ now, and many of them were skating in couples thereabout. at the stern of the steamboat was an open place in the ice, for ruth and tom could see the water sparkling. there was little wind, but it was keen; the sun was quite warm and the exercise kept the skaters from feeling the cold. "hullo!" exclaimed tom to ruth, as they began to get into good stroke--for the girl was an apt pupil--"who is that old bobbins has got under his wing?" "who is bobbins?" asked ruth, with a laugh. "my bunkie--that's what we call our chums at seven oaks. bob steele." "madge steele's brother?" "yes. and no end of a good fellow," declared tom. "but, my aunt! don't his sister rig him, though? asked old bobbins if he had the croup?" and tom went off into a burst of laughter. "do you mean the tall, light-haired boy?" ruth queried. "yes. they're skating back toward the steamboat now--see, towards the stern." "that is mary cox with your friend," said ruth, a little gravely. "hullo!" ejaculated tom, again. he started ahead at full clip, bearing ruth on with him. something had happened to the couple tom and ruth had noticed. they swerved to one side and suddenly bob steele went down. "his skate's broke!" erred tom. "hope old bobbins isn't hurt. great scott! the girl's with him!" mary cox had indeed fallen. for a moment the two figures, flung by the momentum of their pace, slid over the ice. there came a wild shout from those nearer the boat--then a splash! "they're in the water!" cried ruth, in horror. she retarded tom very little, but dashed forward, keeping in stroke with him. she heard tom whisper: "poor old bobbins! he'll be drowned!" "no, no, tom! we can get to them," gasped ruth. indeed, she and her escort were the nearest to the open place in the lake into which bob steele and mary cox had fallen. if anybody in sight could help the victims of the accident tom and ruth could! chapter xxii the harpist once more over all, ruth wore a woolen sweater--one of those stretchy, clinging coats with great pearl buttons that was just the thing for a skating frolic. it had been her one reckless purchase since being at briarwood, she and helen having gone down into lumberton on saturday and purchased coats. while ruth and tom were yet some yards from the open water the girl began to unbutton this. "careful, tom!" she gasped. "not too near--wait!" "it's thick 'way to the edge," he returned, pantingly. "no, it isn't. that's why mary cox went in. i saw the ice break under her when she tried to turn and escape." thus warned, tom dug the heel of his right skate into the ice as a brake, and they slowed down. ruth let go of his hand and wriggled out of her coat in a moment. then she dropped to her knees and slid along the ice, while tom flung himself forward and traveled just as though he were sliding down hill. "take this, tom!" cried ruth, and tossed the coat to him. "we'll make a chain--i'll hold your feet. not too near!" "hold on, bobbins!" yelled young cameron. "we'll have you out in a minute!" mary cox had screamed very loudly at first; and she struggled with her fellow victim, too. bob steele was trying to hold her up, but finally he was obliged to let her go, and she went under water with a gurgling cry. "grab her again, bobbins!" called tom, flinging ruth's coat ahead of him, but holding firmly to it himself by the two sleeves. "i've got her!" gasped bob steele, his teeth chattering, and up the fox came again, her hair all dripping, and her face very pale. "good!" said tom. "she's swallowed enough water to keep her still for a while--what? come on, now, old boy! don't wait! catch hold!" as ruth had warned him, the edge of the ice was fragile. he dared not push himself out too far with the sharp toes of his skates. he dug them into the ice now hard, and made another cast with the coat. his chum caught it. tom drew them slowly toward the edge of the ice. ruth pulled back as hard as she could, and together they managed to work their bodies at least two yards farther from the open water. the ice stopped cracking under tom's breast. there was the ring of skates and shouting of voices in their ears, and ruth, raising herself slightly, looked around and screamed to the crowd to keep back. indeed, the first of tom's school friends would have skated right down upon them had they not thus been warned. "keep back!" ruth cried. "we can get them out. don't come nearer!" tom seconded her warning, too. but mainly he gave himself up to the work of aiding the two in the water. bob steele lifted the girl up--he was a strong swimmer even in that icy bath--and did it with one hand, too, for he clung to ruth's coat with the other. mary cox began to struggle again. fortunately bob had her half upon the ice. tom reached forward and seized her shoulder. he dragged back with all his strength. the ice crashed in again; but mary did not fall back, for tom jerked her heavily forward. "now we've got her!" called tom. and they really had. mary cox was drawn completely out of the water. mr. hargreaves, meanwhile, had flown to the rescue with two of the bigger boys. they got down on the ice, forming a second living chain, and hitching forward, the tutor seized the half-conscious girl's hand. the others drew back and dragged mr. hargreaves, with the girl, to firm ice. meanwhile tom, with ruth to help him, struggled manfully to get bob steele out. that youngster was by no means helpless, and they accomplished the rescue smartly. "and that's thanks to you, ruthie!" declared tom, when the tutor and miss reynolds had hurried the half-drowned girl and young steele off to the _minnetonka_. "i'd never have gotten him but for you--and look at your coat!" "it will dry," laughed the girl from the red mill. "let's hurry after them, tom. you're wet a good deal, too--and i shall miss my coat, being so heated. come on!" but she could not escape the congratulations of the girls and boys when they reached the steamboat. even mary cox's closest friends gathered around ruth to thank her. nobody could gainsay the fact that ruth had been of great help in the recovery of mary and bob from the lake. but helen! had the other girls--and miss reynolds--not been in the little cabin of the boat which had been given up to the feminine members of the party, she would have broken down and cried on ruth's shoulder. to think that she had been guilty of neglecting her chum! "i believe i have been bewitched, ruthie," she whispered. "tom, i know, is on the verge of scolding me. what did you say to him?" "nothing that need trouble you in the least, you may be sure, helen," said ruth. "but, my dear, if it has taken such a thing as _this_--which is not a thing to go into heroics over--to remind you that i might possibly be hurt by your treatment, i am very sorry indeed." "why, ruth!" helen gasped. "you don't forgive me?" "i am not at all sure, helen, that you either need or want my forgiveness," returned ruth. "you have done nothing yourself for which you need to ask it--er, at least, very little; but your friends have insulted and been unkind to me. i do not think that i could have called girls _my_ friends who had treated you so, helen." miss cox had retired to a small stateroom belonging to one of the officers of the boat, while her clothing was dried by the colored stewardess. bob steele, however, borrowed some old clothes of some of the crew, and appeared when the lunch was ready in those nondescript garments, greatly adding to the enjoyment of the occasion. "well, sonny, your croup _will_ bother you sure enough, after that dip," declared his sister. "come! let sister tuck your bib in like a nice boy. and _don't_ gobble!" bob was such a big fellow--his face was so pink, and his hair so yellow--that madge's way of talking to him made him seem highly comic. the fellows from seven oaks shouted with laughter, and the girls giggled. mr. hargreaves and miss reynolds, both relieved beyond expression by the happy conclusion of what might have been a very serious accident, did not quell the fun; and fifty or sixty young people never had such a good time before in the saloon of the lake steamer, _minnetonka_. suddenly music began somewhere about the boat and the young folk began to get restive. some ran for their skates again, for the idea was to remain near the steamer for a while and listen to the music before going back to shore. the music was a piano, guitar, violin, and harp, and when ruth heard it and recognized the latter instrument she was suddenly reminded of miss picolet and the strange harpist who (she firmly believed) had caused the startling sound at the fountain. "let's go and see who's playing," she whispered to helen, who had clung close to her ever since they had come aboard the steamboat. and as tom was on the other side of his sister, he went with them into the forward part of the boat. "well, what do you know about _that_?" demanded tom, almost before the girls were in the forward cabin. "isn't that the big man with the red waistcoat that frightened that little woman on the _lanawaxa_? you know, you pointed them out to me on the dock at portageton, helen? isn't that him at the harp?" "oh! it is, indeed!" ejaculated his sister. "what a horrid man he is! let's come away." but ruth was deeply interested in the harpist. she wondered what knowledge of, or what connection he had with, the little french teacher, miss picolet. and she wondered, too, if her suspicions regarding the mystery of the campus--the sounding of the harpstring in the dead of night--were borne out by the facts? had this coarse fellow, with his pudgy hands, his corpulency, his drooping black mustache, some hold upon miss picolet? had he followed her to briarwood hall, and had he made her meet him behind the fountain just at that hour when the upedes were engaged in hazing helen and herself? these thoughts arose in her mind again as ruth gazed apprehensively at the ugly-looking harpist. helen pulled her sleeve and ruth was turning away when she saw that the little, piglike eyes of the harpist were turned upon them. he smiled in his sly way and actually nodded at them. "sh! he remembers us," whispered helen. "oh, do come away, ruth!" "he isn't any handsome object, that's a fact," muttered tom. "and the cheek of him--nodding to you two girls!" after the excitement of the accident on the lake our friends did not feel much like skating until it came time to go back to the landing. mr. hargreaves was out on the ice with those students of the two schools who preferred to skate; but miss reynolds remained in the cabin. mary cox had had her lunch in the little stateroom, wrapped in blankets and in the company of an oil-stove, for heat's sake. now she came out, re-dressed in her own clothes, which were somewhat mussed and shrunken in appearance. helen ran to her at once to congratulate mary on her escape. "and wasn't it lucky tom and ruth were so near you?" she cried. "and dear old ruthie! she's quite a heroine; isn't she? and you must meet tom." "i shall be glad to meet and thank your brother, helen," said the fox, rather crossly. "but i don't see what need there is to make a fuss over fielding. your brother and mr. hargreaves pulled mr. steele and me out or the lake." helen stepped back and her pretty face flushed. she had begun to see mary cox in her true light. certainly she was in no mood just then to hear her chum disparaged. she looked around for tom and ruth; the former was talking quietly with miss reynolds, but ruth had slipped away when the fox came into the cabin. mary cox walked unperturbed to the teacher and tom and put out her hand to the youth, thanking him very nicely for what he had done. "oh, you mustn't thank me more than the rest of them," urged tom. "at least, i did no more than ruthie. by the way, where _is_ ruthie?" but ruth fielding had disappeared, and they did not see her again until the call was given for the start home. then she appeared from the forward part of the boat, very pale and silent, and all the way to the shore, skating between tom and helen, she had scarcely a word to say. chapter xxiii the secret for there was the burden of a secret on ruth fielding's mind and heart. she had slipped away when she saw the fox appear in the outer cabin and, walking forward, had been stopped suddenly in a cross gallery by a firm touch upon her arm. "sh! mademoiselle!" before she looked into the shadowy place she realized that it was the harpist. his very presence so near her made ruth shrink and tremble for an instant. but then she recovered her self-possession and asked, unshakenly: "what do you want of me?" "ah, mademoiselle! kind mademoiselle!" purred the great creature--and ruth knew well what his villainous smile must look like, although she could not see it. "may the unfortunate vagabond musician speak a single word into mademoiselle's ear?" "you have spoken several words into it already, sir," said ruth, sharply. "what do you want?" "ah! the mademoiselle is so practical," murmured the harpist again. "be quick," commanded ruth, for although she had a strong repugnance for the fellow there was no reason why she should fear him, with so many people within call. "state your reason for stopping me, sir." "the mademoiselle is from the school--the institute where learning is taught the lo-fe-ly misses?" he thus made three syllables of "lovely" and ruth knew that he leered like a billiken in the dark. "i am at briarwood hall--yes," she said. "i have seen the kind mademoiselle before," said the man. "on the boat on that other so-beeg lake--osago, is it?" "on the _lanawaxa_--yes," admitted ruth. "ah! i am proud. the mademoiselle remember me," he exclaimed, bowing in the dark alley. "go on," urged ruth, impatiently. "it is of the leetle lady--mademoiselle picolet--i would speak," he said, more quickly. "our french teacher--yes." "then, knowing her, will the mademoiselle take a small note from the poor musician to the good picolet? 'tis a small matter--no?" "you want me to do this without telling anybody about it?" questioned ruth, bluntly. "_oui, oui_, mademoiselle! you have the discernment beyond your years. indeed!" "i knew it must be something underhanded you wanted," declared ruth, boldly. he laughed and ruth saw a small envelope thrust toward her in the dusk of the passage. "you will take it?" he said. "i will take it--providing you do not come there again," exclaimed ruth. "come where?" he demanded. "to the school. to the campus where the fountain is." "ha! you know _that_, my pretty bird?" he returned. "well! this will perhaps relieve the good picolet of my presence--who knows?" "then i will take it," ruth said, hastily, her hand closing on the billet. "_comme il faut_," he said, and went away down the passage, humming in his bassoon voice. and so, as she sped shoreward between her two friends, ruth had the little letter tucked away in the bosom of her frock. the secret troubled her. she was really glad to say good bye to tom at the landing, and all the way back in the wagonette, although helen sat close to her and tried to show her how sorry she was for her past neglect, ruth was very silent. for she was much disturbed by this secret. she feared she was doing wrong in carrying the note to miss picolet. yet, under different circumstances, she might have thought little of it. but after her talk with mrs. tellingham about the mystery of the campus, she was troubled to think that she was taking any part in the french teacher's private affairs. helen was so filled with the excitement of the day, and of her long talk with her twin brother, that she did not observe ruth's distraught manner. "and we'll have such fun!" ruth finally awoke to hear her chum declare in a whisper. "father's always promised to get a place in the woods, and snow camp is a delightful spot." "what are you talking about, helen?" demanded ruth, suddenly. "i don't believe you've heard a thing i've been saying," cried her chum. "i haven't heard everything," admitted ruth. "but tell me now; i'll listen." "it's about the christmas holidays. you shall go with us. we're going 'way up in the woods--to a hunting camp that father has bought. we were there for a week-end once when mr. parrish owned it. snow camp is the most delightful place." "i am sure you will have a fine time," ruth said, generously. "and so you will, too," declared helen, "for you're going." "my _dear_! i am going home to the red mill at christmas." "and we'll go home for christmas, too; but there are three weeks' holidays, and two of them we will spend at snow camp. oh, yes we will!" helen cried. "i'd cry my eyes out if you didn't go, ruth." "but uncle jabez----" "we'll just tease him until he lets you go. he'll not object much, i'm sure. i should just cry my eyes out if you didn't go with us, ruthie," she repeated. the plan for the winter holidays sank into insignificance in ruth's mind, however, when they left the carriages and ran over to the west dormitory just as evening was falling. mercy waved a white hand to them from her window as they crossed the campus; but ruth allowed helen to run ahead while she halted in the lower corridor and asked miss scrimp if the french teacher was in her room. "oh, yes, miss ruthie," said the matron. "miss picolet is in. you can knock." as ruth asked this question and received its answer she saw mary cox come in alone at the hall door. the fox had not spoken to ruth since the accident on the ice. now she cast no pleasant glance in ruth's direction. yet, seeing the younger girl approaching miss picolet's door, mary smiled one of her very queerest smiles, nodded her head with secret satisfaction, and marched on upstairs to her own study. "enter!" said miss picolet's soft voice in answer to ruth's timid rap on the panel of the door. the girl entered and found the little french teacher sewing by the window. miss picolet looked up, saw who it was, and welcomed ruth with a smile. "i hope you have had a joyful day, miss ruth," she said. "come to the radiator--you are cold." "i am going to run upstairs in a moment, mademoiselle," said ruth, hesitatingly. "but i have a message for you." "a message for me?" said the lady, in surprise. "yes, ma'am." "from the preceptress, ruth?" "no, miss picolet. it--it is a letter that has been given me to be handed to you--secretly." the little teacher's withered cheek flushed and her bright little eyes clouded. by the way one of her hands fluttered over her heart, too, ruth knew that miss picolet was easily frightened. "a letter for me?" she whispered. ruth was unbuttoning her coat and frock to get at the letter. she said: "there was an orchestra on that boat that was frozen into the ice, miss picolet. one of the musicians spoke to me. he knew you--or said he did----" the girl hated to go on, miss picolet turned so pale and looked so frightened. but it had to be done, and ruth pursued her story: "i had seen the man before--the day we came to school here, helen and i. he played the harp on the _lanawaxa_." "ah!" gasped the french woman, holding out her hand. "no more, my dear! i understand. let me have it." but now ruth hesitated and stammered, and felt in the bosom of her dress with growing fear. she looked at miss picolet, her own face paling. "oh, miss picolet!" she suddenly burst out. "what will you think? what can i say?" "what--what is the matter?" gasped the french teacher. "i--i haven't got it--it is gone!" "what do you mean, ruth fielding?" cried miss picolet, springing to her feet. "it's gone--i've lost it! oh, my dear miss picolet! i didn't mean to. i tried to be so careful. but i have lost the letter he gave me addressed to you!" chapter xxiv "who is the tattle-tale?" the next day the whole school were at their books again--the short thanksgiving recess was ended. it had been just a breathing space for the girls who really were anxious to stand well in their classes at briarwood hall. those who--like some of the upedes--desired nothing so much as "fun," complained because the vacation had been so short, and dawdled over their books again. but there was no dawdling in duet two, west dormitory. had helen been inclined to lapse occasionally, or ruth sunk under the worriment of mind which had borne her down since the day of the skating party on triton lake, mercy curtis kept the two chums to the mark. "no shirking, you young ones!" commanded the crippled girl, in her sharp way. "remember the hare would have won the race easily if he hadn't laid down to nap beside the course. come! some tortoise will beat you in french and latin yet, helen, if you don't keep to work. and go to work at that english composition, ruthie remissness! you'd both be as lazy as ludlum's dog if it wasn't for me." and so she kept them up to the work, and kept herself up, too. there wasn't much time for larking now, if one wished to stand well at the end of the term. the teachers watched for shirkers more closely, too. even mary cox and her friends next door showed some signs of industry. "although it does seem as though we were always being worked to death," groaned heavy, one day, to ruth. "i feel as though my constitution was actually breaking down under the strain. i've written to my father that if he wants to see even a shadow of my former self at christmas, he had better tell mrs. tellingham not to force me so!" she sighed breezily and looked so hard at the piece of cocoanut pie beside ruth's plate (having eaten her own piece already) that ruth laughed and pushed it toward her. "have it if you like, heavy," she said. "i am not very hungry." "well, there isn't quite so much of you to nourish, my dear," declared jennie stone, more briskly. "i really _do_ feel the need of an extra piece. thank you, ruth! you're a good little thing." "miss picolet will see you, ruth," whispered helen, on her other side. "she is disgusted with heavy's piggishness. but miss picolet, after all, won't say anything to you. you are her pet." "don't say that, helen," replied ruth, with some sadness. "i am sorry for miss picolet." "i don't see why you need be. she seems to get along very well," returned her chum. but ruth could not forget how the little french teacher had looked--how frightened she was and how tearful--the afternoon when ruth had told her of the incident aboard the _minnetonka_, and of her loss of the mysterious letter sent by the harpist. the little french woman had begged her not to blame herself for the loss of the letter; she had only begged her to say nothing to a soul about either the man or the letter. and ruth had kept the secret. nearly a fortnight had passed since the occurrence, and it lacked not many days to the close of the term, when one evening, after a meeting of the s. b.'s in their usual room over the dining hall, ruth had been delayed a bit and was hurrying out alone so as not to be caught out of the dormitory after warning bell, when old tony foyle hailed her. "i was a-goin' to the west dormitory to ax miss scrimp for to call ye, miss ruthie," said the old irishman, who--like most of the help about the school--was fond of the girl from the red mill. "ye're wanted, miss." "wanted?" asked ruth, in surprise. "who by?" "the missus wants ye--missus tellingham. ye're ter go straight to her study, so ye are." much disturbed--for she feared there might be bad news from home--ruth ran to the main building and knocked on mrs. tellingham's door. at her pleasantly spoken "come in!" the girl entered and found the preceptress at her desk, while the old doctor, quite as blind and deaf to everything but his own work as usual, was bent over his papers at the end of the long table. but at this hour, and in the privacy of the place, he had cocked the brown wig over one ear in the most comical way, displaying a perfectly bald, shiny patch of pate which made his naturally high forehead look fairly enormous. "nothing to be frightened about, miss fielding," said mrs. tellingham, instantly reading aright what she saw in ruth's countenance. "you need not be disturbed. for i really do not believe you are at fault in this matter which has been brought to my notice." "no, mrs. tellingham?" asked ruth, curiously. "i have only a question to ask you. have you lost something--something that might have been entrusted to you for another person? some letter, for instance?" the color flashed into ruth's face. she was always thinking about the note the harpist had given to her on the steamboat to take to miss picolet. she could not hide her trouble from the sharp eyes of mrs. tellingham. "you _have_ lost something?" "i don't know whether i should tell you. i don't know that i have a right to tell you," ruth stammered. mrs. tellingham looked at her sharply for a minute or so, and then nodded. then she said: "i understand. you have been put on your honor not to tell?" "yes, mrs. tellingham. it is not my secret." "but there is a letter to be recovered?" "ye-es." "is this it?" asked mrs. tellingham, suddenly thrusting under ruth's eye a very much soiled and crumpled envelope. and it had been unsealed, ruth could see. the superscription was to "mademoiselle picolet." "it--it looks like it," ruth whispered. "but it was sealed when i had it." "i do not doubt it," said mrs. tellingham, with a shake of her head. "but the letter was given to me first, and then the envelope. the--the person who claims to have found it when you dropped it, declared it to be open then." "oh, i do not think so!" cried ruth. "well. enough that i know its contents. you do not?" "indeed, no, mrs. tellingham. i may have done wrong to agree to deliver the letter. but i--i was so sorry for her----" "i understand. i do not blame you in the least, child," said mrs. tellingham, shortly. "this letter states that the writer expects more money from our miss picolet--poor thing! it states that if the money is not forthcoming to an address he gives her before to-day--to-day, mind you, is the date--he will come here for it. it is, in short, a threat to make trouble for miss picolet. and the person finding this letter when you dropped it has deliberately, i believe, retained it until to-day before bringing it to me, for the express purpose of letting the scoundrel come here and disturb miss picolet's peace of mind." "oh, how mean!" gasped ruth, involuntarily. "mean indeed, ruth," said the preceptress, gravely. "and you have yourself experienced some ill-usage from the person who has played spy and informer in this matter, since you have come to briarwood hall. i understand--you know that little can go on about the school that does not reach my ears in one way or another--that this same person has called you a 'tattle-tale' and tried to make your friends among the girls believe that you played traitor to them on a certain occasion. i have told miss cox exactly what i think of her action in this case," and she tapped the letter before her. "she has shown plainly," said mrs. tellingham, with sternness, "that she is a most sly and mean-spirited girl. i am sorry that one of the young ladies of briarwood hall is possessed of so contemptible a disposition." chapter xxv getting on it was a frosty night and snow lay smoothly upon the campus. only the walks and the cemented place about the fountain were cleaned. tony foyle had made his last rounds and put out the lights; but although there was no moon the starlight on the snow made the campus silvery in spots. but the leafless trees, and the buildings about the open space, cast deep shadows. there was a light shining in a study window of the west dormitory and that light was in the room occupied by the triumvirate--ruth fielding, helen cameron and mercy curtis. the two latter were abed, but awake and wondering why ruth had not returned, and what miss scrimp had meant by coming to the door and telling them to leave the light burning. the clocks had long since struck eleven and it was close to midnight. the night was still, for there was no wind. it was possible that very few of either the scholars, teachers, or servants at briarwood were awake. but almost directly under the light in the triumvirate's room another light burned--in the study of the french teacher. she seldom retired early; that is one reason why those girls who considered miss picolet their enemy believed she was always on the watch. three figures came out of the basement door under the tower of briarwood hall--a lady much bundled up, a girl ditto, and the old irishman, tony foyle. "sure, ma'am, jest as i told ye this afternoon, the big felly that sassed me last fall, tryin' ter git in ter play his harp, and with his other vagabonds, was hanging around again to-day. i hear him an' his rapscallion companions is in lumberton. they've been playing about here and there, for a month back. and now i see him comin' along with his harp on his back--bad 'cess to him! p'raps they're walkin' across to sivin oaks, an' are takin' in briarwood as a 'cross-cut'." "hush!" whispered the preceptress. "isn't that somebody over yonder--by the fountain?" they were all three silent, keeping close in the shadow. some object _did_ seem to be moving in the shadow of the fountain. suddenly there sounded on the still night air the reverberating note of a harp--a crash of sound following the flourish of a practised hand across the wires. "bless us and save us!" muttered tony. "'tis the marble harp. 'tis a banshee playin'." "be still!" commanded mrs. tellingham. "it is nothing of the kind, you very well know, tony. ah!" she had looked instantly toward the illuminated window of the french teacher's study at the other side of the campus. the shade had snapped up to the top of the casement, and the shadow of miss picolet appeared. the french teacher had heard the voice of the harp. "oh, poor little thing," murmured mrs. tellingham. "this seems like spying and eavesdropping, ruth fielding; but i mean to stop this thing right here and now. she shall not be frightened out of her wits by this villain." they heard no further sound from the harp at the fountain. but the door of the west dormitory opened and the little figure of miss picolet appeared, wrapped in some long, loose garment, and she sped down toward the fountain. soon she was out of sight behind the marble statue. "come!" breathed the preceptress. they heard miss picolet and the man chattering in their own language--the man threatening, the woman pleading--when the trio got to the fountain. ruth was a poor french scholar, but of course mrs. tellingham understood what they said. and the preceptress glided around the fountain and confronted the harpist with a suddenness that quite startled him. "you, sir!" exclaimed the lady, coldly. "i have heard enough of this. don't be frightened, miss picolet. i only blame you for not coming to me. i have long known your circumstances, and the fact that you are poor, and that you have an imbecile sister to support, and that this man is your disreputable half-brother. and that he threatens to hang about here and make you lose your position unless you pay him to be good, is well known to me, too. "we will have no more of this fellow's threats," continued mrs. tellingham, sternly. "you will give him none of your hard-earned money, miss picolet. tony, here, shall see him off the grounds, and if he ever appears here again, or troubles you, let me know and i shall send him to jail for trespass. now, remember--you jean picolet! i have your record and the police at lumberton shall have it, too, if you ever trouble your sister again." "ah-ha!" snarled the big man, looking evilly at ruth. "so the little mademoiselle betrayed me; did she?" "she has had nothing to do with it--save to have had the misfortune of losing the letter you gave her to deliver to miss picolet," mrs. tellingham said, briefly. "i had her here to identify you, had miss picolet not come out to meet you. now, tony!" and big as the harpist was, and little as the old irishman seemed, there was that in tony foyle's eye that made the man pick up his harp in a hurry and make his way from the campus. "child! go in to bed," said mrs. tellingham. "not a word of this, remember. thank goodness, _you_ are one girl who can keep a secret. miss picolet, i want to see you in my study. i hope that, hereafter, you will give me your confidence. for you need fear no dismissal from the school over such a misfortune as is visited upon you." she took the sobbing, trembling french teacher away with her while ruth ran up to duet two in the west dormitory, in a much excited state of mind. fortunately both helen and mercy had dropped to sleep and none of the other girls seemed to have heard the harp at midnight. so there was no talk this time about the ghost of the campus. to the other girls at briarwood, the mystery remained unsolved, and the legend of the marble harp was told again and again to the infants who came to the school, with the added point that, on the night ruth fielding and helen cameron had come to the hall, the marble harp was again heard to sound its ghostly note. no thought of such foolish, old-wives' fables troubled ruth fielding's dreams as she lay down on this night which had seen the complete exposure of the campus mystery and the laying of the campus ghost. she dreamed, instead, of completing her first term at briarwood with satisfaction to herself and her teachers--which she did! she dreamed of returning to the old red mill and being joyfully received by aunt alviry and uncle jabez--which she did! she dreamed, too, of joining helen cameron and her mid-winter party at snow camp and enjoying quantities of fun and frolic in the wintry woods; which, likewise, came true, and which adventures will be related in good time in the next volume of this series: "ruth fielding at snow camp; or, lost in the backwoods." "i am so glad it is over!" said ruth to herself, as she retired. "i hope there is no more trouble." and here let us for the time being say good bye to ruth fielding and her chums of briarwood hall. the end peggy lee series by anna andrews a charming series of stories of a young american girl, peggy lee, living with her family (including many unusual pets) on a large coffee plantation in central america, and her many adventures there and in new york. the action is rapid, full of fun, and takes the reader not only to many interesting places in central america, but in the country as well, where peggy attends a school for girls. the incidents are cleverly brought out, and peggy in her wistful way, proves in her many adventures to be a brave girl and an endearing heroine to her friends and readers. . peggy and michael of the coffee plantation . peggy lee of the golden thistle plantation . peggy lee and the mysterious islands (other volumes in preparation) cupples & leon company, publishers, new york produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.) [illustration: "look, girls! up on the rock! there's peg!"] the girl scouts at camp comalong lilian garis contents: chapter i--the acorn chapter ii--pete's prologue chapter iii--shipshaping chapter iv--an angel unawares chapter v--a stolen look around chapter vi--opening day chapter vii--the loving bandit chapter viii--glow of the campfire's gleam chapter ix--a day with the bobbies chapter x--meet buzz and fuss chapter xi--the food shower chapter xii--a record breaker chapter xiii--danger signals chapter xiv--the algonquin episode chapter xv--a paddle, a swim and a sun dial chapter xvi--a daring intruder chapter xvii--the granite star clue chapter xviii--a call in the night chapter xix--shag: the alarm clock chapter xx--the room of mystery chapter xxi--a surprise indeed chapter xxii--peg of tamarack hills chapter i the acorn it was corene's idea. she had just returned from a glorious two weeks spent in a real girl scouts' camp, and the brief time acted like a whiff of something good, and it tasted like more and corene wanted it. "two weeks!" she repeated moodily. "what can you expect?" queried louise. "everyone must have a turn." "and two weeks make a real vacation for many girls," insisted cleo. "two weeks spent right in one spot--in the ocean, for instance, would seem an awful long time to me," said fun-making grace. "besides all that, you went away to camp early on account of having finished your school work," cleo reminded her, "and consequently those very two weeks are so much extra. we haven't gone away at all yet." "i know," agreed the abused one, "and please don't slap me, or do anything like that, girls. i have just been thinking of those wonderful days----" she slid down and thrust her feet out so suddenly and determinedly that she upset a harmless little vase, water, flowers and all, right on the floor of the recreation room. it was one of the many "last days" of school. the group of girls in the essveay school made the usual vacation plans, remade them and then amiably agreed to those made by home and mother; but all this in no way affected the present outburst of enthusiasm. by rare good fortune many of the girls were privileged to spend their summers along the jersey coast, or in the mountains between new york, new jersey and pennsylvania, and the intimacy of their school days was thus uninterrupted. "then, corene," returned cleo, "what do you intend to do about it? you can't hope to go back again to the big camp?" "oh, no; i suppose not. but everything will seem so tame," lamented the bobbed-haired girl. "tame!" repeated louise. "you always have a livelier time out in llynardo than we do at sea crest. at least you don't have to change your costume three or four times a day." "i wouldn't do it," returned corene. "what's the sense in going away for a good time and spending it amusing other folks?" "how so, amusing other folks?" repeated julia. "surely no one dresses to amuse herself," retorted the practical corene. "i like pretty things, and all that, but i hate summer simping. buddie calls it 'simping,' although he probably means primping." "when we put on our scout uniform last year we saved a lot of that," reflected cleo. "which was it, scout uniform or riding-habit, cleo? it seems to me you spent a lot of time on horseback," julia reminded her. "and i intend to do the same this year as well," declared cleo. "that's the reason we are going to the mountains." "same here," agreed louise. "we had a good time riding last year, but there were days when the sun was too hot. now, under the trees in the mountains----" a sudden breeze blew in and sent layers of papers flying about. "there you are!" commented corene. "there's your mountain breeze, girls. no use bothering going any further." "oh, h-h--!" sighed a chorus. "if it would only stay," continued cleo. "what is so hot as a day in june?" she misquoted. "the first hot day in september, after school opens," answered louise, fanning her flushed cheeks with julia's latest story. "at any rate, let's go into classroom and try that science puzzle again. i'm not sure whether i made a bug or a bird for the seven-year locust." it was that evening, when these girls as neighbors had gathered on julia's porch, that the subject of a summer camp was taken up with added interest. "i've been talking to mother about it," said julia, "and she agrees we could have a much healthier and even happier time if we went to the mountains. we might miss the bathing----" "but we will have the lake--the wonderful, pretty, friendly old lake hocomo!" enthused cleo. "the ocean is lovely, of course, but don't you think it's awfully samey?" "samey? oh, you mean similarly," joked louise. "no, she means monotonously," ventured grace. "or synonymously," added corene. "say, girls!" asked cleo, "were we talking about the ocean or false syntax? i've sort of strayed off a little. i think i recall, however, that the lake was said to be lovely, and i'm willing to stick to that. who votes for the lake?" "i do!" "i do!" "i do!" everyone voted for it, so it was agreed again that all would go to the lake, if their folks went with them, of course. and then corene returned to her story of the wonders of camp life. "but didn't you have to wash a lot of horrid dishes?" asked grace. "we washed dishes, certainly," replied the favored one, "but it was fun doing it. we had races at it and prizes, and when one does things that way it's fun, you know." "i'm going to try that with benny," declared grace. "our folks are again maidless, so benny and i help. i'll race benny and offer my class pin as prize," she decided. "your class pin for benny? why, grace! you dishonor the essveays. make it a buckle or a barrette. either would be just as useful to benny. he's sure to win, we all know that, for boys always win at anything they try out," declared julia. "yes, by dumping dishes in, and dumping them out, and putting them over the gas oven to dry," retorted grace. "that's the way a boy is so sure to win in a dish-washing contest. but never mind that. tell us, corey, what do you propose for camp?" "make one, build one, run one," she proposed simply. "just like that!" added cleo, with a chuckle. "do you mean on paper or in the woods, corey?" "in the woods, certainly," again came the measured reply, and it didn't measure very much at that. "oh, be a dear and tell us how," begged louise, settling herself in the cushions of the porch swing for a real story. "i want to dream about something other than school to-night, and i'd just love it to be camp." "a nice, wild, grizzly bear camp," added grace. she skidded over to the swing and squirmed in beside louise. "there are no bears at lake hocomo," said cleo, "that is, there are none there now; although to hear dad talk of his boyhood vacations there, one might think the zoo was originally stocked from that region. at any rate, corey, splutter along with the plan, but don't make me wash dishes. leave them to the prize contestants," with a shot of rose-ball at grace. "very well," decided corene, "and this is my idea." they all settled back comfortably now, for corene did not usually give out her "ideas" until they had been very carefully formulated. she was the acknowledged leader in athletics among her group, she would rather go to the gym than to a party, she took toe dancing long after her friends gave up the "childish art," and she had aspirations towards physical culture as a profession, to be adopted by her after she had acquired a thorough knowledge of everything pertaining to it. that was corene's way. "we are all to go to lake hocomo this year," she began in preliminary argument for the camp idea. "yes'm," chirped julia. "and we are going to have our own riding club," suggested cleo, who would agree to anything that included horseback riding. "all right, cleo, that can be arranged, of course," said corene. "but it is not a--what do you call it?" "fundamental!" offered louise. "that's it. we will decide first on our fundamentals. the very first is a camp. for that we must organize a patrol consisting of eight girls," said the capable corene. "we can have those we had last year, and all of them have been attending scout meetings this winter," put in julia. "yes, we won't have any trouble with our eight, but we may have trouble not making it eighteen," said cleo. "we always have a lot of calls from girls who want to come in, you know." "yes, but we must be efficient," insisted the logical leader. "we couldn't take in girls and let them call themselves scouts if they had not gone through all the tests." "of course not," agreed louise. she was always apt to agree on limitations. louise was a bit conservative that way. "but we may find other girls at the lake who are qualified--who are regular scouts, you know," put in cleo the democrat. "a patrol should be composed of eight," insisted corene, "and when a rule of that kind is decided by the organization we may be sure it is the best. so let it be eight." "remember those famous lines, 'we are seven'?" recalled cleo. "we may transpose them to 'we are eight' and i'll get brother jerry to put a tune to them. oh, really, girls, i can see the camp all ready. shall we have to build it, corey?" "if you don't run over me in the telling i may get something told, bye-and-bye," complained corene. "we may have to build our camp if we want one far enough away from the cottages, and i don't think any other kind is worth while." "no, of course it isn't," agreed julia. "we don't want to put up a few curtains in a garage and pay ten dollars to have an artistic sign made for it, then call that combination a camp." this brought out the rollicking spirits for which the little group was justly famous, and the cushion fight that followed was a spasm of pure mirth. little girls they were, indeed; although each of them had earned a grammar grade certificate that opened to her the doors of "high," yet the spirit of care-free little-girlishness was still happily theirs, and it was a matter of complete congeniality that bound them together, year after year, from primary to grammar, and now from grammar to high. "if we are always going to end up with some silly nonsense," said julia sagely, although she was personally more responsible for pillow tossing than were the others, "i don't see how we will ever get anything planned." "we don't really have to make plans now," grace qualified. "all we have to do is just to talk about them." "that's about all we can do," said corene, "but we have all voted for a camp, haven't we?" a shout of enthusiastic assent followed the question. "then, just remember you have all promised to do your part toward making and keeping that camp," warned the instigator. "do we take guns for big woozy wolves?" asked grace, growling descriptively. "and axes to cut down our timber with?" put in cleo. "remember buddie's sling shot? i'll be sure to take that for hooty owls," added louise. "please don't get the idea that we may shoot things, or injure birds, or do any such cruel things," counselled corene. "of course i know you wouldn't hurt a spider, louise," she hurried to explain, "but i am still so filled with real camp rules i sort of blow them off now and again." "we will give you plenty of time and opportunity to apply your rules, corey," said julia, "and just think, only three days more!" "oh, h--h--h!" came the chorus common to every school grade that actually faces the final "three days." but they were too care-free to even anticipate what the camp prospect might hold for them. not all the adventures of the woods are limited to "woozy bears and hooty owls." which recalls something of their experiences as told in the other volumes of this series. it was in "the girl scout pioneers, or winning the first b. c." that this same group of girls went through some interesting scouting in a pennsylvania mill town. two foreign girls, dagmar and tessie, "wandered far afield" but were finally brought under the influence of the scout movement through a most dramatic climax. the second volume, "the girl scouts at bellaire," is the story of the lost orchid. the precious bulb was brought from central america but lost _en route_, and when maid mary, the queer little flower girl, was eventually won over to trust the scouts, they came upon the priceless orchid as it struggled to grow through the arm of a saw-dust doll. "the girl scouts at sea crest" has a very queer girl, kitty scuttle, for its heroine. this girl lives on a mysterious island upon which no one is allowed to land. but the girl scouts find a way, and when they do so they also find out how to rescue kitty and the millionaire child, royal. this little peter panish boy has been hidden on looney island by an unscrupulous nurse. so it happens that the summer opening and for which the girls are planning must indeed be a time replete with adventure, if the reputation of this group of girl scouts is to be maintained. chapter ii pete's prologue into lake hocomo a setting sun was emptying its paint pots of every color left over from the day's journey around the world, or the world's journey around the sun; spilling out into the safe waters its blazing hues and sending streams of colored fires adrift into the lake's helpless basin, in the final hour's work of a day full of worlds and worlds of heat and color. along the banks of the lake and from many favorably situated cottages, an admiring audience was wont to view "the wonderful sunset," although the season furnished the same sort of spectacle from march to october, varied only in degrees of beauty and more beauty. the girl scouts, they who were already planning a real camp for the summer, were among those seated out on the landing, a pier that extended far enough into the water to give depth for the "steamers" that carried passengers up and down the eight mile stretch of water. these girls looked at the sunset and made remarks somewhat intelligent, but being just normal girls they could hardly have been expected to "take a fit" over it, as some others were accused of doing. "there she goes!" exclaimed grace, irrelevantly. "just see how she rides!" the girls turned quickly from their position of facing the lake to that of facing the road that ran parallel, but in spite of their promptness they almost missed seeing a girl dash by on horseback; in fact the blue roan pony she rode looked like some wild black animal of the forest, as it plunged into the grove of thick trees that skirted the lake at this curve; and the rider appeared nothing more than a brown spot on the roan's back as he galloped away. "i wonder who she can be?" queried cleo. "jealous?" teased grace, for cleo was fond of horses and their sports. "no, indeed," replied the other. "but that girl can ride. i saw her go over the hills this afternoon and her horse stumbled in a hole, but she just hugged him for it. bare-back, too." "i think we may all be jealous of her," added louise. "the old boatman, pete, told me to-day she is regarded as the original scout around here." "then she better be jealous of us," commented corene, "for we are going to be the real scouts now. what's her name?" "peg," replied julia. "i just heard someone say 'there goes peg.'" "nice little name," commented cleo, "but when margaret comes she may also claim it. i wonder why this peg wears that outfit? she looks like a cow-boy girl." "i haven't seen her close by; she is always going like the wind when i happen to get a glimpse of her," followed julia. "but you may be sure she is someone very interesting. her mere make-up proclaims that." "proclaims!" taunted grace. "has your diploma done that to you, jule? i would say her make-up gives her away." "gives what away?" challenged julia. "the fact that she's queer." "how queer?" "very queer." grace was not easily conquered. "please don't quarrel over her, girls; she may be nothing of the sort," intervened louise. "any girl fond of horses is apt to look queer." this brought cleo to her feet, but louise was too quick for her, and the playful race ended in the usual slumping down on a stump, with a heartily sighed "oh, dear!" from the breathless louise. "there's pete coming in with the launch now," remarked julia, pointing to the graceful little bark that brushed so lightly over the waters toward the dock. "let's ask him about peg." "and sit in his launch while he waits for passengers," suggested grace. "come on, clee and weasy!" she called to the racers. "come over here!" quickly the little flock gathered and swooped down upon pete's pretty launch. the boatman was not opposed to entertaining attractive passengers, even if they didn't "go out." they looked nice in the boat and old pete had an eye for appearances. "oh, say, pete," began grace in her direct way. "who's that girl they call peg?" "peg?" repeated the captain. "you mean the gallopin' girl that scares all the chickens and runs down all the auto-mo-beels?" "yes, the one that's always on horseback," agreed grace. "that's peg--hasn't got no other name as i know of, but they allus calls her 'peg of tamarack hills,' 'count o' the place she lives, over in yon hills." "is she queer?" put in julia, making sure of another cushion. (what would summer be without cushions?) "depends upon what you mean by queer," returned the boatman, and the girls laughed at the trouble that little word seemed prone to make. "she's so fly-away," ventured louise. "yes, she's that, all of it," answered pete. "but she's a right smart girl, i'll tell ye. she does many a good turn for us men who have to stick by our boats. why, i've known the day last winter----" "does she stay here all winter?" inquired cleo. "sure does, every day o' the year finds peg over in them hills. an' she rides away to school like a girl in a picture book," described the man. he was obviously a good friend of peg's. "who does she live with?" put in grace. "an aunt; a nice old lady, too. miss ramsdell. she takes care of peg so far as peg'll let her; but looks like more times than enough, peg takes care of aunt carrie. i was goin' to tell you about last winter," he resumed. "wait a minute till i pull up that canvas. there, we'll have more light now." he gave a furtive glance about the dock for prospective passengers, and seeing none heading toward his landing he continued: "we was runnin' ice boats last winter, when the boys was cuttin' the ice, and folks came out from the city with an idea we had airoplanes on runners out here. well, one day came a sudden thaw and the ice melted quick. the cutters was all down there along the canal, and this lake is mighty deep, you know. well, without warning nor nauthin', not even a crack to give the fellers a signal, the ice split up, and marx hoppler went under before he could get away." "oh, was he drowned?" exclaimed grace. "he went under so quick--and you can guess what it would be to slide under the ice on this lake. well, finally," pete touched the button that lighted his headlight, "we got marx out, and he just seemed to be froze stiff. it happened peg was along o' the dock. there was lots of folks gathered 'round in a hurry but no wagons, and would you believe it that little scout had someone lift marx on her horse, stiff and dead-like, and she got away down to the doctor's with him before the rest of us realized what she was about!" "good scouting!" exclaimed corene. "you betcha!" agreed pete; "and the doc said it was just in the nick o' time and saved marx's life. i tell you, folks around here'll stand by peg, but of course, strangers is apt to be critical," he finished. "we will have to call on her, we're scouts too, you know, pete," said julia. "yes, i know. you look real smart in them natty little suits, too. i like the looks of them first rate," admired pete. "but as for callin' on peg, it can't be done." "why?" came a chorus. "she won't have any callers. her place is barred and locked and pretty near has dynamite planted around it." he chuckled merrily at the idea. "yes, sir-ree! peg don't want no one to bother her and she won't allow anyone to do it. too bad, too, a little girl like her had ought ta have girl friends." "i knew she was queer," insisted grace. "well, you might call it that----" pete stopped to take an order for a ride to the other end of the lake, and the girls hopped out to stay ashore. "there, you see," said louise, "we can't possibly ask her to join our troop." "or _get_ her to join it, you mean, weasy. it seems to me that a girl who can do as big a thing as carry a half frozen man on her horse has a good right to be called the original scout, and i am going to do all i can to find out more about her," declared corene. "look out for the dynamite," cautioned julia. "that makes it more interesting," commented cleo. "louise, let's get horses to-morrow and ride over tamarack hills?" "maybe," replied louise. "will you go, corey?" "can't possibly," replied corene, "and i doubt that you two should. i thought we all agreed to get right down to camp work?" "oh, all right," and cleo's voice hinted an apology for her proposed breaking away from the camp work. "it will be best to get the camp settled before the other temptations tempt us too strongly. but the water, and the woods and the birds! a ride over the hills with peg would be my idea of real fun, corey, but you're boss--patrol leader i mean--and i am always willing to obey!" "yes--you are!" drawled grace. "at any rate, i'm crazy about the camp idea, and i am willing to get it going," insisted cleo. "very well, let's see you prove it," retorted corene, "for the things are in the freight station now, and to-morrow we will have to set about getting them delivered." then the strains of uncertain music that floated down from the inn announced the call of summer time entertainment at the little hotel. "come on up and watch them dance, for a while," proposed grace. and they ran, even up a hill, for running seemed to be as important as breathing itself to those jolly little scout girls. chapter iii shipshaping just to show that grown folks, when they are home-grown, appreciate children's aspirations and often delight in promoting them, the equipment for camp comalong when it "camalong" was a big surprise indeed. parents of the little troop, the "junior bobolinks" as they decided to call themselves, united in procuring a regulation outfit for the girls; and the site finally chosen was on a hill overlooking the lake, near enough other camps and especially near to one camp in which was "housed" a club of normal school young women, secretly pledged to "have an eye" on camp comalong. the girls could scarcely believe that all the freight consignment piled up on the small floor of that office could really be for them. corene "fell to" immediately and took charge. she ordered the others about as if she were a qualified directress, indeed, and sent each on a different errand somewhere: to get a couple of express men to cart the stuff to the grounds, to get a carpenter to cut some strong tent pegs, to get the hammers, the saws, the hatchets and so many necessary implements that it seemed the bobolinks were not going to follow out the primitive living system of their namesakes, the little birds that sing as they fly, and seem to need the songs to propel the wings, as each fluttering movement is accompanied by its fluttering song. but speed was the important issue with the "bobbies," so whatever they may have overlooked in the way of real scout endurance and personal labor for the establishment of the camp, they surely made up for with their enthusiasm and direct energy. the ownership of a horse and wagon, or of anything that would run (at times) by motor, was all that a man at the lake needed to qualify him as an "expressman," hence the necessity of looking for more than one of such conveyances to get the equipment out to the woods in time to begin work that day. "if we leave it all to old sam it will get there by the end of the week," reasoned corene, "and we must get things moving. louise, ask the grocer if he will take these boxes for us." "but why not take one of our cars?" suggested julia. "you may have ours this morning, i'm sure." "no, thank you, julie. this stuff is rough and scratchy, and there's no use starting out to damage things. but isn't it too wonderful? these are real army tents and there's a----" "flagpole!" sang out cleo. "i should think we might have found a dead tree for that purpose." "i believe our family made that contribution," said grace. "mother was afraid we would start out wrong and not have the colors right away, so she ordered a flag and pole." "oh, how lovely!" exclaimed cleo. "of course a handsome flag should fly from a proper standard bearer. i never suspected we were going to have such a complete outfit." "the flag is at our cottage," added grace. "benny will bring it over as soon as we are ready. it's a perfect beauty--size six by four." "oh, and we can raise and lower the colors and all that!" enthused julia. "now we know how much better fun all this is than just dressing up at some fashionable summer place." "heaps," agreed corene. "but i say, girls, we don't really have to stand around here waiting to see all this put on the wagons----" "i would never trust those indifferent men to get it sent out to-day if we didn't just stay here and superintend," declared cleo. "i have two promises for two men with light trucks. let's see if either will come." so the real work began. but it was all so novel, and the woods smelled so of the pines and cedars and larches--no wonder that spot had been given the name tamarack hills. by night fall the camp site had been cleared; the girls raised a pretty crop of blisters in their frantic efforts to get things cut down. the tent pegs were all driven in, benny and his boy scout friends helped with the driving, but the hoisting of the tent was considered too important a task to be left to "such little girls," so much against the ambition of corene that piece of work was actually done by a corps of real scouts--to wit--three very interested fathers, who came to the camp site in the autos that brought them from the early evening train. for the sake of identification we will call these gentlemen after their daughters, so it was mr. cleo who ran the ridge pole under the center of the tent, while messrs. julia and louise, at the signal, raised the tent by lifting the poles and carrying them to their places. it took some little time to get the big canvas house properly adjusted, but it was worth all the trouble. "hurrah!" shouted the bobbies as their headquarters was finally in evidence. "how can we ever go home and leave it to-night?" bewailed grace. "folks at home are worrying lest you have worked too hard to-day," declared the man with the big gray car. "you must come along, kiddies." "but we didn't, daddy, really," protested corene. "we loafed more than we worked. there was so much to see and so many things to distract us. i'm not one bit tired." "oh, h-h-h!" groaned louise, almost falling into cleo's arms. "she isn't a bit tired! i'm dead!" "but corey is always in such good form," said julia. "this is where all her exercising comes in." they were gathering up such tools and accessories as could not be left around on the grounds over night, and incidentally gathering up themselves, when the clap-clap-clippity-clap of horse's hoofs was heard coming over the hills. the road was narrow, merely a way driven into a road by the campers' use, and as the car with the bobbies' fathers and the newly organized camp troop carefully picked their way out into the broader thoroughfare, peg, the girl rider, came into sight. "there she is!" grace gave the usual announcement, and this time the girls had opportunity for a close-up view of the interesting, original girl scout of tamarack hills. she pulled her horse up to allow the cars to pass, and it seemed to the scouts that she deliberately tossed her head up in a defiant pose that turned her face away from them. but in spite of this they obtained a good view of the rider. she wore a suit, the origin of which would be at once proclaimed "western." the divided skirt was of brown leather with that picturesque fringe slashed in, so markedly popular in pictures of mexican or southwestern girl riders, her blouse "matched horribly," as cleo put it, for while it was indian in design, and also carried the slashed fringe, the material was common khaki, well washed out and deplorably faded. it might have been part of a boy's play suit, for it seemed in no way related either to the girl or to her leather riding skirt. her hat was broad brimmed and of tan felt--still another shade of the various browns, and again suggesting another inception. it looked a "whole lot like the boy scouts' hat," whispered grace. surprising to relate, this girl had neither the popularly featured "bronze, red nor sunny hair," and it was dark, black actually; nor did it curl the least bit, for what fell over the ears (it was cropped very short) glistened even in the twilight. all this was observable because in the narrow road the cars were almost stopped, and peg's horse nosed right up to cleo, with a very friendly whinnie. "dads might think we are looking for that sort of thing," whispered the conservative louise. and if to be camp scouts should mean "that sort of thing," her caution, just then, seemed warranted. chapter iv an angel unawares between settling the camp and agreeing with one another on details, the "bobbies" were a busy little band for days after the canvas had been stretched and the ropes pegged down. it seemed so simple to wish for a camp and get it, but now that simplicity assumed complex proportions, and while it was all fascinating to the very point of thrills, yet the details were very exacting. the tent was just large enough to take in the eight cots and to shelter such equipment as should be protected from the elements; but it now appeared there was so much to be "sheltered" and so many "luxuries" to be provided for, at the suggestion of the girls who had not learned real scout camping as corene had done, that the adjuncts in the way of "lean-tos" and annexes being made or proposed to be made by any or all members of the squad, threatened presently to be bigger and more important than the tent itself. every girl came daily armed with her scout books, if for no other purpose than to offset corene's objections to "cluttering things up." it was first arranged to have a heavy matting put over the sod for flooring, and a rug had been promptly donated, but again the grown-ups had a say, and real flooring was ordered and put on a high foundation, so that there would be less danger of colds from dampness. if cleo could be kept from stringing up strips of cretonne "to give color" she might have done something useful; while julia's joy in building the stone oven outside, threatened to keep her busy for the entire vacation. louise ran to "table fixin's." she was responsible for a rustic "sideboard" made from the empty barrels and discarded freight boards, curtained effectively with the water-proof burlap, and gaily flaunting a real wood fern in a red nail keg right in the center of the top shelf. standing off and viewing these artistic achievements took a lot of time, and incidentally left a lot of more important work unfinished. "where are we going to put the food?" demanded dainty julia. "not out there for the flies, weasy!" "no, certainly not," said louise. "i don't have anything to do with the food. that goes with the kitchen work." "and whose work is that?" corene laid down her hammer to ask. "whose?" asked the others. "everyone's," came back corene. "we must take turns at that, but we must make arrangements for the 'eats' right away. who has been down to the spring?" everyone had. "could we hang our butter and meat in pails in the water?" asked corey. she had seen this done in a real scout camp. "we might, but what about the animals?" inquired cleo. "oh, we can get real strong pails and stake them down so that small animals can't touch the food," said the leader. "and have horrid, old scaly snakes sniffing it!" protested grace. "we wouldn't eat the sniffs," retorted corene. "at any rate we must have a cool place for food and can't think of ice. i wonder what the norms do?" "oh, the normal camp girls," explained cleo. "i think they have grub traps set in the spring, but it runs directly past their door." "it's right over by that rock, isn't it?" asked corene. "yes, there's a nice little puddley basin in that big stone," replied julia. "then it's easy to fix. we can run it right along here," corene was drawing a very crooked line in the trampled earth, with her homemade broom handle. "how can we bring the spring over here?" scoffed louise. "it goes straight down the other way." "we'll dig a little ditch, of course," insisted corene. "or if we're too busy to do it, and we probably will be for days to come, we'll get the boys to make one for us. the earth isn't rooty here, see, it's nice and soft," she poked up a ditch in illustration. "and it will be splendid to have running water at the door for other purposes." "corey, you ought to be a plumber!" roared grace, precipitating one of those unwarranted outbursts of mirth that always ended work for the time being. the girls were just like that, and they couldn't seem to help it. the appearance of a surprised bunny on a stump checked the hilarity, and the inexperienced ones wanted to throw cracker crumbs to the stubby-tailed, long-eared little animal. "and make a house pet of it!" exclaimed corene. "can you imagine that bunny stealing your fudge, louise? he wouldn't know it was stealing if you made him 'to home' like that." "seems to me," louise frowned, "knowledge always makes one snippy. i don't mean that you are snippy, corey dear, but to turn away a nice, little, gray bunny, because we know he will come again if we treat him decently. doesn't it seem a lot nicer to be sociable and take the consequences?" "it does not!" exclaimed cleo. "because animals are made to be subject to man, not to be his equal. here, master sammy littletail, take yourself off. shoo!" and cleo tossed a harmless little pine cone after the scurrying bunny. "oh, all right. if that's the way you feel about it i suppose we will have to shoo everything. but just the same, i left a nice square hole in the back of my outdoor buffet, for a bird sanctuary!" louise confessed naively. "someone's coming!" announced grace. "let me straighten my doormat." a young woman in camp uniform--the service suit of skirt and blouse--came up from the roadway. she was smiling broadly and sent that greeting on ahead to the scouts. "welcome!" she called out. "we have all been wondering why no girl scouts came up to our hills, and now our wonder is answered. here you are!" "yes," admitted corene, trying to straighten out a very badly wrinkled blouse. "we are just a junior troop, we organized ourselves, you know," she finished frankly. "how could you do that?" questioned the young lady, seating herself on the biggest and flattest camp-stump. it was regarded as a regular seat, of course. "oh, we are all scouts at home, you know, and we understand all the--qualifications," corene hesitated at this word, fearful of an accusing glance from someone who might call it a bit big for a junior to use. "but have you no leader? no director nor counsellor?" queried the stranger. "i have just come from a big camp," said the little corene, a bit uncertainly. a rather critical look was swept over the bobbie at that statement. "yet you are too young to be a leader," pressed the tall girl. "i'm fifteen, but we hadn't quite finished all our plans yet," admitted the spokesman. "we have grown up sisters," tossed in grace. "do they understand scouting?" these questions were not asked in any but the most friendly tone. "i am marge mackin of norm camp, over there, and i have been a scout leader in the city. i called to say i would be glad to help you in any way----" "oh, could you come over to our camp?" asked julia, impulsively. "we have plenty of room." miss mackin rippled a girlish laugh. "that's lovely!" she exclaimed. "i'm sure i never thought of thrusting myself on you this way, but if i can really be of service----" "indeed you can," declared corene. "we have just gone ahead planning camp and expecting something would turn up to help us out of the director difficulty. of course, our mothers would have sent an older sister, perhaps changing the force each week, but it is so much better to have a real camp leader. if you can come we have saved a counsellor's cot," she finished. "have you, really? what wise little girls," miss mackin was glancing around with unhidden admiration. "won't you come in and inspect?" invited corene. "how splendid!" enthused the caller, passing in under the tent. "and how very practically ship-shape! you do show you are familiar with real camping. and where did you get such splendid equipment?" the camp's history was outlined and its prospects forecast, while miss mackin listened approvingly. "and you really want a resident manager?" she asked finally. "we do, indeed," declared the spokesman corene, who, more than the others, realized the value of the unexpected offer. "then suppose i accept, conditionally, of course, and we write our application to headquarters? all being scouts we might better come under direct authority, don't you think so?" "certainly," chorused the bobbies. "but we won't have to change our name or anything, will we?" rather anxiously asked grace. "oh, no, even if there is another bobolink troop your affix of 'junior' will, i think, make that all right. also you may be called the bobbies, that's a handy little name for an emergency summer troop. i think i'm just as crazy about all this as you are. i dearly love scout camping, and try to get our young ladies to adhere to it. but you see, they are not little girls, and cannot always see the fun in good team work." miss mackin was unmistakably attractive and very girlish herself. she had the smile called "wide," and it lit up her whole face with rare flashes of dormant humor. the girls knew instantly she would be the very leader for them, and they felt like hugging the prospect. "now, it's all settled!" proclaimed julia. she had been fighting visions of black nights under that canvas tent with no yale locks nor other safety contrivances or erstwhile doors, and here was some one actually able and willing to "take charge." "we are doing some research work up here," miss mackin explained, "and parts of my days must be given to that. you are so capable i would be in the way, really, if around all the time; but nights----" "oh, we would need you every night," insisted corene sincerely. "and in my own tent i am almost crowded out, so the plan seems inspirational," said miss mackin. she was surveying louise's sideboard while louise tried to get behind grace. the compliment given, however, did not warrant hiding away from it. "we intend to move in to-morrow afternoon," said corene, "if we can get everything moved up here by that time. could you come to-morrow night?" "easily. the girls will be delighted to have my cot for a visitor. i really don't have a whole cot, but i managed to get room to sleep in it," she smilingly admitted. "yet, i hope i have not influenced you to take pity on me," she hurried to protest. "you are a real blessing," said cleo. she was going to say "angel," but a look from grace forbade that extreme. "we are going exploring this afternoon," announced julia, as the visitor prepared to leave. "oh, yes! don't mind the danger-signs you find stuck around," said miss mackin. "we have seen many of them, but not yet scented any real danger. good-bye for a while!" she finished. "i'll be here in time to take charge of the banner-raising." she hesitated in front of the new flagpole, her eyes alight with admiration for the girls' spirit of loyalty to their scout principles. then miss mackin hurried off toward camp norm. chapter v a stolen look around it was dawn on lake hocomo, and the sun that disappeared behind the hills last night after spilling his colorful paint-pots into the surprised waters, tried to make amends now by softening the deadened mixture into a haze of amethyst mists. gray, purple, rosy, and all so velvety, like the essence of color-life itself, the day dawned; welcomed by glad birds from every bush, tree or meadow spot for miles around. were the bobbies up now they might have learned something from their namesake. on a soft patch of velvet grass, jeweled with dew-blessed buttercups, and that tiniest of flowers, the pale blue forget-me-not, the bobolinks fluttered, their song as reckless as the riot of early day, as they paddled along on wingtips to the gay rhythm of rippling, reckless aria; for a happy little songster is the bobolink, shooting up and diving down into the wet grasses for his bath of sweetness, then swaying on the slenderest of stems, not unlike the little girl who stands perched on her springboard in the first joys of water-diving. it was because this rollicking bird sings as he flies that the vote of the scouts resulted in his name being chosen, and on the dawn recorded the brown-gray streaked little songster left his meadow for a glimpse of that new camp in the woods. soon he must go south for his rice feast, for early in summer the birds of his clan descend upon the rice fields and lo----! the bobolink perched himself on the top of that new flagpole, and perhaps his trilled notes were a co-mingling of praise and good wishes. but the bobbies were sleeping in their mothers' cottages and dreaming of the first night in camp. dick porter, the night-watchman on the grounds around tamarack hills, rubbed his eyes and heaved the sigh of another task completed. then he took a last look at camp comalong, for the scouts had already stored in the tent goods of value, straightened his shoulders to suit the daytime needs, and sauntered off for his breakfast at the nipanneck. quickly as he turned away from the camp grounds a girl stole down from the highest hilltop. peg, the mysterious, without hat and in simple skirt and blouse, frightened away the chipmunks and bunnies as she skipped, light as a fawn, over the path invisible to less familiar eyes, then she too stopped in front of that dignified flagpole. she looked up and down the length of it and brushed her hand quizzically over its smooth surface. "humph!" she jerked. "going to have everything first class, i guess." cautiously she stepped up to the rustic "sideboard." this brought from her lips no caustic comment, but at once claimed her wrapt attention. she touched the burlap curtain and peeked under it. she gingerly fingered the rustic basket that held a bunch of wild flowers and hid the glass jar of water, she smiled real approval at the wood's fern in the rugged nail-keg that offset the center, and a little sigh escaped peg as she turned to the tent. the new wood floor was fragrant as the pines, and as it was raised to make it safe from dampness the two "carpentered" steps with the doormat at top seemed very inviting indeed. the girl ventured under the canvas and stood as if spellbound. "scouts!" she was thinking. "and i was the only scout here till they came with all this." the cots were still covered with burlap, and the little foot rugs were rolled in a bundle with some of cleo's precious cretonnes. peg just touched all this with her brown fingers, and in a girl's way smiled at this or frowned at that, as the fancy struck her. a shrill whistle from the first lake steamer startled peg as if she had been detected in her stolen inspection, and poking her head out of the tent to make sure the coast was clear, she jumped down the two white steps and made for the path, safe and unseen even by the girls from camp norm, who were just starting out for their nature hike. peg quickly lost herself in the elderbrush lane that wound through the woods leading up to her own bungalow. a big shaggy collie ran out to meet her. she patted him fondly and he "wagged her" along to the door, where a woman stood waiting. she was related to the girl, that was obvious, for she had the same high toss to her head, and the same snapping black eyes, also the pure white hair showed the original color must have been black to have changed to white so early. "peggie, dear, where have you been?" asked the woman. her voice was low and well-modulated. "just down to see the new camp," replied the girl. "had your breakfast?" "no, i waited for you. i do hope, peggie," there was a note of entreaty in her words, "that you are not doing anything--risky." "ramrods and toothpicks!" exclaimed the girl. "anything risky! why, carrie, i went down to see the new camp--the girl scouts, you know." "oh yes. those little girls who wear the uniform?" "uh--ha: the girls who wear a perpetual smile and several dollars' worth of necktie," replied peg, a bit sarcastically. "i am sure they look very neat and tidy, and i hope you are going to make friends with them," ventured aunt carrie, vindictively. "now, please don't start pestering me with that sort of thing," protested the girl. "you know i don't want to make friends with any girls." "you are so foolish, dear, and i fear sometimes you are going to extremes with----" "now, carrie! don't be cross, please. just let me have my way for this one little summer and the time will be up. then, if you want me to, i'll curl my hair if i have to sleep on the rolling-pin with the ends wound round it." she laughed gaily at this prospect. "come in to breakfast. shag has had his and we have such lovely berries. come along, girlie," directed the aunt, and she wound an arm over the shoulder that pressed up to her affectionately. shag, the big collie, took up his post at the door. the bungalow was unique in type, if bungalows are ever alike, and the pine trees that sheltered and brushed its roof with a sibilant swish, hummed now a pretty tuneless whisper. the place was hidden against a rocky ledge and not until one stood squarely in front of the unpainted log cabin was the building really visible, in its nest of trees and brush. some few years before a man with his little daughter and his sister came up to the hills. he stayed at the tippiturn house while he built this bungalow. then he took his daughter peggie and his sister caroline to the house in the hills, where he lived apart from all the natives and cottagers. this was horace ramsdell, peggie's father, but few people had cause to remember the name, for the owner lived aloof from others and made few friends even in the village. with all this he was a very pleasant man, fond of animals, kind to youngsters and generous in payment for any service. he died suddenly the year before the scouts found their way into tamarack hills, where they crossed the path of peg, the now fifteen-year-old daughter. she followed her father's footsteps in living alone, and in the matter of shunning companions, but she could not avoid making friends, as pete the boatman had already assured the girl scouts. her queer ways, defiance of dress codes, and above all her fondness for horseback riding, naturally stirred up criticism, but peg was as oblivious of this as she was of the taunts so often flung at her by school girls, whose companionship she seemed to ignore. "fly-away peg," they called her, and the way she "flew to school" on her blue roan might easily have merited the caption. but to morton school from tamarack hills was a long distance, mostly covered by woodlands, and when others came in autos or by wagon, why shouldn't peg come on horseback? she should and she did, with a smile for the fly-away peg, and some fruit, winter and summer, for the old janitor who took care of her horse during the school session. there was something incongruous in her attitude. she was so lively and rollicking with anyone who would not follow up the familiarity, but just as soon as one would threaten to call at her bungalow, or would ask her to call at theirs, peg seemed to take fright and would scurry off like some woodland thing jealous of its hiding place. no tradesman ever got past the door of her cabin; not even good old doctor rowan was brought inside when once he called to pay a professional visit on aunt carrie. on that occasion the lady, being ill, was very comfortably propped in the big steamer-chair on the porch, peg declaring she felt better out in the air, and that she preferred sleeping out there when the weather was mild enough. so peg of tamarack hills was a queer girl in many ways, and the mystery surrounding her home life always served to excite the curiosity of strangers, but had not, as yet, been explained. perhaps a half-hour after she entered the bungalow for breakfast she appeared again in the familiar roughrider's outfit, adjusting the leather-fringed skirt over her breeches as she stood in the doorway. "i'll take shag if that will make you feel any better, aunt carrie," said the girl, pulling her hat firmly on the cropped head. "also, i'll ride slowly enough to talk to him, and i'll surely be back by noon. now promise you are not going to worry." "i can't promise, my dear; but i'll try not to. you are growing up now, peggie, and summer folks are so critical, you know." "toothpicks for summer folks!" retorted the girl scornfully. "we don't owe them anything, carrie, and if that's all you have got to worry about----" "i wish it were, dear," sighed the woman, but the girl was hurrying to the log-built barn where "whirlwind," her blue roan, impatiently awaited her coming. then she was off "like a piece of scenery," as pete put it. but peggie ramsdell had no thought of the picturesque effect she created, nor did she care for less friendly criticism that followed in her dust-blown path. chapter vi opening day "everything is ready. miss mackin has sent our application to headquarters so that we may go on record, and now all we have to do is----" louise interrupted corene. "i've got to move all the dishes for my precious dining-room, and who can spare a car to lug them out?" "we'll pick you up and your tin pans on our way out this afternoon," replied grace, quite breathless from the excitement. "and i've got to press out my uniform for the celebration." "come along, i guess we have everything for this trip," said corene, gathering up a few more "odds and ends." what wouldn't that camp contain? "come along!" repeated cleo. "i'm so glad we named it that, for i can just fancy we will make that our slogan. 'come-a-long,'" she mimicked again, "and don't spill the eats, whatever you do." out at the fork in the roadway they were met by the rest of the bobbies, and the camp on this, the opening day, was to receive a full patrol of eight members. miss mackin had been made official director, corene was leader, and the other members were louise, grace, julia, cleo, margaret, and madaline, the last two being visitors, but also regular scouts in the home troop. miss mackin had already taken up her place in the camp and was now fully responsible, according to the best standards of the general organization; but in spite of that she allowed the girls to make the camp as they thought best, realizing that their plans were affording them a splendid chance to express individuality, and it was their proud boast that camp comalong was entirely theirs, from flagpole to the spring ditch, and from tent roof to the pine-needle pillows which julia insisted should be used. and they were really moving in! a little gasp of anticipation sort of choked cleo as she realized she was going to sleep with that oft-mentioned thin "rag of canvas twixt her and the stars." she wondered what they would do when it rained, and was glad the good, strong board floor was raised high enough to crawl under should a storm get too furious. benny called this the cyclone-cellar, and it was stored with enough furniture which could not be utilized "just now" to give it a rather cyclonic appearance. the blankets on the eight nicely arranged cots had not been folded just as corene had directed, so this detail was the first thing attended to now. "you see," she explained, "an awful lot depends upon the beds. they are our chief decoration, you might say," as she proceeded to make each bed very pretty indeed, with a diamond-shaped blanket in gay colors throwing its brilliancy clear up to the brown canvas ceiling. bits of waste paper seemed to come from nowhere and settle everywhere, and these kept the scouts busy, for this was to be a model camp and fit for inspection "always." "now we'll all go home and take a bathtub bath," suggested miss mackin, "and be back promptly at two-thirty for the flag-raising." if anyone doubts girls' ability to make life ideal in the open, such a one has surely a limited experience with life's loveliest creatures, for girls are naturally "little animals," and who-ever tried to teach a bunny how to dig its burrow? at two o'clock benny rounded up the boy scouts, and when these came together they formed quite a company, in which were five fifes, three were tin horns, several drums, a few being homemade and of recent production, besides mouth-organs and other varieties of noise-making instruments. benny himself, being brother to grace, was chosen color-bearer, and he started his company off for tamarack hills with many compliments following in the wake of the trusty, valiant boy scouts. friends and relations of the girls had gathered also, and it was a distinguished line of autos that parked down at the foot of the hill when the girls themselves, hiking now and disdaining car-rides, marched along to take formal possession of camp comalong. the inspection came first and everyone took part in it mothers were enthusiastic and even craved "camps like this" for the whole family. those fathers who could do so also attended the opening, and manlike talked proudly of their girls being the real thing in the scout line. the boys "drummed and fifed" madly, and of course drew a crowd. "after this one afternoon," said corene to cleo's mother, "we are going to be strictly girl scouts, and we will only have visitors on regular days." miss mackin was conducting one of the visiting school-teachers all over the grounds, for the fame of this girl-made camp had spread beyond its limits. then the signal was given, and grace pulled the rope that raised old glory over tamarack hills! that moment was reverently solemn. every girl and boy scout stood at attention, while the other spectators evinced their respect for the country's glorious emblem. then the salute was given and the strains of "star-spangled banner" stole out, first timidly, then assuringly, over the hills to the soft accompaniment of the lake's gentle swish against the rocky shore. the hours that followed were too well-filled with excitement and interest to bear commonplace reporting, but the capable director, miss mackin, or "mackey," as she had already been affectionately dubbed by the scouts, managed to get the grounds fairly well cleared of visitors in time for supper preparations to be begun before sunset, and presently the girls found themselves alone with their beloved scheme, "camping in the woods." "we will have a cold supper to-night," said mackey, "and we have two quarts of lovely fresh milk--a donation from the boy scouts." "we might have treated them," said grace. "they did so much for us, and their music was really splendid!" "indeed it was," agreed the director, "and some afternoon we will give them all a treat. but to-night we have to try things out, so we will keep to schedule. i think everything went beautifully, and i want to congratulate you all. my friends from camp norm were very much impressed, and envied me my comfortable quarters," she added considerately. "they don't know the squad," laughed corene, "and we had on our best behavior to-day. wait, just wait until things get going." "we'll get the water," volunteered cleo, taking the nice, shiny new pail from its peg in the tree closet. there was a row of these tree closets, being small wooden boxes nailed low enough to reach easily, and holding all the kitchen pans and pots. no one claimed these, and as corene announced early in the plans, each should take turns, just like the k. p., or kitchen police, in military parlance. up the hill to the spring now romped cleo and grace. it was joyous to begin, really, to start this first meal in camp. fleet-footed were the happy scouts on the initial errand, and if grace stumbled and cleo tripped it was small wonder, considering their excited state of mind. they were within a few feet, or bushes, of the spring when they saw a figure leaning over it. "look!" whispered cleo. "it's peg!" "come on and let's speak to her," suggested grace sociably. "she might not like it," demurred cleo. "let's try, anyhow," insisted grace, quickening her pace. the girl leaning over the spring must have heard the steps, for she jumped up quickly and snatched her hat from the big stone. "hello!" called out grace cheerily. "did you come down to our camp exercises?" the brown felt hat was pulled down very suddenly and firmly on the black hair, and for an instant the face under it flashed defiance. the next, a frank smile brought the answer. "i did not exactly come to them, but i heard from the hill. it seemed--very nice." "oh, it was. i'm sorry you didn't come," pressed grace. "let us introduce ourselves." she waved her pail nervously. "this is cleo and i'm grace of the bobolinks. you may call us the bobbies if you will." peg smiled again and scratched her heavy shoes quite like an embarrassed youth might do. she hesitated quite a while before answering: "and i'm peg--you may, if you will" (she pleasantly imitated the voice grace had used), "just call me peg," she finished rather shyly. it was such an agreeable surprise to find her approachable. immediately both scouts fell to talking of their camp prospects, and very naturally asked peg to call. "we know you are the original scout of these hills," grace complimented, "and i hope you don't mind our trespassing." "oh, no," replied peg, but the voice was a little guarded. "the hills are big enough for us all," she added, "and i don't think you could have found a prettier spot. you can see clear across the lake from your front door," and she smiled at the classification. but she did not reply to the invitation. both girls noticed the omission. cleo dipped her pail in the spring pool and brought it out filled. she wanted to rinse the new tin, although corene had boiled it before bringing it out to camp, but to rinse it would cool it, and now cleo looked about for a spot to throw the waste water. "toss it over this way," suggested peg, who was moving away. "there's a water-cress bed here. don't forget to try them when you want a salad," and before the scouts could thank her she was racing over the next hill and waving good-bye. "so we met peg!" said cleo, her pail of water spilling over her new sneaks. "and she's a dear," announced grace emphatically. then they carried a newly dipped pail of fresh spring water back to camp, for their first supper under the tamarack trees. chapter vii the loving bandit when the girls went down to the lake with mackey that evening, they were, somehow, a source of curiosity to those friends not members of the charmed circle of scouts. to be away from home, living in a tent out in the woods, while even the boy scouts had to go back to their family cottage at night, seemed highly exciting. but the bobbies were now a unit, and under the capable direction of miss mackin they started immediately to do things as they are done by units, and not by individuals. "we will go for a sail this evening," planned the director. "i see you have all passed in the swimming tests and therefore are permitted to go in canoes." "oh, yes," corene replied; "swimming is our chiefest joy, and canoeing on this lake, what we have had of it, is simply ideal." "i am sure folks will be curious about us for a while at least," continued miss mackin, "so i have asked camp norm to let us take the big canoe this evening, the one we teachers practice in, you know." "the big green pedagogue!" exclaimed cleo. "oh, how splendid! i have just longed for a ride in the war canoe," and she hurried to do her part in clearing away the supper things. "cleo," interfered corene aside, so that mackey would not overhear, "you know there is a real scout way of doing dishes, and----" "all right, corey; but let's do them any way to-night, so that they get done," replied the little girl in the big gingham apron. "i just want to get down to the lake and out on the water before the sunset fades. daddy and all the folks will be there----" "show-off!" taunted madaline, the baby of the patrol. "cleo thinks that canoe-riding is next best to horseback riding," and she made a juggler's pass to catch the plate that slipped through her dish-towel. a half-hour later the bobolink girls were down at the dock, the center of an admiring party which included some camp fire girls, some girls from the hikers club, besides the usual scattering of summer girls, all piling on compliments for the day's achievement in the opening of camp comalong. miss mackin wore her regular uniform, which she had with her, fortunately, and all together the patrol made a very creditable showing, as they took their places in the war canoe. after some instructions from miss mackin, who, among other things, insisted upon "good form rather than speed," they pulled out gracefully, the "down paddle" start having been executed by the eight doubles as precisely as if done by a simple stroke. and wonder of wonders! there was a moving-picture man on shore, grinding his machine as if each grind depended on speed and not upon form, for only in a sudden burst of strong sunset light did the camera operator hope to get a picture of the girl scouts on lake hocomo. "in the movies!" breathed julia, dipping her paddle with such awe as might have been occasioned had some perfume stream sprung up through the many springs beneath the water's surface. it was sweet, indeed, to be pictured thus, and not a bobbie among them but felt a little tinge of pride when the boys shouted after them: "you'll be in the movies, girls!" "queer how much more important we are to-day than we were yesterday," remarked cleo analytically. "because yesterday we were girls, while to-day we are scouts," explained mackey. "that's the value of team play, you know. now we will paddle in to the point, and see that we make a perfect landing. that's one thing we have to learn in good canoeing." dip after dip took them gracefully down the lake to where the point landing jutted out among all sorts of craft, the motor-boating being easily as common at the lakeside as is the "motor-caring" at any inland parkside. "i hope we don't jam them," whispered grace to cleo, who was her canoe partner. "if we have to jam anyone, i hope it's that 'streak'--you know, grace, that queer bug-boat those girls from the hotel always ride in." "why?" asked grace, leaning closer. "because they're snippy and call us 'candy kids,'" replied cleo. "it seems to me they look more like candy themselves, with their taffy hair and peppermint-striped bathing-suits." grace silently agreed, and soon all the paddlers bent their interest and energy on making a perfect landing. at the director's signal they stopped paddling some little distance out, then steered past the flock of motor boats into the side of the dock, where as pretty a landing was made as the big pedagogue ever had to her credit. miss mackin and corene sprang ashore first, and held the boat while the others quickly and alertly followed. again they were the center of an admiring throng, and again the bobbies felt suffused with a pardonable pride. they were really the first group of girl scouts to be seen about the lake, and it was not surprising that they should attract some attention. some provisions for the next day were purchased, as the point was the center of supplies for the colonists, then, after a half hour spent in recreation about the pier, the party embarked again and paddled back toward the camp landing. the evening "had ripened" as louise expressed it, and a calm mellowness seemed to settle over everything about the water and its shores. "let us try a song," suggested miss mackin. "who can lead?" "weasy!" came the chorus; and presently the newest version of popular songs, adjusted to the girl scout needs, with clever words that just fitted the tunes, were "tried" and rather successfully executed. the clear, true voice of weasy carried along the more uncertain tones of grace and cleo, like chips of sound on the crest of a song wave, and once started the "sing" went merrily on until the home dock was finally reached. a sigh of satisfaction ended the chorus. the pedagogue was docked and stored for the night, although the interested benny and his clan crawled under the big canoe "just for sport," the bobbies said good-night and turned back to the hills for their first night under the stars. it was almost dark as they hurried along under the trees, and it was not by accident that each little girl clutched the arm of her companion. they needed the nearness on this first night, at any rate, and cleo more than once cast a surreptitious glance back over the lake to chipmunk cottage, where she knew, at that very moment, daddy was looking campward and thinking of his little girl who had flown from the home nest for the first time. but she trudged along eager for the big experience, even if conscious of its sentimental cost. "one lantern will answer for us, i think," said the director. "shall we have a campfire and story to-night?" "oh, yes, surely!" replied corene, who managed to frame first the same answer the others attempted. the two big logs, between which the fire was to be built, were already in place, and it was now time for julia to shine in her especial department. she undertook to build the stone oven for the cooking purposes, so she also included the responsibility of making place and arrangements for the campfire. following the camp manual "no paper nor excelsior nor other artificial means" were to be employed in the fire making, but instead the "punk" wood, gouged from the heart of a dry log, was placed in the "v" of the two big green logs; then the tiny twigs and light material were first piled up so that the "light with one match only" was successfully accomplished, and a merry blaze burst out to greet julia and cheer her companions, almost before the others realized the fire was really started. every member of the little patrol stood looking on--spellbound. what is more inspiring than a campfire in the clearance, with the tent "hard by" and the sheltering trees overlooking? "oh, if only we could get the girl peg, you know, to come down and join us," sighed grace. "let's try," suggested cleo. "she seemed friendly and it won't do any harm to try. i'll go over the hill with you?" "if mackey will let us," followed grace. the other girls were finding seats on the big logs arranged at a safe distance from the fire, and when the director heard the request of grace and cleo, she agreed they might go over the hill to the cabin, if they kept to the path in front of the other camps and came directly back. it was not yet dark and the two bobbies started off on a merry chase, as usual. near the cabin they met shag, the big collie, and he made friends promptly, perhaps because they wore the same sort of brownish outfit his own mistress was usually dressed in. "shall we go right up and knock?" deliberated cleo. now that they faced the cabin they faced also its restrictions. "no," reflected grace. "we had better call." suiting the words to action she cupped her hands and "whoo-hooed" once or twice; then waited. no answer. "call, use her name," suggested cleo, leaving the duty to grace. "peg! peg-gee!" called grace. "hey--oh! peg!" she trilled in a curly sort of call. shag seemed restless now and his manner was less confident. he didn't wag so enthusiastically, but instead sniffed with suspicion. finally the cabin door opened and peg appeared. she hurried down and met the girls where they waited. "we came to bring you over to our first campfire," grace almost spluttered. she was excited and in a hurry to return to camp before the night should overtake them. "oh, i really couldn't go!" protested peg, but her voice was toned with a hint of regret. "you've just got to," said cleo. "we are bandits and we're going to kidnap you!" and quite as if the play had not been all planned, each scout slipped her arm into the arms of peg and urged her forward. a ripple of girlish laughter answered the challenge, but shag didn't like it and he growled threateningly. the girls stepped back for a moment, fearing the dog might attempt to interfere, when another figure appeared in the doorway. it was aunt carrie, and she very quickly and decidedly ordered shag to "come here, sir," which he did, by that time realizing his very natural mistake. "really, girls," said peg. "i do thank you for being so friendly, but i can't go." "and this our first night on the grounds and you the original scout!" sulked cleo. "at any rate it is getting so dark i don't see how we will dare go back alone." "you _are_ a bandit," laughed the stranger, "and i suppose----" "that you must come," grace finished happily. "hurry, do please! the fire is going high, just see it! and we may miss the story." "you stay here then," ordered peg rather shyly, "while i get my cape from aunt carrie. shag will be sure to call for me later." grace and cleo danced a few steps while waiting, but in a very few moments peg was back with her cape over her arm. "i can't tell you how surprised i am," she admitted. "i so very seldom go calling." "but you are a scout and you wouldn't be unfriendly," almost charged cleo. "maybe that's it," returned peg; and arm in arm the trio stumbled back to the campfire, for it was quite impossible to walk without stumbling when retarded by darkness from taking the jumps and jerks necessary to the ordeal. when they reached camp comalong mackey was just starting her story. chapter viii glow of the campfire's gleam "and so the mystery of the 'pocket in black rock' was finally cleared up," ended the story teller, as the big smoldering log fell into the blaze and sent up a "fire-works" of spluttering embers. the bobbies hugged the line of waists that sat squat in front of the campfire. peg had been accorded a seat of honor directly in front of the biggest blaze, and it was not possible to escape her sighs and gasps of rapt attention, as the thrills of the story were unwound, and she jumped up now and smiled so frankly into the face of the director that no shadow of doubt remained as to this strange girl's sincerity. "i have never had such a lovely time!" she declared with something of the social habit, "and i'm ever--so thankful to you and the girls." the bobbies were all delighted. somehow this little woods-girl was so picturesque and fitted in the scene so perfectly now, when the blaze lit up her entire form, as she stood outlined against the night--it was hard to imagine she was in any way queer! but the next moment she had flung her cape over her shoulders, thrust her fingers into her mouth to make shriller the whistle she emitted, and when shag leaped "into the ring" she said good-night, repeated it to each section of the group, and then was off with her dog, before the others could offer "to go with her over the hill" or even to ask her to come again. her abrupt departure left a sort of "hole in the group." while she was there the others felt a fascination, that usually accorded to mystery, and perhaps she as much as miss mackin's thrilling story had furnished the evening's interest. but during all the time she exchanged no word even of comment, and some of the girls suspected that the "kidnapping" perpetrated by grace and cleo had been more real than imagined. "what joy!" enthused margaret, looking up to see if she could find the stars blinking after having her eyes glare-shot by the fire. "to think we are going to sleep out here in the woods!" "and we must make our inspection now," announced the careful director. "corene, you are leader; get the lantern, please." willingly the scout mentioned sprang to obey, when the "plink-plink-plink" of ukes, and a soft hum of voices stole down to their grounds. "a serenade!" exclaimed louise. "oh, goody! we will have more campfire!" presently the music filled the clearance, and, as suspected, the serenaders were upon the scene. "the girls from norm!" cried julia. "isn't this just too lovely!" then sang the singers: "there are girls that make us happy, there are girls who make us sad, there are girls who never can stop gig'ling and they're girls who make you awful mad! but the girls we serenade this evening with this ukeleled sing-a-song, are the bobbies with our stolen mackey, in the lovely new camp comalong!' the tune was borrowed from "smiles" and the words, though a little rough on the edges, fitted in pretty well. and this was the beginning of the campfire concert. two ukes and two mandolins, besides a real melodious banjo, composed the orchestra, and the norms sang everything campy and collegiate, until mackey declared she would simply have to put her bobbies to bed. regret as real and keen as that usually expressed in a nursery at the same order, answered the summons, but the director was inexorable, and the norms finally left in a path of complimentary protestations. the inspection finished (nothing was found out of order on this, the very first night), the little campers presently found themselves in their "bunks." such tittering, giggling and whispering! someone's bed "sagged like a hammock" while another someone's "humped like a hill." "i'm going to try to grow tall," whispered louise to julia, her nearest neighbor. "do you suppose the pines and tamaracks can stretch one out?" and she thrust her feet beyond the blanket confines. julia didn't care if she shrank, and she whispered that secret; and so it went around from cot to cot until miss mackin called a final warning. then things settled down at last, and only the trusty lantern that hung behind a screen in a sheltered spot outside the door, stood sentinel over the sleepers. and they slept. little gasps and sighs told of girlish dreams, and if louise kicked her feet down too decidedly perhaps she was trying to grow; also when julia humped up her knees and spoiled the entire effect of her pretty blanket, perhaps she was trying to shrink. then the inevitable happened. as it couldn't be avoided it has to be told, in spite of the usual first night scare banality. cleo had just said something unintelligible and corene answered with an alto groan, when there was a scream! it came from the end cot where margaret slept. every one sat up as if a spring had been touched. "oh, mercy, look!" yelled a chorus. they looked, and between the curtain blazed two immense eyes! also there was a snorting sound! "a bear!" cried madaline. "see how tall he is!" "yes, look!" exclaimed cleo, "his head is in--the trees!" miss mackin's flashlight had slipped from her hand, and it was while she fumbled in the dark for it that this dialogue was snapped off. "just wait a minute, and don't get excited," she begged so inadequately that corene repeated: "excited!" her light recovered, she quickly turned the flash on the thing that was somehow fixed in the joining of the rear flaps of the tent. "oh, h-h-h!" screamed the chorus again. "nothing--but--a----" miss mackin stopped. she was not sure just what it was, for an immense animal head was framed in the curtains it had poked itself between. there was a continued volley of subdued shrieks from everyone until cleo took aim with her shoe. she proved a first rate shot, for the animal blinked once and promptly withdrew. "a cow! i heard him chew!" declared the little fat madaline. "but he has no horns," argued julia, trembling still, and trying to talk with a head covered in the blankets. "it is a cow," declared miss mackin. she was on her feet now, and had the tent flaps open. she had taken down the pole light from the front door, and now swung the lantern through the curtains in the rear. "see, there she goes! poor bossy just wanted to pay us a call. i didn't know we had any cows around here." "all right there?" called a man's voice, next. "the officer!" declared cleo not without a little squeak of joy. "that's dick porter's voice." "yes, that's the watchman," agreed miss mackin, who had slipped on her heavy robe. "all right, officer!" she called back. "but please drive the cow away." "certainly," came the reply through the night's silence. "that cow has a habit of walking in her sleep," and he laughed so good-naturedly that the bobbies took the cue and laughed heartily themselves. the director feared she would not get them quiet again in time to have even a reasonable amount of sleep, for what one didn't think of the other suggested, until night was turned into a medley of utter nonsense, set off by such laughter as can only be enjoyed when she who laughs knows it's against the rules to do so. "now, girls, no campfire to-morrow night if you do not stop within five minutes," threatened miss mackin in desperation. "all right, mackey dear," replied cleo. "i'll throw my other shoe at the first one that laughs." then she yelled again. it was such a sudden outburst no one could question the humor that provoked it. "oh, mackey dear," she gulped between her spasms. "do you think bossie swallowed my new shoe?" "we'll chip in and buy you a new pair if you only will go to sleep, bobbie dear," begged the distracted director, and this time her appeal bore results. but over the bend on tamarack hill another girl slept fitfully. peg had broken her resolution to remain alone, and for that one beautiful evening she had been just like the others--a girl among girls! and how overjoyed aunt carrie was! to have peg run off and spend a happy evening with the girl scouts. upon her return to the cabin no little queen could have received more loving attention. "now at last, peggie dear, you have found friends," the white-haired woman had declared. but peg shook her bobbed head and refused to promise that she would keep up the friendship so auspiciously begun. "you know, carrie dear, i must not bring folks here yet," peg had protested, "and i shall never accept things nor friendship that i cannot fully return." so now peg slept, dreaming of that magic campfire: hearing the story again of the pocket in the big black rock: now she felt grace grasp her hands in delight and ecstasy with a little squeal of joy, and after it all she was alone again, with shag sleeping at her door, with aunt carrie's faithful night lamp making a little shaded starlight beneath the beam ceiling. and she had cried a little and laughed a little, but at last it was all over, and now she would take whirlwind out over the hills in the early morning and forget, if she could, the bobbies and their magic campfire. chapter ix a day with the bobbies a shrill whistle shocked the girls back to consciousness. "what's that?" asked cleo. "our 'get-up' call," replied corene. "mackey's whistle. at the big camp we always heard the bugles next." whether woodnymphs were listening in that tent, or whether corene's remark provoked an uncanny echo, at that very moment a bugle blast sounded somewhere! "another serenade!" exclaimed julia, settling into her new comfort, quite as if the bugle-blow were permission to defer rising time. miss mackey was already dressed for the ten minute exercise drill. "the girls at norm have no bugles, so we cannot be indebted to them this time," she said. "maybe it's friend cow bringing back my shoe," chuckled cleo. came the uncertain notes of the bugle again: "we can't get 'em up--up--up!" it stuttered frantically, unable to return to the first notes to repeat the strain. the girls shuffled into slippers and bathrobes, the regular drill costumes, and grace ventured to poke her head outside the tent. "the boys!" she exclaimed. "there they go scamping off. just gave us our first call, to tease, of course. well, i'm glad something got benny up. i wouldn't wonder if the bugler blew him out first." "they're gone," repeated miss mackin good-naturedly, "and i suppose they think it was a great joke. grace, couldn't we borrow that bugle?" "i'll see; i think clee could blow it; she does so well with a bicycle pump." presently the bobbies were outside; having reverently raised their colors, they raced off to the "drill field," a little place cleared of brush and safe from the eyes even of benny's bugle squad. there, in bathing suits, they went through the setting up exercises, warranted to do everything in the way of providing health and beauty for girl scouts. from that they raced off to the little cove in the lake, took a dip, which they would loved to have prolonged into a swim had mackey not blown that police whistle; then back to camp, then washed and dressed and jumped out to their benches set around the new boarded table. washing between the trees, where twin cedars or other saplings were used to hold the basin bench, proved novel to those little girls, used to the white enamelled bathrooms at home; but it was fun, even if julia did spill "every drop of the pitcher full of fresh water" and have to borrow from margaret; and although grace found her soap so slippery, it would roll off into the pine needles and when rescued look like a new sort of fuzzy-wuzzy chestnut. altogether it was fun and frolic, and "good for what ails you," as cleo commented, when madaline took to preaching about the wrongs of civilization. "it's all nonsense and mummy says so, for us to want hot and cold water all the time," she declaimed from her perch on a stump where the towel was clear of the ground. "and this is good for us. will make----" "men of us," finished cleo, who always loved to tease chubby, baby madaline. corene had charge of breakfast, julia was fireman, this picturesque duty appealing to her imaginative nature, and as she poked the embers in the stone furnace (of her own building) and sang, "boil and bubble, toil and trouble," she must have imagined the witches in macbeth were stirring things up with their forked wands. "hungry! i'm starved!" declared margaret. "can't seem to remember when i ate last. please send me down that dish of apples." "let us adhere to something of our regular table manners, girls," said miss mackin from her place at the head of the board. "we don't want the home folk to be blaming us for lost manners, when we go back. i know it does seem like fun to be free from most restrictions, but habits are so easily formed, and we can't blame the home people for wanting us to go back to them better in every way." miss mackin never dictated, she just "put things up to the girls" in a very pleasant manner. corene was serving the cereal while julia kept things hot over the picturesque stone furnace. "if you have enough cooked now we will all eat together, corey," said the director. "just bring your coffee pot over here. i'll pour!" she smiled broadly at that use of the social term. "let me cook the bacon," begged cleo. "i've heard daddy talk so often of camp bacon." her request was granted, and presently the bacon was sizzling from its wire string that ran from one end to the other of the furnace, each end being hooked on the iron poles, little gas pipes set up in the stones, with homemade hooks of tightly wound wire, the entire contrivance representing julia's idea of a camp "skillet" or "dangling spider." the bacon broiled very quickly, for the embers had reached a point of concentrated heat, and when cleo forked her bacon off the wire its aroma might easily have attracted envious comments from the girls at camp norm. "did anything ever taste so good?" exclaimed margaret. "shall we have baked potatoes for lunch?" asked madaline, sending her cup down to louise to have it refilled with milk. "i'm to cook lunch," replied cleo, "and you may help, madie. i know you always did love to bake things. remember the day you burned the big angel cake?" madie remembered, but claimed a broader knowledge of the culinary art now. the day's programme provided something for every hour, and after breakfast it was to be a swim. the weather was ideal for this, their first experience in the "wide open," so that a swim was eagerly anticipated now. "fix your bunks; inspection first, you know," ordered the leader. how jolly it was! and how worth while to do things this way, which was the right way for this particular occasion? the beds and their surroundings passed the director's inspection, and then came the swim. "we are all good swimmers," julia insisted. "i don't really think we need have mackey with us, if she should want to do something else." "oh, i go with you," replied mackey. "the water is a matter of particular responsibility, and being good swimmers would not excuse me in case of accident." "mother always feels that way and insists on being along with us," added louise reflectively. the dock was crowded when they reached the "bathing grounds." they might have "gone in" at their own beach in the cove, but the rocks around that corner were jagged, and mackey decided it would be better to take the dives from the regular springboard off the landing. "i wish we would see peg," grace said to cleo. "i wonder where she goes in?" "never saw her in a bathing suit," replied cleo, "but i'm sure she's a regular fish in the water. we'll ask her to come with us next time we see her." "do you suppose she works at anything?" grace asked again. "why! how queer that you should think she works?" charged cleo. "well, she does something. she wouldn't ride away so early every morning just for pleasure; and benny says he has seen her so often." a call to line up for a running dive interrupted the conversation, and presently the bobbies quite forgot peg, in their joy of a real swim in lake hocomo. "lots better than the ocean," chugged louise, just coming in from a long pull. "i never could try this stroke in the big waves," and she dove back again to try the "crawl" in the smooth yet pleasantly warmed waters; for the lake was never very cold at the big open basin that surrounded this point. "and no tide to worry about," added margaret. however dear was the ocean when at the ocean they tarried, the scouts had a happy faculty of shifting their affection, and now it was the "wonderful lake!" miss mackin was watching the swimmers and she quickly observed those most proficient. "madaline, don't go outside the float," she cautioned. "that's a pretty good swim for a little girl, i think." the smallest bobbie turned to obey when those nearest her saw her give a sudden jerk and then she screamed! "oh, something has got me! quick!" miss mackin only had to put her hand out to reach the frightened child, but madaline's face showed pain and the director could not at once seem to assist her. "my foot! something's got my foot!" she cried. "a crab!" exclaimed grace, swimming quickly to madaline's aid. "not in the lake!" protested cleo. by this time miss mackin had succeeded in freeing the very much frightened little scout, and she was now leading her ashore. madaline had drawn her foot between two rocks that came together so closely they formed a very formidable trap, and the only way a victim could get out was to back out of the wider end of the opening. there were rocks only on the lake bottom near shore, and most bathers soon became familiar with their location. as if that trifling incident opened the way for further "frowns of fate" the girls in the water presently had reason to scamper. the criticized blondes, they who ran the "bug," that deformed motor boat, now deliberately turned the craft into the line of the swimmers. at first it seemed accidental, but when grace and julia turned in another direction and the "bug" cut after them, they realized that the girls in the hideous striped bathing suits were giving them a chase. miss mackin saw this from ashore and ran along the dock to the end of the pier. she called from there, and the girls in the queer squat boat seemed to take heed, for presently the boat made a complete circle and shot out again into the open lake. "come in, girls," called the director. "time's up!" "oh, not one more swim?" begged grace. but corene said "no," and everyone realized corene's experience with a director qualified her to dictate, so reluctantly they waded in and were soon back in camp, dressing for dinner. "what do you think of those girls racing after us with their old motor boat?" louise asked. they were looking rosy and feeling "frisky" after their swim, and the preparations for dinner (they had decided to have the main meal at noon), were aggravating in their appetizing lure. "i think," replied julia, "we will have to look out for those ladies," she wanted to say something more "descriptive," but let it go at "ladies." "why look out for them?" pressed grace. she may have scented danger and "warmed to it," for grace had the reputation of daring and courage. "well, they didn't seem to be 'cutting up' exactly, and they did steer their old bug-boat straight after us," reasoned julia. "wonder where they stop?" "i saw them on the grounds of the fayette the other day," said madaline, "and one was in a hammock, with her feet sticking out and you could see her green silk stockings all the way from the corner." "must have terrible long----" the dinner gong interrupted grace's sentence, for corene was hammering her bread knife on the big tin tray with such startling results, that the very birds took fright and left the grounds before gathering the crumbs that might come to them from the table of the bobbies. chapter x meet buzz and fuss "company!" called madaline. "someone is coming down our path." "but we don't own the woods," replied grace. "they are surely coming here," insisted cleo. "and bobbs! listen!" exclaimed louise. "it's the girls who wear long-legged green silk stockings! just look!" the intruders were almost upon them and the order louise gave seemed entirely uncalled for. everyone looked! in fact they stared at the two conspicuous blondes, who were recognized as the drivers of the bug-boat, and who seemed rudeness itself to the scouts. "quick! drop the tent flap, don't let them snoop!" whispered cleo to madaline who was nearest the pull rope. madaline picked herself up from her camp stool and with a great show of indifference sauntered into the tent and dropped the curtain as she went. the other girls exchanged glances of satisfaction. "good afternoon," chirped one of the callers. "may we come in?" "certainly," replied corene. she had risen but did not offer her seat to the strangers. "what a perfectly dear nook!" exclaimed the shorter girl. her remark almost gave louise a spasm of some kind, for she choked, and coughed, and finally ran off to get a drink. "and do you stay here all the time?" asked the girl with the long black earrings. "we're camping," replied corene. at the moment everyone wished mackey had not gone hunting new wild flowers. "how perfectly lovely!" gasped number one. this threatened a spasm to julia, but she kept her eyes on the sweater she started the year before, and thus offset serious consequences. "we are at the fayette," volunteered number two, "and we perfectly hate it." she dropped down on the grass and propped her useless parasol over her head in an obvious pose. the other followed suit. "i wish we might camp for a while, don't you, buzz?" the name brought madaline out from the tent with a laugh in her eyes, but she closed the "door" after her, and carefully arranged the curtains. "buzz!" she whispered to cleo. "could you possibly take us in?" asked the other caller. this surprising question almost precipitated something worse than a choking spell all around. after the way those bold girls ran the scouts out of the lake with their old yellow boat! "we don't take boarders," replied corene cruelly, grinding out the word "boarders" with vicious satisfaction. "oh, we know that. but fuss meant could we come as girl scouts?" "girl scouts!" repeated cleo, incredulously. "why, yes, i think those togs are perfectly stunning and shouldn't mind at all wearing them," condescended fuss. "can you get those uniforms around here?" a look akin to disgust crossed the face of corene. how she longed to "speak the truth for once," but politeness forbade the experiment. "you can't wear the uniform unless you are a scout, and you can't be a scout unless you qualify," she snapped. "and what do you do to qualify?" "fuss and buzz" had both seated themselves without invitation, and now their line of questions indicated rather a stay. corene sank back and sighed. she picked up her book and toyed with it significantly. but no one replied. there was danger of a general laugh breaking out if someone didn't say something quickly, so louise, just coming back from the water pail, offered an excuse. "all right louie?" asked grace. she had never called louise louie before. "oh, yes, i just choked," replied louise, "and went for a drink." "a drink!" repeated the buzzer. "oh, could we have a lovely, cool drink? we are so warm from walking." what could the bobbies do? "certainly," said julia. "i'll fetch it." "i'll help you," offered cleo, glad to escape for a moment. a brand new tin pie pan with two glasses of spring water was fetched. there was no doily, either paper or otherwise, although the usual tray was so covered. the strangers drank heartily, however, and it seemed now they surely must go. but they didn't. "and you couldn't take us for just a teeny-weeny while?" cooed fuss. "oh, if you only could, we would be so good! we would do all the work--do you have to do all the work?" came another silly question. "we don't _have_ to but we _choose_ to," snapped corene again. her companions seemed to have no pity, for rarely did one of them offer to help her out. why didn't mackey come and rescue them? each was wondering. "do you know that queer girl on the hilltop?" asked fussy, unexpectedly. "who do you mean?" grace challenged. "'fly-away peg,' they call her. she's so queer, and so--so sort of heathenish," said buzzy. "we are acquainted with peggie ramsdell," replied grace, glad that she remembered the name, "but we don't consider her queer." "you don't, really! then you don't know her. she is very queer, and if i were you--so young and trusting--i'd keep away from her," offered the second intruder. "why should we do that?" corene shot the question defiantly. "well," a titter, "she won't get you any place, that's all," went on the informer. "no one will take you up if you tag around with her." "we don't want to be taken up," flung back corene. "and i'm afraid you will have to excuse us. it is almost time for class." "class! and do you go to school here, too?" no one answered, but all had risen. they would take corene's cue and go in the tent; if only those rude girls would take themselves off. "oh, could we have just one peek in your tent? we are dying to!" came the daring question which was put by both, one tagging the end on the other's introduction. this brought out corene's "fighting fury," as the girls were accustomed to characterize her aggressiveness, and now she faced the strangers squarely. "aren't you the two young ladies who tried to run us out of the lake this morning?" she demanded. her face took on a tone of red she tried hard to keep down. "oh, did you mind?" simpered one. "why, we were only fooling. you were having such a lovely time we thought it would be fun to--to chase you." "you did it to show off and it wasn't funny a bit," declared corene, her companions applauding with glances. "we don't feel like being friendly but we have tried to be polite," pursued corene, "but now i guess we had better----" "close the interview," mocked buzz. "of course we'll go. we never intended to stay. we were only trying to have some fun with you," and her voice fairly hissed her rudeness. "such babes in the woods! and no mammas! better call nursie to shoo horrid, big things away. come along, toots. they don't want and evidently won't take any advice. but if they tag after fly-away peg maybe they'll be sorry they didn't listen." then they went, their glaring satin skirts--one was gold and the other mahogany--showing through the heavy brush as they wound in and out the path, their twin-made sweaters of bright pink being last to fade from view, over the little rustic bridge that spanned the creek. the scouts stood, too surprised to give expression to their feelings. "of all the cheek----" began grace. "why didn't you hit them, corey? i saw you stoop for a stick," said cleo. "i felt like doing something desperate," replied corene. "i never in all my life saw such nerve." "do you think they were really fooling about wanting to come to camp?" queried julia. "they would be glad enough to come indeed if they saw any chance," declared margaret, promptly. "can you imagine buzz and fuss in our uniforms?" grace went into perfect kinks at the idea. "they would love them," drawled julia, imitating the tone of voice used by the strangers. "and wouldn't they look cute in the kilties?" mocked madaline. "with the green silk stockings and all!" howled cleo. only the approach of miss mackin saved the bobbies from wilder expression of joy--joy that the callers had gone, and joy for the trail of humor they left behind. her arms filled with iron weed and late daisies, mackey looked very pretty as she came along through the soft green setting, so different from the last figures that travelled the same path. the girls ran to meet her and eagerly told the exciting story. "you see, i shouldn't leave you very long," commented the director when the account was finished. "you are so attractive, even the frivolous stop to admire. and i have a lovely surprise for you." they took the flowers from her and "sat her down," as if she were not really a girl but a queen among them. "what's the surprise?" cooed madaline. "the norms are going to start a class in basketry; who wants to join?" "oh, baskets, the indian kind, and the pretty raffia kind, and the----" "lunch basket kind," julia interrupted grace. "we will join you, mackey, won't we, girls?" everyone agreed eagerly, and the first session was arranged to be held at camp comalong on the following afternoon. "i thought after a few days things might get sort of samey," said cleo, "but as it looks now i wonder how we are going to get everything in? we must go riding soon, louise." "we surely must, clee. let us keep the next afternoon after to-morrow free for that. i am just longing for a ride through those wonderful, green woods." "maybe we will meet buzzie and fussie, and if we do----" threatened cleo. "we'll make them run harder than they did us, with their old buggy-boat in the lake," finished louise, well out of hearing of the director. but a new cause for questions had crossed their wonderful path. why did those girls speak with such marked disapproval of peg, the exclusive neighbor? chapter xi the food shower as someone had said events were crowding at camp, and it now seemed difficult to keep schedule and not break the "rest rule." this last obligated the director to see that the girls rested for a time after the noon-day meal. as the bobbies were such active little animals, and so eager to crowd each moment with an event--big enough to occupy an hour--mackey had to be very decided in this order for an hour's rest every afternoon. it was that particular period that the unwelcome callers had so completely dissipated the day before, so to-day mackey decided to stay at camp and write up her notes, rather than scour woods for new material. thus she could keep tabs on that relaxation period. "we're so glad to have you, but hope we are not spoiling all your real vacation," said louise considerately, when the patrol finished dinner, had cleaned up things and were now out under the trees resting. "honestly, mackey, tell us! didn't you plan to come and be our guardian angel, or did you just happen along that day?" the director laughed merrily. it seemed to her girls that she could laugh more heartily than any sort of teacher they had ever come in contact with. her big brown eyes would roll so comically, and she had a way of tossing her head up in such a frank fit of mirth, that her manner was really an inspiration to those about her. "don't guardies always come that way?" she replied to louise's question. "and do you want to 'sack' me for someone else? i'm sure anyone at camp norm would be glad to try for the place." conservative louise could not stand that, and she almost upset mackey and her camp stool in objecting. "did the mothers have anything to do with it?" pressed grace. "or headquarters?" went on julia. "well," evaded mackey. "i came, i saw and i conquered. so why worry?" and the bobbies were obliged to be satisfied with that reply. "has anyone seen peg, lately?" was the next question. it came from cleo. "'has anybody here seen kelly,'" chirped grace, falling into the funny old tune. "'kelly with the gre--heen necktie!'" she persisted, in spite of a shower of leaves and twigs that struck at her defiant head. "we can't call this rest," remonstrated mackey. "julia, i wouldn't pull up those little roots, you will have mud puddles there if it should rain to-night." "oh, that's so!" exclaimed julia. "how will we arrange when the rain comes? what about my fire?" "we will have to use up some of the dry boxes," suggested madaline. "or get an oil stove," proposed margaret. "or we could make a shack--build one over our camp kettle," added cleo. mackey waited to try out their resources before interfering. then she said: "it's lots of fun to build fires in the rain; that is if you don't have to dry out too quickly after a long hike. we can always find dry wood inside of the old logs, and by scooping out some shavings we can easily start some of your nice, little cord pieces, that you have stocked under the tent. no, you can't use artificial wood, boxes nor oil stoves. all that is against the camp system." "then i think," said julia, the good housekeeper, "we had better add to our woodpile. we have had such splendid weather, rain must be about due." "we can go out wood hunting when the sun goes down, or cools off, late this afternoon," agreed mackey. "i think corene had such a plan already fixed." "indeed i did," spoke up corene. "i know what a time we had once at the big camp when the wood pile went low and the storm ran high. unkink your muscles, girls; there's a heap of chopping ahead." "and do you remember last year at the beach? we were donning our dimities about this time daily," recalled louise, with a well meaning sigh. "i'm gaining pounds," announced the willowy julia. "i was weighed this morning." "have i grown any?" joked louise, giving one of her inimitable stretches. "you do all seem to be taking to camp life like squirrels to nuts," interrupted the director. "i shall have quite a record to my credit if you keep it up." time passed so quickly that the call for their class in basketry seemed almost to overlap the rest hour. "to make souvenirs!" this was the attraction that roused the bobbies even from their own joys in camp routine, for now that they were "away from home," each girl longed to bring back a token to mother, father, sister or brother; and with more than one of them the entire family was promptly put down on the list to receive a handmade souvenir from camp comalong. "undertake simple things so you will be sure to finish them," warned mackey, for girl-like they planned the most attractive articles held out in the display catalogues. bags, baskets and little matted trays were finally decided upon, and miss freeland, the manual training teacher who stopped at norm, found an enthusiastic class ready for her dictation. they sat squat on the ground like indians when the lesson started, but before its finish the squatters had squirmed and crawled from one position to another, fitting each new attempt with a new move, until at the end there seemed to be a heap of girls all piled around the amiable miss freeland. "don't forget we are to receive callers to-day," warned mackey. "i think the home folks have been very considerate to leave us alone so long." reluctantly the new task was laid aside, for, as usual, being new, it was also attractive, and at the thought of company everyone stirred around to make things look pretty. fresh flowers, straightening the burlap curtains on louise's sideboard, arranging the tent with an eye to absolute order--all this was attended to with skill acquired in the short practice, and miss mackin had little to fear from the critical eye of any possible visitor. honking of auto horns soon warned the bobbies that their company was coming, and when the honking swelled into a concert, and the concert swelled into a volley, the campers realized they were due to enjoy a surprise. no less than eight cars were finally driven up, and each carried a capacity load of passengers--the whole company representing a surprise party on the bobolinks. "surprise! surprise!" called out the visiting girls, quite like the old time gayety, when country folks came to a party and brought the refreshments with them. so many friends entirely unexpected! it seemed the home folks had sent out the invitations and managed to corral friends for every single bobbie, not forgetting mackey, who was so glad to welcome molly burbank, a friend of her high school days. and the boxes and the bundles! "a regular picnic!" sang out louise. "let's put everything on the big table." "and helen!" chuckled cleo. "i am so glad to see you! when did you come back to the lake?" "isabel, dear, ducky izzy!" chirped grace. "we have been talking about you a lot. can you stay?" then there was mary, carol, annette, and so many other school and home-town friends that for a little time the mothers seemed neglected, but presently louise was "hanging on her folks" with such enthusiasm she threatened to do damage to something, while cleo hugged her mother and her big coz alem, and grace almost strangled her mother, so that it all looked like a new version of mother's day. the inspection was punctuated with constant exclamations of wonder and applause, and that the bobbies would find themselves expected to shoulder added responsibilities when they should return home was very evident. "if they can do so well in camp we may hope for great things at home," remarked more than one delighted visitor, but the scouts shook their heads and refused to promise. miss mackin was arranging "the treat." she and her friends had taken over all the tasks so that the younger girls might more fully enjoy the company. the long table, with its dainty paper table cover, was arranged with paper plates (for company only), and the bunches of rarest wild flowers miss mackin had gathered the day before gave a real festive look to "the board." "i know i'm going to have my favorite cake," crowed cleo. "did you ever see such a perfectly scrumbunctious food shower?" "never," agreed grace, "and i do hope there's something to keep in my box, for we can't be sure of our own cooking all the time, you know." "don't you like it?" defied corene. she was not willing to have the commissary department thus suspected. "oh, yes, corey, and your codfish made with condensed milk is so--new, and sweetish----" corene threw a paper box cover at the head of her tormentor but miss mackin did not see the deprecation. then the spread was ready, and the company sat down to a camp table laden with home made goodies. "this is one real joy of the small camp," miss mackin explained. "in the larger camps they do not generally permit the importing of food; but for comalong it's a real blessing. you see, we have just been experimenting with our little furnace, and there's the camp kettle," she pointed out the inclined pole with its kettle on end, that hung over one of julia's furnaces. "and we haven't tried baking cakes since we came," she admitted with an explanatory laugh. "but the pan cakes? aren't they all right, mackey?" asked cleo. she had "tried" pan cakes once or twice. "yes, indeed, cleo. you did very well with those," praised the director, "but for real chocolate cake----" "and fudge cake!" exclaimed louise. "and angel cake!" added grace. so it went along the table, each scout acknowledging her particular gift with a special exclamation. there was so much to talk about. and what a buzz and hum of voices surprised the little wood creatures! not even the pet bunny ventured out from his hollow stump while all that party talked and talked. "if only we could have company?" proposed julia. "i mean overnight company." "perhaps we can," whispered cleo. "where would they sleep?" grace queried. "we have hammocks, and maybe we could make room between the cots, by pushing them up together." "oh, cleo," grace broke out. "how could we make room between the cots unless you mean to put someone on the floor?" and she howled at the idea. "of course, i don't mean that," protested cleo, between her cake bites. "i mean to tie two cots together and put blankets between the edges, i mean over the edges. there would be room for helen in that space." "but fancy izzy sleeping on the rail!" grace was bound to ridicule the idea. "at any rate i'm going to ask mackey!" declared cleo. "helen would love to stay, and we would love to have her. we could put hammocks up if it didn't rain." at this juncture grace was asked to refill the water pail, so she and madaline raced off to the spring. both cast furtive glances over the hill to peg's cottage, but not even shag was in sight to indicate life around the log cabin. "queer where she keeps herself," remarked grace, "but i'm going to fetch her some cake, anyhow." "i would too," agreed madaline. "she doesn't seem like a girl who could bake a good cake." "no," added grace, "but she surely can ride horseback. i just wonder where she goes every day." "the girls are going riding to-morrow. perhaps they'll find out." "maybe. but aren't we having a lovely picnic?" "wonderful. we'll have enough cake for all week." "i never thought sandwiches could taste so good. i suppose it's because we haven't had any homemade bread since we came." "and cleo's mother brought jam; cleo hid it in her box back of the cupboard," said madaline. "hurry, they may want the water; at any rate we can treat them to that," declared grace, and the water bearers made all possible haste over the trail back to camp, spilling just enough of the fresh fluid to tickle the spangle-weed along the way. "they're going to stay! they're going to stay!" cleo ran to meet grace with the good news, for lovely as camp had seemed with the patrol as its sole occupants, the prospects of company "to stay," and that the guests should be "dare-to-do-izzy" as isabel was popularly called, and jolly little helen would could "see a joke half a mile off"; no wonder there was new joy apparent in camp. "everyone is going," chirped julia, "and i hope they all saw how much we have improved." "your pounds, do you mean, jule? maybe they couldn't see them. you should have pointed them out," teased louise. "now, weasy, maybe you think they all saw your inches," returned julia. "there's mother's handkerchief, i know she didn't intend to leave that to me," and she hurried to the big gray car, with the dainty speck of lace and linen. "give them a cheer," prompted miss mackin. "hurrah for the home folks," led corene. "hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!" boomed the lusty cheer, until the hills echoed and the lake repeated the hail. then the picnic and shower were over, and the bobbies were so excited they hardly knew whether to show izzy the spring or helen the woodpile. the colors were lowered by louise and julia, and then clouds gathering beyond the rim of trees glowered ominously, and that reminded them that they must hurry to gather more wood before the rain would come. chapter xii a record breaker "more showers than those of cakes and cookies," said miss mackin from the depths of her pine needle pillow. "just hear that!" thunder rolled and the rain was finding its way through the trees. "whew!" louise almost whistled. "just hear the wild roar!" like a concrete body the "roar" rolled down the mountain, and with a terrific rip and tear it hit the tent. "oh, mercy!" cried cleo. "hold on to your bunks!" cautioned grace. this they actually did, for the wind had struck with such cyclonic force it seemed the canvas would be torn from its moorings. "we have good shelter here," miss mackin assured the anxious ones. "there is no need for alarm." if they agreed with her no one said so, for the tent flapped and flapped and tried its best to follow the dare of that wind, until it seemed surely something must give way. the night light had been brought inside, as mackey secretly expected a big storm, and now just the faintest glimmer shown from its peg where it hung by the front door. to accommodate the company, three cots had been run together and the beds arranged crosswise, blankets and cushions covered the rims, so that it was considered possible, if not probable, that four girls could thus sleep on the three beds. over in a corner helen and madaline shared quarters with margaret, so that any sort of sleep for that night was rather uncertain even before the storm broke loose, and tried to break everything else loose with it. another blast and again isabel called: "hold fast!" then there was a slam of something! "what was that?" asked miss mackin quickly. heads were under blankets now and gave no answer. "did anyone fall out of bed?" she asked, a trifle anxiously. "we're all right," came a muffled reply from the "buckboard" party on the crosswise bed. there was another queer slamming sound! this brought the director to her feet, and having already pulled on her slippers she quickly proceeded to take inventory and count heads. with the lantern in hand she made sure each bed was where it might be expected to be, although she did have to pull down blankets to inspect, but when she got over in the corner to helen's quarters---- "where's madaline?" she asked. helen ventured to poke her head from its hiding place and then felt around beside her. "she isn't--here!" came the surprising reply. "where is she? could she have fallen out?" miss mackin gathered the blanket ends to look carefully under the cots, but no madaline was discovered. "oh!" shrieked a chorus, as a terrific gust of wind somehow succeeded in blowing out their only light! such confusion as followed! the girls screamed and howled. corene begged them to keep quiet, and after a moment or two that seemed like an hour, the wind was again roaring in solo, while the girls at last listened to the entreaties of their director. "please be quiet," she begged. "i turned the lantern suddenly and with the wind it blew out. there, it is lighted again," and the welcome glow returned. "but where is madaline?" another and more careful survey of the entire tent was made, and could the girls have seen miss mackin's face now, they might have guessed how intense was her alarm, for really, the little fat madaline was nowhere to be found! realizing this everyone jumped up and quickly slipped into emergency covering. "could she have blown out the door?" asked cleo. miss mackin had herself wondered at that far-fetched contingency, and she attempted to thrust the lantern between the curtains, but a sheet of rain drove her back into the tent. "where can the child be?" she murmured. "she simply must have blown away!" wailed corene. "girls, come along! we must get her. she might blow into the lake!" storm and danger were forgotten now, for anxiety was too real to admit of anything merely probable. without being directed to do so each little scout was getting into some clothing, with the khaki storm coats on top and the chin strapped hats crushed firmly on the tousled heads. "look under every bed again," ordered miss mackin. it seemed impossible the child could actually have left the tent. "not here!" came the melancholy report, as bed clothing and pillows were tossed aside. there was a moment of such suspense as might have frozen that storm and thus subdued its fury. "we will have to go out and look for her," said miss mackin. "button your coats tight and don't leave each other. each two take a lantern" (these had been quickly lighted and taken from their emergency line), "we must surely find her very near. she can't really have blown away." they were down the steps, breathing hard and--yes--praying! darling little chubby madaline! what could have happened to her? the last girl had scarcely stepped down from the uncertain shelter of the tent when there was a call from within. "girls! girls! looking for me?" it was madaline's voice and she was in that tent! "where have--you been?" "oh, madie, we were almost dead!" "madaline, madaline! we thought you were gone!" the chorus was hysterical. "child!" gasped miss mackin. "where were you?" she held her by both shoulders as if fearful she would disappear again. "under the tent," replied madaline, still gasping for breath. "the little trap door was open, you know, and i got so scared of that awful storm i just dropped down. i never thought you would miss me." "and didn't you hear us?" demanded the excited grace. "couldn't hear anything but the storm. wasn't it dreadful?" "not half as bad as you hiding away like that," isabel was almost crying. "why ever did you do it?" "why----" "never mind, children," soothed the director. "she didn't think we would miss her and i suppose she was terrified, but it isn't wise to drop out of sight, especially at night. get out of your clothes now. the storm is almost over, and to-morrow you will all have something interesting to write in your journals." "i heard something slam," corene recalled. "that was the door. it hit me on the head," said the innocent madaline. "was it your head that made the bang?" even in the present excitement grace could not resist the joke. but the girls were not sleepy. they declared they didn't care if they never slept again so long as madaline was all right, and when they finally did turn into bunks they placed the adventuress safely and snugly in the buckboard, between the two largest girls, corene and isabel. "you won't drop down any more cracks this time," declared corene. "wasn't it awful woozy down there?" asked julia. "not a bit. just nice and tight and you couldn't even hear the rain," said madaline. "i hope you didn't upset my woodpile," called out julia. "and i had a pretty fern growing in a tomato can. i'll bet you smashed it," charged louise. "children, dear, try to quiet down," entreated the director. she could not be severe, for indeed she had been a very badly frightened young woman in the hour just passing. "tell us a story?" begged julia. "yes, do, and then maybe we'll doze off," bribed margaret. "very well, if you promise to keep quiet and try to get to sleep, i will," agreed miss mackin. of course they promised, and she began; but hardly had she warmed up to her subject when a loud calling, shouting and yelling sounded through the slash of the retreating storm. "what--now!" "mackey! mackey!" came the call. "the girls from norm!" exclaimed someone. "yes, surely that's they. what can have happened?" gasped miss mackin. by now the voices were near the tent and it was evident the cries were not fraught with terror, instead there was laughter, shouts and gales of it defying the winds and rain. "let us in! let us in!" cried the victims, and quickly as the tent flap was loosed in came such a looking flock! "our tent blew away!" gasped bubbles, she who so often indulged in that popular song. "blew away!" "yes, from over our very heads!" the five young women--they were actually five of them--dripped water and laughter in equal proportions, for the rain they brought in with them was now running in healthy little puddles all over the nice, new floor. there wasn't much room to stir around without getting the beds wet, but as soon as the norms could control their unseeming joy, miss mackin tried to find a few spots. this was done by pushing the beds into still more compact quarters, until corene suggested they stand them on end and sleep standing up. "do you mean to tell us your tent is gone?" demanded miss mackey, when her third shower--the drenched norms--squatted down to "rip off some water-soaked garments." "we do. exactly that. it blew away and we didn't even have time to blow a kiss to it," declared bubbles. "where are the others?" "at the bungalow. they ventured in, we hope they'll get out all right, but we wouldn't try it. imagine that prim old couple having such a delightful surprise." "i'm so tired i can sleep beautifully on the floor," declared another of the storm victims. "and please don't let us demoralize your squad, mackey. they'll be all cross babies in the morning." their own scare was then recounted and the surprise party made doubly welcome, when everyone insisted they could "get to sleep now," that there was so much "lovely company around." blankets were easily spared from the cots as the night had not cooled off too suddenly, and the norms, being all around sportswomen, didn't find the pine boards and good blankets such a poor sort of bunk after all, so sleep was wooed and won finally. they must have realized the morning would bring to them some strenuous duties, for what about reclaiming camp norm? chapter xiii danger signals daylight showed what havoc the storm had wrought. the lake front was strewn with craft washed in by the swelled waters; there were sailboats bottom side up, canvas carried from one end of the lake to the other, rowboats torn from their docks where strong ropes over stronger posts were thought to hold them securely; in fact the storm had been a record-breaker and the new record was one of considerable devastation. crowds of curious gathered early, and in general terms business was suspended in favor of sight-seeing. but it was among the campers that the greatest damage had been done, and camp norm was not alone in blowing away in the tempest. those who sought shelter in camp comalong were up and out early, and the bobbies were not long in following. "poor old norm," sighed bubbles. "we will now be sure to fall to sub-norm, for never again can we claim to be normal." a camp untented after a downpour of rain is about as forlorn a sight as can be imagined, and it was such a spectacle as this that confronted the norms on the bleakish early morning. wet! wetter! wettest! the trees still rained; the grass emitted a hissing moisture, the air was as wet as if the rain had anchored in it, and never was there a more unhappy looking crowd than the unroofed campers of lake hocomo. "weren't we lucky?" said julia. "just see how everyone has had something damaged and we never lost a thing but a couple of tree boxes." "and the curtains off the sideboard," added grace. "but they were going anyhow, i caught my heel in one yesterday." everyone helped everyone get things back where they belonged, and by noon the norm girls had succeeded in reclaiming the truant canvas and stretching it again over their summer belongings. many things were irreparably damaged, for even good, strong boxes could not stand the elements when they "elemented" at last night's pace. but the excitement added zest to their spirit, and hither and thither went the bobbies like a little band of rescuers, carrying and toting for the victims quite like the workers in more seriously stricken zones. a holiday was declared in the afternoon, however, and it was then that cleo, louise and julia went for their long, looked forward to ride. being assured they had permission from home (it was talked of on the visit with mothers the day before), also assured that a woman instructor would ride with the girls, they left camp directly after dinner, hurried to the home cottages to don their riding togs, and when the sky was bluest, the trees greenest, and everything nicely dried up, the three scouts, with mrs. broadbent the instructor, cantered off through the curling roads of hocomo. getting acquainted with their horses took some little time, but they were gentle animals and seemed to enjoy either trotting or cantering as their little riders willed. out on the turnpike road there were so many motors that mrs. broadbent suggested they go cross field and come out along the old mining regions. "is that where the powder mills are?" asked cleo. "yes, there are some big powder works in this district," replied the horsewoman. "we had many soldier boys out here doing guard duty a few years ago." the girls remembered the remark about dynamite signs, more than one person having warned them that the signs might be found but were really harmless, and when their horses smelled the fresh clover on the slope between two hills, mrs. broadbent suggested the riders dismount and rest awhile, allowing the horses to "nose around" and enjoy themselves for a half hour. "'pep' expects a treat when he gets up here," she said, "and baldy likes this tall grass, he doesn't have to stoop so low to get it." the riders assented gladly. it was delightful to "browse" in such a spot, for the hill afforded a rare view of the lake and surrounding bungalows and tent district. freely the three scouts roamed about, searching for odd flowers and pretty stones, although just how the stones were going to be carried without spoiling riding-habit pockets, was not quite clear. the horsewoman stretched herself in the grass and called orders to the horses, should they wander too far from safety. hunting about, louise found a pretty little mountain bell in between rocks, where it must have expected security, while cleo and julia were soon applying their newest botanical knowledge on the jack-in-pulpit and companion wild orchids. glittering bits of stone, the sparkling mica-schist, that looks like pebbly crystals spread on too thick, afforded another line of investigation, and following such a trail into a little ravine, julia discovered the dynamite sign. at first she was inclined to heed its warning literally, and with a little squeal she dropped one of her prettiest stones and scraped her riding boot in hurrying away; but cleo was more daring. "just one of those make-believe signs," she suggested. "perhaps the boys gathered them from around the old powder works and set them up to scare people away." "maybe the boys have a hidden cave somewhere and the signs are to keep folks away," louise amplified the idea so barely outlined by cleo. "but we had better not follow the trail," demurred julia. "the rocks are awfully rough anyhow, and we will skin our boots to pieces if we try to climb higher." all three stood looking at the sign but no one ventured to touch the tin square, which stood on its iron peg firmly planted in the ground and mutely gave forth its "danger" warning. cleo bent over to look all around the little signal. "there doesn't seem to be a pipe, or a wire, or anything near it," she reported. "i can't see how there can be any danger without something dangerous." "don't you dare touch it," warned julia. "it is certainly planted there for some purpose." "boys, i'm just sure," insisted louise. "i've often read of their caves in the mountains and how they store things away in them. boys' books are packed full of that sort of thing." "but real robbers have mountain caves also." julia was determined to make a good story out of the plot. "how would you like to run into a genuine bandit, with a black handkerchief over his face and two hideous pistols in his hand?" "one in each hand, jule," corrected cleo. "that's the regular way," and she stalked forward in the "regulation way," with two pretty innocent jack-in-pulpits doing service in lieu of the dangerous bandit weapons. "come along, desperadoes, there's our horses calling us," julia proposed. "i'd just like to kick over that sign," cleo whispered to louise. "let's get that long stick over there and turn it over," suggested louise. "suppose we blow up the hills," laughed cleo. but louise had already obtained the stick, and although julia was headed for the waiting horses her two companions were still fascinated by that danger signal. "look out!" warned louise, going a little closer. "let me do it, weasy, if there's a blow i can run faster than you." both giggled and chuckled, becoming more reckless as they joked. finally both held the stick and attempted to poke. only girls of their charmed age can do a thing like that in the way they did it, for had the innocent tin sign been a perfectly obvious bomb, the bobbies could not possibly have made greater show and fuss over their attempt to displace it. "care--ful!" whispered cleo, but one thrust of the white birch pole and the sign was uprooted! as it fell from its peg the girls squealed and jumped, but there it lay, like a sign "keep off the grass" or "please wipe your feet," and nothing happened. "i knew it!" snapped cleo. "of course," insisted louise. "just boys' pranks." "but there could be danger further on," argued cleo, loathe to give up a perfectly good sensation without even a shiver. "yes, there's julia calling; come along," finished louise. racing back they stumbled over another danger sign. it was almost hidden in some underbrush, and without stick or precaution cleo gaily kicked it over, emitting a triumphant "whoo--pee" as she did so. "guess they grow up here," she told her companion. "quite a crop of them." "they would be splendid to stick up around the camp 'eats box,'" suggested louise. "i wish i had brought one along." "grand idea, and we could put one up in front of our new supply of cake," cleo added. "i need something like that to protect mine, for the prize chocolate layer is going down very rapidly." there was no time to tell julia of their adventure. the horses were reclaimed from their pasture, and presently all were mounted again and going on a gentle little trot down the rather steep incline. where two paths forked and the road was barely wide enough even to be called single, they drew rein to wait for some other riders whose horses could be heard but not seen through the trees. presently a familiar pony pranced around the curve and on it--sat peg. "oh, there's peg!" exclaimed all three scouts. "hello, peg!" they called cheerily. they were, indeed, delighted to meet her on the road. "hel--lo!" she answered. there was no joy in her voice, however, although she pulled the blue roan up short--she glanced backward, then the girls saw she was looking for another rider. mrs. broadbent realized the time allowed the scouts with their horses was almost up, so she urged her little company to hurry along. rather slowly they obeyed, and the second rider was beside peg now and it proved to be her aunt, miss ramsdell. "aunt carrie on horseback!" said one girl to another. they were naturally surprised to see the rather elderly and white haired woman mounted. but she sat well, and looked well, although her habit was of the full divided skirt pattern, and she sat sidewise as women did twenty years ago. "have a nice ride?" peg called after them when there could be no possibility of more intimate conversation. "lovely!" called back the scouts. "why don't you come around?" shouted cleo. "busy!" floated back the answer. "she looks it," louise remarked, when again they rode slowly, trying to prolong the minutes. "doesn't she? i wonder what keeps her so busy?" this was julia's query. "well, we can't spy, that's a sure thing," reasoned cleo, "but i wouldn't mind knowing what brings her out riding all the time." "perhaps she teaches riding over at some of the millionaire places," surmised julia, always prone to be on the safe side. "too young," returned cleo. "fancy weasy teaching someone how to mount!" "as if i couldn't!" "certainly you could, weasy, but would you? that's the question. peg would be about as patient as a chipmunk at giving instructions. and she seems too practical to go riding so often just for a good time," reasoned cleo. campers and "bungalowers" still moving and removing to overcome the difficulties thrust upon them by the night's storm were now tramping along the country road, lugging, it seemed, everything from bedding to ballast, and among the fugitives the riders met a number with whom they were acquainted. hailing to these and offering words of sympathy precluded further private conversation, so peg and her riding proclivities were forgotten for the time. "i'll take you to your cottages," offered mrs. broadbent. "these horses will trail along obediently when i lead with baldy." this offer was eagerly accepted, for the plan would eliminate a walk from the riding school, and when all had patted their horses and promised another ride very soon, the afternoon's particular delight remained only in its joyous memories. "i would rather ride than do any other single thing," declared cleo, watching her pretty horse canter off riderless. "i love it too," agreed louise. "but do you know we have to get back to camp? and i have a suitcase to carry. there's the car! goody! we'll all have a ride back." "rides and more rides," mused julia. "i'll be ready in a jiff." in cozy colony all three girls claimed their home ties, and the cottages were grouped in one prettily wooded territory, where trees were only sacrificed to make room for a cottage or garage, and where the rustic beauty of the lake resort was otherwise carefully preserved. in the "jiff" specified by julia the girls again appeared, their linen riding habits exchanged for fresh scout uniforms, and while louise lugged a suitcase julia carried a laundry bag, and cleo was armed with a rather miscellaneous collection of appurtenances. five minutes later they were in camp gushing over the wonderful ride. "and i took a cake over to peg," grace was forced to interrupt to make known. then it was that peg again became the pivot of their interest and speculation. chapter xiv the algonquin episode "we were so surprised to see her aunt along with her," julia was recounting. "they seem awfully chummy, don't they?" "yes, it is plain to see they are not--just ordinary folks," added cleo. "but even at that i don't see why she should be so standoffish." "i hope she likes my cake. i left it under a turned upside box, put a couple of big stones on it and told shag not to let anyone touch it," grace explained. "suppose she wouldn't care to accept a cake? she said something that night around the campfire, about not accepting things she couldn't return." this was cleo's contribution. "if she doesn't like my cake she can easily return that," grace was very emphatic now, "and then perhaps we will desist. no use trying to make friends with folks who insist on snubbing us." "but she hasn't snubbed us yet," louise reminded the first speaker. "oh, no, i know that. i was only saying if she _didn't_ take the cake." "no danger of anyone giving up that lovely mound of sweetness. i wish you saved that, grace, and gave away the marshmallow; i just love tutti-frutti," declared cleo. "didn't you think peg acted rather queer when she met us?" inquired louise presently. "she was surprised, that's all. we were surprised ourselves to meet her," explained julia. "and perhaps too, she fancied we were fixed up and she looked sort of mussy. no one wants to feel that way, you know." "that may have been it," cleo accepted, but her voice lacked assurance. "and say, julie, we didn't tell you we tore down the dynamite sign." "not really!" "pos--i--tively!" "and you didn't find the danger?" "only in the black letters on a piece of red tin. but those signs don't grow there, although at first we had our suspicions," cleo stated facetiously. "and we also suspect caves and bandits," louise knew exactly the effect this would have on grace, the adventuress. "caves! bandits! bears and deadeyed dicks!" came the prompt string of exclamations from grace. "oh, let's go out there to-morrow and explore!" "we knew it; but it is interesting, grace, and we'll plan our hike for big nose rock if mackey will agree," cleo proposed. "now we must help madaline and margaret gather their souvenirs. it's too bad they have to go, but we knew when they came it would only be a few days' visit." "good thing we can keep isabel and helen. it's such fun to have company," louise insisted. "it was real fun last night," grace reminded her companions. "i thought we really would have to prop our beds on end and sleep standing up. wasn't it too funny!" "not for the poor norms, although they wouldn't admit it. bubbles and struggles had more kinds of fun than i have ever seen even new school teachers fall into," said cleo. "such names! bubbles and struggles!" repeated julia. "about like fuss and buzz," recalled grace. "by the way, i wonder what has 'happed' to those heavenly twins?" "wouldn't wonder but they are calling on other campers," suggested louise. "they seem so apt to call." this provoked the inevitable mimicry, and if fuss and buzz hadn't inflamed red hot ears at that moment, the old saying must indeed have lost its potency. the visitors who were leaving, jolly madaline and capable margaret, were being helped pack their bags by corene, who in spite of offers from the other bobbies still held to the responsibilities of leadership. it may have been that corene was anxious to qualify, or it may have been that she really enjoyed the satisfaction she experienced, at any rate it was easy to guess she would be sure to receive "awards" when the camp season would be over, for corene was almost daily adding to her efficiency laurels. "if only we could have elizabeth up here for a week, wouldn't she show us a thing or two about housekeeping?" julia remarked, when in spite of protestations the cupboard was being "finished" by julia although corene had "commenced" it. "i can imagine elizabeth's joy at baking cake in your stove oven, julia," returned corene. "she could bake good cake in a camp kettle, i do believe. you know, corey, lizbeth is a wizard on bakes." "yes, she's headed straight for pratt's and the youngest of our entire class," reflected corene, flicking a bit of paper napkin from the clock shelf. "i do wonder what makes some girls have such a lot of brains?" "and some girls have a lot of hair, too," reasoned julia. "i guess it's just natural." "there comes the steamer madaline's sisters are coming on!" exclaimed corene, as a tooting and blowing announced the arrival of the "black hawk." the captain signalled either for folks to land or for folks to embark, and as the "hawk" flag now flew from the dock near camp comalong he would know passengers there awaited his arrival. dropping their work julia and corene hurried to join those already waiting to see the visitors off, for the coming and going, the landing and embarking, was ever a source of excitement at the lake. not that company could be definitely expected always, but just as a letter carrier _may_ have good news, so anyone of those many steamers coming up from the depot eight miles away _might_ have company for any of the many campers. madaline and margaret were steamed away, amid a wild flutter of waving and good-byes, and back to camp again the bobbies hurried to prepare for the evening meal. "we are going to have all the norms down," announced miss mackey, who had been up in the devastated region all the afternoon. "they simply couldn't get things dried out, and i insisted they eat with us to-night." "goody!" chirped grace. "i think company is the best fun of all. especially bubbles and giggles." "giggles?" queried the director. "oh, i mean struggles. she seems to be always struggling to keep from giggling, so i got her name mixed," admitted grace. "perhaps we should ask them to stay to-night," ventured corene. "where would we put them?" demanded louise, impulsively. "all bunk on the floor. it's nice and clean. lots better than we get on a hike when we sleep like ground hogs in holes," said corene. "we could house them and i proposed it," said miss mackey, "but they wouldn't hear of it and they are going to sleep in the hotel to-night. they want you all to come over and spend the evening there." "joy!" shouted isabel. "i just want to see what they do at a mountain hotel in the evenings." "same as they do at the seashore, izzy, and you know that isn't particularly exciting," cleo reminded her visitor. "it was last year when the baby choked on the button. don't you remember?" this recalled an incident told of in the "girl scouts at sea crest," and its mention was enough to send the girls off into their easily acquired kinks. but even fun has its limitations, and the time was racing toward supper with the norms, and then to the evening to be spent at hocomo's biggest hotel, the algonquin. "glad i fetched a clean white frock this very day," remarked louise, and her companions seemed none the less glad that they too had "fatigue uniforms," a simple white dress used by these scouts on just such occasions as that they were now dressing for. the storm had driven more than one camp to seek refuge in the hotel that evening, and arriving there the bobbies were overjoyed to meet a number of their acquaintances from among the summer colonists. dancing was of the desultory order, but what was lacking in vigor was made up in continuity, for it seemed there was never rest, stop, nor intermission to the programme. it was just one long, languid, continuous dance. around the edge of the "ball room" the bobbies danced and capered, not venturing out to take the place possibly claimed by the grown-ups. the so-called ball room was merely the largest room the hotel boasted of, and evidently its festive claims were based upon the faded crepe paper that still clung reluctantly to chandeliers and other conveniently set out points. but the music was "pretty fair," as more than one guest agreed, and it was pleasant to be indoors on this cool summer's evening. just after miss mackin sent around the whisper that there remained only "a few minutes more," the bobolinks were attracted by a rather familiar drawl stealing in from a window opened on the porch. "sounds like----" "it is," interrupted cleo. "here they come!" "our dear friends, buzz and fuss," finished julia. "and please observe!" this was whispered and actually reached only those ears very close to her, but it seemed as if some magic announcement had been made, for the entrance of those two young women immediately brought a charge of eyes focussed directly at them. "it may be a masquerade," hinted louise in an undertone. "perhaps we have only seen the first act." their costumes might indeed have answered for a mask, they were so ridiculously extreme. the most brilliant striped satins that suggested clown effects, flowing sashes of colors by no means contrasting, then the hair dressing: such ear puffs, terracing up to a tower on top, "like the jumps to the essveay fire-escape," whispered cleo. really it was no wonder buzz and fuss were late if they had to build that effect all at one sitting. the young men with them matched up fairly well, considering the handicap young men must dress under; but their flannels and their patent leather shoes, topped off with purple socks and vivid neckties, did all that reasonably could be done to liven up the male attire. not a detail was lost on a bobbie. they sat there fascinated, saving up their laughs for the wild time they would have going back to camp. the dancers drifted around and the conspicuous ones came close to the row of girl scouts. as they did so the blondest blonde caught sight of grace and recognized her. "oh, the babes!" she cooed, loud enough to be overheard. "the bobbie babes from the woodsy camp." this was too much for the scouts, and only a sudden jumping up to the answer of the beckoning gesture from miss mackin, who was waiting for the home hike, saved an actual upheaval. as it was, grace gagged and squawked audibly, cleo hummed a foolish tune as she always did to invoke sorrow, louise danced a few steps automatically, and by that time the buzzers had buzzed along. but not finally. at the door the bobbies stood for a few minutes throwing on scarfs and capes, and while they did so along came the unpleasant ones again. miss mackin's attention had been drawn to them by corene, and she stepped out and stood squarely in front of her little charges like a shield. but that attitude had no deterring effect on the intruders. "how's every little thing over in camp comalong?" asked one in a voice that attracted unpleasant attention. no one answered; miss mackin shifted her shoulders and sort of urged the girls outside. the norms were just beyond the door, waiting on the porch. a taunting, high pitched, audacious laugh followed. "take the babies home and put them to bed," mocked one of the pair. "too late for little bobbokins to be out." "of all the rude creatures!" gasped miss mackin. "one would think we were acquainted with them." "they think we are," retorted corene, quite as indignant as the director. "but i guess everyone else knows them, so perhaps their remarks will not seem--so strange to others." "they ought not to be allowed to insult guests that way," stormed louise. even her "canned laugh" was lost track of now. "did you see those two freaks?" asked bubbles norm when the party united on the porch. "and did you hear them?" added miss mackin. "they are the two blandest creatures," went on bubbles. "but i believe their daddy is supposed to be some pumpkins, a magnate of some kind or other." "pity he doesn't put his daughters in the trust, then," retorted cleo. "they need something; maybe it's that." chapter xv a paddle, a swim and a sun dial getting the mail for camp comalong was one of the duties that brought joy to the scouts, for each morning, tent obligations attended to and before the hike, swim or other scheduled activity was entered upon, a group of the girls either rowed in mud lark, the boat loaned them by an admiring neighbor, or they paddled off in their bright red canoe, the flash, down the lake to the post office bend, there to receive their allotment from uncle sam's mailing service. usually those girls whose duty it was to raise and lower the colors--when the beautiful flag contributed by grace's family would be raised to breeze at morning and lowered into loving hands at sundown--this squad also took care of the mail, on their flag week. so it happened that to-day julia and grace were due to paddle down stream for the mail. "i think," began julia in her meditative way, for julia was something of a literary aspirant, "that we have very vigorous weather in a place like this. when it storms it storms furiously, and when it's lovely it's just perfect, as it is to-day." "uh--huh!" assented grace, waving frantically at a canoe across the lake in which she recognized a brace of sweaters--one orange, the other jade--worn respectively by camille and cynthia, without a doubt. "grace, i don't believe you notice the weather very closely," came back julia, disappointed that her discourse should fall upon deaf ears. "'deed i does, honey. i noticed it plenty the other night, and am not keen on another spell like that. but when we have really good weather i don't believe in tempting it or spoiling it with flattery. you can't tell about such things, julie dear." the blonde girl laughed merrily. who could resist grace and her unanswerable arguments? there was a satisfying amount of mail to take back to camp, and among the letters was one addressed to grace and postmarked "town." "a new friend," remarked julia, handing this over to grace, "or perhaps an invitation to a picnic." "no; it's from peg," returned her companion, already scanning the paper in her hand. her brows were drawn into a serious line and her full red lips puckered as she scrutinized the page. "anything wrong?" julia asked. "not wrong, but--here read it----" grace handed over the letter, and her companion read the lines. "well, that's all right," said julia, glancing up. they were seated in the canoe and delaying to read their personal mail. "if she doesn't want any companions i don't see why we should force ourselves upon her." "but don't you see, jule, she says she does appreciate our friendship, but that just now she is not free to follow her own pleasure? can't you easily see that the girl is worried about something and afraid to even have friends?" "yet, gracie, why should we intrude?" "because if ever a girl needed friends she does, and i need not remind you of our scout pledge," replied grace. "i don't usually look for trouble, bobbs, but i think i see it in that page, and i would like to help peg to some little bit of summer happiness. you know how much attention we give to making city children happy at christmas; and here is a girl all alone in a mountain cabin, with no playmates except shag and her pony whirlwind, and she says plainly how much she enjoyed our campfire on that one, stingy little night. now julie, i couldn't let her slip out of our entire summer with one campfire and a chocolate cake." this was so entirely "gracious" that julia laughed outright. "all right, buddie; just tell me what to do and i'll help you any way i can. i believe you are right, of course. anyone can see that peg is tugging away with some sort of claim holding her down. do you think there can be anyone ill, or perhaps sick mentally and hidden in her cabin?" "oh, no, i never thought of that. you mean an insane person?" "they might not be really insane, but you know when a person's mind becomes unbalanced their folks always hate to have them sent away from home," explained julia. "i don't believe that's it. but there is some sort of mystery there. the thing that i resent most is the mean remarks those snippy girls make about her. i just can't stand it, to hear two such silly things as those buzzys, say such slurring things about a girl who never seems to trouble anyone, or in any way invite criticism." "yes, it is cowardly. but what can you expect of that type? didn't they try hard enough to get us into a dispute the other night?" "yes, and i think mackey was very calm not to say something back to them." "that would really have attracted attention. she was wise to ignore them," declared julia. "well, let's bring the girls their mail and don't worry about peg. i can't imagine there is anything seriously wrong, and, perhaps, if we just agree with her suggestion something will happen to explain it all." "perhaps," said grace doubtfully. she dipped her paddle and they started back, but her usually radiant face wore a look of perplexity. the lake was alive with craft now, many bathers taking to their boats before "going in," as the swim was popularly termed. canoes, rowboats, launches and every sort of water vehicle was in evidence, ingenuity outdoing itself in the samples of boyish workmanship displayed. there was the "captain kidd," a big, flat-bottomed rowboat with sails striped in black and red. this was the property of benny and his friends, and perhaps attracted as much and more favorable attention than the glistening mahogany "amerik" that cost its owner a fabulous sum, and was known as a masterpiece in its line. "there really is a lot more to see on a lake than on the ocean," remarked julia, in spite of the inattention of grace. "i like it so much better up here than down at the shore." "i do, too," agreed grace, giving a mighty tug to pull the "flash" up on shore. "but there's one thing we miss--we can't come in on a surfboard here. i just love that sport." "but we couldn't canoe on the ocean, either," julia qualified. "oh, yes, we could. i did--once in a while, and it was simply wonderful. here are the girls! they couldn't wait for their mail." in bathing suits, ready and waiting for miss mackin, the bobbies were now at the swimming pier. "mail?" they cried out. "bushels," called back grace. "but we ought not to open it here," said julia, hiding corene's pet letter behind her. "you know the hotels positively refuse to allow anyone to take mail until it is sorted in the office." "bunk," declared isabel, more forcibly than elegantly. "guve me that mailsky!" "here it is," agreed grace, "and please wait for us. you got ahead of us in your suits but we will make up for it in the swims. come along, julia. let's try out some of that perfect day stuff you have been preaching about." and it proved all that had been forecast for it. so ideal were conditions that miss mackin agreed to having her girls try out some of the tests for water sport day, an event planned to take place later in the season, and looked forward to with keenest anticipation. the norms were with the bobbies, and together they practiced, and invented stroke variations, eager to show skill in the water sports and to win awards for that line of efficiency. isabel proved to be the best long distance "floater" and her weight, which was something more than that of her companions, was credited with the advantage. grace was more daring than any of the others, and kept the norms and miss mackin busy shouting warnings to her. louise had a very reliable, even, clean-cut stroke, and could cover a distance and come out "without a puff," as cleo described her serenity, while cleo could dash, and sprint, and "get there" on "shorts" perhaps a little more surely than the others could. so it seemed each might find her particular character in the water comedy, and the morning was not half long enough to put the popular drill through all the paces invented. julia and louise were on shore resting a few moments when the latter caught sight of something particularly striking in the way of a figure, posed on the springboard. "look!" she motioned julia. "it's the buzzers." "sure enough. wherever do they get their outfits? imagine, crocodile green?" "are they green? isn't it frogs?" laughed louise. "at any rate that bathing suit is green enough to include all samples." the figure thus criticised sprang off the board now, and was lost in the lake for a few moments. then it reappeared on the surface and made for shore. "there's the sister," said grace, who had joined the spectators. "how do you like that geranium? the green would go beautifully with it under glass." "not jealous, are we?" questioned cleo, glancing at the simple jersey suits worn by her companions. "no, indeed," replied julia. "i should hate to try to swim under those colors. but who is that they are talking to? looks like peg!" "it is. i thought first it was a boy, she has no cap on and her hair is so slick. i wonder if they really know her?" queried grace. "they don't have to know anyone; we ought to understand that. now, we must pass them on the way up the rock. there's mackey whistling. let's go." "it will look as if we walked by them purposely," louise hesitated. "oh, no it won't. we have to take that path, besides, why shouldn't we speak to peg?" asked cleo. she did not know grace had received the letter with its plea for discontinuing the friendly relationship. "all right, come along. we may as well have it over with. they are sure to say something sarcastic," julia raced on ahead, so whatever might be said would not be aimed directly at her. but for once the inquisitive two did not heed passersby. neither did peg appear to see the scouts, for she and the two flashily dressed ones were talking in such an excited manner, their remarks, in part at least, could be easily overheard. "now, remember, we have warned you," said one, her voice sharp and imperative. "i have no reason to fear anything of the kind," peg retorted. she stood close to the little path leading from the lake to the woodland road, and along this the bathers had to pass to reach the camp grounds. her suit was dark blue jersey, she wore no socks but looked only a little girl, or even a boy, with her closely cut, straight hair and no bathing cap. as they passed along each scout was conscious there was a certain strength and individuality so simply outlined in the appearance of the oblivious bather. "we promised daddy we would speak to you," said the other girl, she in the geranium outfit, "otherwise we wouldn't do so. i can tell you we are not anxious to be seen----" these snatches had been heard piecemeal, as the scouts came and went past the spot where the conversation was being held, but when it was all put together a short time later the total seemed to imply that these girls were somehow threatening peg. "another reason why i am determined to stand by her," insisted grace. she had passed the letter around for inspection and all agreed peg was trying to hide some real trouble, or perhaps some "living sorrow," as corene expressed the possibility. "but i wouldn't send her any more cake, if i were you, grace," advised corene. "one doesn't like to have things forced upon them." "i don't intend to; in fact there isn't any more nor likely to be, unless we get another food shower. i took a spoon for the crumbs from my box at noon," grace loved cake, even the crumby kind. "why didn't you try a straw?" teased louise. "or if you had asked me i would have given you a real cookie! i have three left." "do you know, bobbies," asked isabel suddenly, "we are supposed to make a sun dial to-day? and the stake is all ready. see it waiting over there?" "we do, we do, and i have first shot!" grace sprang up to outline the circle in which the shaft was to be erected as a sun dial. "it must be exactly there," directed cleo. grace had it exactly somewhere else. "we have to try it and the sun is just right now for a life-sized shadow," insisted grace. "here, help me dig the hole, someone. i want to catch the two o'clock sun." miss mackin, who had been in the tent, came out to oversee this experiment. willing hands soon had the shaft erected; then the pegs which were all ready laid out to be driven in at the end of the shadow for every hour, as that hour came around, were arranged in a relative position. "do we have to stay up all night to finish it?" asked helen, innocently. this brought forth a wild shout. "the moon doesn't overlap the sun, nellie dear," answered cleo. "we will probably leave off picket duty when the sun gets behind that hill." peg number two was driven in at exactly two o'clock, and the shadow was so clearly outlined everyone thought this an ideal method of keeping time; but later the shadows were shifty, and only an amount of patience and much running back and forth put the three most important hours of the afternoon in the dial. "i am going to start again early in the morning," declared grace. "i saw a sun dial in a chicago park, it was made of those queer tiny cabbage flowers, the kind they say keeps the house from getting on fire, and i remember how effective it was." "did they use them to keep the park from getting on fire?" taunted cleo. but grace was making sure that nothing unforeseen would happen to the pegs left over from the hours already "pegged in." "won't have to wind it----" she told the others. "but i should hate to have to catch the black hawk boat by its silent system," confessed julia. chapter xvi a daring intruder summer was at its height now, and so popular had the camp idea become that friend after friend just called, or paid visits to the bobolinks, who in turn were as generous with entertaining as their limited quarters permitted. almost every pleasant evening was spent around the campfire, this entertainment never seeming to lose its fascination. often the resources of miss mackin and her friends from camp sub norm, the new camp erected after the storm's devastation, were put to the test for a new story; but the fire kindled enthusiasm, and the glow inspired fancy, so that rarely was an evening closed, and seldom did the embers fall upon an empty hour, or a tale lacking thrill. the sun dial was now "working," although the sun could not be depended upon always, but it looked picturesque, and if nothing else it served to keep up the girls' sense of observation until not a few even claimed to be able to foretell showers by it, although there was no barometric attachment to the simple, primitive device. hikes were becoming more popular as the season advanced, and it was on a glorious august day, when the sky was dyed a deep blue and the sun was registering every hour accurately on the garden clock, that miss mackin proposed a long hike with the noon meal in the woods. "pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and hike, hike, hike," sang the girls as they prepared their lunches. but the trouble seemed to be not everyone of them had a "kit bag" nor even a pretty good imitation of one. but corene came to the rescue with good stout wrapping paper, which she had providentially tucked away in a dry box. "i'll glue you up some war-time bags," she offered, "if you make the sandwiches. i know exactly how to cut the bags, and they'll dry in the sun as quickly as you have the grub ready." so while the others prepared "eats," corene and cleo "did the bags," neat little kits they turned out, too, with a good, stout handle of strong twine that might easily be slipped on to a strap and carried knapsack fashion. "the real joy of it is," whispered louise, "we are going over the hills where the danger signs grow. perhaps we'll find the cave, or be held up by bandits, or something thrilling like that." "lovely!" exclaimed julia. "but do let us keep close enough together to go in pairs, at any rate. i should hate to have to do both the cooking and serving for bandits. it's quite bad enough here with the serving taken off my hands." "all right, jule. depend upon it, we'll stick around you," declared grace. "we don't want to lose our own fireman right in the height of the season." miss mackin was smiling good naturedly. her hike preparations were complete and she sat out in the fresh, early morning, watching her young charges flutter around like little brown beetles, always in one another's way, yet never seeming to interfere, as they made their sandwiches, divided the hard tack, squeezed out lemons and bottled the juice; for the hike was to be a real picnic with all the trimmings. "i do hope, girls," said the director, as they were finally ready to start, "that you are not going gunning for some big, exciting adventure. you see, i know a little about your exploits of previous summers" (she winked knowingly and they wondered how she knew), "and i have such a lovely, lady-like report to turn in," again that explanatory chuckle, "that it would be really cruel to spoil it now." "don't you like adventures?" asked helen, innocently. "love them. but there are so many brands on the market, and we don't, any of us, care for the cheap, trashy kind." the scouts all agreed on this, and when camp comalong was securely "put away for the day" they started off with a song that included a little good-bye to the flag that was to act sentinel during their absence. "do you think, by any chance, we might get peg to come along?" grace asked cleo. "we pass by her cottage, we can give a whoo-hoo. it won't do any harm to ask her." "we can say we need a guide. i've heard folks say she has guided parties through the mountains. that's one reason they call her 'peg of tamarack hills,' i believe," said grace. they were nearing the turn that wound past the log cabin. "are those tamarack trees, mackey?" louise asked. she was pointing to the giant green "christmas trees" that stood in a group near a little settling of water, scarcely large enough to be called a pond but something more sizable than a basin pool. "yes, that's the tamarack," said the director. "see how it runs to a perfect pyramid, and not like the other greens of that character, this one does lose its green in winter." "sort of molts, i guess," said cleo, "for those branches are covered with green pin feathers." they stopped for a few minutes to study this tree of the larch family. it would add to their nature knowledge and give at least one item of value to their picnic hike. "isn't it very straight and tall?" observed isabel. this feature was so obvious the others had not mentioned it. "yes, that's why they make the telephone poles of it, although, i believe, it is not so durable as the tall cedars," explained miss mackin. "the little tuffs are just like rosettes," commented julia. she was trying to reach the lowest branch with a long stick. "like pom-poms, i think," added grace, who was barely looking at the big trees but kept searching past them, to the low log cabin that seemed now like a bird house under the trees, and against the big hills. miss mackin described to the girls the blossom of these trees, told them of the "rosey plummets that shade from pink to purple," and soon exhausted her personal knowledge to supply their interest; then they journeyed forth again on the next "leg of their hike." grace and cleo tarried behind the others. they were still on the lookout for peg. giving the familiar woods call they waited a few minutes but received no answer. "there's shag," said cleo, "and he's running around as if someone were talking to him. see, there's a light dress moving behind the honeysuckle arbor." "it can't be peg. i've never seen her wear a white skirt," replied grace. they could easily see the movement of white between the green vined lattice. "and it can't be aunt carrie--she wouldn't wear white either." "just let's go up the walk and see," suggested cleo daringly. "someone might be prowling around." it was only a few steps out of their way, and wild flowers always offered an excuse for leaving the path, so grace and cleo had no reason to hesitate. shag raced out to meet them as they entered the grounds, but the figure in white darted farther into the heavy shrubbery. "that you, peg?" called cleo. no answer. "come on," whispered grace, "let's go in farther." with shag close to their heels they followed the wild-grown path, and presently came up to the end of it. "buzz!" whispered cleo; for the white skirted one was now forced out of the shrubbery and stood facing the girls who had followed her up. "oh, we thought you were--that is we were looking for peg ramsdell," stammered cleo. "she's not home," snapped the intruder. "i'm leonore fairbanks. i don't think you happen to know my name," said the one who had formerly played only silly parts, "and i came here on business." she made this very emphatic. "the dog is so vicious he won't let me go near the door or i might get what i want even though peg is away." how evident was her change of manner! why? "shag is trained to take care of the cottage, i believe," ventured cleo, noticing how faithfully the big collie performed his duty, for while leonore fairbanks kept down on the path he was friendly enough, but each time she attempted to put her foot on a step of the porch he growled threateningly. "we must hurry after our friends," grace said awkwardly. "we are going on an all-day hike." "over to big nose?" asked leonore. "that way," replied cleo. "then you may meet peg." the girl's face swiftly changed as evidently her mind was working as swiftly. "say," she spoke suddenly, "be good sports and don't mention that you've seen me here, will you?" "why?" demanded both girls in unison. "because you know she's such a crazy kid and does such foolish things really. you can believe me it will be all the better for her if she doesn't go flying off the reel, as she would if she knew i came up here. i came on business for dad, and you know i hate to ask a favor, but it would be best if you didn't mention this. if you are a friend of peg's i think you might do that much for her." "we are as friendly as she will let us be," said cleo frankly. "but we can't really promise anything. we must run. the girls will think we are lost," and giving faithful shag a parting pat they ran off to overtake the hiking party. "isn't that queer?" exclaimed grace. she had snatched up a bunch of wild flowers for her delay alibi. "very suspicious, i should say," returned cleo. "and of course, if we meet peg we are bound to tell her." "i think we should," agreed grace. "there must be some reason for that girl's change of manner, and i'm sure it can't be anything that would benefit peg." "no, and her name is leonore fairbanks," said cleo. "rather pretty. there, the girls are waiting for us." no explanation for the delay seemed necessary and the interrupted hike was presently doing double time over the fragrant by-paths. of course the tardy ones would tell the story quickly as an opportunity came up. the top of the hill was reached at last, and from that point the view of the lake and its surroundings lay like a panorama spread out on a silky canvas. it was well worth hiking for, and the bobbies were breathless in admiration. they scampered from one rock to another, each claiming a superior view until this feature took on the proportions of a new outdoor game. to the right was a dense evergreen forest; small tiered mountains to the left. they stood in a rocky gorge between this and big nose rock. presently the whinnying of a horse startled the little sightseers. then julia called out from her perch on a big flat stone: "look, girls! up on the rock! there's peg! what can she be doing away up there?" all eyes turned to the highest point, and there, like some wild thing of the mountains, stood peg. she was hatless, and in the usual brown riding outfit. as if the call had reached her, although distance made this impossible, she turned suddenly, threw her head up in a listening attitude, then with a quick move that had in it the impatience of a disappointment, she vanished in the rocks. "what ever can she be doing away up there?" repeated isabel. "exploring, perhaps," guessed julia, "but she has to leave her horse so far away. see, there he is." "and look," again indicated louise, "there is her aunt over under that tree, reading. she hasn't seen us yet." "perhaps we can get them to join our picnic," exclaimed grace. she was unusually anxious to speak with peg. chapter xvii the granite star clue sightseeing was forgotten now and general interest centered on peg and her aunt carrie. this lady, as usual, was delighted to meet the scouts, and talked freely to miss mackin of her hope that peggie should "mingle more" with the campers. peg, herself, had come down from the rock and out of the ravine, disheveled, untidy and plainly tired. "you simply must join our picnic," gushed louise. "it seems like the best of luck that we should have come up here." peg smiled and frowned alternately. she noticed her aunt was already under the influence of a sandwich. it was a good fat one, with green lettuce fringe and it came from cleo's kit. "i'll be back in a moment. i must attend to whirlwind," said peg. the girls saw now she had pockets in that big leather apron, and they bulged out--perhaps with some mountain souvenirs. grace attempted to follow peg, going toward the horse under a big tamarack tree, but the girl was evidently unconscious of this attention, and as she hurried off, grace, after a few steps of uncertainty, turned back and flopped down on the edge of the circle of picnic makers. there was something very charming about aunt carrie. even handling the food betrayed her culture, and her solicitation about another's comfort, all pointed to a knowledge of the little things acquired in good breeding. and she was well cared for in spite of the mountain life; her skin though dark was velvety, her hair like white floss, and only when she removed her gloves for handling the food did her little friends have an opportunity of noticing, besides the care her hands received, that she wore a great opal ring, carved with the beetle, perhaps. peg was coming back, and her pockets had been emptied, for the heavy skirt now slinked around her slender form. she held her boyish hat by its chin strap and smiled happily as she fell in with the group. yes, her eyes were of the same deep, dark cast, and her skin had that same olive tint, even her gestures showed what a real relation this girl was to the woman in the old-fashioned riding habit. "you ride a lot, don't you?" said cleo, carelessly. "yes, it's the one thing to do out here," replied peg. she was trying something from a number of tempting food samples offered her. "and you enjoy riding, miss ramsdell?" said miss mackin to the aunt. "i feel more at home on a horse than i do on my feet," replied the woman. "but you see, i have always been used to horses." "and not to feet----" flashed peg. "now, my dear, don't tease an old lady. i have hard work enough to keep up with you on foot or in the saddle," replied aunt carrie. both cleo and grace were thinking of the girl leonore fairbanks, and both were anxious to mention to peg her presence at the log cabin. it came about precipitately, however. louise was pouring the lemonade and had just served aunt carrie. the cup for peg was filled and being extended when grace said: "we saw company at your house as we came along, peg." "company?" she accepted louise's cup. "yes. one of the girls from the hotel. she said she was leonore fairbanks." "leonore fairbanks? where was she?" peg's voice was a signal of alarm. "oh, shag was on guard," put in cleo. "she was around by the side porch, but no danger of anyone making herself too much at home with shag doing picket duty." miss ramsdell lay down her piece of cake. peg did likewise with her lemonade. each had exchanged code glances. "i'll run home and see if--if everything is all right," said the girl, anxiously. "auntie, you can follow or stay, i'll be all right. sorry to leave the picnic," she apologized. and the remarks that followed her did not all reach her ears, for as quickly as even she, the lightfoot, could do it, she was on whirlwind and galloping away down the hills, leaving after her the chagrined bobbies. "why did you tell her?" whispered helen to grace. "because she should know," replied the latter, emphatically. miss ramsdell was also leaving. "peggie is so temperamental," she apologized. "but the fairbanks family are not to be trusted--we have had our own troubles with those girls and their unscrupulous father." "but we are so sorry you couldn't have stayed a little longer," said miss mackin. "i was just hoping our girls were finally going to get acquainted. you see we have so short a time here now, and your place has been an attraction from the first," she smiled condescendingly at the glowering scouts. "please do not think us rude," begged miss ramsdell. "we are not free to act as we would always choose. sometimes i doubt the wisdom of my niece's determination; but she is determined to the point of desperation, and she keeps offsetting my arguments with the hope of an early victory." (this was ambiguous but sounded effective.) "i must go right along after her," continued the little lady. "if that leonore should become too aggressive i wouldn't wonder if peg would just use some muscle on her," and she nodded her head insistently. "we hate to have you go," murmured cleo. she was going over to the shady spot where the black mare waited its rider. miss ramsdell drew on her gloves while the scout led her horse up to a stone convenient for mounting. "we are so grateful and have enjoyed our little picnic so much," said the woman. "good-bye, everyone, and perhaps before camp breaks we may be able to offer our own humble hospitality." with a slight effort she was in the saddle. yes, it was perfectly evident that miss ramsdell was very much at home on her horse. "a one reel act," remarked louise. "i shouldn't care to keep moving at the pace the ramsdells run." "they surely fear trouble," said julia. "what can they be so secretive about?" "whatever it is i wouldn't like to be playing leonore's part when peg meets her," remarked grace. "as her aunt said, she would likely use muscle on the intruder," and grace demonstrated to the loss of a perfectly good half cup of lemonade that had been, until that moment, in the hand of julia. "and was shag really keeping guard?" questioned helen, keen on the scent of trouble for someone else. "he was doing picket duty," replied cleo. "it was too funny to see him snoop after leonore's heels. and she was almost sweet to us. i fancy she thought we might take her part with shag." "girls, when you have finished your chow we will take up the trail again," suggested miss mackin. "there are some ores and metallic veins in rocks about here, i believe, and we may make some interesting discoveries." "look out for the dynamite sign," warned corene. "i wonder who ever planted those signs about?" "where are they?" asked miss mackin. "over by the big nose rock," replied louise. "we saw them the other day when we were riding." "and we thought the boys might have a bandits' cove under the hills," added cleo. "let's go over that way and explore." eagerly this suggestion was followed--so eagerly corene and miss mackin had difficulty in obliging the girls to get rid of every trace of the picnic, thus conforming to a scout regulation. but when the paper bags had all been burned up in a carefully arranged little fire, after which every ember and spark were extinguished, then they took up the trail for big nose rock. they had some difficulty in cutting through from one hill to the next, as very heavy underbrush, especially the iron fibered mountain laurel, hid the rocks and betrayed the hikers' footing; but after a number of minor mishaps all disposed of by the process of exclamation, the bobbies finally emerged in the little patch of soft green at the foot of the big gray rock. "i found the first one!" called out helen. "here's a dynamite sign!" "don't touch it!" cautioned miss mackin. "there is a powder mill not far from here and there may be magazines about." "magazines!" questioned corene. they were all inspecting the danger sign half hidden in the grass. "yes. you know they sometimes bury explosives under the ground. then they build a little mound above it and call it a magazine." "no mounds around here," declared julia, glancing critically over the flat surface between the hill and the springs. "but here's something," observed cleo, who had wandered off a short distance. "looks like pieces of gray stone." she stooped to pick up a sample and then hesitated. "see how they grow," she remarked, "in a sort of star." her companions gathered around to observe the curious formation, and miss mackin came closer. "those have been arranged that way," she said. "see, someone has placed the little flat stones in the shape of a star. the boys really must have been up here," she concluded. the girls dropped on their knees and peered closely. brushing back the grass it was now quite evident that star had been carefully formed, but it was hidden in a little pocket of deep grass, between two slopes that curved up to the rocky hills. "and see how deep the pieces are buried," commented corene. she was prying up a sample with a small sharp stick. "some sort of clue, surely," insisted grace. "what kind of stone is it?" "i wouldn't disturb it," suggested miss mackin. "suppose we just mark the spot so we can find it again, if we want to?" "yes, let's put one of the dynamite signs here," exclaimed helen. "i wouldn't," interposed clever cleo. "perhaps the dynamite people don't know anything about the star clue. we might lead them to it." "but it's only a stone star," insisted helen. "and it didn't grow there," argued cleo. "look!" exclaimed corene, who was critically examining the tiny strip of stone she had pried loose. "there are some figures or something marked on this." everyone now crowded around her to see the characters. "that is not indian," declared miss mackin. "it looks as if it were burned in with acid." she was scrutinizing the little flat mosaic-like block. yes, there seemed to be a mark there, but it might easily have been on the stone before the star idea originated. "i'm going to keep this piece, at any rate," declared corene. "maybe it's a real carved beetle, like the egyptian scarabus," she ventured. "hardly," replied the director. "yet it is interesting and yours, corey, as you dug it up." "then i'm going to have one also," cried cleo, already on her knees before the broken star. "count the pieces," suggested louise, "and perhaps we can all have a piece." "very well," agreed miss mackin, "but mark the spot well. it may have some significance." the girls were eagerly digging up the little granite pieces. as they turned each over they found it marked with characters similar to that found by corene. "i know! i know!" exclaimed julia. "i've read about this sort of marking. see, the straight lines. that's the rune." "rune!" repeated grace. "yes, don't you know we read of it in our ancient history? a rune is a sort of alphabet of sixteen characters and all are formed in straight lines." "i remember," spoke up cleo. "the letters look exactly like our signal code, for wig-wagging. don't you know there were pictures of funny clothes-pins and jumping-jacks?" not all were exactly clear in their memory of the runes, but each intended to look it up, and miss mackin was delighted that her girls had stumbled upon so interesting a discovery. carefully collecting all the pieces the bobbies next proceeded to mark the spot secretly, and it was this seemingly trifling detail that eventually led to the finding of the granite star clue. chapter xviii a call in the night footsore and weary, but satisfied and happy, they finished the day of the carnival hike. "let's all help with supper," suggested louise, who was off duty on the k. p. (kitchen police) for that day. "then we can all go down to the dock and see the excursion boat go out." "we are not hungry, a bit," replied cleo, "but i suppose we must try to eat. come on, girls, all join in this chorus. it will be lovely on the lake this wonderful evening." and so it proved to be. never had the waters of hocomo taken on a more gorgeous costume. velvets, satins and silks, in every rainbow hue, were flung in reckless splendor of draperies over the great, soft surface of the water, by a sunset as prodigious as it was profligate. among the parties leaving, one little tribe of excursionists stayed until the very last steamer insisted, with its thrill whistle, that they either come aboard or stay behind indefinitely. "if only we could stay," murmured one pale-faced girl. she was standing near the bobbies, who were watching the city children embark. "do you like it up here?" questioned louise. she felt guilt in the banal query. "oh, it's like--paradise," said the wistful one. "but we'll be glad enough if the firemen in the city turn the hose in the gutter to-morrow to make a lake for us." louise sighed. so many children like this one must stay in the city, she knew. others equally sad and fully as wistful were reluctantly measuring each step of the little dock and gang-plank. how they hated to go back! "oh, girls!" whispered cleo. "why don't we try to do something for a little band of that sort?" "what?" asked grace. "we could lend them our camp," went on cleo bravely. "we all have cottages here." "so we could, and there are two weeks yet before the general schools open," sang back grace. "i would just love to let the most needy of a group like that have two weeks at comalong." "so should i," declared louise. "let's try to do it." "there's the caretaker; get a name and address from her," suggested julia hurriedly. "better have mackey do it," said corene, who promptly sidled up to the director with the proposition. "i don't know," demurred miss mackin in answer, "but it won't do any harm to have a name and address." so she in turn stepped up to the director of the excursion party. the children, she learned, were from a tenement district, and were not technically sick, but oh, how pitifully near it! as each little victim passed along, the bobbies' determination grew. they would be happy to surrender their beloved camp for such a human cause as this. one short hour later, around a friendly little campfire, the plans were made. everything in the camp and the camp included would be turned over to the city troop (they should all be enrolled as scouts before taking possession), and for the two weeks before school opened these slum children would come back to paradise. "you must realize," explained miss mackin, "this will mean at least the complete sacrifice of your bedding. you may take these blankets, and we will ask headquarters to send us bed covering, but the cots----" "we will donate them to a mercy camp for next year," spoke up julia. "i am sure the home folks will all be perfectly satisfied." "and it won't hurt our lovely flag," reasoned louise. "of course we will turn everything except our personal belongings over to the organization, at any rate." "did you expect to make comalong a regular summer scout camp?" asked miss mackin. "surely," replied corene. "we were just experimenting at first, but now we know it will be a real practical camp for any amount of summers." "in that case," proposed miss mackin, "we will notify headquarters and have inventory taken at once. are you perfectly sure you want to give up before the end of the month?" "positive," insisted louise. "i couldn't enjoy this a week longer and remember that little wistful, woeful-faced girl, who said she hoped the firemen would be allowed to make a gutter-lake in the city for them to-morrow." "indeed, we couldn't," chimed in corene. "and besides, just think what it will mean to give a real fresh air camp donation?" "yes, nothing could be better," assented the director happily. "and as you all can go to your home cottages it doesn't seem quite so gigantic a sacrifice." "but camp is ideal," murmured julia, putting one more small log on the dying embers; just enough to keep mosquitoes away. "perfect," joined in cleo, her voice dropping or dripping with regret. "that's the very reason we want to do this--to put a seal of a perfect summer on it all," declared corene, who perhaps more than the others felt a really deep responsibility for that camp; from its very inception at the essveay school, to its fullest day, that just closed on the carnival hike. so it was all agreed and settled. camp comalong was to be turned over to the city children and their social service caretakers, by the end of the week. somehow it was a little saddening, however, and it was very evident that the bobbies did not feel like singing the usual woodland good night, as they prepared for their sleep in the big canvas cradle under the stars. "dreaming!" minds dimly awoke with that vague idea. "no, someone is calling," spoke isabel, as if anyone had spoken before. they listened. came a cautious call: "girls! bobbie! grace!" "it's peg," exclaimed a chorus, and with that realization each felt just a little bit guilty that the new ideas of the evening before had so obliterated the troubles of peg from their scout consideration. bare feet instantly pattered on the bare boards. the night light was reached and turned up and the tent flap "unlocked." and there was peg with her aunt carrie! "oh, do come in," begged miss mackin, anxiously. "what has happened?" "nothing," replied peg a trifle cynically, "but we were afraid something might happen to these," she indicated a box she carried and also an armful of what seemed to be rolled cardboard. quickly the girls made the night visitors welcome, and with skill acquired from a similar previous experience, they were now preparing to "double bunk." miss ramsdell (aunt carrie) sighed deeply and sank down with very evident relief. "i insisted that peggie come down to you," she explained. "ever since we got back from the hills yesterday afternoon, mysterious men have been prowling about our cottages," she explained. "perhaps just to frighten us," added peg. "at the same time these papers are so precious i was very glad to bring them down, if we don't upset you too much?" "we are simply delighted to have you come," said corene, sincerely. "and we never could have induced you to if something like this had not happened." "but i wanted to come more than you can ever know," said the girl with the wonderful black eyes and the glossy crow-black hair. "you see, i was guarding daddy's treasures. when he went there was no one left but me, and i was to finish his life's work. i have been trying to do it." her voice tapered to a whisper, and no one attempted to intrude upon it. finally aunt carrie, from her grateful quarters, spoke: "tell them, dear, about the patent," she said. "let us make you comfortable first," suggested cleo, considerately. "here, peg, this is where we keep our treasures. do you want to put yours in here?" she opened a very small door in a packing case that was hidden beneath extra blankets and some clothing. "that's a splendid hiding place," replied peg. "one would think it nothing more than a case of supplies. yes, if i may, i'll put my things in there." first she lifted in the box, that plainly was heavy; then she placed upon it the roll of stiff paper. "oh," she sighed wearily. "i believe if it had not been for shag i should have lost these long ago." "i thought to-night, however," added aunt carrie, "that faithful shag was in danger of being shot. that is one reason why i urged peggie to come down." "yes, i felt that way too," said the girl. "i heard a sniper's shot long after anyone would have been out hunting." "where is shag?" asked julia. "just outside our door here," replied peg. "he won't leave until we do." "we are glad to have him also," said miss mackin. "we have not felt the need of a watchman with officer porter around, but to-night----" "we could not have ventured over the hill except for the officer's escort," said aunt carrie. "it was when we heard his whistle we decided to make a dash." "yes, we have been having quite a night of it," put in peg with a girlish laugh. "you should have seen us, like a couple of movie ladies, armed to the teeth and posted behind our strongest door! if we had not been in such serious danger i should have thought it a wonderful joke," and she laughed lightly at the memory. "armed to the teeth!" repeated grace hopefully. "yes, indeedy; i had the best and biggest revolver, and auntie held to a shotgun, and when we made sure we were really in danger of being bombed or burglared or something, we just loaded up and stood guard until we heard the officer's whistle. it seemed ages," she finished seriously. "and haven't you even been to bed?" asked julia, anxiously. "oh, no, indeed. you see, that leonore began this attack yesterday, after you saw her prowling around," explained peg. "her dad claims a right--a business right to what my dad discovered. that's why we have had to act so mysterious and live behind bolted doors," she added. "one glimpse of dad's drawings would spoil everything for us," she finished. "that's why!" exclaimed grace; for in the simple statement had been disclosed the mystery of the hermit life of peg and her aunt carrie. "yes, my dear brother, peggie's father, was confident the machine he invented would bring us great wealth, and besides this he had many land claims about here that he felt would bring valuable ores." "and _that's_ why you went to the hills so often," burst out louise. "we wondered and wondered." "yes, that's why," agreed peg. "you don't think your robbers would follow you down here?" asked isabel, not fearfully but rather confidently. "no, we have covered our tracks," said peg. "they might see shag----" "bring him in," begged cleo, who loved shag or any other "nice dog" right next to her companions. "there isn't really any danger of them following us," said peg. "besides, we will have a couple of extra watchmen in the woods between now and morning. but i know shag will just love to come in." so it happened the bobbies had a company of three to billet--when finally miss mackin succeeded in inducing everyone "to quiet down and wait until morning" for the telling of the real story of peg's fight to establish the rights her father had left her to struggle with. chapter xix shag: the alarm clock daylight was just peeking through the little crack in the tent flap when grace screamed: "oh, my! for goodness' sake!" she yelled. "someone, somebody, something, shag wants to kiss my toesies!" the self starters sat up and looked around--the other groaned. yes, there was shag trying to make friends with anything that moved, and grace must have unconsciously moved that foot. "what do you want, shag?" she asked. the big, bushy tail whisked things around rather perilously in the narrow quarters. "shag is an early riser," said peg, trying to untangle herself from the things that held her on the rim of a cot. "he wants to run off and see what's going on outdoors." she patted her dog affectionately, then allowed him to run out, off over the hills to his own quarters. but the spell was broken. they were awake, those insatiable girls, and ready even now to talk to their visitor. grace "whispered," but the sibilant swish of sounds seemed more resonant than an outspoken address might have. "don't wake aunt carrie," she warned, although _she_ was the alarm clock going off at that very moment. "don't wake mackey," giggled louise, after mackey had thrown a leaky pine needle pillow at her head. "and just look at izzy," begged cleo. "she's soundproof--like our music room at school." "go on, peg. tell us about it," implored julia. "i dreamed of you and your shotgun all night." "i didn't have a shotgun, that was auntie," replied peg. "mine was a real up-to-date revolver." "oh, do tell us!" begged helen, sitting up and shaking her spaniel-like mop of hair. it was bobbed, and curly, and altogether very pretty. "did you shoot through the door, or was it through the window?" mumbled cleo, determined to have some shooting in the landscape. peg laughed merrily. then she stretched without warning corene, and the effect was accidental. when both girls got up from the floor, one from either side of the extension bed, and when it was finally conceded that everyone was awake and therefore the water-fall whispering was no longer necessary, "conversation was resumed," according to grace. "and we never could have induced you to come, peg, if something didn't happen. yet, from the first we all planned 'to get you,'" she finished, a tragic note taking care of that final ominous phrase. "i wanted to come more than you could possibly have wanted me to do so," said peg, a trifle seriously. "but you have no idea what a complicated thing it is for a girl to try to do anything really worth while." "oh, yes--we--have!" drawled julia. "you should see me try to make a fire to cook breakfast on damp mornings." "not that kind of thing, julia," warned grace, fearful that peg would be diverted from her story. "and did men really try to break in your cottage?" asked helen, sensation seething. "it's rather a long story," admitted peg. "go on and tell," begged louise. "i don't think there is anything so comfy and cozy as story telling in bed," and she gave the blankets a premonitory swish that sent a pair of sneaks flying at her neighbor's head. "of course, we don't want to intrude--that is, we don't want to appear curious about your private business," apologized cleo, with a painful attempt at politeness. "i am just too glad to tell someone," replied peg. "if you could ever know what it has been to be misjudged by everybody: to have people taunting you and to hear all sorts of foolish things said about you----" "but people up here admire you--very much," insisted grace. "old pete, the boatman, told us how you rescued the man from the ice last winter." "oh, that," replied peg. "he wasn't really unconscious, and i had help to get him on whirlwind. but you know how fine men are. they are generous and good-natured. not like----" "say it, peg! not like girls! that is what you are thinking and i just agree with you," spoke up julia. "we saw how contemptible those flashy girls were from the very beginning." "because they are the daughters of this man who has been claiming father's rights," replied peg. miss mackin and aunt carrie were now talking in an undertone over in their end of the tent, so that the girls were quite free to carry on this disjointed conversation. "and what happened yesterday after you left the hike picnic?" asked cleo. "when i got back to the cottage there was leonore fairbanks trying to make friends with shag. if she could have gotten in the cottage, you see, she hoped to find the drawing and plans for the invention," explained peg. "then parts of the machine also are hidden in our house, and if she could have obtained any single part of that machine the men might have been able to guess at its principle." "oh, that was why you kept folks away from your house, was it?" asked grace. "yes. daddy charged me to protect all that work of his until i could turn it over to his brother, my uncle edward. he has been abroad and i expect to hear any day that his steamer is in new york. what a relief that will be," she sighed. "what steamer is he on?" inquired julia. "the tourlander. he was in egypt when daddy died and could not come until he finished his business there." "the tourlander is the very steamer my aunt marie is on," said julia, "and it was sighted yesterday. daddy had a message; mother told me about it when we went for the mail." "sighted! oh, aunt carrie, did you hear? the tourlander is coming in! it has been sighted!" peg exclaimed gleefully. "really, my dear!" and that message had an electrical effect on miss ramsdell. "if uncle edward is coming in we must be stirring. how strange it all seems? that i should sleep in a tent again! i have always loved camping, and since peggie's mother died we spent quite a lot of time traveling about. you see," she explained to everyone, "my brother was a geologist, and at one time was employed by the government to sample ores. that was how he came to be interested in these hills. he insisted there were valuable zinc veins up here. come, peggie dear, i feel so anxious now. won't it be splendid if your uncle edward comes just now when things seem to be so critical?" "we need him, auntie mine," replied the girl, who was partially succeeding in freeing herself from the girls who vainly tried to hold her for a fuller story. "i'll tell it all to you, every single bit," she promised. "but we really must hurry back to the log cabin. suppose we have been bombarded during the night? then, what would we do for a house and home?" "oh, we haven't told you we are going to give up camp," exclaimed grace. "we really haven't had a chance to tell you anything, peg." "not when you insisted that i do all the talking," replied the other. "but why are you going to desert camp?" "in the interest of humanity," said julia, solemnly. "we are going to give it to some children who need it more than we do." "am i included?" asked peg. she was almost dressed, and some of the girls were hurrying to be ready before she left for the hills. "you simply can't go without breakfast," insisted miss mackin. "we will have coffee ready in less than no time----" "but here is shag, back," interrupted peg. "what is it, boy? what's going on up there?" he wagged his tail and "smiled" and flipped his ears. the big collie tried to lead his young mistress to the outdoors, at least he moved that way himself and gave peg a most appealing look from his big, soft, brown eyes. "we're coming," peg answered him. "girls, it is perfectly delightful for us to be at camp and i have been envying you this joy all summer, but if you will excuse us, we are so anxious to get back to our abandoned home----" "are you going to leave your valuables in our safe?" asked louise. "i would like to--if it wouldn't worry you too much----" "not the least bit. in fact if you leave them we will feel sure of another call, and that's a big consideration," declared corene. peg laughed lightly. it was full bright daylight now, and the odor of dewy softness, the breath of things green, permeated camp and grounds surrounding. "don't you want to be introduced to our bucket-brigade washroom?" asked louise. "come along; the line forms on this side," and she dragged peg out under the runt oak, where a guest basin, turned upside down, made a safe pedestal for a twittering robin. he hopped off politely as the girls tip-toed up. "that's our bobbie robin," said louise. "we have him almost trained to eat from a little table julia erected for him. we place his breakfast there, and what bird wouldn't eat a fresh cereal even from a tiny table?" "here comes our officer!" exclaimed peg, as a cracking of leaves gave warning of approaching footsteps. "good morning!" called out the man in blue. "all safe and sound down here?" "perfectly," replied peg. "anything new on the hill?" "not just this morning, but we had some trouble last night," said the officer. "you were right about the prowlers. we found a couple of railroaders hiding behind your barn." "are the horses safe?" this query showed peg's new alarm. "we made sure of that. i put tim morgan right in the cosy little room there, and tim was grateful for the bunk. also, no one could come near those horses with him on the scene." "i must hurry back," said peg to louise. others of the girls were now moving about. "no need for worry," assured the officer. "these railroad men are the sort that walk the tracks, you know. they must have been hired to look over your place, but they're busy looking out of a very small window about now," and he waved his stick in the direction of longleigh, where the little country lock-up was situated. aunt carrie was now out of the tent and ready to go back to the log cabin. she exchanged questions with the night watchman, and presently she was saying her thanks and her good-byes, also promising to return for a real camp meal just as soon as she and peg could safely leave the cabin. "if my uncle comes i shall be as free as your bobbie robin," said peg. "i intend to turn everything over to him; and what a joy that will be!" "then you could come down here and help us wind up camp?" asked cleo eagerly. "i suppose i could if----" "you must, my dear," insisted miss ramsdell. "you really must take a holiday." "but i am somewhat disappointed," said peg, she was looking over the mist-veiled hills. "i hoped to have been able to follow out dear dad's advice----" she stopped suddenly, then shook herself free from the detaining arms, and promised again to come back to campfire that very night. "and tell us all about your blockade?" said helen. "you mean stockade, nellie," said cleo. "but it is all the same in the glow of the campfire where all good stories get their magic touch." "good-bye!" "good-bye!" and then the guests from the hilltop left. for a few minutes the bobbies stood, a little disappointed, but still expectant. "i should be afraid to go back to that place," remarked isabel. "the officer is going to unlock and search first," said cleo. "i wouldn't mind going along to see the fun." "just imagine those two people standing ready with guns!" exclaimed julia. "i wouldn't care to trust myself with a tempting little gun," confessed louise. "i have always thought what a temptation it must be to pull a trigger." "like our fourth of july pistols; so have i," admitted isabel. "girls, do you realize it is almost time for colors?" asked miss mackin. "suppose we sing a cheery 'good morning' to get our brains cleared up from all the excitement?" then the birds in tree and bush flew off, jealous of their woodland rights, for the bobbies really could sing, at least sweetly. the colors were flying and a scent of coffee floated generously about, when two men on horseback came galloping along and drew rein at the foot of comalong hill. "hey, there, sissy!" called one, rudely. "do you know where peg is? the girl from the log cabin?" "don't answer," warned miss mackin quickly. "if they want information, that is not the way to seek it," and she turned the girls back to the breakfast table where the "k. p.'s" were already busy serving. the next moment the riders galloped off, and the scouts suspected correctly that one of the men was francis fairbanks. chapter xx the room of mystery how things had changed! the new day stood out independent of its past and future. peg had actually spent the night in the bobbies' camp, and her treasure was now hidden in their packing-case safe. also, dear camp comalong was fading away, or was it looming up large as a proposed samaritan camp? breakfast was not finished when benny came pumping along on his wheel. "folks got word about your aunt, julia," he began after a very informal greeting, "and i came over to tell you your mother wants you to come home sure, day after to-morrow." "i'm going to, ben," replied julia. "my aunt marie is bringing me something from paris. i'll be on hand to welcome her, never fear," said the blonde girl archly. "we are going to give up camp, ben," announced his own sister, grace. "won't you have a bun, or something else to eat?" she invited the boy, who stood with hands in pockets, plainly admiring the camp life freedom before him. "going to give up?" he almost shouted. "then can we fellows have it?" "oh, ben, perhaps you boys could have it after the next two weeks, but for that time we are going to sacrifice it for some very needy city children, who only get a breath of real air when they come up on an excursion," explained grace. "oh, a fresh air camp!" benny's voice fell in disappointment. "not just that kind," continued the sister, "but we saw some poor, little pale faces the other day, and we just couldn't stand their longing for a few days in the real country. so we are all going back to our cottages, and going to give up the comalong for two weeks before school opens." "then where would we fellows come in? two weeks before school----" "our schools don't open till later," explained louise, "and you know, benny, september is the most beautiful month to camp," she placated. "every month is good enough," insisted the boy, "but of course, if you've promised." he was evidently not fired with the same sort of philanthropy that inspired the girls. "come on, benny, try our camp-made johnny-cake," urged louise. "just think, we bake that right on top of that stone oven." "i don't want to think of it," growled the real boy. "i know what we boy scouts could do with this outfit." "poor ben," and grace threw an arm around the brown-haired little fellow. "never mind. i'm coming home and i'll make you as much fudge as every boy in your crowd will want to eat--at one sitting," she qualified. he was finally induced to sample the johnny-cake, but when he left there was a defiance in his manner, akin to recklessness. "i don't care, anyhow," he prevaricated. "we're going to camp up on the hills next week," he flung back, jerking his wheel up in the air to start, as if it had been a pony with its bit too tight. "a busy day approach--eth," warned corene. "we must have our trial swim this morning, you know." "yes, and we have to go for the mail. it's my turn and yours, weasy," said cleo. "and i've got to go around to all the cottages and give warning we are going to break camp, i suppose," said julia. "i know the mothers will be glad to get the news, although they may not admit it." "and i'm going to take a run up to peg's and see if she is all right," declared corene. "maybe now that she won't go over the hills looking for that lost claim, she may take time to have a civilized swim with us." "she may; but then again she may not," interposed cleo. "don't you remember she said there was something she was disappointed about not being finished?" "yes; we couldn't get all the story, there were so many interruptions," said corene. "but wasn't she a wonderful girl to work so hard to follow out her father's ambitions?" "yes, like a big, strong boy, she has been going up those hills daily. she didn't say just what she was looking for, did she?" asked julia. "zinc mine, wasn't it?" suggested louise. "something about ores," added julia. "you know her aunt carrie said mr. ramsdell used to be a government geologist." "yes," agreed louise, vaguely. geology meant stones, they all knew, and as for the ores--well, it didn't seem to be gold and to the indifferent ones no other metal seemed to suggest sensational developments just then. an hour later they were in the lake, trying out their contest stunts. corene did not succeed in inducing peg to accompany them, as the excitement around the log cabin was still in evidence. even the officer sort of "hung 'round," to "keep an eye on things," and when corene made her flying trip up there she found peg so busy that good sense forbade the scout delaying her. the swim over, next came the delivery of all those homemade messages. hither and thither scouted the scouts, until lunch time was pointed out by the faithful little sun dial, and that was not a point to be overlooked. only two days remained now until the week would be closed. then would come the excitement of breaking camp. miss mackin had already notified headquarters of the bobolinks' determination, and to-day a visitor was expected to take inventory. it was all delightfully thrilling. in spite of the natural regret that accompanied this sacrifice, there was also that joy of satisfaction that always comes with the doing of a real heroic act. every girl-bobbie of them felt it her own personal privilege to invite those city youngsters out to lake hocomo, and likewise each felt the elation of "doing a big thing." "i wonder when peg will come back for her valuables?" mused grace. they were "slicking" up the grounds for the day's inspection--someone always came by and looked in on pleasant mornings. as if the expressed thought had ticked off a message, scarcely had grace uttered it than peg and shag came racing over the hills. "here she comes!" sang out the impetuous helen. "oh, say, girls!" peg called on ahead of herself. "don't you want to come up and see my cabin?" "do we?" the enthusiasm of cleo's tone was pure compliment. "just wait until we get these papers in the incinerator," panted julia. "we will all be off duty then and glad to go up to your cabin." everyone felt that way, which was evinced by the unusual haste made in the slicking-up process. peg looked like a different girl! she had discarded the mountaineer's costume and wore a simple white dress. the effect was startling. all that severity of outline had vanished. even the slick black hair seemed to turn up just a little--perhaps with the heat or was it from excitement? the girls were surprised but hid the fact completely. with a word to miss mackin--who like the others was hurrying, although her task was to finish a very pretty basket for her mother--they all raced off with peg and shag. the big dog was frantic with delight. it was very evident he had taken a real liking to the little scouts. "you will have to overlook some things," warned peg, as they neared the bungalow, "for although auntie is a crackerjack housekeeper she has me to battle against." awe, the concomitant of enthusiasm, possessed the girls as they stood on the threshold of that mystery house. as peg ushered them in, however, each expressed surprise. "what a duck of a room!" cried grace. "isn't it?" agreed corene. they were surveying a very quaintly arranged room, indeed. the low beamed ceilings were of natural rough cedar, the field-stone fireplace stood out like a primitive shrine, and on the floors were the most wonderful indian rugs. "we brought those rugs from the west," peg explained, noting the girls' admiration. "but i want to show you--my studio." she unlocked a door and ushered the visitors into a very long darkened room. when all were within, she swung the door back, shot a bolt and switched on lights. "oh, a shop!" exclaimed isabel. "that's just what it is," answered peg. "this was dad's shop and i have been tinkering here since he left it to me. i miss him dreadfully, for dad and i were great pals," she said bravely. "and this is the machinery you have been guarding?" said louise, just daring to put one finger on a long piece of steel that did not go off following the contact. "yes," said peg. "you see, even now i would not leave that door unlocked, and we have never kept a servant since dad started this invention. it is a machine for drilling rock; it will pick up certain kinds of minerals and is most valuable because it can be worked without steam power. dad had not quite finished it, but he was positive of its value, and a single look at the simple mechanism, he warned me, would easily betray its principle to any skilled mechanic. that is why the windows are boarded. see," she went to a window and raised a shade, "i can get light from those slanted boards," she explained, "but no one could possibly see into this room. we have a tank that makes our own gas. daddy was very ingenious," she finished, coming back to the machine from which she had taken a heavy blanket covering. the scouts looked about, bewildered. what could a girl do, really, with iron and steel, and leather belts! "and how did your father get these parts made?" asked julia. she knew something of machinery, as her own father was a manufacturer. "dad made the patterns, in wood, you know, then he had them cast in the city. he assembled the parts himself, of course. i have never allowed an eye to rest on this," she declared, "for to me it is all something sacred. when uncle edward comes he will only have to finish the negotiations with the patent office and ship them this model. it is not so big--that is one of its great attractions." she seemed to fondle the queer-looking machine, which was, as she said, not very large; it could all be put in a crate the size of a packing case. "and men came last night to break in just to see this?" it was incredible, louise thought. "yes, but there is more than the machine you see," said peg. "there are the drawings, and samples of ore and--other things. i have those in your safe you know," finished peg. "it is dear of you to trust us with all this----" began julia. "i wanted to do it, you have been so splendid to me," declared the black-haired girl. "and i must have seemed so--bitter!" "no, just mysterious, and that made you fascinating," declared grace, giving peg a counterfeit hug. "but how did you do any of this sort of work?" pressed corene, still looking at the formidable machine. "i have a hand drill, and every single day i spend some time just as dad did, collecting specimens. you see, i am looking for zinc." "what does it look like?" asked cleo. "it is a little, bluish white vein. i have pieces in my box. i'll show them to you perhaps this evening," offered peg. "and two men called up to the tent just after you left this morning," remarked cleo. "they yelled 'sissy' and we didn't answer them." "were they riding?" asked peg. "yes. two big capitalistic looking gents," said corene. she was still fascinated with the ore drill, for corene had a manual training turn of mind. "mr. fairbanks and his new york partner," explained peg. "they came up here with all sorts of threats, if i didn't let them see dad's papers. but when i told them the tourlander was coming in port--as you told me, you know--they didn't seem quite so--fierce. big men like fairbanks are always cowards," declared peg, with a pardonable sneer. "did they see your guns?" joked louise, looking about for a possible glimpse of the weapons. "didn't get a chance. i just met them outside the hedge, and they didn't even leave their horses." a long low bench stood under the window with the inverted blind. one by one the girls slid into place on it, like a band of little kindergartners. "i have always longed to see a real factory," ventured cleo. "i should love to hear your buzz, peg." the "manager" stepped over to a small machine and pressed her foot upon it. the buzz promptly responded. "oh, let me try it! what will it do?" exclaimed corene from the admiring group now surrounding the buzzer. "it will grind anything. see, it is run by a motor," explained peg. "wonder would it cut corene's hair, nice and even," teased cleo. "i've heard that very self same tune in barber shops." "but where do you get your electricity from?" pressed julia, the intelligent. "there are a few poles in the hills and dad had one tapped for his own use," replied peg. "you know the big hotel is wired." "if we had known it we might have had a pole tapped for comalong use," put in grace, facetiously. "i've had an awful time doing my hair at the beach-tree dressing table. just think what a spot-light would have done for us." corene was grinding the point of her belt buckle on the revolving emery wheel; cleo was examining some outlines and drawings tacked to a drawing board, while the attention of louise was riveted upon a line of tools set in graduated order upon a convenient shelf, as neatly placed as the kitchen knives, spoons and ladles in her mother's orderly pantry at home. "peg," said corene, trying the buckle's point in her blouse, "couldn't we open a little factory here and sharpen knives and forks for the campers? we might fix umbrellas too. i've seen the grind men do it at this sort of buzzer." peg laughed happily at the girl's humor. "you don't know how good it seems to hear real, human words in this room again," she said after an emphatic pause. "auntie has been so afraid of everything that i suppose i've inhaled the air of fear, unconsciously." "i think corey's idea perfectly spiffing," added cleo. she was looking for something to sharpen on the wheel. "you mean spoofing, clee," insisted grace. "if you will read trash why don't you do it with a pad and pencil?" "but all joking aside, girls, can't you imagine what all this really means? i think peg is the bravest girl we have ever met," corene declared heartily. "oh, much," added grace, with a side step not indicated in the factory recreational programme. "can't we do something to testify to our esteem? you know, the little 'token of' business." "kindly keep your skirts away from my wheel," ordered corene, still grinding, "or you may get a most unexpected 'token of' around the ankles." "your dad was a wonderful draftsman, peg," commented cleo, with her newly trained eye tracing the intricacies of the drawing board. "i never could learn to follow such fine lines and measurements." "they wouldn't look well on your nut-bowl or your candle-sticks, clee," remarked louise. "better stick to the school designs; they're simpler." "this is all very lovely, and more absorbing than the mechanical display at the state fair," put in julia, "but you know, girls, peg hasn't really hired us yet." a tap at the door interrupted. "peg," called miss ramsdell. "here's a message." quickly opening the door, the girl accepted from the aunt the yellow paper, but there was no need to read its simple statement, for the joyous face of aunt carrie gave out the good tidings. still peg read aloud: "arrive to-morrow (saturday), will go at once to you at lake hocomo. "edward ramsdell." "joy! joy!" peg cried. "really coming, oh, girls! now i can have some fun helping you break camp! isn't it splendid!" "that's a promise, remember, positively," insisted julia, as they prepared to leave. "bring miss ramsdell and shag. remember, we expect you pos--i--tive--ly." then the door was locked from the outside, on the precious invention of peg's departed father. chapter xxi a surprise indeed the girls were deliciously excited. uncovering the mystery of peg's cabin lent no end of possibilities, not the least of which was the hope of having this girl of the hills unite with their own activities at last. "will somebody kindly drape that sun dial and hold back on time a little?" asked corene. "however are we going to cram things into a few meager hours this fateful day?" "when things crowd to the point of congestion," declared julia, "they simply have to be omitted. i move to omit everything omittable." "and i tally the motion," chirped grace. "it saves time to tally instead of adding to." "if you will all kindly line up for chow," suggested louise. "i don't see any nor scent any, but some should be about. there goes the twelve o'clock boat." "comes, you mean," corrected isabel. "it's steaming into our dock." "company, and on moving day!" exclaimed julia, dancing around in shameless joy. "there comes the old hawk soaring in, sure enough." a couple of toots and a few squawks from the smoke-stack of the hawk (or thereabouts) and the steamer glided in majestically, unmindful of the coming bump. "kids, kidlets, and kiddies!" exclaimed cleo, as through the trees the dock could be seen fairly crawling with youngsters. miss mackin had joined the ranks of the spectators. "looks like our fresh air camp," she gasped. "allow me to do the honors," orated isabel. "that motley throng reminds me of my last birthday party. they're all broke out in bundles." "wait; they may not be coming here," interrupted julia. "why couldn't some other camp have company?" "because it's our last day of surprises," cleo said, springing to a tree stump for a better view of the dock. "that contingent is headed this way. let's prepare." but surprise akin to astonishment was the only preparation noticeable. new gasps and exclamations were plentifully in evidence, and the omissions mentioned as within the rules of too full a day were now very definitely settled upon, for even the noon-day meal was falling in arrears. "yep, here they come!" announced julia solemnly. "and the leader! can it be a delegation from some orphanage?" asked helen. "it can and perhaps is," remarked cleo. "they all carry the same shaped bundles. they're evidently not homemade." there could be no mistake now; the parade was marching up comalong path. miss mackin patted her hair and the others made motions at their ear puffs. "if we only had some grub," whispered julia. "there's the cakes of wheat if they haven't grown mossy," replied cleo. "we'll get corey to toast them." "mossy!" repeated isabel. "that box has whiskers. i looked at it this morning." "are we right?" came a voice from the advance guard of the procession. "is this camp comalong?" "yes," replied miss mackin with a tempered smile. "oh, i'm so glad. the boatman was not sure. and the children hoped this was the place; the trees looked so beautifully green." the speaker was leader of the influx; a prim, middle-aged woman whose sincerity of soul shown through two sparkling brown eyes. it was very obvious this leader loved her task. an awkward pause followed her remarks. even miss mackin seemed at a loss for a suitable reply. "you got our message, didn't you?" asked the brown-eyed woman, suddenly. her charges were breaking ranks at all points. "why, no," stammered mackey. "was there a message?" "oh, you didn't really! then you were not expecting us?" her voice wailed disappointment. all those eager little children and not expected! "messages are uncertain in the camps," spoke mackey promptly, getting herself in hand, as it were, and sensing catastrophe unless prompt measures intervened. "but you are welcomed, i'm sure. these are the members of camp comalong, the bobolinks," with a wave toward her amazed constituents. "we will do all we can to show you around." grace choked on a giggle. show them around when they were probably famished for food! "i am so sorry," murmured the little woman. "you see we heard you were giving up camp and going to turn it over to the needy children. we had planned an excursion, and the beaches are so rough and crowded, we just ventured to take a trip up here. the sail was delightful and--of course we have brought our lunches." the sigh of relief that travelled the rounds of the bobbies amounted to a secret moan of joy. they had brought their lunches! instantly the girls fell to welcoming the excursionists, but the children so quickly melted into the scenery that only by the promptest of efforts were the bobbies able to reclaim the merest fringe of the disorganized parade. how those children ran and stumbled and fell over friendly bushes! how they called and shouted! could there really be hidden in the camp grounds all the treasures now being simultaneously announced? "look-it! i've got a black-berry!" "i've got a chestnut!" (it was a last year's acorn.) "i--found--a--mush--a--room!" this last cry reached the ears of corene, who quickly set after the mushroom hunters. there should be no sudden deaths from toad-stool poisoning at camp comalong. cleo and grace had captured a girl with her chubby little brother. on account of the brother and his chubbiness they were more easily overtaken than the others. louise and isabel were trying to keep a party of four from wading in the spring, while julia was panic-stricken at the food famine outlook. miss mackin talked to the strange leader, who proved to be miss rachel brooks, of the beacon mission settlement. "i shouldn't have come upon you this way for the world," miss brooks insisted. "but i have been promising my children a picnic all summer, and they have to work so hard--those little girls. vacation usually means harder work for such as they, for when school is dismissed the home work begins," she declared, with a show of indignation. "that's quite true," agreed miss mackin, "and i often think it is a pity that our child-labor laws do not include a continuous home survey. but again: what about the tired mothers these little daughters help?" "true, true; just a circle of trouble for them, no matter how we try to help. so when i heard that a troop of girl scouts were going to give up their camp for city children----" "how did you hear it?" "at a conference of case workers the other day. you know we meet twice weekly to discuss our problems, and to try to keep our families out of court. i managed to get clothes from the emergency committee, so that quite a few children who were promised this trip could come along. but they must eat their lunches now. they are surely famished," declared miss brooks. "will it be all right for me to take them over to that little knoll, and let them open their boxes?" "we will be glad to fix our camp table for them," offered miss mackin with qualms of conscience, for were not the bobbies also starving by now? "i wouldn't hear of taking your table; thank you just the same," replied the stranger. "besides, you know how they feel about eating in the grass, like gypsies. they have been planning that particular joy for a long time. sadie!" she called. "stella! margie!" she clapped her hands, we might say skillfully, for every clap echoed itself with a resonance peculiar to actual skilled practice. the girls called rounded up promptly. what a flock there was of them, and how they grazed like strange cattle in new found, verdant pastures! and it was remarkable how these youngsters clung to their lunch boxes, and gathered flowers or treasures at the same time. "you see," miss brooks went on, "we have a cooking class. it's a very small and humble attempt, but the children love it and we made most of our supplies for to-day's party. at the suggestion of these older girls, i think stella really proposed it, we made an extra supply and brought a box to--the girl scouts, if they will accept it." cleo and grace were near enough to hear the offer, and that they concealed their joy was due as much to good luck as to good manners, for how dreadfully hungry they really were? what a big day this was growing to be! "lovely," said miss mackin archly. "are you sure you can spare all this?" the girls were offering box after box, and, like flies attracted to the sweeter things, the bobbies were hemming in. "yes'm," said black-eyed stella slyly. "and zenta nogrow has a big box of nut cookies." "nut cookies!" repeated corene, unable to comprehend the sudden blessing. "how could you go to all that trouble?" "'tweren't any trouble. a lady from up town brought the nuts. edna, where is zenta?" "i'll get her," offered edna, a blonde with skin like a flower in spite of unfavorable environment. miss brooks was clapping her hands again, and the visitors were following "the big girls" over to the little knoll under the pine trees. julia and isabel were making the scouts' table ready, while louise and corene went to introduce the spring, and to offer a good supply of extra drinking cups. miss mackin was urging miss brooks to take her lunch at the table under the trees. "you won't think me ungrateful," replied the visitor, "but you see, the children like to have me with them. they will fairly swamp me with questions about the woodland beauties. i would love to have you join us, however," she invited miss mackin. "then _we_ would be without a leader," put in cleo, swinging a free arm around miss mackin. "exactly, i understand. how good it is to be beloved," said the serious little woman with the brown eyes, that sparkled latent possibilities. healthy hunger was driving all the human animals to food now, and the "drive" included the bobbies, as well as the children from the beacon settlement. quickly boxes and little bundles were untied and unwrapped, and even at a distance the excursionists could be seen literally devouring the "basket lunch," only there were really no baskets. true, a little italian girl carried her food in a handmade straw bag that might be called a basket, while a russian displayed a quaint braided affair from the homelands; but boxes and bags, american in make, were mostly in evidence. at the scout table the overdue meal was being greatly relished. "how long are they going to stay?" ventured grace. the question shot repeaters from all eyes around the festive board, for while the picnic interruption was all right as far as it went, it would never do to have those babes interfere with the evening's programme. that was to feature peg's story in every last absorbing detail, and they were all eager to hear it. "yes," repeated cleo, looking straight at miss mackin. "how long are they going to stay?" "i don't know," replied mackey, evasively. "didn't they say, the leader i mean?" pressed louise, losing a choice bit of cookie in her anxiety. "no, not a mention of it." "you don't suppose they expect to camp here to-night!" corene almost gasped. "you see, it is known our camp is to be given over, and these clever little people have taken first chance. we have got to be good to them," insisted miss mackin slyly. everyone stopped eating and sat up aggressively. "but our camp wouldn't hold a picnic, at any rate," spoke grace pertly. "oh, these children would be happy under the trees all day and satisfied to crawl under cover out of storms," miss mackin's eyes were dancing now and cleo caught "their step." "you're a fraud, mackey mackin!" she declared, tossing a bit of cracker at the leader. "you are just trying to scare us out of our big night. why, only the most urgent business has kept peg away from us all this time, and as for us--we are compelled to wait," this last in tragic tones. "just look over at those youngsters rolling down hill," interrupted mackey. "if you'll excuse me, girls, i'll go over and be polite." "take care you don't get caught in the avalanche. just look at the tidal wave!" said julia. "rather keep your eyes on this table," ordered corene. "don't one of you dare bolt for the hill; not even if a couple of kiddies get caught in the thickets. i know you girls. here clee, carry these things to the kitchen. at least we must leave camp in good order." "and the time draweth near," moaned louise. "we know now what things will look like when we are gon-n-n-ne!" "we will be gone for a long, long time!" intoned julia, and the war time refrain was promptly executed--all of that! "here they come! mercy on us!" exclaimed grace. "the children are descending from the hillsides!" she grabbed up the food fragments from the table and hurried to hide them in their tin boxes. "we must tell them how we enjoyed their cakes," said corene. "they are after a report, i'm sure." "we can't tell them!" gasped cleo, "for their settlement-made cookies simply saved our lives." she moaned and groaned at the thought of the perilous escape. "they were good!" declared louise, raising her voice as the strangers came shyly along the little summer-worn path. "come and give them a wade," proposed julia. "wade!" almost shrieked grace. "they would strike right out for the west shore. as you value their precious lives don't mention it again, jule." and she didn't. but there were other joys, many of them for the little party of settlement children. they explored the woods, wondered at the big lake (miss brooks would not allow one to enter a boat), then there was a final treat of a good time on the merry-go-round at the point, and finally the hawk tooted its whistle for them to go back to the railroad station. it was not easy to gather them together for the embarkation, but miss brooks was so grateful and happy; every bobolink felt it her special duty to help the children get aboard the old-fashioned steamer. and it must be admitted there was a secret motive in the alacrity so evident, for the unexpected picnic had somewhat spoiled the afternoon's plans for the girl scouts. "let's go around by the big log cabin and tell peg all about it," suggested isabel. "then we won't have to spoil our plans for to-night with the picnic interruption." "that's a good idea!" chortled grace. "come right along and talk it out, every word of it. we did enjoy the youngsters, but oh, boy! for that final big story!" chapter xxii peg of tamarack hills the evening was cool and daylight lingered. true to her promise, peg with aunt carrie came again to visit camp comalong. "i have the fire all ready to start," announced julia, "but it is too early yet. girls, do you realize i have been official fireman all summer?" "but you wouldn't allow us to interfere, wanted to be fireman, engineer and all that," said cleo. "yes, you claimed we would waste matches," chimed in corene. "do you notice we are all in uniform to-night?" said louise. "peg, yours is almost like ours." "yes, i have worn a scout uniform, since--girls," she said suddenly. "i never told you, but i am a scout myself!" "you are?" in chorus. "yes. i joined in pittsburg. but when i found myself sort of buried in this mineral work it would be useless for me to talk or even think of scouting. that was why i didn't mention it." "and i wanted the child, so much, to go in for all your lovely times," murmured miss ramsdell. "but there was no use. she would stick to her work." "and just think, after all, i never found the clue i searched for!" peg's face now looked more boyish than ever, for it took on that seriously determined look usually foreign to the feminine. "what was it?" asked louise. "wait, i'll get my box and show you," offered peg; and cleo went to the "safe" with her to get out the square japanned box. they returned to the council almost immediately. then peg took from the box a number of stones. "see," she said to her audience, "you asked me what zinc looked like. here are some pieces." the scouts examined the specimens and passed them from one to another. "and are they found around here?" asked miss mackin. "yes; dad found some and i found others. that is what i have been searching for with my little hand-drill. don't you remember you saw me on the big rock the day of your picnic?" asked peg. "yes, we thought you were digging gold," joked corene. "but i suppose zinc is quite as valuable." "indeed, it is, if we could only find the lost vein," went on peg. "the men you have seen prowling around here are hired by mr. fairbanks. but if they had discovered the ore on daddy's claim i should have fought them for it," declared the plucky girl, emphatically. she was taking out from the box stone after stone. "see this," she said, holding up a flat, gray piece. "this is the clue. see those marks?" instantly the same thought flashed through the minds of the scouts. the star clue! "we found pieces like that!" gasped cleo. "you--found them!" "yes, up by the big rock!" every word spoken now seemed electrically charged. it was grace who said this. "wait! wait!" begged corene. "i'll get ours," and she dashed into the tent to drag from the "safe" the scout's own treasures. then she laid the granite pieces on peg's lap. "oh!" almost screamed the girl. "do you know what this means! auntie, they have found the lost star!" everyone was talking now, and no one seemed to say anything intelligible; exclamations and sudden bursts of half formed sentences fairly puncturing the calm evening atmosphere. peg was almost overcome, but being a real girl she was not given to such heroics. "it all formed the cutest little star," exclaimed julia, finally. "we marked the spot so we can't possibly lose it. we will take you right to it to-morrow morning," she offered sincerely. "i don't know how i shall wait, but i'll have to, of course," said peg. "you see, daddy put that star there the very day he was taken ill, and no matter how he tried to direct me i never could locate it." "but your dear father could hardly tell you anything, darling," said miss ramsdell. "he was not with us long after that." "however did you come to discover it?" asked peg, who was piecing together the magic stones that formed the star. "we were following the danger--dynamite signs," said cleo. "have you seen them?" "oh, yes, indeed," replied the visitor. "they were put there by the fairbanks men to frighten me off. at first i did steer clear of them, but after kicking a few over and then watching the men plant them, i saw they were perfectly harmless," declared peg. "we did that too, kicked them over, i mean," said julia. "and did they do that just to frighten you?" "that and much more. but was there a sign near the star?" "no; quite some distance from it," replied corene, "and it was just buried in a little soft pocket." "that's just what dad said!" exclaimed peg. "don't you know, auntie? he kept saying 'by big nose in a little green pocket.'" "yes? strange that we should happen to use the same expression," put in julia. "and what does it all mean?" pressed the fascinated isabel. "it means that below that mark there is a vein of zinc. it runs from the rock, and dad was ready to bore for it just there," declared peg. the sunset was pouring out its glory and the streams of color cut through the trees to beautify the little council group of girl scouts. aunt carrie told them of the perseverance of her niece, who had devoted all her girlish energy to fulfilling her father's cherished plans. "you see, we came up here to follow out my brother's ideas," said the little lady. julia was now slipping away to light her campfire. "we have traveled a great deal, and followed many trails, but this one discovered in tamarack hills offered the biggest prize." "and just when everything was brightest, daddy had to go," put in peg. "i am sure no one could blame me for seeming queer when i was duty bound to take up his unfinished work." "only the thoughtless could ever have questioned your purpose," said miss mackin. "you see how eager our girls were to get acquainted with you." "yes--_your_ girls," emphasized peg. "those other two fright-freaks were simply jealous," declared grace warmly. "they must have been furious that a girl like you could get the best of their big upholstered father." everyone laughed at this description. mr. fairbanks really was sort of tufted and overstuffed. "but i simply cannot believe you have found that vein mark that i have searched months for," repeated peg. "i don't see how i shall ever wait to go up there. and to think uncle edward will be here to-morrow." "and that you will both stay with us again to-night!" broke in julia. "you really couldn't separate those stone pieces, you know," said cleo. "you will need all those queer markings to follow out your clue with." "yes, i could show those selfsame marks on a drawing that stone was marked from. the lines are eaten in with acid," explained the visitor seriously. "we thought they were made by acid; that is, mackey did; don't you remember, girls?" asked louise. the campfire blazed merrily now and the insistence that peg and her aunt remain overnight finally was agreed to. "put the treasures away," suggested cleo, "and let us sing 'scouts every one.' we are going to have such a glorious evening!" "and yet," said miss ramsdell, "my niece tells me you are giving up camp?" "yes, we felt it was so much needed by some city children," replied corene, "and we really have had a lovely summer. you see, we all have cottages up here, and can stay till the last boat makes the last trip of the season." "oh, no, we can't," corrected isabel. "we all have to be back september fifteenth in dear old essveay, you know." "right, izzy," said corene. "i was just trying to fool myself. here's clee, all ready for her song. get your uke, louise." stars flickered and breezes hummed in with the girls' song; for what in life is half so sweet as the joy of a peaceful campfire? and the very next day the star pieces were traced in their mysterious markings, the maps and outlines were matched up and the great zinc vein was finally uncovered by trustworthy hands. all they hoped for was finally fully realized, and peg's labors were not in vain. leave our little friends here, content and happy until we meet them again in the next volume of this series, to be called "the girl scouts at rocky ledge." the end the girl scout series by lilian garis cloth. mo. frontispiece. the girl scout pioneers, or, winning the first b. c. the girl scouts at bellaire, or, maid mary's awakening the girl scouts at sea crest, or, the wig wag rescue the girl scouts at camp comalong, or, peg of tamarack hills other volumes in preparation. cupples & leon company, new york the girl scout series by lilian garis mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors price per volume, cents, postpaid the highest ideals of girlhood as advocated by the foremost organizations of america form the background for these stories and while unobtrusive there is a message in every volume. the girl scout pioneers or winning the first b. c. a story of the true tred troop in a pennsylvania town where they find unlimited opportunity for good scouting. two runaway girls, who want to see the city, are reclaimed through troop influence. the story is correct in scout detail, and also furnishes an absorbing narrative. the girl scouts at bellaire or maid mary's awakening the story of a timid little maid who is afraid to take part in other girls' activities, while working nobly alone for high ideals. how she was discovered by the bellaire troop and came into her own as "maid mary" makes a fascinating story. the girl scouts at sea crest or the wig wag rescue luna land, a little island by the sea, is wrapt in a mysterious seclusion, and kitty scuttle, a grotesque figure, succeeds in keeping all others at bay until the girl scouts come. this volume furnishes a worth while story. the girl scouts at camp comalong or peg of tamarack hills a story of the great outdoors in which the girls of bobolink troop spend their summer on the shores of lake hocomo. their discovery of peg, the mysterious rider of the blue roan "whirlwind," and the clearing up of her remarkable adventures afford a wholesome and vigorous plot. send for our free illustrated catalogue cupples & leon company, publishers, new york the betty gordon series by alice b. emerson author of the famous "ruth fielding" series mo. cloth. illustrated. jacket in full colors price per volume, cents, postpaid a new series of stories by alice b. emerson which are bound to make this writer more popular than ever with her host of girl readers. everyone will want to know betty gordon and all will love her. betty gordon at bramble farm or the mystery of a nobody at the age of twelve betty is left an orphan in the care of her bachelor uncle, who sends her to live on a farm. betty finds life at bramble farm exceedingly hard. betty gordon in washington or strange adventures in a great city in this volume betty goes to the national capitol to find her uncle. she falls in with a number of strangers and has several unusual adventures. betty gordon in the land of oil or the farm that was worth a fortune from washington the scene is shifted to the great oil fields of our country. a splendid picture of the oil field operations of to-day. betty gordon at boarding school or the treasure of indian chasm an up-to-date tale of school life. betty made many friends but a jealous girl tried to harm her. seeking the treasure of indian chasm makes an exceedingly interesting incident. send for our free illustrated catalogue cupples & leon company, publishers, new york about this book: original publication data: publisher: cupples & leon company, new york copyright: , by cupples & leon company produced from images generously made available by the internet archive. with gratitude to l.w. curry, inc. for their gracious permission to use their image of the cover of this edition.) the burglars' club [illustration: "'may i ask what you expect to find here?'" (_p. ._)] the burglars' club a romance in twelve chronicles by henry a. hering _with sixteen illustrations by f. h. townsend_ b. w. dodge and company new york copyright , , by henry a. hering. the twelve chronicles. page i. sir john carder's cigars ii. the bishop of bister's crozier iii. the luck of the illingworths iv. the fellmongers' goblet v. an ounce of radium vi. the bunyan ms. vii. the great seal viii. the lion and the sun ix. the horseshoe and the peppercorn x. the holbein miniature xi. the victoria cross xii. the last chronicle list of illustrations. "'may i ask what you expect to find here?'" _frontispiece_ "mr. kassala had then the pleasure of inspecting the crozier" _face p._ "he saw the figure pass a window" "she had shown him the secret of its hiding-place" "a cry of despair escaped him" "'you are a thief'" "'i nearly brushed against you'" "'hey! but what about that hole in the window?'" "'you may go on with your most interesting work'" "suddenly he rose, took the draft of the treaty, etc." "instead of the draft, there, on a purple velvet cushion, was the glittering order of the lion and the sun" "'softly, my lord,' said cunningham, 'i am covering you, you observe'" "there was the unmistakable sound of an approaching car" "lucas dropped it carefully into the pocket of his norfolk jacket" "he was walking in his sleep, conscious of nothing" "mr. marvell . . . thanked the company for the gift, which he would treasure" "'he's one of us,' the burglar explained. 'you see, we are men who have pretty well exhausted the pleasures of life. we've all been in the army or the navy, all of us are sportsmen, and we are bachelors; so there isn't much excitement left for us. we've started a burglars' club to help things on a bit. the entrance fee is a town burglary, the subject to be set by our president, and every other year each member has to keep up his subscription by a provincial line.'" the burglars' club: a romance in twelve chronicles. i. sir john carder's cigars. sir john carder, head of the well-known firm of carder and co., merchants, of manchester, sat in his warehouse. it was one o'clock in the morning. since half-past eight he had been alone in the building; and there in his snug private office, before a cheery fire and beneath electric light, sir john prepared to meet what he conceived to be his fate. he was insolvent. for some time past he had suspected that this was the state of things. now he was sure of it. the yearly balance sheet placed in his hand the previous day by his cashier, together with sundry figures from his own private ledger, placed the fact beyond the region of dispute. because he felt himself unequal to the situation, sir john had shut himself up in his office--and on the desk in front of him was a loaded revolver. sir john had strong antiquarian tastes. his bachelor home in withington was a positive museum of curiosities, from phoenician pottery down to files of english newspapers when the georges were kings. in his office he kept more personal relics of bygone times, and he was now sorting out the drawers of a big bureau, full of them. he had been severely trained in method by the most orderly of fathers, and had saved every written communication he had received since the age of seventeen. it is therefore quite understandable why his accumulation of letters was so large, and partially understandable how he came to have before him four bulky parcels of them, respectively endorsed with the names of mary, nell, kitty, and flip. the dates of these, be it at once understood, were not contemporaneous, though a careful investigator might have detected a little overlapping. the letters marked flip, it ought also to be stated, came first in point of time. sir john lingered long over these bundles, and read many of the letters. they interested him greatly, and in their perusal he almost forgot the evening's ultimate objective. connected with these particular letters was a batch of photographs, on which he gazed with tender reminiscence. then there were other matters of more public character--a missive, for instance, from the prime minister, informing him that his majesty intended to confer upon him the honour of knighthood, his commission in the volunteers, and some i.o.u.'s from a member of the house of lords. all these, and many others, sir john threw on the desk in front, ready for the final holocaust. with the feeling of a true collector he had not the heart to destroy them singly. then, from another drawer, he drew forth his balance sheets for twenty years, and glanced them through with almost as much interest as he had felt for his letters. once, it seemed, he had been worth close on a hundred thousand pounds. an infatuated belief in a south american concession, followed by a succession of lean years in trading, had frittered all this, and more, away. while he was gazing gloomily at these recording figures the door gently opened, and a man stood on the threshold--a man with his coat buttoned tightly up to the neck, with his cap brought down over his eyes, a man with a lamp--in short, a burglar. sir john stared at him dumbfounded. then he glanced at the revolver, but it was out of reach. the burglar followed his look, and caught up the weapon. now thoroughly aroused, the knight indignantly exclaimed: "you needn't add murder to your other crimes, my man." "sir," replied the burglar, "it would grieve me to have to anticipate your own intentions." sir john was struck, as much by the melodious voice of the burglar as by his answer. nevertheless, in his most magisterial voice he demanded: "what are you doing here?" "watching an elderly gentleman in an interesting situation." "you are impertinent!" flared sir john. "a thousand pardons. a burglar should, i believe, be merely brutal." "may i ask what you expect to find here?" continued the merchant. "we rarely keep enough money on the premises to make it worth your while." "postage stamps?" insinuated the other. sir john ignored the suggestion. "certainly not enough to make it worth your while. it may be a matter of penal servitude for you." "you open up a wide philosophic question," said the burglar suavely. "what is worth your while in this world? 'uneasy is the head that wears a crown.' you seem worried yourself, sir john--going through your papers at this time o' night, with a loaded pistol by you." the merchant was annoyed at the burglar's perspicacity, and he could not think of an effective rejoinder. his visitor advanced to the bureau. the photographs immediately engaged his attention. "ha!" he exclaimed approvingly. "but it really isn't fair. one, two, three, four. greedy man!" "will you kindly leave my private matters alone?" said the incensed knight. then, with a sudden inspiration, he made a reckless dash for freedom by grabbing at the telephone handle, turning briskly, and shouting down the receiver, "help! thieves! help!" but before he had called again the burglar had raised his revolver and had severed the connecting wire with a shot. "what an absurd idea," he said. "why, the operator isn't awake yet." sir john sank back into his chair, feeling it was very likely that the burglar would adopt some extremely unpleasant form of revenge for the want of confidence he had just displayed. but his visitor did nothing of the sort. he also seated himself, and addressed the knight in grave reproof. "if that's a sample of your best business method i'm surprised you've done so well in things," he said. then without waiting for a reply, "where do you keep your cigars?" the merchant stretched out his hand and passed a box to him. the burglar rolled one knowingly between his fingers, then replaced it, and gave the box back. "i don't care for tenpenny whiffs, sir john. i want your real cigars--such as you keep for your most eminent visitors--such as you should have offered me, as a matter of course." with a sigh sir john rose, unlocked a cabinet, and produced a box marked "topmann. sublimes. habana," which he handed to his visitor. the burglar examined it carefully before he expressed his satisfaction. then he took a cigar therefrom, inspected it with marked approval, lit it, and then dropped the box into a capacious pocket. "those are exceptionally fine cigars," the knight remarked, with a touch of resentment in his voice. "i know it. i've come all the way from town to fetch 'em," the burglar answered. sir john was surprised. "it's a long way and a dangerous mission for such an object." "isn't it?" said the burglar, with provoking complacency. "and may i ask how you come to know of them?" asked sir john, whose curiosity was aroused. "i don't mind telling you, since i've got them safe. you opened this box for a particular guest at the chamber of commerce dinner a month ago." "lord ribston?" "yes; he spoke about them at the burglars' club. it was my turn, and here i am--don't you see?" "the burglars' club!" exclaimed sir john, in much surprise. "i've never heard of such an institution. and pray what has lord ribston, an ex-cabinet minister, to do with it?" "he's one of us," the burglar explained. "you see, we are men who've pretty well exhausted the pleasures of life. we've all been in the army or the navy, all of us are sportsmen, and we are bachelors; so there isn't much excitement left for us. we've started a burglars' club to help things on a bit. the entrance fee is a town burglary, the subject to be set by our president, and every other year each member has to keep up his subscription by a provincial line. 'sir john carder's prime cigars by wednesday,' was the item fixed for me at our club meeting last week, and i've got 'em easy," said the burglar, with much professional complacency. "you astonish me," sir john said. "in fact, i've never heard a more amazing thing in my life. but isn't it rather risky, telling me all this?" "not a bit. no one would believe you if you split on us, and you wouldn't find our club if you wanted to. but you wouldn't split. a man who smokes topmann's sublimes couldn't do such a thing if he tried." sir john acknowledged this speech with a bow. "but i'm greatly surprised lord ribston should belong to such a club," he said. "no offence to you intended," he added hastily, feeling that his remark was hardly polite. "and no offence taken," said the burglar magnanimously. "do you know, sir john, there are a good many things going on in town that would be likely to astonish you a great deal more than this little club of ours if you only knew of 'em?" then, after a moment's pause, "as you've helped me so nicely in this cigar business i shall be delighted to do you a good turn. can i be of any use to you?" in saying this the burglar's eyes travelled involuntarily to the pile of papers on the desk. sir john's did the same, and he sighed. "well," he replied in an outburst of confidence that astonished himself, "i'm in a hole." "i thought as much," said the other. "i've been in a good many myself in my time, so perhaps i can help you to get out." the knight shook his head gloomily. "i don't think so. there's nothing for it but a bullet." "great scott!" exclaimed the burglar. he plunged his hand into his pocket, and produced the box of cigars. "try one of these," he said, offering them to sir john. "i can recommend 'em for big occasions." the merchant smiled sadly, but took the consolation offered. "you see," he explained, "it's my pay-day to-morrow. there's nine thousand pounds in cash wanted, and i've nothing towards it." "beastly awkward," said the burglar sympathetically. "i know what it feels like. tell 'em to call again." "i can't. if i don't pay i must file my petition." "file your banker!" exclaimed the other. "don't you do anything rash. there's many a man lived to regret ever dreaming of insolvency. i suppose you've realised all your assets?" "every one," said sir john, "except things like these," and he pulled out the i.o.u.'s from the pile of papers. the burglar looked at them. "well?" he said inquiringly. "you've had these three years. why the blazes haven't you got your money?" "the marquis of chillingford hasn't got any money," replied the knight sorrowfully. "i know he hasn't to-day, but he had yesterday, and he may have to-morrow. why, man, he scooped in a cool ten thou' when tadpole won the derby." "you don't say so!" exclaimed sir john. "but i do. if you will lend money to lords, why the blazes don't you take in the sporting papers, and keep an eye on your friends? tommy chillingford is far too busy a man to remember these bits of paper, but i'm sure nothing would have pleased him more than to have paid you back your money if you'd suggested it at the time. he's had a run of confounded bad luck since then, but he'll bob up serenely one of these days, and you take my tip and get in that time. what else have you in this line?" the knight opened a drawer, and therefrom produced a bundle of promissory notes and dishonoured cheques. "what a philanthropist you've been in your day!" said the burglar admiringly, as he examined them. "i wish i'd known you earlier. ah!" and he pulled out a draft. "what's wrong with this?" "that's another impecunious peer," said sir john. "he proposed me for the carlton," he added apologetically. "then may i be impecunious," replied the burglar. "dicky is a millionaire in south america." "i've not come across his name in that light," said the merchant dubiously. "he's changed it. calls himself thompson now. this thing is worth its face value, and that's two thousand pounds. why, man, you must tender it at once for payment." for a moment the knight's face brightened. "but wait a bit," continued the burglar. "there's a six-years' limit for presentation, isn't there? this was due march th, , and it's now--oh, great scott!--it's now march th, ! too late by a week! old man, you are unlucky! two thousand solid sovereigns missed by a week, and you wantin' 'em all the time. it's beastly hard lines. do have a light." but sir john was too limp to smoke. "a millionaire in south america!" he gasped. "why, he went out at my request to see if a concession i have there was worth anything. he reported adversely, and i've heard nothing about him since then." "what is your concession?" from the pile in front the knight found an imposing-looking parchment, decorated with the signature of a president and the seal of a state. he handed it to the burglar, who read it through carefully. then he laid it down. "sir john carder," he said gravely, as a judge addressing a prisoner, "you are an unmitigated donkey. you must forgive the insult, but really the provocation is simply awful. i've lived in the argentine, and if this concession of yours isn't the very one mr. thompson is now working for his own benefit i'm a double-dyed dutchman." sir john gazed at him open-eyed. "i can't believe you," he said. "don't, if it hurts you," the burglar replied; "but i'll make a proposal, to show you i have no doubts about it myself. if you'll have me as equal partner with you in this concession matter, and leave me to manage it my own way, i'll take over your pay-day to-morrow, and be jolly well pleased with the bargain." "you'll meet my payments to-morrow!" gasped sir john, who for some little time had been wondering whether he were awake or asleep, or in a post-mortem delirium consequent on a revolver shot. "you'll meet my payments!" once more the burglar pulled out the cigar box. "do have another," he said persuasively. sir john took one mechanically, but after trying in vain to light it he put it down. "oh, dicky thompson," soliloquised the burglar, "this explains a good deal. we all marvelled at your luck, for we knew you didn't deserve it. you once sold me a spavined mare. if this isn't retribution i don't know what is. now, carder, let's get to bed. you must give me a shakedown somewhere. we've to be very spry and early to-morrow. there's our partnership to fix up first thing, and i've to show these cigars at the burglars' club in the evening, and on saturday i sail for south america with this precious document and a sharp legal practitioner. and i'll take your revolver with me in case the lawyer gets hoarse. oh, i was forgetting. a telegram form, please. where do you bank? county and city. right. it's nine thousand you want, isn't it? right again." the burglar filled up the form, counted his words, took the necessary stamps from his pocket book, and affixed them. "now, we'll just drop this in the first pillar-box we meet, and by the time we've signed our partnership there'll be enough at the county and city to meet your payments." sir john looked at him admiringly. "are there many as smart as you at the burglars' club?" he asked. "smarter," said the burglar modestly. "i'm about the clumsiest of the lot. some day i'll tell you how ribston stole the bishop of bister's crozier, and then you'll know why he is generally all there in the house. but come along now. all right; you close up and put the lights out. i'll take a short cut, and be waiting outside." it was fully five minutes before sir john had locked up his papers and had put on his coat. as he emerged from his warehouse door he was promptly collared by a policeman, while another seized him firmly from behind. a third was in possession of the handcuffed burglar, and an inspector stood by with a box of cigars under his arm. "pore old pard!" said the burglar, with ostentatious sympathy. "they've nabbed us both at larst." "now come along quietly, will you?" said the first policeman to the struggling knight. "leave go!" shouted his indignant charge. "i'm sir john carder." the policeman laughed derisively, but something in the voice made the inspector flash his light on him. "sir john it is," he gasped. the policemen released their hold, and gazed ruefully at their late prisoner. "what do you mean by this, markham?" demanded sir john. "very sorry, sir. hope you'll overlook it. we caught this chap red-handed, and he said he was working the job with a pal who was tidying things up a bit." "well, he was quite right. he is a friend of mine." the inspector was more astonished than ever. "he came through one of the packing-room windows, sir john," he expostulated, "and he had a boxful of cigars in his pocket." "not full, inspector," said the burglar, sadly. "i told you my friend would explain matters, but you wouldn't listen." "release him," said sir john. the inspector unlocked the handcuffs, saluted stiffly, turned his men round, and was marching off with them, when the burglar called out, "my cigars, please." the inspector came back, handed the box over, saluted even more stiffly than before, and retired. sir john and the burglar watched the retreating escort out of sight. "it's been a narrow squeak for both of us to-night," said the burglar reflectively. "it has," replied sir john. then they turned the corner together. ii. the bishop of bister's crozier. the bishop of bister's dinner hour was eight o'clock. with unfailing regularity, when at the palace, he entered the drawing-room at . in order to collect his family and any guests. his annoyance may therefore be understood when at . on the night in question a servant brought him a card on which was written: "georgiowitch kassala, mush, l. van, khurd., craves audience." "the gentleman is in the examination room, my lord," the servant added. "a very awkward time for calling," said the bishop, consulting his watch unnecessarily. then, with a sigh, "ask your mistress to keep dinner back ten minutes." his lordship ambled to the examination room. a big man in a loose blue cassock-like garb rose at his entrance--a big-limbed, red-bearded man, with enormous eyebrows. he rose, bowed low, and sank on his knees, caught hold of the prelate's hand, caressed it gently, and finally kissed it. the bishop was embarrassed. he preferred that sort of thing to be done before an audience, when he would play his part with the best of them, but with no spectators at all he felt uncomfortable. "rise," he said gently. the red-bearded man obeyed. "i am--" he began. "i have come--ah, perhaps i had better show you my papers. i have a letter from my patriarch." this in excellent english, with just a trace of a foreign accent. from his capacious pocket he drew out a bundle of papers. he abstracted a letter therefrom, and handed it with evident pride to the bishop. it was apparently greek, yet it was not the language his lordship of bister had learnt at school and college. here and there he saw a word he almost knew, yet the next one to it was a perfect stranger. he glanced at the end. there was a big seal, an extraordinary date, an impossible name. his visitor seemed to appreciate the position. "our patriarch is old," he said. "he is no longer facile to read. i sometimes have difficulty myself, though i know his writing well. may i read it to you?" he did this with great fluency and emphasis; but the bishop understood nothing, though occasionally he thought he caught the sound of a fleeting particle. the letter was finished. "and this," said the reader, producing a blue document, "is more earthy." it was, being from scotland yard, informing all and sundry that the bearer, georgiowitch kassala, a christian priest, was authorised to collect subscriptions for the church of saint barnabas at mush, in khurdistan. "ah!" said the bishop, with perhaps a shade of disappointment in his voice. "i hope you have been successful." "your grace, i have travelled far, and not without recompense. to all i have said, 'if you give me money it is well, but if you do not it is still well.' some have replied, 'then we'll leave it at that,' but many have responded. see--here is my subscription book. i have begged from batoum to bister. i have received money in fifteen different coinages, of which the english is the finest and difficultest. perhaps my most interesting contribution is this--see, a kopeck from lassitudino hospidar, the heathen cook of a bulgarian wind-jammer, in memory of his maternal uncle, who died from the bite of a mad dog at varna. and now, being in bister, i thought, although it is late, i will at once call upon his grace the bishop, whose fame has reached our little town of mush, whose name is known by the deep waters of van." his lordship sighed. the west end of his cathedral was sinking below the surface. at the present rate of subsidence the dean had calculated that only the gargoyles would be above ground in the year . this had to be stopped. there was a matter of underpinning for a start, but it costs money to underpin the west end of a cathedral. and all the while the usual subscription lists had to be headed from the palace, and there was more than the usual depression in agriculture. the bishop felt that it was a singularly inappropriate moment to contribute to a church in khurdistan, yet it would not do to discount his own fair fame in that far distant land. he must think the matter over. meantime he would offer his guest such hospitality as would compensate for the smallness of his contribution. "my friend," he said, "your patriarch shall not appeal to me in vain, although, as you may well believe, i have many calls upon my purse. but we will speak again of this. you will, of course, spend the night under my roof, and now, if you will join us at dinner i shall be very pleased." the priest's face broke into smiles. "you are most kind," he replied. "i shall be glad." then he glanced doubtfully from the bishop's evening dress to his own raiment. "tut, tut," said his lordship pleasantly. "'a wash and a brush up,' as our saying is, and you'll be all right. come along." it was . when they entered the drawing-room. "my dear," said the bishop appeasingly to his hungry wife, "i have brought a visitor from mush, in asia minor. mr.--er--kassala--mrs. dacre--my daughters." the visitor bowed low before the ladies. the bishop thought he was going to kneel, so restrained him with a gentle hand. "here," he went on, "is my chaplain, mr. jones, who will be greatly interested to hear of your work at home. and this," he concluded, "is our friend, mr. marmaduke percy." then they moved to the dining-room. at dinner mr. kassala conducted himself with ease, and spoke with great fluency on many matters; so much so that mr. marmaduke percy, no doubt feeling that the asiatic was monopolizing too much attention, asked him somewhat abruptly where he had acquired his excellent english. "i had it from one of your countrymen, sir," replied mr. kassala pleasantly. "he was engaged in the smuggling of aniline dyes into persia. of course, i did not know his real occupation, or i should have had nothing to do with him. he pretended to import chocolates and acid drops and--barley-sugar, i think he called it--and such-like things; but they were all filled with aniline colours. in return for language lessons he got me to introduce him to the chief of the persian frontier customs, whom he bribed for his purposes. he made a large fortune before the shah discovered that the colours of the palace carpets were fading. my friend, the chief of the frontier customs, was beheaded, and three dyers were put into plaster of paris; but the englishman escaped. his name was benjamin watts. do you happen to know him, sir?" the episcopal circle was justly shocked at this recital of their countryman's perfidy, and mr. percy warmly repudiated any knowledge of mr. watts. the bishop found his guest profoundly interesting, and he twice made notes in his pocket-book about asiatic matters. the ladies left the room regretfully. the chaplain, who was of an extremely bashful temperament, now put a question that had been trembling on his tongue all the dinner hour. "is not your village somewhere near mount ararat?" "certainly. we can see its snow-capped summit quite plainly from mush. with a telescope we can even discern where the ark rested after the flood." the bishop looked at his guest reprovingly, for jokes on such matters grieved him deeply. "i mean it, your grace," said kassala. "surely you heard that the ark itself was discovered about three months ago?" "what?" exclaimed the bishop and the chaplain together. "the ark discovered?" "certainly," kassala replied. "my venerable patriarch had long suspected that remnants might be found preserved in the perpetual ice, so he sought the assistance of professor papineau, of prague, who was travelling in the east. after months of--what do you call it?--pro--yes--prospecting--this gentleman discovered an enormous chunk of ice bearing some resemblance in outline to the object of their search. the only possible way to remove the ice was by blasting, and professor papineau inserted a charge of dynamite. a fatal mistake was made in the size of the charge, with the result that the whole enormous chunk was blown to atoms. embedded in the fragments were found what were apparently portions of a leviathan ship, which my patriarch and professor papineau regard as being the veritable vessel built by noah. in no other way but by a universal deluge could it have got on mount ararat. but for the mistake made in the size of the charge the structure of the ark might have been at any rate partially preserved. it was a terrible misfortune, only to be compared to the destruction of the parthenon by the venetians. professor papineau was for a long fortnight ill in bed with remorse. he reads a paper on the whole incident at the forthcoming oriental congress at prague. "but perhaps i have been indiscreet. evidently the news has not reached your country, and the professor may wish to be the first to give it to the world. he might resent my telling you, and my patriarch would be grieved. i beg you to keep the information inviolate until you read of professor papineau's paper at prague." [illustration: "mr. kassala had then the pleasure of inspecting the crozier." (_p. ._)] the bishop and the chaplain nodded their assent. they seemed to have no words left in them. after breathing-space they both pulled out their pocket-books, and made some memoranda. later the conversation turned on vestments, and such matters. "do you know, your grace," said mr. kassala, "i have heard that you are the only bishop with a pastoral staff. is that so?" "no. it's the other way about. i'm the only bishop who hasn't one. i alone share with the archbishops the dignity of a crozier. the old crozier of the see is now kept in our chapter house. it was too old for use, so last year the ladies of the county presented me with a new one. if you like, i will show it you. mr. jones, i wonder if you would mind bringing my crozier from the library?" five minutes later the chaplain re-appeared, bringing a long case with him. this was duly opened, and mr. kassala had then the pleasure of inspecting the crozier presented by the ladies of the county. it was of ebony and gold, and was richly jewelled. it was a work of art well worth the encomiums bestowed upon it by the asiatic. "with your permission, your grace," he said, "i should very much like to make a water-colour sketch of it in order to show to my patriarch, who is deeply interested in such matters. he has a very fine crozier himself. would you allow me?" "by all means," said the bishop. "thank you. i will do it before breakfast in the morning. i am an early riser. i suppose i may find it in this room?" the bishop nodded, but mr. percy intervened. "allow me to take care of it over-night, bishop. i don't think you ought to leave such a valuable article about. there is always the possibility of burglars. i am told there is a gang in the district just now." the bishop smiled good-humouredly. "i don't think we need consider that eventuality," he said. "but as you like. now shall we join the ladies?" perhaps mr. kassala was hardly as entertaining in the drawing-room as he had previously been. he seemed a little preoccupied. at eleven the house party retired to rest, mr. percy carefully carrying to his room the case containing the crozier. [illustration: "he saw the figure pass a window." (_p. ._)] the reverend arthur jones, his lordship's chaplain, was a light sleeper at best, and to-night the excitement of mr. kassala's visit kept him particularly wide-awake. his thoughts were with the unhappy professor papineau. he was wondering whether it would not be kind to send him a letter of sympathy, when his attention was attracted by a noise outside his room. he jumped out of bed and opened his door quietly. someone was stealthily walking along the corridor. he saw the figure pass a window, and the moonlight fell upon mr. kassala. in great wonderment mr. jones followed. a turn of the passage brought the asiatic to the head of the great staircase, and here he stopped so suddenly that the chaplain almost ran into him. for two minutes mr. kassala paused in a state of indecision. then he advanced to a door, and gently opened it. mr. jones was paralysed with horror. it was the bishop's bedroom. what could mr. kassala want there? determined to save his beloved chief, mr. jones followed. as he entered the room there was an exclamation from the bishop. mr. jones turned involuntarily. as he did so, mr. kassala collided with him. the bishop sprang out of bed, and switched on the electric light. "mr. kassala!" he exclaimed. "and mr. jones! pray, what is the meaning of this?" "a thousand pardons, your grace," said the asiatic. "i have mistaken the room. i wanted mr. percy." at this moment the next door opened, and mr. percy appeared. "what's the matter?" he asked. "that's what i should like to know," said the prelate. "mr. kassala says he is looking for you." "indeed! what for?" "i--er--was wondering if you had a camel-hair paint brush?" said mr. kassala. "well, you needn't wonder any longer. i haven't," mr. percy replied. "and what do you want, mr. jones?" asked the bishop sternly. "nothing, my lord, nothing," said the unhappy jones. "i was only following mr. kassala." "then perhaps you'll follow him to bed," remarked the bishop drily. "i hope i shall have a more satisfactory explanation in the morning." here, no doubt feeling that the situation was hardly in keeping with his dignity, the bishop closed his door. mr. percy did the same, while mr. kassala and the shivering jones returned to their corridor. mr. kassala seemed rather amused than otherwise at the situation, but mr. jones was permeated with distress. "cheer up," said the asiatic, as he turned into his room. "if you will meddle in other people's business you're bound to suffer for it." there was no sleep for the unhappy chaplain that night. he was in love with the eldest miss dacre, who, he had reason to believe, returned his affection, and he had determined to see her father on the subject on the morrow. but after the events of that night such an interview was highly inadvisable. yet he had acted from the best and most creditable of motives. only by hearsay was he acquainted with the habits and customs of the east, but he felt sure that honest asiatics would not be found prowling about a palace in the midnight hours. what did mr. kassala want in the bishop's room? was it theft or--something worse? was this self-styled priest the emissary of some eastern organization bent upon destroying the flower of the western hierarchy? was he a thug? mr. jones shuddered at the possibilities of the situation. ha! what was that? again a creak outside. for a moment he listened breathlessly. then he opened his door again. good gracious! there was mr. kassala once more slinking down the corridor. hastily putting on his dressing-gown, mr. jones followed, with nerves strung to their highest tension. this time the asiatic walked with no uncertain step. as he passed the bishop's door the chaplain's heart gave a bound of relief. he stopped at mr. percy's door, and tapped gently. the light in the room was turned on, and the door opened by mr. percy himself. mr. kassala entered, and the door closed noiselessly behind him. for some minutes mr. jones stared at the door in blank amazement. then he turned round, and walked slowly back to his own room. in times of great perplexity he was accustomed to look for guidance to mr. paley's "evidences." mechanically he now took down the well-thumbed volume from its shelf, and opened it. he sat for many hours staring at the print without ever turning the page. "where is mr. kassala?" were the bishop's first words on entering the breakfast-room the next morning. although his lordship had betrayed no consciousness of his existence mr. jones felt that the inquiry was levelled at him. "i do not know, my lord," he answered. "john," said the bishop to his butler, "will you inform mr. kassala that breakfast is on the table?" in a few minutes john returned with the information that mr. kassala's room was empty, that his bed had not been slept in, and that nobody had seen him that morning. "this is very singular," said his lordship. then, after a pause, "one hardly likes to say so, but i must confess my confidence in the _bona fides_ of mr. kassala has been shaken. you spoke about burglars last night, marmaduke, in reference to my crozier, which seemed to have a peculiar attraction for mr. kassala. i hope it is safe." "i put the case on the top of my wardrobe last night, and it was there five minutes ago," said mr. percy. "i wonder what his object could be in coming here, and then leaving us in this extraordinary manner. perhaps you can throw some light on that very peculiar incident in the middle of the night, mr. jones?" "i heard a noise, my lord, and followed mr. kassala to see what he was doing. i haven't the faintest idea why he went into your room, unless it really was, as he said, that he had mistaken it for mr. percy's." "but what should he want with mr. percy?" asked mrs. dacre. "perhaps mr. percy will answer that?" said the chaplain, with much meaning in his voice. mr. percy fixed the eyeglass and looked coolly at the chaplain. "how on earth should i know, jones?" he said. with this oracular remark he returned to his egg. the chaplain was bursting with indignation at mr. percy's concealment of his midnight interview with mr. kassala. he longed to expose him, but shrank from the necessity of a painful scene. "mildred," said mrs. dacre suddenly, "let us look through the drawing-room silver at once. i hope the equestrian statuette of your father is safe." while the ladies were ticking off their household gods, mr. percy went to his room to pack, and mr. jones followed. "may i have his lordship's crozier?" asked the chaplain. "certainly. here you are. but you do look unhappy, jones! whatever is the matter?" mr. jones took the case without replying. "the key was in the lock last night," he remarked. "was it? then it must have dropped out somewhere. perhaps it's on the floor." but it did not seem to be there, although both mr. percy and the chaplain looked very carefully for it. "never mind," said the former, after five minutes' fruitless search. "it will probably turn up after i've gone. remember, that i'll be responsible for any damage." the chaplain was very pale. "mr. percy," he said, "i know of your midnight interview with mr. kassala." once more mr. percy fixed his monocle. "do you, old man?" he replied. "then i won't be the one to get you into trouble over it. you may rely on me. if you don't say anything, i shan't. now good-bye. it'll take me all my time to get my things together. my man's ill, and i'm out of practice." mr. jones left the room more bewildered than ever. his lordship, after leaving stringent instructions regarding mr. kassala, should he again appear, went by the noon train to town with mr. percy. mr. jones appeared singularly distracted that day, and miss dacre gazed at him with much concern. he spent the evening alone with paley, and about eleven o'clock, with firm determination on his face, he forced the lock of the crozier case. his worst fears were realised. in place of the crozier of ebony, gold, and jewels, the present of the ladies of the county, there reposed in the purple velvet lining a common bedroom poker! at that very moment the bishop of bister's crozier lay on the table of a london mansion. twelve men were gathered round it, complimenting their host upon it. their host, by the way, was lately his majesty's secretary of state for egypt. he was now attired in a long blue cassock-like garb, such as asiatic priests may wear. "by the burglary of the bishop of bister's crozier lord ribston's subscription has been paid for the next two years," said one of the men, making a cypher note in a book. "hear, hear! bravo! good for the ribston pippin!" was the general chorus. "gentlemen," said the man in the priestly garb, rising to his feet amidst applause, "i am proud once more to have been able to fulfil the mandate of our club. with your permission, i will now pack up the bauble so that it may be returned by the midnight express in order to ease the mind of a most worthy man, his lordship's chaplain. but before i do so i wish to propose a new member--mr. marmaduke percy. you will recollect that his name was brought forward twelve months or so ago, but he was not considered equal to the demands that are occasionally made upon the members of this honourable fraternity. i have reason to believe that we did mr. percy an injustice. yesterday, at any rate, he saw through my disguise, and divined my purpose. he could easily have betrayed me. but he behaved in a sportsmanlike way, and for that reason i now propose that he should become one of us. major armytage is seconding. you will have an opportunity of voting for mr. percy at our next meeting. is there any further business before us, mr. secretary?" the secretary consulted his book. "i note that mr. danby travers' subscription is due," he said. "good old danby! pile it on! make it thick enough!" was the varied cry. "gentlemen," said the secretary, "we meet on tuesday next, and mr. danby travers will then be asked for the black pearl of agni, the property of the illingworths." iii. the luck of the illingworths. danby travers was annoyed. he was one of the founders of the burglars' club. his entrance fee had been the temporary abstraction from the crown jewels of the koh-i-noor itself. two years ago he had kept up his membership by the burglary of the duchess of guiseley's emeralds; and now, by the unkindness of fate or the simple cussedness of his committee, he could only renew his subscription by purloining the black pearl of agni. it showed the folly of becoming the champion jewel burglar of the club. of course it was pure coincidence, for only four people knew that he was in love with mary illingworth. mary knew it, because he had told her; lord and lady illingworth, because they had been fatuously consulted in the matter; and he, danby travers, because of a stuffy, despairing feeling somewhere in his chest from the moment of awakening in the morning down to the last gleam of consciousness at night. but the burglars' club did not know it, nor did they know that lord illingworth had told him that in future he was not to cross the baronial threshold; and all because, despite his brilliant record in india and at hurlingham, he, danby travers, was as poor as a chapel mouse. therefore he received the mandate of the club with something less than his usual urbanity. but reflection brought a mephistophelean suggestion of comfort. he had been unable to rob lord illingworth of his fairest daughter. he would at any rate purloin his most valued jewel. the black pearl of agni was world-renowned. during the military operations in the western deccan in it had been looted by a certain major illingworth, of the bengal native infantry, from a rich temple dedicated to the hindoo god of fire. from that day his fortunes had prospered amazingly. promotion came for the asking; wealth by marriage and bequest. influence, social and political, had followed, and a title. succeeding generations had added to the score. two descendants of the sepoy major had attained cabinet rank, and the present peer had won the derby. the luck of the illingworths had become proverbial. [illustration: "she . . . had shown him the secret of its hiding-place." (_p. ._)] the jewel was kept at knowlesworth. travers knew the place well. he had spent a fortnight there, and there he had made love to mary illingworth. she had shown him the pearl; and, because he was to be her husband, had shown him the secret of its hiding-place. little did he think at the time that the next occasion on which he entered that room would be as a burglar--an amateur one, it is true, but still a burglar. no wonder that danby travers was annoyed. the only justification for his conduct that he could think of was that the temporary loss of the pearl would probably have a beneficial effect on lord illingworth's character. he had received the secretary's intimation on the friday morning. he had to show the pearl at the next meeting of the club--on the following tuesday night. that gave him four days for the business. knowlesworth was sure to be full of visitors, for lord illingworth had succeeded a late master of balliol in entertaining the most distinguished week-end parties in the country. travers turned to the _post_, certain to find the list. ah! here it was: "lord and lady illingworth are having a large party at knowlesworth, entertaining the bohemian ambassador and countess polsky, the duke of strathpeffer, the marquess and marchioness of bridlington, the dean of penzance, professor rawson, and others." "what a crew!" thought travers. "wouldn't strathpeffer be pleased if i came a cropper! i wonder he can go there after mary's last refusal. i'll wait till they thin a bit. some are sure to go on monday, so monday night is my best time for the job. now for bradshaw." on the following monday night, travers took a second-class ticket at charing cross in order to minimise the chance of running against friends. from sheer curiosity he chose a compartment in which two singular-looking men were already seated. the weather was by no means cold, yet they were swathed in winter clothing. thick mufflers were round their necks. their faces were partly hidden by the wraps, and partly shaded by the broad brims of silk hats built about the time of the crimean war. but their race was unmistakable--to travers at least. they were hindoos--the tall one probably a man of caste, the podgy person possibly a baboo. in his interest at coming across these strange people travers forgot his ultimate objective. he settled himself in his corner, prepared either to join in conversation with, or merely to watch, his quaint fellow-travellers. on his entrance they had turned their eyes upon him, but they had resumed their conversation. as the train got on its way they raised their voices, and, confident of not being understood, they spoke with absolute unrestraint. travers, with knowledge derived from ten years' service in the madras and indian staff corps, was easily able to follow their talk. "at last," said the tall man, as the train moved out of the station. "at last," repeated the other. "buck up. now is the conclusion of your spacious quest." "say rather the beginning. so far it has been easy, despite the horror of mingling with these barbarians. to lose caste was foreseen, but now we enter upon the unknown." "nevertheless, i take the liberty of emphasising the necessity of bucking up. to-morrow you will be a thrice happy man, and i will weave a garland of marigolds for your honourable head. gosh!" this as the train entered a tunnel with a hideous shriek. "it is a taste of the underworld," he added. the tall man shuddered, and remained silent. as the train emerged his companion gave a very creditable imitation of the whistle and the tunnel. the tall man smiled sadly. "ramma lal," he said, "i envy you your merry disposition. it was in a good moment that i met thee in bombay, _baboo-jee_. you have served me well in guiding me hither, and in enlivening me on the long journey." "your honour is pleased to be excessively gracious," said the baboo with absurd complacency. "indeed, my tip-top spirits have been of much service to myself and many other honourable gentlemen, and have been extraordinarily admired by english ladies." he pulled out his watch. "in the space of half an hour we shall have arrived at our long-intended destination." "so soon? show me the plan again to refresh my memory." the baboo produced a piece of paper, over which they bent their heads. "here is the railway station at which we shall dismount. this pink streak is the highway-road along which we shall travel, eventually reaching the big brass gates belonging to ancestral home. a little beyond is a diminutive wall, which we ascend and descend. then we step across the park and round the lake. here and here. this sepia mark is water. now we are in the pleasure garden. this is the hinder part of the house. here is the right wing. the fifth window in the second row. that is your bull's eye." "go on," said his companion, gloomily. "your honour will divest yourself of polished hat and other garments, which you will transfer to my care in summer house. here, behold it, painted in vermilion. you will climb up to the window. inferior but friendly servant has arranged that it shall open easily. once in the room the deed is as good as accomplished. you know the hiding-place of the jewel." travers started. "the hiding-place of the jewel!" "yes," said the gloomy hindoo; "i know it. but krishna bürkut knew it twenty-five years ago, and the swâmi râm nâth knew it fifty years ago, and yet another swâmi seventy-five years ago, but none of these restored it to the temple of agni. all failed in their quest, and never regained their caste. i too shall fail." "allow me to have the felicity of indicating at least one point of difference between your honour and gentlemen mentioned," replied the baboo. "your honour has intelligent assistant, while enumerated catalogue had not. have the kindness to point out fly in our ointment. it is distinguished by its absence. the jewel is yours." "perish the jewel!" cried the other hindoo in a sudden outburst of fury. "why couldn't the _huzoor_ have left it alone, or have taken another jewel? why should he have singled out the one above all others necessary to the happiness of agni? and why should i, of all the priests of the temple, be chosen to restore the sacred stone? here, with five thousand miles of space between us, i declare to you, ramma lal, i do not fear the wrath of agni. i call him humbug. i read shakespeare. i write him an ass. i am doubtful even of vishnu and siva." travers paid no attention to ramma lal's reproachful reply. he was lost in amazement. here, on the very night he had chosen for purloining the jewel, two other men were on the same errand. stop. there was a reason for their date. they had mentioned twenty-five, fifty, and seventy-five years. it was evidently an anniversary. every twenty-five years an attempt had to be made to restore the jewel to the temple of agni. three attempts had already been made in vain, and now, on the hundredth anniversary of the theft by major illingworth, another attempt was in progress. at any rate, he was forewarned. the house was a mile and a half away from the station by the main road on which the hindoos were going. he knew a cut across the fields which shortened the distance by half a mile. he would gain ten minutes. in that ten minutes he had to obtain the pearl. the train pulled up at knowlesworth station. the two hindoos stepped out. travers followed. he watched them start along the road; then he briskly cut across country. the church clock struck eight as he reached the terrace in front of the hall. from the beginning he had matured only one plan of campaign. he knew the rules of the house, and he would take advantage of them. from eight to nine the men-servants were busy in the dining-room. anyone could open the main outer door and enter. he might, of course, be seen, and in this eventuality travers relied upon his being known to allay suspicion. he was in evening dress, and temporarily, at any rate, would strike a servant as being one of the guests. the nominal dinner-hour was eight. it had been his intention to enter at . in order to allow for any delay either on the part of the kitchen or the guests. dinners at knowlesworth were notoriously unpunctual, and if he entered now he might run into the house party or meet stragglers on the stairs. he must wait. but the hindoos were marching down the road. each instant brought them nearer. in ten--no, in eight minutes--they would be in the garden. yet he dare not enter. he waited impatiently in the shadow of the great portico. it was now . . he would make an attempt. he slowly pushed back the heavy door, and entered the vestibule. this was cut off from the hall by big glass doors, and then by heavy curtains. still more carefully he opened the inner door, and then quickly closed it again. through the opening had come the sound of voices and laughter. they were gathered in the hall before the fire, waiting for the summons to dinner. so there he stayed, cursing the unpunctuality of the house, and unquietly reflecting that a casual remark as to the present state of the weather might lead to the glass door being opened and himself ignominiously disclosed. and mary would witness his humiliation. nay, she might even be the innocent cause of it. she was within half a dozen yards of him now, separated only by some glass and a curtain. yet he could not speak to her--could not even see her. ah! that was her laugh. and that strathpeffer's raucous voice. hang strathpeffer! it was now . . the hindoos were in the garden. the situation was distracting. at any moment they might enter the temple room. ah! there was the sound of movement within. the guests trooped past the door. their voices died away. all was still. it was nineteen minutes past eight. travers hesitated no longer. he unbuttoned his top-coat, and, with cap in hand as though he were a guest just come in from a stroll before dinner, he opened the hall door. no one was in sight. he crossed the hall, and stepped lightly up the stairs. at their head he passed a maid. she certainly took him for a guest. he went straight down the great corridor, and then branched to the left. it was the third door ahead. he pulled back the panel as mary had shown him, undid the bolt from within, and entered. the room was in darkness. he struck a light, half expecting to find the hindoo disclosed. no, he was alone, and the pearl still there. it was a room without furniture. in the centre was a replica of the great idol of agni at the temple from which the pearl had been looted. the god sat there, smug, cross-legged, and hideous. the eyes fascinated the beholder. the left one was of marble; the right made of a stone worth a prince's ransom--the one known throughout the world as the black pearl of agni. at the god's knees, their holders resting on the floor, were two gigantic candles. travers lit them. [illustration: "a cry of despair escaped him." (_p. ._)] then he stepped quickly to the idol, and sought the left hand of the god. he pressed the nail of the fourth finger. the god's right eyelid lifted, and the complete stone was disclosed. travers quickly abstracted it, released the lid, and put the pearl in his pocket. his object was accomplished. but what was that? listen. there was a sound at the window. the hindoo was there--beaten by half a minute. travers turned to the door. then, impelled by an overpowering curiosity to see the end of the drama, he slipped to another window, and got behind the curtain. there was a faint whistle from below. hang it, what a fool he'd been! the baboo had seen the momentary disarrangement of the curtain, and had observed his figure against the light, and now he was alarming his friend. but the latter heeded not. perhaps he was too excited to understand, or even to hear him. the sash was raised, the curtain pulled back, and the hindoo stepped into the room. he was almost naked, and his bare limbs shone with a coating of oil. he took one step forward, and looked up eagerly into the idol's face. then a cry of despair escaped him. the stone for which he had travelled five thousand miles was not there. he had lost his caste. it could never be regained, since he had failed in his quest. never again could he see his native land. under the crushing blow he sank, a comatose heap, on the floor. the minutes passed, and travers shifted uneasily behind the curtain. there were sounds from the garden--then approaching footsteps in the corridor. the door was flung open, and lord illingworth burst into the room, revolver in hand. the duke of strathpeffer followed with other guests, and some footmen. the hindoo stared dully at them, but did not move. he was promptly seized. "the pearl--where is it?" demanded lord illingworth. the hindoo did not reply. lord illingworth pointed to the empty socket, and repeated the question, but the hindoo merely shook his head. "search him," said lord illingworth. he was searched, but, of course, nothing was found. lord illingworth stood over him. "where is the pearl?" he thundered, but again the hindoo shook his head. "bring in the other man," said lord illingworth. the baboo entered, limp and crestfallen, in charge of two stablemen. a boy carried a silk hat and some winter clothing. "ask him what he has done with the pearl," said the peer. ramma lal put the question. "i have not got it. it was not here when i came." the baboo repeated this to lord illingworth. "it is a lie," he replied. "it was here an hour ago. i saw it myself." "the _sahib_ knows that thou liest," said ramma lal to his friend. "tell him a finer tale." but the hindoo only protested his innocence. "what does he say?" demanded lord illingworth. "he says," replied the facile baboo, "that no sooner had he taken the pearl than there was the flash of fire and much smoke. when it cleared away the stone had vanished. doubtless agni the god had come for his own." lord illingworth blazed with fury. "he has swallowed it," he said. "we shall have to cut him open." ramma lal translated this terrific threat. the hindoo gave a yell. despair lent him strength. with a serpentine twist he slid from the grasp of one of his captors and knocked up the arm of the other. the window was still open. he sprang through it into the darkness of the night. lord illingworth ran to the window, fired blindly, and then rushed from the room. the others followed. only the baboo, his two captors, and the boy with the clothes remained. "come along," said one of the grooms. "stay for one moment, i beseech you," said ramma lal, "and let me worship agni the god." "none of yer blarney," returned the man. but the other, who was of a romantic temperament, said, "wot's the odds? let the heathen do it if he wants." "you see, gentlemen," said the baboo eagerly, "it is my very last opportunity. i shall be lifelong imprisoned for the inauspicious event of this evening. it is positively my last appearance in the open. let me worship agni as i do in my own land. no englishman has yet witnessed the entire ceremony. it shall not take long. i will compress my supplications. five minutes will be ample dispensation." the grooms looked at each other. their curiosity settled the matter. "we'll give you four minutes, so look sharp," said one. "thank you," replied ramma lal gratefully. "agni will bless you for your beneficence." the men released their hold. one closed the window, the other shut the door, and placed himself before it. ramma lal took off his silk hat, muffler, and coat. he advanced to the idol and salaamed low three times. then he raised his eyes and sang. travers knew the song. it was a ribald ditty of the bazaars, and it had as much to do with the worship of agni as with the laws of gravitation. he watched the baboo with increasing interest. he had evidently some ulterior object in view, but what was it? ah! ramma lal had gradually approached the idol. still singing, he had bowed his head till it had almost touched agni's knees. travers hardly saw the movement of the hands. only an oriental could have done it so swiftly. the two candles were suddenly extinguished, and the room was in absolute darkness. with loud imprecations the two grooms rushed to where the baboo had been--to collide with each other, and incidentally bring down the huge candlesticks. then recovering, they dashed about the room in search of their prisoner, only to seize the boy who had the clothes. finally one of them struck a light. they were alone with the boy. the window was again wide open. the men leaned out. there was no moon. the lights of the searchers flashed in the distance. they turned blankly to each other. "there'll be pop to pay for this," said the boy, who was still suffering from rough usage in the dark. "you'll both jolly well get sacked." "all your blamed fault for lis'nin' to his tommy rot," said the one man savagely to his companion. "who'd have thought he was so cunnin'?" rejoined the other. "wot's the good of talkin' here? come out an' look for him. he may have broke his neck," he added hopefully. again the lights flashed in the garden, and then gradually extended beyond. travers waited until he was sure there was no one below. then he emerged from his recess, and followed the indians through the window. leaving the park to the searchers, he kept to the main avenue, and soon gained the high road. a ten-mile walk brought him to dorton junction, where he just missed the last train to town. the sun was high when danby travers reached his rooms, and it was late in the afternoon when he awoke. the morning papers and his letters were at his bedside. he at once opened one of the former, curious to see if there was any reference to the events of the previous night. good heavens! what was this? "burglary and fire at knowlesworth. the illingworth pearl stolen. the hall gutted. "knowlesworth hall, the historic seat of the illingworths, was last night the scene of two extraordinary events. "lord and lady illingworth were entertaining one of their famous week-end parties at dinner when a daring and successful attempt was made to steal the celebrated pearl of agni, the largest known black pearl in the world. "a native indian was found in a summer house in the italian garden by a servant. as several determined attempts to steal the pearl had already been made, the safety of this remarkable jewel was at once called into question. lord illingworth and his guests hurried to the temple room, where the great pearl was kept, and there found another native, who was promptly secured. the pearl was missing, and the strictest search failed to bring it to light. it is believed that the thief has swallowed it, a fact which it is to be hoped that the x-rays will be able to demonstrate. "owing to gross mismanagement somewhere, the two natives escaped from custody, and it was midnight before they were again apprehended--one of them at dorton, in a state of collapse from fear and cold; the other at lingfield, defiant, but suffering from a sprained ankle. they will be brought up to-morrow at the dorton petty sessions. "scarcely had lord illingworth and his guests retired to rest after an exciting evening than they were again alarmed, this time by an outbreak of fire in the temple room. its cause is unknown, but the flames, assisted by a high wind, spread with extraordinary rapidity, in spite of the prompt measures taken by the hall fire brigade. engines quickly arrived from lingfield and dorton, but the supply of water was totally inadequate, and it soon became evident that the whole structure was doomed. at the moment of telegraphing, the fire was raging furiously, but all sleeping in the house had been rescued without injury. "in one night lord illingworth has lost his great family jewel and his ancestral seat. the 'luck of the illingworths' seems to have deserted him. "it is a remarkable coincidence that a fire consumed the hindu temple of agni the night that the pearl was taken from it by major illingworth in . "agni is the hindu god of fire." "thank heaven, mary's safe!" ejaculated travers. "i hope she hasn't had a great fright." then, after a pause, "and ramma lal caught, after all! he deserved a better fate. what an uncommon good thing i got the pearl! if i hadn't taken it, the indians would have been well on the way to bombay with it by now, and if neither of us had taken it, the stone might have been burnt up. would it, though? there mightn't have been a fire at all. rummy notion that agni should blaze the whole show in revenge for my desecration! it shan't interfere with my feelings of satisfaction. i'm a public benefactor--an illingworth benefactor, anyway. i shall explain this to my lord at an early date. hullo, what's this? a lawyer's letter. i can tell 'em by the smell. what's he threatenin' this time?" but it wasn't a threat. it was simply an intimation that under the will of colonel thomas archer, a distant relative lately deceased, he, danby travers, succeeded to the whole estate, a bequest made "on account of intrepidity shown in the recent iráwadi campaign." the income therefrom, the solicitor added, was estimated at about £ , per annum, and he would be pleased to have an expression of mr. danby travers's wishes with respect to the same. £ , a year! travers jumped out of bed and executed a series of gyrations. £ , a year! that meant mary. but did it? it was a fortune to him, but how would lord illingworth view it? well, if he didn't like it he needn't. mary and he were now independent of everybody. he made his way to the burglars' meeting in a blur of happiness. he was rather late. other men were there already, and they one and all congratulated him. "aren't you rather premature?" he asked. "you haven't seen the pearl yet." "bother the pearl," said altamont. "we mean the title." "what the deuce are you drivin' at?" "haven't you seen the papers?" "crowds of 'em, and lawyers' letters too. my head's buzzin' with 'em. what is it this time?" "your cousin tumbled down some stone steps in vienna last night, and you are lord travers now--that's all!" danby sat down. this final stroke of fortune was too much for him. "i can't say i'm sorry," he blurted at length. "bertram wouldn't have been sorry if it had been me. and i'm glad about the title because of----. here, i say, you fellows, what's come over the world since last night?" "the black pearl of the illingworths has changed hands, we hope," said the secretary, who wanted to start the business of the evening. "the black pearl has, and the luck of the illingworths went with it. they've had a fire, and i've got a bequest and a title. perhaps you fellows'll be more superstitious in future. that's what brought my luck, anyway." saying which, he produced the black pearl of agni. to his unbounded joy and immense surprise lord illingworth received the missing stone from london during the course of the next day. the indians had been remanded for a week, pending further inquiries, and as they had obviously not stolen the jewel after all, lord illingworth declined to prosecute, and they were released from custody. an unknown friend interested himself in the natives. one of them, a baboo, was sent back to bombay by an early steamer. the other, who refused to return to india, thanks to the same unknown benefactor, was put in the way of earning his living by teaching hindustani. he has since gone over to the mohammedan faith. with repossession of the pearl, good fortune came once more to the illingworths. in making excavations consequent on rebuilding the hall, a coal seam was discovered, which eventually doubled the family wealth. the black pearl of agni is now protected from burglars by many quaint electrical conceits. when the next anniversary comes round any indian visitors will have a very lively time of it. later on in the year a marriage took place between mary, younger daughter of lord and lady illingworth, and danby, ninth baron travers, a nobleman who had been mentioned in despatches in the iráwadi campaign, and who was not unknown at hurlingham. his clubs were the marlborough, brooks's, and the burglars'. iv. the fellmongers' goblet. "mr. septimus toft,--sir," the letter ran. "the 'tecs are on the scent. if you want any further information meet me at the blue lion, monument, at nine-thirty to-morrow evening without fail.--yours, etc., j. driver." mr. toft stared at the letter with much disgust and more alarm. it was certainly a regrettable communication for a commercial magnate, a magistrate, and a pillar of society to be obliged to attend to. it would have troubled him had it come before bowker had absconded, but now it was much worse. bowker would have shared the anxiety, and interviewed "j. driver." he could have guessed on what particular scent the detectives were engaged, and his fertile ingenuity would have suggested an obvious way of circumventing them, whereas mr. toft's unaided vision saw none. "nine-thirty to-morrow evening." mr. toft smiled feebly at the humour of the situation. to-morrow evening at eight o'clock he was advertised to take the chair at a young men's mutual improvement meeting, and the gentleman who was to deliver the evening's lecture occupied the post of his majesty's solicitor-general. "he will probably have to prosecute me on behalf of the crown," thought toft; so he determined to propitiate him by special attention to his discourse and by frequent applause. on the following evening mr. toft made his way to the blue lion. the lecture had not been a success as far as he was concerned. try as he might, he could not concentrate his thoughts on the subject. he had applauded at wrong places. once a titter from the audience had resulted, and the solicitor-general had turned on him a look of pained surprise. in the agony of the moment he had pulled the table-cloth, and the glass of water thereon had upset, incidentally splashing the lecturer. the titter developed into a laugh, through which a legal glare had petrified him. at nine o'clock the lecture was over. the solicitor-general listened in silence to mr. toft's apologies, and then bowed coldly. mr. toft felt that he was lost indeed if it came to the law courts, and hurried away to his appointment in a state of feverish anxiety. he had come to the lecture in a soft wide-awake hat and the oldest top-coat in his wardrobe. he now donned a woollen muffler, and put on a pair of smoked glass spectacles. this was his idea of disguise. it was simple, but ineffective; for the highly-respectable mutton-chop whiskers, the weak mouth, and cut-away chin were as noticeable as ever. his most casual acquaintance would have recognised him, and would merely have concluded that he was engaged in something disreputable. at the monument he dismissed his cab, and made his way to the blue lion inn. it was a fifth-rate house in a fourth-rate street. mr. toft had never been in such an unpleasant place in his life, and he groaned as he thought that the exigences of commerce had driven him there in his old age without even the excuse of foreign competition. it was . when he entered the inn, and he hoped that the quarter-hour he was late would impress j. driver with the conviction that he, toft, was not at all particular about keeping the appointment. apparently it did strike mr. driver in this way, for as the be-muffled and be-spectacled gentleman in the soft hat entered the tap-room a sarcastic voice loudly expressed the hope that he hadn't permanently injured his constitution by running. mr. toft was grieved at the publicity given to this remark. he sat down by the speaker, and murmured excuses; but mr. driver, if it were he, would have none of them. "when i says . i mean . , and not . , nor . , nor yet . . if my time won't suit you, yours won't suit me. i'm off," he said. mr. toft was alarmed. "sit down, please," he said, clutching the rising figure. "i'm sure i'm very sorry. i had made an engagement before your letter came, and i couldn't very well put it off. what will you have to drink?" he added adroitly. "gin and bitters," was the prompt response, and mr. driver sat down. mr. toft now had leisure to take stock of his surroundings. j. driver was a dark-haired man with a bold, clean-shaven chin. his voice was deep and emphatic, and his eye was piercing. he was broad and muscular, and would probably be a good boxer, thought mr. toft. he glanced at the drinkers at the other tables, but finding their eyes were fixed stolidly on him he looked elsewhere. he had noticed eyes and noses--that was all. "now to business," said mr. driver. "you know my name, and i know yours. that's where we're equal. you're in a beastly hole, and i aren't. that's where the difference comes in." "i don't understand," said mr. toft. "in fact, i haven't the faintest idea what you are alluding to." "garn," said j. driver, with a dig in the ribs that made him jump. "garn! you old dodger. what about government contracts?" "what about them?" asked mr. toft, shrinking from his familiarity. "what about them?" echoed the other. "what about work you never did, for which you've got false receipts? what about contracts executed with inferior stuff? what about commissions to officials, tips to men, and plunder all round?" mr. toft paled at this catalogue of his business achievements. "you are misinformed," he said. "my firm does not do such things." j. driver thrust his tongue into his cheek. "then how did you get your contracts, septimus?" he asked. "by honest competition in the open market," replied mr. toft loftily. mr. driver laughed derisively. "lord!" he said at last, "i wish i had your artless style. stick to it, mister, in the prisoner's dock. it may pull you through." "i presume you haven't asked me here simply for the purpose of insulting me?" said mr. toft, with some dignity. "what a man you are!" mr. driver replied, with unstinted admiration. "you must be a thought-reader, septimus--a bloomin' thought-reader. you're quite right; i haven't. i've come for the loan of a key, and one of your visitin' cards." "a key?" said mr. toft, relieved, though much surprised. "the key of the plate chest of the fellmongers' company." mr. toft raised his eyebrows. "you're joking," he said. "do i look like a joker?" replied his companion fiercely. "do i look like a joker?" he repeated loudly, banging his fist on the table so that all turned their eyes in the direction of the noise. mr. toft implored him to restrain his feelings. "don't rouse 'em then!" said the man. "have you got the key on you?" "er--yes," responded mr. toft. "then hand it over." "my dear sir," began the unhappy septimus. "i'm not your dear anything," said the other; "so don't you pretend that i am. i'm as meek and pleasant as a cow to those that treat me fair and square, but when i'm irritated i'm a roarin' bull. hand me the key." "i can't." "you can't. right'o!" said mr. driver, rising. "at present the admiralty only suspect. to-morrow they'll know, and you'll know too, septimus toft, when you get five years without the option of a fine." "please, please don't speak so loudly," begged mr. toft, beside himself with fears and anxieties. then, to put on time whilst he collected his scattering thoughts, "what do you want to do with the key?" "wear it with my medals, of course," said the man sarcastically. "if you want further pertic'lers you won't get 'em, but i promise to return the key within forty-eight hours, and all your plate'll be there." "it's a very extraordinary idea," said mr. toft incredulously. "it is; and i'm a very extraordinary man, and you're a bloomin' ordinary one. will you let me have the key and a visitin' card, or not?" "if anyone asks how you got them what will you say?" "say i took 'em from you while you were asleep in an opium den, or when we met in a tunnel--any blessed thing you like." mr. toft scarcely heard him. he was thinking over the pros and cons of the situation as rapidly as his nervous system would allow. he was treasurer of the fellmongers' company, and he alone had the key of the plate safe. in the ordinary course of events he would be elected prime warden next year, but if there were any trouble about the plate he might not be. better that, though, than a public exposure of his business methods. the key might have been stolen from him. everyone lost keys now and then. of course no one could think that the theft was to his advantage, and it would save him from all bother at the admiralty--but would it? "if i let you have the key," he asked, "how do i know that you won't come in a similar way again?" "give it up," said mr. driver. "never was good at riddles, and i didn't come here to be asked 'em neither. what the blazes do i care about what you'll know or what you won't know? i know what i know, and that's enough to account for your hair bein' so thin on top. if you don't hand me that key without any more rottin' i'll just drop this in the first pillar-box i come across." he pulled out a fat blue envelope and flourished it in front of mr. toft's blinking eyes. it was addressed to the financial secretary of the admiralty, and was marked on one side "important," and on the other "private and urgent." there was an immense seal with the impression of a five-shilling piece. "your death-knell's inside," said mr. driver. "hear it rattle," and he shook the envelope in mr. toft's ear. "but it wants a stamp, or the government might not take it in. on such trifles do our destinies depend, septimus. have you got a stamp?" he put an anticipatory penny on the table. mr. toft hesitated no longer. from one end of his watch-chain he detached a gold key, which he handed covertly to driver. "now your visitin' card." mr. toft produced one, and handed it over. "you'll give me that letter now," he pleaded. j. driver shook his head, tore up the packet, and put it into the fire. "better there," he said oracularly. "now, toft, my boy, don't worry. you'll have that key back by friday, and all your spoons'll be in the box. if you don't interfere you'll never hear of me again, and the admiralty won't either; but if you take one step behind my back i'll do all i've threatened, and a lot more, and you'll be building portland breakwater on christmas day. by-bye, septimus." with this mr. driver rose, and stalked out of the room. after a modest interval mr. toft followed. at a.m. on the following morning the bell of the fellmongers' company pealed vigorously. the porter hurried to answer it, and found a lady on the doorstep. she was neatly dressed, and was strikingly handsome. she might be twenty-five years old. a boy carrying a portfolio and a strapped-up easel stood behind. "is this the fellmongers' hall?" she asked. "it is, miss." "i want to know if you will be good enough to allow me to copy a painting you have on your walls? i do not know if it is necessary to have any written permission, or where to apply for it." "the 'all is open to the public under my supervision," said the porter pompously. "come inside, please." "thank you," replied the lady. "put those things down, johnnie. that's right. i'll let you know when to come for them. good-morning." "we don't often 'ave hartists 'ere, miss," remarked the porter, "and i sometimes thinks as pictures is wasted on gentlemen dinin' with city companies. they ain't runnin' pertic'ler strong on hart just then. which one is it you want?" "i don't know the title," replied the artist, "but i shall know the picture when i see it. it's a portrait." "p'raps nicholas tiffany," the porter suggested, "the first warden of the company, painted by 'olbein. born . lived to the ripe age of ninety-four, and died regretted by his sovereign and his country. his estates were seized by his creditors. here he is, miss." the man opened the door of the livery room, the walls of which were hung with many pictures. "this is tiffany," he said, pointing to a disreputable-looking portrait. the lady looked at it doubtfully. "the painting i want is the one nearest to the door of the plate room," she said. "then it's a good bit away from it, miss. the plate room is off the banqueting 'all, and they are all windows on that side. the pictures are opposite." "dear me," said the lady. "how very stupidly i have been informed. please show me the room." the porter led the way, and threw open the door with pardonable pride. "the banqueting 'all of the honourable company of fellmongers!" he exclaimed. it was the famous hall in which heads of city companies and ruling sovereigns are intermittently entertained. down one wall were ranged portraits of eminent fellmongers. the other three were pierced by doors and windows. "which is the plate room?" asked the lady. "this is the door of the plate room," the porter replied. "anyone enterin' without authority, day or night, sets in action two peals of electric bells, and aut'matic'ly discharges a revolver shot through the sky-light." "how very interesting!" the lady remarked. "now i must find my picture." she looked round the room, and finally selected one. "jeremiah crumpet," said the porter. "a haberdasher by birth, but eventually junior warden of our company. painted by merillo. never gettin' beyond pot'ooks 'imself, he founded the company's schools at ashby de la zouch." "i'm sure that's the man," said the artist. "i'll bring my things in if i may. is there a mrs. ----? jeckell, thank you. i should like to see her about some water for my paints." "i'll tell you what, maria," said mr. jeckell some hours later. "if she's a hartist i ought to be president of the royal academy. i never saw such drawin' in my life. she can't get his face square nohow. he's smilin' in the picture, but she's made him lockjawed an' moonstruck. she says if she can't get him right she'll have to turn him into a shipwreck. she must be what the papers call an himpressionist. she spoke twice about the plate room, so i've wheeled my chair into the 'all to keep my eye on her. i'll go back now and see what she's hup to." mr. jeckell would have wondered less at her drawing if he could have seen the note the lady had referred to in his absence: "an attempt will be made during the next three days to steal a cup from the plate chest at the fellmongers' hall. for certain reasons warning of this must not come to the authorities from without. apply for permission to copy painting or to sketch interior, and watch. should any other than the company's servant enter the plate room suggest doubt as to his credentials, and do all you can to secure his arrest. another agent will watch the premises from p.m. to a.m." while mr. jeckell was on his way to his chair there came another peal from the front-entrance bell. a man in a bowler hat, and carrying a handbag, was outside. "mr. toft has sent me for the nelson goblet," he said. the porter was surprised. "got a note?" he asked. "the guv'ner gave me this," said the man, handing a card, "and the key." "what does he want it for?" mr. jeckell asked. "got a big guzzle on at 'ome. wants to cut an extra dash in centre-pieces." mr. jeckell shook his head gravely, but made no remark. "come along," he said shortly. he led the way across the vestibule into the banqueting hall, where, behind her easel, a lady was evidently busy with her picture. he stopped at a door, which he unlocked, and both men passed through. barely had they done so when the artist ran from behind her easel into the outer hall. "mrs. jeckell! mrs. jeckell!" she called out. the porter's wife appeared. "a man has gone into the plate room with your husband. i'm sure he is a thief. warn mr. jeckell to get full authority before he does what this man wants." "gracious me!" cried the alarmed mrs. jeckell. "a thief! he may be murderin' samuel!" she rushed across to the plate room, and in a minute a storm of voices proceeded therefrom. finally the three emerged, two hot and flurried, and the stranger, looking cool and determined, carrying a bag in one hand and a gold cup in the other. the porter hung on to his arm. the artist was in front of the door. when she saw the man with the bag and cup she gave a little gasp of surprise, and a wave of colour overspread her face. the man seemed equally astonished. "you!" he said at last. "they're both thieves," whispered mrs. jeckell to her husband. "they're acting in collision. i'll shout for the perlice while you keep 'em." and she ran from the room. "you are in danger," said the artist rapidly in french. "put the cup in your pocket. give me the bag, and knock the porter down." the man obeyed with the promptitude of a soldier. leaving mr. jeckell prostrate on the floor, they hurried from the hall. at the street door was mrs. jeckell, wildly beckoning to a distant policeman. "you take down there," said the artist. "good-bye." she ran off in the opposite direction, still holding the bag, and dived down a side street. mrs. jeckell grew frantically insistent to the policeman, who now came up. "which one?" he puffed. "the man. no, it's in the bag. both of 'em," she cried. at this moment her husband appeared at the door, with blood streaming from his nose. "they've killed samuel," cried his horrified wife, running to him; but the policeman, though he wore the badge of st. john of jerusalem on his arm, dashed down the street after the lady. by the time he returned, after a fruitless pursuit, mr. jeckell's nose had stopped bleeding. "did you hever?" said the porter. "what the blazes did she mean by first givin' the alarm and then aidin' and abettin'? and she looked so innercent-like, too. the first hartist as i've ever encouraged, and the larst. whatever will mr. toft say, maria? it's as much as my place is worth. after all these years of faithful service, too!" but mr. toft was less demonstrative than might have been expected. the next gathering of the burglars' club proved the most important in the history of the club since its foundation. every detail of it is firmly impressed on the memory of each member present; yet they never by any chance refer to that meeting. one and all would like to forget it--if they could. it was held at marmaduke percy's rooms, his grace of dorchester, the president of the year, being in the chair. the secretary read the minutes, and concluded: "the business of the evening is the payment of an entrance fee--the nelson goblet of the fellmongers' company--by martin legendre craven, fourth baron horton, a cadet member of the club." lord horton entered, bowed, and amidst general applause, placed on the table a richly-chased goblet of gold. "lord horton's entrance fee being paid," said the president, "i now move that he be enrolled as a full member." carried unanimously. "my lord, you are one of us." lord horton advanced to the table and looked round with calm deliberation. he was a notable man--the best amateur low comedian of his day, a traveller who had pressed far into thibet, a diplomatist at the mention of whose name the turk shifted uneasily in his seat and fixed his eyes despondently on the floor. he had won his v.c. in china. he had done many things. "your grace, my lords and gentlemen," he said. "i thank you. in accordance with the usual custom of your club i will explain how i have been able to fulfil my appointed duty. i received an intimation that the nelson goblet of the fellmongers' company was my entrance fee, and at once took steps to procure it. the matter was hardly difficult. a list of the company showed me that the treasurer and plate-keeper was a certain mr. toft. the directory informed me that he was a steam-tug owner and a contractor to the admiralty. inquiry there told me he was under suspicion of bribery and corruption. i played on this little weakness of his, and, if i am not mistaken, i frightened him into the paths of virtue for the rest of his days. in return, he lent me the key of the plate safe of his company. in broad daylight i proceeded for my booty. to my surprise, i found that i was expected. someone had placed an agent on the spot to warn the custodian of the building of my intention. an alarm was raised. my lords and gentlemen, at whose instigation was that alarm raised?" lord horton paused. members looked at each other in mystified amazement. what on earth was he driving at? was he waiting for a reply? the silence grew painful. "who instigated that alarm?" again the speaker asked. a voice replied, "presumably mr. toft." "'presumably mr. toft.' sir francis marwood, i thank you for the suggestion. to continue. an alarm was raised by the agent of someone unknown. this agent was a lady who did not know that she was betraying an old friend. a minute later we were face to face. instantly she pierced through my disguise, and by her presence of mind and fertility of resource alone did i escape." "like sir francis marwood, i thought my betrayer was mr. toft, and i hastened to interview that gentleman. i found him in a state of extreme nervous prostration, but i left him convinced that it was not he who had betrayed me. so your suggestion, sir francis marwood, is wrong. can you give me another clue?" sir francis did not reply. he looked uncomfortable at the attention bestowed upon his remark. "my next step was to trace the lady who had helped me. that also was not difficult. i did not know she was in england, but being here i concluded that the foreign office would have her address. i was not mistaken. i found my friend, and learnt that she had her instructions to raise an alarm from--mark the name well, gentlemen--from sir francis marwood, a member of this club." had a live shell fallen into their midst it would probably have caused less consternation than did this announcement. there was an involuntary exclamation from everyone. for a moment all eyes were fixed on sir francis. then each man drew himself up and stared blankly into space. "the fame of your club had reached me, and the novelty of its membership appealed to me." again lord horton was speaking. "i felt that its risks would give a pleasing zest to civilian life, but i did not know that members were allowed to pay off old scores on each other through its medium. last year i considered it my duty to advise against sir francis marwood's appointment to lisbon. this was his revenge. i was prepared to run any and all risks from without, but did not anticipate betrayal from within. gentlemen, you have done me the honour to elect me as a member of your club. i have paid my subscription. now i beg to tender my resignation." "no, no!" responded on all sides. then cries of "marwood! marwood!" "order!" called the duke. "sir francis marwood, we are waiting." sir francis rose. he was a man of some distinction in the diplomatic world. "gentlemen," he said, making a desperate attempt to speak his words lightly; "i really did not anticipate the matter would be taken up in this serious way. i do not dispute the accuracy of lord horton's statement, though i absolutely deny the motive he has ascribed to me. the reason of my action was simple. this club was formed by us, not merely for passing time, but for keeping up our wits in degenerate days. to such a man as lord horton i felt that the purloining of the fellmongers' goblet must fall flat indeed. i have read the marvellous account of his adventures in thibet, and i felt that some further spice of danger in this particular affair was necessary to make it worthy of lord horton's reputation. i took the liberty of supplying it, though perhaps in so doing i exceeded my rights. if so, i tender my regrets." sir francis resumed his seat amidst loudly expressed disapprobation. the president rose. "gentlemen," he said, "you have heard lord horton's charge and sir francis marwood's reply. our club can exist only as long as there is absolute good faith between its members, and i never dreamt of anything less than this being possible. two duties are obviously mine. the first, sir francis marwood, is to inform you that you are no longer a member of the club. the second is to express our sincere regrets to lord horton, and our earnest hope that he will reconsider his resignation." sir francis rose, pale and defiant. "so be it, duke. some day you may regret this. horton, you and i have a big score to wipe out now." then, with an ugly sneer, "it is hardly necessary to say that the f.o. will no longer require the services of a lady who cannot be depended upon; but lord horton's interest will no doubt find her another situation." "stop!" thundered horton. "a lady has been mentioned. two years ago this same lady saved my life in russia. i asked her to marry me, and she refused, because, absurdly enough, she thought it would spoil my career. we did not meet again till yesterday. marwood, instead of an injury, you did me the greatest service in the world. "a week ago i was offered the post of british agent at kabul. it was a post after my own heart, but single-handed i should have failed in it. with this lady as my wife anything would be possible. yesterday i begged her to reconsider her decision, and to help me in my career. i am proud to say she consented. we are to be married at once. because bachelors alone are eligible as members of your club, i am forced to confirm my resignation. gentlemen, and sir francis marwood, good-evening." thus did lord horton leave the burglars' club for married life, happiness, and his brilliant after-career. v. an ounce of radium. "it seems likely," said the president, with singular irrelevance, "that there will be a slump in radium." "all south africans are down," remarked chillingford gloomily. "what in the world are you fellows laughing at?" "it isn't a mine, tommy. it's a horse. won the nobel stakes," marmaduke percy called out. "order, gentlemen, if you please," continued the president. "i was remarking on the probability of a slump in radium. this is what to-day's paper says: "'£ , was recently quoted as the market price for a single pound of radium. we suggest that it would be advisable for any holder to realise promptly, as professor blyth has discovered a method of obtaining this remarkable element from a substance other than pitch-blende. he has already isolated one ounce avoirdupois--at yesterday's price worth £ , --which has been exhibited to a select number of scientists at his laboratory at harlesden green. "'it seems likely that radium will no longer remain the toy of the conversazione, but that it will take its place among the great forces of civilisation. as a moderate-sized cube of it is sufficient to warm the dining-room of an average ratepayer for something like two thousand years, we shall no doubt find in this element the motive power of the future. the smoke nuisance of our great towns will disappear, ocean coaling stations will no longer be necessary, and incidentally about a million workers in the coal trade will be thrown out of employment.' "this, gentlemen, is from the _daily argus_ of to-day." "take your word for it, old man," "carried _nem. con._," and sundry other similar cries greeted the speaker. the duke waved his hand disparagingly. "our secretary informs me," he went on, "that the subscription of major everett anstruther is now due. it is suggested that he should produce this £ , worth of radium at our next meeting in payment thereof; although i believe that is something less than the value of membership of our club." that is why, on april th last, major everett anstruther climbed the wall at the back of professor blyth's house at harlesden. his methods were those of the average burglar. he forced back the catch of one of the windows, drew up the sash, and stepped gently down from the window-sill into the room. he was in the professor's laboratory, a one-storeyed building joined to the dwelling-house by a corridor. anstruther turned on his portable electric light, and took his bearings. he was in an ordinary scientific laboratory, surrounded by induction coils, crookes' tubes, balances, prismatic and optical instruments, and other and more complicated apparatus, the use of which he could not guess. he walked slowly round, observing every corner. where was the radium? he had read up the subject, and had learnt of its power to penetrate almost any substance, and now he turned off his light, hoping to see its rays. there was nothing but absolute darkness. he resolved to explore further. he opened the door gently. in front of him was the passage leading to the house. at his left another door--wide open. he stopped before it in mute surprise and admiration. on a table in the middle of the room was a luminous mass. the wall behind was aglow with a dancing, scintillating light. the rest of the room was in darkness, save for the dim light cast by the glowing mass and the phosphorescent screen behind. it was the radium! how could the professor leave it in so exposed a place? no doubt it was there that it had been exhibited to the scientists--but £ , worth left on a table for anyone to handle! it was absurd. only a professor would have done it. but it wasn't for him to grumble at the peculiar methods of learned men, and with a cheerful heart anstruther stepped lightly into the room. as he did so the door closed behind him with a click. the major paused. "that's queer," he thought. "i didn't feel a draught, and i didn't touch the door." luckily the laboratory was isolated from the rest of the house, so the slight noise would not have been heard. he waited for some minutes to reassure himself; then he stepped back to the door and gently turned the knob, without result. he pushed; pulled and pushed; lifted and pushed; pressed down and pushed; tried in every way he could think of, but the door would not open. he examined it carefully. save for its knob its surface was absolutely plain. there was no keyhole or latch. "trapped, by jove!" anstruther exclaimed under his breath; and as his unpleasant situation dawned upon him he felt more uncomfortable than he had ever done in his life before. in fact, he felt physically ill. "confound it!" he thought. "it's deuced annoying, but it isn't as bad as all that. i don't know why it should bowl me over. perhaps there's another way out of this den." he walked round the room, feeling the wall for some shutter, even searching the floor for a trap-door. there was none. save for a telephone and the table, he encountered nothing but plain surface. "of all the infernal holes to be in," he muttered. "trapped like this, and all through my own carelessness." and then it occurred to him that he, everett anstruther, late a major of his majesty's horse guards blue, and now member of parliament for helston, would in a few hours be haled away to prison on a charge of attempted burglary. a pleasant situation, truly! he felt ill--worse than before. his head ached, and his temples throbbed. what on earth did it mean? he had been in tight places before--once in italy, when his life wasn't worth a moment's purchase, and then he was absolutely cool. but now---- [illustration: "'you are a thief.'" (_p. ._)] he started as if a pistol had been fired. a bell had rung behind him--an electric bell. it was the telephone bell, and it was still ringing. he watched it in dismay. it would rouse the whole house. lift down the receiver, of course. he did so. the bell stopped. he put the receiver to his ear. "are you there?" a voice asked. he did not reply. there was no need. while the receiver was off the bell wouldn't ring. "if you don't answer i shall wake the house," came the voice, as if in answer to his thoughts. the major groaned inwardly. "yes, i'm here," he replied. "good. how do you feel?" "oh, pretty tollollish," he answered. "must be the doctor," he thought. "what is your name?" "smithers," said the major, with a sudden inspiration. "john smithers." "john smithers," came the slow response. "thank you. your age last birthday?" "it seems to me he has been examining blyth's factotum for life insurance," thought the major. "lucky i caught on so well. but what an extraordinary idea to collect these statistics at something after midnight." "age last birthday, please," came down the wire again. "thirty-five," replied the major. "nothing like the truth in an emergency," he added to himself. "john smithers, aged thirty-five," was repeated. "late occupation?" "soldier." "good. very good. late occupation, soldier. any pension?" "yes." "what a fool you are to risk it for a bit of radium." the major stepped back in sheer amazement. "what did you say?" he asked. "whatever made you risk your pension for a bit of radium?" "don't know what you mean." "then i'll explain. you are a thief, locked up in professor blyth's dark room. isn't that so?" "who are you?" asked the major in dismay. "professor blyth." "the devil!" anstruther ejaculated. "no, sir--professor blyth," came the response. "where are you?" asked the major. "i am in the room at the end of the corridor. i can observe the door of your room from where i stand, and i have a loaded revolver in my hand." "what are you going to do?" "that depends upon you. i can either send for the police, and give you in charge, or i can take scientific observations with your assistance--whichever you prefer." "what do you mean by scientific observations?" "you are locked up in a room twelve feet square with an ounce of radium." "well?" "you are the first man in the world who has been locked up with an ounce of radium in a room twelve feet square, and your sensations would be of scientific value. if you care to describe them to me by telephone so long as you are conscious, i will not prosecute; otherwise i will place the matter in the hands of the police. which do you prefer to do?" "you are remarkably kind to offer me the alternative. i think i prefer to describe my sensations." "thank you. i am really very much obliged to you, john smithers; but i ought to warn you beforehand that you will be put to great personal inconvenience. if you decide to try the experiment i shall not release you for some hours. i shall certainly not break off in the middle, however ill you feel." "i have told you my choice," said anstruther curtly. "right. stop, though. what sort of a heart have you?" "strong." "good. you'll need it. got a watch?" "yes." "can you take your pulse?" "yes." "you are a real treasure, john smithers. i'm glad you called. you've been fifteen minutes in the room. what is your pulse?" "seventy-three." "thank you. can you read a clinical thermometer?" "yes." "on the ledge of the telephone, where the paper is, you will find a tube. got it? there's a thermometer inside. please take it out, and read it carefully." "ninety-seven," said the major. "thank you. i had no idea the army was so intelligent. how the papers do deceive us! now put the thermometer under your tongue for two minutes, and then let me know what it registers." "ninety-nine," came the eventual response. "thank you. horse or foot soldier, smithers?" "horse." "horse. thank you. married?" "no." "good again, smithers. no one dependent upon you, i hope? have you a headache?" "it's enough to give me one, answering all your questions." "please describe symptoms, and not attempt to diagnose them. have you a headache?" "yes." "how's your heart?" "beats irregularly." "probably it will. respiration?" "it's rather choky here. can't you let me have a breath of fresh air?" "on no account, smithers--on no account. i'm surprised at your suggesting such a thing. that will do for the present. i'll ring up again shortly, and i'm always here if you want me. you might take a little gentle exercise now." the major hung up his receiver. the room seemed to be much lighter now. the radium glowed more brightly, and the scintillations on the wall behind had increased in intensity. he advanced towards the radium, and was immediately conscious that his discomfort increased. there was a smarting sensation on the front of his body, as if it were exposed to fire. his breathing became more difficult, his headache increased. he drew back to the wall, and the symptoms became less marked. the bell rang again. "i ought to inform you, smithers," said the voice, "that no good at all would result from your attempting to destroy the radium. as a matter of fact, if you broke or crushed it you would feel very much worse. the particles would fly all over, and you would inhale them. the symptoms would be intensely interesting if you would care to experience them, but i won't answer for the consequences. i just want you to understand that you can't possibly escape from this important new element when once you are imprisoned in a room with it, especially when the room is only twelve feet square." the major did not reply. he hung up his receiver in silence. at the other end of the telephone was robert blyth, f.r.s., d.sc., etc., etc., a little red-haired man, whose researches on the mutilation and redintegration of crystals are of world-renown. he was a grave little man as a rule. only when on the verge of some discovery, or when watching the successful progress of an experiment, did he wax cheerful. he did this now as he surveyed his notes of the report of john smithers, a horse-soldier, in durance vile in the adjoining room. "pulse, ; temperature, ; heart, irregular. good. respiration difficult. well, that's understandable. he's been in there thirty-one minutes. thanks to a strong constitution, he's scarcely felt anything yet; but now he'll have trouble. john smithers, you are going to have an exceedingly bad time of it. if you weren't a criminal i should hesitate in giving it you. as it is, you must suffer for the cause of science. your experience will, no doubt, make you hesitate before you attempt another crime." the professor tilted back his chair. "strange," he mused, "how brain controls matter to the end. here's john smithers in the next room--a strong man admittedly--cribbed, cabined, and confined by a man he could probably crumple up with one hand. it was a stroke of genius to advertise my discovery in the papers. the criminal classes all read them now, and i thought i should probably attract a thief. i placed the radium in the middle of the room, and painted the wall behind with sulphide of zinc so that he couldn't possibly miss it. i easily constructed a threshold that closed the door when stepped upon. and then i had only to wait." here the bell rang. "aha, smithers, you are growing impatient. well?" "are you a christian?" came the reply. "i hope so. why?" "do you call this christian conduct, to imprison me here with this infernal block of fire? i tell you, man, it's poisoning me. it's choking me. it's getting to my brain. if you are a christian, come down and let me out." "none of that hysterical sort of talk, smithers," said the professor sternly. "it's no good appealing for mercy. you are a thief, and you've got to be punished. pull yourself together, and show what you are made of. you don't know what a lot of good your sufferings may do to humanity. i shall publish a full account of them in the _british medical journal_, and i am sure your family will be proud of you when they read it." "i haven't got a family, and if i had they shouldn't read your jibberings. i tell you that if you don't let me out i shall do something desperate!" "you can't," said the professor. "there's nothing in the room except the radium and the telephone. if you knock the radium about you'll only make things worse for yourself, and if you damage the telephone you cut off your only link with the outside world. be a man, smithers. you've read of the black hole of calcutta. the sufferings of the prisoners there were far worse than yours." "you are a scientific vampire--a howling chemical bounder!" came the response. "tut, tut!" said the professor serenely. "do try and be calm. take a stroll round. you might put the thermometer under your tongue again, and let me have the record. nothing like filling your leisure moments with useful occupation." "poor beggar!" he said to himself. "he's just beginning to realise things. five centigrammes of radium chloride killed eight mice in three days; how long will it take an ounce of radium bromide to render a strong man insensible? that's the problem in rule of three, and it's high time that someone worked out the answer. "well?" in reply to the bell. "temperature, ; pulse, . look here, blyth, i'm going dotty. if you won't have pity on me as a christian, i appeal to you as a family man. your people wouldn't like to hear of this, i'm sure." "pulse ," repeated the professor. "jerky, i suppose?" "did you hear my appeal to you as a family man?" "now, smithers, you agreed to help me with my scientific observations, and i wish you'd keep to the letter of the agreement. is your pulse jerky?" "it is, and my hands are fairly itching to close round your throat, and my toes would like to kick you into eternity. blyth, if i die, i'll haunt you and your family to the fifth generation. if you don't end up in a madhouse it won't be my fault. you scoundrel! you contemptible----" again the professor hung up the receiver. "strange," he soliloquised, "how mentally unbalanced these common men are! i can't imagine myself giving way to such ravings, whatever situation i was in. that's the advantage of birth and education. yet, judging from the way in which smithers expresses himself, he must be a man of very fair education. it's birth alone that tells in the long run," and the professor stroked his stubble chin complacently. the minutes passed. "he ought to be feeling it now. i'll ring him up." the professor did so, but there was no reply. "he can't have collapsed already--a horse-soldier of thirty-five." once more he rang. this time there was a slow response. "why didn't you come before?" said the professor irately. "i'm not your servant. i was thinking how i'd like to chop you into mincemeat, blyth, and scatter you to the crows. my head's splitting--splitting, do you hear? i shall go dotty, looking at this infernal heap of fire. those moving specks of light behind are all alive, blyth. they're grinning at me. they're choking me. and there you sit like a scientific panjandrum with a little round button on top. and you call yourself a christian and a respectable family man. you are a disgrace to your country. come down and let me out. send for the police. i don't care." "smithers," said the professor, "i'm ashamed of you. a horse soldier going on like a nurserymaid! i shall not send for the police. you agreed to this experiment, and you've got to see it through. please remember that. how's your pulse?" "blyth, it's ! it's ticking like a clock. i believe it's going to strike." "keep cool, smithers. have your hands a bluish tinge?" "they seem to be green." "green? preposterous!" "they may be blue really. i'm colour blind." "colour blind, smithers, and a soldier? i'm surprised at you. i suspect they're only dirty. do you feel a tingling at the finger tips?" "yes, and at my toe-tips too." "excellent! and your temperature?" "one hundred and three. man, i'm in a fever. i can't breathe. my head's on fire." "you've only been in there an hour and a quarter. you're just beginning to get acclimatised, smithers," said professor blyth callously, as he hung up the receiver. "i wish cantrip were here," he soliloquised. "'deoxygenation of the blood corpuscles, followed by coma.' bah! radium acts on the nerve centres, and will ultimately produce paralysis. cantrip is an ass. i always told him so." the bell rang. "blyth," said the prisoner, "listen to me. if you don't let me out, i'll swallow the radium. it can't make me feel worse, and it may finish me off quicker." "nonsense, smithers, don't talk like a fool. it would only add to any--er--inconvenience you are now experiencing." "i don't care what it would do. i----" the professor cut him off impatiently. "i'm disappointed in john smithers," he thought. "he has no stamina. a man of low birth, evidently. a mere mountain of muscle. i know the species." for a while he paced the room. then he rang the bell, but this time there was no coherent response. the gasps sounded like, "sit on her head, blyth--keep her down, man. whoa, mare!--mind that fencing--snow again--what ho! she bumps--all down the road and round the corner----" "for heaven's sake, keep cool, smithers," cried the professor. "i want some more observations. don't lose your head yet. you've all the night in front of you." "squadron, right wheel! draw swords! charge! down with 'em! boers, japs, and russians. get home, lads! give it 'em hot! hurrah! i've killed a sergeant-major." then indistinct mumbling and cackling laughter came through the telephone. the professor was disturbed. the end had come sooner than he had expected, for john smithers had only been there an hour and a half, and he had calculated on a much longer time. but the symptoms were, on the whole, what he had expected. green hands, though. what if the extremities were blue after all, and cantrip right? he rang the bell. there was no response. once more, and yet again. still there was silence. the professor hung up the receiver gloomily. "i'm afraid i shall have to go to him. he's unconscious, and continued exposure might be serious." he went down the corridor, pulled back the bolts, and opened the door. the room was in absolute darkness. the professor was intensely surprised. "what on earth has he done with the radium?" he thought. "good heavens! surely he hasn't really swallowed it!" he stepped carefully across the threshold towards the electric pendant in the centre of the room. he started. the door had closed behind him with a loud click. he switched on the light, and peered round the floor for john smithers. he was alone. neither smithers nor the radium was there! at that moment the telephone rang. "are you there?" came a voice. "is that you, smithers?" said the professor, in blank amazement. "it is, blyth. how's your temperature? you'll find the thermometer on the telephone where you left it." "you scoundrel! you consummate scoundrel! how did you get out?" "for goodness' sake, blyth, keep cool." "if you don't release me immediately i'll hand you over to the police." "you can't get 'em, old man. you can only talk to me." "what have you done with the radium?" "got it here, blyth; and i'm taking ever such a lot of care of it. i read all about it before i came, and i know just what it fancies. i brought a nice quarter-inch thick lead case, with a smaller one fixed inside, and the half-inch of intervening space made up with quicksilver. i've had the radium in the inner case most of the time, and it's as quiet as a lamb, nicely bottled up with its rays. in fact, i think it's gone to sleep. i've had quite a cheerful time with you to talk to, blyth. you don't know how amusing you've been." "smithers," stuttered the professor, "you are an insolent fellow as well as a consummate scoundrel." "tut, tut, blyth! do keep cool. think how humanity will benefit from your present inconvenience. i'll look out for your article in the _british medical journal_, and i won't contradict it, though my pulse never went above seventy-three nor my temperature over ninety-nine, and wouldn't have done that if i'd bottled the radium at once instead of stopping to chatter with you. but you really ought to have kept a smarter look-out as you went in. i nearly brushed against you as i closed the door behind me. well, bye-bye, old man, and many thanks for the radium. it will help my pension out nicely. i'll leave the receiver off the telephone, so that you don't disturb your family. i wouldn't worry, blyth. think of the black hole of calcutta, and be a man!" [illustration: "'i nearly brushed against you.'" (_p. ._)] before anstruther had reached the laboratory the professor was hammering on the wall, and shouting at the top of his voice. the major hurried through the window, climbed the garden wall, and had found his bicycle before the prisoner was released. by the time that the police were informed, he was well on his way to town. and that is how major everett anstruther was able to renew his subscription to the burglars' club. vi. the bunyan ms. anstruther sat down amidst vociferous applause. "gentlemen," said the duke, "i think we may heartily congratulate major anstruther on the foresight and ingenuity displayed in renewing his subscription. i am sorry we cannot keep the radium as a memento, but, according to our rule, it has to be returned to professor blyth at once. this particular burglary has been so satisfactory that i think we may with advantage again turn to the daily press for our next item. i read yesterday---- let me see--where is it? i cut out the paragraph. ah! here it is:-- "'yet another priceless possession is leaving the eastern hemisphere. thirty pages of 'the pilgrim's progress,' all that is left of that immortal work in the handwriting of john bunyan, has been waiting for offers at messrs. christie's rooms since november last. the highest bid from the united kingdom was £ s., at which price the precious manuscript did not change hands. we now hear that £ , has been offered and accepted. the purchaser is mr. john pilgrim, the logwood king, of new york. at the present rate of denudation it seems likely that fifty years hence the original of magna charta will be the only historical manuscript left in the country.'" "shame--shame!" greeted the reading of the paragraph. "i am glad that you agree with the newspaper," said the duke blandly. "i read that paragraph at breakfast yesterday, and since then i have learnt that lord roker's subscription is due. it seems to me more than a coincidence that these two matters should come together. it is a national disgrace that the manuscript of that remarkable, i believe unparalleled--er--effort of mr. bunyan should leave the country. for one night longer, at any rate, it must remain in the possession of englishmen. my lord of roker, you will kindly produce the bunyan ms. at our next meeting, on the rd inst., in settlement of your subscription." at p.m. on monday, april th last, a new arrival registered himself in the visitors' book at the ilkley hydropathic establishment as james roker, jermyn street, s.w. he was a good-looking, straight-built man of thirty or thereabouts. he was of an unobtrusive disposition, but was obviously well-informed, for in the smoke-room after dinner, when in a discussion on the internal resources of japan, the date of queen anne's death came up, the new arrival gave it authoritatively as , and so settled the matter. the next morning brought letters addressed to lord roker. five minutes after the arrival of the post the news spread, and at breakfast he was the cynosure of all eyes. it was the first time that a nobleman had stayed at the hydro, excepting the doubtful instance of count spiegeleisen in , but to provide for possible emergencies the management had thoughtfully placed a peerage on the bookshelves. this volume was now thoroughly investigated, and it was learnt that james, lord roker, was heir to the earldom of challoner, and that he was born on april th, . his birthday obviously would occur the following week, and an enterprising lady suggested the propriety of arranging for a concert and a representation of mrs. jarley's waxworks in honour of the occasion. the only person in the place who seemed annoyed by his arrival was mr. john pilgrim, a gentleman from new york. "that's why he was so darned civil to me last night," he thought. "he knows how fond fifth avenue girls are of the british peerage, and he thinks he's only got to drop his handkerchief for marion to pick it up. i call it a bit thick of him. i'm glad she's away for the day. i asked him to look round this evenin', so reckon i'll have to be civil; but i'll stand no nonsense. if he tries his sawder on me durin' the day i'll let him know." there was no occasion--or, indeed, opportunity--to let lord roker know anything during the day, for he went to rylstone the first thing after breakfast, and only re-appeared at dinner-time. the toilettes of at least eighteen ladies were more elaborate than usual that evening, but they were lost on lord roker, who, after half an hour in the smoke-room, tapped on mr. pilgrim's door at . . "good-evenin', my lord," said mr. pilgrim, with studied politeness. "will you sit there? cigar, sir? i can recommend these. i hope you had a pleasant day. how do you like the hydro?" "thank you," said lord roker, as he took the bock, and settled himself in the chair indicated. "i have been away in the country all day, so i haven't seen much of the hydro yet. it seems all right. at any rate, you have got pretty snug quarters." "yes," said mr. pilgrim, with some complacency. "you see, i'm samplin' the british isles, gettin' the best i can lay hands on, and am storin' my purchases here. this room is furnished with heppendale an' chipplewhite's masterpieces, collected by my daughter. paintin's by jones an' rossetti. in the nex' cabin i've got those historical sundries i mentioned. but before we look at them i want you to give me some information." "i shall be delighted to do so, if i have it." "you have it, sir. i may as well explain what i want. i have come over to see europe for the first time, but i wanter know more about it than americans do as a gen'ral rule. i'm not content to visit shakespeare's tomb an' see over windsor castle, and then think i've done the old country. i wanter know the people who inhabit her to-day, and you can't get to know them on board trains. that's why i've come to this hydro. i get here what my secretary calls a symposium of the whole nation. so i'm studyin' people here with the idea of writin' a book on my return. what are your views on things in gen'ral, my lord?" "my dear sir, that's a big order. but i may say i'm pretty well satisfied with things in general." "you are an hereditary legislator, i believe," said mr. pilgrim. "i may be some day," replied lord roker; "but at present i am not." "then what is your pertic'ler line in life?" "if you mean business or profession, i have none. i'm a drone." "a drone, sir! i'm delighted," exclaimed mr. pilgrim, with marked interest. then, "hello, marion. back again." roker turned, and there, framed in the doorway, was a living romney picture--a radiant girl. she came forward, the light playing on her red-brown hair. "lord roker--my daughter," said mr. pilgrim. the girl smiled and shook hands. "i hope i'm not interrupting a very serious deliberation," she said, half hesitating. "indeed not," lord roker hastened to assure her, fearful lest this delectable vision should vanish. she took the chair he offered. "well, what have you gotten at york?" inquired mr. pilgrim. "you'd neither of you guess. three grandfather's clocks." "three!" exclaimed mr. pilgrim. "sheraton?" he added. "no; just grandfather's clocks, and the dearest ones you ever saw." "i could bet on that," said her father. "are they genuine?" "they are all dated, and mr. tullitt got pedigrees with each of them. one of them tells the moon, and one the day of the month. we shall have to hire an astrologer to regulate them and start them fair. mr. tullitt says he works best on board your railroad car, as noise suits him, so i shall fix the three clocks up in his den here to keep him happy. i reckon he'll know when it's lunch time, anyway. but what have you been doing, dad?" "makin' a few notes. at present i'm gettin' some valu'ble information. lord roker says he's a drone." "then i'm sure that lord roker does himself an injustice," she said, turning her smiling eyes upon him. roker shook his head. "i toil not, neither do i spin." "what do you do all the time?" she asked. "i shoot and fish and hunt, and--er--once a year i see the eton and harrow cricket match." "gosh!" exclaimed mr. pilgrim. "he shoots and fishes and hunts, and once a year he goes to a cricket match." "i said the eton and harrow match." "cert'nly. they must give it some name, i reckon. an' what do you do when you can't shoot, an' fish, an' hunt?" "i add up my lists of kills and catches." "this is downright interestin'," said mr. pilgrim. "what do you shoot an' hunt?" "birds and foxes." "you seem to fancy small fry, sir. did you never hanker after elephants?" "never. if i had a maxim or a gatling gun i might turn my attention to elephants, but i'm not going to buy one for the purpose." mr. pilgrim looked hard at his guest, but lord roker bore the scrutiny impassibly. "may i ask how you get your dollars?" the american continued. "i have an income from my father. i don't mind telling you the amount--three thousand a year." "dollars?" "no; pounds sterling." "that's a tidy figure; but did you never wanter make that three thousand into thirty thousand?" "i have suggested an increase to my father, but not such a big one as that. i asked him to make it five, but he would not. some day perhaps he may, but thirty thousand is out of the question." "i should suppose it was. i didn't mean an increase in your allowance. did you never think of dippin' into trade, and increasin' it that way?" "never." "doesn't fancy elephants or trade," mr. pilgrim soliloquised. "well, i reckon it takes all sorts of swallows to make a summer. your father must have been in a good way of business." "not a bit of it. he inherited all he has from his ancestors." "and how did the original ancestor make his pile?" "in war, in the time of edward iii. he had the good fortune to capture a royal prince, two dukes, and a marshal of france. we are still living on the ransoms he got." "i'd like to have known the original ancestor," said mr. pilgrim. "reckon he'd have tackled elephants if he'd only got a pea-shooter." "father," broke in miss pilgrim, "i'm sure lord roker is tired of answering questions. don't you think it's our turn to do something now?" "that's so," said mr. pilgrim, who long since had forgotten his unkind suspicions of his visitor's intentions. "i hope i haven't worried you too much, my lord. it isn't every day that i get the chance of interviewin' a future hereditary legislator. i promised last night to show you some historical curiosities. we'll just go an' rout out my secretary, tullitt, who has the keepin' of 'em." they adjourned to the next room, and found mr. tullitt busy at his desk. he opened various cabinets and drawers for them. "this," said mr. pilgrim, "is the original warrant signed by henry viii., consignin' his sixth wife to the tower of london for beheadin' purposes. he had it penned in latin to frighten her more. the writ was never served, as henry changed his mind, an' decided to keep her on the throne. "here, sir, is my last purchase--thirty pages of 'the pilgrim's progress,' written by john bunyan in bedford jail. i paid ten thousand dollars for that, an' i'd have paid twenty before missin' it. you see, my name is john pilgrim, an' it seemed to me that i have a sort of claim on that book--a kind of relationship. anyway, there's my two names on the title-page. "moreover, i've got on so well since i started life in a chicago stock-yard that 'pilgrim's progress' would best describe my record. if it wasn't irreverent, i'd have called the autobiography i'm writin' by the name of that book; but as i can't do so, i've bought the original manuscript. you'll handle it carefully; it's not in first-rate repair." mr. pilgrim showed his guest other historical treasures, and would have gone on indefinitely had not his daughter compassionately intervened. the rest of the evening was spent in conversation, and in listening to coon songs witchingly sung by miss pilgrim to her accompaniment on a harpsichord, once the property of mrs. thrale of streatham, a friend of the immortal dr. johnson. "good-night, my lord," said mr. pilgrim at eleven o'clock. "p'raps you'll be kind enough to look round in the mornin'. i shall make a few notes of the information you've given me, and my secretary will lick them into shape." "right," said lord roker, with his eyes beyond mr. pilgrim, fixed on an enchanting vision of brown and gold, seated in the basket chair before the fire. on the following morning lord roker found mr. pilgrim's secretary before a typewriter which he seemed to be working against time. a pile of correspondence lay around him. he finished the sheet on which he was engaged, and then, with a sigh of relief, he turned to his visitor. "mornin', my lord; i have this ready for you." he handed a type-written sheet to lord roker, who sat down and read: "some day i may be an hereditary legislator. at present i'm a drone. i fish, shoot birds, and hunt foxes, and once a year i attend a cricket match. birds are more suited to the bore of my gun than elephants. if i had a maxim i might tackle elephants. i am in receipt of an income of three thousand pounds sterling a year from my father, who refuses to increase the amount. i am otherwise well satisfied with the universe. "my record last year was: birds............ fishes........... foxes ..........." "i've left space for the mortality returns, and any note you may wish to add," said the secretary courteously. "kindly fill in the figures, and initial the sheet if you find it correct. your name will not appear if mr. pilgrim makes use of the information." lord roker referred to his pocket-book for statistics, and then inserted the figures required. the note he added was: "_de mortuis nil nisi bonum._" "good kills, all of 'em," he explained. the secretary took the sheet and placed it methodically in a folio labelled "britishers." "is mr. pilgrim anywhere about?" lord roker asked. "or miss pilgrim?" "i believe that miss pilgrim is in the grounds, but mr. pilgrim has gone across the moors in his motor to shed a tear at the residence of the late charlotte brontë. a wonderful man is the boss, my lord. it takes me all my time to file the information he gathers. it will be midnight before i have fixed charlotte up." "your hours are long," said lord roker, sympathetically. "they are; and they are getting longer. your country is just waking up to the fact that john pilgrim is here. we had a big mail to-day. outside proper business there were twenty begging letters from tramps and prodigals, eighteen asking for subscriptions, and two which we could not decipher. four town councils mixed us up with andrew carnegie and wrote demanding free libraries. i reply to them all." "then i won't trespass any longer on your time." mr. tullitt pulled out his watch. "snakes!" he exclaimed. "i always have fifteen minutes' dumb-bell exercise now to keep me in form. good-mornin', my lord." his visitor left him standing in position with his dumb-bells. now when lord roker turned in his chair and first saw miss marion pilgrim he was confounded. when she spoke--and to her beauty there was added an infinite charm of frankness and joy of life--he fell hopelessly in love. only once before had this happened to him, and, singularly enough, she also was an american--a dark-eyed boston girl he met in rome. he had been refused because his position and his prospects rendered the match an impossibility--to her father; for he was not at that time heir to an earldom. since then he had gone unscathed through the perils of many seasons in many capitals, only to be finally routed while in pursuit of the commonplace profession of a burglar. that he had aroused any interest in her heart he did not for a moment suppose, but perhaps there might be a remote chance of winning her. if there were, how could he imperil his hope of success by running the risks attendant on the burglary? if she could give him the slightest hope he would resign his membership of the burglars' forthwith. it was ridiculous to have to rush matters, but he had to know his fate at once. he could not even put it off till to-morrow, for he knew she was going to knaresborough for the day with her father. he met her on the golf links. they played in a foursome in the morning. in the afternoon they had a round together. she was in capital form. her splendid health and energy were a delight to the eye. perhaps it was owing to this distraction that he foozled some of his drives, and twice got badly bunkered. his play went steadily from bad to worse, and she won by three up and two to play. "i don't think you were playing your best game," she said as they returned. "it strikes me that you were thinking about something else all the time." "you are quite right. i never played worse, and i was thinking about something else." "something very serious, i reckon." "very." "is it anything i could help you in?" "you are very kind, miss pilgrim. all day, and most of last night, i have been deliberating on an important step." "what sort of a step?" "whether i ought not to resign my membership of a certain club." "is that all?" "you see, i was one of the founders, and i like it. but sometimes the conditions of membership seem impossible. at any rate, i have felt them so since last evening." "what are the conditions?" "i can't tell you them all, but one is that you have to be a bachelor--a confirmed bachelor." "well, you are one, aren't you?" she asked gently. "i don't know. at any rate, i may not always be. in fact, i----" "don't you be in a hurry to change," said miss pilgrim. "don't imitate that king of yours. judging from the document dad showed you, henry the eighth wanted to be a bachelor again, and then decided to remain a married man, all in one day. you britishers are so variable." "it may seem very absurd, miss pilgrim, but i have to make up my mind without delay. and you can help me in the matter. may i--dare i----" "one minute, lord roker," she interrupted quickly. "you ought to be very careful before you think of changing your state. teddy robson waited twelve months before i promised to marry him." "teddy robson!" exclaimed lord roker. "yes; this is his picture." she pulled a locket from her dress, and showed him the miniature of a nice, clean-looking lad. "he's the son of josh. k. robson, the fustic king," she explained. "fustic?" repeated lord roker, with intense gloom. "it's a wood that dyes yellow. dad is the logwood king, you know. logwood dyes black. when i marry teddy, the two firms will amalgamate, and we shall pretty well control the output of the west indies." "i see," said lord roker; "or, rather, i hear." "that'll be in the fall. if ever you come over to the states mind you look us up. teddy will give you some big game shooting. i guess you like it, whatever you told dad. you've done things. mrs. stilton told me at breakfast this morning that you had got a decoration for distinguishing yourself in action." "oh, that was years ago." "not more than a hundred," she said gravely. "and i reckon you don't let the flies settle much. gracious! but it's six o'clock, and i've letters to mail. i must run. but don't you be in a hurry about retiring from that club." "that's the second," said lord roker enigmatically, as he watched her vanish, "the second--and the last." lord roker made no attempt to purloin the bunyan ms. that night. he thought it possible that the indefatigable mr. tullitt might prolong his labours on charlotte brontë into the early hours of the morning, and, being of a thoughtful temperament, he was unwilling to interrupt them. he had still two nights at his disposal. the next day he spent chiefly on the links. he did not allow his thoughts to linger regretfully on his hopeless love. he gave his whole attention to the game, and retrieved his reputation by beating the professional's record. in the evening he played his part in progressive bridge with marked success: and then at . a.m., when the whole establishment was presumably fast asleep, he descended from his bedroom window by a stout rope, and made his way to the wing occupied by mr. pilgrim. he found the window of mr. tullitt's room, and was busily engaged for the next half-hour in opening it. he then dropped into the room, and turned on his light. three grandfather's clocks were solemnly ticking in three separate corners. the fire was still flickering in the grate. a pile of letters, addressed and stamped, was ready for the post. a batch of correspondence was docketed and endorsed. the waste-paper basket was full to overflowing. lord roker gave one glance round, and then tried the door. it was, as he expected, locked on the outside. he placed some chairs and other obstacles in front of it to impede progress should an alarm be raised, and lit the gas in order to add to mr. tullitt's reputation for over-work. then he turned to the drawer in which the bunyan ms. was kept. it was locked. he produced a bundle of keys, and finally opened it. there was a document inside, but instead of being time-stained, foxed, and torn, it was modern and neat. moreover, it was type-written, and endorsed, "notes on the late c. brontë, haworth, eng., ." lord roker turned this out in disgust, hoping to find the bunyan ms. below; but he was disappointed. the manuscript was not there. he replaced the notes in the drawer and turned his attention elsewhere. he opened every drawer and portfolio, looked on every shelf and in every corner, but in vain. there was no sign of the bunyan ms. determined not to be baffled--for his credit as a burglar was at stake--lord roker resumed his search, and again went over the ground. three times at least was he disturbed--when the grandfather's clocks went off at the hour and the half-hour with alarming wheezes and groans. when they had finished with . he had to admit himself beaten. the manuscript had no doubt been removed to another room. it was desperately annoying, but he had still twenty-four hours to find out where it was, and to get it. he gave up the search reluctantly, made his way through the window, and up the rope to his bedroom. soon after breakfast that morning word went round the hydro that the bunyan ms. had been stolen from mr. pilgrim's rooms--the manuscript for which he had just paid £ , . a hole cut in one of the window-panes pointed to the method by which entry had been made, but no clue to the thief had been left behind. the police had been informed, and a detective was coming. only the bunyan ms. was missing--that alone of the many portable and valuable treasures in mr. pilgrim's possession. it showed a literary instinct in the thief which was as surprising as it was unusual, for it would be impossible for him to make any profitable use of his booty without certain discovery. the more one reflected about it the more perplexing it was. to lord roker it was humiliating in the extreme. to fail in his mission was exasperating; but the annoyance was increased tenfold with the knowledge that he had been forestalled. someone else--a professional, no doubt--had been on the same errand. he had not dallied over the enterprise, and he had won the stakes for which he played, and now he, lord roker, would have to appear empty-handed at the burglars'--he, a founder of the club, would be the first man who had to resign through incapacity to carry out the terms of his membership; it was galling indeed. even the neat hole he had made in the window had been placed to the credit of the other burglar. at p.m. he went upstairs to dress. the evenings were chilly, and he occasionally had a fire. he sat down before it now to finish his cigarette, and moodily watched the flames while his thoughts turned on the unsatisfactory nature of all earthly affairs. suddenly he gave an exclamation of extreme surprise, jumped out of his chair, and caught hold of a bit of half-burnt paper projecting from the grate. it was perhaps three inches long, and two across. half of it was ash that fell away as he touched it. on the scant margin left was written, in stiff, archaic english, "ye slough of desp----" "amazing!" he cried. for the fragment he held in his hand was part of the missing ms.! in another instant he had seized his water-jug and emptied the contents on the fire, putting it out, and deluging the hearth. then he rang the bell, and sent an urgent message for mr. pilgrim. five minutes later the american entered. roker handed him the fragment, and pointed out where he had found it. "seems a pretty expensive way of li'tin' fires," said mr. pilgrim, grimly. "allow me to ring for the help." "did you lay this fire?" he asked the maid who responded. "no, sir. that's jenny's work." "send jenny up, then," said mr. pilgrim, now on his knees searching the grate for more traces of the ms., but searching in vain. in a few minutes jenny entered. "did you lay this fire?" mr. pilgrim asked again. "yes, sir." "what sort of paper did you use for it?" "newspaper. oh, i know! i laid it yesterday morning with some old rubbishy stuff i found on your floor, sir." "old rubbishy stuff you found on my floor!" cried mr. pilgrim. "what do you mean, girl?" "i was lighting your fire yesterday morning, sir, and found i'd used up all my paper, so i got some out of your waste basket. there was a dirty lot of rubbishy paper lying on the floor beside it, so i took that as well, and used it up for my morning fires." "how many fires did you lay with it altogether?" "your two, sir, this one, and the one in the hall." "then this is the only one of the lot that wasn't lit yesterday?" "yes, sir. i hope it wasn't anythink important that i used." mr. pilgrim sat down. "important! not a bit, my girl. it just cost me ten thousand dollars--that's all." "it wasn't what they say you've lost, sir, was it?" said the girl. "oh, sir, i'm that sorry. but all i can say, sir, is that it was on the floor, and it didn't look fit for wrapping sossingers in." "go!" shouted mr. pilgrim. "you're a born fool." then, after a long pause, he added, "i'm much obliged to you, roker. now come along. i must see my secretary. i suspect he's another mortal fool in disguise." mr. pilgrim's secretary was busy, as usual--this time taking down a letter from miss pilgrim's dictation. [illustration: "hey! but what about that hole in the window?" (_p. ._)] "excuse me a minute, marion," said mr. pilgrim. then to his secretary, "you said you were readin' that blamed bunyan ms. the night before last. just describe when you got it out, and what followed." "i'd finished my transcript of your notes on miss brontë, sir, about . , and, having half an hour to spare, i thought i'd just run over that old manuscript again. john bunyan had his own notions about caligraphy, and he was a bit freer in his spelling than any man i'd come across, so i rather fancied him. while i was reading, you may remember calling me to your room to take down that cable to boston and the letter of confirmation. it was . when i left you, and i'd clean forgotten about the manuscript. i turned the light out, and went to bed. a quarter of an hour afterwards i remembered i'd left bunyan out, so i came back here. i couldn't find the matches, but just felt round for the ms., and put it back in the drawer, and locked it." "you derned hayseed!" burst in mr. pilgrim. "you have your p'ints, but at this pertic'ler moment i think you're more suited for raisin' cabbages than for secretary work. if you can't tell the difference in the handle of a bunyan ms. and your notes on charlotte brontë in the dark, you might know a banana from a potato in daylight. you're--you're---- man, you put the brontë notes in the drawer, and left bunyan out--brushed him on the floor in the dark, an' the help lit the fire with him. gor!" the secretary collapsed. "never mind, mr. tullitt," said miss pilgrim. "it was entirely a mistake. i might have done it myself. it comes of working so late. dad, i guess there's plenty more old manuscripts in the british isles waiting for dollars to fetch them." "i reckon there's only one bunyan ms.," said mr. pilgrim, solemnly, "and that's gone to light hydropathic fires because my secretary doesn't carry wax vestas in his pyjamas. hey! but what about that hole in the window?" mr. and miss pilgrim, the secretary, and lord roker stared blankly at it. * * * * * and that is why lord roker was not able to show the bunyan ms. at the next meeting of the burglars' club. vii. the great seal. the hon. richard hilton stared at the type-written letter with distinct feelings of pleasure. this is what he read:-- sir,--i have the honour to inform you of your election as a member of the club, conditional upon your attendance on the th proximo with the great seal of the united kingdom, procured in the usual way.--yours faithfully, the hon. secretary. "that's good," he ejaculated. "ribston's a trump. but what on earth's the great seal of the united kingdom, and where is it to be found?" mr. hilton's library was chiefly devoted to sport and fiction, and he could find no reference to it therein. he had therefore to make inquiries outside, when he learnt that the great seal of the united kingdom was the property of the lord chancellor for the time being, that it was a very important object indeed, its impression being requisite at the foot of the highest documents of state; and, consequently, that its unexpected absence might very well upset the nation's affairs and incidentally bring serious trouble upon anyone who had tampered with it. mr. hilton's sporting instincts were roused. "it seems to me," he thought, "that this is going to be the best thing i have had on since i walked across thibet disguised as a second-class mahatma. but where does the chancellor keep the thing?" he skimmed through many biographies of lord chancellors with very little result. one of them, it appeared, kept the great seal with his silver, another always carried it about with him in a special pocket, and slept with it under his pillow; while a third stored it at the bank of england. history was discreetly silent as to how the other hundred and one keepers of the great seal guarded their property. mr. richard hilton contemplated his notes with disgust. "i never could rely on books," he said. "there's nothing for it but to find out for myself. the present man probably keeps it where any other common-sense fellow would. he'll have a library, so it may be there. he's a good liver, so it may be in a secret bin in his wine cellar; he's a sportsman, so it may be in a gun-case under his bed. i shall have to look round and find out. where does he live?" his lordship's town residence was shipley house, kensington gore. hilton took a walk in that direction. the house looked as unpromising and unsympathetic a subject for robbery as a metropolitan magistrate could have wished. the spiked railings in front and the high wall at the back would have suggested to most people the impossibility of the enterprise; but mr. hilton simply noted these items with interest, and then adjourned to a light lunch at his club to think the matter out. it was one o'clock in the morning when mr. hilton scaled the wall at the rear of the lord chancellor's house. though it was nine feet high, it presented no difficulties to an ex-lieutenant in the navy; but he got over carefully, for he was in evening dress, believing that to be the safest disguise for a general burglar. he dropped lightly on the turf, and then made his way across to the house and commenced a careful inspection of the basement windows. to his intense surprise, he found the lower sash of one of them to be open. this astonishing piece of good luck meant the saving of at least an hour. with a cheerful heart he entered the house, finding his way by the electric flashlight which he carried. his passage to the great hall upstairs was easy. here he halted to take his bearings. he was at the foot of the marble stairs for which shipley house was famous. once they had stood in front of nero's villa at antium; but, oblivious of his historic surroundings, mr. richard hilton stood wondering which of the four doors on his left led to the library. one after another he cautiously opened them, only to find living or reception rooms. he crossed the hall, and got into the billiard-room. where on earth was the lord chancellor's den? ah! those heavy curtains under the staircase. he passed through them. there was a short passage, with a door at the end. hush! what was that? he listened intently. it was nothing--merely nervous fancy. he turned the handle of the door, and entered. he was in the lord chancellor's library. but, heavens! he was not there alone. for a moment he drew back in dismay; but the singularity of the other man's occupation arrested him. he was kneeling on the floor before the wall at the far end of the room. he had a lamp or candle by his side. what on earth was he doing? had he surprised the lord high chancellor, the keeper of the king of england's conscience, worshipping by stealth at some pagan shrine? what were the rites he was performing? curiosity impelled mr. hilton forward. as he drew nearer, the situation unfolded itself. he had done the lord chancellor an injustice. it was not he. a man was kneeling before a safe built into the wall. he was drilling holes into the door by the light of a lamp. he was a real burglar! the humour of the situation struck mr. hilton so keenly that he nearly laughed. for some time he watched the operation, expecting each moment to be discovered. then, as the man continued absorbed in his work, mr. hilton sank noiselessly into an easy chair behind him. to prepare for contingencies, his hand had stolen to his coat pocket, and now held a small revolver. for half an hour longer he continued to admire the businesslike methods of the burglar. the door of the safe had now been pierced through all round the lock. the man turned to reach another tool. in so doing his eye caught sight of a patent leather boot and a trouser leg, where before there had been empty space. the phenomenon fascinated him. he slowly turned his head, following the clue upward until his eyes were level with the barrel of mr. hilton's revolver. his jaw fell, and he stiffened. "please keep as you are for a minute," said a low voice from behind the weapon. "i wish you to understand the situation. there is no immediate cause for anxiety. i am--er--a friend in disguise. you may go on with your most interesting work. i shall give no alarm. do you understand?" "who the blazes are you?" asked the burglar. "your curiosity is natural. i am in your own noble profession--a top-sawyer or a swell mobsman, i forget which; but i have the certificate at home." "none of yer gammon," said the burglar. "can't you put that thing down an' say wot yer game is." "william," mr. hilton replied, "i wish you clearly to understand that you have nothing at all to do with my game. you go on drilling those nice little holes. when you've got that door open we'll discuss matters further. please proceed." [illustration: "'you may go on with your most interesting work.'" (_p. ._)] "d'you take me for a mug?" asked the burglar defiantly. "i shall, if you don't go on with your work. this instrument goes off on the slightest provocation, and the wound it makes is very painful." the burglar turned, and resumed his work; but he did not seem to have much heart in it, nor to derive much encouragement from mr. hilton's occasional promptings. every now and then he looked round suspiciously. another half-hour passed before he had prized the bolts back, and the door was open. for the moment the two men forgot everything but their curiosity, and both looked anxiously inside. every shelf and pigeon-hole was rummaged, but there was nothing but letters and documents. there were two drawers below. the locks of these had to be picked. in the last one the burglar pounced on a bag of money and some notes. "got 'im!" he cried triumphantly. "what?" "two 'underd an' fifty quid. 'e gets it on the fust of ev'ry month to pay 'is washin' bill." "how did you know that?" "from a pal at the bank. i've 'ad this in my eye for a year or more, but i've mos'ly been a-doin' time since i----" he stopped short suddenly, evidently regretting his outburst of confidence. "now put that money back," said mr. hilton. "wot for?" "because i tell you." "arfter all the trouble i've 'ad? no bloomin' fear." "put it back. you shan't lose by it." "wot d'ye mean?" "i'm looking for something myself. it isn't in the safe, but it may be in some other drawer in the room. if i find it i'll give you £ myself." "name o'morgan, or am i speakin' to lord rothschild?" said the burglar sarcastically. "you don't 'appen to 'ave the chink on you?" "i haven't; but see, you can have this watch and chain, and my sovereign purse, and these links, and i think--yes, here's a tenner. you can have this lot till i give you the money." the burglar was impressed. "cap'n," he said, "you've a free an' easy way in 'andlin' walubles wot soots me down to the ground. i wish we could 'ave met sooner. it would 'ave saved my ole woman many a weary six months. but wot's the need to leave the chink? s'pose we takes the bag, an' leaves the notes?" "you've got to leave the lot, william," said mr. hilton decisively. the burglar turned thoughtfully away from the safe. "wot is it you're lookin' for?" he asked. "'as the guv'n'r cut you orf with a bob, an' are you a-goin' to alter the ole bloke's will?" "i'm looking for a seal." "stuffed?" asked william, with a sportsman's interest. "no. a seal for stamping wax. it's a big one, made of silver, and about six inches across. let's try these drawers in the desk." there were six of them. four were open, the other two locked. it took some time to open these. they were full of legal matter. then they turned their attention to a set below some bookshelves. while the burglar was busy with the locks hilton turned over the papers on the desk. the first was headed, "house of lords: gibbins _v._ gibbins. judgment of lord ravy." another read, "gibbins _v._ gibbins. judgment of lord mctaughtun." beside them was the half-written judgment of the lord chancellor himself. mr. richard hilton looked at these legal feats without interest. mechanically he lifted the lid of the desk. a large leather case fitted exactly into the compartment below. he pulled it out. it was stamped with the royal arms. "here. cut this, please." the flap was cut, and hilton drew out a richly embroidered and betasselled silk purse. he looked eagerly inside. "hurrah!" he cried in his excitement. for it was the great seal of the united kingdom. the burglar examined it critically, and then felt its weight. "five quid," he said, putting it down contemptuously. hilton dropped it carefully into his pocket. at this moment the electric light was suddenly switched on, and the whole place was brilliantly illuminated. they both turned sharply towards the door. there in his dressing-gown stood an old gentleman. hilton had often seen those classic features in photographs or the illustrated papers. he recognised them at once. it was the lord chancellor. "what are you doing here?" came the stern judicial voice. "we are--er--we are making the home circuit, my lord," said hilton deferentially. "may i ask your lordship to be good enough to lower your voice. you perceive that i am armed." "you would dare to fire on me, sir?" said the lord chancellor. "i hope it will not be necessary; for in that case your lordship would not hunt next season with the bister vale. will you please take that seat?" his lordship sank into the chair. "you are a bold man," he said, after a pause. "a bold, bad man, i fear, my lord. and so is my partner, mr. william sikes here. aren't you, william?" william did not reply. he was gazing intently at the lord chancellor. "ain't yer name 'ardy?" he asked. "'enery 'ardy?" "it used to be," replied his lordship. "i thought so," said mr. sikes. "then i says to yer face you're a bloomin', footlin' rotter." "'gently, brother, gently, pray,'" said hilton. "a bloomin', footlin' rotter," repeated mr. sikes with the earnestness of conviction. "an' i've waited five-an'-twenty year to tell you so." "ah," said the lord chancellor, with some interest. "how is that?" "i once paid you to defend me at the dawchester 'sizes respectin' a mare wot 'ad follered me inter 'ampshire. a sickenin' 'ash you made of it. you got two quid fer the job, an' i got two year. i b'lieve you woz boozed." "pray forgive william, my lord," said hilton. "he forgets himself strangely when he's excited. we have a lot of trouble with him at home." william glared at him. "i ain't forgot that bloke's ugly mug, any'ow. i swore i'd be quits with 'im one day, an', holy moses, it's my go now." saying this, he clutched his jemmy, and advanced threateningly towards his lordship. "stay, you fool!" hilton cried. "if you dare to touch him i'll shoot you. get back." william hesitated. "if you don't get back before i count three i'll lame you for life. one--two----" william retired sullenly. "my lord," said hilton, "i must draw this painful interview to a close. your presence excites william, and he's always dangerous when excited. we will retire. before i go, i wish to give you my word of honour that anything we may take away with us to-night will be again in your possession within forty-eight hours." "your word of honour, sir!" repeated his lordship with withering contempt. "you are ungenerous, my lord. you force me to remind you that but for my interference william would undoubtedly have had his revenge upon you to-night, and the woolsack have lost its brightest ornament. in return, i ask your lordship to give me your own assurance that you will not raise any alarm for the next half-hour. if you do not we shall have to bind and gag you." "don't you be such a fool as to trust 'im," said william. "i'll do the gaggin'," he added, with enthusiasm. "shut up, william," said mr. hilton. "if his lordship gives his word you may be sure he will keep it--even with thieves. the age of chivalry is not yet past, although you are still alive. my lord, do you agree?" "i am in your hands. i promise." hilton bowed. he pointed to the door to his companion. "my tools," said william, going round the desk to collect them. a minute later the two had left the room. in five minutes they had scaled the outside wall, and within the half-hour were in richard hilton's rooms. mr. william sikes looked round him admiringly. "i understand your feelings, william," said mr. hilton, "but my windows and doors are every night connected with a burglar-alarm, and my man, who was once a noted bruiser, is close at hand. i don't really think it would be safe for you to call again. now you want your money. i will write a cheque out, payable to bearer, and give it you. if you make yourself nice and tidy they will cash it for you in the morning over the counter at my bank." "i don't like cashin' cheques at banks," said william. "i never was any good at it," he added pensively. "ain't you got any rhino in this 'ere shanty?" "let me see. you have a tenner of mine in your pocket. perhaps i can give you some more." hilton opened a bureau, and produced a cash-box. "you see where i keep it, william," he remarked pleasantly. "i shall have to find another place for it in future--you are so very impulsive. ah, here we are. three fivers and two--four--six in gold. that makes twenty-one. and where's the sovereign purse i gave you? thank you. here are four more: that makes twenty-five; and you have ten: that is thirty-five. now i'll make a cheque out for the balance--what is it? yes; two hundred and fifteen pounds. . . . here it is. perhaps your friend at the lord chancellor's bank will present it for you before three o'clock this afternoon, when i shall suddenly find that i have lost the cheque, and shall stop payment." "wot do you do that for?" asked william suspiciously. "i must do it for my own protection, william, as i'm afraid it wouldn't be wise for me to have any direct transactions with you. but until three o'clock the game is in your hands. now it's time for you to have your beauty sleep. i am much obliged for your assistance. good-night. oh, by the way, let me have my watch, please--and the links. william, i'm afraid you were forgetting them." "blow me, but i was," said william frankly, as he dived into his capacious pockets. "my mem'ry ain't wot it used to be, an' i knows it. wot with work an' worry, an' worry an' work, it don't 'ave a fair chance. 'ere you are, cap'n." and william placed the jewellery in mr. hilton's hands with obvious regret. then his host showed him off the premises. it was now four o'clock. hilton pulled out the great seal, and locked it up in a secret drawer in his bureau. then he retired to rest, in the happy consciousness of a night well spent. he rose late that morning, and it was one o'clock before he left his rooms. in piccadilly, on the news posters: "the great seal of england stolen," at once caught his eye. he bought a paper, and turned to the column with curious interest. "a daring robbery was perpetrated in the early hours of this morning at shipley house, kensington gore, the residence of the lord chancellor. his lordship, being unable to sleep, came downstairs about two o'clock, intending to complete an important judgment. in the library he found two burglars, who succeeded in decamping before his lordship could obtain assistance. "the great seal of england, and £ in gold and notes are missing. "this is probably the most audacious burglary of modern times, for the lord chancellor is the head of the judicial system of the country, and, after royalty, is only second in importance to the archbishop of canterbury. "england is to-day without a great seal of state, a position unparalleled since it was stolen from lord thurlow's residence in . only once before had it been missing--when james ii. threw it into the thames at lambeth. "great inconvenience has already been caused by its absence, as the treaty between england and korea was to have been signed to-morrow, and the great seal affixed thereto. we understand that the privy council will meet in the morning at buckingham palace in order to deal with the situation thus created. "we are informed that the police have an important clue which will lead to the apprehension of at least one of the criminals. we do not know whether any special penalty is attached to the theft of the great seal, but a century ago the perpetrator of the crime would undoubtedly have been hanged." richard hilton stared at this in blank amazement. the pains and penalties did not disturb him, but "£ in gold and notes missing" held him spellbound. suddenly light dawned upon him, and he burst out with "done! and by william! that was when he collected his tools, and i wasn't watching. the scoundrel! hi! hansom! . . . cox's bank. sharp!" ten minutes later he was at the bank counter. "i have lost a cheque for £ , payable to bearer, made out to self and endorsed. please stop payment," he said. "very sorry, mr. hilton," replied the teller. "it was presented first thing this morning, and i cashed it in gold." that evening the meeting of the burglars' club was held at the house of lord altamont, an ex-colonel of the welsh guards. there was a record attendance. the robbery of the great seal had excited general interest, but to members of the club the accompanying details were of the gravest importance. after the usual opening formalities had been gone through, lord ribston rose. "mr. president, i crave leave for mr. richard hilton, a cadet member of this club, to speak." assent was given by the general silence, which was maintained when hilton entered. "mr. president, my lords and gentlemen," he began, "i regret exceedingly that i have to make my first appearance in your midst with an apology. i take it that you have all seen the paragraph in the papers stating that the great seal is missing from the lord chancellor's house, and, in addition to that, £ in notes and gold. no explanation is needed as to the absence of the great seal, for that resulted from the mandate of your club. the other item calls for a clear and explicit statement of the facts of the case." here hilton gave an account of the robbery from his first meeting the burglar to his parting from him, concluding, "so now, gentlemen, i suggest that i deserve your sympathy rather than your blame; for not only has mr. sikes relieved me of £ , but i have promised the lord chancellor to return anything we took away with us. i shall, therefore, have to send him a further like sum. i do not grudge the loss of £ , since i have been enabled to qualify as a member of your club, but i do most sincerely regret that my bungling has led to even a temporary suspicion that the taint of professionalism has been brought into your midst. my lords and gentlemen, i am in your hands. here, at any rate, is the great seal of the united kingdom." the last words were lost in tumultuous applause. each member rose to his feet and acclaimed the speaker, and then they crowded round him and shook hands. "gentlemen," said the president, when order had been restored, "i move that mr. richard hilton be now formally enrolled as a member of the club, and in your name i welcome him as one who has already added lustre to our annals. the circumstances of his entry are so unusual that, as a mark of our appreciation, i beg to move that the provincial line due from him in the usual course of things in two years' time be hereby excused, and that, as an exception to our rule, mr. hilton be elected for a term of four years." the proposition was carried by acclamation. "your grace and gentlemen, i thank you," said the beaming richard hilton. * * * * * the privy council met at ten on the following morning, and ordered a new seal to be engraved; but at noon a postal packet was delivered at shipley house, which, on being opened, disclosed an old biscuit tin, then tissue paper, then cotton-wool, and finally the great seal of the united kingdom. the treaty between england and korea was signed with the usual formalities at three in the afternoon. later in the day the lord chancellor received from five different quarters registered parcels, each weighing about a pound avoirdupois. each packet contained fifty sovereigns. thus within forty-eight hours his lordship had received all the stolen property. in consideration thereof he cancelled his instructions to scotland yard to follow up a clue which mr. william sikes had incautiously given about a dorset horse robbery in the late 'seventies. his lordship also advertised his acknowledgments in the agony column of the _times_, and asked for the favour of an explanation of the whole incident. this was not forthcoming, and the matter remained for some time the one unsolved riddle of his lordship's life. mr. william sikes, with the £ so ingeniously obtained, retired from the burglary profession, and bought a little public house known as the "goat and compasses." for some reason or other he altered the name to "seal and compasses," thereby causing much mystification to future antiquarians in that particular district. in recalling his conduct on the night in question, mr. sikes spends some of the happiest hours of his life. to mr. richard hilton the events of that night were also eminently satisfactory. he was the only loser, but he had gained more than he had lost, for the laurels of the burglars' club were his. viii. the lion and the sun. the visit of his royal highness ali azim mirza, nephew of the shah, accompanied by the grand vizier, hasan kuli, is fresh in our memories. the mission of the prince was to invest a distinguished personage with the insignia of the lion and the sun in order to mark the persian monarch's appreciation of the garter which had been recently conferred upon him. the mission duly returned with its object accomplished. outwardly everything happened as was anticipated, and there are but few who know how nearly we approached to a war with russia as a consequence of the visit, while still fewer are aware that such a calamity was averted by a cadet member of the burglars' club. in the unwritten annals of the club the incident stands out prominently. it is well that it should be recorded before it is forgotten. the special mission was due to arrive in london on the th of the month. it was to leave on the th. lord denton had placed his town house at the disposal of the prince and his retinue during their stay. on the th, mr. birket rivers, a cadet member of the burglars' club, received an intimation that his entrance fee could be paid on the th by the production of the insignia of the order which the prince was bringing with him. on the evening of the th, john parker, a footman in the employ of lord denton, called by request on mr. rivers at his rooms in the albany. "you wished to see me, sir?" "ah, parker, how are you getting on?" "very well, thank you, sir." "you are going to have great times, parker. when does lord denton leave?" "to-morrow, sir." "are all the servants staying behind?" "only about half of us, sir. the persians bring their own cooks and men." "quite so. are you remaining?" "yes, sir." "good. i want you to let me take your place." parker opened his eyes very wide. "beg pardon, sir," he said, feeling sure he had misunderstood the last remark. "i want to take your place as footman in denton house while the persians are there. if you will help me to do so, parker, there's ten pounds for you." parker scratched his head. "i should like the ten pounds, sir; but i don't see how i'm to get it. they'd never mistake you for me, sir, though we are about the same build. mr. bradshaw would spot the difference at once." "who is mr. bradshaw?" "the butler, sir. he's pretty well left in charge of the house." "listen, parker. the prince comes the day after to-morrow. at eleven o'clock in the morning of that day you've got to be taken ill. tell bradshaw you can't work, and you think it's something infectious. tell him that your cousin, james finny, who is only staying on with me till he hears of a place, would jump at the job. send me word, and i will turn up at once." "mr. bradshaw might know you, sir." "i don't think so. i've never been at the house. besides, i shall shave off my moustache. anyway, parker, i'll take care you lose nothing by it, even if i should be found out." john parker left a quarter of an hour later, ten pounds richer than he came. in his pocket he carried a letter which eventually reached mr. rivers by special messenger at noon on the th. it ran: dear james,--come immediately. i am ill, and mr. bradshaw says you can take my place.--your loving cousin, john parker. with his moustache shaved off, and attired in a painfully respectable ready-made suit, rivers presented himself at denton house at one o'clock. he found mr. bradshaw in a highly-wrought condition. "so you're parker's cousin? a pretty mess he's landed me in!" "i hope he's not very bad, sir." "i hope he is. i hope he'll die," said mr. bradshaw vengefully. "you've lived with mr. rivers?" "yes, sir." "can you announce visitors?" "yes, sir." "go to that door, and announce the lord mayor." rivers--or, rather, james finny--flung open the door, and announced in stentorian accents, "his worship the lord mayor of london." "you hass!" shouted mr. bradshaw. "you only worship him when you're in the prisoners' box. i 'spect that's where you met him. call him 'his lordship' when he's a-wisitin'. now again." james obeyed. "bravo--that's better!" said another voice. it proceeded from a mite of a man who had approached noiselessly, and who now stood rubbing his hands approvingly. "but it's rather late for rehearsals, mr. bradshaw, isn't it?" he added. "parker's taken ill," said mr. bradshaw savagely. "he's sent this screw to take his place." "so thoughtful of parker," murmured the little man. "what's your name, and where do you come from?" addressing the candidate for office. "james finny, sir--from mr. birket rivers." "mr. birket rivers," reflected the other. "ah, to be sure--mr. birket rivers, the young millionaire. drives a team of spanking bays at the four-in-hand meets. attaché at constantinople, or something. came into money and left the service. wishes he'd stopped in it, i believe. a very active young gentleman. oh, yes, i've heard of your master--your late master, james finny." the little man was studying him intently all the time. then he fixed his eyes on rivers' hands. he lifted the right one, looked at it, and passed on. there was a loud ring, and a footman entered with "please, mr. bradshaw, there's the gentlemen come from the hembassy." the butler bustled to the door. "go up to parker's room, and change into his things at once, and then come down to me in the 'all," he said to rivers. "yes, sir," rivers replied. "beg pardon, mr. bradshaw, who was that small gentleman wot just left us?" "that small gentleman," said mr. bradshaw, with swelling dignity, "is mr. marvell, from scotland yard; so you'd better be careful, finny." prince ali azim, accompanied by the vizier and a numerous suite, arrived that afternoon, and the whole household was thenceforth kept busy attending to the wants, numerous and peculiar, of the persians. rivers' chief duties were to attend to the hall door, and to help to wait at meals. he did his work to the satisfaction of mr. bradshaw, and never a day passed without mr. marvell, who was installed as the protecting angel of the establishment, staring fixedly at him, and then passing some word of commendation in a tone that brought the blood to his face. "a shocking habit you have of blushing, james finny," the little man would say as he toddled away. and all the time the new footman was trying to find out where the order of the lion and the sun was kept. it was the th before he ascertained that it was in one of three despatch boxes kept in a bookcase in the library. the burglars' meeting took place on the th. he must purloin it before then--that very night, if possible. at five o'clock the vizier was taken ill. "some of parker's leavin's, i'll be bound," said mr. bradshaw. "same symtims. looks all right, and talks despairin' of pains an' shivers. won't have a doctor, neither. if the wizzer pipes out, finny, your preshus cousin'll be responsible." at p.m. the prince and his suite, with the exception of the invalid vizier, set out for the alhambra and supper at the carlton. mr. marvell, as usual, followed closely in their wake. at nine o'clock james finny was off duty. "now or never," he thought. he watched his opportunity, and then, unperceived, entered the library, and there hid himself behind a curtain, intending to wait till the household was asleep, and then to open the despatch box from his bunch of skeleton keys. he had been there perhaps half an hour when the door opened, and, to his amazement, the vizier entered. he was followed by a servant bringing coffee and cigarettes. there were cups for two. the minutes passed slowly. the vizier looked impatiently at the clock, then strode up to one of the windows, pulled back the heavy curtain, raised the blind, and looked out. rivers' pulses quickened. what if the vizier were to come to his window? "ha!" exclaimed the persian, replacing the curtain, and resuming his seat. the door opened, and a bemuffled object made its appearance. the vizier rose. the servant withdrew, and the object emerged from its wraps. rivers knew the man at once. he had met him at constantinople. it was count moranoff. the vizier bowed. the newcomer responded, and then gave a sigh of relief. "_peste!_ but it was warm, vizier," he said. "i am delighted at last to have the honour and the supreme pleasure of meeting you." "your excellency," replied the vizier, "the fame of count moranoff has for long inspired me with an intense wish that we should meet. allah has at last granted the desire of my life. will your excellency seat yourself? here is coffee _alla turca_." the count drew up his chair, and took the proffered cup. as he lit a cigarette, his eyes travelled appreciatively over the portraits of a dozen dentons, famous in the service of their country. "it is fitting we should meet here," he said, "surrounded by these illustrious gentlemen, who look on, but cannot move. it is prophetic." "it is kismet," said the vizier gravely. "kismet, assisted by two statesmen," returned the count. "exactly. but i mustn't lose time, vizier, as our moments are precious." he put his hand into his breast pocket, and produced a document. "here is the draft of our understanding, arranged so far as is possible with three thousand versts between us. now we must discuss the final details. i have indicated my suggestions, and if they meet with your approval it will be possible for us to sign before you leave london." the persian watched the smoke rings float upward. "there is no haste," he said. "'fruit ripens slowly under grey skies,' as our poet sings." "quite so--quite so," said the russian, conscious of an error. "this year--the next will do. our treasury has many drains upon it. we are not anxious to add to the number." the vizier smoked imperturbably. "the skies are grey here," he said at length, "but this london holds some wonderful men. one i met yesterday--an american. he is young. his hair is still flaxen. yet he spoke of money as though it grew on rose trees. half a million roubles are as nothing to him. he gave that sum for an italian picture--an old, shabby-looking thing such as my master would not place in his anterooms. he owns oil mines, railways, banks. allah! what does that flaxen-haired youth not own? my heart ached at the number of his possessions." "these americans talk," replied the count. "half they say is false, half exaggeration." "sometimes, no doubt," said the vizier, "but not always. i know this man is rich. he is one of the new kings of the earth. we have already had a transaction together," and he sighed contentedly. "there are kings and kings," replied the russian. "there are also emperors. your excellency is now in negotiation with one who controls the destinies of countless millions--men and roubles. when last i saw his majesty he said, 'tell his excellency the grand vizier that i would his wisdom could be added to that of my counsellors. when the wishes of my heart respecting the new treaty are consummated he will honour me by accepting half a million roubles.'" the persian gazed reflectively into space. "your master is great," he said, "and he is generous. his rewards make glad the hearts of poets. he is the joy of the poor. would that i were a poet or poor. so should my voice praise him also." the russian's eye gleamed, but he continued suavely: "so said my royal master, 'half a million roubles shall be his when the treaty is signed; five hundred thousand more when the russian flag floats in the persian gulf.'" the persian leaned back resignedly. "great is the power of your master," he said. "as russia is bigger than america, so does his power exceed that of the flaxen-haired gentleman i met yesterday. the americans are numbered by tens, your master's subjects by hundreds of millions. besides, it is always more agreeable to deal with a first-class diplomatist. let me look at the draft." count moranoff handed over the document. the vizier read it slowly. the terms were fairly comprehensive. behind his curtain rivers breathed hard at their audacity, and his blood tingled at the thought that it rested with him to checkmate this daring move. the statesmen discoursed frankly, and there was no disguise of the object in view. india was eventually to be attacked by russia, who was prepared to pay for facilities granted. the north-eastern province of persia was a necessary factor of the scheme, and a railway was to be commenced at once from astrabad to meshed. but the most striking part of the plan was the acquisition by russia of a port in the persian gulf. the isle of kishm was to be ceded to her. the only discussion between the two statesmen was with regard to the island of ashurada in the caspian. the vizier demanded its evacuation by russia in partial payment for kishm, but more particularly as a sop to the persian people. after much demur this was finally agreed to by moranoff, in addition to the annuity of two million roubles granted to the shah. the vizier folded up the document. "my secretary shall transcribe this to-morrow," he said, "and we can sign after our return from windsor. strange, is it not," he soliloquised, "that our former negotiations came to a head when the english mission brought the garter, and our new one is to be consummated while we are in the act of returning the compliment? these english are fated to be hoodwinked." "when men such as you and i get together, my dear vizier----" began the russian sententiously. then he stopped short, for the door had suddenly opened. the persian turned angrily, and then rose to his feet as a tall, richly-dressed man entered. it was the prince ali azim. "vizier," said the prince abruptly, "whom have you here? your physician?" the vizier's face had assumed a bland smile, and instinctively he endeavoured to cover the treaty. but the prince saw the movement. "why hide the prescription, vizier?" he said. the russian's face grew livid, but the vizier regained his usual composure. "your royal highness," he said, "permit me to present his excellency count moranoff." "ten thousand pardons, count," said the prince, slightly returning the count's profound inclination. "you will, perhaps, understand my mistake when i tell you that the vizier is far from well. he has, no doubt, concealed the fact from you, but he was too ill to accompany me this evening to the hall of music. hence my surprise at finding him here. i fear that his extraordinary zeal for affairs has led him prematurely from his bed. i am sure that you would not wish him to trespass unduly on his strength." "your royal highness's surmise is correct," said moranoff. "it would, indeed, be an international calamity were the vizier to break down. i hope i have not hastened that end." he again bowed profoundly to the prince, refused the vizier's offer of assistance with his wraps, and then, with a cold adieu to him, left the room. "now, hasan kuli," thundered the prince when they were alone, "what intrigue is this?" "your royal highness's suspicions are uncalled for. moranoff and i are old friends by correspondence. we had never met personally, and he naturally seized this opportunity." "i did not know he was in england," said the prince. "the russian ambassador incidentally referred to him to-day as being in petersburg. i left you in bed, full of toothache and indigestion. i return unexpectedly, and find you deliberating with a russian who is supposed to be five hundred _farsakhs_ away. give me that paper." the vizier reluctantly produced it, and the prince read it through. "ah," he said, as he refolded it. "i see you are making a cat's-paw of me again. my mission here is to do away with any ill-effects consequent on our treaty with russia. you will remember that when we were fooling the english mission in teheran i knew nothing of the treaty just concluded with russia. my uncle and you delighted to keep me in the dark; yet all the time it was i who did the work. was it his majesty the shah who played at billiards and cards with the english? was it you who fought them at lawn tennis. bah! i laugh at the thought. but i played at all. i lost my money at cards and billiards, and i suffered defeat at lawn tennis till the perspiration rolled down me, and my legs gave way. and you smoked and laughed, and got all the profit. i, who worked, got none. now i have come over land and sea with the order of the lion and the sun. again i do the work--again i know nothing. i find you intriguing behind my back. you treat me as a child; but you forget that some day i may be shah. you play with fire, vizier." "your royal highness, i beg you to believe that i have acted for what i thought was the benefit of our country." "and your own pocket," added the prince. "how much plunder do you get out of this?" the vizier held up his hands in horror. "your royal highness," he said, "is nothing ever done disinterestedly--from pure patriotism?" [illustration: "suddenly he rose, took the draft of the treaty, went to the despatch boxes, and placed it in one of them." (_p. ._)] "not by hasan kuli," sneered the prince. "please save yourself useless declamation. you may as well know my terms at once. the price of my acquiescence in this matter is one million roubles." the vizier gasped. "one million roubles!" he exclaimed. "does money grow?" "so far as i know, it does not," replied the prince acidly. "but you may as well spare yourself unnecessary questions. these are my terms. arrange with moranoff to-morrow, or take it from your own profit--i care not which; but unless a portion of the money is forthcoming before we leave this cursed land i will----" "you will betray us?" "i do not explain my intentions to viziers," replied the young man haughtily. "you understand me, i hope. here is your treaty." he tossed the document on the table and left. the vizier threw himself on a sofa, and groaned aloud. he lay there long--so long that rivers, behind the curtain, was stiff and weary. and there was the vizier, now apparently dozing at intervals--perhaps going to make a night of it. suddenly he rose, took the draft of the treaty, went to the despatch boxes, and placed it in one of them. his body intervened between rivers' view of them, but the watcher followed his movements as best he could. then the vizier turned to the door, and clicked out the light as he passed through. rivers stretched himself, but he did not venture to stir from behind the curtain for some time. at length he stepped out, turned on his portable electric light, crossed the room, and stood before the despatch boxes. there were three, all exactly alike. one held the insignia of the lion and the sun. that was--yes, that was the bottom one. the treaty was in the middle one. the top one was unimportant. rivers lifted out the middle one, and essayed to open it with his keys, but in vain. then he tried the bottom one--that containing the persian order--but with no better success. the box would have to be forced open elsewhere. yet he dare not carry it across the hall. other means had to be found for getting it out of the room, and the way had occurred to him as he stood behind the curtain. one box he might pass safely through this instrumentality, but only one. two would court defeat. which box was he to take--the one that held the order of the lion and the sun, the object of all his scheming, or the other, in which lay the treaty? rivers' mind had taken its resolve at the instant he had seen the draft placed therein. since moranoff had appeared, he had lost all immediate interest in the burglars' club. whether he became a member or not was of little moment, but it was a matter of national importance that the foreign secretary should see the draft of the treaty. the earl of ancoats was hard to convince of anyone's dishonesty. his own honour was so untarnished that he refused to believe less of others. he had declined to take hints about the former treaty between russia and persia, and now, with the shah's mission at his door, he would probably refuse to believe that this was but another blind, covering a further and bolder intrigue. lord ancoats must see the treaty. rivers took the middle box across to the window, then drew up the blind and waited. the red-coated sentry passed. could he manage it before the soldier was round again? ah! here was his chance. he opened the window gently. "hi!" he called out to the passing hansom. the man pulled up, got down, and came to the window. "i want you to take this box straight to lord ancoats. he lives in eaton square. tell him mr. birket rivers sent it, and he must open it at once. i will see him in the morning about it. here's a sovereign. if lord ancoats gets it within an hour, i'll give you another sovereign to-morrow. here you are. cut along. drive like blazes." as the man mounted his seat, the sentry came round the corner. rivers cautiously closed the window, and drew the blind. he then pulled a chair behind the curtain, and went to sleep on it till four o'clock, when he made his way to his own room. first thing in the morning he sent a message to john parker, who turned up in good health at ten o'clock, and claimed his post back. half an hour later rivers left, assured of mr. bradshaw's offer of the next vacancy in the household. he drove straight to the albany, and then to eaton square. the earl was at the foreign office. within the hour his lordship received him. "well, mr. rivers," said lord ancoats, producing the despatch box from a safe. "what is the meaning of this?" [illustration: "instead of the draft, there, on a purple velvet cushion, was the glittering order of the lion and the sun." (_p. ._)] "it explains itself, my lord." "indeed," said the statesman drily. "what do you think it contains?" "the draft of a new treaty between russia and persia." "open it." rivers did so, and, instead of the draft, there on a purple velvet cushion was the glittering order of the lion and the sun! rivers was stupefied. "was there nothing else?" he asked in bewilderment. "no, sir; and perhaps you will now explain how you came into possession of this, and why you sent it to me. it is surely the property of the persian mission." lord ancoats' demeanour was not reassuring, but rivers plunged boldly into the matter. "last night, at denton house, count moranoff visited the persian vizier," he commenced. "how do you know that?" "i saw him. i was present at the interview--unknown, of course. he brought with him the draft of a treaty supplementing the last one. it had chiefly reference to the acquisition of a russian port in the persian gulf." "ah!" said lord ancoats, "that's a bold move. go on, please." "the vizier placed the draft in one of three despatch boxes like this. i thought this was the one, and i sent it here so that your lordship could read the treaty for yourself. i deeply regret that i made a mistake in the box, but i can give the gist of the treaty from memory." "please do so now." rivers' memory was good, and the words of the treaty had burnt themselves on his brain. he recited the terms without hesitation. the minister heard him in silence, making notes. "thank you, rivers," he said at the end. "you will please let me have that in writing in time for to-morrow's cabinet." then he got up and paced the room. "it is an unfortunate situation. i think we shall be able to meet the political side of it, but the investiture takes place at windsor to-morrow, and this discovery is, to say the least, embarrassing. however, we have to thank you for being forewarned. you evidently anticipated this move." "i'm afraid not, sir. it was as much luck as anything else on my part." "but you were at denton house?" "i was there on other business," said rivers frankly. lord ancoats looked grave. "well, mr. rivers," he said, "i will not inquire too closely what that other business was. you have rendered a service to the state which will not be forgotten. now, what about this?" pointing to the box. "i will see that the vizier gets it." "at once?" rivers hesitated. only then did he remember he now had in his possession what he wanted. he could pay his entrance fee. "i will see that it is at denton house by the morning," he said. lord ancoats watched him intently. "does the burglars' club meet to-night?" he said quietly. "i--i beg your pardon," stammered rivers. lord ancoats laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. "i was only told of that institution within the hour," he said, "and till a moment ago i didn't believe the information. take my advice, rivers, and leave it. its existence, you see, is known to some of the outside world. as a friend i warn you that you will be watched to-night. don't spoil your career. why did you leave the service? oh, i remember; but you're not satisfied with merely killing time, are you? will you come back to us? the first secretaryship at vienna is vacant. would you take it?" rivers' face beamed. "i'd jump at it, my lord." "then be ready to start in a week. never mind thanks. i am still your debtor. now about this box? you might be unable to restore it. we must adopt other means." lord ancoats opened the door of an adjoining room with, "come forward, please." and the little detective whom rivers had last seen at denton house that very morning entered briskly. "i believe you have met before?" said lord ancoats. rivers was too astonished to reply. "yes, i have met james finny--i beg pardon--mr. birket rivers," said the detective drily. "mr. rivers has explained the mystery very satisfactorily, marvell," said lord ancoats. "the box should be restored without delay. will you do this, please?" mr. marvell tried to look pleased, but signally failed in the attempt. "certainly, my lord," he replied. there was a knock at the door, and a clerk appeared with a card in his hand. "i must leave you now," said the minister. "rivers, next week, remember. i am much obliged for your assistance, mr. marvell." with this the secretary for foreign affairs left the room. the detective took up the box. "how on earth did you come into this matter, mr. marvell?" asked rivers. "very simply, sir. when lord ancoats got the box he telephoned to scotland yard, and i was sent for at once. as a matter of fact, i opened the box for his lordship. you're sure you wouldn't like to restore it yourself? the vizier is ill in bed, and it won't be wanted till to-morrow." "sorry to disappoint you, mr. marvell," rivers laughed; "but i'm sure it's safer in your hands." mr. marvell nodded grimly. "sooner or later, sir. sooner or later," he said, as he walked to the door; "but don't try to be a footman next time." with these enigmatical remarks the interview terminated. * * * * * on the following day the investiture of the lion and the sun took place at windsor. after the ceremony prince ali azim and the vizier had a private interview with the secretary of state for foreign affairs. it was noted at the time that the persians emerged looking singularly subdued. that evening, in reply to a friendly question addressed by the leader of the opposition, lord ancoats took the opportunity to assure the house that the paramount influence of england in the persian gulf would be maintained at any cost, and a month later the union jack floated by the side of the arab sultan's flag on the castle towers of muscat. this was the answer given to the russian intrigue. that it was so effective and complete was owing to the action of mr. birket rivers, sometime a cadet member of the burglars' club. ix. the horseshoe and the peppercorn. the president rose and read: "'march th is the anniversary of the battle of towton. for valour on that desperate field john de mallaby received from edward iv. the barony of tadcaster, and an appropriate grant of land in yorkshire, at a yearly rental of a peppercorn and a golden horseshoe. that rent is still paid by the barons--now earls--of tadcaster. his late lordship used to bring his annual acknowledgment to town in a state coach with outriders, but the present peer takes it to his sovereign by motor-car, attended only by a chauffeur.' "in this paragraph, my lords and gentlemen," continued the duke, "we see indicated the quest of our distinguished fellow member captain prescott cunningham, whose subscription is now due." "what is the quest, mr. president?" inquired cunningham. "am i to capture the peer or the motor-car?" "neither, sir," replied his grace of dorchester. "you will kindly produce the horseshoe and the peppercorn intended for the king on the th. our meeting is arranged for the th, so that we may return the trophies in question, and enable his lordship of tadcaster to continue in possession of his remarkably low-rented estate." the right honourable john de mallaby, d.l., f.r.s., m.a., eighteenth baron and seventh earl of tadcaster, lived chiefly at his westmorland seat, kirkdale castle, which an ancestress in the time of george the first had obligingly brought into the family in addition to her own good looks. * * * * * a certain mr. shaw arrived one day of march last at the golden lion inn, kirkdale, and there spent a few days, talking much with the landlord and frequenters of the inn, and taking walks in the neighbourhood of the castle. on the latter occasions he might have been seen gazing somewhat disconsolately at the battlemented walls which had several times defied an army. once when he was so occupied, a thin, grizzly, stooping gentleman had passed, and with him a handsome dark-eyed girl. he learnt that this was the earl himself, a scientific and somewhat eccentric widower, and his only child eva, a _débutante_ of last season. prescott cunningham--for so was this mr. shaw designated in the more accurate books of the registrar-general--soon gave up any idea of entering the castle in his quest of the peppercorn and horseshoe. the task of finding them there was too big. he had learnt that on these annual occasions lord tadcaster, accompanied by his chauffeur, left the castle in his motor-car four days before the king received him. he also learnt full particulars of the route followed and of the halting places, and it was his final plan of campaign to waylay his lordship on the road, and, unashamed, to rob him of the articles desired. having spent three days in coming to this conclusion, cunningham moved on to bolton abbey, through which village he knew that his lordship would pass on his way to harrogate, where he would spend the night of the th. at five o'clock on the day in question, the tadcaster panhard drew up at the devonshire arms at bolton abbey, and cunningham saw to his amazement that, instead of the earl and his chauffeur, it contained his lordship and a lady--his daughter. cunningham groaned in spirit. to tackle two men single-handed might be counted sporting, but a woman--hang it all! mine host hurried to the door to assist his guests. "has your lordship lost mr. ackill?" he asked. "i hope not," replied the earl. "achille hurt his hand with a backfire this morning, and i sent him on by train to harrogate to have it attended to. you got my note? dinner at six?" "to the minute, my lord." the intervening time was chiefly spent by the earl in confidential communion with his motor, through the intermediary of a spanner and an oil can. while he was so engaged, and cunningham was lounging near the door, reflecting on his bad luck, another car drove up, and two loudly-dressed men emerged from their wraps. they entered the hotel, drank thirstily, and talked without restraint. lady eva de mallaby passed through the hall soon afterwards. struck by her beauty, one of the motorists, with the comradeship of one sportsman to another, addressed some remark to her, with a generous smile and a casual hat-lift. lady eva, showing a trace of surprise, stared icily at the man and passed on. "hoity, toity," said the motorist, without any sign of shame. "but i'd like to have the breaking-in of you, miss. wouldn't you, sammy?" addressing his companion. "too expensive," said sammy. "give me a four-year-old, like i bought to-day from sir william, an' i'm 'appy." "you're a bloomin' materialist, that's what you are, sammy," retorted the other--"a bloomin' materialist." he lingered lovingly over the rounded phrase, and drained his glass again. twenty minutes later the sound of a gramophone percolated the house. lord tadcaster was at dinner. it was his daily custom to dine to the accompaniment of music. when at home his private band officiated; when he was on his travels a musical-box or gramophone supplied the necessary melody. this was an eccentricity of the peer, who had decided, after long and recondite diagnosis, that music assists the digestion, and that certain music is more suited to a particular food than another. therefore he swallowed his soup to a dreamy prelude, his fish to a fugue. the _entrée_ was expedited by beethoven, the joint disappeared to a triumphal march. sweets demanded a waltz, cheese nothing more than a negro melody; but with wine and dessert were combined all the possibilities of grand opera. cunningham had learnt particulars of all this when at kirkdale, and now he listened to the programme emanating from the private dining-room. no doubt owing to the absence of achille, the music occasionally gave out, but by the intermittent tunes cunningham was still able to gauge the progress of the meal. the omission of a sonata denoted limitation of the repast, and when the strains of "lucia di lammermoor" throbbed on the air cunningham mounted his motor-cycle, and took the road that led through blubber-houses. a run of three-quarters of an hour brought him to the confines of haverah park, almost within sight of harrogate. it was here that he had decided to waylay the motor-car. it was a lonely spot indeed. moorland, grim pasture land, lean fir trees, stone walls and limestone road, was all that met the eye. all was cold and stern. cold and stern was his business that night; and there, close to the wood granted by john o' gaunt to one haverah, and tenanted since doomsday by the winds of the centuries, he waited. the air was springlike, but the wait was long and weary. the only satisfactory thing about it was that he had time to note the small amount of traffic on the road. a solitary dogcart was all that passed in an hour. the moon rose in cold splendour. the stars appeared. cunningham knew only one of them by name--betelgeuse, a red star, the apex of a triangle of which three stars formed the base. the name had struck him as remarkable, and he once had called a bull pup after it. for a moment he thought of his dog's untimely end. but was the panhard never coming? perhaps there had been a puncture, and in the absence of a chauffeur lord tadcaster was stranded. possibly he had returned to bolton abbey, or taken train forward, or, since he was short-handed, he might have altered his route and gone by the easier road through otley. in that case, he, prescott cunningham, was lost to the burglars' club. ah! there was the toot of a motor in the far distance, again repeated. it was the tadcaster toot--a base twentieth century substitute for the cry that on the field of towton in led another john de mallaby to a barony and an estate. cunningham recovered his cycle, be-straddled it, and gently mounted the rise in front. the panhard dashed up the hill, its acetylene lamps glaring like man-o'-war searchlights. cunningham advanced his spark. the motor responded, and sprang eagerly after the car. they were leaving him behind. he slowly opened his throttle valve. now he was making pace. he was gaining on them yard by yard, hand over fist. he was only a hundred yards behind now--fifty--twenty-five. could he do it? the psychological moment had come. he drew his revolver and aimed at the near back tyre of the car in front. ah! he had missed. he hit it with his second shot. it split with a rousing bang. the car listed and dragged. it swerved across the road in violent curves, but cunningham saw by the slowing of the speed that the driver had thrown out his clutch. at last it stopped. [illustration: "'softly, my lord,' said cunningham; 'i am covering you, you observe.'" (_p. ._)] "what's the meaning of this outrage, you scoundrel?" cried the infuriated motorist. "softly, my lord," said cunningham, now on his feet, and advancing with revolver in hand. "i am covering you, you observe!" "a highwayman, by george!" exclaimed the peer. "and edward vii. on the throne. a highwayman on castors!" "your lordship evidently recognises the situation," said cunningham. "this will save time and trouble, i hope." "i suppose you want my purse?" replied the peer. "this comes of travelling without my chauffeur," he added plaintively. "by george, if achille were here, he'd worry you. if i were ten years younger i'd tackle you myself." "regrets are futile, my lord," said cunningham, "but a purse will not satisfy me." "oh, you want two, do you? eva, i'm afraid you'll have to give him yours as well. shockin' luck for this to happen the first time we've travelled alone. i oughtn't to have let you come." "don't worry, dad, please," said lady eva. "i'm sorry i haven't got a purse, highwayman," she continued contemptuously, throwing back her thick veil to see what manner of man this could be, "but the few loose sixpences i have in my pocket are quite at your service." "you may keep them, madam," cunningham replied, with as much dignity as the occasion would permit. "i do not ask for money. i simply want the loan of a peppercorn and golden horseshoe until the th." "by george, he must be an antiquarian highwayman or a curio-collector gone mad," said his lordship. "d'ye think, sir, i'll give you what i'm taking to the king?" "his majesty shall have them, and from your hands, on the proper day. i simply ask for the loan of them till then." "you must think that i'm a fool," said the earl. in an instant he had grabbed the hoop of one of the heavy acetylene lamps, and pulled it from its socket. "take that, you blackguard!" he yelled, flinging it with all his force at the cyclist. cunningham dodged the missile, which crashed to the ground with light extinguished. "hands up, my lord," he shouted, "or i fire." the discomfited peer obeyed him. "you are quite at my mercy," said cunningham sternly. "the peppercorn and horseshoe at once, if you please, or i shall have to use force. i trust you will avoid a scene before your daughter. you may lower your right hand to your pocket." the earl did as he was bid, drew out the precious packet, and handed it to cunningham. "thank you, my lord," he replied. "you are wise. i promise you they shall be returned on the morning of the th. to what address?" "i don't believe you," retorted the peer. "but i stay at claridge's. now, if you've anything of a sportsman about you, you'll go on to the queen hotel at harrogate and tell my chauffeur, achille petibon, to come with a repairer at once. we can't spend the night here. i've got a spare cover and tube in the tonneau, but i can no more fit them than fly. my finger-nails are far too brittle." "i will convey your message with the greatest pleasure, my lord," replied cunningham. "i sincerely regret the inconvenience i have caused, though you may not think so." for a moment there was a pause, and cunningham could have gone. yet he hesitated. the moon shone down upon a desolate moorland glade, lighting up the green sward by the trees. the excitement of the adventure, the flush of victory, a pair of bright eyes, and the memory of some half-forgotten romance stirred his blood. "one final favour, my lord," he said. "no more, sir. by george, if i were ten years younger----" "you carry a gramophone with you." "you are remarkably well informed as to my luggage, sir. i do, but it's too bulky for you to carry away. they're cheap enough. a man of taste like yourself ought to be able to afford one of his own." "i don't want to take it away, my lord. i simply want the favour of a dance tune and a lady's hand." for a moment the earl looked puzzled. then he exclaimed: "by george! claude duval up to date! no, sir, i'll be hanged if----" his lordship stopped suddenly. he was keen of hearing, and as he spoke he had heard, or thought he heard, a distant car. even if it meant a dance with his daughter, he would detain the man until assistance arrived. in a moment he had altered his voice. "on second thoughts, sir," he said, "i don't know. after all, it's a tradition of your--er--profession. perhaps you will oblige the gentleman, eva." as he spoke he pressed the girl's hand so that she might know that something lay behind his words. "where's the gramophone?" he asked. while searching for the instrument his lordship actually started whistling, lest the highwayman should also hear the car. "ah, here it is," he said aloud. then, in a whisper to his daughter, "car coming. distract his attention." in his anxiety his lordship even hummed as he hurriedly manipulated the instrument, inserting the first record that came to hand. he wound up the toy, and a baritone voice sang raucously:-- "egypt! my cleopatra! i ain't no flatt'rer, but dis is true, (i'm a-goin' to tell her) egypt! if you don't want me. . . . in a trice lady eva had found a more suitable record, and after a momentary pause the instrument struck up "the darkie cake walk," as played by the new york municipal band, at manhattan beach, long island, u.s.a. "may i have the honour?" asked cunningham, hat in hand, with a low bow. lady eva inclined coldly, and took off her wraps. the man was certainly polite. he led her as though she were a princess, and any misgivings were soon at rest. it was a quaint scene. it is doubtful if betelgeuse had ever looked down upon a quainter. the firs formed a sombre background. the moon illuminated the green sward in front, and on it a highwayman and a lady motorist stepped to a catching dance tune, emanating from a gramophone on a panhard motor, controlled by a peer of the realm. the light of an acetylene lamp shone like a gigantic foot-light illuminating the front of the green stage. the floor was not an ideal one, though cattle had cropped it close and the winds had swept it dry, but the pair were accomplished dancers. thrice had they paced the length of the floor. now they turned again, hand in hand, with heads thrown back, and uplifted feet. there was the unmistakable sound of an approaching car. cunningham must have heard it, but recklessly he continued the dance. [illustration: "there was the unmistakable sound of an approaching car." (_p. ._)] with a toot it hove into sight, and lord tadcaster turned his own horn into a prolonged howl, signifying unimaginable trouble. this, and the unusual scene at the side, brought up the oncoming car to a smart halt. they backed abreast of the panhard. "robbery! help!" cried the earl. the two occupants of the new car hardly heard him. they were lost in astonishment. as the dancers reached the verge of the road in the full flare of the light, they were greeted with a round of applause. with a snap lord tadcaster turned off the gramophone. "well, i'm jiggered!" said one of the newcomers. "if it ain't little hoity toity!" the peer had jumped from the panhard. "help me to secure this highwayman," he said, pointing to cunningham. "he has robbed me." the man who had just spoken also got down, but his companion remained on the car, stolidly surveying the scene. "come along," said the peer to his recruit. "i think we can manage him between us." "stow it, old man," said the motorist. "you collar the highwayman, and i'll look after the lady." he brushed past the earl, and, with proffered arm, smirked, "may i have the next dance, miss?" lady eva drew back. the man came still nearer. instinctively she touched cunningham's arm for protection. "stand back, sir!" he commanded. "who the juggins are you?" sneered the man. "this old buffer says you're a highwayman, but you seem to think you're a bloomin' bobby. you git, and let me have my partner for the high-kick lancers." "if you come one step nearer i'll thrash you," said cunningham. the man needed no further encouragement. he even dared to touch the lady's arm. a second later he measured his length on the turf. his friend tumbled from his seat with anxious chivalry. "'ere, you leave my pal alone," he said, rolling up to cunningham. "shut up, sammy," said the other, rising slowly to his feet. "now, look you here, mr. highwayman," he continued vindictively. "you've had your score, now i'll have mine. either this lady has a hop with me to my own time and tune, and gives me a kiss at the end, or----" "or what?" "or i ride on to harrogate, and give the police information of highway robbery." "there's your car," said cunningham. "ride on." "he's not likely to wait for the arrival of the police," said the earl ruefully, yet anxious for the departure of these impossible helpers. "i shall be back with a bobby in twenty minutes," the man rejoined, "and we'll telephone to every town in the district so that he can't escape. i'm not in fightin' form myself to-night, so i'd rather do it in proper legal style. i'll bring a solicitor if i can find one. now, young feller," he continued, "you'd better consider well. it'll be a twelve months' touch for you for robbery and six for 'sault and battery. are you going to let your friend sacrifice himself on the altar of nonsense, miss? i think our steps 'ud soot each other amazing." cunningham advanced on him threateningly. "if you dare to speak another word to the lady you'll find yourself on the ground again," he said. the man retreated before him, and sammy fled. "right 'o," said the former. "you've had your choice. it's plank and skilly for you now. get up, sammy." he bundled his friend into his seat, himself followed, let in the clutch, and they disappeared. "oh, i'm so sorry," said the girl. "please don't worry about it," replied cunningham. "the whole thing is the result of my own folly. it serves me jolly well right if i suffer for it." "hadn't you better try to escape now?" she asked, only remembering his protection of her. cunningham shook his head. "i think not," he replied. "it's probably all a ruse on his part to get me away. then he might return and--and annoy you." lady eva was silent. "by george, sir," said the earl, "i like your spirit. what the deuce do you want with that peppercorn and shoe? give me 'em back and i'll say no more about it all." cunningham smiled a little sadly. "i'm afraid i can't. but you shall have them on the morning of the th without fail. perhaps you'll believe me now." then, after a pause, he added: "i'll make a dash for it if they aren't back in a quarter of an hour. in that case, i shall conclude that they really have gone to give the alarm." the minutes passed. lady eva bit her lips in thought. cunningham looked alternately from her to betelgeuse and the moon. the peer stared stolidly into space. "look here," said cunningham suddenly. "aren't we wasting time? why wait for assistance? i think i can put on a new tyre, if you will allow me. where are your spare tubes and covers, and your jack?" his lordship accepted the offer with alacrity, and the two men were soon busy round the wheel. cunningham ceased work for a moment to take lady eva her furs, and assist her into them. she sat down on a tree stump, holding the remaining lamp, and turning its light on the work. she did this mechanically. all the while she was thinking gravely. suddenly a smile passed over her face, and she nodded approvingly. the men were so busy that they did not pause at the sound of the returning car. sammy's friend was better than his word. they had barely been gone fifteen minutes. "that's the highwayman--that young feller. arrest him for robbery!" shouted the motorist, as he brought his car to a standstill, and a policeman sprang down. "is that the charge, sir?" said the policeman to lord tadcaster. what the earl would have replied is uncertain, for before he could answer lady eva had intervened. "robbery! what in the world do you mean?" she cried, standing up, and flashing the light on the policeman. "that gentleman has taken me off my beat to arrest a man for highway robbery." "that gentleman is mistaken," replied the girl. "we've had a breakdown. surely that is the person who promised to send assistance from harrogate. we want a repairer, not a policeman." "don't you believe her!" cried the motorist. "ask the old 'un." "is that so, sir?" inquired the officer. "you have heard my daughter," replied the earl, astonished but loyal. "of course it is so." the motorist's mouth opened, but no words came forth. he was absolutely speechless at this change of front. "anyway, there's an assault an' battery," said his friend hopefully. "'e knocked 'im down," pointing to the protagonists of the drama. "for insulting a lady, i think," said cunningham. "gor!" snorted the driver, recovering his speech. "sold again, sammy!" and with a frightful hoot they passed into the night. "well, i'm blowed!" exclaimed the policeman, with intense disgust. "and 'ere i am, miles off my beat." "my friends won't be long before they are ready to start again, officer," said cunningham, "and they'll no doubt give you a lift to harrogate. in the meantime you might relieve the lady of the trouble of directing the light. thank you," he whispered to lady eva, as he took the lamp from her. her eyes met his and smiled. the new tyre was at last adjusted. the earl, lady eva, and the policeman got on board and sped away, cunningham accompanying them on his motor-cycle. in the outskirts of harrogate the policeman resumed his interrupted beat, the richer by an unusual experience and a sovereign. at the town itself cunningham said his adieus. "a thousand thanks for your generosity, my lord," he added. "you will not find it misplaced," and with a low bow to lady eva he took the road to the right. the earl watched him go regretfully, for after all he had the horseshoe and peppercorn. what lady eva's feelings were she could not have stated precisely. the earl of tadcaster and his daughter arrived at their hotel in time to stop a relief expedition, organised by the anxious achille; and under his care they resumed their journey the next day. on the evening of the th, captain prescott cunningham renewed his subscription to the burglars' club; and at a.m. on the th there was delivered at claridge's hotel a registered packet containing a peppercorn and a golden horseshoe, which the eighteenth baron tadcaster presented to his sovereign that afternoon at buckingham palace. later on in the day a couple of new tyres, "with mr. duval's compliments and apologies," also reached the peer. here the story ends--for the present. this happened last march. cunningham now attends every possible dance, dinner, and reception, hoping that some day lady eva and he may meet again; and as for lady eva, does she not dream daily of witching moonlight, a greensward dance, and a brave and gallant partner? x. the holbein miniature. mr. adolph meyer, the friend of nations, the associate of kings, and the hope of the impecunious, had built himself a house on st. george's island, off the coast of hampshire. as mr. meyer's origin was german, and the country of his adoption was england, it was perhaps natural that he should have gone to tuscany for the architecture of his marine residence. its boldly projecting cornices, its rusticated base and quoins, the consoles of its upper windows, all betrayed its florentine birth; but the lower windows, reaching to the ground, were such as we associate with the name of france, and were doubtless intended as a compliment to the great and gay nation living directly across the water. to the south, a terrace, bounded by a low wall set with dogs, apparently petrified by their own ugliness, separated the villa from the beach. to the west were the orchid houses. to the north, before the front of the house, lay the bowling green; beyond it a wood, through which ran the path leading to the landing-stage and the neighbouring island of great britain. a spiral staircase at the east end of the house led to the observatory containing the powerful equatorial telescope through which, as opportunity offered, mr. meyer was wont to gaze thoughtfully at the satellites of jupiter, the canals on mars, and other eccentricities of the heavens. there was, of course, a fountain--between the bowling green and the cypress trees. there was also a sundial bearing a sentence of cryptic import; and in the woods, at the least expected places, stood marble columns, broken and ivy-wreathed, or supporting busts of socrates, pallas, homer, and other appropriate notabilities. inside the house were treasures that had cost the ransom of a millionaire. meyer was a bachelor, and here he spent his week-ends, absorbing ozone enough to see him through till the following saturday, and maturing titanic schemes for the federation of the world and the confounding of rival financiers. once only had he brought a guest with him--an african pro-consul--who had with much difficulty, though with ultimate success, joined his outward-bound ship from meyer's electric launch. each year a local mayor called, admired, wondered, and retired. occasionally some venturesome tourist was captured and turned back. other visitors were rare; and their reception depended on the mood of the lord of the island. one day last april a stranger with a camera rowed across from england. at the landing-stage he informed the man in charge that he had business with mr. meyer. this was telephoned to the house. "what business?" came the reply. "particular business," said the newcomer. "what particular business?" "pictures," was the answer. this was transmitted, and the reply taken. "you can go," said the man, hanging up the receiver. "straight up the path, and through the woods. turn to the left at the busk of 'omer." ten minutes later the visitor was shown into a room facing the sea, in which mr. meyer was seated by the open window, reading from a gigantic folio. he was a short, podgy man, with black curly hair, a rounded nose, and bright eyes. his moustache and imperial did not conceal the extraordinary firmness of his mouth and jaw. he rose as his visitor entered. he was, as usual, attired in a frock-coat and grey trousers. once he had been in flannels when an emergency had arisen demanding city attire, which was not immediately forthcoming. mr. meyer had lost an opportunity in life through carelessness. therefore on land he ever afterwards wore a frock-coat, except when in evening dress or pyjamas. the occasion should never again find him wanting. "you wished to see me on business?" he asked. "what is it?" his visitor, who was cast in a finer, less decided mould--a good-looking, clean-shaven man of something over thirty--replied: "i came to ask for permission to photograph the inside of your place." "you are not from mr. holzmann, den?" said meyer, curtly. "no." "you said your business was imbortant." "so it is--to myself." meyer looked sharply at him. "why do you want to photokraph my place?" "for insertion in a magazine." "which makkazine?" "any that will take the article--i am not proud. it is important that i should make some money. i have seen many interesting reproductions of interiors of the stately homes of england in the periodicals, but never one of your house. hence my appearance. i hope i may have your permission." "why should i krant you bermission?" said meyer. "i live here in solitude. i do not bring visitors. i do not want dem. your intrusion is imbertinent." his visitor flushed. "sorry if i have annoyed you," he said; "but it did not seem such a great favour to ask. most people are glad to have pictures of themselves and their houses in the papers." "most people are fools, as dommas carlyle said. have you a family?" "i am not married." "dere is no excuse for a sinkle man taking pictures of people's interiors. it is not de work for a man like you. i shall not encourage such tomfoolery. no, i do not give you bermission. but stay. dere is an orkit from de mittle of africa of which i should like to have a picture--de _cypripedium meyeri_--a new species which i have had de satisfaction to detect. berhaps you would be kind enough to photokraph it for me, and your journey would not be altokedder lost. come along. what is your name, please?" his visitor handed him a card on which was printed "john lucas, , brixton gardens, london, w." "you have come a long way," mr. meyer observed. "a very long way, sir. perhaps you wouldn't mind letting me look round your house, even if i may not photograph it. i am interested in domestic architecture and--er--curios." mr. meyer looked intently at his visitor. "yes, mr. lucas," he said slowly, "i will also show you round my house, since you have come so far, and are interested in domestic architecture and curios. i have blenty of both. den we will photokraph de orkit." mr. meyer led the photographer through his villa, pointing out its architectural beauties, and indicating the various treasures which it contained. mr. lucas was profuse in his expressions of appreciation. "are you not afraid of burglars?" he asked. "i am afraid of noding," replied mr. meyer. "odderwise i should not be here to-day in dis tuscan villa. i have gone into de question of dieves, and tink i should be able to meet de situation." they had made a tour of the rooms, had ascended the heights of the observatory and inspected the electric plant at its base. "is dere anyting else you would like to see?" asked mr. meyer politely. "i believe that you collect miniatures. might i look at them?" "come dis way." in a corner of the marble hall there was a cabinet facing a window. meyer stood before it. "see," he said; "i bress dis button, and it releases de trawers. so." the shutter flew back, and the drawers were free. meyer opened them, one by one, and indicated their contents. "dey are all choice examples of de best masters. dese are gosways. dis is an engleheart," and so on. he went through the collection till he had shown the last drawer but one. he was about to close the cabinet when mr. lucas asked: "have you any holbeins?" "one," replied meyer, "and dere was i necklecting to show it to you. dis last trawer is de most imbortant of de lot." he opened it and drew forth a small square frame. "here is de latest addition to my collection. a krand holbein. you notice de blue backkround, characteristic of dat kreat master, and de wonderful thin bainting. you can almost see through it. it is a bortrait of meyer of basle, berhaps a relation of mine, berhaps not. it does not matter. it is a fine picture. don't you tink so?" lucas handed it back. "i envy you," he said. "dere is no need," mr. meyer responded, as he closed the cabinet. "'enfy no man till he is dead,' said de old kreek philosopher, and i am very much alife. now come to de orkit house, and photokraph de _cypripedium meyeri_." an hour later, after taking photographs of the rare exotic from every point of the compass, mr. lucas made his way to the landing-stage, and from thence he rowed thoughtfully across to bournemouth. on the following monday night a boat with a solitary oarsman put off from the mainland, and after several changes of route was successfully beached on the south shore of st. george's island. under the protection of the trees its occupant--none other, indeed, than mr. john lucas--stealthily approached the tuscan villa, which stood out in bold relief in the vivid moonlight. he gained the terrace, and, keeping as much as possible within the shadow of the balustrade and dogs, he crept to the fourth window, the one at which mr. meyer was sitting on the preceding saturday. there is no use disguising the fact any longer. mr. lucas was a burglar, and he now proceeded to act after the manner of his craft. after affixing some adhesive material to the pane, he began to cut out a square of the window. the glass was thick, so the process was long, but mr. lucas toiled at it with a patience and perseverance worthy of a better cause. only once did he desist--to follow the suggestion of a sudden impulse, and try all the windows of the house. but each was fastened, and mr. lucas resumed his original labour. it was fully an hour before he drew out the square of glass which enabled him to undo the catch inside. then nearly as long passed before the removal of a second square at the foot allowed him to unscrew the bottom fastening. the window was open at last, and lucas stepped inside. it was the second burglary of his life, and he reflected that so far all that had happened was greatly to the credit of his professional abilities. a moment afterwards he was chilled by the later thought that nothing in particular had happened so far, and that the possibilities of the near future were very great indeed. with his stealthy entry into mr. meyer's villa the personality of that gentleman had suddenly oppressed him. at bournemouth all that day, with the sun shining, and the band playing popular airs, mr. meyer had occurred to him merely as an eccentric german gentleman; but now, at something after midnight, in the deathly stillness of his villa, mr. lucas only remembered the teuton's sharp, decisive utterances, his piercing glances, and his large general reputation for unpleasantness as an enemy. perhaps it was the sight of mr. meyer's empty chair that had brought this train of thought to his mind. the big folio he had been reading was still at its side. lucas flashed his electric pocket light on the open page. "love's labour's lost" met his eyes. this struck him as ominous. lucas pulled himself together. what had he to do with empty chairs, and old folios, and omens? he was a burglar, out for the night on urgent business. let him attend to it, and keep his dreams and soliloquies for the daytime. he walked across the polished floor, his rubber soles being absolutely noiseless. he raised the heavy curtain, and passed beneath it through the archway. there in front of him was the marble hall, bathed in coloured moonlight. the fountain played softly to the tones of gold, azure and red cast from the stained-glass window. if mr. lucas had been conversant with keats he would doubtless have thought of st. agnes' eve; but presumably mr. lucas did not, for, keeping well to the wall, he stole quickly across to where stood the case containing the miniatures. [illustration: "lucas dropped it carefully into the pocket of his norfolk jacket." (_p. ._)] "you bress de button, and it releases de trawers. so." he smiled as mr. meyer's pronunciation came back to him. he followed the instructions, and the drawers were free. cosway and engleheart did not detain him to-night. he opened the bottom drawer. there lay the holbein for which mr. meyer had recently paid three thousand guineas. lucas dropped it carefully into the pocket of his norfolk jacket, shut the drawer, and closed the case. so far all was well--very well indeed. only a few yards, a curtain, and a few yards more, lay between him and freedom. then again there fell upon him a sense of mr. meyer's personality. what had that man not done? he had browbeaten an emperor, hoodwinked a couple of wily chancellors, and decimated the ranks of rival practitioners. was he, john lucas, a mere tyro in the burglary profession, able to outwit the smartest man of the day? had he only to break a window, step across a floor, seize a treasure, and depart? no--it was impossible. the very ease with which everything had been accomplished was the worst sign of all. "i have gone into de question of dieves, and tink i should be able to meet de situation." meyer's words came back to him now. he himself was in town--lucas had seen him depart that morning, to make it absolutely certain--but his myrmidons were doubtless hidden around. an electric shock would suddenly hold him fast, and meyer's butler or stage manager, or whatever he was called, would appear and wing him--unless the servants were asleep in their master's absence. but nothing was ever left to chance in mr. meyer's life or his house. the very silence was eloquent of impending catastrophe. again mr. lucas reproached himself with nervous folly. "it is only my second burglary," he reflected apologetically. he stepped across the hall, and once more raised the curtain. "ah!" the room, which ten minutes ago was dark and empty, was now brilliantly illuminated, and there was mr. adolph meyer, seated in his chair! meyer rose and came forward. "ah, mr. lucas," he said, "dis is indeed a pleasure. not altokedder unexbected, i admit; but it is always satisfactory to find one's conclusions brove correct. i taught you would have to return to make some final notes on my domestic architecture and my curios. you have seen my place by day. now you visit me by night. dat is charming." lucas stood by the curtain, overwhelmed with confusion. not by a word did mr. meyer betray any resentment at his presence, but there was a thinly disguised vein of banter in his speech that made the burglar's pulses quicken. "berhaps you have not noticed de view i have here, mr. lucas," said meyer. "come and look." he threw open the window wide. the moon was playing on the waters of the channel. clouds were scurrying across the sky. a lighthouse flashed in the far distance. "i like dis view," said meyer. "de sea is always de same--deep and treacherous. one always knows what to exbect, but man you never know. how do you look upon de sea, mr. lucas?" "good for boating, and--er--bathing," responded lucas desperately. "goot for boating and bading," repeated meyer. "dat is so. you are practical. dat is where you islanders have the advantage over us treamers. but somehow the treams have a habit of outlasting de practice. i do not tink of boating and bading when i look on de sea. i tink of all dat is above it, and below it. on de top, ships carrying men and women and children to continents; below de waves, dead men and women and children, dose who have died by de way, floating by de cables which are carrying words dat make and unmake nations and men. life and death are dere togedder. did you never tink of de sea in dat way, mr. lucas, when you was not studying domestic architecture and curios?" "i can't say that i have," said lucas, trying vainly to rise to the situation. a man with a weapon he could have met and fought any day, at a moment's notice, but smooth words and soliloquies, how could he meet them, though there was a hidden meaning in every phrase, a subtle danger indicated in every intonation? "i should practise it den, mr. lucas," said meyer gravely. "a little more tinking and a little less action is de new brescription de doctors are giving to dis country." he turned away from the window, after closing it. he did not appear to notice the two great holes in the glass which stared him in the face. "den i shut my window tight, for fear of dieves, mr. lucas," he went on, "and go to my observatory, where we went de odder day. i go up dose steps to my delescope, and bring de stars widdin speaking distance. have you ever spoken wid de stars, mr. lucas?" "no," replied the burglar curtly. "ah, i taught not. somehow you did not give me dat imbression. you should study de moon for a bekinning, mr. lucas. it is a poor worn-out star of a sort. what does it tell of? of life run down, as many men's are. but after all, de moon had its day. it was not cut off in its prime, like some men's lives are, mr. lucas, because of a comet-like taught, or a meteor suggestion of evil. a kreat science is astronomy, mr. lucas. do you not tink so?" mr. lucas did not reply. "why do i speak of dese things, mr. lucas?" said meyer with increasing earnestness. "because you are young, very young, dough you are nearly so old as me. i speak of dem because you are wasting your life entering my house in de mittle of de night to take photokraphs, when de stars are singing outside, and de world is calling for de man who, as dommas carlyle says, is not dere. what would dommas carlyle have said if he had known dat you were here all de time, taking photokraphs in mr. adolph meyer's villa--robbing mr. meyer, widout de excuse of necessity?" lucas made an attempt to speak, but meyer stopped him. the little man's voice rose, his eyes gleamed, his very stature seemed to swell. the room was full of him. "be silent, sare," he said, with a gesture of an emperor. "i am speaking! listen! i know what you will say: it is for sport dat you do dis--sport dat eats up your race, and makes men like me your master. you take your gun and kill. see," pointing through the window at a problematical object. "dat bird--dat beautiful white gull. it is flying--seeking for food or its mate. you shoot it----" "never!" shouted lucas indignantly. "you do. i know you do. you take dat wonderful ding we call life--for sport. you rob me. dat is a smaller ding, but it is sport also. mein gott! but you shall rob and kill no more." he struck a bell. lucas backed to the wall to be ready for emergencies. a little sharp-featured man entered. "here he is, mr. marvell," said meyer. "i have got him red-handed and cold-souled." "that's right, sir," said the little man briskly, producing a pair of handcuffs. "i'll take him across to bournemouth, and we'll have him up at the police court in the morning." mr. meyer did not appear to have heard him. "strange, is it not?" he resumed, "dat you and i and mr. marvell, de clever detective, should be here, mr. lucas? no, i will call you by your broper name. sir rubert inkledree, i ask you to listen." he took up a red volume from the table. "dis is a useful book," he said, as he opened it. "we are all entered up here, all our public appearances, dat is--not our midnight photokraphings. ah, here it is: "'sir rubert inkledree, seventh baronet, born , only son of sixth baronet and mary, daughter of viscount morecambe. educated eton and christ church, oxford. owns twenty tousand acres. address: inkledree castle, leicestershire; , brook street, w. clubs: bachelor's, boodle's, turf.' "dat is fine--for a bekinning," continued meyer; "but what an end, sir rubert, in dis room wid mr. meyer whom you have robbed, and a detective, and de bournemouth police court in de morning. dat is not very fine. now listen akain." he turned over the leaves and read:-- "'adolph meyer, born . financier. son of jacob meyer of düsseldorf. m.a. london university, commander of de victorian order, chevalier of de legion of honour. address: , lombard street, e.c., and st. george's island, bournemouth.' dat is all. dere are no clubs and no acres. i have de orders because i did service to england and france. i am m.a. of london university because, when i was a young man behind de counter in de bank all day, i worked for my dekree by night; and now i am here, and you are where i like to put you, sir rubert inkledree." "bournemouth police station," suggested mr. marvell, who was aching to get to business. "bournemouth police station?" repeated mr. meyer slowly. "no, mr. marvell; i tink not. i am master of arts of london university and reader of blato, letting alone de odder dings. he shall go free, and mr. marvell, you will blease forket de incident. i telekraft for you on saturday. you came, but dere was noding. dat is what you will report, please, at scotland yard. "but you, sir rubert, you will not forket. you will remember. you will neider kill nor rob akain, because it is de wish of mr. adolph meyer, who makes you free instead of sending you to de police station. "also, sir rubert, i suchest dat you give up dat club dat mr. marvell speaks of. see, you have my holbein in your pocket. take it, since you want it. show it to your friends, and say dat mr. meyer, who is m.a. of london university, commander, chevalier and tcheneral treamer, says dat dey had better disbant, for de stars are singing, and mr. marvell is watching." mr. marvell folded up his handcuffs methodically, and replaced them in his pocket. he was too well trained to show the intense disgust he felt at the turn the proceedings had taken. again the burglar endeavoured to speak, but once more mr. meyer commanded silence. "mr. marvell will see you to your boat, sir rubert," he said. "i drust dat you will weigh my words well. it is not often dat i say so many, and dey have caused me some inconvenience to speak, as i am not accustomed to spend monday nights in my marine villa. to be here i had dis afternoon to postpone an interview wid de turkish ambassador, which i have since learnt by telekram from constantinople has been misconstrued. de sultan will not sleep much to-night, and in de morning newspapers dere will be talk of drouble in de balkan states. some peoples will be fearing war, sir rubert, and all on account of you and your midnight photokraphings. i wonder what dommas carlyle would say to a mess like dat. goot night." mr. meyer turned abruptly on his heels, and left the room. "come along, sir rupert, please," said mr. marvell. in the brilliant moonshine they went along the terrace by the stone dogs, and down the steps to the beach. they found the boat by the trees. "how did mr. meyer come to suspect my errand?" said ingletree suddenly. the detective smiled a wan smile. "well, sir," he replied, "i wasn't present when you saw him on saturday, but i think that mr. meyer read you through as if you were a book--printed in pretty big letters, too. it was a rather thin tale, that about the magazine article, and when you asked to see round the house mr. meyer was certain that you had some special object in view. when you inquired after the miniatures he knew what you were after, as the papers had lately been full of the holbein. to make sure on the point he didn't show it to you, and of course you asked to see it. then he telegraphed to scotland yard, and they sent me." "how did you find out who i was, and why i wanted the miniature?" "ah," said mr. marvell drily, "i'll tell you that some day later on, sir rupert. we shall probably meet again." then the baronet put out to sea, and the detective went back to the tuscan villa. * * * * * on the following evening, at the meeting of the burglars' club, the secretary produced the holbein miniature, and read a letter from sir rupert ingletree which accompanied it. then the president rose. "my lords and gentlemen," he said, "we have just heard the singular adventure which has befallen one of our members. the holbein miniature is here, but only owing to the goodwill of its owner. sir rupert ingletree is at liberty owing to the forbearance of the same gentleman. under the circumstances i think we have no option but to accept the resignation of sir rupert, who does not appear to have acted with the adroitness which is a necessary qualification of our members. it may well be that you or i would have done no better under similar circumstances, but i need hardly remind you that in this club we judge only by results, and the results in this instance are not satisfactory. "there is a further matter to consider--a message from mr. meyer, which demands a reply. colonel altamont, as the _doyen_ of our club, we look to your premature grey hairs for guidance." altamont rose amidst general applause. "your grace, my lords and gentlemen," he began. "it is surely unnecessary to ask for my opinion on the situation. our existence is now known to the outside world. twice has this detective, marvell, been within reach of us. someone has betrayed us, and i for one do not intend to rest until i have traced that traitor. but this is not the matter before us now. "though mr. meyer objects to sport, he has behaved like a perfect sportsman. (hear, hear.) for his courtesy we wish to express our hearty thanks and appreciation; but for his suggestion that we should disband we surely have one answer only, and that is: never, never, never." the words were re-echoed on all sides. "our club would indeed have fallen on degenerate days," continued altamont, when quiet was restored, "if the fact of its existence being known were promptly to bring about its end. surely the fact that we are watched should give an added zest to our proceedings, which have been all too monotonously serene. the knowledge that scotland yard is acting, and that we carry our personal liberty in our hands, should spur us on to the homeric deeds for the perpetration of which we exist. "ingletree's postscript is pathetic, and vividly shows the present unbalanced state of his mind. he asks whether we consider that under mr. meyer's terms he is at liberty to fish. my own feeling is that i would have suffered a long period of incarceration rather than have surrendered my right to act as a free and independent englishman; but ingletree, having accepted his liberty on mr. meyer's stupendous terms, has surely forfeited his right to again take life in any form. if he so much as nets a minnow he has no option but to surrender himself forthwith at the bournemouth police station. "we all regret the loss of our once brilliant member, but it is obvious from ingletree's behaviour during the last few days that he is not the man he was when he paid his entrance fee by the production of--what was it, mr. secretary?--the mace of the house of commons?" "no, sir," replied the secretary. "that was mr. henderson's fee. sir rupert ingletree entered with the portland vase, from the british museum." "ah, quite so. thank you. and a very smart bit of work it was, i remember. it is regrettable that sir rupert could not be here in person this evening to advance any extenuating circumstances; but as he is probably under the surveillance of scotland yard we appreciate his reason for adopting the medium of the postmaster-general for communicating with us. i therefore propose that sir rupert ingletree's resignation be accepted, and that, with the holbein picture, which we at once return to its owner in accordance with our rule, we send a letter expressing our appreciation of mr. meyer's magnanimity, and our regret that we are unable to disband. we can leave it to our secretary to couch this in the neat epigrammatic style for which he is famed in the chancelleries of europe." xi. the victoria cross. "it seems to me," said his grace of dorchester, "that the army has been abominably neglected by us. on looking through our archives, i do not come across the record of a single military achievement. in the church and in the state, in diplomacy and commerce, in science, art, and literature, our activities are marked, but we have unaccountably left the services alone. our enemies--if such there be--might unkindly suggest that we have purposely refrained from interfering with the most vigorous portion of the community. to avoid this reproach, and to make good the omission, i therefore propose a series of three military raids, the first to be immediately undertaken by mr. maxwell-pitt, who will have the opportunity of renewing his subscription at our next meeting by the production of the last victoria cross bestowed by his majesty." as the result of inquiries, mr. maxwell-pitt learned that the last victoria cross had been given to captain sefton richards, who had rescued a wounded soldier from the somali, and, single-handed, had kept the enemy at bay till support arrived. "h'm!" reflected maxwell-pitt. "he'll be a tough customer to tackle. it strikes me that if i pull this off i shall have earned the blue riband of the club. i wonder where the beggar is stationed?" further inquiries elicited the fact that captain richards was at present spending his well-earned leave with his sister, who lived at bamburn, in lincolnshire. the next meeting of the club had been fixed for the nd of the month. on the th maxwell-pitt set out for bamburn. it was an ancient country town. once it had been an ecclesiastical centre--as its minster still bore witness--but now it was given up to the sale of sheep and the manufacture of chocolate. in its outskirts was a number of highly eligible residences, and in one of these, the bequest of an uncle who was the inventor of chocolate caramels, lived miss richards. maxwell-pitt learnt some of this from the local directory, and some from the waiter at the inn, the night of his arrival; and on the following morning he made his way to the neighbourhood of burgoyne lodge--so miss richards' house was styled--and sat down on a seat thoughtfully provided by the local district council. he waited there a long time, apparently deeply absorbed in the columns of a sporting paper, but in reality rarely taking his eyes from the house. at eleven o'clock his patience was rewarded. the gate opened, and two people came out. the man--tall, straight, and bronzed--was obviously captain richards, the lady probably his sister. mr. maxwell-pitt saw them disappear along the road in the direction of the town, and then he approached the house to take in its bearings. it was the last building on the road, and it was closely surrounded by a belt of trees; behind the trees were thick bushes. this screen effectually concealed the house from the road--for the inventor of chocolate caramels had been a recluse by nature--so, in order to obtain a better view of it, maxwell-pitt got over the wall, and peered through the bushes. it was a solid georgian dwelling, with two windows on each side of the door. which window should he attempt to force? the end ones would be farthest from the hall, and perhaps the safest. or would it be better to try the back? confound it! his eyes had been so intently fixed on the house that he had omitted to notice an occupant of the garden, but now he was aware that a trimly and plainly gowned little woman who was engaged in cutting flowers had stopped in her work, and was watching him. the position was ridiculous. what excuse could he offer? he turned round, got over the wall again, and walked quickly away, with the conviction that he had made a blunder, criminal in a professional, and unpardonable even for an amateur. during the afternoon, while he was walking down the main street of the town, wondering at the number of sheep the land contained--for it was market day--he came face to face with the same good-looking, dapper little person he had seen in the grounds of burgoyne lodge. she had appeared from a side street, and no escape was open to him. he fixed his eyes on the celebrated perpendicular architecture of the minster tower, hoping to escape her attention, but, to his surprise, she stopped him. "pardon me, i think we have seen one another before," she said slowly, and with a marked foreign intonation. "of course we have," he replied, as he took off his hat. "i remember the occasion perfectly. how do you do?" then he added, unblushingly, "and how is your sister?" "i thank you," she answered. "my sister would, no doubt, be quite well if i had one. but please do not make romances. i saw you this morning at burgoyne lodge. i know what you want." "the dickens you do!" he exclaimed in blank amazement. "and pray what is it?" "i think it is something that does not belong to you," she said, her dark eyes looking steadily at him. "indeed! and how do you know that?" she shrugged her shoulders expressively. "_cela n'importe_," she answered. "if you please, let us walk on so that we do not draw attention. yes, i know what you want, and i think that i can assist you a little." "it's very good of you to suggest it," said maxwell-pitt as they walked along the street; "and i'm sure i'm much obliged to you. i'm not accustomed to this sort of business, you know." "you have made the same business once before," she said. "you are really remarkably well informed," he replied. "the least you can do is to tell me how you come to know these things." "do not waste the time," she said impatiently. "i am adèle, miss richards' maid. she is in town with her brother, the captain. they must not see us together. when do you intend to--to----" she hesitated. "to pick mushrooms, shall we call it?" he answered. "to--pick--mushrooms?" she repeated, with a puzzled look. then she smiled. "ah, i understand. yes, when do you intend to pick the fine mushrooms?" "as soon as i know where they are, and how to get them. if you assist me it will, of course, make matters easy for me." "to-night?" "mademoiselle, you are a thought-reader. you anticipate my wishes. to-night, by all means." "then i will see that one of the windows is left unlatched. _mon dieu!_ meet me here at this place at nine o'clock." with this she turned abruptly round the corner they were passing, and disappeared into a shop. maxwell-pitt glanced ahead, and saw captain and miss richards approaching. they might not have seen him with the maid, for they were in earnest conversation. captain richards only glanced casually at him in passing. "well, this is what i call remarkable--simply re-markable," said maxwell-pitt to himself as he walked to his hotel. "how on earth should she know of the v.c. business, and, what is more, that i had to pay my entrance fee by a previous burglary? who could have told her? i wonder why any member should be so extremely anxious to assist me. . . . stop! was it really a member? there's that man marvell--the detective. he has been present at two former burglaries--called in by accident, certainly, but he has his eye on us, and perhaps he now has some means of finding out in advance the task set to members. the remarkably obliging adèle may be merely a female detective. she may assist me to get into the house, and show me where the v.c. is, and then, when i get it, her friend marvell will appear. in that case richards and his sister are in the know, and this apparently casual meeting just now, and adèle's annoyance, was pre-arranged to throw me off the scent. it seems to me, maxwell-pitt, that you'll have to be very careful what you are about, or you'll be landed to-night, and by a woman." that evening he kept his appointment at the street-corner. the maid was late. the clocks had chimed the quarter before she came, hot and breathless--not her cool, nonchalant self of the morning. "it has been so difficult to leave," she explained. "miss richards would have me to read to her after the dinner. walter scott! and me dying all the time to be here, mr.---- what shall i call you?" "jones," said maxwell-pitt, "is a dreamy, romantic name, very suitable for a mushroom picker." "yes; jones is a beautiful name," she replied. "have you decided to pick to-night, mr. jones?" "i should like to." "you wish me to leave that window open?" "if you will." "and what do you give me, if you please?" "i beg your pardon?" "what am i going to have of it all?" "'all.' that is rather a big word for the little mushroom i shall take away; but if you would like some memento of the occasion, what shall it be? a bracelet?" "a bracelet? _comment!_ absurd! with my help, _m'sieu_, it will not be a little mushroom, _point du tout_. for me myself i demand fifty pounds." maxwell-pitt stared at her blankly. "what is it now?" she cried angrily. "_mais_, you are too stupid--more stupid than the ordinary englishman. miss richards has some fine pearls, and her diamonds are _magnifiques_, and i can give them to you. this is not to be another wedderburn mistake." "ah, quite so--quite so," replied maxwell-pitt, who was absolutely nonplussed by the turn the conversation had taken. then he drew his bow at a venture. "wedderburn made a bit of a mistake, didn't he?" he said. she looked at him sharply. "'he.' who's 'he'? you know precisely that i speak of the burglary at wedderburn 'ouse last week, where you were not very clever." "oh, of course, of course. i understand," said maxwell-pitt. "of course you do understand. why do you so pretend to me? i knew it was you when i saw you seeking round our 'ouse. i saw you were big and dark, with a long moustache, like the butler at wedderburn 'ouse said. how else did you think i could have known you were a burglar? you are to look at only like a gentleman?" "ah, i see--i see," said maxwell-pitt, the light at last breaking in upon him. "it seems that i have done friend marvell an injustice." "i do not know who your friend is, nor what you talk about," said mademoiselle adèle. "i must return at once. is it to be a bargain or not? fifty pounds is little compared to your share." "mademoiselle," said maxwell-pitt, "you are not only an accomplished thought-reader, but you appear to have the business instinct strongly developed as well. you can quite understand that when i planned this--er--botanical expedition i did not anticipate such a drain on my resources. in plain words, i haven't fifty pounds on me." "you can get it, and come to-morrow night instead." "there will still be time," said maxwell-pitt thoughtfully. "of course there will. now i go. it is settled?" "yes; i'll come to-morrow night and bring fifty pounds with me." "in gold sovereigns, please." "in gold, if you wish it." "good. and i'll have the jewellery ready. the pearl necklace cost more than a thousand sovereigns. there will be no need to take anything else, i hope. that big mushroom should satisfy you enough." "amply. i don't want any more jewels, but where does captain richards keep his decorations--his victoria cross, for instance?" "you don't want that?" "i do." "it is only worth a few centimes--not half a franc, they tell me." "never mind its value. i am a collector of such trifles, and want this specimen particularly." "he won it in battle. it would be cruel--abominable--to take it. you cannot have it." "mademoiselle adèle, your scruples do you credit; but, after all, are mushroom-pickers the people to talk about scruples? here you are planning what is, in plain english, the robbery of your employer, so why stick at a trifle like that?" "_Ã�coutez_, mr. jones. you are only a burglar, so your opinion is no matter, but i shall tell you why i do this thing. i come to your country to get riches. i am clever, but there are no riches, even for clever people, in my own valley of the durance. first i was maid to one lady with a title so long," and she extended her arms to their full width. "i was 'appy. then i met an aëronaut--you understand, one who makes ascensions in a balloon--who talked my language like myself. he persuades me to leave my place and marry him. i was idiot to do so. then one day he goes up in his balloon at--what you call it?--birmingham, for a brief voyage. but he disappears in the clouds. he sends me postcard from ostend to tell me that he is landed all-right. then i never found him again." she paused dramatically. maxwell-pitt felt that something was demanded of him, and hastened to murmur some words of sympathy, but she did not listen. "then i took a place again as lady's maid," she went on. "there was trouble over some jewels. they blamed me. bah! i was innocent. but they say 'no,' and 'you go at once,' and 'no character.' so i am alone in england, with no money and _mon mari_ gone. i come here, and i think this lady so kind to take me without a character written. then i find the ones who have the characters written will not stay with her--not one month--so that is why she takes me. she is black slave-driver, and her temper--_mon dieu_, it is dis-graceful! it is a horrible time here. then there is alphonse, who is waiter at the Ã�lysée palace, who wants me to marry him and assist him to found a restaurant, and i must continually tell him 'wait.' "when i see you, mr. jones, i see my way to escape from it all. it came at one jump--the thought, 'i will help him, and he will give me fifty gold sovereigns, and i shall go to belgium at once. my 'usband is either dead, or i find him and tell him what i think of him, and get a divorce, and then return and marry the good alphonse, who adores me.' so you see that i am no common thief. bah! as for madame's jewellery, _ça ne fait rien_. she is rich. i shall be glad to have annoyed her. but at once i tell you, you shall not have the victoria medal. that is not to be. captain richards is the only man in this miserable country who has been kind to me. and he is a brave soldier. i shall not permit that you annoy him." "i promise to return it." "then for why do you take it?" "that is my affair. i will bring the fifty pounds to-morrow night, but i must have the cross whether you help me to get it or not. where does he keep it?" "keep it? _attendez._ oh, i know. in the strong box locked in his bedroom. he is a man to shoot certain, and he always has his pistol to hand. you will give me the money instantly you are in the 'ouse, for if you go upstairs you will be a dead man at once. i tell you so myself." "that is an extremely unpleasant prospect. i must see my lawyer--my _notaire_, mademoiselle--in the morning, and arrange my affairs. which window will you unlatch for me?" "the one at the front, the nearest to where you stood when i saw you. if you will come at one o'clock i will be in the room with the beautiful pearls. now i must fly. _bon soir, cher_ mr. jones." on the following morning maxwell-pitt paid his hotel bill and went up to town. in the evening he returned with his bicycle, getting out at the station beyond bamburn. at a few minutes to one o'clock he entered the grounds of burgoyne lodge, and made his way stealthily to the window fixed on. it open noiselessly, and he clambered through. mademoiselle adèle was not there. perhaps she was reading sir walter scott to miss richards. he would wait for half an hour, at any rate, before making any move. perhaps adèle had thought better of her determination about the cross, and would bring it with her rather than risk trouble. he sat down and mused. a queer life, that of a burglar. reminiscences of detective tales came back to him. he thought of sherlock holmes. the doings of the burglars' club would have puzzled him at first. then there was his great predecessor, poe's dupin, the detective of the murders in the rue morgue, of the mystery of marie rogêt, and the purloined letter. ah, the purloined letter! they were searching for that all over, probing every inch of space in the house for it, and there it was all the time, underneath their noses, hanging in a card-rack beneath the mantelpiece. maxwell-pitt rose and flashed his light over the mantelpiece. there was the usual assortment of odds and ends, but the v.c. was not there. no; it was too much to expect. where did richards keep it? adèle had hesitated before replying that it was in the strong box in his bedroom. it might be--or it might not. here, at any rate, were obvious traces of its owner--his letters and pipe on a side table, his service magazines on the chair. if the v.c. wasn't on the mantelpiece, it might be elsewhere in the room. there was a bookcase with a cupboard and drawers. he opened the bookcase, but closed it quickly at the sight of the serried ranks of the "encyclopædia britannica." he had no better luck in the cupboard, but in the first drawer he pulled out, his eye was at once caught by two small cases. he eagerly opened one, to find the south african medal, but in the second--ye gods! it was the victoria cross! maxwell-pitt's fingers closed over it. at this moment the door opened gently. "who is there?" whispered a voice. by this time he had moved to the table. he turned his light on again. adèle was there--pale and excited. from a pocket which she must have specially constructed she produced a large case. she opened it, disclosing a necklace of large pearls. "here it is," she whispered. "where are the fifty sovereigns?" maxwell-pitt drew out a bag and gave it to her. she opened it, and looked at the contents, then put it in her pocket. "now go," she said. "_vite!_" maxwell-pitt moved towards the window. "i don't want this," he said, pointing to the case. "you don't want it?" she exclaimed in astonishment. for a moment they stood there facing one another. then a sudden thought struck her. she went to the bookcase, opened the drawer, and saw only one case there. "you are more clever than i thought," she said. "i wished to take these away upstairs to-night, but the captain he remained here late, and then madame wanted me. you have got the medal, but you shall not go away with it. give it back to me." [illustration: "he was walking in his sleep, conscious of nothing." (_p. ._)] maxwell-pitt shook his head. her eyes blazed in anger. "you will not? _mon dieu!_ then i sound the alarm." "how will you account for this?" said maxwell-pitt, pointing to the case on the table. "i do not know. i do not care," she answered. "give me the medal, or i ring." her hand clutched the bell rope. "shall i ring or not?" she demanded. again there was a sound at the door. once more he turned off his light. the door opened wide, and captain richards entered, carrying a lighted candle in his hand. maxwell-pitt and adèle stood there transfixed. the light shone full on them, but captain richards took no heed of them. his eyes were fixed, staring into space. he was walking in his sleep, conscious of nothing that was going on around him. he placed his candle on the side table, sat down in his easy chair, drew the book-rest towards him, and leaned back, staring vacantly at the pages of the open book. adèle released the bell rope and held a warning finger to her lips. she stepped lightly to maxwell-pitt. "sh! it is dangerous to awaken him," she whispered. "once they awakened my cousin suddenly when he walked like that in his sleep. he was never the same here again," and she tapped her forehead. "now go at once, but softly." he clambered out, and then looked back through the window into the room. adèle picked up the jewel case and put it into her pocket. there she touched the bag of gold. she pulled it out, looked at it for a moment, then stepped hastily to the window and flung it from her into the garden. she leaned out, and whispered, vindictively, "take your money. i shall help the police. they shall catch you before the clock is round." then she stepped gently to the door. it closed behind her, and the sleep-walker was alone in the room. maxwell-pitt picked up the bag of gold, and then cycled thirty miles. he caught an early train to london, and that evening he renewed his subscription to the burglars' club by exhibiting the victoria cross lately bestowed on captain sefton richards by his majesty. on the following day, to his great astonishment, captain richards received the cross in a registered postal packet, with no word to explain the reason of its temporary absence; and a few days later a larger postal packet came for mademoiselle adèle, which, on being opened, disclosed to her enraptured eyes fifty sovereigns. thus did maxwell-pitt attempt to atone for the burglary he had perpetrated. "after all," he thought, "the only person who will have been seriously inconvenienced by the transaction is the balloonist in belgium--and he deserves it." xii. the last chronicle. gilbert brown, second baron lothersdale, was generally regarded as being the best business man in the country. his talent for affairs was doubtless hereditary, as his father had successfully kept a big emporium before seeking the parliamentary honours which led to higher things. his son, in his turn, entered parliament, and quickly ran the gamut of two under-secretaryships and the cabinet. the lord lieutenancy of ireland and the governor-generalship of india would undoubtedly have been his, but for the impossibility of associating brown's bayswater bazaar with those regal positions. when, therefore, the last of six successive schemes for the reorganisation of the british army had fallen to the parliamentary floor and broken in pieces, it was felt that there was only one man who could tackle the matter, and bring it to a successful issue. lord lothersdale's tenure of the postmaster-generalship was remembered with pride by a grateful nation. under his management the reply-postcard business, which had hitherto dragged and lost money, had become a popular and remunerative department, while his penny-in-the-slot form of application for government annuities was an innovation as brilliant in conception as it was profitable in results. when the country learnt that to lord lothersdale had been entrusted the task of reforming the army it heaved a sigh of content, for it knew that the work was now as good as done; and when the news reached the continent the officers of the great general staff of the german army were noticed to wear a sad and pensive look unusual to them. to accomplish the work that in the past twenty years alone had cost thousands of lives and millions of money, besides incidentally destroying six first-class parliamentary reputations, lord lothersdale retired to moors, his berkshire seat, and there, in his study overlooking the deer park, he accumulated his evidence and dictated his report. from time to time paragraphs appeared in the papers that lord lothersdale was busy at his work, or that he was making progress therein, and at last word went round that he was now putting the final touches to his report, which would be laid before the cabinet the following week. then it was that his grace of dorchester decided that mr. drummond eyre must show the same report at the next meeting of the burglars' club, if he wished to continue his membership thereof. george drummond eyre was a leicestershire man, an ex-guardsman, and a shooter of big game. he received the news of his mission without comment, and proceeded to make himself acquainted with the habits of his lordship of lothersdale. he was still pursuing these investigations when he read in the _morning mail_:-- "lord lothersdale is just completing his work of reorganising the british army on paper with the thoroughness which we associate with his name. not content with revising the duties attached to the highest offices, with altering the length of service, and the pay of officer and private, his lordship is actually winding up with suggestions for a new full-dress uniform for our soldiers. the traditional red is to be discarded, and hues more in keeping with the aesthetic taste of the age will supplant it, in the hope of attracting a superior class of men to the army. we hear that mr. bower, the eminent tailor, was last week at moors, and that to-day a member of his staff will arrive there with sample uniforms for his lordship's inspection. history is in making at moors." "good!" said eyre, with obvious satisfaction, as he read this paragraph. "this fits in well. i'm in luck's way." that was at nine o'clock in the morning. at ten o'clock he drove up to mr. bower's well-known establishment, and sent in a card on which was printed in unostentatious letters, "mr. luke sinnott," and in the bottom corner "criminal investigation dept., new scotland yard." in a few minutes he was shown into mr. bower's private room. mr. bower was a ponderous gentleman. in a higher station of life he would have been a dean. "what can i do for you, mr. sinnott?" he inquired, eyeing his visitor over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses. "i have come on important business, sir," said the pseudo-sinnott. he went back to the door, and closed it cautiously, then deposited his hat and gloves on the table with a precision which impressed the tailor with a sense of deep mystery. "i think you have just been to moors," he said, after these preliminaries. "that is so," replied the tailor, with unnatural indifference. "and one of your people is going there to-day with some sample uniforms?" "i am going there to-day with a sample uniform." "quite so. you are aware that lord lothersdale is working on a very important report?" "of course i am." mr. sinnott came a step nearer to the tailor, and dropped his voice to an impressive whisper. "what i am going to tell you," he continued, "is in the strictest confidence. a continental power that shall be nameless, but whose identity you, as a man of the world, will be able to guess, is moving heaven and earth to get to know what that report contains. it is certain that whatever lord lothersdale suggests will be carried out by our government, and this will immediately influence the military policy of the power in question. moreover, there are some secret portions of this report which will never be made public. therefore this foreign power is striving to get sight of it before it leaves lord lothersdale's hands. "one spy has already been detected and warned off by our man who is established in the village, but we have just learnt that another agent has obtained admission to the house itself, by taking service as a footman. on a previous occasion we alarmed lord lothersdale, without any real grounds, as it eventually turned out, and we should not care to repeat the incident. it is therefore essential that i, who know this man, should have the opportunity of seeing if he really is there, without anyone--not even his lordship--knowing who i am. with your assistance this will be possible; and i have come from scotland yard to ask you to allow me to go with you to moors to-day, ostensibly as connected with your firm. if you will assist us in this matter you will not find us ungrateful. scotland yard does not forget, and some day it may be in our power to be of use to you. in the meantime, you will have done your country a great service." mr. bower was considerably impressed by this speech. he had come back from moors full of importance. he was most certainly assisting in preserving the integrity of the empire, and it was quite in keeping with this feeling that he should take part in the international complication outlined by his visitor. he appeared to weigh the matter judicially for a few minutes. then he said solemnly, "we will give you our co-operation in this affair, mr. sinnott." "thank you, mr. bower," said the "detective." so at one o'clock that afternoon mr. bower, accompanied by his new assistant, took train for moors. in another compartment travelled a sample corporal of the british army, who was to show off the uniform which mr. bower had designed under lord lothersdale's instructions. it was a two-hours' journey, but mr. sinnott found it all too short in mr. bower's improving society, for that gentleman expounded views on life from a new standpoint. "no, sir," he said, "things are not what they used to be. gentlemen--noblemen, especially, i regret to state--do not display that intelligent attention to dress which they used to, even within my own recollection lord lothersdale is a notable exception, but enumerate any other statesmen you like, and if left to their own unaided judgment--i say it with all due deference--they would go to pieces. i assure you, upon my honour, at the end of six months you would be liable to mistake any one of them for a foreigner. you would scarcely think it, mr. sinnott, but no less than five members of the present government are too busy to give a thought to their dress at all." "you don't say so!" exclaimed mr. sinnott. "i do. 'bower,' they say, 'keep your eye on us, and whenever you think that we are gettin' shabby make us some new clothes, and we will wear them. we leave it all to you.' it is flatterin', sir, i suppose, to have such reliance placed in your judgment, but it demonstrates the absence of--shall i term it proper self-respect?--which is deplorable, absolutely deplorable. it has made me a firm believer in the degeneration of the race. "of course, to keep the cabinet well-dressed is the principal object of my existence, and i flatter myself that under my superintendence the present cabinet will compare favourably in taste and style with any previous one. but it is anxious, even harassin' work to decide what particular cut, colour, and texture will most suitably harmonise with each individual temperament. they cannot afford the time for interviews, so i have to anticipate the movements of ministers, and go out of my way to meet them. i track them down, as it were, and make my observations in the street, as best i can. would you believe it, mr. sinnott, i was one day actually arrested for suspiciously followin' the secretary of state for india? his trousers were positively baggin' at the knees. i couldn't take my eyes off them, and one of your smart young constables took me to bow street. most humiliatin', i call it; and all because of my devotion to duty and the honour of the nation." "shocking," said mr. sinnott. "i sympathise with you, mr. bower. i should like to know the name of that constable." "his name was simpson--archibald simpson," replied the tailor. mr. sinnott made a note of the name, and mr. bower continued: "but, as i previously observed, lord lothersdale is a horse of another colour, if i may make use of such an expression. it is an inspiration to meet him. he is the busiest gentleman in england--bar none--but he is never too busy for a try-on or for a consultation. he is gifted, sir. he has ideas that would amaze you. the single-breasted frock-coat was his creation. what do you think of that?" "you do astonish me, mr. bower. i had no idea of it." "i knew you had not--that is where the greatness of the man comes in. it is his conception, and he is fully aware that the credit of it is attributed to me--but he does not mind. there is no petty jealousy of the profession about him. then, silk breeches for evenin' wear. that is another of his grand ideas. you must have silk breeches if you visit at moors, or you do not receive a second invitation. he is drastic in his methods, is my lord--a regular roman. mark my words, mr. sinnott, if the fashion takes it will be owin' to the influence of lord lothersdale, and once get the nation into silk breeches, and you do not know to what heights it may attain. it will be the beginnin' of a new era, the like of which no man livin' has known. i only hope i shall be here to witness its dawn." mr. bower's eyes glistened, and his cheeks flushed in anticipation. even mr. sinnott caught a little of his enthusiasm. it was half-past three when they reached moors. lord lothersdale could not see them until after dinner. at that moment a japanese surgeon-general was with him, explaining how they managed their field hospitals in the far east. he had come by special permission of the mikado, and had to return to the seat of war by the six o'clock train. at nine o'clock the corporal was arrayed in the proposed new uniform for the line--a taking arrangement in heliotrope, the outcome of lord lothersdale's creative genius and mr. bower's executive ability. at nine-thirty they were admitted into lord lothersdale's study. the great man was in a genial mood, the result, no doubt, of an instructive afternoon and a good dinner. he walked round the corporal, and inspected him critically. "by jove! bower," he said at last, "you've done the trick. capital! and your idea of primrose facings was quite right, after all." "i am glad that you approve of it, my lord," said the beaming tailor. "i do. and the country will, too. there'll be some recruiting when this gets out." then he knitted his brows. "i think the cuffs are a shade too deep, though. i'm sure they are. but half-an-inch--no, a quarter--will put it right." "a quarter-of-an-inch off the cuff facin's. make a note of that," said mr. bower to his assistant, who had his pocket-book ready. "you'll have it done by breakfast time, please," said lord lothersdale, "so that i can see how it looks by daylight. a photographer will be here, as i want some coloured prints for the appendix." then the little deputation withdrew. the whole interview had not occupied more than five minutes, and most of that time the tailor's assistant had been taking his bearings, and trying to locate the report. that was surely it--a business-like foolscap volume on the desk. the secretary was writing in it when they entered, and later on he had carefully put it in the top left-hand drawer. the assistant manoeuvred round to the desk during the interview, and after taking particulars of the alterations required, he laid down his notebook, and deliberately left it there. at two o'clock in the morning, when the whole household was presumably fast asleep, mr. bower's assistant suddenly remembered that he had left his notebook downstairs, and decided to recover it at once rather than wait till morning. he therefore made his way cautiously to lord lothersdale's study. he accomplished the return journey without any untoward event happening; but he brought back with him, in addition to the notebook, a manuscript volume, which he deposited in his handbag. the alterations in the cuff facings were duly made by breakfast time. at nine o'clock lord lothersdale approved of the result. by nine-fifteen the corporal had been photographed in several attitudes--one of which now adorns the recruiting posters--and by nine-thirty the party was driving to the railway station, incidentally meeting a troop of hussars on the march to moors for purposes of the appendix. "that is what i call business," said mr. bower, as they took their seats in the train at the last moment. "no time is lost in dealin' with lord lothersdale. i hope that you got to know all you wanted." "all," replied mr. sinnott. "we have evidently been misinformed, for the man i wanted is not there. if we'd made a fuss about it to lord lothersdale we should have been sorry. as it is, we are very much obliged to you, mr. bower, and we shan't forget it." * * * * * "the next business," said the hon. sec. at the burglars' club meeting that same evening, "is the payment by mr. drummond eyre of his subscription for the next two years by the production of lord lothersdale's report on the army." "here it is," said eyre, producing a manuscript volume. a subdued murmur of applause ran round. the president took up the book and glanced at it. "this seems to be in order," he said, turning to the end. "lothersdale signs----" he broke off suddenly. the door had opened without any warning, and a little sharp-featured individual entered, followed by half a dozen other men. "in the name of the king," said the first comer, "i arrest george drummond eyre for feloniously stealing, taking, and carrying away certain papers, namely a report, the property of the right honourable gilbert brown, baron lothersdale, and i arrest all others present as accessories." members rose to their feet, and simultaneously made a move towards the door, with the evident intention of resisting the intrusion. mr. marvell--for it was he--held up his hand warningly. "there are more men outside," he said. "resistance is useless." "where's your authority for all this?" demanded the secretary. "here, sir," said marvell, pulling out a bundle of papers from a capacious pocket. "here are the warrants. 'mr. george drummond eyre,'" he called out, reading from the pile. "here you are, sir. 'the duke of dorchester.' here, your grace. 'the earl of ribston.' here, my lord. 'mr. hilton,' 'major anstruther,'" and so on through the list of members. "you will find these quite in order, i think. now, gentlemen, if you please. i have concluded that you would prefer to ride. thompson, fetch the hansoms round." "stop!" called out ribston. "what are you going to do with us?" "take you to vine street station." "nonsense. we're not criminals." "you can argue that out with the magistrate to-morrow, my lord," said the detective. "here are the warrants, and i'm going to execute them. if the proceedings are not in order, you can claim reparation in the usual way. now, gentlemen, please. if you will give your word to come quietly you will save time and trouble." "does the home secretary know of this?" asked the duke. "we don't report police court details to the home secretary," said marvell, acidly. "no, sir, he doesn't." "then i demand to see him before these warrants are executed," said dorchester. "impossible, your grace," said marvell, who twice before had been defrauded of his legitimate prey. not again was he going to run the risk of undue favour staying the hand of justice. he had now in his possession a batch of prisoners so notable that next day his name would ring from one end of the world to the other. "impossible," was the obvious reply. "may i write a letter?" asked the duke. "no, your grace, you may not," replied marvell firmly. "you are now a prisoner, and you will please come with me without more delay. now, gentlemen, will you pass your words to come quietly? you can cause trouble if you like, but we are more than equal to you in numbers, so there could only be one end to the matter." dorchester consulted ribston and the secretary. the others nodded reluctant consent. word was given, and they passed out. the house doors were flung open, and they filed into the street, where a dozen hansoms were in line, a dozen policemen in waiting, and a small but inevitable crowd had collected. "ask colonel altamont to see the home secretary at once," said dorchester to his butler, as he was helped into his coat. the old man stood there petrified by the horror of the proceedings. he had been in the family for generations. three dukes of dorchester had he known in all their glory. kings, queens, and potentates had flitted in and out of the ducal mansion with his masters, and now he had lived to see the last of the line taken away like a thief, for some terrible crime. he heard the duke's words to him, but they conveyed no impression to his brain. he did not reply. the police, the bustle in the hall, the crowd outside, the driving away of the prisoners, all was as a horrible nightmare to him. "his grace said you were to tell colonel altamont to go at once to the home secretary, mr. bolton," said the footman, who had held the duke's coat. "ha!" said bolton, waking from his stupor. he caught hold of a hat, and ran out of the house. altamont had not been able to be present that evening. business of importance had detained him, and he had only just got back to his rooms when bolton turned up. he started off at once to the home secretary, and after exasperating interviews with a footman, a butler, and a private secretary, was at length admitted to the presence of that high personage, who was in his dressing gown, and considerably annoyed at this interruption to his slumbers. the colonel explained the situation. "is that all?" asked the home secretary when he had finished. "all, sir!" cried the indignant colonel. "dorchester, ribston, anstruther, and a dozen others, arrested by your policemen, and you ask 'is that all?'" "colonel," said the minister, emphasising his remarks with his forefinger in old bailey style, "dorchester, ribston, and the whole lot should have known better--very much better. they've had their sport, and now they've got to pay for it. i can't interfere. if the jury recommend them to mercy i'll give them the benefit of any doubt, and will save them from hanging; but that's all i can promise. now have a whiskey and soda, and go to bed." altamont declined the whiskey and soda, and left the minister indignantly. on his doorstep he was promptly arrested by marvell, who had a couple of warrants left over after depositing his prisoners at vine street. the last warrant could not be served that night, as the member in question happened to be visiting a friend in nova zembla. mr. marvell took good care that the news of the arrest of the duke of dorchester, the earl of ribston, and the other more or less distinguished members of the burglars' club, should be at once communicated to the press in case some influential friend should intervene at the last moment, and once more defraud him of his due. the morning's papers were full of the news, with the result that the marlborough street police court was filled to overflowing long before the proceedings commenced. the peerage, the diplomatic service, the commons, the army and the navy, the stage and sport, were well represented. every inch of space, including the bench itself, was filled, and fair women and brave men were turned away. half a dozen ordinary cases were quickly disposed of. then the extraordinary case was called, and the spectators involuntarily rose to their feet as the burglars filed into the dock, and took their stand two deep behind the brass rail. a murmur of sympathy went round as they stood there--some of them obviously interested in the proceedings, others apparently bored by them--all well-groomed, straight set-up men, though their evening dress looked incongruous enough in the daylight, and their crumpled shirt-fronts did not show to advantage. one by one the prisoners' names were called. one by one the prisoners answered. then counsel for the crown stood up, and having stated that the charge against the prisoners was that of stealing a report, the property of lord lothersdale, he opened his case and called the first witness--mr. bower. mr. bower entered the box, and adjusted his pince-nez with extreme nicety. under counsel's lead he detailed how the so-called sinnott had introduced himself. "i had no doubt at all as to his _bona fides_," said the tailor, lingering lovingly over the latin words; "but immediately afterwards i had a wire from moors asking me to postpone my visit to his lordship. i rang up scotland yard to inform mr. sinnott of the alteration, and learnt that he was unknown there. then i informed the authorities of the whole matter, with the result that our original intention was followed, and every facility allowed to mr. sinnott for carry out his plans." "done! by jove!" gasped eyre. lord lothersdale's secretary then gave evidence that the report now produced in court was the property of his lordship. "of course," he added smilingly, "the real report is still at moors. this one, though signed for the present purpose by lord lothersdale, has no value. it was drawn up three years ago by a former secretary of state for war," he explained. then there was formal evidence of the arrest from mr. marvell, who was allowed to speak at length. "for some time past, your worship," he said, "we have been aware of the existence of what is called 'the burglars' club,' composed of noblemen and gentlemen such as your worship sees before you. our information was derived in the first instance from a discharged servant of one of the members. in revenge for his dismissal he told us of proceedings he had witnessed at his master's house on one occasion, when he was concealed behind a curtain in the room. "he furnished us with a list of members, and ever since then we have had them under observation. these gentlemen amuse themselves by stealing articles of great value or of public interest. we know for a fact that at one time and another they have obtained unlawful possession of the koh-i-noor diamond, the mace of the house of commons, lord illingworth's black pearl, an ounce of radium from professor blyth's laboratory, and even the great seal of the united kingdom itself." "good old burglars!" called out an admiring listener at the back of the court. "silence!" shouted an indignant usher. "we have waited, your worship, until we could interfere successfully, knowing that it was only a question of time for us to do so. i have twice been called in on the occasion of a burglary committed by a member of the club, and in each case--of course against my wishes--no charge was made. in this particular instance the member walked straight into the trap." this closed the case for the crown, and counsel proceeded to urge the seriousness of the offence, and the necessity for a severe sentence, not only as a just punishment, but as an example. counsel for the prisoners now rose. he was the famous mr. spiller, who had earned the well-deserved sobriquet of "the prisoner's pal." he stood up with a twinkle in his eye, and an air of confidence that gladdened the hearts of the ladies on the bench. "your worship," he began, "i shall not detain the court more than a very few minutes, for i admit all the evidence that has been tendered. the last witness gave a list of articles illegally taken by my clients. if he wishes, i will add to the list another half-dozen instances of equal importance." "bravo! go it, spiller!" called out the sympathiser at the back, whose sporting instincts were too strong for him. this time he was surrounded by ushers and ejected. "but, sir," continued counsel, when quiet had again been restored, "i must emphasize a point which has been completely and unaccountably lost sight of by the prosecution. not one of the articles taken by my clients has been retained by them for longer than twenty-four hours. within that period every article has been restored to its owner. restitution has always been made, and compensation given whenever compensation was necessary. "we in this court have many times had occasion to admire the abilities of mr. marvell as a detective, but i would now suggest that he should go through a course of stephen's 'commentaries' in order to obtain a little knowledge of the law which he is in the constant habit of putting into force. i cannot too strongly denounce the unwarrantable action of scotland yard in submitting my clients to the indignity of an arrest and these proceedings upon the evidence in their possession. they must know--or their office-boy or charwoman is capable of instructing them in the fact--that by english law no person can be guilty of larceny who does not intend permanently to deprive its owner of the article of which he has gained possession. mere conversion, though accompanied by trespass, is nothing more than a civil wrong, for which possibly my clients might be liable to a farthing damages. "surely," concluded mr. spiller, "life is dull and prosaic enough without this high-handed and unwarranted attempt of scotland yard to extinguish an original, if not laudable, effort on the part of my clients to add to the dexterity and the gaiety of the nation. your worship, i submit there is no evidence against my clients, and ask for the immediate discharge of the prisoners." as mr. spiller spoke, the countenance of the prosecuting counsel was observed to become exceedingly gloomy, while mr. marvell's complexion turned distinctly green. [illustration: "mr. marvell . . . thanked the company for the gift, which he would treasure." (_p. _)] then the magistrate spoke. he began with the usual reprimand to the spectators, and the usual threat to have the place cleared if the ordinary decencies of a court of justice were not maintained. then he turned to the prisoners, and said: "i am sorry to see men of your social position in the dock before me, but you have only yourselves to thank for it. your counsel has spoken of your laudable and original effort to add to the gaiety of the nation. people's idea of humour varies, and, personally, i see nothing very funny in what you have done. i certainly think that your efforts might have been more worthily engaged. some of you are members of the houses of parliament, and i really do not know how you reconcile this club with your position as the law-makers of the land; but of course it may be that this is part of the humour to which your counsel referred. with regard to the legal aspect of the matter, it is clear that no criminal offence has been committed, though if lord lothersdale desires, you may have to answer elsewhere a claim for damages. you are discharged." it was in vain that the ushers tried to stop the cheers that went up as the magistrate concluded, and as the doors of the dock opened and the prisoners came forth. but one little man crept away from the well of the court, unnoticed and unrejoicing. two days later a special meeting of the club was held, at which it was proposed by colonel altamont and seconded by the president:-- "that, as according to the decision of the marlborough street police court magistrate, the proceedings of the burglars' club are neither criminal nor humorous, and its members run no danger of suffering personal inconvenience, it is hereby resolved that the club has no connection with sport, and therefore no reason for existence, and that it be disbanded forthwith." a fortnight later the disbanding of the club was celebrated by a dinner, the guest of the evening being mr. marvell. after dessert the detective was presented with the minute-book of the club, which had been kept in cipher by the hon. sec., who alone had the key to it. the ex-president, in making the presentation, expressed the hope that mr. marvell would spend many happy and profitable years in endeavouring to decipher it. mr. marvell, in reply, thanked the company for their kind reception of him, and for the gift, which he would treasure. he would certainly follow his grace's suggestion and endeavour to decipher the minutes, and he still hoped that with this additional evidence and a more intimate acquaintance with the "commentaries" of mr. stephen, he would before long be enabled to return their hospitality at his majesty's expense. mr. marvell's speech was received with acclamation; but his hopes have not been realised. this is the last chronicle of the burglars' club. printed by cassell and company, ltd., la belle sauvage, e.c. . * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious punctuation errors repaired. page , the first word was placed in small capitals in the html version and all capitals in the text version to conform to the rest of the book. page , "adolf" changed to "adolph" (mr. adolph meyer, the friend) transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. on page , "mrs. read's" should possibly be "mr. read's". martin folkes is also spelled martin foulkes. on page , "sheridan had no personal dislike" should possibly be "selwyn had no personal dislike". on page , "set in half-a-dozen barbers" should possibly be "sent in half-a-dozen barbers". on page , "woolbidding" should possibly be "woolbeding". club life of london. [illustration: captain charles morris. _engraved by w. greatbatch from the original picture in the possession of the family._] club life of london with anecdotes of the clubs, coffee-houses and taverns of the metropolis during the th, th, and th centuries. by john timbs, f.s.a. [illustration: see beef-steak society, p. .] in two volumes.--vol. i. london: richard bentley, publisher in ordinary to her majesty. . printed by john edward taylor, little queen street, lincoln's inn fields. preface. pictures of the social life of the metropolis during the last two centuries are by no means rare. we possess them in diaries, memoirs, and correspondence, in almost countless volumes, that sparkle with humour and gaiety, alternating with more serious phases,--political or otherwise,--according to the colour and complexion, and body of the time. of such pictures the most attractive are clubs. few attempts have, however, been made to _focus_ the club-life of periods, or to assemble with reasonable limits, the histories of the leading associations of clubbable men,--of statesmen and politicians, wits and poets, authors, artists, and actors, and "men of wit and pleasure," which the town has presented since the days of the restoration; or in more direct succession, from the reign of queen anne, and the days of the _tatler_ and _spectator_, and other essayists in their wake. the present work aims to record this club-life in a series of sketches of the leading societies, in which, without assuming the gravity of history or biography, sufficient attention is paid to both to give the several narratives the value of trustworthiness. from the multitude of clubs it has been found expedient to make a selection, in which the author has been guided by the popular interest attached to their several histories. the same principle has been adopted in bringing the work up to our own time, in which the customary reticence in such cases has been maintained. of interest akin to that of the clubs have been considered scenes of the coffee-house and tavern life of the period, which partake of a greater breadth of humour, and are, therefore, proportionally attractive, for these sections of the work. the antiquarianism is sparse, or briefly descriptive; the main object being personal characteristics, the life and manners, the sayings and doings, of classes among whom conviviality is often mixed up with better qualities, and the finest humanities are blended with the gladiatorship and playfulness of wit and humour. with a rich store of materials at his command, the author, or compiler, has sought, by selection and condensation, to avoid the long-windedness of story-telling; for the anecdote should be, like the viand,--"'twere well if it were done quickly." although the staple of the book is compiled, the experience and information which the author has gathered by long familiarity with the metropolis have enabled him to annotate and illustrate in his own progress, notwithstanding the "lion's share" of the labour is duly awarded to others. thus, there are grouped in the present volume sketches of one hundred clubs, ranging from the mermaid, in bread-street, to the garrick, in covent garden. considering the mixed objects of these clubs, though all belonging to the convivial or jovial system, strict classification was scarcely attainable: hence chronological sequence has been adopted, with the advantage of presenting more connected views of social life than could have been gained by the former arrangement. the second volume is devoted to the coffee-house and tavern life, and presents a diversity of sketches, anecdotes, and reminiscences, whose name is legion. to the whole is appended a copious index, by which the reader may readily refer to the leading subjects, and multitudinous contents of the work. contents. page origin of clubs mermaid club apollo club early political clubs october club saturday and brothers clubs scriblerus club calves' head club king's head club street clubs the mohocks blasphemous clubs mug-house clubs kit-kat club tatler's club in shire-lane royal society club cocoa-tree club almack's club almack's assembly-rooms brookes's club "fighting fitzgerald" at brookes's arthur's club white's club boodle's club the beef-steak society captain morris beef-steak clubs club at tom's coffee-house the king of clubs watier's club canning at the clifford-street club eccentric clubs jacobite club the wittinagemot of the chapter coffee-house the roxburghe club dinners society of past overseers, westminster the robin hood blue-stocking club ivy-lane club essex head club the literary club goldsmith's clubs the dilettanti society royal naval club wyndham club travellers' club united service club alfred club oriental club athenÆum club university club economy of clubs union club garrick club reform club carlton club conservative club oxford and cambridge club guards' club army and navy club junior united service club crockford's club "king allen," "the golden ball," and scrope davies the four-in-hand club whist clubs prince's club racquet courts an angling club the red lions coventry, erectheum, and parthenon clubs antiquarian clubs,--the noviomagians the eccentrics douglas jerrold's clubs chess clubs appendix. almack's clubs at the thatched house kit-kat club watier's club clubs of gaming-houses kept by ladies club life of london. origin of clubs. the club, in the general acceptation of the term, may be regarded as one of the earliest offshoots of man's habitually gregarious and social inclination; and as an instance of that remarkable influence which, in an early stage of society, the powers of nature exercise over the fortunes of mankind. it may not be traceable to the time "when adam dolve, and eve span;" but, it is natural to imagine that concurrent with the force of numbers must have increased the tendency of men to associate for some common object. this may have been the enjoyment of the staple of life; for, our elegant essayist, writing with ages of experience at his beck, has truly said, "all celebrated clubs were founded upon eating and drinking, which are points where most men agree, and in which the learned and the illiterate, the dull and the airy, the philosopher and the buffoon, can all of them bear a part." for special proof of the antiquity of the practice it may suffice to refer to the polished athenians, who had, besides their general _symposia_, friendly meetings, where every one sent his own portion of the feast, bore a proportionate part of the expense, or gave a pledge at a fixed price. a regard for clubbism existed even in lycurgan sparta: the public tables consisted generally of fifteen persons each, and all vacancies were filled up by ballot, in which unanimous consent was indispensable for election; and the other laws, as described by plutarch, differ but slightly from those of modern clubs. justus lipsius mentions a bonâ fide roman club, the members of which were bound by certain organized rules and regulations. cicero records (_de senectute_) the pleasure he took in frequenting the meetings of those social parties of his time, termed confraternities, where, according to a good old custom, a president was appointed; and he adds that the principal satisfaction he received from such entertainments, arose much less from the pleasures of the palate than from the opportunity thereby afforded him of enjoying excellent company and conversation.[ ] the cognomen club claims descent from the anglo-saxon; for skinner derives it from _clifian, cleofian_ (our cleave), from the division of the reckoning among the guests around the table. the word signifies uniting to divide, like _clave_, including the correlative meanings to _adhere_ and to separate. "in conclusion, _club_ is evidently, as far as form is concerned, derived from _cleave_" (to split), but in _signification_ it would seem to be more closely allied to _cleave_ (to adhere). it is not surprising that two verbs, identical in form (in eng.) and connected in signification, should sometimes coalesce.[ ] to the friday-street or more properly bread-street club, said to have been originated by sir walter raleigh, was long assigned the priority of date in england; but we have an instance of two centuries earlier. in the reign of henry iv., there was a club called "la court de bone compagnie," of which the worthy old poet occleve was a member, and probably chaucer. in the works of the former are two ballads, written about ; one, a congratulation from the brethren to henry somer, on his appointment of the sub-treasurer of the exchequer, and who received chaucer's pension for him. in the other ballad, occleve, after dwelling on some of their rules and observances, gives somer notice that he is expected to be in the chair at their next meeting, and that the "styward" has warned him that he is "for the dyner arraye ageyn thirsday next, and nat is delaye." that there were certain conditions to be observed by this society, appears from the latter epistle, which commences with an answer to a letter of remonstrance the "court" has received from henry somer, against some undue extravagance, and a breach of their rules.[ ] this society of four centuries and a half since was evidently a jovial company. still, we do not yet find the term "club." mr. carlyle, in his _history of frederick the great_, assumes that the vow of the chivalry orders--_gelübde_--in vogue about a.d. , "passed to us in a singularly dwindled condition: club we now call it." to this it is objected that the mere resemblance in sound of _gelübde_ and _club_ is inconclusive, for the orders of templars, hospitallers, and prussian knights, were never called clubs in england; and the origin of the noun need not be sought for beyond its verb to _club_, when persons joined in paying the cost of the mutual entertainment. moreover, _klubb_ in german means the social _club_; and that word is borrowed from the english, the native word being _zeche_, which, from its root and compound, conveys the idea generally of joint expenditure, and specially in drinking.[ ] about the end of the sixteenth or the beginning of the seventeenth century, there was established the famous club at the mermaid tavern, in bread-street, of which shakspeare, beaumont, fletcher, raleigh, selden, donne, &c., were members. ben jonson had a club, of which he appears to have been the founder, that met at the devil tavern, between middle-temple gate and temple bar. not until shortly after this date do we find the word club. aubrey says: "we now use the word _clubbe_ for a sodality in a taverne." in , aubrey became a member of the rota, a political club, which met at the turk's head, in new palace yard: "here we had," says aubrey, "(very formally) a _balloting box_, and balloted how things should be carried, by way of tentamens. the room was every evening as full as it could be crammed."[ ] of this rota political club we shall presently say more. it is worthy of notice that politics were thus early introduced into english club-life. dryden, some twenty years after the above date, asks: "what right has any man to meet in factious clubs to vilify the government?" three years after the great fire, in , there was established in the city, the civil club, which exists to this day. all the members are citizens, and are proud of their society, on account of its antiquity, and of its being the only club which attaches to its staff the reputed office of a chaplain. the members appear to have first _clubbed_ together for the sake of mutual aid and support; but the name of the founder of the club, and the circumstances of its origin, have unfortunately been lost with its early records. the time at which it was established was one of severe trials, when the great plague and the great fire had broken up much society, and many old associations; the object and recommendation being, as one of the rules express it, "that members should give preference to each other in their respective callings;" and that "but one person of the same trade or profession should be a member of the club." this is the rule of the old middle-class clubs called "one of a trade." the civil club met for many years at the old ship tavern, in water-lane, upon which being taken down, the club removed to the new corn exchange tavern, in mark lane. the records, which are extant, show among former members parliament men, baronets, and aldermen; the chaplain is the incumbent of st. olave-by-the-tower, hart-street. two high carved chairs, bearing date , are used by the stewards. at the time of the revolution, the treason club, as it was commonly called, met at the rose tavern, in covent garden, to consult with lord colchester, mr. thomas wharton, colonel talmash, colonel godfrey, and many others of their party; and it was there resolved that the regiment under lieutenant-colonel langstone's command should desert entire, as they did, on sunday, nov. .[ ] in friday-street, cheapside, was held the wednesday club, at which, in , certain conferences took place under the direction of william paterson, which ultimately led to the establishment of the bank of england. such is the general belief; but mr. saxe bannister, in his _life of paterson_, p. , observes: "it has been a matter of much doubt whether the bank of england was originally proposed from a club or society in the city of london. the _dialogue conferences of the wednesday club_, in _friday-street_, have been quoted as if first published in . no such publication has been met with of a date before ;" and mr. bannister states his reasons for supposing it was not preceded by any other book. still, paterson wrote the papers entitled the _wednesday club conferences_. club is defined by dr. johnson to be "an assembly of good fellows, meeting under certain conditions;" but by todd, "an association of persons subjected to particular rules." it is plain that the latter definition is at least not that of a club, as distinguished from any other kind of association; although it may be more comprehensive than is necessary, to take in all the gatherings that in modern times have assumed the name of clubs. johnson's, however, is the more exact account of the true old english club. the golden period of the clubs was, however, in the time of the _spectator_, in whose rich humour their memories are embalmed. "man," writes addison, in no. , "is said to be a sociable animal; and as an instance of it we may observe, that we take all occasions and pretences of forming ourselves into those little nocturnal assemblies, which are commonly known by the name of clubs. when a set of men find themselves agree in any particular, though never so trivial, they establish themselves into a kind of fraternity, and meet once or twice a week, upon the account of such a fantastic resemblance." pall mall was noted for its tavern clubs more than two centuries since. "the first time that pepys mentions pell mell," writes cunningham, "is under the th of july, , where he says 'we went to wood's (our old house for clubbing), 'and there we spent till ten at night.' this is not only one of the earliest references to pall mall as an inhabited locality, but one of the earliest uses of the word 'clubbing,' in its modern signification of a club, and additionally interesting, seeing that the street still maintains what johnson would have called its 'clubbable' character." in _spence's anecdotes_ (_supplemental_,) we read: "there was a club held at the king's head, in pall mall, that arrogantly called itself 'the world.' lord stanhope, then (now lord chesterfield), lord herbert, &c., were members. epigrams were proposed to be written on the glasses, by each member after dinner; once, when dr. young was invited thither, the doctor would have declined writing, because he had no diamond: lord stanhope lent him his, and he wrote immediately-- "'accept a miracle, instead of wit; see two dull lines with stanhope's pencil writ.'" the first modern club mansion in pall mall was no. , opened as a subscription house, called the albion hotel. it was originally built for edward duke of york, brother of george iii., and is now the office of ordnance, (correspondence.) footnotes: [ ] sketch of the rise and progress of the royal society club. . (not published.) [ ] _notes and queries_, rd s. i. p. , in which is noted:--"a good illustration of the connexion between the ideas of _division_ and _union_ is afforded by the two equivalent words _partner_ and _associé_, the former pointing especially to the _division_ of profits, the latter to the community of interests." [ ] _notes and queries_, no. , p. . communicated by mr. edward foss, f.s.a. [ ] _notes and queries_, nd s., vol. xii. p. . communicated by mr. buckton. [ ] memoir of aubrey, by john britton, qto., p. . [ ] macpherson's history of england, vol. iii.--original papers. the mermaid club. this famous club was held at the mermaid tavern, which was long said to have stood in friday-street, cheapside; but ben jonson has, in his own verse, settled it in _bread-street_: "at bread-street's mermaid having dined and merry, proposed to go to holborn in a wherry." _ben jonson_, ed. _gifford_, viii. . mr. hunter also, in his notes on shakspeare, tells us that "mr. johnson, at the mermaid, in bread-street, vintner, occurs as creditor for _s._ in a schedule annexed to the will of albain butler, of clifford's inn, gentleman, in ." mr. burn, in the _beaufoy catalogue_, also explains: "the mermaid in bread-street, the mermaid in friday-street, and the mermaid in cheap, were all one and the same. the tavern, situated behind, had a way to it from these thoroughfares, but was nearer to bread-street than friday-street." in a note, mr. burn adds: "the site of the mermaid is clearly defined from the circumstance of w. r., a haberdasher of small wares, 'twixt wood-street and milk-street,' adopting the same sign 'over against the mermaid tavern in cheapside.'" the tavern was destroyed in the great fire. here sir walter raleigh is traditionally said to have instituted "the mermaid club." gifford has thus described the club, adopting the tradition and the friday-street location: "about this time [ ] jonson probably began to acquire that turn for conviviality for which he was afterwards noted. sir walter raleigh, previously to his unfortunate engagement with the wretched cobham and others, had instituted a meeting of _beaux esprits_ at the mermaid, a celebrated tavern in friday-street. of this club, which combined more talent and genius than ever met together before or since, our author was a member; and here for many years he regularly repaired, with shakspeare, beaumont, fletcher, selden, cotton, carew, martin, donne, and many others, whose names, even at this distant period, call up a mingled feeling of reverence and respect." but this is doubted. a writer in the _athenæum_, sept. , , states: "the origin of the common tale of raleigh founding the mermaid club, of which shakspeare is said to have been a member, has not been traced. is it older than gifford?" again: "gifford's apparent invention of the mermaid club. prove to us that raleigh founded the mermaid club, that the wits attended it under his presidency, and you will have made a real contribution to our knowledge of shakspeare's time, even if you fail to show that our poet was a member of that club." the tradition, it is thought, must be added to the long list of shakspearian doubts. nevertheless, fuller has described the wit-combats between shakspeare and ben jonson, "which he beheld," meaning with his mind's eye, for he was only eight years of age when shakspeare died; "a circumstance," says mr. charles knight, "which appears to have been forgotten by some who have written of these matters." but we have a noble record left of the wit-combats in the celebrated epistle of beaumont to jonson:-- "methinks the little wit i had is lost since i saw you; for wit is like a rest held up at tennis, which men do the best with the best gamesters: what things have we seen done at the mermaid! heard words that have been so nimble, and so full of subtile flame, as if that every one from whence they came had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, and had resolv'd to live a fool the rest of his dull life; then when there hath been thrown wit able enough to justify the town for three days past, wit that might warrant be for the whole city to talk foolishly 'till that were cancell'd: and when that was gone we left an air behind us, which alone was able to make the two next companies right witty; though but downright fools, mere wise." the apollo club. the noted tavern, with the sign of st. dunstan pulling the devil by the nose, stood between temple bar and the middle temple gate. it was a house of great resort in the reign of james i., and then kept by simon wadloe. in ben jonson's _staple of news_, played in , pennyboy canter advises, to "dine in apollo, with pecunia at brave duke wadloe's." pennyboy junior replies-- "content, i' th' faith; our meal shall be brought thither; simon the king will bid us welcome." at what period ben jonson began to frequent this tavern is not certain; but we have his record that he wrote _the devil is an asse_, played in , when he and his boys (adopted sons) "drank bad wine at the devil." the principal room was called "the oracle of apollo," a large room evidently built apart from the tavern; and from prior's and charles montagu's _hind and panther transversed_, it is shown to have been an upper apartment, or on the first story:-- "hence to the devil-- thus to the place where jonson sat, we climb, leaning on the same rail that guided him." above the door was the bust of apollo; and the following verses, "the welcome," were inscribed in gold letters upon a black board, and "placed over the door at the entrance into the apollo: "welcome all, who lead or follow, to the _oracle of apollo_-- here he speaks out of his pottle, or the tripos, his tower bottle; all his answers are divine, truth itself doth flow in wine. hang up all the poor hop-drinkers, cries old sim the king of skinkers; he that half of life abuses, that sits watering with the muses. those dull girls no good can mean us; wine it is the milk of venus, and the poet's horse accounted: ply it, and you all are mounted. 'tis the true phoebeian liquor, cheers the brain, makes wit the quicker, pays all debts, cures all diseases, and at once three senses pleases. welcome all, who lead or follow, to the _oracle of apollo_." beneath these verses was the name of the author, thus inscribed--"o rare ben jonson," a posthumous tribute from his grave in westminster abbey. the bust appears modelled from the apollo belvedere, by some skillful person of the olden day, but has been several times painted. "the welcome," originally inscribed in gold letters, on a thick black-painted board, has since been wholly repainted and gilded; but the old thickly-lettered inscription of ben's day may be seen as an embossment upon the modern painted background. these poetic memorials are both preserved in the banking-house of the messrs. child. "the welcome," says mr. burn, "it may be inferred, was placed in the interior of the room; so also, above the fireplace, were the rules of the club, said by early writers to have been inscribed in marble, but were in truth gilded letters upon a black-painted board, similar to the verses of the welcome. these rules are justly admired for the conciseness and elegance of the latinity." they have been felicitously translated by alexander broome, one of the wits who frequented the devil, and who was one of ben jonson's twelve adopted poetical sons. latin inscriptions were also placed in other directions, to adorn the house. over the clock in the kitchen, in , there remained "_si nocturna tibi noceat potatio vini, hoc in mane bibes iterum, et fuerit medicina_." aubrey reports his uncle danvers to have said that "ben jonson, to be near the devil tavern, in king james's time, lived without temple-barre, at a combemaker's shop, about the elephant and castle;" and james, lord scudamore has, in his _homer à la mode_, a travesty, said-- "apollo had a flamen, who in's temple did say amen." this personage certainly ben jonson represented in the great room of the devil tavern. hither came all who desired to be "sealed of the tribe of ben." "the _leges conviviales_," says leigh hunt, "which jonson wrote for his club, and which are to be found in his works, are composed in his usual style of elaborate and compiled learning, not without a taste of that dictatorial self-sufficiency, which, notwithstanding all that has been said by his advocates, and the good qualities he undoubtedly possessed, forms an indelible part of his character. 'insipida poemata,' says he, 'nulla _recitantur_' (let nobody repeat to us insipid poetry); as if all that he should read of his own must infallibly be otherwise. the club at the devil does not appear to have resembled the higher one at the mermaid, where shakspeare and beaumont used to meet him. he most probably had it all to himself." in the rules of the apollo club, women of character were not excluded from attending the meetings--_probæ feminæ non repudiantur_. marmion, one of jonson's contemporary dramatists, describes him in his presidential chair, as "the boon delphic god:"-- "_careless._ i am full of oracles. i am come from apollo. _emilia._ from apollo! _careless._ from the heaven of my delight, where the boon delphic god drinks sack, and keeps his bacchanalia, and has his incense and his altars smoaking, and speaks in sparkling prophecies; thence i come, my brains perfumed with the rich indian vapour, and heightened with conceits. from tempting beauties, from dainty music and poetic strains, from bowls of nectar and ambrosial dishes, from witty varlets, fine companions, and from a mighty continent of pleasure, sails thy brave careless." randolph was by ben jonson, adopted for his son, and that upon the following occasion. "mr. randolph having been at london so long as that he might truly have had a parley with his _empty purse_, was resolved to see ben jonson, with his associates, which, as he heard, at a set time kept a club together at the devil tavern, neere temple bar: accordingly, at the time appointed, he went thither, but being unknown to them, and wanting money, which to an ingenious spirit is the most daunting thing in the world, he peeped in the room where they were, which being espied by ben jonson, and seeing him in a scholar's threadbare habit, 'john bo-peep,' says he, 'come in,' which accordingly he did; when immediately they began to rhyme upon the meanness of his clothes, asking him if he could not make a verse? and without to call for a quart of sack: there being four of them, he immediately thus replied, "i, john bo-peep, to you four sheep,-- with each one his good fleece; if that you are willing to give me five shilling, 'tis fifteen-pence a-piece." "by jesus!" quoth ben jonson (his usual oath), "i believe this is my son randolph;" which being made known to them, he was kindly entertained into their company, and ben jonson ever after called him son. he wrote _the muses' looking-glass_, _cambridge duns_, _parley with his empty purse_, and other poems. we shall have more to say of the devil tavern, which has other celebrities besides jonson. early political clubs. our clubs, or social gatherings, which date from the restoration, were exclusively political. the first we hear of was the noted rota, or coffee club, as pepys calls it, which was founded in , as a kind of debating society for the dissemination of republican opinions, which harrington had painted in their fairest colours in his _oceana_. it met in new palace yard, "where they take water at one miles's, the next house to the staires, where was made purposely a large ovall table, with a passage in the middle for miles to deliver his coffee." here harrington gave nightly lectures on the advantage of a commonwealth and of the ballot. the club derived its name from a plan, which it was its design to promote, for changing a certain number of members of parliament annually by _rotation_. sir william petty was one of its members. round the table, "in a room every evening as full as it could be crammed," says aubrey, sat milton and marvell, cyriac skinner, harrington, nevill, and their friends, discussing abstract political questions. aubrey calls them "disciples and virtuosi." the place had its dissensions and brawls: "one time mr. stafford and his friends came in drunk from the tavern, and affronted the junto; the soldiers offered to kick them down stayres, but mr. harrington's moderation and persuasion hindered it." to the rota, in january, , came pepys, and "heard very good discourse in answer to mr. harrington's answer, who said that the state of the roman government was not a settled government; and so it was no wonder the balance of prosperity was in one hand, and the command in another, it being therefore always in a posture of war: but it was carried by ballot that it was a steady government; though, it is true, by the voices it had been carried before that, that it was an unsteady government. so to-morrow it is to be proved by the opponents that the balance lay in one hand and the government in another." the club was broken up after the restoration; but its members had become marked men. harrington's _oceana_ is an imaginary account of the construction of a commonwealth in a country, of which oceana is the imaginary name. "rota-men" occurs by way of comparison in _hudibras_, part ii. canto : "but sidrophel, as full of tricks as rota-men of politics." besides the rota, there was the old royalist club, "the sealed knot," which, the year before the restoration, had organized a general insurrection in favour of the king. unluckily, they had a spy amongst them--sir richard willis,--who had long fingered cromwell's money, as one of his private "intelligencers;" the leaders, on his information, were arrested, and committed to prison. the october club. the writer of an excellent paper in the _national review_, no. viii., well observes that "politics under anne had grown a smaller and less dangerous game than in the preceding century. the original political clubs of the commonwealth, the protectorate, and the restoration, plotted revolutions of government. the parliamentary clubs, after the revolution of , manoeuvred for changes of administration. the high-flying tory country gentleman and country member drank the health of the king--sometimes over the water-decanter, and flustered himself with bumpers in honour of dr. sacheverell and the church of england, with true-blue spirits of his own kidney, at the october club," which, like the beef steak club, was named after the cheer for which it was famed,--_october ale_; or rather, on account of the quantities of the ale which the members drank. the hundred and fifty squires, tories to the backbone, who, under the above name, met at the bell tavern, in king street, westminster, were of opinion that the party to which they belonged were too backward in punishing and turning out the whigs; and they gave infinite trouble to the tory administration which came into office under the leadership of harley, st. john, and harcourt, in . the administration were for proceeding moderately with their rivals, and for generally replacing opponents with partisans. the october club were for immediately impeaching every member of the whig party, and for turning out, without a day's grace, every placeman who did not wear their colours, and shout their cries. swift was great at the october club, and he was employed to talk over those who were amenable to reason, and to appease a discontent which was hastily ripening into mutiny. there are allusions to such negotiations in more than one passage of the _journal to stella_, in . in a letter, february , - , he says: "we are plagued here with an october club; that is, a set of above a hundred parliament men of the country, who drink october beer at home, and meet every evening at a tavern near the parliament, to consult affairs, and drive things on to extremes against the whigs, to call the old ministry to account, and get off five or six heads." swift's _advice humbly offered to the members of the october club_, had the desired effect of softening some, and convincing others, until the whole body of malcontents was first divided and finally dissolved. the treatise is a masterpiece of swift's political skill, judiciously palliating those ministerial errors which could not be denied, and artfully intimating those excuses, which, resting upon the disposition of queen anne herself, could not, in policy or decency, be openly pleaded. the red-hot "tantivies," for whose loyalty the october club was not thorough-going enough, seceded from the original body, and formed "the march club," more jacobite and rampant in its hatred of the whigs, than the society from which it branched. king street would, at this time, be a strange location for a parliamentary club, like the october; narrow and obscure as is the street, we must remember that a century ago, it was the only thoroughfare to the palace at westminster and the houses of parliament. when the october was broken up, the portrait of queen anne, by dahl, which ornamented the club-room, was bought of the club, after the queen's death, by the corporation of salisbury, and may still be seen in their council-chamber. (cunningham's _handbook_, nd edit., p. .) the saturday, and brothers clubs. few men appear to have so well studied the social and political objects of club-life as dean swift. one of his resorts was the old saturday club. he tells stella (to whom he specially reported most of his club arrangements), in , there were "lord keeper, lord rivers, mr. secretary, mr. harley, and i." of the same club he writes, in : "i dined with lord treasurer, and shall again to-morrow, which is his day, when all the ministers dine with him. he calls it whipping-day. it is always on saturday; and we do, indeed, rally him about his faults on that day. i was of the original club, when only poor lord rivers, lord keeper, and lord bolingbroke came; but now ormond, anglesey, lord stewart, dartmouth, and other rabble intrude, and i scold at it; but now they pretend as good a title as i; and, indeed, many saturdays i am not there. the company being too many, i don't love it." in the same year swift framed the rules of the brothers club, which met every thursday. "the end of our club," he says, "is to advance conversation and friendship, and to reward learning without interest or recommendation. we take in none but men of wit, or men of interest; and if we go on as we began, no other club in this town will be worth talking of." the journal about this time is very full of _brothers_ arran and dupplin, masham and ormond, bathurst and harcourt, orrery and jack hill, and other tory magnates of the club, or society as swift preferred to call it. we find him entertaining his "brothers" at the thatched house tavern, in st. james's street, at the cost of seven good guineas. he must have been an influential member; he writes: "we are now, in all, nine lords and ten commoners. the duke of beaufort had the confidence to propose his brother-in-law, the earl of danby, to be a member; but i opposed it so warmly, that it was waived. danby is not above twenty, and we will have no more boys; and we want but two to make up our number. i staid till eight, and then we all went away soberly. the duke of ormond's treat last week cost £ , though it was only four dishes and four without a dessert; and i bespoke it in order to be cheap. yet i could not prevail to change the house. lord treasurer is in a rage with us for being so extravagant; and the wine was not reckoned neither, for that is always brought in by him that is president." not long after this, swift writes: "our society does not meet now as usual; for which i am blamed; but till treasurer will agree to give us money and employments to bestow, i am averse to it, and he gives us nothing but promises. we now resolve to meet but once a fortnight, and have a committee every other week of six or seven, to consult about doing _some good_. i proposed another message to lord treasurer by three principal members, to give a hundred guineas to a certain person, and they are to urge it as well as they can." one day, president arbuthnot gives the society a dinner, dressed in the queen's kitchen: "we eat it in ozinda's coffee-house just by st. james's. we were never merrier or better company, and did not part till after eleven." in may, we hear how "fifteen of our society dined together under a canopy in an arbour at parson's green last thursday. i never saw anything so fine and romantic." latterly, the club removed to the star and garter, in pall mall, owing to the dearness of the thatched house; after this, the expense was wofully complained of. at these meetings, we may suppose, the literature of politics formed the staple of the conversation. the last epigram, the last pamphlet, the last _examiner_, would be discussed with keen relish; and swift mentions one occasion on which an impromptu subscription was got up for a poet, who had lampooned marlborough; on which occasion all the company subscribed two guineas each, except swift himself, arbuthnot, and friend, who only gave one. bolingbroke, who was an active member, and swift, were on a footing of great familiarity. st. john used to give capital dinners and plenty of champagne and burgundy to his literary coadjutor, who never ceased to wonder at the ease with which our secretary got through his labours, and who worked for him in turn with the sincerest devotion, though always asserting his equality in the sturdiest manner. many pleasant glimpses of convivial meetings are afforded in the _journal to stella_, when there was "much drinking, little thinking," and the business which they had met to consider was deferred to a more convenient season. whether (observes a contemporary) the power of conversation has declined or not, we certainly fear that the power of drinking has; and the imagination dwells with melancholy fondness on that state of society in which great men were not forbidden to be good fellows, which we fancy, whether rightly or wrongly, must have been so superior to ours, in which wit and eloquence succumb to statistics, and claret has given place to coffee. the _journal to stella_ reveals swift's sympathy for poor starving authors, and how he carried out the objects of the society, in this respect. thus, he goes to see "a poor poet, one mr. diaper, in a nasty garret, very sick," described in the journal as "the author of the _sea eclogues_, poems of mermen, resembling pastorals and shepherds; and they are very pretty, and the thought is new." then swift tells us he thinks to recommend diaper to the society; he adds, "i must do something for him, and get him out of the way. i hate to have any new wits rise; but when they do rise, i would encourage them; but they tread on our heels, and thrust us off the stage." only a few days before, swift had given diaper twenty guineas from lord bolingbroke. then we get at the business of "the brothers," when we learn that the printer attended the dinners; and the journal tells us: "there was printed a grub-street speech of lord nottingham, and he was such an owl to complain of it in the house of lords, who have taken up the printer for it. i heard at court that walpole, (a great whig member,) said that i and my whimsical club writ it at one of our meetings, and that i should pay for it. he will find he lies; and i shall let him know by a third hand my thoughts of him." ... "to-day i published _the fable of midas_, a poem printed on a loose half-sheet of paper. i know not how it will take; but it passed wonderfully at our society to-night." at one dinner, the printer's news is that the chancellor of the exchequer had sent mr. adisworth, the author of the _examiner_, twenty guineas. there were gay sparks among "the brothers," as colonel or "duke" disney, "a fellow of abundance of humour, an old battered rake, but very honest; not an old man, but an old rake. it was he that said of jenny kingdown, the maid of honour, who is a little old, 'that since she could not get a husband, the queen should give her a brevet to act as a married woman.'"--_journal to stella._ the scriblerus club. "the brothers," as we have already seen, was a political club, which, having, in great measure served its purpose, was broken up. next year, , swift was again in london, and in place of "the brothers," formed the celebrated "scriblerus club," an association rather of a literary than a political character. oxford and st. john, swift, arbuthnot, pope, and gay, were members. satire upon the abuse of human learning was their leading object. the name originated as follows. oxford used playfully to call swift _martin_, and from this sprung martinus scriblerus. _swift_, as is well known, is the name of one species of swallow, (the largest and most powerful flier of the tribe,) and martin is the name of another species, the wall-swallow, which constructs its nest in buildings. part of the labours of the society has been preserved in _p. p._, _clerk of the parish_, the most memorable satire upon burnet's _history of his own time_, and part has been rendered immortal by the _travels of lemuel gulliver_; but, says sir walter scott, in his _life of swift_, "the violence of political faction, like a storm that spares the laurel no more than the cedar, dispersed this little band of literary brethren, and prevented the accomplishment of a task for which talents so various, so extended, and so brilliant, can never again be united." oxford and bolingbroke, themselves accomplished scholars, patrons and friends both of the persons and to genius thus associated, led the way, by their mutual animosity, to the dissolution of the confraternity. their discord had now risen to the highest pitch. swift tried the force of humorous expostulation in his fable of the fagot, where the ministers are called upon to contribute their various badges of office, to make the bundle strong and secure. but all was in vain; and, at length, tired with this scene of murmuring and discontent, quarrel, misunderstanding, and hatred, the dean, who was almost the only common friend who laboured to compose these differences, made a final effort at reconciliation; but his scheme came to nothing, and swift retreated from the scene of discord, without taking part with either of his contending friends, and went to the house of the reverend mr. gery, at upper letcombe, berkshire, where he resided for some weeks, in the strictest seclusion. this secession of swift, from the political world excited the greatest surprise: the public wondered,--the party writers exulted in a thousand ineffectual libels against the retreating champion of the high church,--and his friends conjured him in numerous letters to return and reassume the task of a peacemaker; this he positively declined. the calves' head club. the calves' head club, in "ridicule of the memory of charles i.," has a strange history. it is first noticed in a tract reprinted in the _harleian miscellany_. it is entitled "_the secret history of the calves' head club; or the republican unmasked_. _wherein is fully shown the religion of the calves' head heroes, in their anniversary thanksgiving songs on the th of january, by them called anthems, for the years , , , , . now published to demonstrate the restless implacable spirit of a certain party still amongst us, who are never to be satisfied until the present establishment in church and state is subverted._ the second edition. london, ." the author of this _secret history_, supposed to be ned ward, attributed the origin of the club to milton, and some other friends of the commonwealth, in opposition to bishop nixon, dr. sanderson, and others, who met privately every th of january, and compiled a private form of service for the day, not very different from that long used. "after the restoration," says the writer, "the eyes of the government being upon the whole party, they were obliged to meet with a great deal of precaution; but in the reign of king william they met almost in a public manner, apprehending no danger." the writer further tells us, he was informed that it was kept in no fixed house, but that they moved as they thought convenient. the place where they met when his informant was with them was in a blind alley near moorfields, where an axe hung up in the club-room, and was reverenced as a principal symbol in this diabolical sacrament. their bill of fare was a large dish of calves' heads, dressed several ways, by which they represented the king and his friends who had suffered in his cause; a large pike, with a small one in his mouth, as an emblem of tyranny; a large cod's head, by which they intended to represent the person of the king singly; a boar's head with an apple in its mouth, to represent the king by this as bestial, as by their other hieroglyphics they had done foolish and tyrannical. after the repast was over, one of their elders presented an _icon basilike_, which was with great solemnity burnt upon the table, whilst the other anthems were singing. after this, another produced milton's _defensio populi anglicani_, upon which all laid their hands, and made a protestation in form of an oath for ever to stand by and maintain the same. the company only consisted of independents and anabaptists; and the famous jeremy white, formerly chaplain to oliver cromwell, who no doubt came to sanctify with his pious exhortations the ribaldry of the day, said grace. after the table-cloth was removed, the anniversary anthem, as they impiously called it, was sung, and a calf's skull filled with wine, or other liquor; and then a brimmer went about to the pious memory of those worthy patriots who had killed the tyrant and relieved their country from his arbitrary sway: and, lastly, a collection was made for the mercenary scribbler, to which every man contributed according to his zeal for the cause and ability of his purse. the tract passed, with many augmentations as valueless as the original trash, through no less than nine editions, the last dated . indeed, it would appear to be a literary fraud, to keep alive the calumny. all the evidence produced concerning the meetings is from hearsay: the writer of the _secret history_ had never himself been present at the club; and his friend from whom he professes to have received his information, though a whig, had no personal knowledge of the club. the slanderous rumour about milton having to do with the institution of the club may be passed over as unworthy of notice, this untrustworthy tract being the only authority for it. lowndes says, "this miserable tract has been attributed to the author of _hudibras_;" but it is altogether unworthy of him. observances, insulting to the memory of charles i., were not altogether unknown. hearne tells us that on the th of january, - , some young men in all souls college, oxford, dined together at twelve o'clock, and amused themselves with cutting off the heads of a number of woodcocks, "in contempt of the memory of the blessed martyr." they tried to get calves'-heads, but the cook refused to dress them. some thirty years after, there occurred a scene which seemed to give colour to the truth of the _secret history_. on january , , "some young noblemen and gentlemen met at a tavern in suffolk-street, called themselves the calves' head club, dressed up a calf's head in a napkin, and after some hurras threw it into a bonfire, and dipped napkins in their red wine and waved them out of the window. the mob had strong beer given them, and for a time hallooed as well as the best, but taking disgust at some healths proposed, grew so outrageous that they broke all the windows, and forced themselves into the house; but the guards being sent for, prevented further mischief. the _weekly chronicle_ of february , , states that the damage was estimated at 'some hundred pounds,' and that the guards were posted all night in the street, for the security of the neighbourhood." in l'abbé le blanc's letters we find this account of the affair:--"some young men of quality chose to abandon themselves to the debauchery of drinking healths on the th of january, a day appointed by the church of england for a general fast, to expiate the murder of charles i., whom they honour as a martyr. as soon as they were heated with wine, they began to sing. this gave great offence to the people, who stopped before the tavern, and gave them abusive language. one of these rash young men put his head out of the window and drank to the memory of the army which dethroned this king, and to the rebels which cut off his head upon a scaffold. the stones immediately flew from all parts, the furious populace broke the windows of the house, and would have set fire to it; and these silly young men had a great deal of difficulty to save themselves." miss banks tells us that "lord middlesex, lord boyne, and mr. seawallis shirley, were certainly present; probably, lord john sackville, mr. ponsonby, afterwards lord besborough, was not there. lord boyne's finger was broken by a stone which came in at the window. lord harcourt was supposed to be present." horace walpole adds: "the mob destroyed part of the house; sir william (called hellfire) stanhope was one of the members." this riotous occurrence was the occasion of some verses in _the grub-street journal_, from which the following lines may be quoted as throwing additional light on the scene:-- "strange times! when noble peers, secure from riot, can't keep noll's annual festival in quiet, through sashes broke, dirt, stones, and brands thrown at 'em, which, if not scand- was _brand-alum magnatum_. forced to run down to vaults for safer quarters, and in coal-holes their ribbons hide and garters. they thought their feast in dismal fray thus ending, themselves to shades of death and hell descending; this might have been, had stout clare market mobsters, with cleavers arm'd, outmarch'd st. james's lobsters; numskulls they'd split, to furnish other revels, and make a calves'-head feast for worms and devils." the manner in which noll's (oliver cromwell's) "annual festival" is here alluded to, seems to show that the bonfire, with the calf's-head and other accompaniments, had been exhibited in previous years. in confirmation of this fact, there exists a print entitled _the true effigies of the members of the calves'-head club, held on the th of january, , in suffolk street, in the county of middlesex_; being the year before the riotous occurrence above related. this print shows a bonfire in the centre of the foreground, with the mob; in the background, a house with three windows, the central window exhibiting two men, one of whom is about to throw the calf's-head into the bonfire below. the window on the right shows three persons drinking healths; that on the left, two other persons, one of whom wears a mask, and has an axe in his hand. there are two other prints, one engraved by the father of vandergucht, from a drawing by hogarth. after the tablecloth was removed (says the author), an anniversary anthem was sung, and a calf's-skull filled with wine or other liquor, and out of which the company drank to the pious memory of those worthy patriots who had killed the tyrant; and lastly, a collection was made for the writer of the anthem, to which every man contributed according to his zeal or his means. the concluding lines of the anthem for the year are as follow:-- "advance the emblem of the action, fill the calf's skull full of wine; drinking ne'er was counted faction, men and gods adore the vine. to the heroes gone before us, let's renew the flowing bowl; while the lustre of their glories shines like stars from pole to pole." the laureate of the club and of this doggrel was benjamin bridgwater, who, alluding to the observance of the th of january by zealous royalists, wrote:-- "they and we, this day observing, differ only in one thing; they are canting, whining, starving; we, rejoicing, drink, and sing." among swift's poems will be remembered "roland's invitation to dismal to dine with the calf's-head club":-- "while an alluding hymn some artist sings, we toast 'confusion to the race of kings.'" wilson, in his life of de foe, doubts the truthfulness of ward's narrative, but adds: "in the frighted mind of a high-flying churchman, which was continually haunted by such scenes, the caricature would easily pass for a likeness." "it is probable," adds the honest biographer of de foe, "that the persons thus collected together to commemorate the triumph of their principles, although in a manner dictated by bad taste, and outrageous to humanity, would have confined themselves to the ordinary methods of eating and drinking, if it had not been for the ridiculous farce so generally acted by the royalists upon the same day. the trash that issued from the pulpit in this reign, upon the th of january, was such as to excite the worst passions in the hearers. nothing can exceed the grosness of language employed upon these occasions. forgetful even of common decorum, the speakers ransacked the vocabulary of the vulgar for terms of vituperation, and hurled their anathemas with wrath and fury against the objects of their hatred. the terms rebel and fanatic were so often upon their lips, that they became the reproach of honest men, who preferred the scandal to the slavery they attempted to establish. those who could profane the pulpit with so much rancour in the support of senseless theories, and deal it out to the people for religion, had little reason to complain of a few absurd men who mixed politics and calves' heads at a tavern; and still less, to brand a whole religious community with their actions." the strange story was believed till our own time, when it was fully disproved by two letters written a few days after the riotous occurrence, by mr. a. smyth, to mr. spence, and printed in the appendix to his _anecdotes_, nd edit. : in one it is stated, "the affair has been grossly misrepresented all over the town, and in most of the public papers: there was no calf's-head exposed at the window, and afterwards thrown into the fire, no napkins dipt in claret to represent blood, nor nothing that could give any colour to any such reports. the meeting (at least with regard to our friends) was entirely accidental," etc. the second letter alike contradicts the whole story; and both attribute much of the disturbance to the unpopularity of the administration; their health being unluckily proposed, raised a few faint claps but a general hiss, and then the disturbance began. a letter from lord middlesex to spence, gives a still fuller account of the affair. by the style of the letter one may judge what sort of heads the members had, and what was reckoned the polite way of speaking to a waiter in those days:-- "whitehall, feb. ye th, . "dear _spanco_,--i don't in the least doubt but long before this time the noise of the riot on the th of january has reached you at oxford; and though there has been as many lies and false reports raised upon the occasion in this good city as any reasonable man could expect, yet i fancy even those may be improved or increased before they come to you. now, that you may be able to defend your friends (as i don't in the least doubt you have an inclination to do), i'll send you the matter of fact literally and truly as it happened, upon my honour. eight of us happened to meet together the th of january, it might have been the th of june, or any other day in the year, but the mixture of the company has convinced most reasonable people by this time that it was not a designed or premeditated affair. we met, then, as i told you before, by chance upon this day, and after dinner, having drunk very plentifully, especially some of the company, some of us going to the window unluckily saw a little nasty fire made by some boys in the street, of straw i think it was, and immediately cried out, 'd--n it, why should not we have a fire as well as anybody else?' up comes the drawer, 'd--n you, you rascal, get us a bonfire.' upon which the imprudent puppy runs down, and without making any difficulty (which he might have done by a thousand excuses, and which if he had, in all probability, some of us would have come more to our senses), sends for the faggots, and in an instant behold a large fire blazing before the door. upon which some of us, wiser, or rather soberer than the rest, bethinking themselves then, for the first time, what day it was, and fearing the consequences a bonfire on that day might have, proposed drinking loyal and popular healths to the mob (out of the window), which by this time was very great, in order to convince them we did not intend it as a ridicule upon that day. the healths that were drank out of the window were these, and these only: the king, queen, and royal family, the protestant succession, liberty and property, the present administration. upon which the first stone was flung, and then began our siege: which, for the time it lasted, was at least as furious as that of philipsbourg; it was more than an hour before we got any assistance; the more sober part of us, doing this, had a fine time of it, fighting to prevent fighting; in danger of being knocked on the head by the stones that came in at the windows; in danger of being run through by our mad friends, who, sword in hand, swore they would go out, though they first made their way through us. at length the justice, attended by a strong body of guards, came and dispersed the populace. the person who first stirred up the mob is known; he first gave them money, and then harangued them in a most violent manner; i don't know if he did not fling the first stone himself. he is an irishman and a priest, and belonging to imberti, the venetian envoy. this is the whole story from which so many calves' heads, bloody napkins, and the lord knows what, has been made; it has been the talk of the town and the country, and small beer and bread and cheese to my friends the garretteers in grub-street, for these few days past. i, as well as your friends, hope to see you soon in town. after so much prose, i can't help ending with a few verses:-- "o had i lived in merry charles's days, when dull the wise were called, and wit had praise; when deepest politics could never pass for aught, but surer tokens of an ass; when not the frolicks of one drunken night could touch your honour, make your fame less bright; tho' mob-form'd scandal rag'd, and papal spight." "middlesex." to sum up, the whole affair was a hoax, kept alive by the pretended "secret history." an accidental riot, following a debauch on one th of january, has been distributed between two successive years, owing to a misapprehension of the mode of reckoning time prevalent in the early part of the last century; and there is no more reason for believing in the existence of a calves' head club in - than there is for believing it exists in . the king's head club. another club of this period was the "club of kings," or "the king club," all the members of which were called "king." charles himself was an honorary member. a more important club was "the king's head club," instituted for affording the court and government support, and to influence protestant zeal: it was designed by the unscrupulous shaftesbury: the members were a sort of decembrists of their day; but they failed in their aim, and ultimately expired under the ridicule of being designated "hogs in armour." "the gentlemen of that worthy society," says roger north, in his _examen_, "held their evening sessions continually at the king's head tavern, over against the inner temple gate. but upon the occasion of the signal of a _green ribbon_, agreed to be worn in their hats in the days of _street engagements_, like the coats-of-arms of valiant knights of old, whereby all warriors of the society might be distinguished, and not mistake friends for enemies, they were called also the _green ribbon club_. their seat was in a sort of _carfour_ at chancery-lane end, a centre of business and company most proper for such anglers of fools. the house was double balconied in the front, as may be yet seen, for the clubsters to issue forth in fresco with hats and no peruques; pipes in their mouths, merry faces, and diluted throats, for vocal encouragement of the _canaglia_ below, at bonfires, on usual and unusual occasions. they admitted all strangers that were confidingly introduced; for it was a main end of their institution to make proselytes, especially of the raw estated youth, newly come to town. this copious society were to the faction in and about london a sort of executive power, and, by correspondence, all over england. the resolves of the more retired councils of the ministry of the faction were brought in here, and orally insinuated to the company, whether it were lyes, defamations, commendations, projects, etc., and so, like water diffused, spread all over the town; whereby that which was digested at the club over night, was, like nourishment, at every assembly, male and female, the next day:--and thus the younglings tasted of political administration, and took themselves for notable counsellors." north regarded the green ribbon club as the focus of disaffection and sedition, but his mere opinions are not to be depended on. walpole calls him "the voluminous squabbler in behalf of the most unjustifiable excesses of charles the second's administration." nevertheless, his relation of facts is very curious, and there is no reason to discredit his account of those popular "routs," to use his own phrase, to which he was an eyewitness. the conversation and ordinary discourse of the club, he informs us, "was chiefly upon the subject of _braveur_, in defending the cause of liberty and property; what every true protestant and englishman ought to venture to do, rather than be overpowered with popery and slavery." they were provided with silk armour for defence, "against the time that protestants were to be massacred," and, in order "to be assailants upon fair occasion," they had recommended to them, "a certain pocket weapon which, for its design and efficacy, had the honour to be called a _protestant flail_. the handles resembled a farrier's blood-stick, and the fall was joined to the end by a strong nervous ligature, that, in its swing, fell just short of the hand, and was made of _lignum vitæ_, or rather, as the poets termed it, _mortis_." this engine was "for street and crowd-work, and lurking perdue in a coat-pocket, might readily sally out to execution; and so, by clearing a great hall or piazza, or so, carry an election by choice of polling, called _knocking down_!" the _armour_ of the _hogs_ is further described as "silken back, breast, and potts, that were pretended to be pistol-proof, in which any man dressed up was as safe as in a house, for it was impossible any one would go to strike him for laughing, so ridiculous was the figure, as they say, of _hogs in armour_." in describing the pope-burning procession of the th of november, , roger north says, that "the rabble first changed their title, and were called _the mob_ in the assemblies of this club. it was their beast of burthen, and called first, _mobile vulgus_, but fell naturally into the contraction of one syllable, and ever since is become proper english." we shall not describe these processions: the grand object was the burning of figures, prepared for the occasion, and brought by the mob in procession, from the further end of london with "staffiers and link-boys, sounding," and "coming up near to the club-quality in the balconies, against which was provided a huge bonfire;" "and then, after numerous platoons and volleys of squibs discharged, these _bamboches_ were, with redoubled noise, committed to the flames." these outrageous celebrations were suppressed in . street clubs. during the first quarter of the last century, there were formed in the metropolis "street clubs," of the inhabitants of the same street; so that a man had but to stir a few houses from his own door to enjoy his club and the society of his neighbours. there was another inducement: the streets were then so unsafe, that "the nearer home a man's club lay, the better for his clothes and his purse. even riders in coaches were not safe from mounted footpads, and from the danger of upsets in the huge ruts and pits which intersected the streets. the passenger who could not afford a coach had to pick his way, after dark, along the dimly-lighted, ill-paved thoroughfares, seamed by filthy open kennels, besprinkled from projecting spouts, bordered by gaping cellars, guarded by feeble old watchmen, and beset with daring street-robbers. but there were worse terrors of the night than the chances of a splashing or a sprain,--risks beyond those of an interrogatory by the watch, or of a 'stand and deliver' from a footpad." these were the lawless rake-hells who, banded into clubs, spread terror and dismay through the streets. sir john fielding, in his cautionary book, published in , described the dangerous attacks of intemperate rakes in hot blood, who, occasionally and by way of bravado, scour the streets, to show their manhood, not their humanity; put the watch to flight; and now and then murdered some harmless, inoffensive person. thus, although there are in london no ruffians and bravos, as in some parts of spain and italy, who will kill for hire, yet there is no resisting anywhere the wild sallies of youth, and the extravagances that flow from debauchery and wine. one of our poets has given a necessary caution, especially to strangers, in the following lines:-- "prepare for death, if here at night you roam, and sign your will before you sup from home; some fiery fop with new commission vain, who sleeps on brambles 'till he kills his man; some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast, provokes a broil, and stabs you in a jest. yet, ev'n these heroes, mischievously gay, lords of the street, and terrors of the way; flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine, their prudent insults to the poor confine; afar they mark the flambeau's bright approach, and shun the shining train and gilded coach." the mohocks. this nocturnal fraternity met in the days of queen anne: but it had been for many previous years the favourite amusement of dissolute young men to form themselves into clubs and associations for committing all sorts of excesses in the public streets, and alike attacking orderly pedestrians, and even defenceless women. these clubs took various slang designations. at the restoration they were "mums" and "tityre-tus." they were succeeded by the "hectors" and "scourers," when, says shadwell, "a man could not go from the rose tavern to the piazza once, but he must venture his life twice." then came the "nickers," whose delight it was to smash windows with showers of halfpence; next were the "hawkabites;" and lastly, the "mohocks." these last are described in the _spectator_, no. , as a set of men who have borrowed their name from a sort of cannibals, in india, who subsist by plundering and devouring all the nations about them. the president is styled "emperor of the mohocks;" and his arms are a turkish crescent, which his imperial majesty bears at present in a very extraordinary manner engraven upon his forehead; in imitation of which the members prided themselves in tattooing; or slashing people's faces with, as gay wrote, "new invented wounds." their avowed design was mischief, and upon this foundation all their rules and orders were framed. they took care to drink themselves to a pitch beyond reason or humanity, and then made a general sally, and attack all who were in the streets. some were knocked down, others stabbed, and others cut and carbonadoed. to put the watch to a total rout, and mortify some of those inoffensive militia, was reckoned a _coup d'éclat_. they had special barbarities, which they executed upon their prisoners. "tipping the lion" was squeezing the nose flat to the face, and boring out the eyes with their fingers. "dancing-masters" were those who taught their scholars to cut capers by running swords through their legs. the "tumblers" set women on their heads. the "sweaters" worked in parties of half-a-dozen, surrounding their victims with the points of their swords. the sweater upon whom the patient turned his back, pricked him in "that part whereon school-boys are punished;" and, as he veered round from the smart, each sweater repeated this pinking operation; "after this jig had gone two or three times round, and the patient was thought to have sweat sufficiently, he was very handsomely rubbed down by some attendants, who carried with them instruments for that purpose, when they discharged him." an adventure of this kind is narrated in no. of the _spectator_: it is there termed a bagnio, for the orthography of which the writer consults the sign-posts of the bagnio in newgate-street and that in chancery-lane. another savage diversion of the mohocks was their thrusting women into barrels, and rolling them down snow or ludgate hill, as thus sung by gay, in his _trivia_:-- "now is the time that rakes their revels keep; kindlers of riot, enemies of sleep. his scattered pence the flying nicker flings, and with the copper shower the casement rings. who has not heard the scourer's midnight fame? who has not trembled at the mohock's name? was there a watchman took his hourly rounds safe from their blows, or new-invented wounds? i pass their desperate deeds and mischiefs, done where from snow-hill black steepy torrents run; how matrons, hooped within the hogshead's womb, were tumbled furious thence; the rolling tomb o'er the stones thunders, bounds from side to side: so regulus, to save his country, died." swift was inclined to doubt these savageries, yet went in some apprehension of them. he writes, just at the date of the above _spectator_: "here is the devil and all to do with these mohocks. grub-street papers about them fly like lightning, and a list printed of near eighty put into several prisons, and all a lie, and i begin to think there is no truth, or very little, in the whole story. he that abused davenant was a drunken gentleman; none of that gang. my man tells me that one of the lodgers heard in a coffee-house, publicly, that one design of the mohocks was upon me, if they could catch me; and though i believe nothing of it, i forbear walking late; and they have put me to the charge of some shillings already."--_journal to stella_, . swift mentions, among the outrages of the mohocks, that two of them caught a maid of old lady winchilsea's at the door of her house in the park with a candle, and had just lighted out somebody. they cut all her face, and beat her without any provocation. at length, the villanies of the mohocks were attempted to be put down by a royal proclamation, issued on the th of march, : this, however, had very little effect, for we soon find swift exclaiming: "they go on still, and cut people's faces every night! but they sha'n't cut mine; i like it better as it is." within a week after the proclamation, it was proposed that sir roger de coverley should go to the play, where he had not been for twenty years. the _spectator_, no. , says: "my friend asked me if there would not be some danger in coming home late, in case the mohocks should be abroad. 'i assure you,' says he, 'i thought i had fallen into their hands last night; for i observed two or three lusty black men that followed me half-way up fleet-street, and mended their pace behind me, in proportion as i put on to get away from them." however, sir roger threw them out, at the end of norfolk street, where he doubled the corner, and got shelter in his lodgings before they could imagine what was become of him. it was finally arranged that captain sentry should make one of the party for the play, and that sir roger's coach should be got ready, the fore wheels being newly mended. "the captain," says the _spectator_, "who did not fail to meet me at the appointed hour, bid sir roger fear nothing, for that he had put on the same sword which he made use of at the battle of steenkirk. sir roger's servants, and among the rest, my old friend the butler, had, i found, provided themselves with good oaken plants, to attend their master upon this occasion. when he placed him in his coach, with myself at his left hand, the captain before him, and his butler at the head of his footmen in the rear, we convoyed him in safety to the playhouse." the play was ambrose phillips's new tragedy of _the distressed mother_: at its close, sir roger went out fully satisfied with his entertainment; and, says _the spectator_, "we guarded him to his lodging in the same manner that we guarded him to the playhouse." the subject is resumed with much humour, by budgell, in the _spectator_, no. , where the doubts as to the actual existence of mohocks are examined. "they will have it," says the _spectator_, "that the mohocks are like those spectres and apparitions which frighten several towns and villages in her majesty's dominions, though they were never seen by any of the inhabitants. others are apt to think that these mohocks are a kind of bull-beggars, first invented by prudent married men and masters of families, in order to deter their wives and daughters from taking the air at unseasonable hours; and that when they tell them 'the mohocks will catch them,' it is a caution of the same nature with that of our forefathers, when they bid their children have a care of raw-head and bloody-bones." then we have, from a correspondent of the _spectator_, "the manifesto of taw waw eben zan kaladar, emperor of the mohocks," vindicating his imperial dignity from the false aspersions cast on it, signifying the imperial abhorrence and detestation of such tumultuous and irregular proceedings; and notifying that all wounds, hurts, damage, or detriment, received in limb or limbs, _otherwise than shall be hereafter specified_, shall be committed to the care of the emperor's surgeon, and cured at his own expense, in some one or other of those hospitals which he is erecting for that purpose. among other things it is decreed "that they never tip the lion upon man, woman, or child, till the clock at st. dunstan's shall have struck one;" "that the sweat be never given till between the hours of one and two;" "that the sweaters do establish their hummums in such close places, alleys, nooks and corners, that the patient or patients may not be in danger of catching cold;" "that the tumblers, to whose care we chiefly commit the female sex, confine themselves to drury-lane and the purlieus of the temple," etc. "given from our court at the devil tavern," etc. the mohocks held together until nearly the end of the reign of george the first. blasphemous clubs. the successors of the mohocks added blasphemy to riot. smollett attributes the profaneness and profligacy of the period to the demoralization produced by the south sea bubble; and clubs were formed specially for the indulgence of debauchery and profaneness. prominent among these was "the hell-fire club," of which the duke of wharton was a leading spirit:-- "wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, whose ruling passion was the lust of praise. born with whate'er could win it from the wise, women and fools must like him, or he dies. though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, the club must hail him master of the joke."--_pope._ so high did the tide of profaneness run at this time, that a bill was brought into the house of lords for its suppression. it was in a debate on this bill that the earl of peterborough declared, that though he was for a parliamentary king, he was against a parliamentary religion; and that the duke of wharton pulled an old family bible out of his pocket, in order to controvert certain arguments delivered from the episcopal bench. mug-house clubs. among the political clubs of the metropolis in the early part of the eighteenth century, one of the most popular was the mug-house club, which met in a great hall in long acre every wednesday and saturday, during the winter. the house received its name from the simple circumstance, that each member drank his ale (the only liquor used) out of a separate mug. the club is described as a mixture of gentlemen, lawyers, and statesmen, who met seldom under a hundred. in _a journey through england_, , we read of this club: "but the most diverting and amusing of all is the mug-house club in long acre. "they have a grave old gentleman, in his own gray hairs, now within a few months of ninety years old, who is their president, and sits in an arm'd chair some steps higher than the rest of the company to keep the whole room in order. a harp plays all the time at the lower end of the room; and every now and then one or other of the company rises and entertains the rest with a song, and (by the by) some are good masters. here is nothing drunk but ale, and every gentleman hath his separate mug, which he chalks on the table where he sits as it is brought in; and every one retires when he pleases, as from a coffee-house. "the room is always so diverted with songs, and drinking from one table to another to one another's healths, that there is no room for politicks, or anything that can sow'r conversation. "one must be there by seven to get room, and after ten the company are for the most part gone. "this is a winter's amusement, that is agreeable enough to a stranger for once or twice, and he is well diverted with the different humours, when the mugs overflow." although in the early days of this club there was no room for politics, or anything that could sour conversation, the mug-house subsequently became a rallying-place for the most virulent political antagonism, arising out of the change of dynasty, a weighty matter to debate over mugs of ale. the death of anne brought on the hanover succession. the tories had then so much the better of the other party, that they gained the mob on all public occasions to their side. it then became necessary for king george's friends to do something to counteract this tendency. accordingly, they established mug-houses, like that of long acre, throughout the metropolis, for well-affected tradesmen to meet and keep up the spirit of loyalty to the protestant succession. first, they had one in st. john's-lane, chiefly under the patronage of mr. blenman, member of the middle temple, who took for his motto, "pro rege et lege." then arose the roebuck mug-house, in cheapside, the haunt of a fraternity of young men, who had been organized for political action before the end of the late reign. according to a pamphlet on the subject, dated in , "the next mug-houses opened in the city were at mrs. read's, in salisbury-court, in fleet-street, and at the harp in tower-street, and another at the roebuck in whitechapel. about the same time several other mug-houses were erected in the suburbs, for the reception and entertainment of the like loyal societies: viz. one at the ship, in tavistock-street, covent garden, which is mostly frequented by royal officers of the army, another at the black horse, in queen-street near lincoln's inn fields, set up and carried on by gentlemen, servants to that noble patron of loyalty, to whom this vindication of it is inscribed [the duke of newcastle]; a third was set up at the nag's head, in james-street, covent garden; a fourth at the fleece, in burleigh-street, near exeter change; a fifth at the hand and tench, near the seven dials; several in spittlefields, by the french refugees; one in southwark park; and another in the artillery-ground." another noted mug-house was the magpie, without newgate, which house still exists as the magpie and stump, in the old bailey. at all these houses it was customary in the forenoon to exhibit the whole of the mugs belonging to the establishment, in a row in front of the house. the frequenters of these several mug-houses formed themselves into "mug-house clubs," known severally by some distinctive name, and each club had its president to rule its meetings and keep order. the president was treated with great ceremony and respect: he was conducted to his chair every evening at about seven o'clock, by members carrying candles before and behind him, and accompanied with music. having taken a seat, he appointed a vice-president, and drank the health of the company assembled, a compliment which the company returned. the evening was then passed in drinking successively loyal and other healths, and in singing songs. soon after ten they broke up, the president naming his successor for the next evening; and before he left the chair, a collection was made for the musicians. we shall now see how these clubs took so active a part in the violent political struggles of the time. the jacobites had laboured with much zeal to secure the alliance of the street mob, and they had used it with great effect, in connexion with dr. sacheverell, in over-turning queen anne's whig government, and paving the way for the return of the exiled family. disappointment at the accession of george i. rendered the party of the pretender more unscrupulous; the mob was excited to greater excesses, and the streets of the metropolis were occupied by an infuriated rabble, and presented a nightly scene of riot. it was under these circumstances that the mug-house clubs volunteered, in a very disorderly manner, to be champions of order; and with this purpose it became part of their evening's entertainment to march into the street, and fight the jacobite mob. this practice commenced in the autumn of , when the club called the loyal society, which met at the roebuck in cheapside, distinguished itself by its hostility to jacobitism. on one occasion this club burned the pretender in effigy. their first conflict with the mob, recorded in the newspapers, occurred on the st of january, , the birthday of the prince of wales, which was celebrated by illuminations and bonfires. there were a few jacobite alehouses, chiefly on holborn hill, in sacheverell's period; and on ludgate-hill: the frequenters of the latter stirred up the mob to raise a riot there, put out the bonfire, and break the windows which were illuminated. the loyal society men, receiving intelligence of what was going on, hurried to the spot, and thrashed and defeated the rioters. on the th of november in the same year, the birthday of king william iii., the jacobite mob made a large bonfire in the old jewry, to burn an effigy of the king; but the mug-house men came upon them again, gave them "due chastisement with oaken plants," extinguished their bonfire, and carried king william in triumph to the roebuck. next day was the commemoration of gunpowder treason, and the loyal mob had its pageant. a long procession was formed, having in front a figure of the infant pretender, accompanied by two men bearing each a warming-pan, in allusion to the story about his birth; and followed by effigies in gross caricature of the pope, the pretender, the duke of ormond, lord bolingbroke, and the earl of marr, with halters round their necks; and all of them were to be burned in a large bonfire made in cheapside. the procession, starting from the roebuck, went through newgate-street, and up holborn-hill, where they compelled the bells of st. andrew's church, of which sacheverell was rector, to ring; thence through lincoln's inn fields and covent garden to the gate of st. james's palace; returning by way of pall mall and the strand, and through st. paul's churchyard. they had met with no interruption on their way, but on their return to cheapside, they found that, during their absence, that quarter had been invaded by the jacobite mob, who had carried away all the fuel which had been collected for the bonfire. on november , in the same year, the loyal society met at the roebuck to celebrate the anniversary of the accession of queen elizabeth; and, while busy with their mugs, they received information that the jacobites were assembled, in great force, in st. martin's-le-grand, and were preparing to burn the effigies of king william and king george, along with the duke of marlborough. they were so near, in fact, that their party-shouts of high church, ormond, and king james, must have been audible at the roebuck, which stood opposite bow church. the jacobites were starting on their procession, when they were overtaken in newgate street, by the mug-house men from the roebuck, and a desperate encounter took place, in which the jacobites were defeated, and many of them were seriously injured. meanwhile the roebuck itself had been the scene of a much more serious tumult. during the absence of the great mass of the members of the club, another body of jacobites, much more numerous than those engaged in newgate street, suddenly assembled, attacked the roebuck mug-house, broke its windows, and those of the adjoining houses, and with terrible threats, attempted to force the door. one of the few members of the loyal society who remained at home, discharged a gun upon those of the assailants who were attacking the door, and killed one of their leaders. this and the approach of the lord mayor and city officers, caused the mob to disperse; but the roebuck was exposed to attacks during several following nights, after which the mobs remained tolerably quiet during the winter. early in , however, these riots were renewed with greater violence, and preparations were made for an active campaign. the mug-houses were re-fitted, and re-opened with ceremonious entertainments. new songs were composed to stir up the clubs; and collections of these mug-house songs were printed. the jacobite mob was heard beating with its well-known call, marrow-bones and cleavers, and both sides were well equipped with staves of oak, their usual arms for the fray, though other weapons and missiles were in common use. one of the mug-house songs thus describes the way in which these street fights were conducted:-- "since the tories could not fight, and their master took his flight, they labour to keep up their faction; with a bough and a stick, and a stone and a brick, they equip their roaring crew for action. "thus in battle array, at the close of the day, after wisely debating their plot, upon windows and stall they courageously fall, and boast a great victory they've got. "but, alas! silly boys! for all the mighty noise of their 'high church and ormond for ever!' a brave whig, with one hand, at george's command, can make their mightiest hero to quiver." on march , another great whig anniversary, the day of the death of william iii., commenced the more serious mug-house riots of . a large jacobite mob assembled to their own watch-cry, and marched along cheapside, to attack the roebuck; but they were soon driven back by a small party of the royal society, who then marched in procession through newgate street, to the magpie and stump, and then by the old bailey to ludgate hill. when about to return, they found the jacobite mob had collected in great force in their rear; and a fierce engagement took place in newgate street, when the jacobites were again worsted. then, on the evening of the rd of april, the anniversary of the birth of queen anne, there were great battles in cheapside, and at the end of giltspur street; and in the immediate neighbourhood of the roebuck and the magpie. other great tumults took place on the th of may, restoration day; and on the th of june, the pretender's birthday. from this time the roebuck is rarely mentioned. the whigs, who met in the mug-house, kept by mr. read, in salisbury court, fleet street, appear to have been peculiarly noisy in their cups, and thus rendered themselves the more obnoxious to the mob. on one occasion, july , their violent party-toasts, which they drank in the parlour with open windows, collected a large crowd of persons, who became at last so incensed by some tipsy whigs inside, that they commenced a furious attack upon the house, and threatened to pull it down and make a bonfire of its materials in the middle of fleet street. the whigs immediately closed their windows and barricaded the doors, having sent a messenger by a back door, to the mug-house in tavistock street, covent garden, begging that the persons there assembled would come to the rescue. the call was immediately responded to; the mug-house men proceeded in a body down the strand and fleet street, armed with staves and bludgeons, and commenced an attack on the mob, who still threatened the demolition of the house in salisbury court. the inmates sallied out, armed with pokers and tongs, and whatever they could lay their hands upon, and being joined by their friends from covent garden, the mob was put to flight, and the mug-house men remained masters of the field. the popular indignation was very great at this defeat; and for two days crowds collected in the neighbourhood, and vowed they would have revenge. but the knowledge that a squadron of horse was drawn up at whitehall, ready to ride into the city on the first alarm, kept order. on the third day, however, the people found a leader in the person of one vaughan, formerly a bridewell boy, who instigated the mob to take revenge for their late defeat. they followed him with shouts of "high church and ormond! down with the mug-house!" and read, the landlord, dreading that they would either burn or pull down his house, prepared to defend himself. he threw up a window, and presented a loaded blunderbuss, and vowed he would discharge its contents in the body of the first man who advanced against his house. this threat exasperated the mob, who ran against the door with furious yells. read was as good as his word,--he fired, and the unfortunate man vaughan fell dead upon the spot. the people, now frantic, swore to hang up the landlord from his own sign-post. they forced the door, pulled down the sign, and entered the house, where read would assuredly have been sacrificed to their fury, if they had found him. he, however, had with great risk escaped by a back-door. disappointed at this, the mob broke the furniture to pieces, destroyed everything that lay in their way, and left only the bare walls of the house. they now threatened to burn the whole street, and were about to set fire to read's house, when the sheriffs, with a posse of constables, arrived. the riot act was read, but disregarded; and the sheriffs sent to whitehall for a detachment of the military. a squadron of horse soon arrived, and cleared the streets, taking five of the most active rioters into custody. read, the landlord, was captured on the following day, and tried for the wilful murder of vaughan; he was, however, acquitted of the capital charge, and found guilty of manslaughter only. the five rioters were also brought to trial, and met with a harder fate. they were all found guilty of riot and rebellion, and sentenced to death at tyburn. this example damped the courage of the rioters, and alarmed all parties; so that we hear no more of the mug-house riots, until a few months later, a pamphlet appeared with the title, _down with the mug; or reasons for suppressing the mug-houses_, by an author who only gave the initials sir h---- m----, but who seems to have so much of what was thought to be a jacobite spirit, that it provoked a reply, entitled the _mug vindicated_. the account of states that many an encounter they had, and many were the riots, till at last the government was obliged by an act of parliament to put an end to this strife, which had this good effect, that upon pulling down of the mug-house in salisbury court, for which some boys were hanged on this act, the city has not been troubled with them since. there is some doubt as to the first use of the term "mug-house." in a scarce _collection of one hundred and eighty loyal songs_, all written since , fourth edition, , is a song in praise of the "mug," which shows that mug-houses had that name previous to the mug-house riots. it has also been stated that the beer-mugs were originally fashioned into a grotesque resemblance of lord shaftesbury's face, or "ugly mug," as it was called, and that this is the derivation of the word. the kit-kat club. this famous club was a threefold celebrity--political, literary, and artistic. it was the great society of whig leaders, formed about the year , _temp._ william iii., consisting of thirty-nine noblemen and gentlemen zealously attached to the house of hanover; among whom the dukes of somerset, richmond, grafton, devonshire, and marlborough, and (after the accession of george i.) the duke of newcastle; the earls of dorset, sunderland, manchester, wharton, and kingston; lords halifax and somers; sir robert walpole, vanbrugh, congreve, granville, addison, garth, maynwaring, stepney, and walsh. they are said to have first met at an obscure house in shire-lane, by temple bar, at the house of a noted mutton-pieman, one christopher katt; from whom the club, and the pies that formed a standing dish at the club suppers, both took their name of kit-kat. in the _spectator_, no. , however, they are said to have derived their title not from the maker of the pie, but from the pie itself, which was called a kit-kat, as we now say a sandwich; thus, in a prologue to a comedy of : "a kit-kat is a supper for a lord;" but dr. king, in his _art of cookery_, is for the pieman: "immortal made, as kit-kat by his pies." the origin and early history of the kit-kat club is obscure. elkanah settle addressed, in , a manuscript poem "to the most renowned the president and the rest of the knights of the most noble order of the toast," in which verses is asserted the dignity of the society; and malone supposes the order of the toast to have been identical with the kit-kat club: this was in . the toasting-glasses, which we shall presently mention, may have something to do with this presumed identity. ned ward, in his _secret history of clubs_, at once connects the kit-kat club with jacob tonson, "an amphibious mortal, chief merchant to the muses." yet this is evidently a caricature. the maker of the mutton-pies, ward maintains to be a person named christopher, who lived at the sign of the cat and fiddle, in gray's inn-lane, whence he removed to keep a pudding-pye shop, near the fountain tavern, in the strand. ward commends his mutton-pies, cheese-cakes, and custards, and the pieman's interest in the sons of parnassus; and his inviting "a new set of authors to a collation of oven trumpery at his friend's house, where they were nobly entertained with as curious a batch of pastry delicacies as ever were seen at the winding-up of a lord mayor's feast;" adding that "there was not a mathematical figure in all euclid's elements but what was presented to the table in baked wares, whose cavities were filled with fine eatable varieties fit for the gods or poets." mr. charles knight, in the _shilling magazine_, no. , maintains that by the above is meant, that jacob tonson, the bookseller, was the pieman's "friend," and that to the customary "whet" to his authors he added the pastry entertainment. ward adds, that this grew into a weekly meeting, provided his, the bookseller's friends would give him the refusal of their juvenile productions. this "generous proposal was very readily agreed to by the whole poetic class, and the cook's name being christopher, for brevity called kit, and his sign being the cat and fiddle, they very merrily derived a quaint denomination from puss and her master, and from thence called themselves of the kit-cat club." a writer in the _book of days_, however, states, that christopher cat, the pastry-cook, of king-street, westminster, was the keeper of the tavern, where the club met; but shire-lane was, upon more direct authority, the pieman's abode. we agree with the _national review_, that "it is hard to believe, as we pick our way along the narrow and filthy pathway of shire-lane, that in this blind alley [?], some hundred and fifty years ago, used to meet many of the finest gentlemen and choicest wits of the days of queen anne and the first george. inside one of those frowsy and low-ceiled rooms, now tenanted by abandoned women or devoted to the sale of greengroceries and small coal,--halifax has conversed and somers unbent, addison mellowed over a bottle, congreve flashed his wit, vanbrugh let loose his easy humour, garth talked and rhymed." the club was literary and gallant as well as political. the members subscribed guineas for the encouragement of good comedies in . the club had its toasting-glasses, inscribed with a verse, or _toast_, to some reigning beauty; among whom were the four shining daughters of the duke of marlborough--lady godolphin, lady sunderland, lady bridgewater, and lady monthermer; swift's friends, mrs. long and mrs. barton, the latter the lovely and witty niece of sir isaac newton; the duchess of bolton, mrs. brudenell, and lady carlisle, mrs. di. kirk, and lady wharton. dr. arbuthnot, in the following epigram, seems to derive the name of the club from this custom of toasting ladies after dinner, rather than from the renowned maker of mutton-pies:-- "whence deathless kit-kat took his name, few critics can unriddle: some say from pastrycook it came, and some from cat and fiddle. from no trim beaus its name it boasts, grey statesmen or green wits, but from this pell-mell pack of toasts of old cats and young kits." lord halifax wrote for the toasting-glasses the following verses in :-- _the duchess of st. albans._ the line of vere, so long renown'd in arms, concludes with lustre in st. albans' charms. her conquering eyes have made their race complete: they rose in valour, and in beauty set. _the duchess of beaufort._ offspring of a tuneful sire, blest with more than mortal fire; likeness of a mother's face, blest with more than mortal grace: you with double charms surprise, with his wit, and with her eyes. _the lady mary churchill._ fairest and latest of the beauteous race, blest with your parent's wit, and her first blooming face; born with our liberties in william's reign, your eyes alone that liberty restrain. _the lady sunderland._ all nature's charms in sunderland appear, bright as her eyes, and as her reason clear; yet still their force to man not safely known, seems undiscover'd to herself alone. _the mademoiselle spanheim._ admir'd in germany, ador'd in france, your charms to brighten glory here advance: the stubborn britons own your beauty's claim, and with their native toasts enrol your name. _to mrs. barton._ beauty and wit strove, each in vain, to vanquish bacchus and his train; but barton with successful charms, from both their quivers drew her arms. the roving god his sway resigns, and awfully submits his vines. in spence's _anecdotes_ (note) is the following additional account of the club: "you have heard of the kit-kat club," says pope to spence. "the master of the house where the club met was christopher katt; tonson was secretary. the day lord mohun and the earl of berkeley were entered of it, jacob said he saw they were just going to be ruined. when lord mohun broke down the gilded emblem on the top of his chair, jacob complained to his friends, and said a man who would do that, would cut a man's throat. so that he had the good and the forms of the society much at heart. the paper was all in lord halifax's handwriting of a subscription of four hundred guineas for the encouragement of good comedies, and was dated , soon after they broke up. steele, addison, congreve, garth, vanbrugh, manwaring, stepney, walpole, and pulteney, were of it; so was lord dorset and the present duke. manwaring, whom we hear nothing of now, was the ruling man in all conversations; indeed, what he wrote had very little merit in it. lord stanhope and the earl of essex were also members. jacob has his own, and all their pictures, by sir godfrey kneller. each member gave his, and he is going to build a room for them at barn elms." it is from the size at which these portraits were taken (a three-quarter length), by inches, that the word kit-kat came to be applied to pictures. tonson had the room built at barn elms; but the apartment not being sufficiently large to receive half-length pictures, a shorter canvas was adopted. in , the club-room was standing, but the pictures had long been removed; soon after, the room was united to a barn, to form a riding-house. in summer the club met at the upper flask, hampstead heath, then a gay resort, with its races, ruffles, and private marriages. the pictures passed to richard tonson, the descendant of the old bookseller, who resided at water-oakley, on the banks of the thames: he added a room to his villa, and here the portraits were hung. on his death the pictures were bequeathed to mr. baker, of bayfordbury, the representative of the tonson family: all of them were included in the art treasures exhibition at manchester and some in the international exhibition of . the political significance of the club was such that walpole records that though the club was generally mentioned as "a set of wits," they were in reality the patriots that saved britain. according to pope and tonson, garth, vanbrugh, and congreve were the three most honest-hearted, real good men of the poetical members of the club. there were odd scenes and incidents occasionally at the club meetings. sir samuel garth, physician to george i., was a witty member, and wrote some of the inscriptions for the toasting-glasses. coming one night to the club, garth declared he must soon be gone, having many patients to attend; but some good wine being produced, he forgot them. sir richard steele was of the party, and reminding him of the visits he had to pay, garth immediately pulled out his list, which numbered fifteen, and said, "it's no great matter whether i see them to-night, or not, for nine of them have such bad constitutions that all the physicians in the world can't save them; and the other six have such good constitutions that all the physicians in the world can't kill them." dr. hoadley, bishop of bangor, accompanied steele and addison to one of the whig celebrations by the club of king william's anniversary; when steele had the double duty of celebrating the day and drinking his friend addison up to conversation pitch, he being hardly warmed by that time. steele was not fit for it. so, john sly, the hatter of facetious memory, being in the house, took it into his head to come into the company on his knees, with a tankard of ale in his hand, to drink off to the _immortal memory_, and to return in the same manner. steele, sitting next bishop hoadley, whispered him, "_do laugh: it is humanity to laugh_." by-and-by, steele being too much in the same condition as the hatter, was put into a chair, and sent home. nothing would satisfy him but being carried to the bishop of bangor's, late as it was. however, the chairmen carried him home, and got him upstairs, when his great complaisance would wait on them downstairs, which he did, and then was got quietly to bed. next morning steele sent the indulgent bishop this couplet: "virtue with so much ease on bangor sits, all faults he pardons, though he none commits." mr. knight successfully defends tonson from ward's satire, and nobly stands forth for the bookseller who identified himself with milton, by first making _paradise lost_ popular, and being the first bookseller who threw open shakespeare to a reading public. "the statesmen of the kit-kat club," he adds, "lived in social union with the whig writers who were devoted to the charge of the poetry that opened their road to preferment; the band of orators and wits were naturally hateful to the tory authors that harley and bolingbroke were nursing into the bitter satirists of the weekly sheets. jacob tonson naturally came in for a due share of invective. in a poem entitled '_factions displayed_,' he is ironically introduced as "the touchstone of all modern wit;" and he is made to vilify the great ones of barn elms: "'i am the founder of your loved kit-kat, a club that gave direction to the state: 'twas there we first instructed all our youth to talk profane, and laugh at sacred truth: we taught them how to boast, and rhyme, and bite, to sleep away the day, and drink away the night.'" tonson deserved better of posterity. the tatler's club in shire-lane. shire-lane, _alias_ rogue-lane, (which falleth into fleet-street by temple bar,) has lost its old name--it is now called lower serle's-place. if the morals of shire-lane have mended thereby, we must not repine. here lived sir charles sedley; and here his son, the dramatic poet, was born, "neere the globe." here, too, lived elias ashmole, and here antony à wood dined with him: this was at the upper end of the lane. here, too, was the _trumpet_ tavern, where isaac bickerstaff met his club. at this house he dated a great number of his papers; and hence he led down the lane, into fleet-street, the deputation of "twaddlers" from the country, to dick's coffee-house, which we never enter without remembering the glorious humour of addison and steele, in the _tatler_, no. . sir harry quickset, sir giles wheelbarrow, and other persons of quality, having reached the tatler's by appointment, and it being settled that they should "adjourn to some public-house, and enter upon business," the precedence was attended with much difficulty; when, upon a false alarm of "fire," all ran down as fast as they could, without order or ceremony, and drew up in the street. the _tatler_ proceeds: "in this order we marched down sheer-lane, at the upper end of which i lodge. when we came to temple bar, sir harry and sir giles got over, but a run of coaches kept the rest of us on this side of the street; however, we all at last landed, and drew up in very good order before ben tooke's shop, who favoured our rallying with great humanity; from whence we proceeded again, until we came to dick's coffee-house, where i designed to carry them. here we were at our old difficulty, and took up the street upon the same ceremony. we proceeded through the entry, and were so necessarily kept in order by the situation, that we were now got into the coffee-house itself, where, as soon as we had arrived, we repeated our civilities to each other; after which we marched up to the high table, which has an ascent to it enclosed in the middle of the room. the whole house was alarmed at this entry, made up of persons of so much state and rusticity." the _tatler's_ club is immortalized in his no. . its members are smokers and old story-tellers, rather easy than shining companions, promoting the thoughts tranquilly bedward, and not the less comfortable to mr. bickerstaff because he finds himself the leading wit among them. there is old sir jeffrey notch, who has had misfortunes in the world, and calls every thriving man a pitiful upstart, by no means to the general dissatisfaction; there is major matchlock, who served in the last civil wars, and every night tells them of his having been knocked off his horse at the rising of the london apprentices, for which he is in great esteem; there is honest dick reptile, who says little himself, but who laughs at all the jokes; and there is the elderly bencher of the temple, and, next to mr. bickerstaff, the wit of the company, who has by heart the couplets of _hudibras_, which he regularly applies before leaving the club of an evening; and who, if any modern wit or town frolic be mentioned, shakes his head at the dulness of the present age, and tells a story of jack ogle. as for mr. bickerstaff himself, he is esteemed among them because they see he is something respected by others; but though they concede to him a great deal of learning, they credit him with small knowledge of the world, "insomuch that the major sometimes, in the height of his military pride, calls me philosopher; and sir jeffrey, no longer ago than last night, upon a dispute what day of the month it was then in holland, pulled his pipe out of his mouth, and cried, 'what does the scholar say to that?'" upon addison's return to england, he found his friend steele established among the wits; and they were both received with great honour at the trumpet, as well as at will's, and the st. james's. the trumpet public-house lasted to our time; it was changed to the duke of york sign, but has long disappeared: we remember an old drawing of the trumpet, by sam. ireland, engraved in the _monthly magazine_. the royal society club. in sir r. kaye's collection, in the british museum, we find the following account of the institution of a society, which at one time numbered among its members some of the most eminent men in london, in a communication to the rev. sir r. kaye by sir joseph ayloffe, an original member:--"dr. halley used to come on a tuesday from greenwich, the royal observatory, to child's coffeehouse, where literary people met for conversation: and he dined with his sister, but sometimes they stayed so long that he was too late for dinner, and they likewise, at their own home. they then agree to go to a house in dean's-court, between an alehouse and a tavern, now a stationer's shop, where there was a great draft of porter, but not drank in the house. it was kept by one reynell. it was agreed that one of the company should go to knight's and buy fish in newgate-street, having first informed himself how many meant to stay and dine. the ordinary and liquor usually came to half-a-crown, and the dinner only consisted of fish and pudding. dr. halley never eat anything but fish, for he had no teeth. the number seldom exceeded five or six. it began to take place about ; soon afterwards reynell took the king's arms, in st. paul's churchyard, and desired dr. halley to go with him there. he and others consented, and they began to have a little meat. on dr. halley's death, martin foulkes took the chair. they afterwards removed to the mitre (fleet-street), for the convenience of the situation with respect to the royal society, and as it was near crane-court, and numbers wished to become members. it was necessary to give it a form. the number was fixed at forty members; one of whom was to be treasurer and secretary of the royal society." out of these meetings is said to have grown the royal society club, or, as it was styled during the first half century of its existence, the club of royal philosophers. "it was established for the convenience of certain members who lived in various parts, that they might assemble and dine together on the days when the society held its evening meetings; and from its almost free admission of members of the council detained by business, its liberality to visitors, and its hospitable reception of scientific foreigners, it has been of obvious utility to the scientific body at large." (_rise and progress of the club_, privately printed.) the foundation of the club is stated to have been in the year , and in the minutes of this date are the following:-- "_rules and orders to be observed by the thursday's club, called the royal philosophers._--a dinner to be ordered every thursday for six, at one shilling and sixpence a head for eating. as many more as come to pay one shilling and sixpence per head each. if fewer than six come, the deficiency to be paid out of the fund subscribed. each subscriber to pay down six shillings, viz. for four dinners, to make a fund. a pint of wine to be paid for by every one that comes, be the number what it will, and no more, unless more wine is brought in than that amounts to." in addition to sir r. kaye's testimony to the existence of a club of an earlier date than , there are in the minutes certain references to "antient members of the club;" and a tradition of the ill omen of thirteen persons dining at the table said to be on record in the club papers: "that one of the royal philosophers entering the mitre tavern, and finding twelve others about to discuss the fare, retreated, and dined by himself in another apartment, in order to avert the prognostic." still, no such statement is now to be found entered, and if ever it were recorded, it must have been anterior to ; curiously enough, thirteen is a very usual number at these dinners. the original members were soon increased by various fellows of the society; and at first the club did not consist exclusively of royals; but this arrangement, not having been found to work well, the membership was confined to the fellows, and latterly to the number of forty. every member was allowed to introduce one friend; but the president of the royal society was not limited in this respect. we must now say a few words as to the several places at which the club has dined. the _society_ had their anniversary dinner at pontack's celebrated french eating-house, in abchurch-lane, city, until . evelyn notes: " nov. . much importuned to take the office of president of the royal society, but i again declined it. sir robert southwell was continued. we all dined at pontac's, as usual." here, in , dr. bentley wrote to evelyn, asking him to meet sir christopher wren, sir robert southwell, and other friends, at dinner, to consider the propriety of purchasing bishop stillingfleet's library for the royal society. from pontack's, which was found to be inconveniently situated for the majority of the fellows, the society removed to the devil tavern, near temple bar. the minutes record that the _club_ met at the mitre tavern, in fleet-street, "over against fetter-lane," from the date of their institution; this house being chosen from its being handy to crane-court, where the society then met. this, be it remembered, was not the mitre tavern now standing in mitre-court, but "the mitre tavern, _in fleet-street_," mentioned by lilly, in his _life_, as the place where he met old will. poole, the astrologer, then living in ram-alley. _the mitre, in fleet-street_, mr. j. h. burn, in his excellent account of the beaufoy tokens, states to have been originally established by a william paget, of the mitre in cheapside, who removed westward after his house had been destroyed in the great fire of september, . the house in fleet-street was lastly saunders's auction-room, no. , and was demolished by messrs. hoare, to enlarge the site for their new banking-house, the western portion of which now occupies the tavern site. the now mitre tavern, in mitre court, formerly joe's, is but a recent assumption of name.[ ] in , the club removed to the crown and anchor tavern, in the strand, where they continued to dine for sixty-eight years, until that tavern was converted, in , into a club-house. then they removed to the freemasons' tavern, in great queen street; but, in , on the removal of the royal society to burlington house, piccadilly, it was considered advisable to keep the club meetings at the thatched house, in st. james's street, where they continued until that tavern was taken down. during the early times, the docketings of the club accounts show that the brotherhood retained the title of royal philosophers to the year , when it seems they were only designated the royals; but they have now settled into the "royal society club." the elections are always an exciting matter of interest, and the fate of candidates is occasionally severe, for there are various instances of rejections on two successive annual ballots, and some have been black-balled even on a third venture: some of the defeated might be esteemed for talent, yet were considered unclubbable. some of the entries in the earliest minute-book are very curious, and show that the philosophers did not restrict themselves to "the fish and pudding dinner." here is the bill of fare for sixteen persons, a few years after the club was established: "turkey, boiled, and oysters; calves' head, hashed; chine of mutton; apple pye; dishes of herrings; tongue and udder; leg of pork and pease; sirloin of beef; plum pudding; butter and cheese." black puddings are stated to have figured for many years at every dinner of the club. the presents made to the club were very numerous, and called for special regulations. thus, under the date of may , , it is recorded: "resolved, _nem. con._, that any nobleman or gentleman complimenting this company annually with venison, not less than a haunch, shall, during the continuance of such annuity, be deemed an honorary member, and admitted as often as he comes, without paying the fine, which those members do who are elected by ballot." at another meeting, in the same year, a resolution was passed, "that any gentleman complimenting this society annually with a turtle shall be considered as an honorary member;" and that the treasurer do pay keeper's fees and carriage for all venison sent to the society, and charge it in his account. thus, besides gratuities to cooks, there are numerous chronicled entries of the following tenour:--"keeper's fees and carriage of a buck from the hon. p. yorke, _s._; fees, etc., for venison and salmon, £ . _s._; do., half a buck from the earl of hardwick, £ . _s._; fees and carriage for a buck from h. read, esq., £ . _s._ _d._; fees for venison and game from mr. banks, £ . _s._ _d._; ... august , . the society being this day entertained with halfe a bucke by the most honorable the marquis of rockingham, it was agreed, _nem. con._, to drink his health in claret. sept. th, .--the company being entertained with a whole bucke (halfe of which was dressed to-day) by henry read, esq., his health was drunk in claret, as usual; and mr. cole (_the landlord_) was desired to dispose of the halfe, and give the company venisons instead of it next thursday." the following week the largess is again gravely noticed: "the company being this day regaled with the other halfe of mr. read's buck (which mr. cole had preserved sweet), his health was again drank in claret." turtle has already been mentioned among the presents. in , the circumnavigator lord anson honoured the club by presenting the members with a magnificent turtle, when the club drank his lordship's and other turtle donors' healths in claret. on one occasion, it is stated that the usual dining-room could not be occupied on account of a turtle being dressed which weighed lb.; and another minute records that a turtle, intended to be presented to the club, died on its way home from the west indies. james watt has left the following record of one of the philosophers' turtle feasts, at which he was present:--"when i was in london in , i was received very kindly by mr. cavendish and dr. blagden, and my old friend smeaton, who has recovered his health, and seems hearty. i dined at a turtle feast with them, and the select club of the royal society; and never was turtle eaten with greater sobriety and temperance, or more good fellowship." the gift of good old english roast-beef also occurs among the presents, as in the subjoined minute, under the date of june , , when martin folkes presided: "william hanbury, esq., having this day entertained the company with a chine of beef which was inches in length, and weighed upwards of pounds, it was agreed, _nem. con._, that two such chines were equal to half a bucke or a turtle, and entitled the donor to be an honorary member of this society." then we have another record of mr. hanbury's munificence, as well his conscientious regard for minuteness in these matters, as in this entry: "mr. hanbury sent this day another mighty chine of beef, and, having been a little deficient with regard to annual payments of chines of beef, added three brace of very large carp by way of interest." shortly after, we find lord morton contributing "two pigs of the china breed." in addition to the venison, game, and other viands, there was no end of presents of fruits for dessert. in , mr. cole (the landlord) presented the company with a ripe water-melon from malaga. in , there is an entry showing that some _tusks_, a rare and savoury fish, were sent by the earl of morton; and egyptian cos-lettuces were supplied by philip miller, who, in his gardener's dictionary, describes this as the best and most valuable lettuce known; next he presented "four cantaloupe melons, equal--if not superior--in flavour to pine-apples." in july, , it is chronicled that lord morton sent two pine-apples, cherries of two sorts, melons, gooseberries of two sorts, apricots, and currants of two sorts. however, this practice of making presents got to be unpopular with the fellows at large, who conceived it to be undignified to receive such gifts; and, in , it was "resolved that no person in future be admitted into the club in consequence of any present he shall make to it." this singular custom had been in force for thirty years. the latest _formal_ thanks for "a very fine haunch of venison" were voted to lord darnley on the th of june, . the club minutes show the progressive rise in the charges for dinner. from to the cost was _s._ _d._ a head. in the latter year it was resolved to give _s._ per head for dinner and wine, the commons for absentees to remain at _s._ _d._, as before. in , the price was increased to _s._ a head, including wine, and _d._ to the waiter; in , to _s._ a head, exclusive of wine, the increased duties upon which made it necessary for the members to contribute an annual sum for the expense of wine, over and above the charge of the tavern bills. in , the wine was ordered to be laid in at a price not exceeding £ a pipe, or _s._ _d._ a bottle; to have a particular seal upon the cork, and to be charged by the landlord at _s._ _d._ a bottle. the club always dined on the society's meeting-day. wray, writing of a club-meeting in , says that, "after a capital dinner of venison, which was absolutely perfect, we went to another sumptuous entertainment, at the society, where five electrical eels, all alive, from surinam, were exhibited; most of the company received the electrical stroke; and then we were treated with the sight of a sucking alligator, very lively." it has been more than once remarked that a public dinner of a large party of philosophers and men of science and letters generally turns out to be rather a dull affair; perhaps, through the _embarras_ of talent at table. not so, however, the private social clubs, the offshoots of public societies, like the royal society club, and others we could mention. the royals do not appear to have been at all indifferent to these post-prandial wit-combats. "here, my jokes i crack with high-born peers," writes a philosopher, alluding to the club dinners; and admiral smyth, in his unpublished _rise and progress_, tells us, that to this day "it unites hilarity, and the _macrones verborum_ of smart repartee, with strictures on science, literature, the fine arts--and, indeed, every branch of human knowledge." the administration of the affairs of the club was minutely attended to: when, in , it was considered necessary to revise "the commons," a committee was appointed for the purpose, consisting of messrs. aubert, cuthburt, maskelyne, russell, and solander, who decided that "should the number of the company exceed the number provided for, the dinner should be made up with the beefstakes, mutton-chops, lamb-chops, veal-cutlets, or pork-stakes, instead of made dishes, or any dearer provisions." and "that twopence per head be allowed for the waiter" (_which seems to have been the regular gratuity for many years_). then, the general committee had to report that the landlord was to charge for gentlemen's servants, "one shilling each for dinner and a pot of porter;" and "that when toasted cheese was called for, he was to make a charge for it." in , the celebrated geologist, faujas de saint-fond (barthélemy,) with four other distinguished foreigners, partook of the hospitality of the club, of which, in , m. faujas published an account. "he mentions the short prayer or grace with which dr. maskelyne blessed the company and the food--the solid meats and unseasoned vegetables--the quantities of strong beer called porter, drank out of cylindrical pewter pots _d'un seul trait_--the cheese to provoke the thirst of drinkers--the hob-a-nobbing of healths--and the detestable coffee. on the whole, however, this honest frenchman seems to have been delighted with the entertainment, or, as he styles it, 'the convivial and unassuming banquet,'" and m. faujas had to pay 'seven livres four sols' for his commons. among the lighter incidents is the record of m. aubert having received a present from the king of poland, begged to have an opportunity of drinking his majesty's health, and permission to order a bottle of hermitage, which being granted, the health was drank by the company present; and upon one of the club-slips of , after a dinner of twenty-two, is written, "seven shillings found under the table." the dinner-charges appear to have gradually progressed from _s._ _d._ to _s._ per head. in - the club-dinners had been , and the number of dinners , so that the mean was equal to · for each meeting, the visitors amounting to ; and it is further computed, that the average wine per head of late, waste included, is a considerable fraction less than a pint, imperial standard measure, in the year's consumption. among the distinguished guests of the club are many celebrities. here the chivalrous sir sidney smith described the atrocities of djezza pasha; and here that cheerful baronet--admiral sir isaac coffin--by relating the result of his going in a jolly-boat to attack a whale, and in narrating the advantages specified in his proposed patent for fattening fowls, kept "the table in a roar." at this board, also, our famous circumnavigators and oriental voyagers met with countenance and fellowship--as cook, furneaux, clerke, king, _bounty_ bligh, vancouver, _guardian_ riou, flinders, broughton, lestock, wilson, huddart, bass, tuckey, horsburgh, &c.; while the polar explorers, from the hon. constantine phipps in , down to sir leopold m'clintock, in , were severally and individually welcomed as guests. but, besides our sterling sea-worthies, we find in ranging through the documents that some rather outlandish visitors were introduced through their means, as chet quang and wanga tong, _chinese_; ejutak and tuklivina, _esquimaux_; thayen-danega, the _mohawk_ chief; while omai, of ularetea, the celebrated and popular savage, of _cook's voyages_, was so frequently invited, that he is latterly entered on the club papers simply as _mr._ omai. the redoubtable sir john hill dined at the club in company with lord baltimore on the th of june, . hill was consecutively an apothecary, actor, playwright, novelist, botanist, journalist, and physician; and he published upon trees and flowers, betty canning, gems, naval history, religion, cookery, and what not. having made an attempt to enter the royal society, and finding the door closed against him,--perhaps a pert vivacity at the very dinner in question sealed the rejection,--he revenged himself by publishing an impudent quarto volume, vindictively satirizing the society. ned ward, in his humorous account of the clubs of london, published in , describes "the _virtuoso's_ club as first established by some of the principal members of the royal society, and held every thursday, at a certain tavern in cornhill, where the vintner that kept it has, according to his merit, made a fortunate step from his bar to his coach. the chief design of the aforementioned club was to propagate new whims, advance mechanical exercises, and to promote useless as well as useful experiments." there is humour in this, as well as in his ridicule of the barometer: "by this notable invention," he says, "our gentlemen and ladies of the middle quality are infallibly told when it's a right season to put on their best clothes, and when they ought not to venture an intrigue in the fields without their cloaks and umbrellas." his ridicule of turning salt water into fresh, finding a new star, assigning reasons for a spot in the moon, and a "wry step" in the sun's progress, were ward's points, laughed at in his time, but afterwards established as facts. there have been greater mistakes made since ward's time; but this does not cleanse him of filth and foulness. ward's record is evidence of the existence of the royal society club, in , before the date of the minutes. dr. hutton, too, records the designation of halley's club--undoubted testimony; about , he, halley, though seized with paralysis, once a week, within a very short time of his death, met his friends in town, on thursdays, the day of the royal society's meeting, at "dr. halley's club." upon this evidence admiral smyth establishes the claim that the royal society club was actually established by a zealous philosopher, "who was at once proudly eminent as an astronomer, a mathematician, a physiologist, a naturalist, a scholar, an antiquary, a poet, a meteorologist, a geographer, a navigator, a nautical surveyor, and a truly social member of the community--in a word, our founder was the illustrious halley--the admirable crichton of science." a memorable dinner-party took place on august the th, , when among the visitors was mr. thomas maclear (now sir thomas), the astronomer-royal at the cape of good hope, who had just arrived in england from the southern hemisphere, after an absence of a quarter of a century. "on this day, were present, so to speak, the representatives of the three great applications by which the present age is distinguished, namely, of _railways_, mr. stephenson; of the _electric telegraph_, mr. wheatstone; and of the _penny post_, mr. rowland hill--an assemblage never again to occur." (_admiral smyth's history of the club._) among the anecdotes which float about, it is related that the eccentric hon. henry cavendish, "the club-croesus", attended the meetings with only money enough in his pocket to pay for his dinner, and that he may have declined taking tavern-soup, may have picked his teeth with a fork, may invariably have hung his hat on the same peg, and may have always stuck his cane in his right boot; but more apocryphal is the anecdote that one evening cavendish observed a very pretty girl looking out from an upper window on the opposite side of the street, watching the philosophers at dinner. she attracted notice, and one by one they got up and mustered round the window to admire the fair one. cavendish, who thought they were looking at the moon, bustled up to them in his odd way, and when he saw the real object of their study, turned away with intense disgust, and grunted out "pshaw;" the amorous conduct of his brother philosophers having horrified the woman-hating cavendish. another assertion is that he, cavendish, left a thumping legacy to lord bessborough, in gratitude for his lordship's piquant conversation at the club; but no such reason can be found in the will lodged at doctors' commons. the testator named therein three of his club-mates, namely, alexander dalrymple, to receive _l._, dr. hunter _l._, and sir charles blagden (coadjutor in the water question), , _l._ after certain other bequests, the will proceeds,--"the remainder of the funds (nearly , _l._) to be divided, one-sixth to the earl of bessborough, while the cousin, lord george henry cavendish, had two-sixths, instead of one;" "it is therefore," says admiral smyth, "patent that the money thus passed over from uncle to nephew, was a mere consequence of relationship, and not at all owing to any flowers or powers of conversation at the royal society club." admiral smyth, to whose admirable _précis_ of the history of the club we have to make acknowledgment, remarks that the hospitality of the royal society has been "of material utility to the well-working of the whole machine which wisdom called up, at a time when knowledge was quitting scholastic niceties for the truths of experimental philosophy. this is proved by the number of men of note--both in ability and station--who have there congregated previously to repairing to the evening meeting of the body at large; and many a qualified person who went thither a guest has returned a candidate. besides inviting our own princes, dukes, marquises, earls, ministers of state, and nobles of all grades to the table, numerous foreign grandees, prelates, ambassadors, and persons of distinction--from the king of poland and baron munchausen, down to the smart little abbé and a 'gentleman unknown'--are found upon the club records. not that the amenities of the fraternity were confined to these classes, or that, in the clubbian sense, they form the most important order; for bishops, deans, archdeacons, and clergymen in general--astronomers-- mathematicians--sailors--soldiers--engineers--medical practitioners-- poets--artists--travellers--musicians--opticians--men of repute in every acquirement, were, and ever will be, welcome guests. in a word, the names and callings of the visitors offer a type of the philosophical _discordia concors_; and among those guests possessed of that knowledge without which genius is almost useless, we find in goodly array such choice names as benjamin franklin, sir joshua reynolds, gibbon, costard, bryant, dalton, watt, bolton, tennant, wedgwood, _abyssinian_ bruce, attwood, boswell, brinkley, rigaud, brydone, ivory, jenner, john hunter, brunel, lysons, weston, cramer, kippis, westmacott, corbould, sir thomas lawrence, turner, de la beche, _et hoc genus omne_." the president of the royal society is elected president of the club. there were always more candidates for admission than vacancies, a circumstance which had some influence in leading to the formation of a new club, in , composed of eminent fellows of the society. the name of this new association is "the philosophical club," and its object is "to promote, as much as possible, the scientific objects of the royal society, to facilitate intercourse between those fellows who are actively engaged in cultivating the various branches of natural science, and who have contributed to its progress; to increase the attendance at the evening meetings, and to encourage the contribution and the discussion of papers." nor are the dinners forgotten; the price of each not to exceed ten shillings. the statistical portion of the annual statement of , shows that the number of dinners for the past year amounted to , at which the attendance was persons, of whom were visitors, the average being = · each time: and the treasurer called attention to the fact that out of the club funds in the last twelvemonth, they had paid not less than £ . _s._ for soda and seltzer water; £ . _s._ _d._ for cards of invitation and postage; and £ for visitors, that is, _s._ ¾_d._ per head. footnotes: [ ] see _walks and talks about london_, p. . the mitre in fleet-street was also the house frequented by dr. johnson. the cocoa-tree club. this noted club was the tory chocolate-house of queen anne's reign; the whig coffee-house was the st. james's, lower down, in the same street, st. james's. the party distinction is thus defined:--"a whig will no more go to the cocoa-tree or ozinda's, than a tory will be seen at the coffee-house of st. james's." the cocoa-tree chocolate-house was converted into a club, probably before , when the house was the head-quarters of the jacobite party in parliament. it is thus referred to in the above year by horace walpole, in a letter to george montagu:--"the duke has given brigadier mordaunt the pretender's coach, on condition he rode up to london in it. 'that i will, sir,' said he; 'and drive till it stops of its own accord at the cocoa-tree.'" gibbon was a member of this club, and has left this entry, in his journal of :--"nov. . i dined at the cocoa tree with ----, who, under a great appearance of oddity, conceals more real humour, good sense, and even knowledge, than half those who laugh at him. we went thence to the play (_the spanish friar_); and when it was over, retired to the cocoa-tree. that respectable body, of which i have the honour of being a member, affords every evening a sight truly english. twenty or thirty, perhaps, of the first men in the kingdom in point of fashion and fortune supping at little tables covered with a napkin, in the middle of a coffee-room, upon a bit of cold meat, or a sandwich, and drinking a glass of punch. at present we are full of king's counsellors and lords of the bedchamber; who, having jumped into the ministry, make a very singular medley of their old principles and language with their modern ones." at this time, bribery was in full swing: it is alleged that the lowest bribe for a vote upon the peace of fontainebleau, was a bank-note of £ ; and that the secretary of the treasury afterwards acknowledged £ , to have been thus expended in a single morning. and in , on the debate in the commons on the regency bill, we read in the _chatham correspondence_: "the cocoa-tree have thus capacitated her royal highness (the princess of wales) to be regent: it is well they have not given us a king, if they have not; for many think, lord bute is king." although the cocoa-tree, in its conversion from a chocolate-house to a club, may have bettered its reputation in some respects, high play, if not foul play, was known there twenty years later. walpole, writing to mann, feb. , , says: "within this week there has been a cast at hazard at the cocoa-tree, (in st. james's street,) the difference of which amounted to one hundred and fourscore thousand pounds. mr. o'birne, an irish gamester, had won one hundred thousand pounds of a young mr. harvey of chigwell, just started into an estate by his elder brother's death. o'birne said, "you can never pay me." "i can," said the youth: "my estate will sell for the debt." "no," said o.; "i will win ten thousand--you shall throw for the odd ninety." they did, and harvey won." the cocoa-tree was one of the clubs to which lord byron belonged. almack's club. almack's, the original brookes's, on the south side of the whig club-house, was established in pall mall, on the site of the british institution, in , by twenty-seven noblemen and gentlemen, including the duke of roxburghe, the duke of portland, the earl of strathmore, mr. crewe (afterwards lord crewe), and mr. c. j. fox. mr. cunningham was permitted to inspect the original rules of the club, which show its nature: here are a few. " . no gaming in the eating-room, except tossing up for reckonings, on penalty of paying the whole bill of the members present. " . dinner shall be served up exactly at half-past four o'clock, and the bill shall be brought in at seven. " . almack shall sell no wines in bottles that the club approves of, out of the house. " . any member of this society that shall become a candidate for any other club, (old white's excepted,) shall be ipso facto excluded, and his name struck out of the book. " . that every person playing at the new guinea table do keep fifty guineas before him. " . that every person playing at the twenty guinea table do not keep less than twenty guineas before him." that the play ran high may be inferred from a note against the name of mr. thynne, in the club-books: "mr. thynne having won only , guineas during the last two months, retired in disgust, march st, ." some of its members were maccaronis, the "curled darlings" of the day: they were so called from their affectation of foreign tastes and fashions, and were celebrated for their long curls and eye-glasses. much of the deep play was removed here. "the gaming at almack's," writes walpole to mann, february , , "which has taken the _pas_ of white's, is worthy the decline of our empire, or commonwealth, which you please. the young men of the age lose ten, fifteen, twenty thousand pounds in an evening there. lord stavordale, not one-and-twenty, lost £ , there last tuesday, but recovered it by one great hand at hazard. he swore a great oath, 'now, if i had been playing _deep_, i might have won millions.' his cousin, charles fox, shines equally there, and in the house of commons. he was twenty-one yesterday se'nnight, and is already one of our best speakers. yesterday he was made a lord of the admiralty." gibbon, the historian, was also a member, and he dates several letters from here. on june , , he writes: "town grows empty, and this house, where i have passed many agreeable hours, is the only place which still invites the flower of the english youth. the style of living, though somewhat expensive, is exceedingly pleasant; and, notwithstanding the rage of play, i have found more entertainment and rational society than in any other club to which i belong." the play was certainly high--only for rouleaus of £ each, and generally there was £ , in specie on the table. the gamesters began by pulling off their embroidered clothes, and put on frieze greatcoats, or turned their coats inside outwards for luck. they put on pieces of leather (such as are worn by footmen when they clean the knives) to save their laced ruffles; and to guard their eyes from the light and to prevent tumbling their hair, wore high-crowned straw hats with broad brims, and adorned with flowers and ribbons; masks to conceal their emotions when they played at quinz. each gamester had a small neat stand by him, to hold his tea; or a wooden bowl with an edge of ormolu, to hold the rouleaus. almack's was subsequently goosetree's. in the year , pitt was then an habitual frequenter, and here his personal adherents mustered strongly. the members, we are told in the _life of wilberforce_, were about twenty-five in number, and included pratt (afterwards lord camden), lords euston, chatham, graham, duncannon, althorp, apsley, g. cavendish, and lennox; messrs. eliot, sir andrew st. john, bridgeman (afterwards lord bradford), morris robinson (afterwards lord rokeby), r. smith (afterwards lord carrington), w. grenville (afterwards lord grenville), pepper arden (afterwards lord alvanley), mr. edwards, mr. marsham, mr. pitt, mr. wilberforce, mr. bankes, mr. thomas steele, general smith, mr. windham. in the gambling at goosetree's, pitt played with characteristic and intense eagerness. when wilberforce came up to london in , after his return to parliament, his great success coloured his entry into public life, and he was at once elected a member of the leading clubs--miles's and evans's, brookes's and boodle's, white's and goosetree's. the latter was wilberforce's usual resort, where his friendship with pitt, whom he had slightly known at cambridge, greatly increased: he once lost £ at the faro-table, and on another night kept the bank, by which he won £ ; but he soon became weaned from play. almack's assembly-rooms. in the year following the opening of almack's club in pall mall, almack had built for him by robert mylne, the suite of assembly rooms, in king-street, st. james's, which was named after him, "almack's," and was occasionally called "willis's rooms," after the next proprietor. almack likewise kept the thatched house tavern, in st. james's-street. almack's was opened feb. , , and was advertised to have been built with hot bricks and boiling water: the ceilings were dripping with wet; but the duke of cumberland, the hero of culloden, was there. gilly williams, a few days after the opening, in a letter to george selwyn, writes: "there is now opened at almack's, in three very elegant new-built rooms, a ten-guinea subscription, for which you have a ball and supper once a week, for twelve weeks. you may imagine by the sum the company is chosen; though, refined as it is, it will be scarce able to put out old soho (mrs. cornelys) out of countenance. the men's tickets are not transferable, so, if the ladies do not like us, they have no opportunity of changing us, but must see the same persons for ever." ... "our female almack's flourishes beyond description. almack's scotch face, in a bag-wig, waiting at supper, would divert you, as would his lady, in a sack, making tea and curtseying to the duchesses." five years later, in , walpole writes to montagu: "there is a new institution that begins to make, and if it proceeds, will make a considerable noise. it is a club of _both_ sexes, to be erected at almack's, on the model of that of the men of white's. mrs. fitzroy, lady pembroke, mrs. meynell, lady molyneux, miss pelham, and miss lloyd, are the foundresses. i am ashamed to say i am of so young and fashionable society; but as they are people i live with, i choose to be idle rather than morose. i can go to a young supper without forgetting how much sand is run out of the hour-glass." mrs. boscawen tells mrs. delany of this club of lords and ladies who first met at a tavern, but subsequently, to satisfy lady pembroke's scruples, in a room at almack's. "the ladies nominate and choose the gentlemen and _vice versâ_, so that no lady can exclude a lady, or gentleman a gentleman." ladies rochford, harrington, and holderness were black-balled, as was the duchess of bedford, who was subsequently admitted! lord march and brook boothby were black-balled by the ladies, to their great astonishment. there was a dinner, then supper at eleven, and, says mrs. boscawen, "play will be deep and constant, probably." the frenzy for play was then at its height. "nothing within my memory comes up to it!" exclaims mrs. delany, who attributes it to the prevailing "avarice and extravagance." some men made profit out of it, like mr. thynne, "who has won this year so considerably that he has paid off all his debts, bought a house and furnished it, disposed of his horses, hounds, etc., and struck his name out of all expensive subscriptions. but what a _horrid reflection_ it must be to an honest mind to _build_ his fortune on the ruin of others!" almack's large ball-room is about one hundred feet in length, by forty feet in width; it is chastely decorated with gilt columns and pilasters, classic medallions, mirrors, etc., and is lit with gas, in cut-glass lustres. the largest number of persons ever present in this room at one ball was . the rooms are let for public meetings, dramatic readings, concerts, balls, and occasionally for dinners. here mrs. billington, mr. braham, and signor naldi, gave concerts, from to , in rivalry with madame catalani, at hanover-square rooms; and here mr. charles kemble gave, in , his readings from shakspeare. the balls at almack's are managed by a committee of ladies of high rank, and the only mode of admission is by vouchers or personal introduction. almack's has declined of late years; "a clear proof that the palmy days of exclusiveness are gone by in england; and though it is obviously impossible to prevent any given number of persons from congregating and re-establishing an oligarchy, we are quite sure that the attempt would be ineffectual, and that the sense of their importance would extend little beyond the set."[ ] in was published _almack's_, a novel, in which the leaders of fashion were sketched with much freedom, and identified in _a key to almack's_, by benjamin disraeli. brookes's club. we have just narrated the establishment of this club--how it was originally a gaming club, and was formed at first by almack. it was subsequently taken by brookes, a wine-merchant and money-lender, according to selwyn; and who is described by tickell, in a copy of verses addressed to sheridan, when charles james fox was to give a supper at his own lodgings, then near the club:-- "derby shall send, if not his plate, his cooks, and know, i've brought the best champagne from brookes, from liberal brookes, whose speculative skill is hasty credit, and a distant bill; who, nursed in clubs, disdains a vulgar trade, exults to trust, and blushes to be paid." from pall mall brookes's club removed to no. , on the west side of st. james's-street, where a handsome house was built at brookes's expense, from the designs of henry holland, the architect; it was opened in october, . the concern did not prosper; for james hare writes to george selwyn, may , , "we are all beggars at brookes's, and he threatens to leave the house, as it yields him no profit." mr. cunningham tells us that brookes retired from the club soon after it was built, and died poor about the year . lord crewe, one of the founders of the club in pall mall, died in , after sixty-five years' membership of brookes's. among its celebrities were burke and sir joshua reynolds, garrick and hume, horace walpole, gibbon, and sheridan and wilberforce. lord march, afterwards duke of queensberry, was one of its notorieties--"the old q., whom many now living can remember, with his fixed eye and cadaverous face, watching the flow of the human tide past his bow-window in pall mall."--_national review_, . [this is hardly correct as to locality, since the club left pall mall in , and a reminiscent must be more than years of age.] among selwyn's correspondents are gilly williams, hare, fitzpatrick, the townshends, burgoyne, storer, and lord carlisle. r. tickell, in "lines from the hon. charles fox to the hon. john townshend cruising," thus describes the welcome that awaits townshend, and the gay life of the club:-- "soon as to brookes's thence thy footsteps bend, what gratulations thy approach attend! see gibbon tap his box; auspicious sign, that classic compliment and evil combine. see beauclerk's cheek a tinge of red surprise, and friendship gives what cruel health denies. important townshend! what can thee withstand? the ling'ring black-ball lags in boothby's hand. e'en draper checks the sentimental sigh; and smith, without an oath, suspends the die." mr. wilberforce has thus recorded his first appearance at brookes's: "hardly knowing any one, i joined, from mere shyness, in play at the faro-tables, where george selwyn kept bank. a friend, who knew my inexperience, and regarded me as a victim decked out for sacrifice, called to me, 'what, wilberforce, is that you?' selwyn quite resented the interference, and, turning to him, said, in his most expressive tone, 'oh, sir, don't interrupt mr. wilberforce; he could not be better employed!'" the prince of wales, one day at brookes's, expatiating on that beautiful but far-fetched idea of dr. darwin's, that the reason of the bosom of a beautiful woman being the object of such exquisite delight for a man to look upon, arises from the first pleasurable sensations of warmth, sustenance, and repose, which he derives therefrom in his infancy; sheridan replied, "truly hath it been said, that there is only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous. all children who are brought up by hand must derive their pleasurable sensations from a very different source; yet i believe no one ever heard of any such, when arrived at manhood, evincing any very rapturous or amatory emotions at the sight of a wooden spoon." this clever exposure of an ingenious absurdity shows the folly of taking for granted every opinion which may be broached under the sanction of a popular name. the conversation at brookes's, one day, turning on lord henry petty's projected tax upon iron, one member said, that as there was so much opposition to it, it would be better to raise the proposed sum upon coals. "hold! my dear fellow," said sheridan, "that would be out of the frying pan into the fire, with a vengeance." mr. whitbread, one evening at brookes's, talked loudly and largely against the ministers for laying what was called the _war tax_ upon malt: every one present concurred with him in opinion, but sheridan could not resist the gratification of a hit at the _brewer_ himself. he wrote with his pencil upon the back of a letter the following lines, which he handed to mr. whitbread, across the table:-- "they've raised the price of table drink; what is the reason, do you think? the tax on _malt_'s the cause i hear-- but what has _malt_ to do with _beer_?" looking through a number of the _quarterly review_, one day, at brookes's, soon after its first appearance, sheridan said, in reply to a gentleman who observed that the editor, mr. gifford, had boasted of the power of conferring and _distributing literary reputation_; "very likely; and in the present instance i think he has done it so profusely as to have left none for himself." sir philip francis was the convivial companion of fox, and during the short administration of that statesman was made a knight of the bath. one evening, roger wilbraham came up to a whist-table at brookes's, where sir philip, who for the first time wore the ribbon of the order, was engaged in a rubber, and thus accosted him. laying hold of the ribbon and examining it for some time, he said: "so, this is the way they have rewarded you at last: they have given you a little bit of red ribbon for your services, sir philip, have they? a pretty bit of red ribbon to hang about your neck; and that satisfies you, does it? now, i wonder what i shall have.--what do you think they will give me, sir philip?" the newly-made knight, who had twenty-five guineas depending on the rubber, and who was not very well pleased at the interruption, suddenly turned round, and looking at him fiercely, exclaimed, "a halter, and be d--d to you!" george iii. invariably evinced a strong aversion to fox, the secret of which it is easy to understand. his son, the prince of wales, threw himself into the arms of fox, and this in the most undisguised manner. fox lodged in st. james's-street, and as soon as he rose, which was very late, had a levee of his followers, and of the members of the gaming club, at brookes's, all his disciples. his bristly black person, and shagged breast quite open, and rarely purified by any ablutions, was wrapped in a foul linen night-gown, and his bushy hair dishevelled. in these cynic weeds, and with epicurean good-humour, did he dictate his politics, and in this school did the heir of the crown attend his lessons, and imbibe them. fox's love of play was desperate. a few evenings before he moved the repeal of the marriage act, in february, , he had been at brompton on two errands: one to consult justice fielding on the penal laws; the other to borrow ten thousand pounds, which he brought to town at the hazard of being robbed. fox played admirably both at whist and piquet; with such skill, indeed, that by the general admission of brookes's club, he might have made four thousand pounds a year, as they calculated, at those games, if he could have confined himself to them. but his misfortune arose from playing games at chance, particularly at faro. after eating and drinking plentifully, he sat down to the faro table, and inevitably rose a loser. once, indeed, and once only, he won about eight thousand pounds in the course of a single evening. part of the money he paid away to his creditors, and the remainder he lost almost immediately. before he attained his thirtieth year, he had completely dissipated everything that he could either command, or could procure by the most ruinous expedients. he had even undergone, at times, many of the severest privations annexed to the vicissitudes that mark a gamester's progress; frequently wanting money to defray the common daily wants of the most pressing nature. topham beauclerc, who lived much in fox's society, affirmed, that no man could form an idea of the extremities to which he had been driven in order to raise money, after losing his last guinea at the faro table. he was reduced for successive days to such distress, as to borrow money from the waiters of brookes's. the very chairmen, whom he was unable to pay, used to dun him for their arrears. in , he might be considered as an extinct volcano, for the pecuniary aliment that had fed the flame was long consumed. yet he then occupied a house or lodgings in st. james's-street close to brookes's, where he passed almost every hour which was not devoted to the house of commons. brookes's was then the rallying point or rendezvous of the opposition; where, while faro, whist, and supper prolonged the night, the principal members of the minority in both houses met, in order to compare their information, or to concert and mature their parliamentary measures. great sums were then borrowed of jews at exorbitant premiums. fox called his outward room, where the jews waited till he rose, the _jerusalem chamber_. his brother stephen was enormously fat; george selwyn said he was in the right to deal with shylocks, as he could give them pounds of flesh. when fox lodged with his friend fitzpatrick, at mackie's, some one remarked that two such inmates would be the ruin of mackie, the oilman; "no," said george selwyn; "so far from ruining him, they will make poor mackie's fortune; for he will have the credit of having the finest pickles in london." the ruling passion of fox was partly owing to the lax training of his father, who, by his lavish allowances, fostered his propensity for play. according to chesterfield, the first lord holland "had no fixed principles in religion or morality," and he censures him to his son for being "too unwary in ridiculing and exposing them." he gave full swing to charles in his youth: "let nothing be done," said his lordship, "to break his spirit; the world will do that for him." (_selwyn._) at his death, in , he left him £ , to pay his debts; it was all bespoke, and fox soon became as deeply pledged as before. walpole, in , walking up st. james's-street, saw a cart and porters at fox's door; with copper and an old chest of drawers, loading. his success at faro had awakened a host of creditors; but, unless his bank had swelled to the size of the bank of england, it could not have yielded a sou apiece for each. epsom, too, had been unpropitious; and one creditor had actually seized and carried off fox's goods, which did not seem worth removing. yet, shortly after this, whom should walpole find sauntering by his own door but fox, who came up and talked to him at the coach-window, on the marriage bill, with as much _sang froid_ as if he knew nothing of what had happened. it was at the sale of fox's library in this year that walpole made the following singular note:--" , june . sold by auction, the library of charles fox, which had been taken in execution. amongst the books was mr. gibbon's first volume of 'roman history,' which appeared, by the title-page, to have been given by the author to mr. fox, who had written in it the following anecdote:--'the author at brookes's said there was no salvation for the country till six heads of the principal persons in the administration were laid on the table; eleven days later, the same gentleman accepted the place of lord of trade under those very ministers, and has acted with them ever since!' such was the avidity of bidders for the smallest production of so wonderful a genius, that by the addition of this little record, the book sold for three guineas." lord tankerville assured mr. rogers that fox once played cards with fitzpatrick at brookes's from ten o'clock at night till near six o'clock the next afternoon, a waiter standing by to tell them "whose deal it was," they being too sleepy to know. fox once won about eight thousand pounds; and one of his bond-creditors, who soon heard of his good luck, presented himself, and asked for payment. "impossible, sir," replied fox; "i must first discharge my debts of honour." the bond-creditor remonstrated. "well, sir, give me your bond." it was delivered to fox, who tore it in pieces, and threw them into the fire. "now, sir," said fox, "my debt to you is a debt of honour;" and immediately paid him. amidst the wildest excesses of youth, even while the perpetual victim of his passion for play, fox eagerly cultivated at intervals his taste for letters, especially the greek and roman historians and poets; and he found resources in their works, under the most severe depressions occasioned by ill-success at the gaming-table. one morning, after fox had passed the whole night in company with topham beauclerc at faro, the two friends were about to separate. fox had lost throughout the night, and was in a frame of mind approaching desperation. beauclerc's anxiety for the consequences which might ensue led him to be early at fox's lodgings; and on arriving, he inquired, not without apprehension, whether he had risen. the servant replied that mr. fox was in the drawing-room, when beauclerc walked upstairs, and cautiously opened the door, expecting to behold a frantic gamester stretched on the floor, bewailing his losses, or plunged in moody despair; but he was astonished to find him reading a greek herodotus. "what would you have me do?" said fox, "i have lost my last shilling." upon other occasions, after staking and losing all that he could raise at faro, instead of exclaiming against fortune, or manifesting the agitation natural under such circumstances, he would lay his head on the table, and retain his place, but, exhausted by mental and bodily fatigue, almost immediately fall into a profound sleep. one night, at brookes's, fox made some remark on government powder, in allusion to something that had happened. adams considered it a reflection, and sent fox a challenge. fox went out, and took his station, giving a full front. fitzgerald said, "you must stand sideways." fox said, "why i am as thick one way as the other,"--"fire," was given: adams fired, fox did not, and when they said he must, he said, "i'll be d--d if i do. i have no quarrel." they then advanced to shake hands. fox said, "adams, you'd have killed me if it had not been government powder." the ball hit him in the groin. another celebrated character, who frequented brookes's in the days of selwyn, was dunning, afterwards lord ashburton; and many keen encounters passed between them. dunning was a short, thick man, with a turn-up nose, a constant shake of the head, and latterly a distressing hectic cough--but a wit of the first water. though he died at the comparatively early age of fifty-two, he amassed a fortune of £ , during twenty-five years' practice at the bar; and lived notwithstanding, so liberally, that his mother, an attorney's widow, some of the wags at brookes's wickedly recorded, left him in dudgeon on the score of his extravagance, as humorously sketched at a dinner at the lawyer's country-house near fulham, when the following _conversation_ was represented to have occurred:-- "john," said the old lady to her son, after dinner, during which she had been astounded by the profusion of the plate and viands,--"john, i shall not stop another day to witness such shameful extravagance." "but, my dear mother," interrupted dunning, "you ought to consider that i can afford it: my income, you know--" "no income," said the old lady impatiently, "can stand such shameful prodigality. the sum which your cook told me that very _turbot_ cost, ought to have supported any reasonable family for a week." "pooh, pooh! my dear mother," replied the dutiful son, "you would not have me appear shabby. besides, what is a turbot?" "pooh, pooh! what is a turbot?" echoed the irritated dame: "don't _pooh_ me, john: i tell you such goings-on can come to no good, and you'll see the end of it before long. however, it sha'n't be said your mother encouraged such sinful waste, for i'll set off in the coach to devonshire to-morrow morning." "and notwithstanding," said sheridan, "all john's rhetorical efforts to detain her, the old lady kept her word." sheridan's election as a member of brookes's took place under conflicting circumstances. his success at stafford met with fewer obstacles than he had to encounter in st. james's-street, where selwyn's political aversions and personal jealousy were very formidable, as were those of the earl of bessborough, and they and other members of the club had determined to exclude sheridan. conscious that every exertion would be made to ensure his success, they agreed not to absent themselves during the time allowed by the regulations of the club for ballots; and as one black ball sufficed to extinguish the hopes of a candidate, they repeatedly prevented his election. in order to remove so serious an impediment, sheridan had recourse to artifice. on the evening when it was resolved to put him up, he found his two inveterate enemies posted as usual. a chairman was then sent with a note, written in the name of her father-in-law, lord bessborough, acquainting him that a fire had broken out in his house in cavendish square, and entreating him immediately to return home. unsuspicious of any trick, as his son and daughter-in-law lived under his roof, lord bessborough unhesitatingly quitted the room, and got into a sedan-chair. selwyn, who resided not far from brookes's in cleveland-row, received, nearly at the same time, a verbal message to request his presence, in consequence of miss fagniani, (whom he had adopted as his daughter,) being suddenly seized with alarming indisposition. this summons he obeyed; and no sooner was the room cleared, than sheridan being proposed a member, a ballot took place, when he was immediately chosen. lord bessborough and selwyn returned without delay, on discovering the imposition that had been practised on their credulity, but they were too late to prevent its effects. such is the story told by selwyn, in his memoirs; but the following account is more generally acredited. the prince of wales joined brookes's club, to have more frequent intercourse with mr. fox, one of its earliest members, and who, on his first acquaintance with sheridan, became anxious for his admission to the club. sheridan was three times proposed, but as often had the black ball in the ballot, which disqualified him. at length, the hostile ball was traced to george selwyn, who objected, because his (sheridan's) father had been upon the stage. sheridan was apprised of this, and desired that his name might be put up again, and that the further conduct of the matter might be left to himself. accordingly, on the evening when he was to be balloted for, sheridan arrived at brookes's arm-in-arm with the prince of wales, just ten minutes before the balloting began. they were shown into the candidates' waiting-room, when one of the club-waiters was ordered to tell mr. selwyn that the prince desired to speak with him immediately. selwyn obeyed the summons, and sheridan, to whom this version of the affair states, sheridan had no personal dislike, entertained him for half-an-hour with some political story, which interested him very much, but had no foundation in truth. during selwyn's absence, the balloting went on, and sheridan was chosen; and the result was announced to himself and the prince by the waiter, with the preconcerted signal of stroking his chin with his hand. sheridan immediately rose from his seat, and apologizing for a few minutes' absence, told selwyn that "the prince would finish the narrative, the catastrophe of which he would find very remarkable." sheridan now went upstairs, was introduced to the club, and was soon in all his glory. the prince, in the meantime, had not the least idea of being left to conclude a story, the thread of which (if it had a thread) he had entirely forgotten. still, by means of selwyn's occasional assistance, the prince got on pretty well for a few minutes, when a question from the listener as to the flat contradiction of a part of his royal highness' story to that of sheridan, completely posed the narrator, and he stuck fast. after much floundering, the prince burst into a loud laugh, saying, "d--n the fellow, to leave me to finish the infernal story, of which i know as much as a child unborn! but, never mind, selwyn; as sheridan does not seem inclined to come back, let me go upstairs, and i dare say fox or some of them will be able to tell you all about it." they adjourned to the club room, and selwyn now detected the manoeuvre. sheridan then rose, made a low bow, and apologized to selwyn, through his dropping into such good company, adding, "they have just been making me a member without even _one black ball_, and here i am." "the devil they have!" exclaimed selwyn.--"facts speak for themselves," said sheridan; "and i thank you for your friendly suffrage; and now, if you will sit down by us, i will finish my story."--"your story! it is all a lie from beginning to end," exclaimed selwyn, amidst loud laughter from all parts of the room. among the members who indulged in high play was alderman combe, who is said to have made as much money in this way as he did by brewing. one evening, whilst he filled the office of lord mayor, he was busy at a full hazard-table at brookes's, where the wit and the dice-box circulated together with great glee, and where beau brummell was one of the party. "come, mashtub," said brummell, who was the _caster_, "what do you _set_?"--"twenty-five guineas," answered the alderman.--"well, then," returned the beau, "have at the mare's pony" ( guineas). he continued to throw until he drove home the brewer's twelve ponies, running; and then, getting up, and making him a low bow, whilst pocketing the cash, he said, "thank you, alderman; for the future, i shall never drink any porter but yours."--"i wish, sir," replied the brewer, "that every other blackguard in london would tell me the same." footnotes: [ ] _quarterly review_, . "fighting fitzgerald" at brookes's. this notorious person, george robert fitzgerald, though nearly related to one of the first families in ireland (leinster), was executed in , for a murder which he had coolly premeditated, and had perpetrated in a most cruel and cowardly manner. his duelling propensities had kept him out of all the first clubs in london. he once applied to admiral keith stewart to propose him as a candidate for brookes's; when the admiral, knowing that he must either fight or comply with his request, chose the latter. accordingly, on the night when the ballot was to take place (which was only a mere form in this case, for even keith stewart had resolved to _black-ball_ him), the duellist accompanied the admiral to st. james's-street, and waited in the room below, while the ballot was taken. this was soon done; for, without hesitation, each member threw in a _black ball_; and when the scrutiny came, the company were not a little amazed to find not even _one_ white ball among the number. however, the rejection being carried _nem. con._, the question was, which of the members had the hardihood to announce the result to the expectant candidate. no one would undertake the office, for the announcement was thought sure to produce a challenge; and a duel with fitzgerald had, in most cases, been fatal to his opponent. the general opinion was that the proposer, admiral stewart, should convey the intelligence. "no, gentlemen," said he, "i proposed the fellow because i knew you would not admit him; but, by jove, i have no inclination to risk my life against that of a madman." "but, admiral," replied the duke of devonshire,[ ] "there being no _white ball_ in the box, he must know that _you_ have black-balled him as well as the rest, and he is sure to call you out at all events." this posed the admiral, who, after some hesitation, proposed that the waiter should tell fitzgerald that there was _one_ black ball, and that his name must be put up again if he wished it. all concurred in the propriety of this plan, and the waiter was dispatched on the mission. in the meantime, fitzgerald had frequently rung the bell to inquire "the state of the poll," and had sent each waiter to ascertain, but neither durst return, when mr. brookes took the message from the waiter who was descending the staircase, and boldly entered the room, with a coffee equipage in his hand. "did you call for coffee, sir?" said mr. brookes, smartly. "d--n your coffee, sir! and you too," answered mr. fitzgerald, in a voice which made the host's blood run cold. "i want to know, sir, and that without one moment's delay, sir, if i am _chose_ yet?" "oh, sir!" replied mr. brookes, attempting to smile away the appearance of fear, "i beg your pardon, sir, but i was just coming to announce to you, sir, with admiral stewart's compliments, sir, that unfortunately there was one black ball in the box, sir; and consequently, by the rules of the club, sir, no candidate can be admitted without a new election, sir;--which cannot take place, by the standing regulations of the club, sir, until one month from this time, sir." during this address, fitzgerald's irascibility appeared to undergo considerable mollification; and at its close, he grasped brookes's hand, saying, "my dear brookes, _i'm chose_; but there must be a small matter of mistake in my election:" he then persuaded brookes to go upstairs, and make his compliments to the gentlemen, and say, as it was only a mistake of _one_ black ball, they would be so good as to waive all ceremony on his account, and proceed to _re-elect_ their humble servant without any more delay at all." many of the members were panic-struck, foreseeing a disagreeable finale to the farce which they had been playing. mr. brookes stood silent, waiting for the answer. at length, the earl of march (afterwards duke of queensberry) said aloud, "try the effect of _two_ balls: d--n his irish impudence, if two balls don't take effect upon him, i don't know what will." this proposition was agreed to, and brookes was ordered to communicate the same. on re-entering the waiting-room, mr. fitzgerald eagerly inquired, "have they _elected_ me right, now, mr. brookes?" the reply was, "sorry to inform you that the result of the second balloting is--that _two_ black balls were dropped, sir."--"then," exclaimed fitzgerald, "there's now _two mistakes_ instead of one." he then persuaded brookes again to proceed upstairs, and tell the honourable members to "try again, and make no more mistakes." general fitzpatrick proposed that brookes should reply, "his cause was all hopeless, for that he was _black-balled all over_, from head to foot, and it was hoped by all the members that mr. fitzgerald would not persist in thrusting himself into society where his company was declined." this message was of no avail: no sooner had fitzgerald heard it than he exclaimed: "oh, i perceive it is a _mistake altogether_, mr. brookes, and i must see to the rectifying of it myself, there's nothing like _daling_ with principals; so, i'll step up at once, and put this thing to rights, without any more unnecessary delay." in spite of mr. brookes's remonstrance, that his entrance into the club-room was against all rule and etiquette, fitzgerald flew upstairs, and entered the room without any further ceremony than a bow, saying to the members, who indignantly rose at the intrusion, "your servant, gentlemen--i beg ye will be _sated_." walking up to the fireplace, he thus addressed admiral stewart:--"so, my dear admiral, mr. brookes informs me that i have been _elected_ three times." "you have been balloted for, mr. fitzgerald, but i am sorry to say you have not been chosen," said stewart. "well, then," replied the duellist, "did _you_ black-ball me?"--"my good sir," answered the admiral, "how could you suppose such a thing?"--"oh, i _supposed_ no such thing, my dear fellow; i only want to know who it was that dropped the black balls in by accident, as it were!" fitzgerald now went up to each individual member, and put the same question _seriatim_, "did you black-ball me, sir?" until he made the round of the whole club; and in each case he received a reply similar to that of the admiral. when he had finished his inquisition, he thus addressed the whole body: "you see, gentlemen, that as none of ye have black-balled me, _i must be chose_; and it is mr. brookes that has made the mistake. but i was convinced of it from the beginning, and i am only sorry that so much time has been lost as to prevent honourable gentlemen from enjoying each other's company sooner." he then desired the waiter to bring him a bottle of champagne, that he might drink long life to the club, and wish them joy of their unanimous election of a "_rael_ gentleman by father and mother, and _who never missed his man_." the members now saw that there was nothing to be done but to send the intruder to coventry, which they appeared to do by tacit agreement; for when admiral stewart departed, mr. fitzgerald found himself _cut_ by all his "dear friends." the members now formed parties at the whist-table; and no one replied to fitzgerald's observations nor returned even a nod to the toasts and healths which he drank in three bottles of champagne, which the terrified waiter placed before him, in succession. at length, he arose, made a low bow, and took leave, promising to "come earlier next night, and have a little more of it." it was then agreed that half-a-dozen stout constables should be in waiting the next evening to bear him off to the watch-house, if he attempted again to intrude. of this measure, fitzgerald seemed to be aware; for he never again showed himself at brookes's; though he boasted everywhere that he had been unanimously chosen a member of the club. footnotes: [ ] this was the _bon-vivant_ duke who had got ready for him every night, for supper, at brookes's, a broiled blade-bone of mutton. arthur's club. this club, established more than a century since, at no. , st. james's-street, derives its name from mr. arthur, the master of white's chocolate-house in the same street. mr. cunningham records: "arthur died in june, , in st. james's-place; and in the following october, mr. mackreth married arthur's only child, and arthur's chocolate-house, as it was then called, became the property of this mr. mackreth." walpole, writing in , has this odd note: "i stared to-day at piccadilly like a country squire; there are twenty new stone houses: at first i concluded that all the grooms that used to live there, had got estates and built palaces. one young gentleman, who was getting an estate, but was so indiscreet as to step out of his way to rob a comrade, is convicted, and to be transported; in short, one of the waiters at arthur's. george selwyn says, 'what a horrid idea he will give us of the people in newgate?'" mackreth prospered; for walpole, writing to mann, in , speaking of the new parliament, says: "bob, formerly a waiter at white's, was set up by my nephew for two boroughs, and actually is returned for castle rising with mr. wedderburne; "'servus curru portatur eodem;' which i suppose will offend the scottish consul, as most of his countrymen resent an irishman standing for westminster, which the former reckon a borough of their own. for my part, waiter for waiter, i see little difference; they were all equally ready to cry, 'coming, coming, sir.'" mackreth was afterwards knighted; and upon him appeared this smart and well-remembered epigram: "when mackreth served in arthur's crew, he said to rumbold, 'black my shoe;' to which he answer'd, 'ay, bob.' but when return'd from india's land, and grown too proud to brook command, he sternly answer'd, 'nay, bob.'" the club-house was rebuilt in , upon the site of the original chocolate-house, thomas hopper, architect, at which time it possessed more than average design: the front is of stone, and is enriched with fluted corinthian columns. white's club. this celebrated club was originally established as "white's chocolate-house," in , five doors from the bottom of the west side of st. james's-street, "ascending from st. james's palace." (hatton, .) a print of the time shows a small garden attached to the house: at the tables in the house or garden, more than one highwayman took his chocolate, or threw his main, before he quietly mounted his horse, and rode down piccadilly towards bagshot. (doran's _table traits_.) it was destroyed by fire, april , , when the house was kept by mr. arthur, who subsequently gave his name to the club called arthur's, still existing a few doors above the original white's. at the fire, young arthur's wife leaped out of a second floor window, upon a feather-bed, without much hurt. a fine collection of paintings, belonging to sir andrew fountaine, valued at _l._, was entirely destroyed. the king and the prince of wales were present above an hour, and encouraged the firemen and people to work at the engines; a guard being ordered from st. james's, to keep off the populace. his majesty ordered twenty guineas to be distributed among the firemen and others that worked at the engines, and five guineas to the guard; and the prince ordered the firemen ten guineas. "the incident of the fire," says mr. cunningham, "was made use of by hogarth, in plate vi. of the rake's progress, representing a room at white's. the total abstraction of the gamblers is well expressed by their utter inattention to the alarm of the fire given by watchmen, who are bursting open the doors. plate iv. of the same pictured moral represents a group of chimney-sweepers and shoe-blacks gambling on the ground over-against white's. to indicate the club more fully, hogarth has inserted the name black's." arthur, thus burnt out, removed to gaunt's coffee-house, next the st. james's coffee-house, and which bore the name of "white's"--a myth. the _tatler_, in his first number, promises that "all accounts of gallantry, pleasure, and entertainment, shall be under the article of white's chocolate-house." addison, in his prologue to steele's _tender husband_, catches "the necessary spark" sometimes "taking snuff at white's." the chocolate-house, open to any one, became a private club-house: the earliest record is a book of rules and list of members of the old club at white's, dated october th, . the principal members were the duke of devonshire; the earls of cholmondeley, chesterfield, and rockingham; sir john cope, major-general churchill, bubb dodington, and colley cibber. walpole tells us that the celebrated earl of chesterfield lived at white's, gaming and pronouncing witticisms among the boys of quality; "yet he says to his son, that a member of a gaming club should be a cheat, or he will soon be a beggar," an inconsistency which reminds one of old fuller's saw: "a father that whipt his son for swearing, and swore himself whilst he whipt him, did more harm by his example than good by his correction." swift, in his _essay on modern education_, gives the chocolate-house a sad name. "i have heard," he says, "that the late earl of oxford, in the time of his ministry, never passed by white's chocolate-house (the common rendezvous of infamous sharpers and noble cullies) without bestowing a curse upon that famous academy, as the bane of half the english nobility." the gambling character of the club may also be gathered from lord lyttelton writing to dr. doddridge, in . "the dryads of hagley are at present pretty secure, but i tremble to think that the rattling of a dice-box at white's may one day or other (if my son should be a member of that noble academy) shake down all our fine oaks. it is dreadful to see, not only there, but almost in every house in town, what devastations are made by that destructive fury, the spirit of play." swift's character of the company is also borne out by walpole, in a letter to mann, december , : "there is a man about town, sir william burdett, a man of very good family, but most infamous character. in short, to give you his character at once, there is a wager entered in the bet-book at white's (a ms. of which i may one day or other give you an account), that the first baronet that will be hanged is this sir william burdett." again, glover, the poet, in his _autobiography_, tells us: "mr. pelham (the prime minister) was originally an officer in the army, and a professed gamester; of a narrow mind, low parts, etc.... by long experience and attendance he became experienced as a parliament man; and even when minister, divided his time to the last between his office and the club of gamesters at white's." and, pope, in the _dunciad_, has: "or chair'd at white's, amidst the doctors sit, teach oaths to gamesters, and to nobles wit." the club removed, in , to the east side of st. james's-street, no. . the house had had previously a noble and stately tenant; for here resided the countess of northumberland, widow of algernon, tenth earl of northumberland, who died . "my friend lady suffolk, her niece by marriage," writes walpole, "has talked to me of her having, on that alliance, visited her. she then lived in the house now white's, at the upper end of st. james's-street, and was the last who kept up the ceremonious state of the old peerage. when she went out to visit, a footman, bareheaded, walked on each side of her coach, and a second coach with her women attended her. i think, too, that lady suffolk told me that her granddaughter-in-law, the duchess of somerset, never sat down before her without leave to do so. i suppose the old duke charles [the proud duke] had imbibed a good quantity of his stately pride in such a school." (_letter to the bishop of dromore_, september , .) this high-minded dame had published a "volume of prayers." among the rules of the club, every member was to pay one guinea a year towards having a good cook; the names of all candidates were to be deposited with mr. arthur or bob [mackreth]. in balloting, every member was to put in his ball, and such person or persons who refuse to comply with it, shall pay the supper reckoning of that night; and, in , it was agreed that 'every member of this club who is in the billiard-room at the time the supper is declared upon table, shall pay his reckoning if he does not sup at the young club.' of colley cibber's membership we find this odd account in davies's _life of garrick_:--"colley, we told, had the honour to be a member of the great club at white's; and so i suppose might any other man who wore good clothes and paid his money when he lost it. but on what terms did cibber live with this society? why, he feasted most sumptuously, as i have heard his friend victor say, with an air of triumphant exultation, with mr. arthur and his wife, and gave a trifle for his dinner. after he had dined, when the club-room door was opened, and the laureate was introduced, he was saluted with loud and joyous acclamation of 'o king coll! come in, king coll!' and 'welcome, welcome, king colley!' and this kind of gratulation, mr. victor thought, was very gracious and very honourable." in the rules quoted by mr. cunningham, from the club-books, we find that in , a dinner was ready every day during the sitting of parliament, at a reckoning of _s._ per head; in , at _s._ _d._ per head, malt liquors, biscuits, oranges, apples, and olives included; hot suppers provided at _s._ per head; and cold meat, oysters, etc., at _s._, malt liquor only included. and, "that every member who plays at chess, draughts, or backgammon do pay one shilling each time of playing by daylight, and half-a-crown each by candlelight." white's was from the beginning principally a gaming club. the play was mostly at hazard and faro; no member was to hold a faro bank. whist was comparatively harmless. professional gamblers, who lived by dice and cards, provided they were free from the imputation of cheating, procured admission to white's. it was a great supper-house, and there was play before and after supper, carried on to a late hour and heavy amounts. lord carlisle lost , _l._ in one night, and was in debt to the house for the whole. he tells selwyn of a set, in which at one point of the game, stood to win , _l._ sir john bland, of kippax park, who shot himself in , as we learn from walpole, flirted away his whole fortune at hazard. "he t'other night exceeded what was lost by the late duke of bedford, having at one period of the night, (though he recovered the greater part of it,) lost two-and-thirty thousand pounds." lord mountford came to a tragic end through his gambling. he had lost money; feared to be reduced to distress; asked for a government appointment, and determined to throw the die of life or death, on the answer he received from court. the answer was unfavourable. he consulted several persons, indirectly at first, afterwards pretty directly--on the easiest mode of finishing life; invited a dinner-party for the day after; supped at white's, and played at whist till one o'clock of the new year's morning. lord robert bertie drank to him "a happy new year;" he clapped his hand strangely to his eyes. in the morning, he sent for a lawyer and three witnesses, executed his will; made them read it twice over, paragraph by paragraph; asked the lawyer if that will would stand good though a man were to shoot himself. being assured it would, he said, "pray stay, while i step into the next room,"--went into the next room, and shot himself. walpole writes to mann: "john damier and his two brothers have contracted a debt, one can scarcely expect to be believed out of england,--of , _l._... the young men of this age seem to make a law among themselves for declaring their fathers superannuated at fifty, and thus dispose of their estates as if already their own." "can you believe that lord foley's two sons have borrowed money so extravagantly, that the interest they have contracted to pay, amounts to , _l._ a year." fox's love of play was frightful: his best friends are said to have been half-ruined in annuities, given by them as securities for him to the jews. five hundred thousand a year of such annuities, of fox and his society, were advertised to be sold, at one time: walpole wondered what fox would do when he had sold the estates of all his friends. here are some instances of his desperate play. walpole further notes that in the debate on the thirty-nine articles, february , , fox did not shine, "nor could it be wondered at. he had sat up playing at hazard at almack's, from tuesday evening the th, till five in the afternoon of wednesday, th. an hour before he had recovered , _l._ that he had lost, and by dinner, which was at five o'clock, he had ended losing , _l._ on the thursday, he spoke in the above debate; went to dinner at past eleven at night; from thence to white's, where he drank till seven the next morning; thence to almack's, where he won , _l._; and between three and four in the afternoon he set out for newmarket. his brother stephen lost , _l._ two nights after, and charles , _l._ more on the th; so that, in three nights, the two brothers, the eldest not twenty-five, lost , _l._" walpole and a party of friends, (dick edgecumbe, george selwyn, and williams,) in , composed a piece of heraldic satire--a coat-of-arms for the two gaming-clubs at white's,--which was "actually engraving from a very pretty painting of edgecumbe, whom mr. chute, as strawberry king at arms," appointed their chief herald-painter. the blazon is vert (for a card-table); three parolis proper on a chevron sable (for a hazard-table); two rouleaux in saltire between two dice proper, on a canton sable; a white ball (for election) argent. the supporters are an old and young knave of clubs; the crest, an arm out of an earl's coronet shaking a dice-box; and the motto, "cogit amor nummi." round the arms is a claret-bottle ticket by way of order. the painting above mentioned by walpole of "the old and young club at arthur's" was bought at the sale of strawberry hill by arthur's club-house for twenty-two shillings. at white's, the least difference of opinion invariably ended in a bet, and a book for entering the particulars of all bets was always laid upon the table; one of these, with entries of a date as early as , mr. cunningham tells us, had been preserved. a book for entering bets is still laid on the table. in these betting books are to be found bets on births, deaths, and marriages; the length of a life, or the duration of a ministry; a placeman's prospect of a coronet; on the shock of an earthquake; or the last scandal at ranelagh, or madame cornelys's. a man dropped down at the door of white's; he was carried into the house. was he dead or not? the odds were immediately given and taken for and against. it was proposed to bleed him. those who had taken the odds the man was dead, protested that the use of a lancet would affect the fairness of the bet. walpole gives some of these narratives as good stories "made on white's." a parson coming into the club on the morning of the earthquake of , and hearing bets laid whether the shock was caused by an earthquake or the blowing-up of powder-mills, went away in horror, protesting they were such an impious set, that he believed if the last trump were to sound, they would bet "puppet-show against judgment." gilly williams writes to selwyn, , "lord digby is very soon to be married to miss fielding." thousands might have been won in this house (white's), on his lordship not knowing that such a being existed. mr. cunningham tells us that "the marriage of a young lady of rank would occasion a bet of a hundred guineas, that she would give birth to a live child before the countess of ----, who had been married three or even more months before her. heavy bets were pending, that arthur, who was then a widower, would be married before a member of the club of about the same age, and also a widower; and that sarah, duchess of marlborough, would outlive the old duchess of cleveland." "one of the youth at white's," writes walpole to mann, july , , "has committed a murder, and intends to repeat it. he betted £ that a man could live twelve hours under water; hired a desperate fellow, sunk him in a ship, by way of experiment, and both ship and man have not appeared since. another man and ship are to be tried for their lives, instead of mr. blake, the assassin." walpole found at white's, a very remarkable entry in their very--very remarkable wager-book, which is still preserved. "lord mountford bets sir john bland twenty guineas that nash outlives cibber." "how odd," says walpole, "that these two old creatures, selected for their antiquities, should live to see both their wagerers put an end to their own lives! cibber is within a few days of eighty-four, still hearty, and clear, and well. i told him i was glad to see him look so well. 'faith,' said he, 'it is very well that i look at all.'" lord mountford would have been the winner: cibber died in ; nash in . here is a nice piece of selwyn's ready wit. he and charles townshend had a kind of wit combat together. selwyn, it is said, prevailed; and charles townshend took the wit home in his carriage, and dropped him at white's. "remember," said selwyn, as they parted, "this is the first set-down you have given me to-day." "st. leger," says walpole, "was at the head of these luxurious heroes--he is the hero of all fashion. i never saw more dashing vivacity and absurdity with some flashes of parts. he had a cause the other day for ducking a sharper, and was going to swear; the judge said to him, 'i see, sir, you are very ready to take an oath.' 'yes, my lord,' replied st. leger, 'my father was a judge,'" st. leger was a lively club member. "rigby," writes the duke of bedford, july , , "the town is grown extremely thin within this week, though white's continues numerous enough, with young people only, for mr. st. leger's vivacity, and the idea the old ones have of it, prevent the great chairs at the old club from being filled with their proper drowsy proprietors." in hogarth's gambling scene at white's, we see the highwayman, with the pistols peeping out of his pocket, waiting by the fireside till the heaviest winner takes his departure, in order to "recoup" himself of his losings. and in the _beaux' stratagem_, aimwell asks of gibbet, "ha'n't i seen your face at white's?"--"ay, and at will's too," is the highwayman's answer. m'clean, the fashionable highwayman, had a lodging in st. james's-street, over-against white's; and he was as well known about st. james's as any gentleman who lived in that quarter, and who, perhaps, went upon the road too. when m'clean was taken, in , walpole tells us that lord mountford, at the head of half white's, went the first day; his aunt was crying over him; as soon as they were withdrawn, she said to him, knowing they were of white's, "my dear, what did the lords say to you? have you ever been concerned with any of them? was it not admirable? what a favourable idea people must have of white's!--and what if white's should not deserve a much better?" a waitership at a club sometimes led to fortune. thomas rumbold, originally a waiter at white's, got an appointment in india, and suddenly rose to be sir thomas, and governor of madras. on his return, with immense wealth, a bill of pains and penalties was brought into the house by dundas, with the view of stripping sir robert of his ill-gotten gains. this bill was briskly pushed through the earlier stages; suddenly the proceedings were arrested by adjournment, and the measure fell to the ground. the rumour of the day attributed rumbold's escape to the corrupt assistance of rigby; who, in , found himself, by lord north's retirement, deprived of his place in the pay office, and called upon to refund a large amount of public moneys unaccounted for. in this strait, rigby was believed to have had recourse to rumbold. their acquaintance had commenced in earlier days, when rigby was one of the boldest "punters" at white's, and rumbold bowed to him for half-crowns. rumbold is said to have given rigby a large sum of money, on condition of the former being released from the impending pains and penalties. the truth of this report has been vehemently denied; but the circumstances are suspicious. the bill was dropped: dundas, its introducer, was rigby's intimate associate. rigby's nephew and heir soon after married rumbold's daughter. sir thomas himself had married a daughter of dr. law, bishop of carlisle. the worthy bishop stood godfather to one of rumbold's children; the other godfather was the nabob of arcot, and the child was christened "mahomet." so, at least, walpole informs mann.[ ] rigby was a man of pleasure at white's. wilkes, in the _north briton_, describes rigby as "an excellent _bon-vivant_, amiable and engaging; having all the gibes and gambols, and flashes of merriment, which set the table in a roar." in a letter to selwyn, rigby writes: "i am just got home from a cock-match, where i have won forty pounds in ready money; and not having dined, am waiting till i hear the rattle of the coaches from the house of commons, in order to dine at white's.... the next morning i heard there had been extreme deep play, and that harry furnese went drunk from white's at six o'clock, and with the ever memorable sum of guineas. he won the chief part of doneraile and bob bertie." the club has had freaks of epicurism. in , seven young men of fashion, headed by st. leger, gave a dinner at white's: one dish was a tart of choice cherries from a hot-house; only one glass was tasted out of each bottle of champagne. "the bill of fare is got into print," writes walpole, to mann; "and with good people has produced the apprehension of another earthquake." from mackreth the property passed in , to john martindale, and in , to mr. raggett, the father of the present proprietor. the original form of the house was designed by james wyatt. from time to time, white's underwent various alterations and additions. in the autumn of , certain improvements being thought necessary, it came to be considered that the front was of too plain a character, when contrasted with the many elegant buildings which had risen up around it. mr. lockyer was consulted by mr. raggett as to the possibility of improving the façade; and under his direction, four bas-reliefs, representing the four seasons, which occupy the place of four sashes, were designed by mr. george scharf, jun. the interior was redecorated by mr. morant. the club, which is at this time limited to members, was formerly composed of the high tory party, but though conservative principles may probably prevail, it has now ceased to be a political club, and may rather be termed "aristocratic." several of the present members have belonged to the club upwards of half a century, and the ancestors of most of the noblemen and men of fashion of the present day who belong to the club were formerly members of it. the club has given magnificent entertainments in our time. on june , , they gave a ball at burlington house to the emperor of russia, the king of prussia, and the allied sovereigns then in england; the cost was _l._ _s._ _d._ three weeks after this, the club gave to the duke of wellington a dinner, which cost _l._ _s._ _d._ footnotes: [ ] national review, no. . boodle's club. this club, originally the "savoir vivre," which with brookes's and white's, forms a trio of nearly coeval date, and each of which takes the present name of its founder, is no. , st. james's-street. in its early records it was noted for its costly gaieties, and the _heroic epistle to sir william chambers_, , commemorates its epicurism: "for what is nature? ring her changes round, her three flat notes are water, plants, and ground; prolong the peal, yet, spite of all your clatter, the tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water; so, when some john his dull invention racks, to rival boodle's dinners or almack's, three uncouth legs of mutton shock our eyes, three roasted geese, three buttered apple-pies." in the following year, when the clubs vied with each other in giving the town the most expensive masquerades and ridottos, gibbon speaks of one given by the members of boodle's, that cost guineas. gibbon was early of the club; and, "it must be remembered, waddled as well as warbled here when he exhibited that extraordinary person which is said to have convulsed lady sheffield with laughter; and poured forth accents mellifluous like plato's from that still more extraordinary mouth which has been described as 'a round hole' in the centre of his face."[ ] boodle's club-house, designed by holland, has long been eclipsed by the more pretentious architecture of the club edifices of our time; but the interior arrangements are well planned. boodle's is chiefly frequented by country gentlemen, whose status has been thus satirically insinuated by a contemporary: "every sir john belongs to boodle's--as you may see, for, when a waiter comes into the room and says to some aged student of the _morning herald_, 'sir john, your servant is come,' every head is mechanically thrown up in answer to the address.'" among the club pictures are portraits of c. j. fox, and the duke of devonshire. next door, at no. , resided gillray, the caricaturist, who, in , threw himself from an upstairs window into the street, and died in consequence. footnotes: [ ] london clubs, , p. . the beef-steak society. in the _spectator_, no. , march , - , we read: "the beef-steak and october clubs are neither of them averse to eating or drinking, if we may form a judgment of them from their respective titles." this passage refers to the beef-steak club, founded in the reign of queen anne; and, it is believed, the earliest club with that name. dr. king, in his _art of cookery_, humbly _inscribed to the beef-steak club_, , has these lines: "he that of honour, wit, and mirth partakes, may be a fit companion o'er beef-steaks: his name may be to future times enrolled in estcourt's book, whose gridiron's framed with gold." estcourt, the actor, was made providore of the club; and for a mark of distinction wore their badge, which was a small gridiron of gold, hung about his neck with a green silk ribbon. such is the account given by chetwood, in his _history of the stage_, ; to which he adds: "this club was composed of the chief wits and great men of the nation." the gridiron, it will be seen hereafter, was assumed as its badge, by the "society of beef-steaks, established a few years later: they call themselves 'the steaks,' and abhor the notion of being thought a club." though the _national review_, heretical as it may appear, cannot consent to dissever the society from the earlier beef-steak club; which, however, would imply that rich and lambert were not the founders of the society, although so circumstantially shown to be. still, the stubbornness of facts must prevail. dick estcourt was beloved by steele, who thus introduces him in the _spectator_, no. : "the best man that i know of for heightening the real gaiety of a company is estcourt, whose jovial humour diffuses itself from the highest person at an entertainment to the meanest waiter. merry tales, accompanied with apt gestures and lively representations of circumstances and persons, beguile the gravest mind into a consent to be as humorous as himself. add to this, that when a man is in his good graces, he has a mimicry that does not debase the person he represents, but which, taken from the gravity of the character, adds to the agreeableness of it." then, in the _spectator_, no. , we find a letter from sir roger de coverley, from coverley, "to mr. estcourt, at his house in covent garden," addressing him as "old comical one," and acknowledging "the hogsheads of neat port came safe," and hoping next term to help fill estcourt's bumper "with our people of the club." the bumper was the tavern in covent garden, which estcourt opened about a year before his death. in this quality parnell speaks of him in the beginning of one of his poems:-- "gay bacchus liking estcourt's wine a noble meal bespoke us, and for the guests that were to dine brought comus, love, and jocus." the _spectator_ delivers this merited eulogy of the player, just prior to his benefit at the theatre: "this pleasant fellow gives one some idea of the ancient pantomime, who is said to have given the audience in dumb-show, an exact idea of any character or passion, or an intelligible relation of any public occurrence, with no other expression than that of his looks and gestures. if all who have been obliged to these talents in estcourt will be at _love for love_ to-morrow night, they will but pay him what they owe him, at so easy a rate as being present at a play which nobody would omit seeing, that had, or had not, ever seen it before." then, in the _spectator_, no. , august , , with what touching pathos does steele record the last exit of this choice spirit: "i am very sorry that i have at present a circumstance before me which is of very great importance to all who have a relish for gaiety, wit, mirth, or humour: i mean the death of poor dick estcourt. i have been obliged to him for so many hours of jollity, that it is but a small recompense, though all i can give him, to pass a moment or two in sadness for the loss of so agreeable a man.... poor estcourt! let the vain and proud be at rest, thou wilt no more disturb their admiration of their dear selves; and thou art no longer to drudge in raising the mirth of stupids, who know nothing of thy merit, for thy maintenance." having spoken of him "as a companion and a man qualified for conversation,"--his fortune exposing him to an obsequiousness towards the worst sort of company, but his excellent qualities rendering him capable of making the best figure in the most refined, and then having told of his maintaining "his good humour with a countenance or a language so delightful, without offence to any person or thing upon earth, still preserving the distance his circumstances obliged him to,"--steele concludes with, "i say, i have seen him do all this in such a charming manner, that i am sure none of those i hint at will read this, without giving him some sorrow for their abundant mirth, and one gush of tears for so many bursts of laughter. i wish it were any honour to the pleasant creature's memory, that my eyes are too much suffused to let me go on----" we agree with leigh hunt that steele's "overfineness of nature was never more beautifully evinced in any part of his writings than in this testimony to the merits of poor dick estcourt." ned ward, in his _secret history of clubs_, first edition, , describes the beef-steaks, which he coarsely contrasts with "the refined wits of the kit-cat." this new society griliado'd beef eaters first settled their meeting at the sign of the imperial phiz, just opposite to a famous conventicle in the old jury, a publick-house that has been long eminent for the true british quintessence of malt and hops, and a broiled sliver off the juicy rump of a fat, well-fed bullock.... this noted boozing ken, above all others in the city, was chosen out by the rump-steak admirers, as the fittest mansion to entertain the society, and to gratify their appetites with that particular dainty they desired to be distinguished by. [the club met at the place appointed, and chose for a prolocutor, an irish comedian.] no sooner had they confirmed their hibernian mimic in his honourable post, but to distinguish him from the rest, they made him a knight of st. lawrence, and hung a silver (?) gridiron about his neck, as a badge of the dignity they had conferred upon him, that when he sung _pretty parrot_, he might thrum upon the bars of his new instrument, and mimic a haughty spaniard serenading his donna with guitar and madrigal. the zany, as proud of his new fangle as a german mountebank of a prince's medal, when he was thus dignified and distinguished with his culinary symbol hanging before his breast, took the highest post of honour, as his place at the board, where, as soon as seated, there was not a bar in the silver kitchen-stuff that the society had presented him with, but was presently handled with a theatrical pun, or an irish witticism.... orders were dispatched to the superintendent of the kitchen to provide several nice specimens of their beef-steak cookery, some with the flavour of a shalot or onion; some broil'd, some fry'd, some stew'd, some toasted, and others roasted, that every judicious member of the new erected club might appeal to his palate, and from thence determine whether the house they had chosen for their rendezvous truly deserved that public fame for their inimitable management of a bovinary sliver, which the world had given them.... when they had moderately supplied their beef stomachs, they were all highly satisfy'd with the choice they had made, and from that time resolved to repeat their meeting once a week in the same place." at the next meeting the constitution and bye-laws of the new little commonwealth were settled; and for the further encouragement of wit and pleasantry throughout the whole society, there was provided a very voluminous paper book, "about as thick as a bale of dutch linen, into which were to be entered every witty saying that should be spoke in the society:" this nearly proved a failure; but ward gives a taste of the performances by reciting some that had been stolen out of their journal by a false brother; here is one:-- on an ox. "most noble creature of the horned race, who labours at the plough to earn thy grass, and yielding to the yoke, shows man the way to bear his servile chains, and to obey more haughty tyrants, who usurp the sway. thy sturdy sinews till the farmer's grounds, to thee the grazier owes his hoarded pounds: 'tis by thy labour, we abound in malt, whose powerful juice the meaner slaves exalt; and when grown fat, and fit to be devour'd, the pole-ax frees thee from the teazing goard: thus cruel man, to recompense thy pains, first works thee hard, and then beats out thy brains." ward is very hard upon the kit-cat community, and tells us that the beef-steaks, "like true britons, to show their resentment in contempt of kit-cat pies, very justly gave the preference to a rump-steak, most wisely agreeing that the venerable word, beef, gave a more masculine grace, and sounded better in the title of a true english club, than either pies or kit-cat; and that a gridiron, which has the honour to be made the badge of a saint's martyrdom, was a nobler symbol of their christian integrity, than two or three stars or garters; who learnedly recollecting how great an affinity the word bull has to beef, they thought it very consistent with the constitution of their society, instead of a welsh to have a hibernian secretary. being thus fixed to the great honour of a little alehouse, next door to the church, and opposite to the meeting, they continued to meet for some time; till their fame spreading over all the town, and reaching the ears of the great boys and little boys, as they came in the evening from merchant taylors' school, they could not forbear hollowing as they passed the door; and being acquainted with their nights of meeting, they seldom failed, when the divan was sitting, of complimenting their ears with 'huzza! beef-steak!'--that they might know from thence, how much they were reverenced for men of learning by the very school-boys." "but the modest club," says ward, "not affecting popularity, and choosing rather to be deaf to all public flatteries, thought it an act of prudence to adjourn from thence into a place of obscurity, where they might feast knuckle-deep in luscious gravy, and enjoy themselves free from the noisy addresses of the young scholastic rabble; so that now, whether they have healed the breach, and are again returned into the kit-cat community, from whence it is believed, upon some disgust, they at first separated, or whether, like the calves' head club they remove from place to place, to prevent discovery, i sha'n't presume to determine; but at the present, like oates's army of pilgrims, in the time of the plot, though they are much talk'd of they are difficult to be found." the "secret history" concludes with an address to the club, from which these are specimen lines: "such strenuous lines, so cheering, soft, and sweet, that daily flow from your conjunctive wit, proclaim the power of beef, that noble meat. your tuneful songs such deep impression make, and of such awful, beauteous strength partake, each stanza seems an ox, each line a steak. as if the rump in slices, broil'd or stew'd in its own gravy, till divinely good, turned all to powerful wit, as soon as chew'd. * * * * * to grind thy gravy out their jaws employ, o'er heaps of reeking steaks express their joy, and sing of beef as homer did of troy." we shall now more closely examine the origin and history of the sublime society of the steaks, which has its pedigree, its ancestry, and its title-deeds. the gridiron of is the real gridiron on which its first steak was broiled. henry rich (lun, the first harlequin) was the founder, to whom garrick thus alludes in a prologue to the irish experiment of a speaking pantomime: "when lun appeared, with matchless art and whim, he gave the power of speech to every limb. though masked and mute conveyed his true intent, and told in frolic gestures what he meant; but now the motley coat and sword of wood, require a tongue to make them understood." there is a letter extant, written by nixon, the treasurer, probably to some artist, granting permission by the beef-steak society "to copy the original gridiron, and i have wrote on the other side of this sheet a note to mr. white, at the bedford, to introduce you to our room for the purpose making your drawing. the first spare moment i can take from my business shall be employed in making a short statement of the rise and establishment of the beef-steak society." rich, in , left the lincoln's inn fields theatre for covent garden, the success of the _beggars' opera_ having "made gay rich and rich gay." he was accustomed to arrange the comic business and construct the models of tricks for his pantomimes in his private room at covent garden. here resorted men of rank and wit, for rich's colloquial oddities were much relished. thither came mordaunt, earl of peterborough, the friend of pope, and thus commemorated by swift: "mordanto fills the trump of fame; the christian world his death proclaim; and prints are crowded with his name. in journeys he outrides the post; sits up till midnight with his host; talks politics, and gives the toast, a skeleton in outward figure; his meagre corpse, though full of vigour, would halt behind him, were it bigger, so wonderful his expedition; when you have not the least suspicion, he's with you, like an apparition: shines in all climates like a star; in senates bold, and fierce in war; a land-commandant, and a tar." he was then advanced in years, and one afternoon stayed, talking with rich about his tricks and transformations, and listening to his agreeable talk, until rich's dinner-hour, two o'clock, had arrived. in all these colloquies with his visitors, whatever their rank, rich never neglected his art. upon one occasion, accident having detained the earl's coach later than usual, he found rich's chat so agreeable, that he was quite unconscious it was two o'clock in the afternoon; when he observed rich spreading a cloth, then coaxing his fire into a clear cooking flame, and proceeding, with great gravity, to cook his own beef-steak on his own gridiron. the steak sent up a most inviting incense, and my lord could not resist rich's invitation to partake of it. a further supply was sent for; and a bottle or two of good wine from a neighbouring tavern prolonged their enjoyment to a late hour. but so delighted was the old peer with the entertainment, that, on going away, he proposed renewing it at the same place and hour, on the saturday following. he was punctual to his engagement, and brought with him three or four friends, "men of wit and pleasure about town," as m. bouges would call them; and so truly festive was the meeting that it was proposed a saturday's club should be held there, whilst the town remained full. a sumptuary law, even at this early period of the society, restricted the bill of fare to beef-steaks, and the beverage to port-wine and punch. however, the origin of the society is related _with a difference_. edwards, in his _anecdotes of painting_, relates that lambert, many years principal scene-painter at covent garden theatre, received, in his painting-room, persons of rank and talent; where, as he could not leave for dinner, he frequently was content with a steak, which he himself broiled upon the fire in his room. sometimes the visitors partook of the hasty meal, and out of this practice grew the beef-steak society, and the assembling in the painting-room. the members were afterwards accommodated with a room in the playhouse; and when the theatre was rebuilt, the place of meeting was changed to the shakespeare tavern, where was the portrait of lambert, painted by hudson, sir joshua reynolds's master. in the _connoisseur_, june th, , we read of the society, "composed of the most ingenious artists in the kingdom," meeting "every saturday in a noble room at the top of covent garden theatre," and never suffering "any diet except beef-steaks to appear. these, indeed, are most glorious examples: but what, alas! are the weak endeavours of a few to oppose the daily inroads of fricassees and soup-maigres?" however, the apartments in the theatre appropriated to the society varied. thus, we read of a painting-room even with the stage over the kitchen, which was under part of the stage nearest bow-street. at one period, the society dined in a small room over the passage of the theatre. the steaks were dressed in the same room, and when they found it too hot, a curtain was drawn between the company and the fire. we shall now glance at the celebrities who came to the painting-room in the lincoln's inn fields theatre, and the later locations of the club, in covent garden. to the former came hogarth and his father-in-law, sir james thornhill, stimulated by their love of the painter's art, and the equally potent charm of conviviality. churchill was introduced to the steaks by his friend wilkes; but his irregularities were too much for the society, which was by no means particular; his desertion of his wife brought a hornets' swarm about him, so that he soon resigned, to avoid the disgrace of expulsion. churchill attributed this flinging of the first stone to lord sandwich; he never forgave the peccant peer, but put him into the pillory of his fierce satire, which has outlived most of his other writings, and here it is: "from his youth upwards to the present day, when vices more than years have made him grey; when riotous excess with wasteful hand shakes life's frail glass, and hastes each ebbing sand; unmindful from what stock he drew his birth, untainted with one deed of real worth-- lothario, holding honour at no price, folly to folly, added vice to vice, wrought sin with greediness, and courted shame with greater zeal than good men seek for fame." churchill, in a letter to wilkes, says, "your friends at the beef-steak inquired after you last saturday with the greatest zeal, and it gave me no small pleasure that i was the person of whom the inquiry was made." charles price was allowed to be one of the most witty of the society, and it is related that he and churchill kept the table in a roar. formerly, the members wore a blue coat, with red cape and cuffs; buttons with the initials b. s.; and behind the president's chair was placed the society's halbert, which, with the gridiron, was found among the rubbish after the covent garden fire. mr. justice welsh was frequently chairman at the beef-steak dinner. mrs. nollekens, his daughter, acknowledges that she often dressed a hat for the purpose, with ribbons similar to those worn by the yeomen of the guard. the justice was a loyal man, but discontinued his membership when wilkes joined the society; though the latter was _the_ man at the steaks. to the steaks wilkes sent a copy of his infamous _essay on women_, first printed for private circulation; for which lord sandwich--jemmy twitcher--himself, as we have seen, a member of the society--moved in the house of the lords that wilkes should be taken into custody; a piece of treason as the act of one brother of the steaks against another, fouler than even the trick of "dirty kidgell," the parson, who, as a friend of the author, got a copy of the essay from the printer, and then felt it his duty to denounce the publication; he had been encouraged to inform against wilkes's essay by the earl of march, afterwards duke of queensberry. however, jemmy twitcher himself was expelled by the steaks the same year he assailed wilkes for the essay; the grossness and blasphemy of the poem disgusted the society; and wilkes never dined there after ; yet, when he went to france, they hypocritically made him an honorary member. garrick was an honoured member of the steaks; though he did not affect clubs. the society possess a hat and sword which david wore, probably on the night when he stayed so long with the steaks, and had to play ranger, at drury-lane. the pit grew restless, the gallery bawled "manager, manager!" garrick had been sent for to covent garden, where the steaks then dined. carriages blocked up russell-street, and he had to thread his way between them; as he came panting into the theatre, "i think, david," said ford, one of the anxious patentees, "considering the stake you and i have in this house, you might pay more attention to the business."--"true, my good friend," returned garrick, "but i was thinking of my steak in the other house." many a reconciliation of parted friends has taken place at this club. peake, in his _memoirs of the colman family_, thus refers to a reconciliation between garrick and colman the elder, through the sublime society:-- "whether mr. clutterbuck or other friends interfered to reconcile the two dramatists, or whether the considerations of mutual interest may not in a great measure have aided in healing the breach between colman and garrick, is not precisely to be determined; but it would appear, from the subjoined short note from garrick, that colman must have made some overture to him. "'my dear colman,--becket has been with me, and tells me of your friendly intentions towards me. i should have been beforehand with you, had i not been ill with the beefsteaks and arrack punch last saturday, and was obliged to leave the play-house. "'he that parts us shall bring a brand from heav'n, and fire us hence.' "'ever yours, old and new friend, "'d. garrick.'" the beef-steaks, arrack punch, and saturday, all savour very strongly of a visit to the sublime society held at that period in covent garden theatre, where many a clever fellow has had his diaphragm disordered, before that time and since. whoever has had the pleasure to join their convivial board; to witness the never-failing good-humour which predominates there; to listen to the merry songs, and to the sparkling repartee; and to experience the hearty welcome and marked attention paid to visitors, could never have cause to lament, as garrick has done, a trifling illness the following day. there must have been originally a wise and simple code of laws, which could have held together a convivial meeting for so lengthened a period. garrick had no slight tincture of vanity, and was fond of accusing himself, in the chesterfield phrase, of the cardinal virtues. having remarked at the steaks that he had so large a mass of manuscript plays submitted to him, that they were constantly liable to be mislaid, he observed that, unpleasant as it was to reject an author's piece, it was an affront to his feelings if it could not be instantly found; and that for this reason he made a point of ticketing and labelling the play that was to be returned, that it might be forthcoming at a moment. "a fig for your hypocrisy," exclaimed murphy across the table; "you know, davy, you mislaid my tragedy two months ago, and i make no doubt you have lost it."--"yes," replied garrick; "but you forgot, you ungrateful dog, that i offered you more than its value, for you might have had two manuscript farces in its stead." this is the right paternity of an anecdote often told of other parties. jack richards, a well-known presbyter of the society, unless when the "fell serjeant," the gout, had arrested him, never absented himself from its board. he was recorder, and there is nothing in comedy equal to his passing sentence on those who had offended against the rules and observances of the society. having put on garrick's hat, he proceeded to inflict a long, wordy harangue upon the culprit, who often endeavoured most unavailingly to stop him. nor was it possible to see when he meant to stop. but the imperturbable gravity with which jack performed his office, and the fruitless writhings of the luckless being on whom the shower of his rhetoric was discharged, constituted the amusement of the scene. there was no subject upon which jack's exuberance of talk failed him; yet, in that stream of talk there was never mingled one drop of malignity, nor of unkind censure upon the erring or unhappy. he would as soon adulterate his glass of port-wine with water, as dash that honest though incessant prattle with one malevolent or ungenerous remark. william linley, the brother of mrs. sheridan, charmed the society with his pure, simple english song: in a melody of arne's, or of jackson's of exeter, or a simple air of his father's, he excelled to admiration,--faithful to the characteristic chastity of the style of singing peculiar to the linley family. linley had not what is called a fine voice, and port-wine and late nights did not improve his organ; but you forgot the deficiencies of his power, in the spirit and taste of his manner. he wrote a novel in three volumes, which was so schooled by the steaks that he wrote no more: when the agony of wounded authorship was over, he used to exclaim to his tormentors:-- "this is no flattery; these are the counsellors that feelingly persuade me what i am." his merciless zoilus brought a volume of the work in his pocket, and read a passage of it aloud. yet, linley never betrayed the irritable sulkiness of a roasted author, but took the pleasantries that played around him with imperturbable good-humour: he laughed heartily at his own platitudes, and thus the very martyr of the joke became its auxiliary. linley is said to have furnished moore, for his _life of sheridan_, with the common-place books in which his brother-in-law was wont to deposit his dramatic sketches, and to bottle up the jokes he had collected for future use; but many pleasantries of sheridan were deeply engraved on his recollection because they had been practised upon himself, or upon his brother hozy (as sheridan called him), who was an unfailing butt, when he was disposed to amuse himself with a practical jest. another excellent brother was dick wilson, whose volcanic complexion had for many years been assuming deeper and deeper tints of carnation over the port-wine of the society. dick was a wealthy solicitor, and many years lord eldon's "port-wine-loving secretary." his fortunes were very singular. he was first steward and solicitor, and afterwards residuary legatee, of lord chedworth. he is said to have owed the favour of this eccentric nobleman to the legal acumen he displayed at a richmond water-party. a pleasant lawn, under a spreading beech-tree in one of mr. cambridge's meadows, was selected for the dinner; but on pulling to the shore, behold a board in the tree proclaiming, "all persons landing and dining here will be prosecuted according to law." dick wilson contended that the prohibition clearly applied only to the joint act of "landing and dining" at the particular spot. if the party landed a few yards lower down, and then dined under the tree, only one member of the condition would be broken; which would be no legal infringement, as the prohibition--being of two acts, linked by a copulative--was not severable. this astute argument carried the day. the party dined under mr. cambridge's beech-tree, and, it is presumed, were not "prosecuted according to law." at all events, lord chedworth, who was one of the diners, was so charmed with dick's ready application of his law to practice, that he committed to him the management of his large and accumulating property. dick stood the fire of the steaks with good humour; but he was sometimes unmercifully roasted. he had just returned from paris, when arnold, with great dexterity, drew him into some parisian details, with great glee; for dick was entirely innocent of the french language. thus, in enumerating the dishes at a french table, he thought the _boulevards_ delicious; when cobbe called out, "dick, it was well they did not serve you at the palais royal for sauce to your _boulevards_." the _riz de veau_ he called a _rendezvous_; and he could not bear partridges served up _in shoes_; and once, intending to ask for a pheasant, he desired the waiter to bring him a _paysanne_! yet, dick was shrewd: calling one day upon cobbe at the india house, dick was left to himself for a few minutes, when he was found by cobbe, on his return, exploring a map of asia suspended on the wall: he was measuring the scale of it with compasses, and then applying them to a large tiger, which the artist had introduced as one of the animals of the country. "by heavens, cobbe," exclaimed dick, "i should never have believed it! surely, it must be a mistake. observe now--here," pointing to the tiger, "here is a tiger that measures two-and-twenty leagues. by heavens, it is scarcely credible." another of the noteworthy steaks was "old walsh," commonly called "the gentle shepherd:" he began life as a servant of the celebrated lord chesterfield, and accompanied his natural son, philip stanhope, on the grand tour, as valet: after this he was made a queen's messenger, and subsequently a commissioner of customs; he was a good-natured butt for the society's jokes. rowland stephenson, the banker, was another beef-steaker, then respected for his clear head and warm heart, years before he became branded as a forger. at the same table was a capitalist of very high character--william joseph denison, who sat many years in parliament for surrey, and died a _millionnaire_: he was a man of cultivated tastes, and long enjoyed the circle of the steaks. we have seen how the corner-stone of the sublime society was laid. the gridiron upon which rich had broiled his solitary steak, being insufficient in a short time for the supernumerary guests, the gridiron was enshrined as one of the tutelary and household emblems of the club. fortunately, it escaped the fire which consumed covent garden theatre in , when the valuable stock of wine of the club shared the fate of the building; but _the gridiron was saved_. "in that fire, alas!" says the author of _the clubs of london_, "perished the original archives of the society. the lovers of wit and pleasantry have much to deplore in that loss, inasmuch as not only the names of many of the early members are irretrievably gone, but what is more to be regretted, some of their happiest effusions; for it was then customary to register in the weekly records anything of striking excellence that had been hit off in the course of the evening. this, however, is certain, that the beaf-steaks, from its foundation to the present hour, has been-- "'native to famous wits or hospitable.' that, as guests or members, persons distinguished for rank, and social and convivial powers, have, through successive generations, been seated at its festive board--bubb dodington, aaron hill; hoadley, author of _the suspicious husband_, and leonidas glover, are only a few names snatched from its early list. sir peere williams, a gentleman of high birth and fashion, who had already shone in parliament, was of the club. then came the days of lord sandwich, wilkes, bonnell thornton, arthur murphy, churchill, and tickell. this is generally quoted as the golden period of the society." then there were the colmans and garrick; and john beard, the singer, was president of the club in . the number of the steaks was increased from twenty-four to twenty-five, in , to admit the prince of wales, an event of sufficient moment to find record in the _annual register_ of the year: "on saturday, the th of may, the prince of wales was admitted a member of the beaf-steak club. his royal highness having signified his wish of belonging to that society, and there not being a vacancy, it was proposed to make him an honorary member; but that being declined by his royal highness, it was agreed to increase the number from twenty-four to twenty-five, in consequence of which his royal highness was unanimously elected. the beaf-steak club has been instituted just fifty years, and consists of some of the most classical and sprightly wits in the kingdom." it is curious to find the society here termed a club, contrary to its desire, for it stickled much for the distinction. arthur murphy, the dramatist, john kemble, the dukes of clarence and of sussex, were also of the steaks: these princes were both attached to the theatre; the latter to one of its brightest ornaments, dorothy jordan. charles, duke of norfolk, was another celebrity of the steaks, and frequently met here the prince of wales. the duke was a great gourmand, and, it is said, used to eat his dish of fish at a neighbouring tavern--the piazza, or the grand--and then join the steaks. his _fidus achates_ was charles morris, the laureate-lyrist of the steaks. their attachment was unswerving, notwithstanding it has been impeached. the poet kept better hours than his ducal friend: one evening, morris having left the dinner-table early, a friend gave some significant hints as to the improvement of morris's fortunes: the duke grew generous over his wine, and promised; the performance came, and morris lived to the age of ninety-three, to enjoy the realization. the duke took the chair when the cloth was removed. it was a place of dignity, elevated some steps above the table, and decorated with the insignia of the society, amongst which was suspended garrick's _ranger_ hat. as the clock struck five, a curtain drew up, discovering the kitchen, in which the cooks were seen at work, through a sort of grating, with this inscription from macbeth:-- "if it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly." the steaks themselves were in the finest order, and in devouring them no one surpassed his grace of norfolk: two or three steaks, fragrant from the gridiron, vanished, and when his labours were thought to be over, he might be seen rubbing a clean plate with a shalot for the reception of another. a pause of ten minutes ensued, and his grace rested upon his knife and fork: he was tarrying for a steak from the middle of the rump of beef, where lurks a fifth essence, the perfect ideal of tenderness and flavour. the duke was an enormous eater. he would often eat between three and four pounds of beaf-steak; and after that take a spanish onion and beet-root, chop them together with oil and vinegar, and eat them. after dinner, the duke was ceremoniously ushered to the chair, and invested with an orange-coloured ribbon, to which a small silver gridiron[ ] was appended. in the chair he comported himself with urbanity and good humour. usually, the president was the target, at which all the jests and witticisms were fired, but moderately; for though a characteristic equality reigned at the steaks, the influences of rank and station were felt there, and courtesy stole insensibly upon those who at other times were merciless assailants on the chair. the duke's conversation abounded with anecdote, terseness of phrase, and evidence of extensive reading, which were rarely impaired by the sturdy port-wine of the society. charles morris, the bard of the club, sang one or two of his own songs, the quintessence of convivial mirth and fancy; at nine o'clock the duke quitted the chair, and was succeeded by sir john hippisley, who had a terrible time of it: a storm of "arrowy sleet and iron shower" whistled from all points in his ears: all rules of civilized warfare seemed suspended, and even the new members tried their first timid essays upon the baronet, than whom no man was more prompt to attack others. he quitted the society in consequence of an odd adventure which really happened to him, and which, being related with malicious fidelity by one of the steaks, raised such a shout of laughter at the baronet's expense that he could no longer bear it. here is the story. sir john was an intelligent man; windham used to say of him that he was very near being a clever man. he was a sort of busy idler; and his ruling passion was that of visiting remarkable criminals in prison, and obtaining their histories from their own lips. a murder had been committed, by one patch, upon a mr. bligh, at deptford; the evidence was circumstantial, but the inference of his guilt was almost irresistible; still many well-disposed persons doubted the man's guilt, and amongst them was sir john, who thought the anxiety could only be relieved by patch's confession. for this end, sir john importuned the poor wretch incessantly, but in vain. patch persisted in asserting his innocence, till, wearied with hippisley's applications, he assured the baronet that he would reveal to him, on the scaffold, all that he knew of mr. bligh's death. flattered with being made the depository of this mysterious communication, sir john mounted the scaffold with patch, and was seen for some minutes in close conference with him. it happened that a simple old woman from the country was in the crowd at the execution. her eyes, intent upon the awful scene, were fixed, by an accidental misdirection, upon sir john, whom she mistook for the person who was about to be executed; and not waiting till the criminal was actually turned off, she went away with the wrong impression; the peculiar face, and above all, the peculiar nose (a most miraculous organ), of hippisley, being indelibly impressed upon her memory. not many days after, the old lady met sir john in cheapside; the certainty that he was patch, seized her so forcibly that she screamed out to the passing crowd, "it's patch, it's patch; i saw him hanged; heaven deliver me!"--and then fainted. when this incident was first related at the steaks, a mock inquest was set on foot, to decide whether sir john was patch or not, and unanimously decided in the affirmative. cobb, secretary of the east india company, was another choice spirit at the steaks: once, when he filled the vice-chair, he so worried the poor president, an alderman, that he exclaimed, "would to heaven, i had another vice-president, so that i had a _gentleman_ opposite to me!"--"why should you wish any such thing?" rejoined cobb; "you cannot be more opposite to a gentleman than you are at present." after the fire at covent garden, the sublime society were re-established at the bedford, where they met until mr. arnold had fitted up apartments for their reception in the english opera house. the steaks continued to meet here until the destruction of the theatre by fire, in ; after which they returned to the bedford; and, upon the re-building of the lyceum theatre, a dining-room was again provided for them. "the room they dine in," says mr. cunningham, "a little escurial in itself, is most appropriately fitted up--the doors, wainscoting, and roof, of good old english oak, ornamented with gridirons as thick as henry the seventh's chapel with the portcullis of the founder. everything assumes the shape, or is distinguished by the representation, of their emblematic implement, the gridiron. the cook is seen at his office through the bars of a spacious gridiron, and the original gridiron of the society, (the survivor of two terrific fires) holds a conspicuous position in the centre of the ceiling. every member has the power of inviting a friend." the portraits of several worthies of the sublime society were painted: one brother "hangs in chain," as arnold remarked in alluding to the civic chain in which he is represented; it was in allusion to the toga in which he is painted, that brougham, being asked whether he thought it a likeness, remarked that it could not fail of being like him, "there was so much of the _fur_ (thief) about it." the author of the _clubs of london_, who was a member of the sublime society, describes a right in favouring them, "a brotherhood, a sentiment of equality. how you would laugh to see the junior member emerging from the cellar, with half-a-dozen bottles in a basket! i have seen brougham employed in this honourable diplomacy, and executing it with the correctness of a butler. the duke of leinster, in his turn, took the same duty. "with regard to brougham, at first sight you would not set him down as having a natural and prompt alacrity for the style of humour that prevails amongst us. but brougham is an excellent member, and is a remarkable instance of the peculiar influences of this peculiar society on the human character. we took him just as the schools of philosophy, the bar, the senate, had made him. literary, forensic, and parliamentary habits are most intractable materials, you will say, to make a member of the steaks, yet no man has imbibed more of its spirit, and he enters its occasional gladiatorship with the greatest glee." admirable were the offhand puns and passes, which, though of a legal character, were played off by bolland, another member of the society. brougham was putting hypothetically the case of a man convicted of felony, and duly hanged according to law; but restored to life by medical appliances; and asked what would be the man's defence if again brought to trial. "why," returned bolland, "it would be for him to plead _a cord_ and satisfaction." ["accord and satisfaction" is a common plea in legal practice.] the same evening were talked over dean swift's ingenious but grotesque puns upon the names of antiquity, such as ajax, archimedes, and others equally well known. bolland remarked that when swift was looking out for those humorous quibbles, it was singular that it should never have occurred to him that among the shades that accost Æneas in the sixth book of the Æneid, there was a scotchman of the name of hugh forbes. those who had read virgil began to stare. "it is quite plain," said bolland: "the ghost exclaims, 'olim euphorbus eram.'" the following are the first twenty-four names of the club, copied from their book:--[ ] george lambert. john boson. william hogarth. henry smart. john rich. john huggins. lacy ryan. hugh watson. ebenezer forrest. william huggins. robert scott. edmund tuffnell. thomas chapman. thomas salway. dennis delane. charles neale. john thornhill. charles latrobe. francis niveton. alexander gordon. sir william saunderson. william tathall. richard mitchell. gabriel hunt. the following were subsequent members:-- francis hayman. mr. beard. theo. cibber. mr. wilkes. mr. saunders welsh. thomas hudson. john churchill. mr. williamson. lord sandwich. prince of wales. mr. havard. chas. price. in the members were-- sir j. boyd. estcourt. j. travanion, jun. earl of suffolk. crossdill. j. kemble, expelled for his mode of conduct. prince of wales. charles howard, duke of norfolk. mingay. johnson. scudamore. haworth. november th, :-- stephenson. cobb. richards. sir j. scott, bart. foley. arnold. braddyll. nettleshipp. middleton. denison. johnson. scudamore. nixon. t. scott. wilson. ellis. walsh. linley. duke of norfolk. mayo. duke of sussex. morrice. bolland. lord grantley. peter moore. dunn, treasurer of drury lane theatre. when the club dined at the shakspeare, in the room with the lion's head over the mantelpiece, these popular actors were members:-- lewis. irish johnson. munden. fawcett. pope. holman. simmonds. formerly, the table-cloths had gridirons in damask on them; their drinking-glasses bore gridirons; as did the plates also. among the presents made to the society are a punch-ladle, from barrington bradshaw; sir john boyd, six spoons; mustard pot, by john trevanion, m.p.; two dozen water-plates and eight dishes, given by the duke of sussex; cruet-stand, given by w. bolland; vinegar-glasses, by thomas scott. lord suffolk gave a silver cheese-toaster; toasted or stewed cheese being the wind-up of the dinner. footnotes: [ ] at the sale of the curiosities belonging to mr. harley, the comedian, at gower-street, in november, , a silver gridiron, worn by a member of the steaks, was sold for _l._ _s._ [ ] this and the subsequent lists have been printed by mr. john green. captain morris, the bard of the beef-steak society. hitherto we have mentioned but incidentally charles morris, the nestor and the laureate of the steaks; but he merits fuller record. "alas! poor yorick! we knew him well;" we remember his "political vest," to which he addressed a sweet lyric--"the old whig poet to his old buff waistcoat."[ ] nor can we forget his courteous manner and his gentlemanly pleasantry, and his unflagging cheerfulness, long after he had retired to enjoy the delights of rural life, despite the early prayer of his racy verse:-- "in town let me live then, in town let me die; for in truth i can't relish the country, not i. if one must have a villa in summer to dwell, oh! give me the sweet shady side of pall mall." this "sweet shady side" has almost disappeared; and of the palace whereat he was wont to shine, not a trace remains, save the name. charles morris was born of good family, in , and appears to have inherited a taste for lyric composition; for his father composed the popular song of _kitty crowder_. for half a century, morris moved in the first circles of rank and gaiety: he was the "sun of the table," at carlton house, as well as at norfolk house; and attaching himself politically as well as convivially to his table companions, he composed the celebrated ballads of "billy's too young to drive us," and "billy pitt and the farmer," which were clever satires upon the ascendant politics of their day. his humorous ridicule of the tories was, however, but ill repaid by the whigs; at least, if we may trust the ode to the buff waistcoat, written in . his 'songs political and convivial,' many of which were sung at the steaks' board, became very popular. in , we possessed a copy of the th edition, with a portrait of the author, half-masked; one of the ditties was described to have been "sung by the prince of wales to a certain lady," to the air of "there's a difference between a beggar and a queen;" some of the early songs were condemned for their pruriency, and were omitted in subsequent editions. his best anacreontic is the song _ad poculum_, for which morris received the gold cup from the harmonic society: "come, thou soul-reviving cup; try thy healing art; stir the fancy's visions up, and warm my wasted heart. touch with freshening tints of bliss memory's fading dream. give me, while thy lip i kiss, the heaven that's in thy stream. as the witching fires of wine pierce through time's past reign, gleams of joy that once were mine, glimpse back on life again. and if boding terrors rise o'er my melting mind, hope still starts to clear my eyes, and drinks the tear behind. then life's wintry shades new drest, fair as summer seem; flowers i gather from my breast, and sunshine from the stream. as the cheering goblets pass, memory culls her store; scatters sweets around my glass, and prompts my thirst for more. far from toils the great and grave to proud ambition give, my little world kind nature gave, and simply bade me live. on me she fix'd an humble art, to deck the muse's groves, and on the nerve that twines my heart the touch of deathless love. then, rosy god, this night let me thy cheering magic share; again let hope-fed fancy see life's picture bright and fair. oh! steal from care my heart away, to sip thy healing spring; and let me taste that bliss to-day to-morrow may not bring." the friendship of the duke of norfolk and charles morris extended far beyond the steaks meetings; and the author of the _clubs of london_ tells us by what means the duke's regard took a more permanent form. it appears that john kemble had sat very late at one of the night potations at norfolk house. charles morris had just retired, and a very small party remained in the dining-room, when his grace of norfolk began to deplore, somewhat pathetically, the smallness of the stipend upon which poor charles was obliged to support his family; observing, that it was a discredit to the age, that a man, who had so long gladdened the lives of so many titled and opulent associates, should be left to struggle with the difficulties of an inadequate income at a time of life when he had no reasonable hope of augmenting it. kemble listened with great attention to the duke's _jeremiade_; but after a slight pause, his feelings getting the better of his deference, he broke out thus, in a tone of peculiar emphasis:--"and does your grace sincerely lament the destitute condition of your friend, with whom you have passed so many agreeable hours? your grace has described that condition most feelingly. but is it possible, that the greatest peer of the realm, luxuriating amidst the prodigalities of fortune, should lament the distress which he does not relieve? the empty phrase of benevolence--the mere breath and vapour of generous sentiment, become no man; they certainly are unworthy of your grace. providence, my lord duke, has placed you in a station where the wish to do good and the doing it are the same thing. an annuity from your overflowing coffers, or a small nook of land, clipped from your unbounded domains, would scarcely be felt by your grace; but you would be repaid, my lord, with usury;--with tears of grateful joy; with prayers warm from a bosom which your bounty will have rendered happy." such was the substance of kemble's harangue. jack bannister used to relate the incident, by ingeniously putting the speech into blank verse, or rather the species of prose into which kemble's phraseology naturally fell when he was highly animated. but, however expressed, it produced its effect. for though the duke (the night was pretty far gone, and several bottles had been emptied) said nothing at the time, but stared with some astonishment at so unexpected a lecture; not a month elapsed before charles morris was invested with a beautiful retreat at brockham, in surrey, upon the bank of the river mole, and at the foot of the noble range of which box hill forms the most picturesque point. the duke went to his rest in . morris continued to be the laureate of the steaks until the year , when he thus bade adieu to the society in his eighty-sixth year:-- "adieu to the world! where i gratefully own, few men more delight or more comfort have known: to an age far beyond mortal lot have i trod the path of pure health, that best blessing of god; and so mildly devout nature temper'd my frame, holy patience still sooth'd when adversity came; thus with mind ever cheerful, and tongue never tired, i sung the gay strains these sweet blessings inspired; and by blending light mirth with a moral-mix'd stave, won the smile of the gay and the nod of the grave. but at length the dull languor of mortal decay throws a weight on its spirit too light for its clay; and the fancy, subdued, as the body's opprest, resigns the faint flights that scarce wake in the breast. a painful memento that man's not to play a game of light folly through life's sober day; a just admonition, though view'd with regret, still blessedly offer'd, though thanklessly met. too long, i perhaps, like the many who stray, have upheld the gay themes of the bacchanal's day; but at length time has brought, what it ever will bring, a shade that excites more to sigh than to sing. in this close of life's chapter, ye high-favour'd few, take my muse's last tribute--this painful adieu! take my wish, that your bright social circle on earth for ever may flourish in concord and mirth; for the long years of joy i have shared at your board, take the thanks of my heart--where they long have been stored; and remember, when time tolls my last passing knell, the 'old bard' dropp'd a tear, and then bade ye--farewell!" in , however, morris revisited the society, who then presented him with a large silver bowl, appropriately inscribed, as a testimonial of their affectionate esteem; and the venerable bard thus addressed the brotherhood:-- "well, i'm come, my dear friends, your kind wish to obey, and drive, by light mirth, all life's shadows away; and turn the heart's sighs to the throbbings of joy, and a grave aged man to a merry old boy. 'tis a bold transformation, a daring design, and not past the power of friendship and wine; and i trust that e'en yet this warm mixture will raise a brisk spark of light o'er the shade of my days." shortly after this effusion, he thus alluded to the treasured gift of the society:-- "when my spirits are low, for relief and delight, i still place your splendid memorial in sight; and call to my muse, when care strives to pursue, 'bring the steaks to my memory and the bowl to my view.' when brought, at its sight all the _blue devils_ fly, and a world of gay visions rise bright to my eye; cold fear shuns the cup where warm memory flows; and grief, shamed by joy, hides his budget of woes. 'tis a pure holy fount, where for ever i find a sure double charm for the body and mind; for i feel while i'm cheer'd by the drop that i lift, i'm blest by the motive that hallows the gift." how nicely tempered is this chorus to our bard's "life's a fable:"-- "then roll along, my lyric song; it seasons well the table, and tells a truth to age and youth, that life's a fleeting fable. * * * * * thus mirth and woe the brighter show from rosy wine's reflection; from first to last, this truth hath past-- 'twas made for care's correction. now what those think who water drink, of these old rules of horace, i sha'n't now show; but this i know, his rules do well for _morris_. old horace, when he dipp'd his pen, 'twas wine he had resort to; he chose for use falernian juice, as i choose old oporto; at every bout an ode came out, yet bacchus kept him twinkling; as well aware more fire was there, which wanted but the sprinkling." * * * * * at brockham, morris "drank the pure pleasures of the rural life" long after many a gay light of his own time had flickered out, and become almost forgotten. at length, his course ebbed away, july , , in his ninety-third year; his illness, which was only of four days, was internal inflammation. the attainment of so great an age, and the recollection of morris's associations, show him to have presented a rare combination of mirth and prudence. he retained his _gaîté de coeur_ to the last; so that with equal truth he remonstrated: "when life charms my heart, must i kindly be told, i'm too gay and too happy for one that's so old?" the venerable bard's remains rest near the east end of his parish church of betchworth, in the burial-ground: the grave is simply marked by a head and foot-stone, with an inscription of three or four lines: he who had sung the praises of so many choice spirits, has not here a stanza to his own memory: such is, to some extent, the natural _sequitur_ with men who outlive their companions. morris was staid and grave in his general deportment. moore, in his _diary_, has this odd note: "linley describes colman at the beefsteak club quite drunk, making extraordinary noise while captain morris was singing, which disconcerted the latter (who, strange to say, is a very grave, steady person) considerably." yet, morris could unbend, with great simplicity and feeling. we have often met him, in his patriarchal "blue and buff" (blue coat and buff waistcoat), in his walks about the lovely country in which he resided. coming, one day, into the bookseller's shop, at dorking, there chanced to be deposited a pianoforte; when the old bard having looked around him, to see there were no strangers present, sat down to the instrument, and played and sang with much spirit the air of "the girl i left behind me:" yet he was then past his eightieth year. morris's ancient and rightful office at the steaks was to _make the punch_, and it was amusing to see him at his laboratory at the sideboard, stocked with the various products that enter into the composition of that nectareous mixture: then smacking an elementary glass or two, and giving a significant nod, the fiat of its excellence; and what could exceed the ecstasy with which he filled the glasses that thronged around the bowl; joying over its mantling beauties, and distributing the fascinating draught "that flames and dances in its crystal bound"? "well has our laureate earned his wreath," (says the author of _the clubs of london_, who was often a participator in these delights). "at that table his best songs have been sung; for that table his best songs were written. his allegiance has been undivided. neither hail, nor shower, nor snowstorm have kept him away: no engagement, no invitation seduced him from it. i have seen him there, 'outwatching the bear,' in his seventy-eighth year; for as yet nature had given no signal of decay in frame or faculty; but you saw him in a green and vigorous old age, tripping mirthfully along the downhill of existence, without languor, or gout, or any of the privileges exacted by time for the mournful privilege of living. his face is still resplendent with cheerfulness. 'die when you will, charles,' said curran to him, 'you will die in your youth.'" footnotes: [ ] see century of anecdote, vol. i. p. . beef-steak clubs. there are other beef-steak clubs to be chronicled. pyne, in his _wine and walnuts_, says: "at the same time the social club flourished in england, and about the year , a beef-steak club was established at the theatre royal, dublin, of which the celebrated mrs. margaret woffington was president. it was begun by mr. sheridan, but on a very different plan to that in london, no theatrical performer, save one _female_, being admitted; and though called a club, the manager alone bore all the expenses. the plan was, by making a list of about fifty or sixty persons, chiefly noblemen and members of parliament, who were invited. usually about half that number attended, and dined in the manager's apartment in the theatre. there was no female admitted but this _peg woffington_, so denominated by all her contemporaries, who was seated in a great chair at the head of the table, and elected president for the season. "'it will readily be believed,' says mr. victor, in his _history of the theatres_, who was joint proprietor of the house, 'that a club where there were good accommodations, such a _lovely president_, full of wit and spirit, and _nothing to pay_, must soon grow remarkably fashionable.' it did so; but we find it subsequently caused the theatre to be pulled to pieces about the manager's head. "mr. victor says of mrs. margaret, 'she possessed captivating charms as a jovial, witty bottle companion, but few remaining as a mere female,' we have dr. johnson's testimony, however, who had often gossiped with mrs. margaret in the green-room at old drury, more in the lady's favour. "this author (victor) says, speaking of the beef-steak club, 'it was a club of ancient institution in every theatre; when the principal performers dined one day in the week together (generally saturday), and authors and other geniuses were admitted members.'" the club in ivy-lane, of which dr. johnson was a member, was originally a beef-steak club. there was also a political club, called "the rump steak, or liberty club," in existence in - . the members were in eager opposition to sir robert walpole. at the bell tavern, church-row, houndsditch, was held the beef-steak club, instituted by mr. beard, mr. dunstall, mr. woodward, stoppalear, bencroft, gifford, etc.--_see memoirs of charles lee lewis_, vol. ii. p. . club at tom's coffee-house. covent-garden has lost many of its houses "studded with anecdote and history;" and the mutations among what mr. thackeray affectionately called its "rich cluster of brown taverns" are sundry and manifest. its coffee-houses proper have almost disappeared, even in name. yet, in the last century, in one short street of covent-garden--russell-street-- flourished three of the most celebrated coffee-houses in the metropolis: will's, button's, and tom's. the reader need not be reminded of will's, with dryden, the _tatler_ and _spectator_, and its wits' room on the first floor; or button's, with its lion's head letter-box, and the young poets in the back room. tom's, no. , on the north side of russell-street, and of somewhat later date, was taken down in . the premises remained with little alteration, long after they ceased to be a coffee-house. it was named after its original proprietor, thomas west, who, nov. , , threw himself, in a delirium, from the second-floor window into the street, and died immediately (_historical register_ for ). the upper portion of the premises was the coffee-house, under which lived t. lewis, the bookseller, the original publisher, in , of pope's _essay on criticism_. the usual frequenters upstairs may be judged of by the following passage in the _journey through england_, first edit., :--"after the play, the best company generally go to tom's and will's coffee-houses, near adjoining, where there is playing at piquet and the best conversation till midnight. here you will see blue and green ribbons, with stars, sitting familiarly and talking with the same freedom as if they had left their quality and degrees of distance at home; and a stranger tastes with pleasure the universal liberty of speech of the english nation. and in all the coffee-houses you have not only the foreign prints, but several english ones, with the foreign occurrences, besides papers of morality and party disputes." such were the augustan delights of a memorable coffee-house of the reign of queen anne. of this period is a recollection of mr. grignon, sen., having seen the "balcony of tom's crowded with noblemen in their stars and garters, drinking their tea and coffee exposed to the people." we find an entry in walpole's _letters_, :--"a gentleman, i don't know who, the other night at tom's coffee-house, said, on lord baltimore refusing to come into the admiralty because lord vere beauclerk had the precedence, 'it put him in mind of pinkethman's petition in the _spectator_, where he complains that formerly he used to act second chair in "diocletian," but now he was reduced to dance fifth flower-pot.'" in there appears to have been formed here, by a guinea subscription, a club of nearly members--the nobility, foreign ministers, gentry, and men of genius of the age; the large front room on the first floor being the card-room. the club flourished, so that in , "having considerably enlarged itself of late," thomas haines, the then proprietor, took in the front room of the next house westward as a coffee-room. the front room of no. was then appropriated exclusively as a card-room for the subscription club, each member paying one guinea annually; the adjoining apartment being used as a conversation-room. the subscription-books are before us, and here we find in the long list the names of sir thomas robinson, bart., who was designated "long sir thomas robinson," to distinguish him from his namesake, sir thomas robinson, created lord grantham in . "long tom," as the former was familiarly called, was a commissioner of excise and governor of barbadoes. he was a sad bore, especially to the duke of newcastle, the minister, who resided in lincoln's inn fields. however, he gave rise to some smart things. lord chesterfield being asked by the latter baronet to write some verses upon him, immediately produced this epigram:-- "unlike my subject now shall be my song, it shall be witty, and it shan't be long." long sir thomas distinguished himself in this odd manner. when our sovereign had not dropped the folly of calling himself "king of france," and it was customary at the coronation of an english sovereign to have fictitious dukes of aquitaine and normandy to represent the vassalage of france, sir thomas was selected to fill the second mock dignity at the coronation of george iii., to which churchill alludes in his _ghost_; but he assigns a wrong dukedom to sir thomas: "could satire not (though doubtful since whether he plumber is or prince) tell of a simple knight's advance, to be a doughty peer of france? tell how he did a dukedom gain, and robinson was aquitain." of the two sir thomas robinsons, one was tall and thin, the other short and fat: "i can't imagine," said lady townshend, "why the one should be preferred to the other; i see but little difference between them: the one is as broad as the other is long." next on the books is samuel foote, who, after the decline of tom's, was mostly to be seen at the bedford. then comes arthur murphy, lately called to the bar; david garrick, who then lived in southampton-street, (though he was not a clubbable man); john beard, the fine tenor singer; john webb; sir richard glynne; robert gosling, the banker; colonel eyre, of marylebone; earl percy; sir john fielding, the justice; paul methuen, of corsham; richard clive; the great lord clive; the eccentric duke of montagu; sir fletcher norton, the ill-mannered; lord edward bentinck; dr. samuel johnson; the celebrated marquis of granby; sir f. b. delaval, the friend of foote; william tooke, the solicitor; the hon. charles howard, sen.; the duke of northumberland; sir francis gosling; the earl of anglesey; sir george brydges rodney (afterwards lord rodney); peter burrell; walpole eyre; lewis mendez; dr. swinney; stephen lushington; john gunning; henry brougham, father of lord brougham; dr. macnamara; sir john trevelyan; captain donellan; sir w. wolseley; walter chetwynd; viscount gage, etc.;--thomas payne, esq., of leicester house; dr. schomberg, of pall-mall; george colman, the dramatist, then living in great queen street; dr. dodd, in southampton-row; james payne, the architect, salisbury-street, which he rebuilt; william bowyer, the printer, bloomsbury-square; count bruhl, the polish minister; dr. goldsmith, temple ( ), etc. many a noted name in the list of is very suggestive of the gay society of the period. among the club musters, samuel foote, sir thomas robinson, and dr. dodd are very frequent: indeed, sir thomas seems to have been something like a proposer-general. tom's appears to have been a general coffee-house; for in the parish books of st. paul's, covent garden, is the entry:-- £. s. d. dishes of chocolate jelleys biscuits mr. haines, the landlord, was succeeded by his son. thomas, whose daughter is living, at the age of eighty-four, and possesses a portrait, by dance, of the elder haines, who, from his polite address, was called among the club "lord chesterfield." the above lady has also a portrait, in oil, of the younger haines, by grignon. the coffee-house business closed in , about which time the premises were first occupied by mr. william till, the numismatist. the card-room remained in its original condition; "and, here," wrote mr. till, many years since, "the tables on which i exhibit my coins are those which were used by the exalted characters whose names are extracted from books of the club, still in possession of the proprietress of the house." on the death of mr. till, mr. webster succeeded to the tenancy and collection of coins and medals, which he removed to no. , henrietta-street, shortly before the old premises in russell-street were taken down. he possesses, by marriage with the grand-daughter of the second mr. haines, the old club books, as well as the curious memorial, the snuffbox of the club-room. it is of large size, and fine tortoiseshell; upon the lid, in high relief, in silver, are the portraits of charles i. and queen anne; the boscobel oak, with charles ii. amid its branches; and at the foot of the tree, on a silver plate, is inscribed thomas haines. at will's the small wits grew conceited if they dipped but into mr. dryden's snuffbox; and at tom's the box may have enjoyed a similar shrine-like reputation. it is nearly all that remains of the old coffee-house in covent garden, save the recollection of the names of the interesting personages who once thronged its rooms in stars and garters, but who bore more intellectual distinctions to entitle them to remembrance. the king of clubs. this ambitious title was given to a club set on foot about the year . its founder was bobus smith, the brother of the great sydney smith. the club at first consisted of a small knot of lawyers, a few literary characters, and visitors generally introduced by those who took the chief part in the conversation, and seemingly selected for the faculty of being good listeners. the king of clubs sat on saturday of each month, at the crown and anchor tavern, in the strand, which, at that time, was a nest of boxes, each containing its club, and affording excellent cheer, though latterly desecrated by indifferent dinners and very questionable wine. the club was a grand talk, the prevalent topics being books and authors; politics quite excluded. bobus smith was a convivial member in every respect but that of wine; he was but a frigid worshipper of bacchus, but he had great humour and a species of wit, that revelled amidst the strangest and most grotesque combinations. his manner was somewhat of the bow-wow kind; and when he pounced upon a disputatious and dull blockhead, he made sad work of him. then there was richard sharp, a partner of boddington's west india house, who subsequently sat in parliament for port arlington, in ireland. he was a thinker and a reasoner, and occasionally controversial, but overflowed with useful and agreeable knowledge, and an unfailing stream of delightful information. he was celebrated for his conversational talents, and hence called "conversation sharp;" and he often had for his guest sir james mackintosh, with whom he lived in habits of intimacy. mr. sharp published a volume of _letters and essays in prose and verse_, of which a third edition appeared in . sharp was confessedly the first of the king of clubs. he indulged but rarely in pleasantry; but when anything of the kind escaped him, it was sure to tell. one evening, at the club, there was a talk about tweddel, then a student in the temple, who had greatly distinguished himself at cambridge, and was the senior wrangler and medallist of his year. tweddel was not a little intoxicated with his university triumphs; which led sharp to remark, "poor fellow! he will soon find that his cambridge medal will not pass as current coin in london." other frequent attendants were scarlett (afterwards lord abinger); rogers, the poet; honest john allen, brother of the bluest of the blues, lady mackintosh; m. dumont, the french emigrant, who would sometimes recite his friend the abbé de lisle's verses, with interminable perseverance, in spite of yawns and other symptoms of dislike, which his own politeness (for he was a highly-bred man) forbade him to interpret into the absence of it in others. in this respect, however, he was outdone by wishart, who was nothing but quotations, and whose prosing, when he did converse, was like the torpedo's touch to all pleasing and lively converse. charles butler, too, in his long life, had treasured up a considerable assortment of reminiscences, which, when once set going, came out like a torrent upon you; it was a sort of shower-bath, that inundated you the moment you pulled the string. curran, the boast of the irish bar, came to the king of clubs, during a short visit to london; there he met erskine, but the meeting was not congenial. curran gave some odd sketches of a serjeant kelly, at the irish bar, whose whimsical peculiarity was an inveterate habit of drawing conclusions directly at variance with his premises. he had acquired the name of counsellor therefore. curran said he was a perfect human personification of a _non sequitur_. for instance, meeting curran, on sunday, near st. patrick's, he said to him, "the archbishop gave us an excellent discourse this morning. it was well written and well delivered; _therefore_, i shall make a point of being at the four courts to-morrow at ten." at another time, observing to a person whom he met in the street, "what a delightful morning this is for walking!" he finished his remark on the weather by saying, "therefore i will go home as soon as i can, and stir out no more the whole day." his speeches in court were interminable, and his _therefore_ kept him going on, though every one thought he had done. "this is so clear a point, gentlemen," he would tell the jury, "that i am convinced you felt it to be so the very moment i stated it. i should pay your understandings but a poor compliment to dwell on it for a minute; _therefore_, i will now proceed to explain it to you as minutely as possible." curran seemed to have no very profound respect for the character and talents of lord norbury. curran went down to carlow on a special retainer; it was in a case of ejectment. a new court-house had been recently erected, and it was found extremely inconvenient, from the echo, which reverberated the mingled voices of judge, counsel, crier, to such a degree, as to produce constant confusion, and great interruption of business. lord norbury had been, if possible, more noisy that morning than ever. whilst he was arguing a point with the counsel, and talking very loudly, an ass brayed vehemently from the street, adjoining the court-house, to the instant interruption of the chief-justice. "what noise is that?" exclaimed his lordship. "oh, my lord," retorted curran, "it is merely the echo of the court." watier's club. this club was the great macao gambling-house of a very short period. mr. thomas raikes, who understood all its mysteries, describes it as very genteel, adding that no one ever quarrelled there. "the club did not endure for twelve years altogether; the pace was too quick to last: it died a natural death in , from the paralysed state of its members; the house was then taken by a set of blacklegs, who instituted a common bank for gambling. to form an idea of the ruin produced by this short-lived establishment among men whom i have so intimately known, a cursory glance to the past suggests the following melancholy list, which only forms a part of its deplorable results.... none of the dead reached the average age of man." among the members was bligh, a notorious madman, of whom mr. raikes relates:--"one evening at the macao table, when the play was very deep, brummell having lost a considerable stake, affected, in his farcical way, a very tragic air, and cried out, 'waiter, bring me a flat candlestick and a pistol.' upon which bligh, who was sitting opposite to him, calmly produced two loaded pistols from his coat pocket, which he placed on the table, and said, 'mr. brummell, if you are really desirous to put a period to your existence, i am extremely happy to offer you the means without troubling the waiter.' the effect upon those present may easily be imagined, at finding themselves in the company of a known madman who had loaded weapons about him." mr. canning at the clifford-street club. there was in the last century, a debating club, which boasted for a short time, a brighter assemblage of talent than is usually found to flourish in societies of this description. its meetings, which took place once a month, were held at the clifford-street coffee-house, at the corner of bond-street. the debaters were chiefly mackintosh, richard sharp, a mr. ollyett woodhouse; charles moore, son of the celebrated traveller; and lord charles townshend, fourth son of the facetious and eccentric marquis. the great primitive principles of civil government were then much discussed. it was before the french revolution had "brought death into the world and all its woe." at the clifford-street society, canning generally took "the liberal side" of the above questions. his earliest prepossessions are well known to have inclined to this side; but he evidently considered the society rather as a school of rhetorical exercise, where he might acquire the use of his weapons, than a forum, where the serious profession of opinions, and a consistent adherence to them, could be fairly expected of him. one evening, the question for debate was "the justice and expediency of resuming the ecclesiastical property of france." before the debate began, canning had taken some pains to ascertain on which side the majority of the members seemed inclined to speak; and finding that they were generally in favour of the resumption, he expressed his fears that the unanimity of sentiment would spoil the discussion; so, he volunteered to speak against it. he did so, and it was a speech of considerable power, chiefly in reply to the opener, who, in a set discourse of some length, had asserted the revocable conditions of the property of the church, which, being created, he said, by the state, remained ever after at its disposition. canning denied the proposition that ecclesiastical property was the creature of the state. he contended that though it might be so in a new government, yet, speaking historically, the great as well as lesser ecclesiastical fiefs were coeval with the crown of france, frequently strong enough to maintain fierce and not unequal conflicts with it, and certainly not in their origin emanations from its bounty. the church, he said, came well dowered to the state, who was now suing for a divorce, in order to plunder her pin-money. he contended that the church property stood upon the same basis, and ought to be protected by the same sanctions, as private property. it was originally, he said, accumulated from the successive donations with which a pious benevolence ought to enrich the fountains, from which spiritual comfort ought to flow to the wretched, the poor, the forsaken. he drew an energetic sketch of mirabeau, the proposer of the measure, by whose side, he remarked, the worst characters in history, the cleons, the catilines, the cetheguses, of antiquity, would brighten into virtue. he said that the character of the lawgiver tainted the law. it was proffered to the national assembly by hands hot and reeking from the cells of sensuality and vice; it came from a brain inflamed and distended into frenzy by habitual debauchery. these are, of course, but faint sketches of this very early specimen of canning as a speaker. the humour and irony with which he delighted his auditors are indescribable. he displayed the same powers of pleasantry which, in maturer years, enlivened the dulness of debate, and softened the asperities of party. he was, indeed, less rapid, and more measured in his elevation; sometimes impeded in flow, probably, from too fastidious a selection of words; but it was impossible not to predict that at no very distant period he would rise into high distinction as a parliamentary speaker. canning was then the most handsome man about town; and his fine countenance glowed, as he spoke, with every sentiment which he uttered. it was customary during the debates at the clifford-street senate, for pots of porter to be introduced by way of refreshment. canning, in his eloquent tirade against mirabeau, handled the peculiar style of the count's oratory with great severity. the president had, during this part of canning's speech, given a signal for a pot of porter, which had been brought in and placed before him. it served canning for an illustration. "sir," said he, "much has been said about the gigantic powers of mirabeau; let us not be carried away by the false jargon of his philosophy, or imagine that deep political wisdom resides in tumid and decorated diction. to the steady eye of a sagacious criticism, the eloquence of mirabeau will appear to be as empty and vapid as his patriotism. it is like the beverage that stands so invitingly before you,--foam and froth at the top, heavy and muddy within." eccentric clubs. in ward's _secret history_, we read of the golden fleece club, a rattle-brained society, originally held at a house in cornhill, so entitled. they were a merry company of tippling citizens and jocular change-brokers, who every night washed away their consciences with claret, that the mental alienations and fallacious assurances the one had used in their shops, and the deceitful wheedling and stock-jobbing honesty by which the other had outwitted their merchants, might be no impediment to their night's rest; but that they might sleep without repentance, and rise next day with a strong propensity to the same practices. each member on his admission had a characteristic name assigned to him; as, sir timothy addlepate, sir nimmy sneer, sir talkative do-little, sir skinny fretwell, sir rumbus rattle, sir boozy prate-all, sir nicholas ninny sipall, sir gregory growler, sir pay-little, etc. the club flourished until the decease of the leading member; when the dull fraternity, for want of a merry leader, and neglecting to be shaved and blooded, fell into the dumps, gave up their nocturnal revels, forsook frenzied claret for sober water-gruel, and a cessation of bumpers was proclaimed, till those who were sick recovered their health, and others their senses; and then, the better to prevent their debasement being known, they adjourned their society from the fleece in cornhill to the three tuns in southwark, that they might be more retired from the bows and compliments of the london apprentices, who used to salute the noble knights by their titles, as they passed to and fro. another of ward's humorous sketches is that of the lying club, at the bell tavern, in westminster, with sir harry blunt for its chairman. the clubs were fruitful sources of satire to the _spectator_. he is merry on the mummers, the twopenny, the ugly, the fighting, the fringe-glove, the humdrum, the doldrum, and the lovers; on clubs of fat men, tall men, and one-eyed men, and of men who lived in the same street. the pretentious character of the clubs of queen anne's time, and the historical importance attached to their annals, are humorously satirized in the following sketch of the everlasting club, to which, in those days, if a man were an idle, worthless fellow, who neglected his family, and spent most of his time over a bottle, he was, in derision, said to belong. "the everlasting club consists of an hundred members, who divide the whole twenty-four hours among them in such a manner, that the club sits day and night from one end of the year to another: no party presuming to rise till they are relieved by those who are in course to succeed them. by this means, a member of the everlasting club never wants company; for though he is not upon duty himself, he is sure to find some who are; so that if he be disposed to take a whet, a nooning, an evening's draught, or a bottle after midnight, he goes to the club, and finds a knot of friends to his mind. "it is a maxim in this club that the steward never dies; for as they succeed one another by way of rotation, no man is to quit the great elbow-chair, which stands at the upper end of the table, till his successor is ready to fill it; insomuch that there has not been a _sede vacante_ in their memory. "this club was instituted towards the end, or, as some of them say, about the middle of the civil wars, and continued with interruption till the time of the great fire, which burnt them out and dispersed them for several weeks. the steward all that time maintained his post till he had like to have been blown up with a neighbouring house, which was demolished in order to stop the fire: and would not leave the chair at last, till he had emptied the bottles upon the table, and received repeated directions from the club to withdraw himself. this steward is frequently talked of in the club, and looked upon by every member of it as a greater man than the famous captain mentioned in my lord clarendon, who was burnt in his ship, because he would not quit it without orders. it is said that towards the close of , being the great year of jubilee, the club had it under consideration whether they should break up or continue their session; but after many speeches and debates, it was at length agreed to sit out the other century. this resolution passed in a general club _nemine contradicente_. "it appears, by their books in general, that, since their first institution, they have smoked fifty tons of tobacco, drank thirty thousand butts of ale, one thousand hogsheads of red port, two hundred barrels of brandy, and _one_ kilderkin of small beer. there had been likewise a great consumption of cards. it is also said that they observe the law in ben jonson's club, which orders the fire to be always kept in (_focus perennis esto_), as well for the convenience of lighting their pipes as to cure the dampness of the club-room. they have an old woman, in the nature of a vestal, whose business is to cherish and perpetuate the fire, which burns from generation to generation, and has seen the glass-house fires in and out above an hundred times. "the everlasting club treats all other clubs with an eye of contempt, and talks even of the kit-kat and october as a couple of upstarts. their ordinary discourse, as much i have been able to learn of it, turns altogether upon such adventures as have passed in their own assembly; of members who have taken the glass in their turns for a week together, without stirring out of the club; of others who have not missed their morning's draught for twenty years together; sometimes they speak in rapture of a run of ale in king charles's reign; and sometimes reflect with astonishment upon games at whist, which have been miraculously recovered by members of the society, when in all human probability the case was desperate. "they delight in several old catches, which they sing at all hours, to encourage one another to moisten their clay, and grow immortal by drinking, with many other edifying exhortations of the like nature. "there are four general clubs held in a year, at which time they fill up vacancies, appoint waiters, confirm the old fire-maker or elect a new one, settle contributions for coals, pipes, tobacco, and other necessaries. "the senior member has outlived the whole club twice over, and has been drunk with the grandfathers of some of the sitting members." _the lawyer's club_ is thus described in the _spectator_, no. :--"this club consists only of attorneys, and at this meeting every one proposes to the board the cause he has then in hand, upon which each member gives his judgment, according to the experience he has met with. if it happens that any one puts a case of which they have had no precedent, it is noted down by their chief clerk, will goosequill (who registers all their proceedings), that one of them may go with it next day to a counsel. this is, indeed, commendable, and ought to be the principal end of their meeting; but had you been there to have heard them relate their methods of managing a cause, their manner of drawing out their bills, and, in short, their arguments upon the several ways of abusing their clients, with the applause that is given to him who has done it most artfully, you would before now have given your remarks. "they are so conscious that their discourses ought to be kept a secret, that they are very cautious of admitting any person who is not in the profession. when any who are not of the law are let in, the person who introduces him says, he is a very honest gentleman, and he is taken, as their cant is, to pay costs." the writer adds, "that he is admitted upon the recommendation of one of their principals, as a very honest, good-natured fellow, that will never be in a plot, and only desires to drink his bottle and smoke his pipe." _the little club_, we are told in the _guardian_, no. , began by sending invitations to those not exceeding five feet in height, to repair to the assembly, but many sent excuses, or pretended a non-application. they proceeded to fit up a room for their accommodation, and in the first place had all the chairs, stools, and tables removed, which had served the more bulky portion of mankind for many years, previous to which they laboured under very great disadvantages. the president's whole person was sunk in the elbow-chair, and when his arms were spread over it, he appeared (to the great lessening of his dignity) like a child in a go-cart. it was also so wide in the seat, as to give a wag occasion of saying, that "notwithstanding the president sat in it, there was a _sede vacante_." "the table was so high, that one who came by chance to the door, seeing our chins just above the pewter dishes, took us for a circle of men that sat ready to be shaved, and set in half-a-dozen of barbers. another time, one of the club spoke contumeliously of the president, imagining he had been absent, when he was only eclipsed by a flask of florence, which stood on the table, in a parallel line before his face. we therefore new-furnished the room, in all respects proportionably to us, and had the door made lower, so as to admit no man above five feet high, without brushing his foretop; which, whoever does, is utterly unqualified to sit amongst us." mr. daniel, in his _merrie england in the olden time_, has collected a further list of clubs existing in london in . he enumerates the following:--the odd fellows' club; the humbugs (held at the blue posts, in covent-garden); the samsonic society; the society of bucks; the purl drinkers; the society of pilgrims (held at the woolpack, in the kingsland-road); the thespian club; the great bottle club; the je ne sçai quoi club (held at the star and garter in pall-mall, and of which the prince of wales, and the dukes of york, clarence, orleans, norfolk, bedford, etc., were members); the sons of the thames society; the blue stocking club; the no pay no liquor club (held at the queen and artichoke, in the hampstead-road, and of which the ceremony, on a new member's introduction, was, after his paying a fee on entrance of one shilling, that he should wear a hat, throughout the first evening, made in the shape of a quart pot, and drink to the health of his brother members in a gilt goblet of ale); the social villagers (held at the bedford arms, in camden-town), etc. of the villagers of our time, sheridan knowles, the dramatist, was a jovial member. jacobite club. in the year a correspondent of _notes and queries_ communicated to that journal the following interesting reminiscences of a political club, with characteristics of the reminiscent. "the adherents of the stuarts are now nearly extinct; but i recollect a few years ago an old gentleman in london, who was then upwards of eighty years of age, and who was a staunch jacobite. i have heard him say that, when he was a young man, his father belonged to a society in aldersgate-street, called 'the mourning bush;' and this bush was to be always in mourning until the stuarts were restored." a member of this society having been met in mourning when one of the reigning family had died, was asked by one of the members how it so happened? his reply was, "that he was not mourning for the dead, but for the living." the old gentleman was father of the mercers' company, and his brother of the stationers' company: they were bachelors, and citizens of the old school, hospitable, liberal, and charitable. an instance occurred that the latter had a presentation to christ's hospital: he was applied to in behalf of a person who had a large family; but the father not being a freeman, he could not present it to the son. he immediately bought the freedom for the father, and gave the son the presentation. this is a rare act. the brothers have long gone to receive the reward of their goodness, and lie buried in the cemetery attached to mercers' hall, cheapside. by the above statement, the club appears to have taken the name of the mourning bush tavern, in aldersgate, of which we shall have more to say hereafter. the wittinagemot of the chapter coffee-house. the chapter coffee-house, at the corner of chapterhouse court, on the south side of paternoster-row, was, in the last century, noted as the resort of men of letters, and was famous for its punch, pamphlets, and good supply of newspapers. it was closed as a coffee-house in , and then altered to a tavern. its celebrity, however, lay in the last century. in the _connoisseur_, january , , we read: "the chapter coffee-house is frequented by those encouragers of literature, and (as they are styled by an eminent critic) 'not the worst judges of merit,' the booksellers. the conversation here naturally turns upon the newest publications; but their criticisms are somewhat singular. when they say a _good_ book, they do not mean to praise the style or sentiment, but the quick and extensive sale of it. that book is best which sells most; and if the demand for quarles should be greater than for pope, he would have the highest place on the rubric-post." the house was much frequented by chatterton, who writes to his mother: "i am quite familiar at the chapter coffee-house, and know all the geniuses there;" and to mr. mason: "send me whatever you would have published, and direct for me, to be left at the chapter coffee-house, paternoster-row." and, writing from "king's bench for the present," may th, , chatterton says: "a gentleman who knows me at the chapter, as an author, would have introduced me as a companion to the young duke of northumberland, in his intended general tour. but, alas! i spake no tongue but my own." forster relates an anecdote of oliver goldsmith being paymaster at the chapter, for churchill's friend, lloyd, who, in his careless way, without a shilling to pay for the entertainment, had invited him to sup with some friends of grub-street. the club celebrity of the chapter was, however, the wittinagemot, as the box in the north-east corner of the coffee-room was designated. among its frequenters was alexander stevens, editor of the _annual biography and obituary_, who died in , and who left among his papers, printed in the _monthly magazine_, as "stephensiana," his recollections of the chapter, which he frequented in to , where, he tells us, he always met with intelligent company. we give his reminiscences almost in his own words. early in the morning it was occupied by neighbours, who were designated the _wet paper club_, as it was their practice to open the papers when brought in by the newsmen, and read them before they were dried by the waiter; a dry paper they viewed as a stale commodity. in the afternoon, another party enjoyed the _wet_ evening papers; and (says stephens) it was these whom i met. dr. buchan, author of _domestic medicine_, generally held a seat in this box; and though he was a tory, he heard the freest discussion with good humour, and commonly acted as a moderator. his fine physiognomy, and his white hairs, qualified him for this office. but the fixture in the box was a mr. hammond, a coventry manufacturer, who, evening after evening, for nearly forty-five years, was always to be found in his place, and during the entire period was much distinguished for his severe and often able strictures on the events of the day. he had thus debated through the days of wilkes, of the american war, and of the french war, and being on the side of liberty, was constantly in opposition. his mode of arguing was socratic, and he generally applied to his adversary the _reductio ad absurdum_, creating bursts of laughter. the registrar or chronicler of the box was a mr. murray, an episcopal scotch minister, who generally sat in one place from nine in the morning till nine at night; and was famous for having read, at least once through, every morning and evening paper published in london during the last thirty years. his memory being good, he was appealed to whenever any point of fact within the memory of man happened to be disputed. it was often remarked, however, that such incessant daily reading did not tend to clear his views. among those from whom i constantly profited was dr. berdmore, the master of the charterhouse; walker, the rhetorician; and dr. towers, the political and historical writer. dr. b. abounded in anecdote; walker, (the dictionary-maker,) to the finest enunciation united the most intelligent head i ever met with; and towers, over his half-pint of lisbon, was sarcastic and lively, though never deep. among our constant visitors was the celebrated dr. george fordyce, who, having much fashionable practice, brought news which had not generally transpired. he had not the appearance of a man of genius, nor did he debate, but he possessed sound information on all subjects. he came to the chapter after taking his wine, and stayed about an hour, or while he sipped a glass of brandy-and-water; it was then his habit to take another glass at the london coffee-house, and a third at the oxford, before he returned to his house in essex-street, strand. dr. gower, the urbane and able physician of the middlesex, was another pretty constant visitor. it was gratifying to hear such men as fordyce, gower, and buchan in familiar chat. on subjects of medicine they seldom agreed, and when such were started, they generally laughed at one another's opinions. they seemed to consider chapter punch, or brandy-and-water, as _aqua vitæ_; and, to the credit of the house, better punch could not be found in london. if any one complained of being indisposed, the elder buchan exclaimed, "now let me prescribe for you without a fee. here, john or isaac, bring a glass of punch for mr. ----, unless he likes brandy-and-water better. take that, sir, and i'll warrant you you'll soon be well. you're a peg too low; you want stimulus, and if one glass won't do, call for a second." there was a growling man of the name of dobson, who, when his asthma permitted, vented his spleen upon both sides; and a lover of absurd paradoxes, author of some works of merit, but so devoid of principle, that, deserted by his friends, he would have died for want, if dr. garthshore had not placed him as a patient in the empty fever institution. robinson, the king of the booksellers, was frequently of the party, as well as his brother john, a man of some talent; and joseph johnson, the friend of priestley, and paine, and cowper, and fuseli, came from st. paul's churchyard. phillips, then commencing his _monthly magazine_, was also on a keen look-out for recruits, and with his waistcoat pocket full of guineas, to slip his enlistment money into their hand. phillips, in the winter of - , lodged and boarded at the chapter, and not only knew the characters referred to by mr. stephens, but many others equally original, from the voracious glutton in politics, who waited for the wet papers in the morning twilight, to the comfortless bachelor, who sat till the fire was raked out at half-past twelve at night, all of whom took their successive stations, like figures in a magic lantern. alexander chalmers, the workman of the robinsons, and through their introduction editor of many large books, also enlivened the box by many sallies of wit and humour. he always took much pains to be distinguished from his namesake george, who, he used to say, carried, "the leaden mace," and he was much provoked whenever he happened to be mistaken for his namesake. cahusac, a teacher of the classics; m'leod, a writer in the newspapers; the two parrys, of the _courier_, the organ of jacobinism; and captain skinner, a man of elegant manners, who personated our nation in the procession of anacharsis clootz, at paris, in , were also in constant attendance. one baker, once a spitalfields manufacturer, a great talker, and not less remarkable as an eater, was constant; but, having shot himself at his lodgings in kirby-street, it was discovered that, for some years, he had had no other meal per day besides the supper which he took at the chapter, where there being a choice of viands at the fixed price of one shilling, this, with a pint of porter, constituted his daily subsistence, till, his last resources failing, he put an end to himself. lowndes, the celebrated electrician, was another of our set, and a facetious man. buchan the younger, a son of the doctor, generally came with lowndes; and though somewhat dogmatical, yet he added to the variety and good intelligence of our discussions, which, from the mixture of company, were as various as the contents of the newspapers. dr. busby, the musician, and an ingenious man, often obtained a hearing, and was earnest in disputing with the tories. and macfarlane, the author of the _history of george the third_, was generally admired for the soundness of his views; but this worthy man was killed by the pole of a coach, during an election procession of sir francis burdett, from brentford. mr. w. cooke, author of _conversation_, constantly exemplified his own rules in his gentlemanly manners and well-timed anecdotes. kelly, an irish school-master, and a man of polished manners, kept up warm debates by his equivocating politics, and was often roughly handled by hammond and others, though he bore his defeats with constant good humour. there was a young man named wilson, who acquired the distinction of long-bow, from the number of extraordinary secrets of the _haut ton_, which he used to retail by the hour. he was an amusing person, who seemed likely to prove an acquisition to the wittinagemot; but, having run up a score of thirty or forty pounds, he suddenly absented himself. miss brun, the keeper of the chapter, begged me, if i met with wilson, to tell him she would give him a receipt for the past, and further credit to any amount, if he would only return to the house; "for," said she, "if he never paid us, he was one of the best customers we ever had, contriving, by his stories and conversation, to keep a couple of boxes crowded the whole night, by which we made more punch and more brandy-and-water, than from any other single cause whatever." jacob, afterwards an alderman and m.p., was a frequent visitor, and then as remarkable for his heretical, as he was subsequently for his orthodox, opinions in his speeches and writings. waithman, the active and eloquent common councilman, often mixed with us, and was always clear-headed and agreeable. one james, who had made a large fortune by vending tea, contributed many good anecdotes of the age of wilkes. several stockbrokers visited us; and among others of that description was mr. blake, the banker, of lombard-street, a remarkably intelligent old gentleman; and there was a mr. paterson, a north briton, a long-headed speculator, who taught mathematics to pitt. some young men of talent came among us from time to time; as lovett, a militia officer; hennell, a coal merchant, and some others; and these seemed likely to keep up the party. but all things have an end: dr. buchan died; some young sparks affronted our nestor, hammond, on which he absented himself, after nearly fifty years' attendance; and the noisy box of the wittinagemot was, for some years previously to , remarkable for its silence and dulness. the two or three last times i was at the chapter, i heard no voice above a whisper; and i almost shed a tear on thinking of men, habits, and times gone by for ever! we shall have more to say of the chapter coffee-house in vol. ii. the roxburghe club dinners. the roxburghe club claims its foundation from the sale of the library of the late john, duke of roxburghe, in , which extended to forty-one days following, with a supplementary catalogue beginning monday, july , with the exception of sundays. some few days before the sale, the rev. thomas frognall dibdin, who claimed the title of founder of the club, suggested the holding of a convivial meeting at the st. alban's tavern after the sale of june th, upon which day was to be sold the rarest lot, "il decamerone di boccaccio," which produced £ . the invitation ran thus:--"the honour of your company is requested, to dine with the roxburghe _dinner_, on wednesday, the th instant." at the first dinner the number of members was limited to twenty-four, which at the second dinner was extended to thirty-one. the president of this club was lord spencer: among the other celebrated members were the duke of devonshire, the marquis of blandford, lord althorp, lord morpeth, lord gower, sir mark sykes, sir egerton brydges, mr. (afterwards) baron bolland, mr. dent, the rev. t. c. heber, rev. rob. holwell carr, sir walter scott, etc.; dr. dibdin, secretary. the avowed object of the club was the reprinting of rare and ancient pieces of ancient literature; and, at one of the early meetings, "it was proposed and concluded for each member of the club to reprint a scarce piece of ancient lore, to be given to the members, one copy being on vellum for the chairman, and only as many copies as members." it may, however, be questioned whether "the dinners" of the club were not more important than the literature. they were given at the st. alban's, at grillion's, at the clarendon, and the albion, taverns; the _amphytrions_ evincing as _recherché_ taste in the _carte_, as the club did in their vellum reprints. of these entertainments some curious details have been recorded by the late mr. joseph haslewood, one of the members, in a ms. entitled, "roxburghe revels; or, an account of the annual display, culinary and festivous, interspersed incidentally with matters of moment or merriment." this ms. was, in , purchased by the editor of the _athenæum_, and a selection from its rarities was subsequently printed in that journal. among the memoranda, we find it noted that, at the second dinner, a few tarried, with mr. heber in the chair, until, "on arriving at home, the click of time bespoke a quarter to four." among the early members was the rev. mr. dodd, one of the masters of westminster school, who, until the year (when he died), enlivened the club with robin-hood ditties and similar productions. the fourth dinner was given at grillion's, when twenty members assembled, under the chairmanship of sir mark masterman sykes. the bill on this occasion amounted to £ , or £ . _s._ per man; and the twenty "lions" managed to dispose of drinkables to the extent of about £ . the reckoning, by grillion's french waiter, is amusing:-- dinner du juin . . . . . . . . . | boutelle de bourgogne desser . . . . . . | . . . . . . deu sorte de glasse | (not legible) glasse pour . . | soder . . . . . . . boutelle de champagne | biere e ail . . . . . . . . . . . . . | por la lettre . . . boutelle de harmetage | pour faire un prune . . . . . . . . . | pour un fiacre . . boutelle de hok | ________ boutelle de port | boutelle de maderre | waiters . . boutelle de bordeaux | ________ . . . . . . . . | the anniversary of was celebrated at the albion, in aldersgate-street: mr. heber was in the chair, and the rev. mr. carr _vice_, vice dr. dibdin. although only fifteen sat down, they seem to have eaten and drunk for the whole club: it was, as wordsworth says, "forty feeding like one;" and the bill, at the conclusion of the night, amounted to £ . _s._ _d._ "your cits," says mr. haslewood, "are the only men for a feast; and, therefore, behold us, like locusts, travelling to devour the good things of the land, eastward ho! at a little after seven, with our fancies much delighted, we fifteen sat down." the bill of fare was as follows:-- first course. turtle.[a] turtle cutlets. turtle fin. turbot. _________ boiled chickens. | | ham. sauté of haddock. | frame. | chartreuse. turtle. | | turtle. tendrons of lamb. |_________| fillets of whitings. tongue. john dory. r. chickens. turtle fin. fricandeau of turtle. turtle.[ ] +++ cold roast beef on side tables. ____ second course. venison ( haunches). ____ third course. larded poults. tart. cheese cakes. artichoke bottoms. _________ jelly. | | prawns. r. quails. | | r. leveret. salade italienne. |_________| crême italienne. peas. cabinet pudding. tourt. r. goose. the bill, as a specimen of the advantages of separate charges, as well as on other accounts, may be worth preserving:-- albion house. june , . bread and beer dinners cheas and butter lemons strong beer madeira champagne saturne (sic in ms.) old hock burgundy hermitage silery champagne sherry st. percy old port claret turtle punch waxlights desert pine-ice creams tea and coffee liqueures haunches of venison sweet sauce and dressing lbs. turtle dressing do. ice for wine rose water soda water lemons and sugar for do. broken glass servants' dinners waiters --------- "consider, in the bird's-eye view of the banquet, (says mr. haslewood,) the trencher cuts, foh! nankeen displays; as intersticed with many a brilliant drop to friendly beck and clubbish hail, to moisten the viands, or cool the incipient cayenne. no unfamished liveryman would desire better dishes, or high-tasted courtier better wines. with men that meet to commune, that can converse, and each willing to give and receive information, more could not be wanting to promote well-tempered conviviality; a social compound of mirth, wit, and wisdom;--combining all that anacreon was famed for, tempered with the reason of demosthenes, and intersected with the archness of scaliger. it is true we had not any greek verses in praise of the grape; but we had as a tolerable substitute the ballad of the bishop of hereford and robin hood, sung by mr. dodd; and it was of his own composing. it is true we had not any long oration denouncing the absentees, the cabinet council, or any other set of men, but there was not a man present that at one hour and seventeen minutes after the cloth was removed but could not have made a demosthenic speech far superior to any record of antiquity. it is true no trait of wit is going to be here preserved, for the flashes were too general; and what is the critical sagacity of scaliger, compared to our chairman? ancients, believe it we were not dead drunk, and therefore lie quiet under the table for once, and let a few moderns be uppermost. "according to the long-established principles of 'maysterre cockerre,' each person had £ . _s._ to pay--a tremendous sum, and much may be said thereon." earl spencer presided at the dinner which followed the sale of the valdarfer boccaccio: twenty-one members sat down to table at jaquière's (the clarendon), and the bill was comparatively moderate, £ . _s._ mr. haslewood says, with characteristic sprightliness: "twenty-one members met joyfully, dined comfortably, challenged eagerly, tippled prettily, divided regretfully, and paid the bill most cheerfully." the following is the list of "tostes," given at the first dinner, in :-- the order of ye tostes. the immortal memory of john duke of roxburghe. christopher valdarfer, printer of the decameron of . gutemberg, fust, and schæffher, the inventors of the art of printing. william caxton, the father of the british press. dame juliana barnes, and the st. alban's press. wynkyn de worde and richard pynson, the illustrious successors of william caxton. the aldine family, at venice. the giunta family at florence. the society of the bibliophiles at paris. the prosperity of the roxburghe club. the cause of bibliomania all over the world. to show that the pursuits of the roxburghe club have been estimated with a difference, we quote what may be termed "another side of the question":-- "among other follies of the age of paper, which took place in england at the end of the reign of george iii., a set of book-fanciers, who had more money than wit, formed themselves into a club, and appropriately designated themselves the _bibliomaniacs_. dr. dibdin was their organ; and among the club were several noblemen, who, in other respects, were esteemed men of sense. their rage was, not to estimate books according to their intrinsic worth, but for their rarity. hence, any volume of the vilest trash, which was scarce, merely because it never had any sale, fetched fifty or a hundred pounds; but if it were but one of two or three known copies, no limits could be set to the price. books altered in the title-page, or in a leaf, or any trivial circumstance which varied a few copies, were bought by these _soi-disant_ maniacs, at one, two, or three hundred pounds, though the copies were not really worth more than threepence per pound. a trumpery edition of boccaccio, said to be one of two known copies, was thus bought by a noble marquis for £ , though in two or three years afterwards he resold it for £ . first editions of all authors, and editions by the first clumsy printers, were never sold for less than £ , £ , or £ . "to keep each other in countenance, these persons formed themselves into a club, and, after a duke, one of their fraternity, called themselves the _roxburghe club_. to gratify them, _facsimile_ copies of clumsy editions of trumpery books were reprinted; and, in some cases, it became worth the while of more ingenious persons to play off forgeries upon them. this mania after awhile abated and, in future ages, it will be ranked with the tulip and the picture mania, during which, estates were given for single flowers and pictures." the roxburghe club still exists; and, with the dilettanti society, may justly be said to have suggested the publishing societies of the present day, at the head of which is the camden. the late duke of devonshire was a munificent member of the roxburghe. footnotes: [ ] these tureens were removed for two dishes of white bait. the society of past overseers, westminster. there are several parochial clubs in the metropolis; but that of the important parish of st. margaret's, westminster, with "past overseers" for its members, has signalized itself by the _accumulation_ and preservation of an unique heirloom, which is a very curious collection of memorials of the last century and a half, exhibiting various tastes and styles of art in their respective commemorations, in a sort of _chronology in silver_. such is the st. margaret's overseer's box, which originated as follows. it appears that a mr. monck purchased, at horn fair, held at charlton, kent, a small tobacco-box for the sum of fourpence, from which he often replenished his neighbour's pipe, at the meetings of his predecessors and companions in the office of overseers of the poor, to whom the box was presented in . in , the society of past overseers ornamented the lid with a silver rim, commemorating the donor. in , a silver side case and bottom were added. in , an embossed border was placed upon the lid, and the under part enriched with an emblem of charity. in , hogarth engraved inside the lid a bust of the duke of cumberland, with allegorical figures, and scroll commemorating the battle of culloden. in , an interwoven scroll was added to the lid, enclosing a plate with the arms of the city of westminster, and inscribed: "this box to be delivered to every succeeding set of overseers, on penalty of five guineas." the original horn box being thus ornamented, additional cases were provided by the senior overseers for the time being,--namely, silver plates engraved with emblematical and historical subjects and busts. among the first are a view of the fireworks in st. james's park, to celebrate the peace of aix-la-chapelle, ; admiral keppel's action off ushant, and his acquittal after a court-martial; the battle of the nile; the repulse of admiral linois, ; the battle of trafalgar, ; the action between the san fiorenzo and la piémontaise, ; the battle of waterloo, ; the bombardment of algiers, ; view of the house of lords at the trial of queen caroline; the coronation of george iv.; and his visit to scotland, . there are also--portraits of john wilkes, churchwarden in ; nelson, duncan, howe, vincent; fox and pitt, ; george iv. as prince regent, ; the princess charlotte, ; and queen charlotte, . but the more interesting representations are those of local circumstances; as the interior of westminster hall, with the westminster volunteers, attending divine service at the drum-head on the fast day, ; the old sessions house; a view of st. margaret's, from the north-east; and the west front tower, and altar-piece. in , a large silver plate was added to the outer case, with a portrait of the duke of wellington, commemorating the centenary of the agglomeration of the box. the top of the second case represents the governors of the poor, in their board-room, and this inscription: "the original box and cases to be given to every succeeding set of overseers, on penalty of fifty guineas, ." on the outside of the first case is a clever engraving of a cripple. in , mr. gilbert exhibited the box to some friends after dinner: at night, thieves broke in, and carried off all the plate that had been in use; but the box had been removed beforehand to a bedchamber. in , mr. read, a past overseer, detained the box, because his accounts were not passed. an action was brought for its recovery, which was long delayed, owing to two members of the society giving read a release, which he successfully pleaded in bar to the action. this rendered it necessary to take proceedings in equity: accordingly, a bill was filed in chancery against all three, and read was compelled to deposit the box with master leeds until the end of the suit. three years of litigation ensued. eventually the chancellor directed the box to be restored to the overseers' society, and mr. read paid in costs £ . the extra costs amounted to £ . _s._ _d._, owing to the illegal proceedings of mr. read. the sum of £ . _s._ was at once raised; and the surplus spent upon a third case, of octagon shape. the top records the triumph: justice trampling upon a prostrate man, from whose face a mask falls upon a writhing serpent. a second plate, on the outside of the fly-lid, represents the lord chancellor loughborough, pronouncing his decree for the restoration of the box, march , . on the fourth or outer case is the anniversary meeting of the past overseers' society, with the churchwardens giving the charge previous to delivering the box to the succeeding overseer, who is bound to produce it at certain parochial entertainments, with three pipes of tobacco at the least, under the penalty of six bottles of claret; and to return the whole, with some addition, safe and sound, under a penalty of guineas. a tobacco-stopper of mother-of-pearl, with a silver chain, is enclosed within the box, and completes this unique memorial of the kindly feeling which perpetuates year by year the old ceremonies of this united parish; and renders this traditionary piece of plate of great price, far outweighing its intrinsic value.[ ] footnotes: [ ] westminster. by the rev. mackenzie s. c. walcott, m.a., curate of st. margaret's, , pp. - . the robin hood. in the reign of george the second there met, at a house in essex-street, in the strand, the robin hood society, a debating club, at which, every monday, questions were proposed, and any member might speak on them for seven minutes; after which the "baker," who presided with a hammer in his hand, summed up the arguments. arthur mainwaring and dr. hugh chamberlain were among the earliest members of this society. horace walpole notices the robin hood as one of the celebrities which monsieur beaumont _saw_ in : "it is incredible," says walpole, "what pains he has taken to _see_:" he breakfasted at strawberry hill with walpole, who was then "as much a curiosity to all foreigners as the tombs and lions." the robin hood became famous as the scene of burke's earliest eloquence. to discipline themselves in public speaking at its meetings was then the custom among law-students, and others intended for public life; and it is said that at the robin hood, burke had commonly to encounter an opponent whom nobody else could overcome, or at least silence: this person was the president. oliver goldsmith was introduced to the club by samuel derrick, his acquaintance and countryman. struck by the eloquence and imposing aspect of the president, who sat in a large gilt chair, goldsmith thought nature had meant him for a lord chancellor: "no, no," whispered derrick, who knew him to be a wealthy baker from the city, "only for a master of the rolls." goldsmith was little of an orator; but, till derrick went away to succeed beau nash at bath, seems to have continued his visits, and even spoke occasionally; for he figures in an account of the members published at about this time, as "a candid disputant, with a clear head and an honest heart, though coming but seldom to the society." one of the members of this robin hood was peter annet, a man who, though ingenious and deserving in other respects, became unhappily notorious by a kind of fanatic crusade against the bible, for which (published weekly papers against the book of genesis,) he stood twice in one year in the pillory, and then underwent imprisonment in the king's bench. to annet's room in that prison went goldsmith, taking with him newbery, the publisher, to conclude the purchase of a child's grammar from the prisoner, hoping so to relieve his distress; but on the prudent publisher suggesting that no name should appear on the title-page, and goldsmith agreeing that circumstances made this advisable, annet accused them both of cowardice, and rejected their assistance with contempt.[ ] the blue-stocking club. the earliest mention of a blue-stocking, or _bas-bleu_, occurs in the greek comedy, entitled the _banquet of plutarch_. the term, as applied to a lady of high literary taste, has been traced by mills, in his _history of chivalry_, to the society de la calza, formed at venice, in , "when, consistently with the singular custom of the italians, of marking academies and other intellectual associations by some external sign of folly, the members, when they met in literary discussion, were distinguished by the colour of their stockings. the colours were sometimes fantastically blended; and at other times one colour, particularly _blue_, prevailed." the society de la calza lasted till , when the foppery of italian literature took some other symbol. the rejected title then crossed the alps, and found a congenial soil in parisian society, and particularly branded female pedantry. it then diverted from france to england, and for awhile marked the vanity of the small advances in literature in female coteries. but the _blue-stocking_ of the last century is of home-growth; for boswell, in his _life of johnson_, date , records: "about this time it was much the fashion for several ladies to have evening assemblies, where the fair sex might participate in conversation with literary and ingenious men, animated by a desire to please. one of the most eminent members of these societies, when they first commenced, was mr. stillingfleet (grandson of the bishop), whose dress was remarkably grave; and in particular it was observed that he wore blue stockings. such was the excellence of his conversation, that his absence was felt so great a loss that it used to be said, 'we can do nothing without the _blue stockings_;'" and thus by degrees the title was established. miss hannah more has admirably described a _blue-stocking club_, in her _bas-bleu_, a poem in which many of the persons who were most conspicuous there are mentioned. and horace walpole speaks of this production as "a charming poetic familiarity called 'the blue-stocking club.'" the club met at the house of mrs. montagu, at the north-west angle of portman-square. forbes, in his _life of beattie_, gives another account: "this society consisted originally of mrs. montagu, mrs. vesey, miss boscawen, and mrs. carter, lord lyttelton, mr. pulteney, horace walpole, and mr. stillingfleet. to the latter gentleman, a man of great piety and worth, and author of some works in natural history, etc., this constellation of talents owed that whimsical appellation of 'bas-bleu.' mr. stillingfleet being somewhat of an humourist in his habits and manners, and a little negligent in his dress, literally wore gray stockings; from which circumstance admiral boscawen used, by way of pleasantry, to call them 'the blue-stocking society,' as if to intimate that when these brilliant friends met, it was not for the purpose of forming a dressed assembly. a foreigner of distinction hearing the expression, translated it literally 'bas-bleu,' by which these meetings came to be afterwards distinguished." dr. johnson sometimes joined this circle. the last of the club was the lively miss monckton, afterwards countess of cork, "who used to have the finest _bit of blue_ at the house of her mother lady galway." lady cork died at upwards of ninety years of age, at her house in new burlington-street, in . footnotes: [ ] forster's _life of goldsmith_, p. . the ivy-lane club. this was one of the creations of dr. johnson's _clubbable_ nature, which served as recreation for this laborious worker. he was now "tugging at the oar," in gough-square, fleet-street. boswell describes him as "engaged in a steady, continued course of occupation." "but his enlarged and lively mind could not be satisfied without more diversity of employment, and the pleasure of animated relaxation. he therefore not only exerted his talents in occasional composition, very different from lexicography, but formed a club in ivy-lane, paternoster-row, with a view to enjoy literary discussion, and amuse his evening hours. the members associated with him in this little society were his beloved friend dr. richard bathurst; mr. hawkesworth, afterwards well known by his writings; mr. john hawkins, an attorney; and a few others of different professions." the club met every tuesday evening at the king's head, a beef-steak house in ivy-lane. one of the members, hawkins, then sir john, has given a very lively picture of a celebration by this club, at the devil tavern, in fleet-street, which forms one of the pleasantest pages in the author's life of johnson. sir john tells us: "one evening, at the [ivy-lane] club, dr. johnson proposed to us celebrating the birth of mrs. lennox's first literary child, as he called her book, by a whole night spent in festivity. the place appointed was the devil tavern; and there, about the hour of eight, mrs. lennox, and her husband, and a lady of her acquaintance now living [ ], as also the club and friends, to the number of near twenty, assembled. our supper was elegant, and johnson had directed that a magnificent hot apple-pye should make a part of it, and this he would have stuck with bay-leaves, because, forsooth, mrs. lennox was an authoress, and had written verses; and further, he had prepared for her a crown of laurel, with which, but not until he had invoked the muses by some ceremonies of his own invention, he encircled her brows. the night passed, as must be imagined, in pleasant conversation and harmless mirth, intermingled, at different periods, with the refreshments of coffee and tea. about five, johnson's face shone with meridian splendour, though his drink had been only lemonade; but the far greater part of us had deserted the colours of bacchus, and were with difficulty rallied to partake of a second refreshment of coffee, which was scarcely ended when the day began to dawn. this phenomenon began to put us in mind of our reckoning; but the waiters were all so overcome with sleep, that it was two hours before we could get a bill, and it was not till near eight that the creaking of the street-door gave the signal for our departure." when johnson, the year before his death, endeavoured to re-assemble as many of the club as were left, he found, to his regret, he wrote to hawkins, that horseman, the landlord, was dead, and the house shut up. about this time, johnson instituted a club at the queen's arms, in st. paul's churchyard. "he told mr. hook," says boswell, "that he wished to have _a city club_, and asked him to collect one; but," said he, "don't let them be patriots." (boswell's _life_, th edit. vol. iv. p. .) this was an allusion to the friends of his acquaintance wilkes. boswell accompanied him one day to the club, and found the members "very sensible, well-behaved men." the essex head club. in the year before he died, at the essex head, now no. , in essex-street, strand, dr. johnson established a little evening club, under circumstances peculiarly interesting, as described by boswell. he tells us that "notwithstanding the complication of disorders under which johnson now laboured, he did not resign himself to despondency and discontent, but with wisdom and spirit endeavoured to console and amuse his mind with as many innocent enjoyments as he could procure." sir john hawkins has mentioned the cordiality with which he insisted that such of the members of the old club in ivy-lane as survived, should meet again and dine together, which they did, twice at a tavern, and once at his house; and in order to ensure himself in the evening for three days in the week, johnson instituted a club at the essex head, in essex-street, then kept by samuel greaves, an old servant of mr. thrale's: it was called "sam's." on dec. , , johnson wrote to sir joshua reynolds, giving an account of this club, of which reynolds had desired to be one; "the company," dr. j. says, "is numerous, and, as you will see by the list, miscellaneous. the terms are lax, and the expenses light. mr. barry was adopted by dr. brocklesby, who joined with me in forming the plan. we meet twice a week, and he who misses forfeits twopence." it did not suit sir joshua to be one of this club; "but," says boswell, "when i mention only mr. daines barrington, dr. brocklesby, mr. murphy, mr. john nichols, mr. cooke, mr. joddrel, mr. paradise, dr. horsley, mr. windham, i shall sufficiently obviate the misrepresentation of it by sir john hawkins, as if it had been a low ale-house association, by which johnson was degraded." the doctor himself, like his namesake, old ben, composed the rules of his club. boswell was, at this time, in scotland, and during all the winter. johnson, however, declared that he should be a member, and invented a word upon the occasion: "boswell," said he, "is a very _clubbable_ man;" and he was subsequently chosen of the club. johnson headed the rules with these lines:-- "to-day deep thoughts with me resolve to drench in mirth, which after no repenting draws."--_milton._ johnson's attention to the club was unceasing, as appears by a letter to alderman clark, (afterwards lord mayor and chamberlain,) who was elected into the club: the postscript is: "you ought to be informed that the forfeits began with the year, and that every night of non-attendance incurs the mulct of three pence; that is, ninepence a week." johnson himself was so anxious in his attendance, that going to meet the club when he was not strong enough, he was seized with a spasmodic asthma, so violent, that he could scarcely return home, and he was confined to his house eight or nine weeks. he recovered by may , when he was in fine spirits at the club. boswell writes of the essex: "i believe there are few societies where there is better conversation, or more decorum. several of us resolved to continue it after our great founder was removed by death. other members were added; and now, above eight years since that loss, we go on happily." the literary club. out of the casual, but frequent meetings of men of talent at the hospitable board of sir joshua reynolds, in leicester-square, rose that association of wits, authors, scholars, and statesmen, renowned as the literary club. reynolds was the first to propose a regular association of the kind, and was eagerly seconded by johnson, who suggested as a model the club which he had formed some fourteen years previously, in ivy-lane;[ ] and which the deaths or dispersion of its members had now interrupted for nearly seven years. on this suggestion being adopted, the members, as in the earlier club, were limited to nine, and mr. hawkins, as an original member of the ivy-lane club, was invited to join. topham beauclerk and bennet langton were asked and welcomed earnestly; and, of course, mr. edmund burke. the notion of the club delighted burke; and he asked admission for his father-in-law, dr. nugent, an accomplished roman catholic physician, who lived with him. beauclerk, in like manner, suggested his friend chamier, then under-secretary-at-war. oliver goldsmith completed the number. but another member of the original ivy-lane, samuel dyer, making unexpected appearance from abroad, in the following year, was joyfully admitted; and though it was resolved to make election difficult, and only for special reasons permit addition to their number, the limitation at first proposed was thus, of course, done away with. twenty was the highest number reached in the course of ten years. the dates of the club are thus summarily given by mr. hatchett, the treasurer:--it was founded in , by sir joshua reynolds and dr. samuel johnson, and for some years met on monday evenings, at seven. in , the day of meeting was changed to friday, and about that time, instead of supping, they agreed to dine together once in every fortnight during the sitting of parliament. in , the club, which, soon after its foundation, consisted of twelve members, was enlarged to twenty; march , , to twenty-six; november , , to thirty; may , , to thirty-five; and it was then resolved that it should never exceed forty. it met originally at the turk's head, in gerard-street, and continued to meet there till , when their landlord died, and the house was soon afterwards shut up. they then removed to prince's, in sackville-street; and on his house being, soon afterwards, shut up, they removed to baxter's, which afterwards became thomas's, in dover-street. in january, , they removed to parsloe's, in st. james's-street; and on february , , to the thatched house, in the same street. "so originated and was formed," says mr. forster, "that famous club, which had made itself a name in literary history long before it received, at garrick's funeral, the name of the literary club, by which it is now known. its meetings were noised abroad; the fame of its conversations received eager addition, from the difficulty of obtaining admission to it; and it came to be as generally understood that literature had fixed her social head-quarters here, as that politics reigned supreme at wildman's, or the cocoa-tree. with advantage, let me add, to the dignity and worldly consideration of men of letters themselves. 'i believe mr. fox will allow me to say,' remarked the bishop of st. asaph, when the society was not more than fifteen years old, 'that the honour of being elected into the turk's head club, is not inferior to that of being the representative of westminster or surrey.' the bishop had just been elected; but into such lusty independence had the club sprung up thus early, that bishops, even lord chancellors, were known to have knocked for admission unsuccessfully; and on the night of st. asaph's election, lord camden and the bishop of chester were black-balled." of this club, hawkins was a most unpopular member: even his old friend, johnson, admitted him to be out of place here. he had objected to goldsmith, at the club, "as a mere literary drudge, equal to the task of compiling and translating, but little capable of original, and still less of poetical composition." hawkins's "existence was a kind of pompous, parsimonious, insignificant drawl, cleverly ridiculed by one of the wits in an absurd epitaph: 'here lies sir john hawkins, without his shoes and stauckins.'" he was as mean as he was pompous and conceited. he forbore to partake of the suppers at the club, and begged therefore to be excused from paying his share of the reckoning. "and was he excused?" asked dr. burney, of johnson. "oh yes, for no man is angry at another for being inferior to himself. we all scorned him, and admitted his plea. yet i really believe him to be an honest man at bottom, though, to be sure, he is penurious and he is mean, and it must be owned that he has a tendency to savageness." he did not remain above two or three years in the club, being in a manner elbowed out in consequence of his rudeness to burke. still, burke's vehemence of will and sharp impetuosity of temper constantly exposed him to prejudice and dislike; and he may have painfully impressed others, as well as hawkins, at the club, with a sense of his predominance. this was the only theatre open to him. "here only," says mr. forster, "could he as yet pour forth, to an audience worth exciting, the stores of argument and eloquence he was thirsting to employ upon a wider stage; the variety of knowledge, the fund of astonishing imagery, the ease of philosophic illustration, the overpowering copiousness of words, in which he has never had a rival." miss hawkins was convinced that her father was disgusted with the overpowering deportment of mr. burke, and his monopoly of the conversation, which made all the other members, excepting his antagonist, johnson, merely listeners. something of the same sort is said by that antagonist, though in a more generous way. "what i most envy burke for," said johnson, "is, that he is never what we call humdrum; never unwilling to begin to talk, nor in haste to leave off. take up whatever topic you please, he is ready to meet you. i cannot say he is good at listening. so desirous is he to talk, that if one is speaking at this end of the table, he'll speak to somebody at the other end." the club was an opportunity for both johnson and burke; and for the most part their wit-combats seem not only to have instructed the rest, but to have improved the temper of the combatants, and to have made them more generous to each other. "how very great johnson has been to-night!" said burke to bennet langton, as they left the club together. langton assented, but could have wished to hear more from another person. "oh no!" replied burke, "it is enough for me to have rung the bell to him." one evening he observed that a hogshead of claret, which had been sent as a present to the club, was almost out; and proposed that johnson should write for another, in such ambiguity of expression as might have a chance of procuring it also as a gift. one of the company said, "dr. johnson shall be our dictator."--"were i," said johnson, "your dictator, you should have no wine: it would be my business cavere ne quid detrimenti respublica caperet:--wine is dangerous; rome was ruined by luxury." burke replied: "if you allow no wine as dictator, you shall not have me for master of the horse." goldsmith, it must be owned, joined the club somewhat unwillingly, saying: "one must make some sacrifices to obtain good society; for here i am shut out of several places where i used to play the fool very agreeably." his simplicity of character and hurried expression often led him into absurdity, and he became in some degree the butt of the company. the club, notwithstanding all its learned dignity in the eyes of the world, could occasionally unbend and play the fool as well as less important bodies. some of its jocose conversations have at times leaked out; and the society in which goldsmith could venture to sing his song of "an old woman tossed in a blanket" could not be so very staid in its gravity. bennet langton and topham beauclerk were, doubtless, induced to join the club through their devotion to johnson, and the intimacy of these two very young and aristocratic young men with the stern and somewhat melancholy moralist. bennet langton was of an ancient family, who held their ancestral estate of langton in lincolnshire, a great title to respect with johnson. "langton, sir," he would say, "has a grant of free warren from henry the second; and cardinal stephen langton, in king john's reign, was of this family." langton was of a mild, contemplative, enthusiastic nature. when but eighteen years of age, he was so delighted with reading johnson's _rambler_, that he came to london chiefly with a view to obtain an introduction to the author. langton went to pursue his studies at trinity college, oxford, where johnson saw much of him during a visit which he paid to the university. he found him in close intimacy with topham beauclerk, a youth two years older than himself, very gay and dissipated, and wondered what sympathies could draw two young men together of such opposite characters. on becoming acquainted with beauclerk, he found that, rake though he was, he possessed an ardent love of literature, an acute understanding, polished wit, innate gentility, and high aristocratic breeding. he was, moreover, the only son of lord sidney beauclerk, and grandson of the duke of st. albans, and was thought in some particulars to have a resemblance to charles the second. these were high recommendations with johnson; and when the youth testified a profound respect for him, and an ardent admiration of his talents, the conquest was complete; so that in a "short time," says boswell, "the moral, pious johnson and the gay dissipated beauclerk were companions." when these two young men entered the club, langton was about twenty-two, and beauclerk about twenty-four years of age, and both were launched on london life. langton, however, was still the mild, enthusiastic scholar, steeped to the lips in greek, with fine conversational powers, and an invaluable talent for listening. he was upwards of six feet high, and very spare. "oh that we could sketch him!" exclaims miss hawkins, in her memoirs, "with his mild countenance, his elegant features, and his sweet smile, sitting with one leg twisted round the other, as if fearing to occupy more space than was equitable; his person inclining forward, as if wanting strength to support his weight; and his arms crossed over his bosom, or his hands locked together on his knee." beauclerk, on such occasions, sportively compared him to a stork in raphael's cartoons, standing on one leg. beauclerk was more a "man upon town," a lounger in st. james's-street, an associate with george selwyn, with walpole, and other aristocratic wits, a man of fashion at court, a casual frequenter of the gaming-table; yet, with all this, he alternated in the easiest and happiest manner the scholar and the man of letters; lounged into the club with the most perfect self-possession, bringing with him the careless grace and polished wit of high-bred society, but making himself cordially at home among his learned fellow-members. johnson was exceedingly chary at first of the exclusiveness of the club, and opposed to its being augmented in number. not long after its institution, sir joshua reynolds was speaking of it to garrick. "i like it much," said little david, briskly, "i think i shall be of you." "when sir joshua mentioned this to dr. johnson," says boswell, "he was much displeased with the actor's conceit. '_he'll be of us!_' growled he; 'how does he know we will _permit_ him? the first duke in england has no right to hold such language." when sir john hawkins spoke favourably of garrick's pretensions, "sir," replied johnson, "he will disturb us by his buffoonery." in the same spirit he declared to mr. thrale, that if garrick should apply for admission, he would black-ball him. "who, sir?" exclaimed thrale, with surprise: "mr. garrick--your friend, your companion--black-ball him?" "why, sir," replied johnson, "i love my little david dearly--better than all or any of his flatterers do; but surely one ought to sit in a society like ours, "unelbowed by a gamester, pimp, or player." the exclusion from the club was a sore mortification to garrick, though he bore it without complaining. he could not help continually asking questions about it--what was going on there?--whether he was ever the subject of conversation? by degrees the rigour of the club relaxed; some of the members grew negligent. beauclerk lost his right of membership by neglecting to attend. on his marriage, however, with lady diana spencer, daughter of the duke of marlborough, and recently divorced from viscount bolingbroke, he had claimed and regained his seat in the club. the number of the members had likewise been augmented. the proposition to increase it originated with goldsmith. "it would give," he thought, "an agreeable variety to their meetings; for there can be nothing new amongst us," said he; "we have travelled over each other's minds." johnson was piqued at the suggestion. "sir," said he, "you have not travelled over my mind, i promise you." sir joshua, less confident in the exhaustless fecundity of his mind, felt and acknowledged the force of goldsmith's suggestion. several new members, therefore, had been added; the first, to his great joy, was david garrick. goldsmith, who was now on cordial terms with him, had zealously promoted his election, and johnson had given it his warm approbation. another new member was beauclerk's friend, lord charlemont; and a still more important one was mr., afterwards sir william jones, the linguist. george colman, the elder, was a lively club-man. one evening at the club he met boswell; they talked of johnson's _journey to the western islands_, and of his coming away "willing to believe the second sight," which seemed to excite some ridicule. "i was then," says boswell, "so impressed with the truth of many of the stories which i had been told, that i avowed my conviction, saying, "he is only _willing_ to believe--i _do_ believe; the evidence is enough for me, though not for his great mind. what will not fill a quart bottle will fill a pint bottle; i am filled with belief."--"are you?" said colman; "then cork it up."" five years after the death of garrick, dr. johnson dined with the club _for the last time_. this is one of the most melancholy entries by boswell. "on tuesday, june ( ), i dined with him (johnson) at the literary club, the last time of his being in that respectable society. the other members present were the bishop of st. asaph, lord eliot, lord palmerston (father of the premier), dr. fordyce, and mr. malone. he looked ill; but he had such a manly fortitude, that he did not trouble the company with melancholy complaints. they all showed evident marks of kind concern about him, with which he was much pleased, and he exerted himself to be as entertaining as his indisposition allowed him." from the time of garrick's death the club was known as "the literary club," since which it has certainly lost its claim to this epithet. it was originally a club of authors _by profession_; it now numbers very few except titled members (the majority having some claims to literary distinction), which was very far from the intention of its founders. to this the author of the paper in the _national review_ demurs. writing in , he says: "perhaps it now numbers on its list more titled members and fewer authors by profession, than its founders would have considered desirable. this opinion, however, is quite open to challenge. such men as the marquis of lansdowne, the late lord ellesmere, lords brougham, carlisle, aberdeen, and glenelg, hold their place in 'the literary club' quite as much by virtue of their contributions to literature, or their enlightened support of it, as by their right of rank." [how many of these noble members have since paid the debt of nature!] "at all events," says mr. taylor, "the club still acknowledges literature as its foundation, and love of literature as the tie which binds together its members, whatever their rank and callings. few clubs can show such a distinguished brotherhood of members as 'the literary.' of authors proper, from to this date ( ), may be enumerated, besides its original members, johnson and goldsmith, dyer and percy, gibbon and sir william jones, colman, the two wartons, farmer, steevens, burney, and malone, frere and george ellis, hallam, milman, mountstuart elphinstone, and lord stanhope. "among men equally conspicuous in letters and the senate, what names outshine those of burke and sheridan, canning, brougham, and macaulay? of statesmen and orators proper, the club claims fox, windham, thomas grenville, lord liverpool; lords lansdowne, aberdeen, and clarendon. natural science is represented by sir joseph banks, in the last century; by professor owen in this. social science can have no nobler representative than adam smith; albeit, boswell did think the club had lost caste by electing him. mr. n. w. senior is the political economist of the present club. whewell must stand alone as the embodiment of omniscience, which before him was unrepresented. scholars and soldiers may be equally proud of rennel, leake, and mure. besides the clergymen already enumerated as authors, the church has contributed a creditable list of bishops and inferior dignitaries: shipley of st. asaph, barnard of killaloe, marley of pomfret, hinchcliffe of peterborough, douglas of salisbury, blomfield of london, wilberforce of oxford, dean vincent of westminster, archdeacon burney; and dr. hawtrey, late master and present provost of eton. "sir joshua reynolds and sir charles eastlake are its two chief pillars of art, slightly unequal. with them we may associate sir william chambers and charles wilkins. the presence of drs. nugent, blagden, fordyce, warren, vaughan, and sir henry halford, is a proof that in the club medicine has from the first kept up its kinship with literature. "the profession of the law has given the society lord ashburton, lord stowell, and sir william grant, charles austin, and pemberton leigh. lord overstone may stand as the symbol of money; unless sir george cornewall lewis is to be admitted to that honour by virtue of his chancellorship of the exchequer. sir george would, probably, prefer his claims to club membership as a scholar and political writer, to any that can be picked out of a budget. "take it all in all, the literary club has never degenerated from the high standard of intellectual gifts and personal qualities, which made those unpretending suppers at the turk's head an honour eagerly contended for by the wisest, wittiest, and noblest of the eighteenth century." malone, in , gave the total number of those who had been members of the club from its foundation, at seventy-six, of whom fifty-five had been authors. since , however, literature has far less preponderance. the designation of the society has been again changed to "the johnson club." upon the taking down of the thatched house tavern, the club removed to the clarendon hotel, in bond-street, where was celebrated its centenary, in september, . there were present, upon this memorable occasion,--in the chair, the dean of st. paul's; his excellency m. van de weyer, earls clarendon and stanhope; the bishops of london and oxford; lords brougham, stanley, cranworth, kingsdown, and harry vane; the right hon. sir edmund head, spencer walpole, and robert lowe; sir henry holland, sir c. eastlake, sir roderick murchison, vice-chancellor sir w. page wood, the master of trinity, professor owen, mr. g. grote, mr. c. austen, mr. h. reeve, and mr. g. richmond. among the few members prevented from attending were the duke of argyll (in scotland), the earl of carlisle (in ireland), earl russell, the chancellor of the exchequer, lord overstone (at oxford), lord glenelg (abroad), and mr. w. stirling (from indisposition). mr. n. w. senior, who was the political economist of the club, died in june, preceding, in his sixty-fourth year. hallam and macaulay were among the constant attendants at its dinners, which take place twice a month during the parliamentary season. the custody of the books and archives of the club rests with the secretary, dr. milman, the venerable dean of st. paul's, who takes great pride and pleasure in showing to literary friends the valuable collection of autographs which these books contain. among the memorials is the portrait of sir joshua reynolds, with spectacles on, similar to the picture in the royal collection: this portrait was painted and presented by sir joshua, as the founder of the club. lord macaulay has grouped, with his accustomed felicity of language, this celebrated congress of men of letters. "to discuss questions of taste, of learning, of casuistry, in language so exact and so forcible that it might have been printed without the alteration of a word," was to johnson no exertion, but a pleasure. he loved, as he said, to fold his legs and have his talk out. he was ready to bestow the overflowings of his full mind on anybody who would start a subject, on a fellow-passenger in a stage-coach, or on the person who sat at the same table with him in an eating-house. but his conversation was nowhere so brilliant and striking as when he was surrounded by a few friends, whose abilities and knowledge enabled them, as he once expressed it, to send him back every ball that he threw. some of these, in , formed themselves into a club, which gradually became a formidable power in the commonwealth of letters. the verdicts pronounced by this conclave on new books were speedily known over all london, and were sufficient to sell off a whole edition in a day, or to condemn the sheets to the service of the trunk-maker and the pastrycook. nor shall we think this strange when we consider what great and various talents and acquirements met in the little fraternity. goldsmith was the representative of poetry and light literature, reynolds of the arts, burke of political eloquence and political philosophy. there, too, were gibbon, the greatest historian, and jones, the greatest linguist of the age. garrick brought to the meetings his inexhaustible pleasantry, his incomparable mimicry, and his consummate knowledge of stage effect. among the most constant attendants were two high-born and high-bred gentlemen, closely bound together by friendship, but of widely different characters and habits,--bennet langton, distinguished by his skill in greek literature, by the orthodoxy of his opinions, and by the sanctity of his life; and topham beauclerk, renowned for his amours, his knowledge of the gay world, his fastidious taste, and his sarcastic wit. to predominate over such a society was not easy. yet even over such a society johnson predominated. burke might indeed have disputed the supremacy to which others were under the necessity of submitting. but burke, though not generally a very patient listener, was content to take the second part when johnson was present; and the club itself, consisting of so many eminent men, is to this day popularly designated as "johnson's club." to the same master-hand we owe this cabinet picture. "the [literary club] room is before us, and the table on which stand the omelet for nugent, and the lemons for johnson. there are assembled those heads which live for ever on the canvas of reynolds. there are the spectacles of burke, and the tall thin form of langton; the courtly sneer of beauclerk, the beaming smile of garrick, gibbon tapping his snuff-box, and sir joshua with his trumpet in his ear. in the foreground is that strange figure which is as familiar to us as the figures of those among whom we have been brought up--the gigantic body, the huge massy face, seamed with the scars of disease; the brown coat, the black worsted stockings, the grey wig with the scorched foretop; the dirty hands, the nails bitten and pared to the quick. we see the eyes and the nose moving with convulsive twitches; we see the heavy form rolling; we hear it puffing; and then comes the 'why, sir?' and the 'what then, sir?' and the 'no, sir!' and the 'you don't see your way through the question, sir!'" footnotes: [ ] the house in ivy-lane, which bore the name of johnson, and where the literary club is said to have been held, was burnt down a few years since: it had long been a chop-house. goldsmith's clubs. however goldsmith might court the learned circle of the literary club, he was ill at ease there; and he had social resorts in which he indemnified himself for this restraint by indulging his humour without control. one of these was a shilling whist club, which met at the devil tavern. the company delighted in practical jokes, of which goldsmith was often the butt. one night, he came to the club in a hackney-coach, when he gave the driver a guinea instead of a shilling. he set this down as a dead loss; but, on the next club-night, he was told that a person at the street-door wanted to speak to him; he went out, and to his surprise and delight, the coachman had brought him back the guinea! to reward such honesty, he collected a small sum from the club, and largely increased it from his own purse, and with this reward sent away the coachman. he was still loud in his praise, when one of the club asked to see the returned guinea. to goldsmith's confusion it proved to be a counterfeit: the laughter which succeeded, showed him that the whole was a hoax, and the pretended coachman as much a counterfeit as the guinea. he was so disconcerted that he soon beat a retreat for the evening. another of these small clubs met on wednesday evenings, at the globe tavern, in fleet-street; where songs, jokes, dramatic imitations, burlesque parodies, and broad sallies of humour, were the entertainments. here a huge ton of a man, named gordon, used to delight goldsmith with singing the jovial song of "nottingham ale," and looking like a butt of it. here too, a wealthy pig-butcher aspired to be on the most sociable terms with oliver; and here was tom king, the comedian, recently risen to eminence by his performance of lord ogleby, in the new comedy of _the clandestine marriage_. a member of note was also one hugh kelly, who was a kind of competitor of goldsmith, but a low one; for johnson used to speak of him as a man who had written more than he had read. another noted frequenter of the globe and devil taverns was one glover, who, having failed in the medical profession, took to the stage; but having succeeded in restoring to life a malefactor who had just been executed, he abandoned the stage, and resumed his wig and cane; and came to london to dabble in physic and literature. he used to amuse the company at the club by his story-telling and mimicry, giving capital imitations of garrick, foote, colman, sterne, and others. it was through goldsmith that glover was admitted to the wednesday club; he was, however, greatly shocked by the free-and-easy tone in which goldsmith was addressed by the pig-butcher; "come, noll," he would say as he pledged him, "here's my service to you, old boy." the evening's amusement at the wednesday club was not, however, limited; it had the variety of epigram, and here was first heard the celebrated epitaph, (goldsmith had been reading pope and swift's miscellanies,) on edward purdon:-- "here lies poor ned purdon, from misery freed, who long was a bookseller's hack; he had led such a damnable life in this world, i don't think he'll wish to come back." it was in april of the present year that purdon closed his luckless life by suddenly dropping down dead in smithfield; and as it was chiefly goldsmith's pittance that had saved him thus long from starvation, it was well that the same friend should give him his solitary chance of escape from oblivion. "doctor goldsmith made this epitaph," says william ballantyne, "in his way from his chambers in the temple to the wednesday evening club at the globe. _i think he will never come back_, i believe he said; i was sitting by him, and he repeated it more than once. _i think he will never come back!_ ah! and not altogether as a jest, it may be, the second and the third time. there was something in purdon's fate, from their first meeting in college to that incident in smithfield, which had no very violent contrast to his own; and remembering what glover had said of his frequent sudden descents from mirth to melancholy, some such faithful change of temper would here have been natural enough. 'his disappointments at these times,' glover tells us, 'made him peevish and sullen, and he has often left his party of convivial friends abruptly in the evening, in order to go home and brood over his misfortunes.' but a better medicine for his grief than brooding over it, was a sudden start into the country to forget it; and it was probably with a feeling of this kind he had in the summer revisited islington; he laboured during the autumn in a room of canonbury tower; and often, in the evening, presided at the crown tavern, in islington lower road, where goldsmith and his fellow-lodgers had formed a kind of temporary club. at the close of the year he returned to the temple, and was again pretty constant in his attendance at gerard-street."[ ] footnotes: [ ] see forster's _life of goldsmith_, pp. - . the dilettanti society. the origin of this society, which has now existed some years, is due to certain gentlemen, who had travelled much in italy, and were desirous of encouraging at home a taste for those objects which had contributed so much to their intellectual gratification abroad. accordingly, in the year , they formed themselves into a society, under the name of dilettanti, (literally, lovers of the fine arts,) and agreed upon certain regulations to keep up the spirit of their scheme, which combined friendly and social intercourse with a serious and ardent desire to promote the arts. in , mr. james stuart, "athenian stuart," and mr. nicholas revett, were elected members. the society liberally assisted them in their excellent work, _the antiquities of athens_. in fact it was, in great measure, owing to this society that after the death of the above two eminent architects, the work was not entirely relinquished; and a large number of the plates were engraved from drawings in the possession of the dilettanti. walpole, speaking in , of the society, in connexion with an opera subscription, says, "the nominal qualification [to be a member] is having been in italy, and the real one, being drunk; the two chiefs are lord middlesex and sir francis dashwood, who were seldom sober the whole time they were in italy." we need scarcely add, that the qualifications for election are no longer what walpole described them to have been. in , the society being possessed of a considerable sum above what their services required, various schemes were proposed for applying part of this money; and it was at length resolved "that a person or persons properly qualified, should be sent, with sufficient appointments, to certain parts of the east, to collect information relative to the former state of those countries, and particularly to procure exact descriptions of the ruins of such monuments of antiquity as are yet to be seen in those parts." three persons were elected for this undertaking, mr. chandler, of magdalen college, oxford, editor of the _marmora oxoniensia_, was appointed to execute the classical part of the plan. architecture was assigned to mr. revett; and the choice of a proper person for taking views and copying the bas-reliefs, fell upon mr. pars, a young painter of promise. each person was strictly enjoined to keep a regular journal, and hold a constant correspondence with the society. the party embarked on june , , in the _anglicana_, bound for constantinople, and were just at the dardanelles on the th of august. having visited the sigæan promontory, the ruins of troas, with the islands of tenedos and scio, they arrived at the smyrna on the th of september. from that city, as their head-quarters, they made several excursions. on the th of august, , they sailed from smyrna, and arrived at athens on the th of the same month, having touched at sunium and Ægina on their way. they staid at athens till june , , visiting marathon, eleusis, salamis, megara, and other places in the neighbourhood. leaving athens, they proceeded by the little island of calauria to trezene, epidaurus, argos, and corinth. from this they visited delphi, patræ, elis, and zante, whence they sailed on the st of august, and arrived in england on the nd of november following, bringing with them an immense number of drawings, etc., the result of which was the publication, at the expense of the society, of two magnificent volumes of _ionian antiquities_. the results of the expedition were also the two popular works, chandler's travels in asia minor, ; and his _travels in greece_, in the following year; also, the volume of greek inscriptions, , containing the sigæan inscription, the marble of which has been since brought to england by lord elgin; and the celebrated documents containing the reconstruction of the temple of minerva polias, which professor wilkins illustrated in his _prolusiones architectonicæ_, . walpole, in , has this odd passage upon the _ionian antiquities_: "they who are industrious and correct, and wish to forget nothing, should go to greece, where there is nothing left to be seen, but that ugly pigeon-house, the temple of the winds, that fly-cage, demosthenes's lantern, and one or two fragments of a portico, or a piece of a column crushed into a mud wall; and with such a morsel, and many quotations, a true classic antiquary can compose a whole folio, and call it _ionian antiquities_." but, it may be asked, how came the society to associate so freely pleasure with graver pursuits? to this it may be replied, that when the dilettanti first met they avowed friendly and social intercourse the first object they had in view, although they soon showed that they would combine with it a serious plan for the promotion of the arts in this country. for these persons were not scholars, nor even men of letters; they were some of the wealthiest noblemen and most fashionable men of the day, who would naturally sup with the regent as he went through paris, and find themselves quite at home in the carnival of venice. these, too, were times of what would now be considered very licentious merriment and very unscrupulous fun,--times when men of independent means and high rank addicted themselves to pleasure, and gave vent to their full animal spirits with a frankness that would now be deemed not only vulgar but indecorous, while they evinced an earnestness about objects now thought frivolous which it is very easy to represent as absurd. in assuming, however, the name of "dilettanti" they evidently attached to it no light and superficial notion. the use of that word as one of disparagement or ridicule is quite recent. the same may be said of "virtù," which, in the artistic sense, does not seem to be strictly academical, but that of "virtuoso" is so, undoubtedly, and it means the "capable" man,--the man who has a right to judge on matters requiring a particular faculty: dryden says: "virtuoso the italians call a man 'who loves the noble arts, and is a critic in them,' or, as old glanville says,' 'who dwells in a higher region than other mortals.' "thus, when the dilettanti mention 'the cause of virtue' as a high object which they will never abandon, they express their belief that the union into which they had entered had a more important purpose than any personal satisfaction could give it, and that they did engage themselves thereby in some degree to promote the advantage of their country and of mankind. "of all the merry meetings these gay gentlemen had together, small records remain. we, looking back out of a graver time, can only judge from the uninterrupted course of their festive gatherings, from the names of the statesmen, the wits, the scholars, the artists, the amateurs, that fill the catalogue, from the strange mixture of dignities and accessions to wealth for which, by the rules of the society, fines were paid,--and above all, by the pictures which they possess,--how much of the pleasantry and the hearty enjoyment must have been mixed up with the more solid pursuits of the members. cast your eye over the list of those who met together at the table of the dilettanti any time between and ."[ ] here occur the names of sir joshua reynolds, earl fitzwilliam, charles james fox, hon. stephen fox (lord holland), hon. mr. fitzpatrick, charles howard (duke of norfolk), lord robert spencer, george selwyn, colonel fitzgerald, hon. h. conway, joseph banks, duke of dorset, sir william hamilton, david garrick, george colman, joseph windham, r. payne knight, sir george beaumont, towneley, and others of less posthumous fame, but probably of not less agreeable companionship. the funds must have largely benefited by the payment of fines, some of which were very strange. those paid "on increase of income, by inheritance, legacy, marriage, or preferment," are very odd; as, five guineas by lord grosvenor, on his marriage with miss leveson gower; eleven guineas by the duke of bedford, on being appointed first lord of the admiralty; ten guineas compounded for by bubb dodington, as treasurer of the navy; two guineas by the duke of kingston for a colonelcy of horse (then valued at _l._ per annum); twenty-one pounds by lord sandwich on going out as ambassador to the congress at aix-la-chapelle; and twopence three-farthings by the same nobleman, on becoming recorder of huntingdon; thirteen shillings and fourpence by the duke of bedford, on getting the garter; and sixteen shillings and eightpence (scotch) by the duke of buccleuch, on getting the thistle; twenty-one pounds by the earl of holdernesse, as secretary of state; and nine pounds, nineteen shillings and sixpence, by charles james fox, as a lord of the admiralty. in , another expedition was undertaken by the society, when sir william gell, with messrs. gandy and bedford, professional architects, proceeded to the levant. smyrna was again appointed the head-quarters of the mission, and fifty pounds per month was assigned to gell, and two hundred pounds per annum to each of the architects. an additional outlay was required; and by this means the classical and antique literature of england was enriched with the fullest and most accurate descriptions of important remains of ancient art hitherto given to the world. the contributions of the society to the æsthetic studies of the time also deserve notice. the excellent design to publish _select specimens of antient sculpture preserved in the several collections of great britain_ was carried into effect by messrs. payne knight and mr. towneley, vols. folio, - . then followed mr. penrose's _investigations into the principles of athenian architecture_, printed in . about the year , those admirable monuments of grecian art, called the bronzes of siris, were discovered on the banks of that river, and were brought to this country by the chevalier brondsted. the dilettanti society immediately organized a subscription of _l._, and the trustees of the british museum completed the purchase by the additional sum of _l._ it was mainly through the influence and patronage of the dilettanti society that the royal academy obtained a charter. in , the interest of _l._ three per cents. was appropriated by the former for the purpose of sending two students, recommended by the royal academy, to study in italy or greece for three years. in appeared a second volume on ancient sculpture. the society at this time included, among a list of sixty-four names of the noble and learned, those of sir william gell, mr. towneley, richard westmacott, henry hallam, the duke of bedford, sir m. a. shee, p.r.a., henry t. hope; and lord prudhoe, afterwards duke of northumberland. that a society possessing so much wealth and social importance as the dilettanti should not have built for themselves a mansion is surprising. in they obtained a plot of ground in cavendish square, for this purpose; but in , they disposed of the property. between and the project of an edifice in piccadilly, on the model of the temple of pola, was agitated by the committee; two sites were proposed, one between devonshire and bath houses, the other on the west side of cambridge house. this scheme was also abandoned. meanwhile the society were accustomed to meet at the thatched house tavern, the large room of which was hung with portraits of the dilettanti. sir joshua reynolds, who was a member, painted for the society three capital pictures:-- . a group in the manner of paul veronese, containing the portraits of the duke of leeds, lord dundas, constantine lord mulgrave, lord seaforth, the hon. charles greville, charles crowle, esq., and sir joseph banks. . a group in the manner of the same master, containing portraits of sir william hamilton, sir watkin w. wynne, richard thomson, esq., sir john taylor, payne galway, esq., john smythe, esq., and spencer s. stanhope, esq. . head of sir joshua, dressed in a loose robe, and in his own hair. the earlier portraits are by hudson, reynolds's master. some of these portraits are in the costume familiar to us through hogarth; others are in turkish or roman dresses. there is a mixture of the convivial in all these pictures: many are using wine-glasses of no small size: lord sandwich, for instance, in a turkish costume, casts a most unorthodox glance upon a brimming goblet in his left hand, while his right holds a flask of great capacity. sir bouchier wray is seated in the cabin of a ship, mixing punch, and eagerly embracing the bowl, of which a lurch of the sea would seem about to deprive him: the inscription is _dulce est desipere in loco_. here is a curious old portrait of the earl of holdernesse, in a red cap, as a gondolier, with the rialto and venice in the background; there is charles sackville, duke of dorset, as a roman senator, dated ; lord galloway, in the dress of a cardinal; and a very singular likeness of one of the earliest of the dilettanti, lord le despencer, as a monk at his devotions: his lordship is clasping a brimming goblet for his rosary, and his eyes are not very piously fixed on a statue of the venus de' medici. it must be conceded that some of these pictures remind one of the medmenham orgies, with which some of the dilettanti were not unfamiliar. the ceiling of the large room was painted to represent sky, and crossed by gold cords interlacing each other, and from their knots were hung three large glass chandeliers. the thatched house has disappeared, but the pictures have been well cared for. the dilettanti have removed to another tavern, and dine together on the first sunday in every month, from february to july. the late lord aberdeen, the marquises of northampton and lansdowne, and colonel leake, and mr. broderip, were members; as was also the late lord northwick, whose large collection of pictures at thirlestane, cheltenham, was dispersed by sale in . footnotes: [ ] edinburgh review, no. , p. . the royal naval club. about the year , according to a document in the possession of mr. fitch of norwich, a naval club was started "for the improvement of a mutuall society, and an encrease of love and kindness amongst them;" and that consummate seaman, admiral sir john kempthorne, was declared steward of the institution. this was the precursor of the royal naval club of , which, whether considered for its amenities or its extensive charities, may be justly cited as a model establishment. (_admiral smyth's rise and progress of the royal society club_, p. .) the members of this club annually distribute a considerable sum among the distressed widows and orphans of those who have spent their days in the naval service of their country. the club was accustomed to dine together at the thatched house tavern, on the anniversary of the battle of the nile. "founded on the model of the old tavern or convivial clubs, but confined exclusively to members of the naval service, the royal naval club numbered among its members men from the days of boscawen, rodney, and 'the first of june' downwards. it was a favourite retreat for william iv. when duke of clarence; and his comrade, sir philip durham, the survivor of nelson, and almost the last of the 'old school,' frequented it. sir philip, however, was by no means one of the trunnion class. coarseness and profane language, on the contrary, he especially avoided; but in 'spinning a yarn' there has been none like him since the days of smollett. the loss of the royal george, from which he was one of the few, if, indeed, not only officer, who escaped, was a favourite theme; and the admiral, not content with having made his escape, was wont to maintain that he swam ashore with his midshipman's dirk in his teeth. yet sir philip would allow no one to trench on his manor. one day, when a celebrated naval captain, with the view of quizzing him, was relating the loss of a merchantman on the coast of south america, laden with spitalfields products, and asserting that silk was so plentiful, and the cargo so scattered, that the porpoises were for some hours enmeshed in its folds: 'ay, ay,' replied sir philip, 'i believe you; for i was once cruising on that coast myself, in search of a privateer, and having lost our fore-topsail one morning in a gale of wind, we next day found it tied round a whale's neck by way of a cravat.' sir philip was considered to have the best of it, and the novelist was mute."[ ] footnotes: [ ] london clubs, . the wyndham club. this club, which partakes of the character of arthur's and boodle's, was founded by lord nugent, its object being, as stated in rule , "to secure a convenient and agreeable place of meeting for a society of gentlemen, all connected with each other by a common bond of literary or personal acquaintance." the club, no. , st. james's-square, is named from the mansion having been the residence of william wyndham, who has been described, and the description has been generally adopted as appropriate, as a model of the true english gentleman; and the fitness of the club designation is equally characteristic. he was an accomplished scholar and mathematician. dr. johnson, writing of a visit which wyndham paid him, says: "such conversation i shall not have again till i come back to the regions of literature, and there wyndham is 'inter stellas luna minores.'" in the mansion also lived the accomplished john, duke of roxburghe; and here the roxburghe library was sold in , the sale extending to forty-one days. lord chief justice ellenborough lived here in ; and subsequently, the earl of blessington, who possessed a fine collection of pictures. the travellers' club. this famous club was originated shortly after the peace of , by the marquis of londonderry (then lord castlereagh), with a view to a resort for gentlemen who had resided or travelled abroad, as well as with a view to the accommodation of foreigners, who, when properly recommended, receive an invitation for the period of their stay. one of the rules directs "that no person be considered eligible to the travellers' club who shall not have travelled out of the british islands to a distance of at least miles from london in a direct line." another rule directs "that no dice and no game of hazard be allowed in the rooms of the club, nor any higher stake than guinea points, and that no cards be introduced before dinner." prince talleyrand, during his residence in london, generally joined the muster of whist-players at the travellers'; probably, here was the scene of this felicitous rejoinder. the prince was enjoying his rubber, when the conversation turned on the recent union of an elderly lady of respectable rank. "how ever could madame de s---- make such a match?--a person of her birth to marry a _valet-de-chambre_!" "ah," replied talleyrand, "it was late in the game: at nine we don't reckon honours." the present travellers' club-house, which adjoins the athenæum in pall-mall, was designed by barry, r.a., and built in . it is one of the architect's most admired works. yet, we have seen it thus treated, with more smartness than judgment, by a critic who is annoyed at its disadvantageous comparison with its more gigantic neighbours:-- "the travellers' is worse, and looks very like a sandwich at the swindon station--a small stumpy piece of beef between two huge pieces of bread, _i.e._ the athenæum and the reform clubs, which look as if they were urging their migratory neighbour to resume the peregrinations for which its members are remarkable. yet people have their names down ten years at the travellers' previous to their coming up for ballot. an election reasonably extended would supply funds for a more advantageous and extended position." the architecture is the nobler italian, resembling a roman palace: the plan is a quadrangle, with an open area in the middle, so that all the rooms are well lighted. the pall-mall front has a bold and rich cornice, and the windows are decorated with corinthian pilasters: the garden front varies in the windows, but the italian taste is preserved throughout, with the most careful finish: the roof is italian tiles. to be more minute, the consent of all competent judges has assigned a very high rank to this building as a piece of architectural design; for if, in point of mere _quantity_, it fall greatly short of many contemporary structures, it surpasses nearly every one of them in _quality_, and in the artist-like treatment. in fact, it makes an epoch in our metropolitan architecture; for before, we had hardly a specimen of that nobler italian style, which, instead of the flutter and flippery, and the littleness of manner, which pervade most of the productions of the palladian school, is characterized by breath and that refined simplicity arising from unity of idea and execution, and from every part being consistently worked up, yet kept subservient to one predominating effect. unfortunately, the south front, which is by far the more striking and graceful composition, is comparatively little seen, being that facing carlton gardens, and not to be approached so as to be studied as it deserves; but when examined, it certainly must be allowed to merit all the admiration it has obtained. though perfect, quiet, and sober in effect, and unostentatious in character, this building of barry's is remarkable for the careful finish bestowed on every part of it. it is this quality, together with the taste displayed in the design generally, that renders it an architectural bijou. almost any one must be sensible of this, if he will but be at the pains to compare it with the united service club, eastward of which, as far as mere quantity goes, there is much more. another critic remarks: "the travellers' fairly makes an epoch in the architectural history of club-houses, as being almost the first, if not the very first, attempt, to introduce into this country that species of rich _astylar_ composition which has obtained the name of the italian palazzo mode, by way of contradistinction from palladianism and its orders. this production of barry's has given a fresh impulse to architectural design, and one in a more artistic direction; and the style adopted by the architect has been applied to various other buildings in the provinces as well as in the metropolis; and its influence has manifested itself in the taste of our recent street architecture." the travellers' narrowly escaped destruction on october , , when a fire did great damage to the billiard-rooms, which were, by the way, an afterthought, and addition to the original building, but by no means an improvement upon the first design, for they greatly impaired the beauty of the garden-front. the united service club. one of the oldest of the modern clubs, was instituted the year after the peace of , when a few officers of influence in both branches of the service had built for them, by sir r. smirke, a club-house at the corner of charles-street and regent-street,--a frigid design, somewhat relieved by sculpture on the entrance-front, of britannia distributing laurels to her brave sons by land and sea. thence the club removed to a more spacious house, in waterloo-place, facing the athenæum; the club-house in charles-street being entered on by the junior united service club; but smirke's cold design has been displaced by an edifice of much more ornate exterior and luxurious internal appliances. the united service club (senior) was designed by nash, and has a well-planned interior, exhibiting the architect's well-known excellence in this branch of his profession. the principal front facing pall mall has a roman-doric portico; and above it a corinthian portico, with pediment. one of the patriarchal members of the club was lord lynedoch, the hero of the peninsular war, who lived under five sovereigns: he died in his rd year, leaving behind him a name to be held in honoured remembrance, while loyalty is considered to be a real virtue, or military renown a passport to fame. it is a curious fact that the duke of wellington fought his last battle at an earlier period of life than that in which lord lynedoch "fleshed his maiden sword;" and though we were accustomed to regard the duke himself as preserving his vigour to a surprisingly advanced age, lord lynedoch was at his death old enough to have been the father of his grace. the united service was the favourite club of the duke, who might often be seen dining here on a joint; and on one occasion, when he was charged _s._ _d._ instead of _s._ for it, he bestirred himself till the threepence was struck off. the motive was obvious: he took the trouble of objecting, so that he might sanction the principle. among the club pictures is jones's large painting of the battle of waterloo; and the portrait of the duke of wellington, painted for the club by w. robinson. here also are stanfield's fine picture of the battle of trafalgar; and a copy, by lane, painted in , of a contemporary portrait of sir francis drake, our "elizabethan sea-king." the club-house has of late years been considerably enlarged. the alfred club. in the comparatively quiet albemarle-street was instituted, in , the alfred club, which has, _ab initio_, been remarkable for the number of travellers and men of letters, who form a considerable proportion of its members. science is handsomely housed at the royal institution, on the east side of the street; and literature nobly represented by the large publishing-house of mr. murray, on the west; both circumstances tributary to the _otium_ enjoyed in a club. yet, strangely enough, its position has been a frequent source of banter to the alfred. first it was known by its cockney appellation of _half-read_. lord byron was a member, and he tells us that "it was pleasant, a little too sober and literary, and bored with sotheby and francis d'ivernois; but one met rich, and ward, and valentia, and many other pleasant or known people; and it was, in the whole, a decent resource in a rainy day, in a dearth of parties, or parliament, or in an empty season." lord dudley, writing to the bishop of llandaff, says: "i am glad you mean to come into the alfred this time. we are the most abused, and most envied, and most canvassed, society that i know of, and we deserve neither the one nor the other distinction. the club is not so good a resource as many respectable persons would believe, nor are we by any means such quizzes or such bores as the wags pretend. a duller place than the alfred there does not exist. i should not choose to be quoted for saying so, but the bores prevail there to the exclusion of every other interest. you hear nothing but idle reports and twaddling opinions. they read the _morning post_ and the _british critic_. it is the asylum of doting tories and drivelling quidnuncs. but they are civil and quiet. you belong to a much better club already. the eagerness to get into it is prodigious." then, we have the _quarterly review_, with confirmation strong of the two lords:--"the alfred received its _coup-de-grâce_ from a well-known story, (rather an indication than a cause of its decline,) to the effect that mr. canning, whilst in the zenith of his fame, dropped in accidentally at a house dinner of twelve or fourteen, stayed out the evening, and made himself remarkably agreeable, without any one of the party suspecting who he was." the dignified clergy, who, with the higher class of lawyers, have long ago emigrated to the athenæum and university clubs, formerly mustered in such great force at the alfred, that lord alvanley, on being asked in the bow-window at white's, whether he was still a member, somewhat irreverently replied: "not exactly: i stood it as long as i could, but when the seventeenth bishop was proposed i gave in. i really could not enter the place without being put in mind of my catechism." "sober-minded people," says the _quarterly review_, "may be apt to think this formed the best possible reason for his lordship's remaining where he was. it is hardly necessary to say that the presence of the bishops and judges is universally regarded as an unerring test of the high character of a club." the oriental club. several years ago, the high dignitaries of the church and law kept the alfred to themselves; but this would not do: then they admitted a large number of very respectable good young men, who were unexceptionable, but not very amusing. this, again, would not do. so, now the alfred joined, , the oriental, in hanover-square. and curiously enough, the latter club has been quizzed equally with the alfred. in the merry days of the _new monthly magazine_ of some thirty years since, we read:--"the oriental--or, as the hackney-coachmen call it, the horizontal club--in hanover-square, outdoes even arthur's for quietude. placed at the corner of a _cul-de-sac_--at least as far as carriages are concerned, and in a part of the square to which nobody not proceeding to one of four houses which occupy that particular side ever thinks of going, its little windows, looking upon nothing, give the idea of mingled dulness and inconvenience. from the outside it looks like a prison;--enter it, it looks like an hospital, in which a smell of curry-powder pervades the 'wards,'--wards filled with venerable patients, dressed in nankeen shorts, yellow stockings, and gaiters, and faces to match. _there_ may still be seen pigtails in all their pristine perfection. it is the region of calico shirts, returned writers, and guinea-pigs grown into bores. such is the _nabobery_, into which harley-street, wimpole-street, and glocester-place, daily empty their precious stores of bilious humanity." time has blunted the point of this satiric picture, the individualities of which had passed away, even before the amalgamation of the oriental with the alfred. the oriental club was established in , by sir john malcolm, the traveller and brave soldier. the members were noblemen and gentlemen associated with the administration of our eastern empire, or who have travelled or resided in asia, at st. helena, in egypt, at the cape of good hope, the mauritius, or at constantinople. the oriental was erected in - , by b. and p. wyatt, and has the usual club characteristic of only one tier of windows above the ground-floor; the interior has since been redecorated and embellished by collman. the athenÆum club. the athenæum presents a good illustration of the present club system, of which it was one of the earliest instances. by reference to the accounts of the clubs existing about the commencement of the present century, it will be seen how greatly they differed, both in constitution and purpose, from the modern large subscription-houses, called clubs; and which are to be compared with their predecessors only in so far as every member must be balloted for, or be chosen by the consent of the rest. prior to , there was only one institution in the metropolis particularly devoted to the association of authors, literary men, members of parliament, and promoters generally of the fine arts. all other establishments were more or less exclusive, comprising gentlemen who screened themselves in the windows of white's, or members for counties who darkened the doors of brookes's; or they were dedicated to the guards, or "men of wit and pleasure about town." it is true that the royal society had its convivial meetings, as we have already narrated; and small clubs of members of other learned societies, were held; but with these exceptions, there were no clubs where individuals known for their scientific or literary attainments, artists of eminence in any class of the fine arts, and noblemen and gentlemen distinguished as patrons of science, literature, and the arts, could unite in friendly and encouraging intercourse; and professional men were compelled either to meet at taverns, or to be confined exclusively to the society of their particular professions. to remedy this, on the th of february, , a preliminary meeting,--comprising sir humphry davy, the right hon. john wilson croker, sir francis chantrey, richard heber, sir thomas lawrence, dr. thomas young, lord dover, davie gilbert, the earl of aberdeen, sir henry halford, sir walter scott, joseph jekyll, thomas moore, and charles hatchett,--was held in the apartments of the royal society, at somerset house; at this meeting professor faraday assisted as secretary, and it was agreed to institute a club to be called "the society," subsequently altered to "the athenæum." "the society" first met in the clarence club-house; but, in , the present mansion, designed by decimus burton, was opened to the members. the athenæum club-house is built upon a portion of the court-yard of carlton house. the architecture is grecian, with a frieze exactly copied from the panathenaic procession in the frieze of the parthenon,--the flower and beauty of athenian youth, gracefully seated on the most exquisitely sculptured horses, which flaxman regarded as the most precious example of grecian power in the sculpture of animals. over the roman doric entrance-portico is a colossal figure of minerva, by baily, r.a.; and the interior has some fine casts of _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of sculpture. here the architecture is grand, massive, and severe. the noble hall, feet broad by feet long, is divided by scagliola columns and pilasters, the capitals copied from the choragic monument of lysicrates. this is the exchange, or lounge, where the members meet. the floor is the marmorato veneziano mosaic. over each of the two fire-places, in a niche, is a statue--the diana robing and the venus victrix, selected by sir thomas lawrence--a very fine contrivance for sculptural display. the library is the best club library in london: it comprises the most rare and valuable works, and a very considerable sum is annually expended upon the collection, under the guidance of members most eminent in literature and science. above the mantelpiece is a portrait of george iv., painted by lawrence, upon which he was engaged but a few hours previous to his decease; the last bit of colour this celebrated artist ever put upon canvas being that of the hilt and sword-knot of the girdle; thus it remains unfinished. the bookcases of the drawing-rooms are crowned with busts of british worthies. among the club gossip it is told that a member who held the library faith of the promise of the fathers, and was anxious to consult their good works, one day asked, in a somewhat familiar tone of acquaintance with these respectable theologians, "is justin martyr here?"--"i do not know," was the reply; "i will refer to the list, but i do not think that gentleman is one of our members." mr. walker, in his very pleasant work, _the original_, was one of the first to show how by the then new system of clubs the facilities of living were wonderfully increased, whilst the expense was greatly diminished. for a few pounds a year, advantages are to be enjoyed which no fortunes, except the most ample, can procure. the only club (he continues) i belong to is the athenæum, which consists of twelve hundred members, amongst whom are to be reckoned a large proportion of the most eminent persons in the land, in every line,--civil, military, and ecclesiastical,--peers spiritual and temporal (ninety-five noblemen and twelve bishops), commoners, men of the learned professions, those connected with science, the arts, and commerce, in all its principal branches, as well as the distinguished who do not belong to any particular class. many of these are to be met with every day, living with the same freedom as in their own houses, for guineas entrance, and guineas a year. every member has the command of an excellent library, with maps; of newspapers, english and foreign; the principal periodicals; writing materials, and attendance. the building is a sort of palace, and is kept with the same exactness and comfort as a private dwelling. every member is master, without any of the trouble of a master: he can come when he pleases, and stay away when he pleases, without anything going wrong; he has the command of regular servants, without having to pay or manage them; he can have whatever meal or refreshment he wants, at all hours, and served up as in his own house. he orders just what he pleases, having no interest to think of but his own. in short, it is impossible to suppose a greater degree of liberty in living. "clubs, as far as my observation goes, are favourable to economy of time. there is a fixed place to go to, everything is served with comparative expedition, and it is not customary in general to remain long at table. they are favourable to temperance. it seems that when people can freely please themselves, and when they have an opportunity of living simply, excess is seldom committed. from an account i have of the expenses at the athenæum in the year , it appears that , dinners cost, on an average, _s._ ¾_d._ each, and that the average quantity of wine for each person was a small fraction more than half-a-pint. "the expense of building the club-house was , _l._, and , _l._ for furnishing; the plate, linen, and glass cost , _l._; library, , _l._, and the stock of wine in cellar is usually worth about _l._: yearly revenue about _l._" the economical management of the club has not, however, been effected without a few sallies of humour. in , we read: "the mixture of whigs, radicals, _savants_, foreigners, dandies, authors, soldiers, sailors, lawyers, artists, doctors, and members of both houses of parliament, together with an exceedingly good average supply of bishops, render the _mélange_ very agreeable, despite of some two or three bores, who 'continually do dine;' and who, not satisfied with getting a _s._ dinner for _s._ _d._, 'continually do complain.'" mr. rogers, the poet, was one of the earliest members of the athenæum, and innumerable are the good things, though often barbed with bitterness, which are recorded of him. some years ago, judges, bishops, and peers used to congregate at the athenæum; but a club of twelve hundred members cannot be select. "warned by the necessity of keeping up their number and their funds, they foolishly set abroad a report that the finest thing in the world was to belong to the athenæum; and that an opportunity offered for hobnobbing with archbishops, and hearing theodore hook's jokes. consequently all the little crawlers and parasites, and gentility-hunters, from all corners of london, set out upon the creep; and they crept in at the windows and they crept down the area steps, and they crept in unseen at the doors, and they crept in under bishops' sleeves, and they crept in in peers' pockets, and they were blown in by the winds of chance. the consequence has been, that ninety-nine hundredths of this club are people who rather seek to obtain a sort of standing by belonging to the athenæum, than to give it lustre by the talent of its members. nine-tenths of the intellectual writers of the age would be certainly black-balled by the dunces. notwithstanding all this, and partly on account of this, the athenæum is a capital club: the library is certainly the best club library in london, and is a great advantage to a man who writes."[ ] theodore hook was one of the most clubbable men of his time. after a late breakfast, he would force and strain himself at large arrears of literary toil, and then drive rapidly from fulham to town, and pay a visit "first to one club, where, the centre of an admiring circle, his intellectual faculties were again upon the stretch, and again aroused and sustained by artificial means: the same thing repeated at a second--the same drain and the same supply--ballot or general meeting at a third, the chair taken by mr. hook, who addresses the members, produces the accounts, audits and passes them--gives a succinct statement of the prospects and finances of the society--parries an awkward question--extinguishes a grumbler--confounds an opponent--proposes a vote of thanks to himself, seconds, carries it,--and returns thanks, with a vivacious rapidity that entirely confounds the unorganized schemes of the minority--then a chop in the committee-room, and just one tumbler of brandy-and-water, or _two_, and we fear the catalogue would not always close there." at the athenæum, hook was a great card; and in a note to the sketch of him in the _quarterly review_, it is stated that the number of dinners at this club fell off by upwards of three hundred per annum after hook disappeared from his favourite corner, near the door of the coffee-room. that is to say, there must have been some dozens of gentlemen who chose to dine there once or twice every week of the season, merely for the chance of hook's being there, and permitting them to draw their chairs to his little table in the course of the evening. of the extent to which he suffered from this sort of invasion, there are several bitter oblique complaints in his novels. the _corner_ alluded to will, we suppose, long retain the name which it derived from him--_temperance corner_. many grave and dignified personages being frequent guests, it would hardly have been seemly to be calling for repeated supplies of a certain description; but the waiters well understood what the oracle of the corner meant by "another glass of toast and water," or, "a little more lemonade." footnotes: [ ] new quarterly review. the university club. in suffolk-street, pall mall east, was instituted in , and the club-house, designed by deering and wilkins, architects, was opened in . it is of the grecian doric and ionic orders; and the staircase walls have casts from the parthenon frieze. the club consists chiefly of members of parliament who have received university education; several of the judges, and a large number of beneficed clergymen. this club has the reputation of possessing the best stocked wine-cellar in london, which is of no small importance to members, clerical or lay. economy of clubs. thirty years ago, mr. walker took some pains to disabuse the public mind of a false notion that female society was much affected by the multiplication of clubs. he remarks that in those hours of the evening, which are peculiarly dedicated to society, he could scarcely count twenty members in the suite of rooms upstairs at the athenæum club. if female society be neglected, he contended that it was not owing to the institution of clubs, but more probably to the long sittings of the house of commons, and to the want of easy access to family circles. at the athenæum he never heard it even hinted, that married men frequented it to the prejudice of their domestic habits, or that bachelors were kept from general society. indeed, mr. walker maintains, that clubs are a preparation and not a substitute for domestic life. compared with the previous system of living, they induce habits of economy, temperance, refinement, regularity, and good order. still, a club only offers an imitation of the comforts of home, but only an imitation, and one which will never supersede the reality. however, the question became a subject for pleasant satire. mrs. gore, in one of her clever novels, has these shrewd remarks:--"london clubs, after all, are not bad things for family men. they act as conductors to the storms usually hovering in the air. the man forced to remain at home and vent his crossness on his wife and children, is a much worse animal to bear with, than the man who grumbles his way to pall mall, and not daring to swear at the club-servants, or knock about the club-furniture, becomes socialized into decency. nothing like the subordination exercised in a community of equals for reducing a fiery temper." mr. hood, in his _comic annual_ for , took up the topic in his rich vein of comic humour, and here is the amusing result:-- "clubs, "turned up by a female hand. "of all the modern schemes of man that time has brought to bear, a plague upon the wicked plan that parts the wedded pair! my female friends they all agree they hardly know their hubs; and heart and voice unite with me, 'we hate the name of clubs!' "one selfish course the wretches keep; they come at morning chimes; to snatch a few short hours of sleep-- rise--breakfast--read the times-- then take their hats, and post away, like clerks or city scrubs, and no one sees them all the day,-- they live, eat, drink, at clubs! "with rundell, dr. k., or glasse, and such domestic books, they once put up, but now, alas! it's hey! for foreign cooks. 'when _will_ you dine at home, my dove?' i say to mr. stubbs. 'when cook can make an omelette, love-- an omelette like the clubs!' "time was, their hearts were only placed on snug domestic schemes, the book for two--united taste,-- and such connubial dreams,-- friends, dropping in at close of day, to singles, doubles, rubs,-- a little music,--then the tray,-- and not a word of clubs! "but former comforts they condemn; french kickshaws they discuss, and take their wine, the wine takes them, and then they favour us;-- from some offence they can't digest, as cross as bears with cubs, or sleepy, dull, and queer, at best-- that's how they come from clubs! "it's very fine to say, 'subscribe to andrews'--can't you read? when wives, the poor neglected tribe, complain how they proceed! they'd better recommend at once philosophy and tubs,-- a woman need not be a dunce, to feel the wrong of clubs. "a set of savage goths and picts would seek us now and then,-- they're pretty pattern-benedicts to guide our single men! indeed, my daughters both declare 'their beaux shall not be subs to white's, or black's, or anywhere,-- they've seen enough of clubs!' "they say, without the marriage ties, they can devote their hours to catechize, or botanize-- shells, sunday schools, and flow'rs-- or teach a pretty poll new words, tend covent garden shrubs, nurse dogs and chirp to little birds-- as wives do since the clubs. "alas! for those departed days of social wedded life, when married folks had married ways, and liv'd like man and wife! oh! wedlock then was pick'd by none-- as safe a lock as chubb's! but couples, that should be as one, are now the two of clubs! "of all the modern schemes of man that time has brought to bear, a plague upon the wicked plan, that parts the wedded pair! my wedded friends they all allow they meet with slights and snubs, and say, 'they have no husbands now,-- they're married to the clubs!'" the satire soon reached the stage. about five-and-twenty years since there was produced at the old wooden olympic theatre, mr. mark lemon's farce, _the ladies' club_, which proved one of the most striking pieces of the time. "though in clubs, in the modern sense of the word, had been for some years established, they were not quite recognized as social necessities, and the complaints of married ladies and of dowagers with marriageable daughters, to the effect that these institutions caused husbands to desert the domestic hearth and encouraged bachelors to remain single, expressed something of a general feeling. public opinion was ostentatiously on the side of the ladies and against the clubs, and to this opinion mr. mark lemon responded when he wrote his most successful farce."[ ] here are a few experiences of club-life. "there are many british lions in the coffee-room who have dined off a joint and beer, and have drunk a pint of port-wine afterwards, and whose bill is but _s._ _d._ one great luxury in a modern club is that there is no temptation to ostentatious expense. at an hotel there is an inclination in some natures to be 'a good customer.' at a club the best men are generally the most frugal--they are afraid of being thought like that little snob, calicot, who is always surrounded by fine dishes and expensive wines (even when alone), and is always in loud talk with the butler, and in correspondence with the committee about the cook. calicot is a rich man, with a large bottle-nose, and people black-ball his friends. "for a home, a man must have a large club, where the members are recruited from a large class, where the funds are in a good state, where a large number every day breakfast and dine, and where a goodly number think it necessary to be on the books and pay their subscriptions, although they do not use the club. above all, your home club should be a large club, because, even if a club be ever so select, the highest birth and most unexceptionable fashion do not prevent a man from being a _bore_. every club must have its bores; but in a large club _you can get out of their way_."[ ] "it is a vulgar error to regard a club as the rich man's public-house: it bears no analogy to a public-house: it is as much the private property of its members as any ordinary dwelling-house is the property of the man who built it. "our clubs are thoroughly characteristic of us. we are a _proud_ people,--it is of no use denying it,--and have a horror of indiscriminate association; hence the exclusiveness of our clubs. "we are an _economical_ people, and love to obtain the greatest possible amount of luxury at the least possible expense: hence, at our clubs we dine at prime cost, and drink the finest wines at a price which we should have to pay for slow poison at a third-rate inn. "we are a _domestic_ people, and hence our clubs afford us all the comforts of home, when we are away from home, or when we have none. finally, we are a _quarrelsome_ people, and the clubs are eminently adapted for the indulgence of that amiable taste. a book is kept constantly open to receive the outpourings of our ill-humour against all persons and things. the smokers quarrel with the non-smokers: the billiard-players wage war against those who don't play; and, in fact, an internecine war is constantly going on upon every conceivable trifle; and when we retire exhausted from the fray, sofas and _chaises longues_ are everywhere at hand, whereon to repose _in extenso_. the london clubs are certainly the abodes of earthly bliss, yet the ladies won't think so."[ ] footnotes: [ ] _times_ journal. [ ] new quarterly review. the union club. this noble club-house, at the south-west angle of trafalgar-square, was erected in , from designs by sir robert smirke, r.a. it is much less ornate than the club-houses of later date; but its apartments are spacious and handsome, and it faces one of the finest open spaces in the metropolis. as its name implies, it consists of politicians, and professional and mercantile men, without reference to party opinions; and, it has been added, is "a resort of wealthy citizens, who just fetch charing cross to inhale the fresh air as it is drawn from the park through the funnel, by berkeley house, out of spring gardens, into their bay-window." james smith, one of the authors of the _rejected addresses_, was a member of the union, which he describes as chiefly composed of merchants, lawyers, members of parliament, and of "gentlemen at large." he thus sketches a day's life here. "at three o'clock i walk to the union club, read the journals, hear lord john russell deified or diablerized, do the same with sir robert peel or the duke of wellington, and then join a knot of conversationists by the fire till six o'clock. we then and there discuss the three per cent. consols (some of us preferring dutch two-and-a-half per cents.), and speculate upon the probable rise, shape, and cost of the new exchange. if lady harrington happen to drive past our window in her landau, we compare her equipage to the algerine ambassador's; and when politics happen to be discussed, rally whigs, radicals, and conservatives alternately, but never seriously, such subjects having a tendency to create acrimony. at six, the room begins to be deserted; wherefore i adjourn to the dining-room, and gravely looking over the bill of fare, exclaim to the waiter, 'haunch of mutton and apple-tart!' these viands dispatched, with the accompanying liquids and water, i mount upward to the library, take a book and my seat in the arm-chair, and read till nine. then call for a cup of coffee and a biscuit, resuming my book till eleven; afterwards return home to bed." the smoking-room is a very fine apartment. one of the grumbling members of the union was sir james aylott, a two-bottle man; one day, observing mr. james smith furnished with half-a-pint of sherry, sir james eyed his cruet with contempt, and exclaimed: "so, i see you have got one of those d--d life-preservers." the club has ever been famed for its _cuisine_, upon the strength of which, we are told that next-door to the club-house, in cockspur-street, was established the union hotel, which speedily became renowned for its turtle; it was opened in , and was one of the best appointed hotels of its day; and lord panmure, a _gourmet_ of the highest order, is said to have taken up his quarters in this hotel, for several successive seasons, for the sake of the soup.[ ] footnotes: [ ] the builder. [ ] london clubs, , p. . the garrick club. mr. thackeray was a hearty lover of london, and has left us many evidences of his sincerity. he greatly favoured covent garden, of which he has painted this clever picture, sketched from "the garden," where are annually paid for fruits and vegetables some three millions sterling:-- "the two great national theatres on one side, a churchyard full of mouldy but undying celebrities on the other; a fringe of houses studded in every part with anecdote and history; an arcade, often more gloomy and deserted than a cathedral aisle; a rich cluster of brown old taverns--one of them filled with the counterfeit presentment of many actors long since silent, who scowl or smile once more from the canvas upon the grandsons of their dead admirers; a something in the air which breathes of old books, old pictures, old painters, and old authors; a place beyond all other places one would choose in which to hear the chimes at midnight; a crystal palace--the representative of the present--which peeps in timidly from a corner upon many things of the past; a withered bank, that has been sucked dry by a felonious clerk; a squat building, with a hundred columns and chapel-looking fronts, which always stands knee-deep in baskets, flowers, and scattered vegetables; a common centre into which nature showers her choicest gifts, and where the kindly fruits of the earth often nearly choke the narrow thoroughfares; a population that never seems to sleep, and that does all in its power to prevent others sleeping; a place where the very latest suppers and the earliest breakfasts jostle each other on the footways--such is covent-garden market, with some of its surrounding features." about a century and a quarter ago, the parish of st. paul was, according to john thomas smith, the only fashionable part of the town, and the residence of a great number of persons of rank and title, and artists of the first eminence; and also from the concourse of wits, literary characters, and other men of genius, who frequented the numerous coffee-houses, wine and cider cellars, jelly-shops, etc., within its boundaries, the list of whom particularly includes the eminent names of butler, addison, sir richard steele, otway, dryden, pope, warburton, cibber, fielding, churchill, bolingbroke, and dr. samuel johnson; rich, woodward, booth, wilkes, garrick, and macklin; kitty clive, peg woffington, mrs. pritchard, the duchess of bolton, lady derby, lady thurlow, and the duchess of st. alban's; sir peter lely, sir godfrey kneller, and sir james thornhill; vandevelde, zincke, lambert, hogarth, hayman, wilson, dance, meyer, etc. the name of samuel foote should be added. although the high fashion of the old place has long since ebbed away, its theatrical celebrity remains; and the locality is storied with the dramatic associations of two centuries. the sublime society of steaks have met upon this hallowed ground through a century; and some thirty years ago there was established in the street leading from the north-west angle of covent-garden market, a club, bearing the name of our greatest actor. such was the garrick club, instituted in , at no. , king-street, "for the purpose of bringing together the 'patrons' of the drama and its professors, and also for offering literary men a rendezvous; and the managers of the club have kept those general objects steadily in view. nearly all the leading actors are members, and there are few of the active literary men of the day who are not upon the list. the large majority of the association is composed of the representatives of all the best classes of society. the number of the members is limited, and the character of the club is social, and therefore the electing committee is compelled to exercise very vigilant care, for it is clear that it would be better that ten unobjectionable men should be excluded than that one terrible bore should be admitted. the prosperity of the club, and the eagerness to obtain admission to it, are the best proofs of its healthy management; and few of the cases of grievance alleged against the direction will bear looking into." the house in king-street was, previous to its occupation by the garrick men, a family hotel: it was rendered tolerably commodious, but in course of time it was found insufficient for the increased number of members; and in , the club removed to a new house built for them a little more westward than the old one. but of the old place, inconvenient as it was, will long be preserved the interest of association. the house has since been taken down; but its memories are embalmed in a gracefully written paper, by mr. shirley brooks, which appeared in the _illustrated london news_, immediately before the removal of the club to their new quarters; and is as follows:-- "from james smith (of _rejected addresses_) to thackeray, there is a long series of names of distinguished men who have made the garrick their favourite haunt, and whose memories are connected with those rooms. the visitor who has had the good fortune to be taken through them, that he might examine the unequalled collection of theatrical portraits, will also retain a pleasant remembrance of the place. he will recollect that he went up one side of a double flight of stone steps from the street and entered a rather gloomy hall, in which was a fine bust of shakspeare, by roubiliac, and some busts of celebrated actors; and he may have noticed in the hall a tablet recording the obligation of the club to mr. durrant, who bequeathed to it the pictures collected by the late charles mathews. conducted to the left, the visitor found himself in the strangers' dining-room, which occupied the whole of the ground-floor. this apartment, where, perhaps, more pleasant dinners had been given than in any room in london, was closely hung with pictures. the newest was mr. o'neil's admirable likeness of mr. keeley, and it hung over the fireplace in the front room, near sir edwin landseer's portrait of charles young. there were many very interesting pictures in this room, among them a peg woffington; lee (the author of the bedlam tragedy, in nineteen acts); mrs. pritchard, and mr. garrick, an admirable illustration of 'pritchard's genteel, and garrick six feet high;' a most gentlemanly one of pope the actor, garrick again as macbeth in the court-dress, two charming little paintings of miss poole when a child-performer, the late frederick yates, mrs. davison (of rare beauty), miss lydia kelly, and a rich store besides. the stranger would probably be next conducted through a long passage until he reached the smoking-room, which was not a cheerful apartment by daylight, and empty; but which at night, and full, was thought the most cheerful apartment in town. it was adorned with gifts from artists who are members of the club. mr. stanfield had given a splendid seapiece, with a wash of waves that set one coveting an excursion; and mr. david roberts had given a large and noble painting of baalbec, one of his finest works. these great pictures occupied two sides of the room, and the other walls were similarly ornamented. mrs. stirling's bright face looked down upon the smokers, and there was a statuette of one who loved the room--the author of _vanity fair_. "the visitor was then brought back to the hall, and taken upstairs to the drawing-room floor. on the wall as he passed he would observe a vast picture of mr. charles kemble (long a member) as macbeth, and a miss o'neil as juliet. he entered the coffee-room, as it was called, which was the front room, looking into king-street, and behind which was the morning-room, for newspapers and writing, and in which was the small but excellent library, rich in dramatic works. the coffee-room was devoted to the members' dinners; and the late mr. thackeray dined for the last time away from home at a table in a niche in which hung the scene from _the clandestine marriage_, where lord ogleby is preparing to join the ladies. over the fireplace was another scene from the same play; and on the mantelpiece were garrick's candlesticks, kean's ring, and some other relics of interest. the paintings in this room were very valuable. there was foote, by reynolds; a sheridan; john kemble; charles kemble as charles ii. (under which picture he often sat in advanced life, when he in no degree resembled the audacious, stalwart king in the painting); mrs. charles kemble, in male attire; mrs. fitzwilliam; charles mathews, _père_; a fine, roystering woodward, reminding one of the rattling times of stage chivalry and 'victorious burgundy;' and in the morning-room was a delightful kitty clive, another garrick, and, near the ceiling, a row of strong faces of by-gone days--cooke the strongest. "on the second floor were numerous small and very characteristic portraits; and in a press full of large folios was one of the completest and most valuable of collections of theatrical prints. in the card-room, behind this, were also some very quaint and curious likenesses, one of mrs. liston, as dollalolla. there was a sweet face of 'the prince's' perdita, which excuses his infatuation and aggravates his treachery. when the visitor had seen these things and a few busts, among them one of the late justice talfourd (an old member), he was informed that he had seen the collection and he could go away, unless he were lucky enough to have an invitation to dine in the strangers' room. "the new club-house is a little more westward than the old one, but not much, the garrick having resolved to cling to the classic region around covent-garden. it is in garrick-street from the west end of king-street to cranbourn-street. it has a frontage of ninety-six feet to the street; but the rear was very difficult, from its shape, to manage, and mr. marrable, the architect, has dealt very cleverly with the quaint form over which he had to lay out his chambers. the house is italian, and is imposing, from having been judiciously and not over-enriched. in the hall is a very beautiful italian screen. the noble staircase is of carved oak; at the top, a landing-place, from which is entered the morning-room, the card-room, and the library. all the apartments demanded by the habits of the day--some of them were not thought necessary in the days of garrick--are, of course provided. the kitchens and all their arrangements are sumptuous, and the latest culinary improvements are introduced. the system of sunlights appears to be very complete, and devices for a perfect ventilation have not been forgotten." the pictures have been judiciously hung in the new rooms: they include--elliston as octavian, by singleton; macklin (aged ), by opie; mrs. pritchard, by hayman; peg woffington, by r. wilson; nell gwynne, by sir peter lely; mrs. abington; samuel foote, by sir joshua reynolds; colley cibber as lord foppington; mrs. bracegirdle; kitty clive; mrs. robinson, after reynolds; garrick as macbeth, and mrs. pritchard, lady macbeth, by zoffany; garrick as richard iii., by morland, sen.; young roscius, by opie; quin, by hogarth; rich and his family, by hogarth; charles mathews, four characters, by harlowe; nat lee, painted in bedlam; anthony leigh as the spanish friar, by kneller; john liston, by clint; munden, by opie; john johnston, by shee; lacy in three characters, by wright; scene from charles ii., by clint; mrs. siddons as lady macbeth, by harlowe; j. p. kemble as cato, by lawrence; macready as henry iv., by jackson; edwin, by gainsborough; the twelve of the school of garrick; kean, young, elliston, and mrs. inchbald, by harlowe; garrick as richard iii., by loutherbourg; rich as harlequin; moody and parsons in _the committee_, by vandergucht; king as touchstone, by zoffany; thomas dogget; henderson, by gainsborough; elder colman, by reynolds; mrs. oldfield, by kneller; mrs. billington; nancy dawson; screen scene from _the school for scandal_, as originally cast; scene from _venice preserved_ (garrick and mrs. cibber), by zoffany; scene from _macbeth_ (henderson); scene from _love, law, and physic_ (mathews, liston, blanchard, and emery), by clint; scene from _the clandestine marriage_ (king and mr. and mrs. baddeley), by zoffany; weston as billy button, by zoffany. the following have been presented to the club:--busts of mrs. siddons and j. p. kemble, by mrs. siddons; of garrick, captain marryat, dr. kitchiner, and malibran; garrick, by roubiliac; griffin and johnson in _the alchemist_, by von bleeck; miniatures of mrs. robinson and peg woffington; sketch of kean by lambert; garrick mulberry-tree snuff-box; joseph harris as cardinal wolsey, from the strawberry hill collection; proof print of the trial of queen katherine, by harlowe. the garrick men will, for the sake of justice, excuse the mention of a short-coming: at the first dinner of the club, from the list of toasts was omitted "shakspeare," who, it must be allowed, contributed to garrick's fame. david did not so forget the bard, as is attested in his statue by roubiliac, which, after adorning the garrick grounds at hampton, was bequeathed by the grateful actor to the british museum. the club were entertained at a sumptuous dinner by their brother member, lord mayor moon, in the egyptian hall of the mansion house, in . the gin-punch made with iced soda-water, is a notable potation at the garrick; and the rightful patentee of the invention was mr. stephen price, an american gentleman, well known on the turf, and as the lessee of drury-lane theatre. his title has been much disputed-- "grammatici certant et adhuc sub judice lis est;" and many, misled by mr. theodore hook's frequent and liberal application of the discovery, were in the habit of ascribing it to him. but, mr. thomas hill, the celebrated "trecentenarian" of a popular song, who was present at mr. hook's first introduction to the beverage, has set the matter at rest by a brief narration of the circumstances. one hot afternoon, in july, , the inimitable author of _sayings and doings_ (what a book might be made of his own!) strolled into the garrick in that equivocal state of thirstiness which it requires something more than common to quench. on describing the sensation, he was recommended to make a trial of the punch, and a jug was compounded immediately under the personal inspection of mr. price. a second followed--a third, with the accompaniment of some chops--a fourth--a fifth--a sixth--at the expiration of which mr. hook went away to keep a dinner engagement at lord canterbury's. he always ate little, and on this occasion he ate less, and mr. horace twiss inquired in a fitting tone of anxiety if he was ill. "not exactly," was the reply; "but my stomach won't bear trifling with, and i was tempted to take a biscuit and a glass of sherry about three." the receipt for the gin punch is as follows:--pour half a pint of gin on the outer peel of a lemon, then a little lemon-juice, a glass of maraschino, about a pint and a quarter of water, and two bottles of iced soda-water; and the result will be three pints of the punch in question. another choice spirit of the garrick was the aforesaid hill, "tom hill," as he was called by all who loved and knew him. he "happened to know everything that was going forward in all circles--mercantile, political, fashionable, literary, or theatrical; in addition to all matters connected with military and naval affairs, agriculture, finance, art, and science--everything came alike to him." he was born in , and was many years a drysalter at queenhithe, but about he lost a large sum of money by a speculation in indigo; after which he retired upon the remains of his property, to chambers in the adelphi. while at queenhithe, he found leisure to make a fine collection of old books, chiefly old poetry, which were valued at six thousand pounds. he greatly assisted two friendless poets, bloomfield and kirke white; he also established _the monthly mirror_, which brought him much into connection with dramatic poets, actors, and managers, when he collected theatrical curiosities and relics. hill was the hull of hook's clever novel, _gilbert gurney_, and the reputed original of paul pry, though the latter is doubtful. the standard joke about him was his age. he died in , in his eighty-first year, though hook and all his friends always affected to consider him as quite a methuselah. james smith once said that it was impossible to discover his age, for the parish-register had been burnt in the fire of london; but hook capped this:--'_pooh, pooh!_--(tom's habitual exclamation)--he's one of the little hills that are spoken of as skipping in the psalms.' as a mere octogenarian he was wonderful enough. no human being would, from his appearance, gait, or habits, have guessed him to be sixty. till within three months of his death, hill rose at five usually, and brought the materials of his breakfast home with him to the adelphi from a walk to billingsgate; and at dinner he would eat and drink like an adjutant of five-and-twenty. one secret was, that a 'banyan-day' uniformly followed a festivity. he then nursed himself most carefully on tea and dry toast, tasted neither meat nor wine, and went to bed by eight o'clock. but perhaps the grand secret was, the easy, imperturbable serenity of his temper. he had been kind and generous in the day of his wealth; and though his evening was comparatively poor, his cheerful heart kept its even beat. hill was a patient collector throughout his long life. his old english poetry, which southey considered the rarest assemblage in existence, was dispersed in ; and, after hill's death, his literary rarities and memorials occupied evans, of pall mall, a clear week to sell by auction: the autograph letters were very interesting, and among the memorials were garrick's shakspeare cup and a vase carved from the bard's mulberry-tree; and a block of wood from pope's willow, at twickenham. albert smith was also of the garrick, and usually dined here before commencing his evening entertainment at the egyptian hall, in piccadilly. smith was very clubbable, and with benevolent aims: he was a leader of the fielding club, in maiden-lane, covent garden, which gave several amateur theatrical representations, towards the establishment of "a fund for the immediate relief of emergencies in the literary or theatrical world;" having already devoted a considerable sum to charitable purposes. this plan of relieving the woes of others through our own pleasures is a touch of nature which yields twofold gratification. the reform club. this political club was established by liberal members of the two houses of parliament, to aid the carrying of the reform bill, - . it was temporarily located in great george-street, and gwydyr house, whitehall, until towards the close of , when designs for a new club-house were submitted by the architects, blore, basevi, cockerell, sydney smirke, and barry. the design of the latter was preferred, and the site selected in pall mall, extending from the spot formerly occupied by the temporary national gallery (late the residence of sir walter stirling), on one side of the temporary reform club-house, over the vacant plot of ground on the other side. the instructions were to produce a club-house which should surpass all others in size and magnificence; one which should combine all the attractions of other clubs, such as baths, billiard-rooms, smoking-rooms, with the ordinary accommodations; besides the additional novelty of private chambers, or dormitories. the frontage towards pall mall is about feet, or nearly equal to the frontage of the athenæum ( feet) and the travellers' ( feet). the style of the reform is pure italian, the architect having taken some points from the celebrated farnese palace at rome, designed by michael angelo buonarroti, in , and built by antonio sangallo. however, the resemblance between the two edifices has been greatly over-stated, it consisting only in both of them being astylar, with columnar-decorated fenestration. the exterior is greatly admired; though it is objected, and with reason, that the windows are too small. the club-house contains six floors and apartments: the basement and mezzanine below the street pavement, and the chambers in the roof are not seen. the points most admired are extreme simplicity and unity of design, combined with very unusual richness. the breadth of the piers between the windows contributes not a little to that repose which is so essential to simplicity, and hardly less so to stateliness. the string-courses are particularly beautiful, while the cornicione ( feet from the pavement) gives extraordinary majesty and grandeur to the whole. the roof is covered with italian tiles; the edifice is faced throughout with portland stone, and is a very fine specimen of masonry. in building it a strong scaffolding was constructed, and on the top was laid a railway, upon which was worked a traversing crane, movable along the building either longitudinally or transversely; by which means the stones were raised from the ground, and placed on the wall with very little labour to the mason, who had only to adjust the bed and lay the block.[ ] in the centre of the interior is a grand hall, by , (the entire height of the building,) resembling an italian _cortile_, surrounded by colonnades, below ionic, and above corinthian; the latter is a picture-gallery, where, inserted in the scagliola walls, are whole-length portraits of eminent political reformers; while the upper colonnade has rich floral mouldings, and frescoes of music, poetry, painting, and sculpture, by parris. the floor of the hall is tessellated; and the entire roof is strong diapered flint-glass, executed by pellatt, at the cost of _l._ the staircase, like that of an italian palace, leads to the upper gallery of the hall, opening into the principal drawing-room, which is over the coffee-room in the garden-front, both being the entire length of the building; adjoining are a library, card-room, etc., over the library and dining-rooms. above are a billiard-room and lodging-rooms for members of the club; there being a separate entrance to the latter by a lodge adjoining the travellers' club-house. the basement comprises two-storied wine-cellars beneath the hall; besides the kitchen department, planned by alexis soyer, originally _chef-de-cuisine_ of the club: it contains novel employments of steam and gas, and mechanical applications of practical ingenuity; the inspection of which was long one of the privileged sights of london. the _cuisine_, under m. soyer, enjoyed european fame. soyer first came to england on a visit to his brother, who was then cook to the duke of cambridge; and at cambridge house, alexis cooked his first dinner in england, for the then prince george. soyer afterwards entered the service of various noblemen, amongst others of lord ailsa, lord panmure, etc. he then entered into the service of the reform club, and the breakfast given by that club on the occasion of the queen's coronation obtained him high commendation. his ingenuity gave a sort of celebrity to the great political banquets given at the reform. in his o'connell dinner, the _soufflés à la clontarf_, were considered by gastronomes to be a rich bit of satire. the banquet to ibrahim pacha, july , , was another of soyer's great successes, when merlans à l'Égyptienne, la crême d'Égypte and à l'ibrahim pacha, mingled with le gâteau britannique à l'amiral (napier). another famous banquet was that given to sir c. napier, march , , as commander of the baltic fleet; and the banquet given july , , to viscount palmerston, who was a popular leader of the reform, was, gastronomically as well as politically, a brilliant triumph. it was upon this memorable occasion that mr. bernal osborne characterized the palmerston policy in this quotation:-- "warmed by the instincts of a knightly heart, that roused at once if insult touched the realm, he spurned each state-craft, each deceiving art, and met his foes no vizor to his helm. this proved his worth, hereafter be our boast-- who hated britons, hated him the most." lord palmerston was too true an englishman to be insensible to "the pleasures of the table," as attested by the hospitalities of cambridge house, during his administration. one of his lordship's political opponents, writing in , says: "lord palmerston is redeemed from the last extremity of political degradation by his cook." a distinguished member of the diplomatic body was once overheard remarking to an austrian nobleman, upon the minister's shortcomings in some respects, adding, "mais on dîne fort bien chez lui." it is always interesting to read a foreigner's opinion of english society. the following observations, by the viscountess de malleville, appeared originally in the _courrier de l'europe_, and preceded an account of the reform. commencing with clubs, the writer remarks: "it cannot be denied that these assemblages, wealthy and widely extended in their ramifications, selfish in principle, but perfectly adapted to the habits of the nation, offer valuable advantages to those who have the good fortune to be enrolled in them.... the social state and manners of the country gave the first idea of them. the spirit of association which is so inherent in the british character, did the rest. it is only within the precincts of these splendid edifices, where all the requirements of opulent life, all the comforts and luxuries of princely habitations are combined, that we can adequately appreciate the advantages and the complicated results produced by such a system of association. for an annual subscription, comparatively of small amount, every member of a club is admitted into a circle, which is enlivened and renewed from time to time by the accession of strangers of distinction. a well-selected and extensive library, newspapers and pamphlets from all parts of the world, assist him to pass the hours of leisure and digestion. according as his tastes incline, a man may amuse himself in the saloons devoted to play, to reading, or to conversation. in a word, the happy man, who only goes to get his dinner, may drink the best wines out of the finest cut-glass, and may eat the daintiest and best-cooked viands off the most costly plate, at such moderate prices as no parisian restaurateur could afford. the advantages of a club do not end here: it becomes for each of its members a second domestic hearth, where the cares of business and household annoyances cannot assail him. as a retreat especially sacred against the visitations of idle acquaintances and tiresome creditors--a sanctuary in which each member feels himself in the society of those who act and sympathize with him--the club will ever remain a resort, tranquil, elegant, and exclusive; interdicted to the humble and to the insignificant." the writer then proceeds to illustrate the sumptuous character of our new club-houses by reference to the reform. "unlike in most english buildings, the staircase is wide and commodious, and calls to mind that of the louvre. the quadrangular apartment which terminates it, is surrounded by spacious galleries; the rich mosaic pavement, in which the brilliancy of the colour is only surpassed by the variety of the design--the cut-glass ceiling, supported by four rows of marble pillars--all these things call to remembrance the most magnificent apartments of versailles in the days of the great king and his splendours. this is the vestibule, which is the grand feature of the mansion." the kitchen is then described--"spacious as a ball-room, kept in the finest order, and white as a young bride. all-powerful steam, the noise of which salutes your ear as you enter, here performs a variety of offices: it diffuses a uniform heat to large rows of dishes, warms the metal plates upon which are disposed the dishes that have been called for, and that are in waiting to be sent above: it turns the spits, draws the water, carries up the coal, and moves the plate like an intelligent and indefatigable servant. stay awhile before this octagonal apparatus, which occupies the centre of the place. around you the water boils and the stew-pans bubble, and a little further on is a moveable furnace, before which pieces of meat are converted into savoury _rôtis_; here are sauces and gravies, stews, broths, soups, etc. in the distance are dutch ovens, marble mortars, lighted stoves, iced plates of metal for fish; and various compartments for vegetables, fruits, roots, and spices. after this inadequate, though prodigious nomenclature, the reader may perhaps picture to himself a state of general confusion, a disordered assemblage, resembling that of a heap of oyster-shells. if so, he is mistaken; for, in fact, you see very little, or scarcely anything of all the objects above described. the order of their arrangement is so perfect, their distribution as a whole, and in their relative bearings to one another, all are so intelligently considered, that you require the aid of a guide to direct you in exploring them, and a good deal of time to classify in your mind all your discoveries. "let all strangers who come to london for business, or pleasure, or curiosity, or for whatever cause, not fail to visit the reform club. in an age of utilitarianism, and of the search for the comfortable, like ours, there is more to be learned here than in the ruins of the coliseum, of the parthenon, or of memphis." footnotes: [ ] civil engineer and architects' journal, . the carlton club. the carlton is purely a political club, and was founded by the great duke of wellington, and a few of his most intimate political friends. it held its first meeting in charles-street, st. james's, in the year . in the following year it removed to larger premises, lord kensington's, in carlton gardens. in , an entirely new house was built for the club, in pall-mall, by sir robert smirke, r.a.: it was of small extent, and plain and inexpensive. as the club grew in numbers and importance, the building became inadequate to its wants. in , a very large addition was made to it by mr. sydney smirke; and in , the whole of the original edifice was taken down, and rebuilt by mr. smirke, upon a sumptuous scale; and it will be the largest, though not the most costly club-house, in the metropolis. it is a copy of sansovino's library of st. mark, at venice: the entablature of the ionic, or upper order, is considerably more ponderous than that of the doric below, which is an unorthodox defect. the façade is highly enriched, and exhibits a novelty in the shafts of all the columns being of red peterhead granite, highly polished, which, in contrast with the dead stone, is objectionable: "cloth of frieze and cloth of gold" do not wear well together. in the garden front the pilasters, which take the place of columns in the entrance front and flank, are of the same material as the latter, namely, peterhead granite, polished. many predictions were at first ventured upon as to the perishable nature of the lustre of the polished granite shafts; but these predictions have been falsified by time; nine years' exposure having produced no effect whatever on the polished surface. probably the polish itself is the protection of the granite, by preventing moisture from hanging on the surface. the carlton contains conservatives of every hue, from the good old-fashioned tory to the liberal progressist of the latest movements,--men of high position in fortune and politics. some thirty years ago, a _quarterly_ reviewer wrote: "the improvement and multiplication of clubs is the grand feature of metropolitan progress. there are between twenty and thirty of these admirable establishments, at which a man of moderate habits can dine more comfortably for three or four shillings (including half a pint of wine), than he could have dined for four or five times that amount at the coffee-houses and hotels, which were the habitual resort of the bachelor class in the corresponding rank of life during the first quarter of the century. at some of the clubs--the travellers', the coventry, and the carlton, for example--the most finished luxury may be enjoyed at a very moderate cost. the best judges are agreed that it is utterly impossible to dine better than at the carlton, when the cook has fair notice, and is not hurried, or confused by a multitude of orders. but great allowances must be made when a simultaneous rush occurs from both houses of parliament; and the caprices of individual members of such institutions are sometimes extremely trying to the temper and reputation of a _chef_." the conservative club. this handsome club-house, which occupies a portion of the site of the old thatched house tavern, , st. james's-street, was designed by sydney smirke and george basevi, . the upper portion is corinthian, with columns and pilasters, and a frieze sculptured with the imperial crown and oak-wreaths; the lower order is roman-doric; and the wings are slightly advanced, with an enriched entrance-porch north, and a bay-window south. the interior was superbly decorated in colour by sang: the coved hall, with a gallery round it, and the domed vestibule above it, is a fine specimen of german encaustic embellishment, in the arches, soffites, spandrels, and ceilings; and the hall-floor is tessellated, around a noble star of marqueterie. the evening room, on the first floor, has an enriched coved ceiling, and a beautiful frieze of the rose, shamrock, and thistle, supported by scagliola corinthian columns: the morning room, beneath, is of the same dimensions, with ionic pillars. the library, in the upper story north, has columns and pilasters with bronzed capitals. beneath is the coffee-room. the kitchen is far more spacious than that of the reform club. in the right wing is a large bay-window, which was introduced as an essential to the morning room, affording the lounger a view of pall mall and st. james's-street, and the palace gateway; this introduction reminding us, by the way, of theodore hook's oddly comparing the bay-window of a coffee-house nearly on the same spot, to an obese old gentleman in a white waistcoat. hook lived for some time in cleveland-row: he used to describe the _real london_ as the space between pall mall on the south, piccadilly north, st. james's west, and the opera-house east. this is the second club of the conservative party, and many of its chiefs are honorary members, but rarely enter it: sir robert peel is said never to have entered this club-house except to view the interior. other leaders have, however, availed themselves of the club influences to recruit their ranks from its working strength. this has been political ground for a century and a half; for here, at the thatched house tavern, swift met his political clubs, and dined with tory magnates; but with fewer appliances than in the present day; in swift's time "the wine being always brought by him that is president."[ ] footnotes: [ ] the palace clock has connected with it an odd anecdote, which we received from mr. vulliamy, of pall mall, who, with his family, as predecessors, had been the royal clockmakers since . when the palace gate-house was repaired, in , the clock was removed, and not put up again. the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, missing the clock, memorialized william iv. for the replacement of the time-keeper, when the king inquired why it was not restored; the reply was that the roof was reported unsafe to carry the weight, which his majesty having ascertained, he shrewdly demanded how, if the roof were not strong enough to carry the clock, it was safe for the number of persons occasionally seen upon it to witness processions, and the company on drawing-room days? there was no questioning the calculation; the clock was forthwith replaced, and a minute-hand was added, with new dials. (_curiosities of london_, p. .) the oxford and cambridge club. the oxford and cambridge club-house, , pall mall, for members of the two universities, was designed by sir robert smirke, r.a., and his brother, mr. sydney smirke, - . the pall mall façade is feet in width by in height, and the rear lies over against the court of marlborough house. the ornamental detail is very rich: as the entrance-portico, with corinthian columns; the balcony, with its panels of metal foliage; and the ground-story frieze, and arms of oxford and cambridge universities over the portico columns. the upper part of the building has a delicate corinthian entablature and balustrade; and above the principal windows are bas-reliefs in panels, executed in cement by nicholl, from designs by sir r. smirke, as follows:--centre panel: minerva and apollo presiding on mount parnassus; and the river helicon, surrounded by the muses. extreme panels: homer singing to a warrior, a female, and a youth; virgil singing his georgics to a group of peasants. other four panels: milton reciting to his daughter; shakspeare attended by tragedy and comedy; newton explaining his system; bacon, his philosophy. beneath the ground-floor is a basement of offices, and an entresol or mezzanine of chambers. the principal apartments are tastefully decorated; the drawing-room is panelled with _papier mâché_; and the libraries are filled with book-cases of beautifully-marked russian birchwood. from the back library is a view of marlborough house and its gardens. the guards' club. was formerly housed in st. james's-street, next crockford's, north; but, in , they removed to pall mall, no. . the new club-house was designed for them by henry harrison, and remarkable for its compactness and convenience, although its size and external appearance indicate no more than a private house. the architect has adopted some portion of a design of sansovino's in the lower part or basement. the army and navy club. the army and navy club-house, pall mall, corner of george-street, designed by parnell and smith, was opened february . the exterior is a combination from sansovino's palazzo cornaro, and library of st. mark at venice; but varying in the upper part, which has corinthian columns, with windows resembling arcades filling up the intercolumns; and over their arched headings are groups of naval and military symbols, weapons, and defensive armour--very picturesque. the frieze has also effective groups symbolic of the army and navy; the cornice, likewise very bold, is crowned by a massive balustrade. the basement, from the cornaro, is rusticated; the entrance being in the centre of the east or george-street front, by three open arches, similar in character to those in the strand front of somerset house. the whole is extremely rich in ornamental detail. the hall is fine; the coffee-room is panelled with scagliola, and has a ceiling enriched with flowers, and pierced for ventilation by heated flues above; adjoining is a room lighted by a glazed plafond; next is the house dining-room, decorated in the munich style; and more superb is the morning-room, with its arched windows, and mirrors forming arcades and vistas innumerable. a magnificent stone staircase leads to the library and reading rooms; and in the third story are billiard and card rooms; and a smoking-room, with a lofty dome elaborately decorated in traceried moresque. the apartments are adorned with an equestrian portrait of queen victoria, painted by grant, r.a.; a piece of gobelin tapestry (sacrifice to diana), presented to the club in by prince louis napoleon; marble busts of william iv. and the dukes of kent and cambridge; and several life-size portraits of naval and military heroes. the club-house is provided with twenty lines of whishaw's telekouphona, or speaking telegraph, which communicate from the secretary's room to the various apartments. the cost of this superb edifice, exclusive of fittings, was , _l._; the plot of ground on which it stands cost the club , _l._ the club system has added several noble specimens of ornate architecture to the metropolis; to the south side of pall mall these fine edifices have given a truly patrician air. but, it is remarkable that while both parties political have contributed magnificent edifices towards the metropolis and their opinions; while the conservatives can show with pride two splendid piles and the liberals at least one handsome one; while the army and navy have recently a third palace--the most successful of the three they can boast; while the universities, the sciences, even our indian empire, come forward, the fashionable clubs, the aristocratic clubs do nothing for the general aspect of london, and have made no move in a direction where they ought to have been first. can anything be more paltry than that bay-window from which the members of white's contemplate the cabstand and the wellington tavern? and yet a little management might make that house worthy of its unparalleled situation; and if it were extended to piccadilly, it would be the finest thing of its kind in europe. the junior united service club. at the corner of charles-street and regent-street, was erected in - , nelson and james, architects, and has a most embellished exterior, enriched with characteristic sculpture by john thomas. the design is described in the _builder_ as in the italian style of architecture, the bay-window in regent-street forming a prominent feature in the composition, above which is a sculptured group allegorical of the army and navy. the whole of the sculpture and ornamental details throughout the building are characteristic of the profession of the members of the club. the exterior of the building is surmounted by a richly-sculptured cornice, with modillion and dentils, and beneath it an elaborate frieze, having medallions with trophies and other suitable emblems, separated from each other by the rose, shamrock, and thistle. the external walls of the building are of bath stone, and the balustrade round the area is of portland stone; and upon the angle-pieces of this are bronze lamps, supported by figures. the staircase is lighted from the top by a handsome lantern, filled with painted glass, with an elaborate coved and ornamented ceiling around. on the landing of the half space are two pairs of caryatidal figures, and single figures against the walls, supporting three semicircular arches, and the whole is reflected by looking-glasses on the landing. on the upper landing of the staircase, is the celebrated picture, by allan, of the battle of waterloo. upon the first floor fronting regent-street, and over the morning-room, and of the same dimensions, is the evening-room, which is also used as a picture-gallery, feet high, with a bay-window fronting regent-street. in the gallery are portraits of military and naval commanders; queen victoria and prince albert, and the emperor napoleon; and an allegorical group in silver, presented to the club by his imperial majesty. crockford's club. this noted gaming club-house, no. , on the west side of st. james's-street, over against white's, was built for mr. crockford, in ; b. and p. wyatt, architects. crockford started in life as a fishmonger, at the old bulk-shop next-door to temple bar without, which he quitted for play in st. james's. "for several years deep play went on at all the clubs--fluctuating both as to locality and amount--till by degrees it began to flag. it was at a low ebb when mr. crockford laid the foundation of the most colossal fortune that was ever made by play. he began by taking watier's old club-house, in partnership with a man named taylor. they set up a hazard-bank, and won a great deal of money, but quarrelled and separated at the end of the first year. taylor continued where he was, had a bad year, and failed. crockford removed to st. james's-street, had a good year, and immediately set about building the magnificent club-house which bears his name. it rose like a creation of aladdin's lamp; and the genii themselves could hardly have surpassed the beauty of the internal decorations, or furnished a more accomplished _maître d'hôtel_ than ude. to make the company as select as possible, the establishment was regularly organized as a club, and the election of members vested in a committee. 'crockford's' became the rage, and the votaries of fashion, whether they liked play or not, hastened to enrol themselves. the duke of wellington was an original member, though (unlike blücher, who repeatedly lost everything he had at play) the great captain was never known to play deep at any game but war or politics. card-tables were regularly placed, and whist was played occasionally; but the aim, end, and final cause of the whole was the hazard-bank, at which the proprietor took his nightly stand, prepared for all comers. _le wellington des joueurs_ lost , _l._ at a sitting, beginning at twelve at night, and ending at seven the following evening. he and three other noblemen could not have lost less, sooner or later, than , _l._ apiece. others lost in proportion (or out of proportion) to their means; but we leave it to less occupied moralists, and better calculators, to say how many ruined families went to make mr. crockford a _millionnaire_--for a _millionnaire_ he was in the english sense of the term, after making the largest possible allowance for bad debts. a vast sum, perhaps half a million, was sometimes due to him; but as he won, all his debtors were able to raise, and easy credit was the most fatal of his lures. he retired in , much as an indian chief retires from a hunting country when there is not game enough left for his tribe, and the club is now tottering to its fall."[ ] the club-house consists of two wings and a centre, with four corinthian pilasters, and entablature, and a balustrade throughout; the ground-floor has venetian windows, and the upper story, large french windows. the entrance-hall had a screen of roman-ionic scagliola columns with gilt capitals, and a cupola of gilding and stained glass. the library has sienna columns and antæ of the ionic order, from the temple of minerva polias; the staircase is panelled with scagliola, and enriched with corinthian columns. the grand drawing-room is in the style of louis quatorze: azure ground, with elaborate cove; ceiling enrichments bronze gilt; door-way paintings _à la watteau_; and panelling, masks, terminals, heavily gilt. upon the opening of the club-house, it was described in the exaggerated style, as "the new pandemonium"; the drawing-rooms, or real hell, consisting of four chambers; the first an ante-room, opening to a saloon embellished to a degree which baffles description; thence to a small, curiously-formed cabinet, or boudoir, which opens to the supper room. all these rooms are panelled in the most gorgeous manner, spaces being left to be filled up with mirrors, silk or gold enrichments; the ceilings being as superb as the walls. a billiard-room on the upper floor completes the number of apartments professedly dedicated to the use of the members. whenever any secret manoeuvre is to be carried on, there are smaller and more retired places, both under this roof and the next, whose walls will tell no tales. the _cuisine_ at crockford's was of the highest class, and the members were occasionally very _exigeant_, and trying to the patience of m. ude. at one period of his presidency, a ground of complaint, formally addressed to the committee, was that there was an admixture of onion in the _soubise_. colonel damer, happening to enter crockford's one evening to dine early, found ude walking up and down in a towering passion, and naturally inquired what was the matter. "no matter, monsieur le colonel! did you see that man who has just gone out? well, he ordered a red mullet for his dinner. i made him a delicious little sauce with my own hands. the price of the mullet marked on the _carte_ was _s._; i asked _d._ for the sauce. he refuses to pay the _d._ that _imbécille_ apparently believes that the red mullets come out of the sea with my sauce in their pockets!" the _imbécille_ might have retorted that they do come out of the sea with their appropriate sauce in their pockets; but this forms no excuse for damaging the consummate genius of a ude. the appetites of some club members appear to entitle them to be called _gourmands_ rather than _gourmets_. of such a member of crockford's the following traits are related in the _quarterly review_, no. :--"the lord-lieutenant of one of the western counties eats a covey of partridges for breakfast every day during the season; and there is a popular m.p. at present [ ] about town who would eat a covey of partridges, as the scotchman ate a dozen of becaficos, for a whet, and feel himself astonished if his appetite was not accelerated by the circumstance. most people must have seen or heard of a caricature representing a gentleman at dinner upon a round of beef, with the landlord looking on. 'capital beef, landlord!' says the gentleman; 'a man may cut and come again here.' 'you may cut, sir,' responds boniface; 'but i'm blow'd if you shall come again.' the person represented is the m.p. in question; and the sketch is founded upon fact. he had occasion to stay late in the city, and walked into the celebrated old bailey beef-shop on his return, where, according to the landlord's computation, he demolished about seven pounds and a half of solid meat, with a proportionate allowance of greens. his exploits at crockford's have been such, that the founder of that singular institution has more than once had serious thoughts of giving him a guinea to sup elsewhere; and has only been prevented by the fear of meeting with a rebuff similar to that mentioned in _roderick random_ as received by the master of an ordinary, who, on proposing to buy off an ugly customer, was informed by him that he had already been bought off by all the other ordinaries in town, and was consequently under the absolute necessity of continuing to patronize the establishment." theodore hook was a frequent visitor at crockford's, where play did not begin till late. mr. barham describes him, after going the round of the clubs, proposing, with some gay companion, to finish with half an hour at crockford's: "the half-hour is quadrupled, and the excitement of the preceding evening was nothing to that which now ensued." he had a receipt of his own to prevent being exposed to the night air. "i was very ill," he once said, "some months ago, and my doctor gave me particular orders not to expose myself to it; so i come up [from fulham] every day to crockford's, or some other place to dinner, and i make it a rule on no account to go home again till about four or five o'clock in the morning." after crockford's death, the club-house was sold by his executors for , _l._; held on lease, of which thirty-two years were unexpired, subject to a yearly rent of , _l._ it is said that the decorations alone cost , _l._ the interior was re-decorated in , and opened for the military, naval, and county service club, but was closed again in . it has been, for several years, a dining-house--"the wellington." crockford's old bulk-shop, west of temple-bar, was taken down in . it is engraved in archer's _vestiges of london_, part i. a view in , in the crowle pennant, presents one tall gable to the street; but the pitch of the roof had been diminished by adding two imperfect side gables. the heavy pents originally traversed over each of the three courses of windows; it was a mere timber frame filled up with lath and plaster, the beams being of deal with short oak joints: it presented a capital example of the old london bulk-shop (sixteenth century), with a heavy canopy projecting over the pathway, and turned up at the rim to carry off the rain endwise. this shop had long been held by a succession of fishmongers; and crockford would not permit the house-front to be altered in his lifetime. he was known in gaming circles by the sobriquet of "the fishmonger." footnotes: [ ] edinburgh review. "king allen," "the golden ball," and scrope davies. in the old days when gaming was in fashion, at watier's club, princes and nobles lost or gained fortunes between themselves. it was the same at brookes's, one member of which, lord robert spencer, was wise enough to apply what he had won to the purchase of the estate of woolbidding, suffolk. then came crockford's hell, the proprietor of which, a man who had begun life with a fish-basket, won the whole of the ready money of the then existing generation of aristocratic simpletons. among the men who most suffered by play was viscount allen, or 'king allen,' as he was called. this effeminate dandy had fought like a young lion in spain; for the dandies, foolish as they looked, never wanted pluck. the 'king' then lounged about town, grew fat, lost his all, and withdrew to dublin, where, in merrion-square, he slept behind a large brass plate with 'viscount allen' upon it, which was as good to him as board wages, for it brought endless invitations from people eager to feed a viscount at any hour of the day or night, although king allen had more ready ability in uttering disagreeable than witty things. very rarely indeed did any of the ruined gamesters ever get on their legs again. the golden ball, however, was an exception. ball hughes fell from the very top of the gay pagoda into the mud, but even there, as life was nothing to him without the old excitement, he played pitch and toss for halfpence, and he won and lost small ventures at battledore and shuttlecock, which innocent exercise he turned into a gambling speculation. after he withdrew, in very reduced circumstances, to france, his once mad purchase of oatlands suddenly assumed a profitable aspect. the estate was touched by a railway and admired by building speculators, and between the two the ball, in its last days, had a very cheerful and glittering aspect indeed. far less lucky than hughes was scrope davies, whose name was once so familiar to every man and boy about town. there was good stuff about this dandy. he one night won the whole fortune of an aspiring fast lad who had come of age the week before, and who was so prostrated by his loss that kindly-hearted scrope gave back the fortune the other had lost, on his giving his word of honour never to play again. davies stuck to the green baize till his own fortune had gone among a score of less compassionate gentlemen. his distressed condition was made known to the young fellow to whom he had formerly acted with so much generosity, and that grateful heir refused to lend him even a guinea. scrope was not of the gentlemen-ruffians of the day who were addicted to cruelly assaulting men weaker than themselves. he was well-bred and a scholar; and he bore his reverses with a rare philosophy. his home was on a bench in the tuileries, where he received old acquaintances who visited him in exile; but he admitted only very tried friends to the little room where he read and slept. he was famed for his readiness in quoting the classical poets, and for his admiration of moore, in whose favour those quotations were frequently made. they were often most happy. for example, he translated 'ubi _plura_ nitent non ego _paucis_ offendar maculis,' by '_moore shines so brightly that i cannot find fault with little's vagaries_!' he also rendered 'ne _plus_ ultra,' '_nothing is better than moore!_'[ ] the four-in-hand club. gentleman-coaching has scarcely been known in england seventy years. the anglo-erichthonius, the hon. charles finch, brother to the earl of aylesford, used to drive his own coach-and-four, disguised in a livery great-coat. soon after his _début_, however, the celebrated "tommy onslow," sir john lacy, and others, mounted the box in their own characters. sir john was esteemed a renowned judge of coach-horses and carriages, and a coachman of the old school; but everything connected with the coach-box has undergone such a change, that the nestors of the art are no longer to be quoted. among the celebrities may be mentioned the "b. c. d.," or benson driving club, which held its rendezvous at the "black dog," bedfont, as one of the numerous driving associations, whose processions used, some five-and-thirty years ago, to be among the most imposing, as well as peculiar, spectacles in and about the metropolis. on the stage, the gentlemen drivers, of whom the members of the four-in-hand club were the exclusive _élite_, were illustrated rather than caricatured in _goldfinch_, in holcroft's comedy _the road to ruin_. some of them who had not "drags" of their own, "tipped" a weekly allowance to stage coachmen, to allow them to "finger the ribbons," and "tool the team." of course, they frequently "spilt" the passengers. the closeness with which the professional coachmen were imitated by the "bucks," is shown in the case of wealthy young ackers, who had one of his front teeth taken out, in order that he might acquire the true coachman-like way of "spitting." there were men of brains, nevertheless, in the four-in-hand, who knew how to ridicule such fellow-members as lord onslow, whom they thus immortalized in an epigram of that day:-- "what can tommy onslow do? he can drive a coach and two! can tommy onslow do no more? he can drive a coach and four." it is a curious fact, that the fashion of amateur charioteering was first set by the ladies. dr. young has strikingly sketched, in his satires, the delia who was as good a coachman as the man she paid for being so:-- "graceful as john, she moderates the reins, and whistles sweet her diuretic strains." the four-in-hand combined gastronomy with equestrianism and charioteering. they always drove out of town to dinner, and the ghost of scrope davies will pardon our suggesting that the club of drivers and diners might well have taken for their motto, "quadrigis, petimus bene vivere!"[ ] there is another version of the epigram on tom onslow:-- "say, what can tommy onslow do? can drive a curricle and two. can tommy onslow do no more? yes,--drive a curricle and four." this is the version current, we are told, among onslow's relations in the neighbourhood of guildford. lord onslow's celebrity as _a whip_ long preceded the existence of the four-in-hand club (the palmy days of which belong to the times of george the fourth), and it was not a _coach_, but a _phaeton_, that he drove. a correspondent of the _athenæum_ writes: "i knew him personally, in my own boyhood, in surrey, in the first years of the present century; and i remember then hearing the epigram now referred to, not as new, but as well known, in the following form:-- 'what can little t. o. do? drive a phaeton and two. can little t. o. do no more? yes,--drive a phaeton and four.' "tommy onslow was a little man, full of life and oddities, one of which was a fondness for driving into odd places; and i remember the surprise of a pic-nic party, which he joined in a secluded spot, driving up in his 'phaeton and four' through ways that were hardly supposed passable by anything beyond a flock of sheep. an earlier exploit of his had a less agreeable termination. he was once driving through thames-street, when the hook of a crane, dangling down in front of one of the warehouses, caught the hood of the phaeton, tilting him out, and the fall broke his collar-bone." the vehicles of the club which were formerly used are described as of a hybrid class, quite as elegant as private carriages and lighter than even the mails. they were horsed with the finest animals that money could secure. in general, the whole four in each carriage were admirably matched; grey and chestnut were the favourite colours, but occasionally very black horses, or such as were freely flecked with white, were preferred. the master generally drove the team, often a nobleman of high rank, who commonly copied the dress of a mail coachman. the company usually rode outside, but two footmen in rich liveries were indispensable on the back seat, nor was it at all uncommon to see some splendidly attired female on the box. a rule of the club was that all members should turn out three times a week; and the start was made at mid-day, from the neighbourhood of piccadilly, through which they passed to the windsor-road,--the attendants of each carriage playing on their silver bugles. from twelve to twenty of these handsome vehicles often left london together. there remain a few handsome drags, superbly horsed. in a note to nimrod's life-like sketch, "the road,"[ ] it is stated that "only ten years back, there were from thirty-four to forty four-in-hand equipages to be seen constantly about town." nimrod has some anecdotical illustrations of the taste for the _whip_, which has undoubtedly declined; and at one time, perhaps, it occupied more attention among the higher classes of society than we ever wish to see it do again. yet, taken in moderation, we can perceive no reason to condemn this branch of sport more than others. "if so great a personage as sophocles could think it fitting to display his science in public, in the trifling game of ball, why may not an english gentleman exercise his skill on a coach-box? if the athenians, the most polished nation of all antiquity, deemed it _an honour_ to be considered skilful charioteers, why should englishmen consider it a disgrace? to be serious, our amateur or _gentlemen-coachmen_ have done much good: the road would never have been what it now is, but for the encouragement they gave, by their notice and support, to all persons connected with it. would the holyhead road have been what it is, had there been no such persons as the hon. thomas kenyon, sir henry parnell, and mr. maddox? would the oxford coachmen have set so good an example as they have done to their brethren of 'the bench,' had there been no such men on their road as sir henry peyton, lord clonmel, the late sir thomas mostyn; that nestor of coachmen, mr. annesley; and the late mr. harrison of shelswell? would not the unhappy coachmen of five-and-twenty years back have gone on, wearing out their breeches with the bumping of the old coach-box, and their stomachs with brandy, had not mr. warde of squerries, after many a weary endeavour, persuaded the proprietors to place their boxes upon springs--the plan for accomplishing which was suggested by mr. roberts, nephew to then proprietor of the white horse, fetter lane, london, but now of the royal hotel, calais? what would the devonshire road have been, but for the late sir charles bamfylde, sir john rogers, colonel prouse, sir lawrence palk, and others? have the advice and the practice of such experienced men as mr. charles buxton, mr. henry villebois, mr. okeover, sir bellingham graham, mr. john walker, lord sefton, sir felix agar,[ ] mr. ackers, mr. maxse, hon. fitzroy stanhope, colonel spicer, colonel sibthorpe, _cum multis aliis_, been thrown away upon persons who have looked up to them as protectors? certainly not: neither would the improvement in carriages--stage-coaches more especially--have arrived at its present height, but for the attention and suggestions of such persons as we have been speaking of." a commemoration of long service in the coaching department may be related here. in the autumn of , a handsome compliment was paid to mr. charles holmes, the driver and part proprietor of the blenheim coach (from woodstock to london) to celebrate the completion of his twentieth year on that well-appointed coach, a period that had elapsed without a single accident to his coach, his passengers, or himself; and during which time, with the exception of a very short absence from indisposition, he had driven his sixty-five miles every day, making somewhere about twenty-three thousand miles a year. the numerous patrons of the coach entered into a subscription to present him with a piece of plate; and accordingly a cup, bearing the shape of an antique vase, the cover surmounted by a beautifully modelled horse, with a coach and four horses on one side, and a suitable inscription on the other, was presented to mr. holmes by that staunch patron of the road, sir henry peyton, bart., in august, at a dinner at the thatched house tavern, st. james's-street, to which between forty and fifty gentlemen sat down. the list of subscribers amounted to upwards of two hundred and fifty, including among others the duke of wellington. footnotes: [ ] athenæum review of captain gronow's anecdotes. [ ] athenæum, no. . [ ] written, it must be recollected, some thirty years since. reprinted in murray's 'reading for the rail.' [ ] perhaps one of the finest specimens of good coachmanship was performed by sir felix agar. he made a bet, which he won, that he would drive his own four-horses-in-hand, up grosvenor-place, down the passage into tattersall's yard, around the pillar which stands in the centre of it, and back again into grosvenor-place, _without either of his horses going at a slower pace than a trot_. whist clubs. to hoyle has been ascribed the invention of the game of whist. this is certainly a mistake, though there can be no doubt that it was indebted to him for being first specially treated of and introduced to the public in a scientific manner. he also wrote on piquet, quadrille, and backgammon, but little is known of him more than he was born in , and died in cavendish-square on th august, , at the advanced age of ninety-seven. he was a barrister by profession, and registrar of the prerogative in ireland, a post worth £ a year. his treatise on whist, for which he received from the publisher the sum of £ , ran through five editions in one year, besides being extensively pirated. "whist, ombre, and quadrille, at court were used, and bassett's power the city dames amused, imperial whist was yet but slight esteemed, and pastime fit for none but rustics deemed. how slow at first is still the growth of fame! and what obstructions wait each rising name! our stupid fathers thus neglected, long, the glorious boast of milton's epic song; but milton's muse at last a critic found, who spread his praise o'er all the world around; and hoyle at length, for whist performed the same, and proved its right to universal fame." whist first began to be popular in england about , when it was very closely studied by a party of gentlemen, who formed a sort of club, at the crown coffee-house in bedford-row. hoyle is said to have given instructions in the game, for which his charge was a guinea a lesson. the laws of whist have been variously given.[ ] more than half a century has elapsed since the supremacy of "long whist" was assailed by a reformed, or rather revolutionized form of the game. the champions of the ancient rules and methods did not at once submit to the innovation. the conservatives were not without some good arguments on their side; but "short whist" had attractions that proved irresistible, and it has long since fully established itself as the only game to be understood when whist is named. but hence, in the course of time, has arisen an inconvenience. the old school of players had, in the works of hoyle and cavendish, manuals and text-books of which the rules, cases, and decisions were generally accepted. for short whist no such "volume paramount" has hitherto existed. hoyle could not be safely trusted by a learner, so much contained in that venerable having become obsolete. thus, doubtful cases arising out of the short game had to be referred to the best living players for decision. but there was some confusion in the "whist world," and the necessity of a code of the modern laws and rules of this "almost perfect" game had become apparent, when a combined effort was made by a committee of some of the most skilful to supply the deficiency. the movement was commenced by mr. j. loraine baldwin, who obtained the assistance of a committee, including members of several of the best london clubs well known as whist players. they were deputed to draw up a code of rules for the game, which, if approved, was to be adopted by the arlington club. they performed their task with the most decided success. the rules they laid down as governing the best modern practice have been accepted, not only by the arlington, but the army and navy, arthur's, boodle's, brookes's, carlton, conservative, garrick, guards, junior carlton, portland, oxford and cambridge, reform, st. james's, white's, etc. to the great section of the whist world that do not frequent clubs, it may be satisfactory to know the names of the gentlemen composing the committee of codification, whose rules are to become law. they are admiral rous, chairman; mr. g. bentinck, m.p.; mr. j. bushe; mr. j. clay, m.p.; mr. c. greville; mr. r. knightley, m.p.; mr. h. b. mayne; mr. g. payne; and colonel pipon. the _laws of short whist_[ ] were in published in a small volume; and to this strictly legal portion of the book is appended _a treatise on the game_, by mr. j. clay, m.p. for hull. it may be read with advantage by the commencing student of whist and the advanced player, and with pleasure even by those who are totally ignorant of it, and have no wish to learn it. there are several incidental illustrations and anecdotes, that will interest those not gifted with the faculties good whist requires. mr. clay is reported to be one of the best, if not the very best, of modern players. the dedication is as follows: "to the members of the portland club, admitted among whom, as a boy, i have passed many of the pleasantest days of my life, i have learned what little i know of whist, and have formed many of my oldest friendships, this treatise on short whist is dedicated with feelings of respect and regard, by their old playfellow, j. c." leaving his instructions, like the rules of the committee, to a more severe test than criticism, we extract from his first chapter a description of the incident to which short whist owes its origin. it will probably be quite new to thousands who are familiar with the game. "some eighty years back, lord peterborough, having one night lost a large sum of money, the friends with whom he was playing proposed to make the game five points instead of ten, in order to give the loser a chance, at a quicker game, of recovering his loss. the new game was found to be so lively, and money changed hands with such increased rapidity, that these gentlemen and their friends, all of them leading members of the clubs of the day, continued to play it. it became general in the clubs, thence was introduced to private houses, travelled into the country, went to paris, and has long since so entirely superseded the whist of hoyle's day, that of short whist alone i propose to treat. i shall thus spare the reader, the learning much in the old works that it is not necessary for him to know, and not a little which, if learned, should be at once forgotten." graham's, in st. james's-street, the greatest of card clubs, was dissolved about five-and-twenty years back. footnotes: [ ] abridged from the _times_ journal. [ ] _the laws of short whist_, edited by j. l. baldwin, and a treatise on the game, by j. c. harrison, , pall mall. prince's club racquet courts. in the early history of the metropolis we find the londoners warmly attached to outdoor sports and pastimes; although time and the spread of the great city have long obliterated the sites upon which these popular amusements were enjoyed. smithfield, we know, was the town-green for centuries before it became the focus of its fanatic fires; maypoles stood in various parts of the city and suburbs, as kept in remembrance by name to this day; football was played in the main artery of the town--fleet-street and the strand, for instance; _paille malle_ was played in st. james's park, and the street which is named after the game; and tennis and other games at ball were enjoyed on open grounds long before they were played in covered courts; while the bowling-greens in the environs were neither few nor far between, almost to our time. tennis, we need scarcely state here, was originally played with the hand, at first naked, then covered with a thick glove, to which succeeded the bat or racquet, whence the present name of the game. a few of our kings have been tennis-players. in the sixteenth century tennis courts were common in england, being attached to country mansions. later, playing-courts were opened in the metropolis: for example, to the houses of entertainment which formerly stood at the opposite angles of windmill-street and the haymarket were attached tennis-courts, which lasted to our time: one of these courts exists in james-street, haymarket, to this day. to stroll out from the heated and crowded streets of the town to the village was a fashion of the last century, as we read in the well-remembered line-- "some dukes at marybone bowl time away." taking into account the vast growth of the metropolis, we are not surprised at so luxurious a means of healthful enjoyment as a racquet court presents being added to the establishments or institutions of this very clubbable age. hitherto clubs had been mostly appropriated to the purposes of refection; but why should not the social refinement be extended to the enjoyment of so health-giving sport and manly a pastime as racquet? the experiment was made, and with perfect success, immediately upon the confines of one of the most recent settlements of fashion--belgravia. it is private property, and bears the name of "prince's club racquet courts." the club, established in , is built upon the pavilion estate, in the rear of the north side of sloane-street, the principal entrance being from hans-place. the grounds are of considerable extent, and were originally laid out by capability brown. they were almost environed with lofty timber-trees; and the genius of landscape gardening, fostered by wealth, rendered this glade in the brompton groves of old a sort of rural elysium. the pavilion estate was once the property of holland, the well-known architect, who planned sloane-street and hans-place, as a building speculation; and, in the grounds nearly between them, built himself what was then considered a handsome villa, the front of which was originally designed by holland as a model for the prince of wales's pavilion at brighton; hence the name, the pavilion estate. in the grounds, among the remains of brown's ornamental work, was an icehouse, amidst the imitative ruins of a priory. here, also, were the ionic columns (isolated) which were formerly in the screen of carlton house. the club buildings comprise seven closed courts; a tennis court; gallery and refreshment rooms; baths, and a turkish bath. prince's club is a subscription establishment; and its government is vested in a committee. gentlemen desirous of becoming members of the club must be proposed and seconded by two of its members. two of the rules enact--that members have the privilege of introducing two friends, but that such visitors, if they play, be charged double the rate charged to members; and that no hazard, dice, or game of chance be allowed in this club. their royal highnesses the prince of wales and the duke of cambridge are members. an angling club. professor owen is accustomed to relate the following very amusing incident, which occurred in a club of some of the working scientific men of london, who, with a few others, after their winter's work of lecturing is over, occasionally sally forth to have a day's fishing. "we have," says professor owen, "for that purpose taken a small river in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, and near its banks there stands a little public-house, where we dine soberly and sparingly, on such food as old izaak walton loved. we have a rule that he who catches the biggest fish of the day shall be our president for the evening. in the course of one day, a member, not a scientific man, but a high political man, caught a trout that weighed ½ lb.; but earlier in the day he had pulled out a barbel of half a pound weight. so while we were on the way to our inn, what did this political gentleman do but, with the butt-end of his rod, ram the barbel down the trout's throat, in which state he handed his fish to be weighed. thus he scored four pounds, which being the greatest weight he took the chair. "as we were going away from home, a man of science,--it was the president of the royal society,--said to the man of politics, 'if you don't want that fine fish of yours, i should like to have it, for i have some friends to dine with me to-morrow.' my lord took it home, and i heard no more until we met on the next week. then, while we were preparing our tackle, the president of the royal society said to our high political friend, 'there were some very extraordinary circumstances, do you know, about that fish you gave me. i had no idea that the trout was so voracious; but that one had swallowed a barbel.'--'i am astonished to hear your lordship say so,' rejoined an eminent naturalist; 'trout may be voracious enough to swallow minnows--but a barbel, my lord! there must be some mistake.'--'not at all,' replied his lordship, 'for the fact got to my family that the cook, in cutting open the throat, had found a barbel inside; and as my family knew i was fond of natural history, i was called into the kitchen. there i saw the trout had swallowed a barbel, full half a pound weight.'--'out of the question, my lord,' said the naturalist; 'it's altogether quite unscientific and unphilosophical.'--'i don't know what may be philosophical in the matter--i only know i am telling you a matter of fact,' said his lordship; and the dispute having lasted awhile, explanations were given, and the practical joke was heartily enjoyed. and" (continued professor owen) "you will see that both were right and both were wrong. my lord was right in his fact--the barbel was inside the trout; but he was quite wrong in his hypothesis founded upon that fact, that the trout had therefore swallowed the barbel,--the last was only matter of opinion." the red lions. in , when the british association met in birmingham, several of its younger members happened, accidentally, to dine at the red lion, in church-street. the dinner was pleasant, the guests well suited to each other, and the meeting altogether proved so agreeable, that it was resolved to continue it from year to year, wherever the association might happen to meet. by degrees the "red lions"--the name was assumed from the accident of the first meeting-place--became a very exclusive club; and under the presidency of professor edward forbes, it acquired a celebrity which, in its way, almost rivalled that of the association itself. forbes first drew around him the small circle of jovial philosophers at the red lion. the names of lankester, thomson, bell, mitchell, and strickland are down in the old muster-roll. many were added afterwards, as the club was kept up in london, in meetings at anderton's, in fleet-street. the old cards of invitation were very droll: they were stamped with the figure of a red lion erect, with a pot of beer in one paw, and a long clay pipe in the other, and the invitation commenced with "the carnivora will feed" at such an hour. forbes, who, as _pater omnipotens_, always took the chair at the first chance meeting round the plain table of the inn, gave a capital stock of humour to this feeding of the naturalists by taking up his coat-tail and roaring whenever a good thing was said or a good song sung; and, of course, all the other red lions did the same. when roaring and tail-wagging became so characteristic an institution among the members, mr. mitchell, then secretary of the zoological society, presented a fine lion's skin to the club; and ever after the president sat with this skin spread over his chair, the paws at the elbows, and the tail handy to be wagged. alas! this tail no longer wags at birmingham, and after vibrating with languid emotion in london, has now ceased to show any signs of life. the old red lion has lost heart, and has slumbered since the death of forbes. at the meeting of the british association at birmingham, in , an endeavour was made to revive the red lion dinner on something like its former scale; the idea being probably suggested by the circumstance of the club having been originated in birmingham. lord houghton, who is, we believe, "an old red," presided; but the idiosyncrasy of the real red lion, and his intense love of plain roast and boiled, were missed: some sixty guests sat down, _not_ at the red lion, but at a hotel banquet. not one of the celebrants on this occasion had passed through his novitiate as a red lion cub: he was not asked whether he could roar or sing a song, or had ever said a good thing, one of which qualifications was a _sine quâ non_ in the old club. there were, however, some good songs: professor rankine sang "the mathematician in love," a song of his own. then, there are some choice spirits among these philosophers. after the banquet a section adjourned to the b. club, members of which are chiefly chemical in their serious moments. indeed, all through the meeting there was a succession of jovial parties in the identical room at the red lion.[ ] the coventry, erectheum, and parthenon clubs. the coventry, or ambassadors' club was instituted about twelve years since, at no. , piccadilly, facing the green park. the handsome stone-fronted mansion occupies the site of the old greyhound inn, and was bought by the earl of coventry of sir hugh hunlock, in , for £ , , subject to the ground-rent of £ per annum. the club enjoyed but a brief existence: it was closed in march, . the erectheum club, st. james's-square, corner of york-street, was established by sir john dean paul, bart., and became celebrated for its good dinners. the club-house was formerly the town depôt of wedgwood's famous "ware;" and occupies the site of the mansion built for the earl of romney, the handsome sydney of de grammont's memoirs. the parthenon club-house (late mr. edwards's), east side of regent-street, nearly facing st. philip's chapel, was designed by nash: the first floor is elegant corinthian. the south division was built by mr. nash for his own residence; it has a long gallery, decorated from a _loggia_ of the vatican at rome: it is now the _gallery of illustration_. "the coventry club was a club of most exclusive exquisites, and was rich in diplomacy; but it blew up in admired confusion. even so did lord cardigan's club, founded upon the site of crockford's. the clarence, the albion, and a dozen other small clubs have all dissolved, some of them with great loss to the members, and the erectheum and parthenon thought it prudent to join their forces to keep the wolf from the door."--_new quarterly review._ footnotes: [ ] abridged from the _daily news_. antiquarian clubs,--the noviomagians. we have already seen how the more convivially disposed members of learned societies have, from time to time, formed themselves into clubs. the royals have done so, _ab initio_. the antiquaries appear to have given up their club and their anniversary dinner; but certain of the fellows, resolving not to remain _impransi_, many years since, formed a club, styled "noviomagians," from the identification of the roman station of noviomagus being just then discovered, or rather "rife and celebrated in the mouths of wisest men." one of the club-founders was mr. a. j. kempe; and mr. crofton croker was president more than twenty years. lord londesborough and mr. corner, the southwark antiquary, were also noviomagians; and in the present club-list are sir william betham, mr. fairholt, mr. godwin, mr. s. c. hall, mr. lemon, etc. the club dine together once a month during the season at the old tavern next the burial-place of joe miller in portugal street. here the fellows meet for the promotion of good fellowship and antiquarian pursuits. "joking minutes are kept, in which would be found many known names, either as visitors or associates,--theodore hook, sir henry ellis, britton, dickens, thackeray, john bruce, jerdan, planché, bell, maclise, etc." the club and its visitors may have caught inspiration here; for in their sallies _movere jocum_, they have imitated the wits at strawberry hill, and found arms for the club, with a butter-boat rampant for the crest, which is very significant. in , lord mayor moon, f.s.a., entertained at the mansion house the noviomagians, and the office-bearers of the society of antiquaries to meet them. after dinner, some short papers were read, including one by mr. lemon, of the state paper office, presenting some curious illustrations of the state of society in london in the reign of james i., showing the "migration of citizens westward." (see _romance of london_, vol. iii. pp. - .) the eccentrics. late in the last century there met at a tavern kept by one fulham, in chandos street, covent garden, a convivial club called "the eccentrics," which was an offshoot of "the brilliants." they next removed to tom rees's, in may's-buildings, st. martin's-lane, and here they were flourishing at all hours, some five-and-twenty years since. amongst the members were many celebrities of the literary and political world; they were always treated with indulgence by the authorities. an inaugural ceremony was performed upon the making of a member, which terminated with a jubilation from the president. the books of the club up to the time of its removal from may's-buildings are stated to have passed into the possession of mr. lloyd, the hatter, of the strand, who, by the way, was eccentric in his business, and published a small work descriptive of the various fashions of hats worn in his time, illustrated with characteristic engravings. from its commencement the eccentrics are said to have numbered upwards of , members, many of them holding high social position: among others, fox, sheridan, lord melbourne, and lord brougham. on the same memorable night that sheridan and lord petersham were admitted, hook was also enrolled; and through this club membership, theodore is believed to have obtained some of his high connexions. in a novel, published in numbers, some five-and-twenty years since, the author, f. w. n. bayley, sketched with graphic vigour the meetings of the eccentrics at the old tavern in may's-buildings. douglas jerrold's clubs. one of the chapters in "_the life and remains of douglas jerrold_," by his son, blanchard jerrold, discourses most pleasantly of the several clubs to which mr. jerrold became attached. he was of a clubbable nature, and delighted in wit-combats and brilliant repartees, the flash of which was perfectly electric. in this very agreeable _précis_, we find that towards the end of the year , some young men at a humble tavern, the wrekin, in the genial neighbourhood of covent garden, with shakspeare as their common idol; and "it was a regulation of this club that some paper, or poem, or conceit, bearing upon shakspeare, should be contributed by each member." hither came douglas jerrold, and he was soon joined by laman blanchard. upon jerrold's suggestion, the club was called the mulberries, and their contributions were entitled mulberry leaves. in the club were william godwin; kenny meadows, the future illustrator of shakspeare; w. elton, the shakspearean actor; and edward chatfield, the artist. mr. jerrold wrote, in the _illuminated magazine_, a touching memoir of the society--"that knot of wise and jocund men, then unknown, but gaily struggling." the mulberry club lived many years, and gathered a valuable crop of leaves--contributions from its members. they fell into mr. elton's hands, and are now in the possession of his family. they were to have been published, but no one would undertake to see them through the press--an office which, in most cases, is a very un-thankful one. the club did not, however, die easily: it was changed and grafted. "in times nearer the present, when it was called the shakspeare club, charles dickens, mr. justice talfourd, daniel maclise, mr. macready, mr. frank stone, etc. belonged to it. respectability killed it." but some delightful results of these mulberry club meetings are embalmed in mr. jerrold's _cakes and ale_, and their life reminds one of the dancing motes in the latter. then we hear of other clubs--the gratis and the rationals, of which jerrold was a member. "but," says the gentle memoir, "with clubs of more recent date, with the hooks and eyes, and lastly, with our club, douglas jerrold's name is most intimately associated. it may be justly said that he was the life and soul of these three gatherings of men. his arrival was a happy moment for members already present. his company was sought with wondrous eagerness whenever a dinner or social evening was contemplated; for, as a club associate said of him, 'he sparkled whenever you touched him, like the sea at night.' a writer in the _quarterly review_ well said of him: 'in the bright sallies of conversational wit he has no surviving equal.' "he was thus greatly acceptable in all social literary clubs. in the museum club, for instance, (an attempt made in to establish a properly modest and _real_ literary club,) he was unquestionably _the_ member; for he was the most clubbable of men." when members dropped in, sharp shots were possibly exchanged: here are a few that were actually fired within the precincts of the museum club--fired carelessly, and forgotten: jerrold defined dogmatism as "puppyism come to maturity;" and a flaming uxorious epitaph put up by a famous cook, on his wife's tomb, as "mock turtle." a prosy old gentleman, meeting him as he was passing at his usual quick pace along regent street, poised himself into an attitude, and began: "well, jerrold, my dear boy, what is going on?"--"i am," said the wit, instantly shooting off. at a dinner of artists, a barrister present, having his health drunk in connexion with the law, began an embarrassed answer by saying he did not see how the law could be considered one of the arts, when jerrold jerked in the word _black_, and threw the company into convulsions. a bore remarking how charmed he was with a certain opera, and that there was one particular song which always carried him quite away--"would that i could sing it!" ejaculated the wit. a dinner is discussed. douglas jerrold listens quietly, possibly tired of dinners, and declining pressing invitations to be present. in a few minutes he will chime in, "if an earthquake were to engulf england to-morrow, the english would manage to meet and dine somewhere among the rubbish, just to celebrate the event." a friend is anxious to awaken mr. jerrold's sympathies in behalf of a mutual acquaintance who is in want of a round sum of money. but this mutual friend has already sent his hat about among his literary brethren on more than one occasion. mr. ----'s hat is becoming an institution, and friends were grieved at the indelicacy of the proceeding. on the above occasion, the bearer of the hat was received with evident dissatisfaction. "well," said douglas jerrold, "how much does ---- want this time?"--"why, just a four and two noughts will, i think, put him straight," the bearer of the hat replied. _jerrold_--"well, put me down for one of the noughts." "the chain of events," playing at the lyceum theatre, though unsuccessful, is mentioned. "humph!" said douglas jerrold, "i'm afraid the manager will find it a door-chain strong enough to keep everybody out of the house,"--and so it proved. douglas jerrold is seriously disappointed with a certain book written by one of his friends, and has expressed his disappointment. _friend_--"i have heard that you said ---- was the worst book i ever wrote." _jerrold_--"no, i didn't; i said it was the worst book anybody ever wrote." a supper of sheep's-heads is proposed, and presently served. one gentleman present is particularly enthusiastic on the excellence of the dish, and, as he throws down his knife and fork, exclaims, "well, sheep's-heads for ever, say i!" _jerrold_--"there's egotism!" during a stormy discussion, a gentleman rises to settle the matter in dispute. waving his hands majestically over the excited disputants, he begins: "gentlemen, all i want is common sense."--"exactly," says douglas jerrold, "that is precisely what you _do_ want." but the museum club was broken up by troubled spirits. then succeeded the hooks and eyes; then the club, a social weekly gathering, which jerrold attended only three weeks before his death. hence some of his best sayings went forth. jerrold ordered a bottle of old port; "not _elder_ port," he said. walking to his club with a friend from the theatre, some intoxicated young gentleman reeled up to the dramatist and said, "can you tell me the way to the judge and jury?"--"keep on as you are, young gentleman," was the reply; "you're sure to overtake them." asking about the talent of a young painter, his companion declared that the youth was mediocre. "oh!" was the reply, "the very worst ochre an artist can set to work with." "the laughing hours, when these poor gatherings," says mr. blanchard jerrold, "fell from the well-loaded branch, are remembered still in the rooms of our club; and the hearty laugh still echoes there, and will, it is my pride to believe, always live in the memory of that genial and refined circle." the whittington club originated in , with douglas jerrold, who became its first president. it was established at the crown and anchor tavern in the strand; where, in the ball-room, hung a picture of whittington listening to bow-bells, painted by newenham, and presented to the club by the president. all the club premises were destroyed by fire in ; the picture was not saved, but fortunately it had been cleverly engraved. the premises have been rebuilt, and the club still flourishes. chess clubs. the clubs in various parts of the metropolis and the suburbs, where chess, and chess only, forms the staple recreation of the members, are numerous. we must, however, confine ourselves to the historical data of the early clubs, which record the introduction of the noble game in the metropolis. in , the principal if not the only chess-club in the metropolis met at slaughter's coffee-house, st. martin's-lane. the leading players of this club were--sir abraham janssen, philip stamma (from aleppo), lord godolphin, lord sunderland, and lord elibank; cunningham, the historian; dr. black and dr. cowper; and it was through their invitation that the celebrated philidor was induced to visit england. another club was shortly afterwards founded at the salopian coffee-house, charing cross: and a few years later, a third, which met next door to the thatched house tavern, in st. james's-street. it was here that philidor exhibited his wonderful faculty for playing blindfold; some instances of which we find in the newspapers of the period:-- "yesterday, at the chess-club in st. james's-street, monsieur philidor performed one of those wonderful exhibitions for which he is so much celebrated. he played _three different games at once_ without seeing either of the tables. his opponents were count bruhl and mr. bowdler (the two best players in london), and mr. maseres. he defeated count bruhl in one hour and twenty minutes, and mr. maseres in two hours; mr. bowdler reduced his games to a drawn battle in one hour and three-quarters. to those who understand chess, this exertion of m. philidor's abilities must appear one of the greatest of which the human memory is susceptible. he goes through it with astonishing accuracy, and often corrects mistakes in those who have the board before them." in , the veteran, then nearly seventy years of age, played three blindfold matches in public. the last of these, which came off shortly before his death, we find announced in the daily newspapers thus:-- "chess-club, . parsloe's, st. james's street. "by particular desire, mons. philidor, positively for the last time, will play on saturday, the th of june, at two o'clock precisely, three games at once against three good players; two of them without seeing either of the boards, and the third looking over the table. he most respectfully invites all the members of the chess-club to honour him with their presence. ladies and gentlemen not belonging to the club may be provided with tickets at the above-mentioned house, to see the match, at five shillings each." upon the death of philidor, the chess-clubs at the west-end seem to have declined; and in , the stronghold and rallying-point for the lovers of the game was "the london chess-club," which was established in the city, and for many years held its meetings at tom's coffee-house, in cornhill. to this club we are indebted for many of the finest chess-players of the age. about the year , a club was founded by a few amateurs in bedford-street, covent garden. this establishment, which obtained remarkable celebrity as the arena of the famous contests between la bourdonnais and m'donnell, was dissolved in ; but shortly afterwards, through the exertions of mr. staunton, was reformed under the name of the "st. george's club," in cavendish-square. appendix. almack's. (page .) captain gronow, writing in , says: "at the present time, one can hardly conceive the importance which was attached to getting admission to almack's, the seventh heaven of the fashionable world." of the three hundred officers of the foot guards, not more than half-a-dozen were honoured with vouchers of admission to this exclusive temple of the _beau monde_; the gates of which were guarded by lady patronesses, whose smiles or frowns consigned men and women to happiness or despair. these lady patronesses were the ladies castlereagh, jersey, cowper, and sefton; mrs. drummond burrell, now lady willoughby; the princess esterhazy, and the countess lieven. "the most popular amongst these _grandes dames_ were unquestionably lady cowper, now lady palmerston. lady jersey's bearing, on the contrary, was that of a theatrical tragedy queen: and whilst attempting the sublime, she frequently made herself simply ridiculous, being inconceivably rude, and in her manner often ill-bred. lady sefton was kind and amiable; madame de lieven haughty and exclusive; princess esterhazy was a _bon enfant_; lady castlereagh and miss burrell, _de très grandes dames_. "many diplomatic arts, much finesse, and a host of intrigues, were set in motion to get an invitation to almack's. very often persons, whose rank and fortunes entitled them to the _entrée_ anywhere, were excluded by the cliqueism of the lady patronesses; for the female government of almack's was a pure despotism, and subject to all the caprices of despotic rule: it is needless to add that, like every other despotism, it was not innocent of abuses. the fair ladies who ruled supreme over this little dancing and gossiping world, issued a solemn proclamation, that no gentleman should appear at the assemblies without being dressed in knee-breeches, white cravat, and _chapeau bras_. on one occasion, the duke of wellington was about to ascend the staircase of the ball-room, dressed in black trousers, when the vigilant mr. willis, the guardian of the establishment, stepped forward and said, 'your grace cannot be admitted in trousers;' whereupon the duke, who had a great respect for orders and regulations, quietly walked away. "in , the dances at almack's were scotch reels, and the old english country-dance; the orchestra, being from edinburgh, was conducted by the then celebrated neil gow. in , lady jersey introduced from paris the favourite quadrille. the persons who formed the very first quadrille that was ever danced at almack's were lady jersey, lady harriett butler, lady susan ryder, and miss montgomery; the men being the count st. aldegonde, mr. montgomery, mr. montague, and charles standish. the mazy waltz was also brought to us about this time; but there were comparatively few who at first ventured to whirl round the salons of almack's; in course of time lord palmerston might, however, have been seen describing an infinite number of circles with madame de lieven. baron de neumann was frequently seen perpetually turning with the princess esterhazy; and in course of time, the waltzing mania, having turned the heads of society generally, descended to their feet, and the waltz was practised in the morning in certain noble mansions in london with unparalleled assiduity."--_abridged from the reminiscences of captain gronow, ._ clubs at the thatched house. mr. willis took this tavern from mr. freere, about ; and, as a relative of mr. almack, afterwards succeeded to the celebrated assembly-rooms which bore his name. "if the old saw, that 'practice makes perfect,'" writes admiral smyth, "be correct, the _cuisinerie_ of the thatched house ought to surpass that of all others; for besides accidental parties and visitors, the messrs willis ably entertain the following societies and clubs: [this was written in .] actuaries, institute of. catch club. club, johnson's. cornish club. dilettanti society. farmers' club. geographical club. geological club. linnæan club. literary society. navy club. philosophical club. physicians, college of, club. political economy club. royal academy club. royal astronomical club. royal institution club. royal london yacht club. royal naval club, ( ). royal society club. st. albans medical club. st. bartholomew's contemporaries. star club. statistical club. sussex club. union society, st. james's. and they moreover accommodate the following masonic lodges:-- friendship. prince of wales's. middlesex. chapter of friendship. chapter of prince of wales's. mount mosiah chapter. castle lodge of harmony. the knights templars. britannic lodge. the kit-kat club. (page .) charles dartiquenane, better known by the abbreviated name of dartineuf, was the intimate friend and associate of swift, steele, and addison, and a member of the kit-kat club. he was not only famous as an epicure, but as a punster. he is said to have been a contributor to the _tatler_, though his papers cannot now be ascertained. pope, in his _epistles_, has: "each mortal has his pleasure, none deny-- scarsdale his bottle, darty his ham pie. . . . . . hard task to suit the palate of such guests, when oldfield loves what dartineuf detests." lord lyttelton has a dialogue in the shades between dartineuf and apicius, on good eating, in which ham pie is stated to have been the favourite dainty of the former. darty died in , and is stated to have left the receipt for his favourite pie with an old lady, who transferred it to dr. kitchiner. (see his _housekeeper's oracle_, , p. .) watier's club. (page .) captain gronow also relates the following account of the origin of this noted but short-lived club:-- upon one occasion, some gentlemen of both white's and brookes's had the honour to dine with the prince regent, and during the conversation, the prince inquired what sort of dinners they got at their clubs; upon which sir thomas stepney, one of the guests, observed "that their dinners were always the same, the eternal joints or beef-steaks, the boiled fowl with oyster sauce, and an apple-tart; this is what we have at our clubs, and very monotonous fare it is." the prince, without further remark, rang the bell for his cook watier, and in the presence of those who dined at the royal table, asked him whether he would take a house, and organize a dinner-club. watier assented, and named madison, the prince's page, manager; and labourie, the cook, from the royal kitchen. the club flourished only a few years, owing to the night-play that was carried on there. the duke of york patronized it, and was a member. the dinners were exquisite: the best parisian cooks could not beat labourie. the favourite game played there was macao. upon one occasion, jack bouverie, brother of lord heytesbury, was losing large sums, and became very irritable. raikes, with bad taste, laughed at bouverie, and attempted to amuse the company with some of his stale jokes; upon which bouverie threw his play-bowl, with the few counters it contained, at raikes's head; unfortunately, it struck him, and made the city dandy angry, but no serious results followed this open insult. clubs of . captain gronow, in his very entertaining _anecdotes and reminiscences_, gives these details of the clubs of the above period:-- "the members of the clubs in london, many years since, were persons, almost without exception, belonging exclusively to the aristocratic world. 'my tradesmen,' as king allen used to call the bankers and the merchants, had not then invaded white's, boodle's, brookes's; or watier's, in bolton-street, piccadilly; which, with the guards, arthur's, and graham's, were the only clubs at the west end of the town. white's was decidedly the most difficult of entry; its list of members comprised nearly all the noble names of great britain. "the politics of white's club were then decidedly tory. it was here that play was carried on to such an extent that made many ravages in large fortunes, the traces of which have not disappeared at the present day. general scott, the father-in-law of george canning and the duke of portland, was known to have won at white's , _l._; thanks to his notorious sobriety and knowledge of the game of whist. the general possessed a great advantage over his companions by avoiding those indulgences at the table which used to muddle other men's brains. he confined himself to dining off something like a boiled chicken, with toast-and-water: by such a regimen he came to the whist-table with a clear head; and, possessing, as he did, a remarkable memory, with great coolness and judgment, he was able honestly to win the enormous sum of , _l._ "at brookes's, for nearly half a century, the play was of a more gambling character than at white's.... on one occasion lord robert spencer contrived to lose the last shilling of his considerable fortune given him by his brother, the duke of marlborough. general fitzpatrick being much in the same condition, they agreed to raise a sum of money, in order that they might keep a faro-bank. the members of the club made no objection, and ere long they carried out their design. as is generally the case, the bank was a winner, and lord robert bagged, as his share of the proceeds, , _l._ he retired, strange to say, from the foetid atmosphere of play, with the money in his pocket, and never again gambled. george harley drummond, of the famous banking-house, charing cross, only played once in his whole life at white's club at whist, on which occasion he lost , _l._ to brummell. this even caused him to retire from the banking-house, of which he was a partner." arthur's and graham's were less aristocratic than those clubs i have mentioned. it was at the latter place, in , that a most painful circumstance took place. a nobleman of the highest position and influence in society, was detected in cheating at cards, and after a trial, which did not terminate in his favour, he died of a broken heart. gaming-houses kept by ladies. the following curious piece of evidence, probably an extract from the journals of the house of lords, although there is no reference to the subject in the published "parliamentary debates," was found not long since by the editor of the _athenæum_ amongst a mass of contemporary mss.:-- "die lunæ, ° aprilis, .--gaming.--a bill for preventing the excessive and deceitful use of it having been brought from the commons, and proceeded on so far as to be agreed to in a committee of the whole house with amendments,--information was given to the house that mr. burdus, chairman of the quarter session for the city and liberty of westminster, sir thomas de veil, and mr. lane, chairman of the quarter sessions for the county of middlesex, were at the door; they were called in, and at the bar severally gave an account that claims of privilege of peerage were made and insisted on by the ladies mordington and cassillis, in order to intimidate the peace officers from doing their duty in suppressing the public gaming-houses kept by the said ladies. and the said burdus thereupon delivered in an instrument in writing under the hand of the said lady mordington, containing the claim she made of privilege for her officers and servants employed by her in her said gaming-house.--and then they were directed to withdraw.--and the said instrument was read as follows:--'i, dame mary, baroness of mordington, do hold a house in the great piazza, covent garden, for and as an assembly, where all persons of credit are at liberty to frequent and play at such diversions as are used at other assemblys. and i have hired joseph dewberry, william horsely, ham cropper, and george sanders as my servants or managers (under me) thereof. i have given them orders to direct the management of the other inferior servants, (namely) john bright, richard davids, john hill, john vandenvoren, as box-keepers,--gilbert richardson, housekeeper, john chaplain, regulator, william stanley and henry huggins, servants that wait on the company as the said assembly, william penny and joseph penny as porters thereof--and all the above-mentioned persons i claim as my domestick servants, and demand all those privileges that belong to me as a peeress of great britain appertaining to my said assembly.--m. mordington.--dated th jan. .'--resolved and declared that no person is entitled to privilege of peerage against any prosecution or proceeding for keeping any public or common gaming-house, or any house, room, or place for playing at any game or games prohibited by any law now in force." end of vol. i. printed by j. e. taylor, little queen street, holborn. transcriber's note: inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have been preserved. obvious typographical errors have been corrected. italic text is denoted by _underscores_. on page , either or is a possible typo. on page , "the th edward iv." is possibly a typo. on page , "dan rowlandson" should possibly be "dan rawlinson". on page , "belvidere" is a possible typo for "belvedere". club life of london with anecdotes of the clubs, coffee-houses and taverns of the metropolis during the th, th, and th centuries. by john timbs, f.s.a. [illustration] in two volumes.--vol. ii. london: richard bentley, new burlington street publisher in ordinary to her majesty. . printed by john edward taylor, little queen street, lincoln's inn fields. contents. coffee-houses. page early coffee-houses garraway's coffee-house jonathan's coffee-house rainbow coffee-house nando's coffee-house dick's coffee-house the "lloyd's" of the time of charles ii lloyd's coffee-house the jerusalem coffee-house baker's coffee-house coffee-houses of the eighteenth century coffee-house sharpers in don saltero's coffee-house saloop-houses the smyrna coffee-house st. james's coffee-house the british coffee-house will's coffee-house button's coffee-house dean swift at button's tom's coffee-house the bedford coffee-house, in covent garden macklin's coffee-house oratory tom king's coffee-house piazza coffee-house the chapter coffee-house child's coffee-house london coffee-house turk's head coffee-house, in change alley squire's coffee-house slaughter's coffee-house will's and serle's coffee-houses the grecian coffee-house george's coffee-house the percy coffee-house peele's coffee-house taverns. the taverns of old london the bear at the bridge-foot mermaid taverns the boar's head tavern three cranes in the vintry london stone tavern the robin hood pontack's, abchurch lane pope's head tavern the old swan, thames-street cock tavern, threadneedle-street crown tavern, threadneedle-street the king's head tavern, in the poultry the mitre, in wood-street the salutation and cat tavern "salutation" taverns queen's arms, st. paul's churchyard dolly's, paternoster row aldersgate taverns "the mourning crown" jerusalem taverns, clerkenwell white hart tavern, bishopsgate without the mitre, in fenchurch-street the king's head, fenchurch-street the elephant, fenchurch-street the african, st. michael's alley the grave maurice tavern mathematical society, spitalfields globe tavern, fleet-street the devil tavern the young devil tavern cock tavern, fleet-street the hercules' pillars taverns hole-in-the-wall taverns the mitre, in fleet-street ship tavern, temple bar the palsgrave head, temple bar heycock's, temple bar the crown and anchor, strand the canary-house, in the strand the fountain tavern tavern life of sir richard steele clare market taverns the craven head, drury lane the cock tavern, in bow-street the queen's head, bow-street the shakspeare tavern shuter, and his tavern places the rose tavern, covent garden evans's, covent garden the fleece, covent garden the bedford head, covent garden the salutation, tavistock street the constitution tavern, covent garden the cider cellar offley's, henrietta-street the rummer tavern spring garden taverns "heaven" and "hell" taverns, westminster "bellamy's kitchen" a coffee-house canary bird star and garter, pall mall thatched house tavern "the running footman," may fair piccadilly inns and taverns islington taverns copenhagen house topham, the strong man, and his taverns the castle tavern, holborn marylebone and paddington taverns kensington and brompton taverns knightsbridge taverns ranelagh gardens cremorne tavern and gardens the mulberry garden pimlico taverns lambeth,--vauxhall taverns and gardens, etc. freemasons' lodges whitebait taverns the london tavern the clarendon hotel freemasons' tavern, great queen-street the albion, aldersgate-street st. james's hall theatrical taverns appendix. beefsteak society white's club the royal academy club destruction of taverns by fire the tzar of muscovy's head, tower-street rose tavern, tower-street the nag's head tavern, cheapside the hummums, covent garden origin of tavern signs index to the first volume index to the second volume [illustration: "the lion's head," at button's coffee-house.] club life of london. coffee-houses. early coffee-houses. coffee is thus mentioned by bacon, in his _sylva sylvarum_:--"they have in _turkey_ a _drink_ called _coffee_, made of a _berry_ of the same name, as black as _soot_, and of a _strong sent_, but not _aromatical_; which they take, beaten into powder, in _water_, as hot as they can _drink_ it; and they take it, and sit at it in their _coffee houses_, which are like our _taverns_. the _drink_ comforteth the _brain_, and _heart_, and helpeth _digestion_." and in burton's _anatomy of melancholy_, part i., sec. , occurs, "turks in their coffee-houses, which much resemble our taverns." the date is , several years before coffee-houses were introduced into england. in , wood tells us, was opened at oxford, the first coffee-house, by jacobs, a jew, "at the angel, in the parish of st. peter in the east; and there it was, by some who delighted in novelty, drank." there was once an odd notion prevalent that coffee was unwholesome, and would bring its drinkers to an untimely end. yet, voltaire, fontenelle, and fourcroy, who were great coffee-drinkers, lived to a good old age. laugh at madame de sévigné, who foretold that coffee and racine would be forgotten together! a manuscript note, written by oldys, the celebrated antiquary, states that "the use of coffee in england was first known in . [it will be seen, as above, that oldys is incorrect.] mr. edwards, a turkey merchant, brought from smyrna to london one pasqua rosee, a ragusan youth, who prepared this drink for him every morning. but the novelty thereof drawing too much company to him, he allowed his said servant, with another of his son-in-law, to sell it publicly, and they set up the first coffee-house in london, in st. michael's alley, in cornhill. the sign was pasqua rosee's own head." oldys is slightly in error here; rosee commenced his coffee-house in , and one jacobs, a jew, as we have just seen, had established a similar undertaking at oxford, two years earlier. one of rosee's original shop or hand-bills, the only mode of advertising in those days, is as follows:-- "the vertue of the coffee drink, "_first made and publickly sold in england by pasqua rosee._ "the grain or berry called coffee, groweth upon little trees only in the deserts of arabia. it is brought from thence, and drunk generally throughout all the grand seignour's dominions. it is a simple, innocent thing, composed into a drink, by being dried in an oven, and ground to powder, and boiled up with spring water, and about half a pint of it to be drunk fasting an hour before, and not eating an hour after, and to be taken as hot as possibly can be endured; the which will never fetch the skin off the mouth, or raise any blisters by reason of that heat. "the turks' drink at meals and other times is usually water, and their diet consists much of fruit; the crudities whereof are very much corrected by this drink. "the quality of this drink is cold and dry; and though it be a drier, yet it neither heats nor inflames more than hot posset. it so incloseth the orifice of the stomach, and fortifies the heat within, that it is very good to help digestion; and therefore of great use to be taken about three or four o'clock afternoon, as well as in the morning. it much quickens the spirits, and makes the heart lightsome; it is good against sore eyes, and the better if you hold your head over it and take in the steam that way. it suppresseth fumes exceedingly, and therefore is good against the head-ache, and will very much stop any defluxion of rheums, that distil from the head upon the stomach, and so prevent and help consumptions and the cough of the lungs. "it is excellent to prevent and cure the dropsy, gout,[ ] and scurvy. it is known by experience to be better than any other drying drink for people in years, or children that have any running humours upon them, as the king's evil, &c. it is a most excellent remedy against the spleen, hypochondriac winds, and the like. it will prevent drowsiness, and make one fit for business, if one have occasion to watch, and therefore you are not to drink of it after supper, unless you intend to be watchful, for it will hinder sleep for three or four hours. "it is observed that in turkey, where this is generally drunk, that they are not troubled with the stone, gout, dropsy, or scurvy, and that their skins are exceeding clear and white. it is neither laxative nor restringent. "_made and sold in st. michael's-alley, in cornhill, by pasqua rosee, at the sign of his own head._" the new beverage had its opponents, as well as its advocates. the following extracts from _an invective against coffee_, published about the same period, informs us that rosee's partner, the servant of mr. edwards's son-in-law, was a coachman; while it controverts the statement that hot coffee will not scald the mouth, and ridicules the broken english of the ragusan:-- "a broadside against coffee. "a coachman was the first (here) coffee made, and ever since the rest drive on the trade: '_me no good engalash!_' and sure enough, he played the quack to salve his stygian stuff; '_ver boon for de stomach, de cough, de phthisick._' and i believe him, for it looks like physic. coffee a crust is charred into a coal, the smell and taste of the mock china bowl; where huff and puff, they labour out their lungs, lest, dives-like, they should bewail their tongues. and yet they tell ye that it will not burn, though on the jury blisters you return; whose furious heat does make the water rise, and still through the alembics of your eyes. dread and desire, you fall to 't snap by snap, as hungry dogs do scalding porridge lap. but to cure drunkards it has got great fame; posset or porridge, will 't not do the same? confusion hurries all into one scene, like noah's ark, the clean and the unclean. and now, alas! the drench has credit got, and he's no gentleman that drinks it not; that such a dwarf should rise to such a stature! but custom is but a remove from nature. a little dish and a large coffee-house, what is it but a mountain and a mouse?" notwithstanding this opposition, coffee soon became a favourite drink, and the shops, where it was sold, places of general resort. there appears to have been a great anxiety that the coffee-house, while open to all ranks, should be conducted under such restraints as might prevent the better class of customers from being annoyed. accordingly, the following regulations, printed on large sheets of paper, were hung up in conspicuous positions on the walls:-- "_enter, sirs, freely, but first, if you please, peruse our civil orders, which are these._ first, gentry, tradesmen, all are welcome hither, and may without affront sit down together: pre-eminence of place none here should mind, but take the next fit seat that he can find: nor need any, if finer persons come, rise up for to assign to them his room; to limit men's expense, we think not fair, but let him forfeit twelve-pence that shall swear: he that shall any quarrel here begin, shall give each man a dish t' atone the sin; and so shall he, whose compliments extend so far to drink in coffee to his friend; let noise of loud disputes be quite forborne, nor maudlin lovers here in corners mourn, but all be brisk and talk, but not too much; on sacred things, let none presume to touch, nor profane scripture, nor saucily wrong affairs of state with an irreverent tongue: let mirth be innocent, and each man see that all his jests without reflection be; to keep the house more quiet and from blame, we banish hence cards, dice, and every game; nor can allow of wagers, that exceed five shillings, which ofttimes do troubles breed; let all that's lost or forfeited be spent in such good liquor as the house doth vent. and customers endeavour, to their powers, for to observe still, seasonable hours. lastly, let each man what he calls for pay, and so you're welcome to come every day." in a print of the period, five persons are shown in a coffee-house, one smoking, evidently, from their dresses, of different ranks of life; they are seated at a table, on which are small basins without saucers, and tobacco-pipes, while a waiter is serving the coffee. footnote: [ ] in the french colonies, where coffee is more used than in the english, gout is scarcely known. garraway's coffee-house. this noted coffee-house, situated in change-alley, cornhill, has a threefold celebrity: tea was first sold in england here; it was a place of great resort in the time of the south sea bubble; and has since been a place of great mercantile transactions. the original proprietor was thomas garway, tobacconist and coffee-man, the first who retailed tea, recommending for the cure of all disorders; the following is the substance of his shop bill:--"tea in england hath been sold in the leaf for six pounds, and sometimes for ten pounds the pound weight, and in respect of its former scarceness and dearness, it hath been only used as a regalia in high treatments and entertainments, and presents made thereof to princes and grandees till the year ." the said thomas garway did purchase a quantity thereof, and first publicly sold the said tea in leaf and drink, made according to the directions of the most knowing merchants and travellers into those eastern countries; and upon knowledge and experience of the said garway's continued care and industry in obtaining the best tea, and making drink thereof, very many noblemen, physicians, merchants, and gentlemen of quality, have ever since sent to him for the said leaf, and daily resort to his house in exchange-alley, aforesaid, to drink the drink thereof; and to the end that all persons of eminence and quality, gentlemen, and others, who have occasion for tea in leaf, may be supplied, these are to give notice that the said thomas garway hath tea to sell from "sixteen to fifty shillings per pound." (see the document entire in ellis's _letters_, series iv. .) ogilby, the compiler of the _britannia_, had his standing lottery of books at mr. garway's coffee-house from april , , till wholly drawn off. and, in the _journey through england_, , garraway's, robins's, and joe's, are described as the three celebrated coffee-houses: in the first, the people of quality, who have business in the city, and the most considerable and wealthy citizens, frequent. in the second the foreign banquiers, and often even foreign ministers. and in the third, the buyers and sellers of stock. wines were sold at garraway's in , "by the candle," that is, by auction, while an inch of candle burns. in _the tatler_, no. , we read: "upon my coming home last night, i found a very handsome present of french wine left for me, as a taste of hogsheads, which are to be put to sale at _l._ a hogshead, at garraway's coffee-house, in exchange-alley," &c. the sale by candle is not, however, by candle-light, but during the day. at the commencement of the sale, when the auctioneer has read a description of the property, and the conditions on which it is to be disposed of, a piece of candle, usually an inch long, is lighted, and he who is the last bidder at the time the light goes out is declared the purchaser. swift, in his "ballad on the south sea scheme," , did not forget garraway's:-- "there is a gulf, where thousands fell, here all the bold adventurers came, a narrow sound, though deep as hell, 'change alley is the dreadful name. "subscribers here by thousands float, and jostle one another down, each paddling in his leaky boat, and here they fish for gold and drown. "now buried in the depths below, now mounted up to heaven again, they reel and stagger to and fro, at their wits' end, like drunken men. "meantime secure on garway cliffs, a savage race, by shipwrecks fed, lie waiting for the founder'd skiffs, and strip the bodies of the dead." dr. radcliffe, who was a rash speculator in the south sea scheme, was usually planted at a table at garraway's about exchange time, to watch the turn of the market; and here he was seated when the footman of his powerful rival, dr. edward hannes, came into garraway's and inquired, by way of a puff, if dr. h. was there. dr. radcliffe, who was surrounded with several apothecaries and chirurgeons that flocked about him, cried out, "dr. hannes was not there," and desired to know "who wanted him?" the fellow's reply was, "such a lord and such a lord;" but he was taken up with the dry rebuke, "no, no, friend, you are mistaken; the doctor wants those lords." one of radcliffe's ventures was five thousand guineas upon one south sea project. when he was told at garraway's that 'twas all lost, "why," said he, "'tis but going up five thousand pair of stairs more." "this answer," says tom brown, "deserved a statue." as a coffee-house, and one of the oldest class, which has withstood, by the well-acquired fame of its proprietors, the ravages of time, and the changes that economy and new generations produce, none can be compared to garraway's. this name must be familiar with most people in and out of the city; and, notwithstanding our disposition to make allowance for the want of knowledge some of our neighbours of the west-end profess in relation to men and things east of temple bar, it must be supposed that the noble personage who said, when asked by a merchant to pay him a visit in one of these places, "that he willingly would, if his friend could tell him where to change horses," had forgotten this establishment, which fostered so great a quantity of dishonoured paper, when in other city coffee-houses it had gone begging at _s._ and _s._ in the pound.[ ] garraway's has long been famous as a sandwich and drinking room, for sherry, pale ale, and punch. tea and coffee are still served. it is said that the sandwich-maker is occupied two hours in cutting and arranging the sandwiches before the day's consumption commences. the sale-room is an old fashioned first-floor apartment, with a small rostrum for the seller, and a few commonly grained settles for the buyers. here sales of drugs, mahogany, and timber are periodically held. twenty or thirty property and other sales sometimes take place in a day. the walls and windows of the lower room are covered with sale placards, which are unsentimental evidences of the mutability of human affairs. "in and , when the tea speculation was at its height, and prices were fluctuating _d._ and _d._ per pound, on the arrival of every mail, garraway's was frequented every night by a host of the smaller fry of dealers, when there was more excitement than ever occurred on 'change when the most important intelligence arrived. champagne and anchovy toasts were the order of the night; and every one came, ate and drank, and went, as he pleased without the least question concerning the score, yet the bills were discharged; and this plan continued for several months."--_the city._ here, likewise, we find this redeeming picture:--"the members of the little _coterie_, who take the dark corner under the clock, have for years visited this house; they number two or three old, steady merchants, a solicitor, and a gentleman who almost devotes the whole of his time and talents to philanthropic objects,--for instance, the getting up of a ball for shipwrecked mariners and their families; or the organization of a dinner for the benefit of the distressed needlewomen of the metropolis; they are a very quiet party, and enjoy the privilege of their _séance_, uninterrupted by visitors." we may here mention a tavern of the south sea time, where the "globe _permits_" fraud was very successful. these were nothing more than square pieces of card on which was a wax seal of the sign of the globe tavern, situated in the neighbourhood of change-alley, with the inscription, "sail-cloth permits." the possessors enjoyed no other advantage from them than permission to subscribe at some future time to a new sail-cloth manufactory projected by one who was known to be a man of fortune, but who was afterwards involved in the peculation and punishment of the south sea directors. these permits sold for as much as sixty guineas in the alley. footnote: [ ] _the city_, nd edition. jonathan's coffee-house. this is another change-alley coffee-house, which is described in the _tatler_, no. , as "the general mart of stock-jobbers;" and the _spectator_, no. , tells us that he "sometimes passes for a jew in the assembly of stock-jobbers at jonathan's." this was the rendezvous, where gambling of all sorts was carried on; notwithstanding a formal prohibition against the assemblage of the jobbers, issued by the city of london, which prohibition continued unrepealed until . in the _anatomy of exchange alley_, , we read:--"the centre of the jobbing is in the kingdom of exchange-alley and its adjacencies. the limits are easily surrounded in about a minute and a half: viz. stepping out of jonathan's into the alley, you turn your face full south; moving on a few paces, and then turning due east, you advance to garraway's; from thence going out at the other door, you go on still east into birchin-lane; and then halting a little at the sword-blade bank, to do much mischief in fewest words, you immediately face to the north, enter cornhill, visit two or three petty provinces there in your way west; and thus having boxed your compass, and sailed round the whole stock-jobbing globe, you turn into jonathan's again; and so, as most of the great follies of life oblige us to do, you end just where you began." mrs. centlivre, in her comedy of _a bold stroke for a wife_, has a scene from jonathan's at the above period: while the stock-jobbers are talking, the coffee-boys are crying "fresh coffee, gentlemen, fresh coffee! bohea tea, gentlemen!" here is another picture of jonathan's, during the south sea mania; though not by an eye-witness, it groups, from various authorities, the life of the place and the time:--"at a table a few yards off sat a couple of men engaged in the discussion of a newly-started scheme. plunging his hand impatiently under the deep silver-buttoned flap of his frock-coat of cinnamon cloth and drawing out a paper, the more business-looking of the pair commenced eagerly to read out figures intended to convince the listener, who took a jewelled snuff-box from the deep pocket of the green brocade waistcoat which overflapped his thigh, and, tapping the lid, enjoyed a pinch of perfumed turkish as he leaned back lazily in his chair. somewhat further off, standing in the middle of the room, was a keen-eyed lawyer, counting on his fingers the probable results of a certain speculation in human hair, to which a fresh-coloured farmer from st. albans, on whose boots the mud of the cattle market was not dry, listened with a face of stolid avarice, clutching the stag-horn handle of his thonged whip as vigorously as if it were the wealth he coveted. there strode a nonconformist divine, with s. s. s. in every line of his face, greedy for the gold that perisheth; here a bishop, whose truer place was garraway's, edged his cassock through the crowd; sturdy ship-captains, whose manners smack of blustering breezes, and who hailed their acquaintance as if through a speaking-trumpet in a storm--booksellers' hacks from grub-street, who were wont to borrow ink-bottles and just one sheet of paper at the bar of the black swan in st. martin's-lane, and whose tarnished lace, when not altogether torn away, showed a suspicious coppery redness underneath--jews of every grade, from the thriving promoter of a company for importing ashes from spain or extracting stearine from sunflower seeds to the seller of sailor slops from wapping-in-the-wose, come to look for a skipper who had bilked him--a sprinkling of well-to-do merchants--and a host of those flashy hangers-on to the skirts of commerce, who brighten up in days of maniacal speculation, and are always ready to dispose of shares in some unopened mine or some untried invention--passed and repassed with continuous change and murmur before the squire's eyes during the quarter of an hour that he sat there."--_pictures of the periods, by w. f. collier ll.d._ rainbow coffee-house. the rainbow, in fleet-street, appears to have been the second coffee-house opened in the metropolis. "the first coffee-house in london," says aubrey (ms. in the bodleian library), "was in st. michael's-alley, in cornhill, opposite to the church, which was set up by one ---- bowman (coachman to mr. hodges, a turkey merchant, who putt him upon it), in or about the yeare . 'twas about four yeares before any other was sett up, and that was by mr. farr." this was the rainbow. another account states that one edwards, a turkey merchant, on his return from the east, brought with him a ragusian greek servant, named pasqua rosee, who prepared coffee every morning for his master, and with the coachman above named set up the first coffee-house in st. michael's-alley; but they soon quarrelled and separated, the coachman establishing himself in st. michael's churchyard.--(see pp. and , _ante._) aubrey wrote the above in , and mr. farr had then become a person of consequence. in his _lives_, aubrey notes:--"when coffee first came in, sir henry blount was a great upholder of it, and hath ever since been a great frequenter of coffee-houses, especially mr. farre's, at the rainbowe, by inner temple gate." farr was originally a barber. his success as a coffee-man appears to have annoyed his neighbours; and at the inquest at st. dunstan's, dec. st, , among the presentments of nuisances were the following:--"we present james farr, barber, for making and selling of a drink called coffee, whereby in making the same he annoyeth his neighbours by evill smells; and for keeping of fire for the most part night and day, whereby his chimney and chamber hath been set on fire, to the great danger and affrightment of his neighbours." however, farr was not ousted; he probably promised reform, or amended the alleged annoyance: he remained at the rainbow, and rose to be a person of eminence and repute in the parish. he issued a token, date --an arched rainbow based on clouds, doubtless, from the great fire--to indicate that with him all was yet safe, and the rainbow still radiant. there is one of his tokens in the beaufoy collection, at guildhall, and so far as is known to mr. burn, the rainbow does not occur on any other tradesman's token. the house was let off into tenements: books were printed here at this very time "for samuel speed, at the sign of the rainbow, near the inner temple gate, in fleet-street." the phoenix fire office was established here about . hatton, in , evidently attributed farr's nuisance to the _coffee itself_ saying: "who would have thought london would ever have had three thousand such nuisances, and that coffee would have been (as now) so much drank by the best of quality, and physicians?" the nuisance was in farr's chimney and carelessness, not in the coffee. yet, in our statute-book anno ( car. ii. c. ), a duty of _d._ was laid upon every gallon of coffee made and sold. a statute of directs that all coffee-houses should be licensed at the quarter sessions. and in , charles ii. issued a proclamation to shut up the coffee-houses, charged with being seminaries of sedition; but in a few days he suspended this proclamation by a second. the _spectator_, no. , notices some gay frequenters of the rainbow:--"i have received a letter desiring me to be very satirical upon the little muff that is now in fashion; another informs me of a pair of silver garters buckled below the knee, that have been lately seen at the rainbow coffee-house in fleet-street." mr. moncrieff, the dramatist, used to tell that about , this house was kept by his grandfather, alexander moncrieff, when it retained its original title of "the rainbow coffee-house." the old coffee-room had a lofty bay-window, at the south end, looking into the temple: and the room was separated from the kitchen only by a glazed partition: in the bay was the table for the elders. the house has long been a tavern; all the old rooms have been swept away, and a large and lofty dining-room erected in their place. in a paper read to the british archæological association, by mr. e. b. price, we find coffee and canary thus brought into interesting comparison, illustrated by the exhibition of one of farr's rainbow tokens; and another inscribed "at the canary house in the strand, _d_., ," bearing also the word "canary" in the monogram. having noticed the prosecution of farr, and his triumph over his fellow-parishioners, mr. price says:--"the opposition to coffee continued; people viewed it with distrust, and even with alarm: and we can sympathize with them in their alarm: when we consider that they entertained a notion that coffee would eventually put an end to the species; that the _genus homo_ would some day or other be utterly extinguished. with our knowledge of the beneficial effect of this article on the community, and its almost universal adoption in the present day, we may smile, and wonder while we smile, at the bare possibility of such a notion ever having prevailed. that it did so, we have ample evidence in the "women's petition against coffee," in the year , cited by d'israeli, _curiosities of literature_, vol. iv., and in which they complain that coffee "made men as unfruitful as the deserts whence that unhappy berry is said to be brought: that the offspring of our mighty ancestors would dwindle into a succession of apes and pigmies," etc. the same authority gives us an extract from a very amusing poem of , in which the writer wonders that any man should prefer coffee to canary, terming them english apes, and proudly referring them to the days of beaumont and fletcher and ben jonson. _they_, says he, "drank pure nectar as the gods drink too sublimed with rich _canary_; say, shall then these less than coffee's self, these coffee-men, these sons of nothing, that can hardly make their broth for laughing how the jest does take, yet grin, and give ye for the vine's pure blood a loathsome potion--not yet understood, syrup of soot, or essence of old shoes, dasht with diurnals or the book of news?" one of the weaknesses of "rare ben" was his _penchant_ for canary. and it would seem that the mermaid, in bread-street, was the house in which he enjoyed it most: "but that which most doth take my muse and me, is a pure cup of rich _canary wine_, which is the mermaid's now, but shall be mine." granger states that charles i. raised ben's pension from marks to pounds, and added a tierce of canary, which salary and its appendage, he says, have ever since been continued to poets laureate. reverting to the rainbow (says mr. price), "it has been frequently remarked by 'tavern-goers,' that many of our snuggest and most comfortable taverns are hidden from vulgar gaze, and unapproachable except through courts, blind alleys, or but half-lighted passages." of this description was the house in question. but few of its many nightly, or rather midnightly patrons and frequenters, knew aught of it beyond its famed "stewed cheeses," and its "stout," with the various "et ceteras" of good cheer. they little dreamed, and perhaps as little cared to know, that, more than two centuries back, the rainbow flourished as a bookseller's shop; as appears by the title-page of trussell's _history of england_, which states it to be "printed by m. d., for ephraim dawson, and are to bee sold in fleet street, at the signe of the rainbowe, neere the inner-temple gate, ." nando's coffee-house was the house at the east corner of inner temple-lane, no. , fleet-street, and next-door to the shop of bernard lintot, the bookseller; though it has been by some confused with groom's house, no. . nando's was the favourite haunt of lord thurlow, before he dashed into law practice. at this coffee-house a large attendance of professional loungers was attracted by the fame of the punch and the charms of the landlady, which, with the small wits, were duly admired by and at the bar. one evening, the famous cause of douglas _v._. the duke of hamilton was the topic of discussion, when thurlow being present, it was suggested, half in earnest, to appoint him junior counsel, which was done. this employment brought him acquainted with the duchess of queensberry, who saw at once the value of a man like thurlow, and recommended lord bute to secure him by a silk gown. the house, formerly nando's, has been for many years a hair-dresser's. it is inscribed "formerly the palace of henry viii. and cardinal wolsey." the structure is of the time of james i., and has an enriched ceiling inscribed p (triple plumed). this was the office in which the council for the management of the duchy of cornwall estates held their sittings; for in the calendar of state papers, edited by mrs. green, is the following entry, of the time of charles, created prince of wales four years after the death of henry:--" , feb. ; prince's _council chamber, fleet-street_. --council of the prince of wales to the keepers of brancepeth, raby, and barnard castles: the trees blown down are only to be used for mending the pales, and no wood to be cut for firewood, nor browse for the deer." dick's coffee-house. this old coffee-house, no. , fleet-street (south side, near temple bar), was originally "richard's," named from richard torner, or turner, to whom the house was let in . the coffee-room retains its olden paneling, and the staircase its original balusters. the interior of dick's coffee-house is engraved as a frontispiece to a drama, called _the coffee-house_, performed at drury-lane theatre in . the piece met with great opposition on its representation, owing to its being stated that the characters were intended for a particular family (that of mrs. yarrow and her daughter), who kept dick's, the coffee-house which the artist had inadvertently selected as the frontispiece. it appears that the landlady and her daughter were the reigning toast of the templars, who then frequented dick's; and took the matter up so strongly that they united to condemn the farce on the night of its production; they succeeded, and even extended their resentment to every thing suspected to be this author's (the rev. james miller) for a considerable time after. richard's, as it was then called, was frequented by cowper, when he lived in the temple. in his own account of his insanity, cowper tells us: "at breakfast i read the newspaper, and in it a letter, which, the further i perused it, the more closely engaged my attention. i cannot now recollect the purport of it; but before i had finished it, it appeared demonstratively true to me that it was a libel or satire upon me. the author appeared to be acquainted with my purpose of self-destruction, and to have written that letter on purpose to secure and hasten the execution of it. my mind, probably, at this time began to be disordered; however it was, i was certainly given to a strong delusion. i said within myself, 'your cruelty shall be gratified; you shall have your revenge,' and flinging down the paper in a fit of strong passion, i rushed hastily out of the room; directing my way towards the fields, where i intended to find some house to die in; or, if not, determined to poison myself in a ditch, where i could meet with one sufficiently retired." it is worth while to revert to the earlier tenancy of the coffee-house, which was, wholly or in part, the original printing office of richard tottel, law-printer to edward vi., queens mary and elizabeth; the premises were attached to no. , fleet-street, which bore the sign of "the hand and starre," where tottel lived, and published the law and other works he printed. no. was subsequently occupied by jaggard and joel stephens, eminent law-printers, temp. geo. i.-iii.; and at the present day the house is most appropriately occupied by messrs. butterworth, who follow the occupation tottel did in the days of edward vi., being law-publishers to queen victoria; and they possess the original leases, from the earliest grant, in the reign of henry viii., the period of their own purchase. the "lloyd's" of the time of charles ii. during the reign of charles ii., coffee-houses grew into such favour, that they quickly spread over the metropolis, and were the usual meeting-places of the roving cavaliers, who seldom visited home but to sleep. the following song, from jordan's _triumphs of london_, , affords a very curious picture of the manners of the times, and the sort of conversation then usually met with in a well-frequented house of the sort,--the "lloyd's" of the seventeenth century:-- "you that delight in wit and mirth, and love to hear such news that come from all parts of the earth, turks, dutch, and danes, and jews: i'll send ye to the rendezvous, where it is smoaking new; go hear it at a coffee-house, it cannot but be true. "there battails and sea-fights are fought, and bloudy plots displaid; they know more things than e'er was thought, or ever was bewray'd: no money in the minting-house is half so bright and new; and coming from the _coffee-house_, it cannot but be true. "before the navies fell to work, they knew who should be winner; they there can tell ye what the turk last sunday had to dinner. who last did cut du ruiter's[ ] corns, amongst his jovial crew; or who first gave the devil horns, which cannot but be true. "a fisherman did boldly tell, and strongly did avouch, he caught a shole of mackerell, they parley'd all in dutch; and cry'd out _yaw, yaw, yaw, mine hare_, and as the draught they drew, they stunk for fear that monk[ ] was there: this sounds as if 'twere true. "there's nothing done in all the world, from monarch to the mouse; but every day or night 'tis hurl'd into the coffee-house: what lilly[ ] what booker[ ] cou'd by art not bring about, at coffee-house you'll find a brood, can quickly find it out. "they know who shall in times to come, be either made or undone, from great st. peter's-street in rome, to turnbal-street[ ] in london. "they know all that is good or hurt, to damn ye or to save ye; there is the college and the court, the country, camp, and navy. so great an university, i think there ne'er was any; in which you may a scholar be, for spending of a penny. "here men do talk of everything, with large and liberal lungs, like women at a gossiping, with double tire of tongues, they'll give a broadside presently, 'soon as you are in view: with stories that you'll wonder at, which they will swear are true. "you shall know there what fashions are, how perriwigs are curl'd; and for a penny you shall hear all novels in the world; both old and young, and great and small, and rich and poor you'll see; therefore let's to the coffee all, come all away with me." footnotes: [ ] the dutch admiral who, in june, , dashed into the downs with a fleet of eighty sail, and many fire-ships, blocked up the mouths of the medway and thames, destroyed the fortifications at sheerness, cut away the paltry defences of booms and chains drawn across the rivers, and got to chatham, on the one side, and nearly to gravesend on the other; the king having spent in debauchery the money voted by parliament for the proper support of the english navy. [ ] general monk and prince rupert were at this time commanders of the english fleet. [ ] lilly was the celebrated astrologer of the protectorate, who earned great fame at that time by predicting, in june, , "if now we fight, a victory stealeth upon us:" a lucky guess, signally verified in the king's defeat at naseby. lilly thenceforth always saw the stars favourable to the puritans. [ ] this man was originally a fishing-tackle-maker in tower-street, during the reign of charles i.; but turning enthusiast, he went about prognosticating "the downfall of the king and popery;" and as he and his predictions were all on the popular side, he became a great man with the superstitious "godly brethren" of that day. [ ] turnbal, or turnbull-street as it is still called, had been for a century previous of infamous repute. in beaumont and fletcher's play, the _knight of the burning pestle_, one of the ladies who is undergoing penance at the barber's, has her character sufficiently pointed out to the audience, in her declaration, that she had been "stolen from her friends in turnbal-street." lloyd's coffee-house. lloyd's is one of the earliest establishments of the kind; it is referred to in a poem printed in the year , called the _wealthy shopkeeper, or charitable christian_: "now to lloyd's coffee-house he never fails, to read the letters, and attend the sales." in , steele (_tatler_, no. ,) dates from lloyd's his petition on coffee-house orators and newsvendors. and addison, in _spectator_, april , , relates this droll incident:--"about a week since there happened to me a very odd accident, by reason of which one of these my papers of minutes which i had accidentally dropped at lloyd's coffee-house, where the auctions are usually kept. before i missed it, there were a cluster of people who had found it, and were diverting themselves with it at one end of the coffee-house. it had raised so much laughter among them before i observed what they were about, that i had not the courage to own it. the boy of the coffee-house, when they had done with it, carried it about in his hand, asking everybody if they had dropped a written paper; but nobody challenging it, he was ordered by those merry gentlemen who had before perused it, to get up into the auction-pulpit, and read it to the whole room, that if anybody would own it, they might. the boy accordingly mounted the pulpit, and with a very audible voice read what proved to be minutes, which made the whole coffee-house very merry; some of them concluded it was written by a madman, and others by somebody that had been taking notes out of the _spectator_. after it was read, and the boy was coming out of the pulpit, the spectator reached his arm out, and desired the boy to give it him; which was done according. this drew the whole eyes of the company upon the spectator; but after casting a cursory glance over it, he shook his head twice or thrice at the reading of it, twisted it into a kind of match, and lighted his pipe with it. 'my profound silence,' says the spectator, 'together with the steadiness of my countenance, and the gravity of my behaviour during the whole transaction, raised a very loud laugh on all sides of me; but as i had escaped all suspicion of being the author, i was very well satisfied, and applying myself to my pipe and the _postman_, took no further notice of anything that passed about me.'" nothing is positively known of the original lloyd; but in , there was issued an irregular ode, entitled _a summer's farewell to the gulph of venice, in the southwell frigate_, captain manly, jun., commanding, stated to be "printed for lloyd, well-known for obliging the public with the freshest and most authentic ship news, and sold by a. more, near st. paul's, and at the pamphlet shops in london and westminster, mdccl." in the _gentleman's magazine_, for , we read:--" march, , mr. baker, master of lloyd's coffee-house, in lombard-street, waited on sir robert walpole with the news of admiral vernon's taking portobello. this was the first account received thereof, and proving true, sir robert was pleased to order him a handsome present." lloyd's is, perhaps, the oldest collective establishment in the city. it was first under the management of a single individual, who started it as a room where the underwriters and insurers of ships' cargoes could meet for refreshment and conversation. the coffee-house was originally in lombard-street, at the corner of abchurch-lane; subsequently in pope's-head-alley, where it was called "new lloyd's coffee-house;" but on february th, , it was removed to the north-west corner of the royal exchange, where it remained until the destruction of that building by fire. in rebuilding the exchange, a fine suite of apartments was provided for lloyd's "subscription rooms," which are the rendezvous of the most eminent merchants, ship-owners, underwriters, insurance, stock, and exchange brokers. here is obtained the earliest news of the arrival and sailing of vessels, losses at sea, captures, recaptures, engagements, and other shipping intelligence; and proprietors of ships and freights are insured by the underwriters. the rooms are in the venetian style, with roman enrichments. they are-- . the subscribers' or underwriters', the merchants', and the captains' room. at the entrance of the room are exhibited the shipping lists, received from lloyd's agents at home and abroad, and affording particulars of departures or arrivals of vessels, wrecks, salvage, or sale of property saved, etc. to the right and left are "lloyd's books," two enormous ledgers: right hand, ships "spoken with," or arrived at their destined ports; left hand: records of wrecks, fires, or severe collisions, written in a fine roman hand, in "double lines." to assist the underwriters in their calculations, at the end of the room is an anemometer, which registers the state of the wind day and night; attached is a rain-gauge. the life of the underwriter is one of great anxiety and speculation. "among the old stagers of the room, there is often strong antipathy to the insurance of certain ships. in the case of one vessel it was strangely followed out. she was a steady trader, named after one of the most venerable members of the room; and it was a curious coincidence that he invariably refused to 'write her' for 'a single line.' often he was joked upon the subject, and pressed to 'do a little' for his namesake; but he as often declined, shaking his head in a doubtful manner. one morning the subscribers were reading the 'double lines,' or the losses, and among them was this identical ship, which had gone to pieces, and become a total wreck."--_the city_, _ nd edit._, . the merchants' room is superintended by a master, who can speak several languages: here are duplicate copies of the books in the underwriters' room, and files of english and foreign newspapers. the captains' room is a kind of coffee-room, where merchants and ship-owners meet captains, and sales of ships, etc. take place. the members of lloyd's have ever been distinguished by their loyalty and benevolent spirit. in , they voted _l._ to the life-boat subscription. on july , , at the invasion panic, they commenced the patriotic fund with , _l._ -per-cent. consols; besides , _l._ _s._ individual subscriptions, and , _l._ additional donations. after the battle of the nile, in , they collected for the widows and wounded seamen , _l._; and after lord howe's victory, june , , for similar purposes, , _l._ they have also contributed _l._ to the london hospital; _.l_ for the suffering inhabitants of russia in ; _l._ for the relief of the militia in our north american colonies, ; and , _l._ for the waterloo subscription, in . the committee vote medals and rewards to those who distinguish themselves in saving life from shipwreck. some years since, a member of lloyd's drew from the books the following lines of names contained therein:-- "a black and a white, with a brown and a green, and also a gray at lloyd's room may be seen; with parson and clark, then a bishop and pryor, and water, how strange adding fuel to fire; while, at the same time, 'twill sure pass belief, there's a winter, a garland, furze, bud, and a leaf; with freshfield, and greenhill, lovegrove, and a dale; though there's never a breeze, there's always a gale. no music is there, though a whistler and harper; there's a blunt and a sharp, many flats, but no sharper. there's a danniell, a samuel, a sampson, an abell; the first and the last write at the same table. then there's virtue and faith there, with wylie and rasch, disagreeing elsewhere, yet at lloyd's never clash, there's a long and a short, small, little, and fatt, with one robert dewar, who ne'er wears his hat: no drinking goes on, though there's porter and sack, lots of scotchmen there are, beginning with mac; macdonald, to wit, macintosh and mcghie, mcfarquhar, mckenzie, mcandrew, mackie. an evangelized jew, and an infidel quaker; there's a bunn and a pye, with a cook and a baker, though no tradesmen or shopmen are found, yet herewith is a taylor, a saddler, a paynter, a smyth; also butler and chapman, with butter and glover, come up to lloyd's room their bad risks to cover. fox, shepherd, hart, buck, likewise come every day; and though many an ass, there is only one bray. there is a mill and miller, a-dam and a poole, a constable, sheriff, a law, and a rule. there's a newman, a niemann, a redman, a pitman, now to rhyme with the last, there is no other fit man. these, with young, cheap, and lent, luckie, hastie, and slow, with dear mr. allnutt, allfrey, and auldjo, are all the queer names that at lloyd's i can show." many of these individuals are now deceased; but a frequenter of lloyd's in former years will recognize the persons mentioned. the jerusalem coffee-house, cornhill, is one of the oldest of the city news-rooms, and is frequented by merchants and captains connected with the commerce of china, india, and australia. "the subscription-room is well-furnished with files of the principal canton, hongkong, macao, penang, singapore, calcutta, bombay, madras, sydney, hobart town, launceston, adelaide, and port phillip papers, and prices current: besides shipping lists and papers from the various intermediate stations or ports touched at, as st. helena, the cape of good hope, etc. the books of east india shipping include arrivals, departures, casualties, etc. the full business is between two and three o'clock, p.m. in , john tawell, the slough murderer, was captured at [traced to] the jerusalem, which he was in the habit of visiting, to ascertain information of the state of his property in sydney."--_the city_, nd edit., . baker's coffee-house, change-alley, is remembered as a tavern some forty years since. the landlord, after whom it is named, may possibly have been a descendant from "baker," the master of lloyd's rooms. it has been, for many years, a chop-house, with direct service from the gridiron, and upon pewter; though on the first-floor, joint dinners are served: its post-prandial punch was formerly much drunk. in the lower room is a portrait of james, thirty-five years waiter here. coffee-houses of the eighteenth century. of ward's _secret history_ of the clubs of his time we have already given several specimens. little is known of him personally. he was, probably, born in , and early in life he visited the west indies. sometime before , he kept a tavern and punch-house, next door to gray's inn, of which we shall speak hereafter. his works are now rarely to be met with. his doggrel secured him a place in the _dunciad_, where not only his elevation to the pillory is mentioned, but the fact is also alluded to that his productions were extensively shipped to the plantations or colonies of those days,-- "nor sail with ward to ape-and-monkey climes, where vile mundungus trucks for viler rhymes," the only places, probably, where they were extensively read. in return for the doubtful celebrity thus conferred upon his rhymes, he attacked the satirist in a wretched production, intituled _apollo's maggot in his cups_; his expiring effort, probably, for he died, as recorded in the pages of our first volume, on the nd of june, . his remains were buried in the churchyard of old st. pancras, his body being followed to the grave solely by his wife and daughter, as directed by him in his poetical will, written some six years before. we learn from noble that there are no less than four engraved portraits of ned ward. the structure of the _london spy_, the only work of his that at present comes under our notice, is simple enough. the author is self-personified as a countryman, who, tired with his "tedious confinement to a country hutt," comes up to london; where he fortunately meets with a quondam school-fellow,--a "man about town," in modern phrase,--who undertakes to introduce him to the various scenes, sights, and mysteries of the, even then, "great metropolis:" much like the visit, in fact, from jerry hawthorn to corinthian tom, only anticipated by some hundred and twenty years. "we should not be at all surprised (says the _gentleman's magazine_,) to find that the stirring scenes of pierce egan's _life in london_ were first suggested by more homely pages of the _london spy_." at the outset of the work we have a description--not a very flattering one, certainly--of a common coffee-house of the day, one of the many hundreds with which london then teemed. although coffee had been only known in england some fifty years, coffee-houses were already among the most favourite institutions of the land; though they had not as yet attained the political importance which they acquired in the days of the _tatler_ and _spectator_, some ten or twelve years later:-- "'come,' says my friend, 'let us step into this coffee-house here; as you are a stranger in the town, it will afford you some diversion.' accordingly in we went, where a parcel of muddling muckworms were as busy as so many rats in an old cheese-loft; some going, some coming, some scribbling, some talking, some drinking, some smoking, others jangling; and the whole room stinking of tobacco, like a dutch scoot [schuyt], or a boatswain's cabin. the walls were hung round with gilt frames, as a farrier's shop with horse-shoes; which contained abundance of rarities, viz., nectar and ambrosia, may-dew, golden elixirs, popular pills, liquid snuff, beautifying waters, dentifrices, drops, and lozenges; all as infallible as the pope, 'where every one (as the famous saffolde has it) above the rest, deservedly has gain'd the name of best:' every medicine being so catholic, it pretends to nothing less than universality. so that, had not my friend told me 'twas a coffee-house, i should have taken it for quacks' hall, or the parlour of some eminent mountebank. we each of us stuck in our mouths a pipe of sotweed, and now began to look about us." a description of man's coffee-house, situate in scotland-yard, near the water-side, is an excellent picture of a fashionable coffee-house of the day. it took its name from the proprietor, alexander man, and was sometimes known as old man's, or the royal coffee-house, to distinguish it from young man's and little man's minor establishments in the neighbourhood:-- "we now ascended a pair of stairs, which brought us into an old-fashioned room, where a gaudy crowd of odoriferous _tom-essences_ were walking backwards and forwards with their hats in their hands, not daring to convert them to their intended use, lest it should put the foretops of their wigs into some disorder. we squeezed through till we got to the end of the room, where, at a small table, we sat down, and observed that it was as great a rarity to hear anybody call for a dish of _politician's porridge_, or any other liquor, as it is to hear a beau call for a pipe of tobacco; their whole exercise being to charge and discharge their nostrils, and keep the curls of their periwigs in their proper order. the clashing of their snush-box lids, in opening and shutting, made more noise than their tongues. bows and cringes of the newest mode were here exchanged, 'twixt friend and friend, with wonderful exactness. they made a humming like so many hornets in a country chimney, not with their talking, but with their whispering over their new _minuets_ and _bories_, with their hands in their pockets, if only freed from their snush-box. we now began to be thoughtful of a pipe of tobacco; whereupon we ventured to call for some instruments of evaporation, which were accordingly brought us, but with such a kind of unwillingness, as if they would much rather have been rid of our company; for their tables were so very neat, and shined with rubbing, like the upper-leathers of an alderman's shoes, and as brown as the top of a country housewife's cupboard. the floor was as clean swept as a sir courtly's dining-room, which made us look round, to see if there were no orders hung up to impose the forfeiture of so much mop-money upon any person that should spit out of the chimney-corner. notwithstanding we wanted an example to encourage us in our porterly rudeness, we ordered them to light the wax-candle, by which we ignified our pipes and blew about our whiffs; at which several sir foplins drew their faces into as many peevish wrinkles, as the beaux at the bow-street coffee-house, near covent-garden did, when the gentleman in masquerade came in amongst them, with his oyster-barrel muff and turnip-buttons, to ridicule their fopperies." a cabinet picture of the coffee-house life of a century and a half since is thus given in the well-known _journey through england_ in : "i am lodged," says the tourist, "in the street called pall mall, the ordinary residence of all strangers, because of its vicinity to the queen's palace, the park, the parliament house, the theatres, and the chocolate and coffee-houses, where the best company frequent. if you would know our manner of living, 'tis thus: we rise by nine, and those that frequent great men's levees, find entertainment at them till eleven, or, as in holland, go to tea-tables; about twelve the _beau monde_ assemble in several coffee or chocolate houses: the best of which are the cocoa-tree and white's chocolate-houses, st. james's, the smyrna, mrs. rochford's, and the british coffee-houses; and all these so near one another, that in less than an hour you see the company of them all. we are carried to these places in chairs (or sedans), which are here very cheap, a guinea a week, or a shilling per hour, and your chairmen serve you for porters to run on errands, as your gondoliers do at venice. "if it be fine weather, we take a turn into the park till two, when we go to dinner; and if it be dirty, you are entertained at piquet or basset at white's, or you may talk politics at the smyrna or st. james's. i must not forget to tell you that the parties have their different places, where, however, a stranger is always well received; but a whig will no more go to the cocoa-tree or ozinda's, than a tory will be seen at the coffee-house, st. james's. "the scots go generally to the british, and a mixture of all sorts to the smyrna. there are other little coffee-houses much frequented in this neighbourhood,--young man's for officers, old man's for stock-jobbers, pay-masters, and courtiers, and little man's for sharpers. i never was so confounded in my life as when i entered into this last: i saw two or three tables full at faro, heard the box and dice rattling in the room above stairs, and was surrounded by a set of sharp faces, that i was afraid would have devoured me with their eyes. i was glad to drop two or three half crowns at faro to get off with a clear skin, and was overjoyed i so got rid of them. "at two, we generally go to dinner; ordinaries are not so common here as abroad, yet the french have set up two or three good ones for the convenience of foreigners in suffolk-street, where one is tolerably well served; but the general way here is to make a party at the coffee-house to go to dine at the tavern, where we sit till six, when we go to the play; except you are invited to the table of some great man, which strangers are always courted to, and nobly entertained." we may here group the leading coffee-houses,[ ] the principal of which will be more fully described hereafter: "before , the number of coffee-houses in london was reckoned at two thousand. every profession, trade, class, party, had its favourite coffee-house. the lawyers discussed law or literature, criticized the last new play, or retailed the freshest westminster hall "bite" at nando's or the grecian, both close on the purlieus of the temple. here the young bloods of the inns-of-court paraded their indian gowns and lace caps of a morning, and swaggered in their lace coats and mechlin ruffles at night, after the theatre. the cits met to discuss the rise and fall of stocks, and to settle the rate of insurance, at garraway's or jonathan's; the parsons exchanged university gossip, or commented on dr. sacheverel's last sermon at truby's or at child's in st. paul's churchyard; the soldiers mustered to grumble over their grievances at old or young man's, near charing cross; the st. james's and the smyrna were the head-quarters of the whig politicians, while the tories frequented the cocoa-tree or ozinda's, all in st. james's-street; scotchmen had their house of call at forrest's, frenchmen at giles's or old slaughter's, in st. martin's-lane; the gamesters shook their elbows in white's and the chocolate-houses round covent garden; the _virtuosi_ honoured the neighbourhood of gresham college; and the leading wits gathered at will's, button's, or tom's, in great russell-street, where after the theatre was playing at piquet and the best of conversation till midnight. at all these places, except a few of the most aristocratic coffee or chocolate-houses of the west-end, smoking was allowed. a penny was laid down at the bar on entering, and the price of a dish of tea or coffee seems to have been two-pence: this charge covered newspapers and lights. the established frequenters of the house had their regular seats, and special attention from the fair lady at the bar, and the tea or coffee boys. "to these coffee-houses men of all classes, who had either leisure or money, resorted to spend both; and in them, politics, play, scandal, criticism, and business, went on hand-in-hand. the transition from coffee-house to club was easy. thus tom's, a coffee-house till , in that year, by a guinea subscription, among nearly seven hundred of the nobility, foreign ministers, gentry, and geniuses of the age, became the place of meeting for the subscribers exclusively.[ ] in the same way, white's and the cocoa-tree changed their character from chocolate-house to club. when once a house had customers enough of standing and good repute, and acquainted with each other, it was quite worth while--considering the characters who, on the strength of assurance, tolerable manners, and a laced coat, often got a footing in these houses while they continued open to the public, to purchase power of excluding all but subscribers." thus, the chief places of resort were at this period coffee and chocolate-houses, in which some men almost lived, as they do at the present day, at their clubs. whoever wished to find a gentleman commonly asked, not where he resided, but which coffee-house he frequented. no decently attired idler was excluded, provided he laid down his penny at the bar; but this he could seldom do without struggling through the crowd of beaux who fluttered round the lovely bar-maid. here the proud nobleman or country squire was not to be distinguished from the genteel thief and daring highwayman. "pray, sir," says aimwell to gibbet, in farquhar's _beaux stratagem_, "ha'n't i seen your face at will's coffee-house?" the robber's reply is: "yes, sir, and at white's too." three of addison's papers in the _spectator_, (nos. , , and ,) are humorously descriptive of the coffee-houses of this period. no. opens with the remark that "the courts of two countries do not so much differ from one another, as the court and the city, in their peculiar ways of life and conversation. in short, the inhabitants of st. james's, notwithstanding they live under the same laws, and speak the same language, are a distinct people from those of cheapside, who are likewise removed from those of the temple on the one side, and those of smithfield on the other, by several climates and degrees in their way of thinking and conversing together." for this reason, the author takes a ramble through london and westminster, to gather the opinions of his ingenious countrymen upon a current report of the king of france's death. "i know the faces of all the principal politicians within the bills of mortality; and as every coffee-house has some particular statesman belonging to it, who is the mouth of the street where he lives, i always take care to place myself near him, in order to know his judgment on the present posture of affairs. and, as i foresaw, the above report would produce a new face of things in europe, and many curious speculations in our british coffee-houses, i was very desirous to learn the thoughts of our most eminent politicians on that occasion. "that i might begin as near the fountain-head as possible, i first of all called in at st. james's, where i found the whole outward room in a buzz of politics; the speculations were but very indifferent towards the door, but grew finer as you advanced to the upper end of the room, and were so much improved by a knot of theorists, who sat in the inner room, within the steams of the coffee-pot, that i there heard the whole spanish monarchy disposed of, and all the line of bourbons provided for in less than a quarter of an hour. "i afterwards called in at giles's, where i saw a board of french gentlemen sitting upon the life and death of their grand monarque. those among them who had espoused the whig interest very positively affirmed that he had departed this life about a week since, and therefore, proceeded without any further delay to the release of their friends in the galleys, and to their own re-establishment; but, finding they could not agree among themselves, i proceeded on my intended progress. "upon my arrival at jenny man's i saw an alert young fellow that cocked his hat upon a friend of his, who entered just at the same time with myself, and accosted him after the following manner: 'well, jack, the old prig is dead at last. sharp's the word. now or never, boy. up to the walls of paris, directly;' with several other deep reflections of the same nature. "i met with very little variation in the politics between charing cross and covent garden. and, upon my going into will's, i found their discourse was gone off, from the death of the french king, to that of monsieur boileau, racine, corneille, and several other poets, whom they regretted on this occasion as persons who would have obliged the world with very noble elegies on the death of so great a prince, and so eminent a patron of learning. "at a coffee-house near the temple, i found a couple of young gentlemen engaged very smartly in a dispute on the succession to the spanish monarchy. one of them seemed to have been retained as advocate for the duke of anjou, the other for his imperial majesty. they were both for regarding the title to that kingdom by the statute laws of england: but finding them going out of my depth, i pressed forward to paul's churchyard, where i listened with great attention to a learned man, who gave the company an account of the deplorable state of france during the minority of the deceased king. "i then turned on my right hand into fish-street, where the chief politician of that quarter, upon hearing the news, (after having taken a pipe of tobacco, and ruminated for some time,) 'if,' says he, 'the king of france is certainly dead, we shall have plenty of mackerel this season: our fishery will not be disturbed by privateers, as it has been for these ten years past.' he afterwards considered how the death of this great man would affect our pilchards, and by several other remarks infused a general joy into his whole audience. "i afterwards entered a by-coffee-house that stood at the upper end of a narrow lane, where i met with a conjuror, engaged very warmly with a laceman who was the great support of a neighbouring conventicle. the matter in debate was whether the late french king was most like augustus cæsar, or nero. the controversy was carried on with great heat on both sides, and as each of them looked upon me very frequently during the course of their debate, i was under some apprehension that they would appeal to me, and therefore laid down my penny at the bar, and made the best of my way to cheapside. "i here gazed upon the signs for some time before i found one to my purpose. the first object i met in the coffee-room was a person who expressed a great grief for the death of the french king; but upon his explaining himself, i found his sorrow did not arise from the loss of the monarch, but for his having sold out of the bank about three days before he heard the news of it. upon which a haberdasher, who was the oracle of the coffee-house, and had his circle of admirers about him, called several to witness that he had declared his opinion, above a week before, that the french king was certainly dead; to which he added, that, considering the late advices we had received from france, it was impossible that it could be otherwise. as he was laying these together, and debating to his hearers with great authority, there came a gentleman from garraway's, who told us that there were several letters from france just come in, with advice that the king was in good health, and was gone out a hunting the very morning the post came away; upon which the haberdasher stole off his hat that hung upon a wooden peg by him, and retired to his shop with great confusion. this intelligence put a stop to my travels, which i had prosecuted with so much satisfaction; not being a little pleased to hear so many different opinions upon so great an event, and to observe how naturally, upon such a piece of news, every one is apt to consider it to his particular interest and advantage." footnotes: [ ] from the national review, no. . [ ] we question whether the coffee-house general business was entirely given up immediately after the transition. coffee-house sharpers in . the following remarks by sir john fielding[ ] upon the dangerous classes to be found in our metropolitan coffee-houses three-quarters of a century since, are described as "necessary cautions to all strangers resorting thereto." "a stranger or foreigner should particularly frequent the coffee-houses in london. these are very numerous in every part of the town; will give him the best insight into the different characters of the people, and the justest notion of the inhabitants in general, of all the houses of public resort these are the least dangerous. yet, some of these are not entirely free from sharpers. the deceivers of this denomination are generally descended from families of some repute, have had the groundwork of a genteel education, and are capable of making a tolerable appearance. having been equally profuse of their own substance and character, and learned, by having been undone, the ways of undoing, they lie in wait for those who have more wealth and less knowledge of the town. by joining you in discourse, by admiring what you say, by an officiousness to wait upon you, and to assist you in anything you want to have or know, they insinuate themselves into the company and acquaintance of strangers, whom they watch every opportunity of fleecing. and if one finds in you the least inclination to cards, dice, the billiard-table, bowling-green, or any other sort of gaming, you are morally sure of being taken in. for this set of gentry are adepts in all the arts of knavery and tricking. if, therefore, you should observe a person, without any previous acquaintance, paying you extraordinary marks of civility; if he puts in for a share of your conversation with a pretended air of deference; if he tenders his assistance, courts your acquaintance, and would be suddenly thought your friend, avoid him as a pest; for these are the usual baits by which the unwary are caught." footnote: [ ] 'the magistrate: description of london and westminster,' . don saltero's coffee-house. among the curiosities of old chelsea, almost as well known as its china, was the coffee-house and museum, no. , cheyne walk, opened by a barber, named salter, in . sir hans sloane contributed some of the refuse gimcracks of his own collection; and vice-admiral munden, who had been long on the coast of spain, where he had acquired a fondness for spanish titles, named the keeper of the house _don saltero_, and his coffee-house and museum, _don saltero's_. the place, however, would, in all probability, have enjoyed little beyond its local fame, had not sir richard steele immortalized the don and don saltero's in _the tatler_, no. , june , ; wherein he tells us of the necessity of travelling to know the world by his journey for fresh air, no further than the village of chelsea, of which he fancied that he could give an immediate description, from the five fields, where the robbers lie in wait, to the coffee-house, where the literati sit in council. but he found, even in a place so near town as this, there were enormities and persons of eminence, whom he before knew nothing of. the coffee-house was almost absorbed by the museum. "when i came into the coffee-house," says steele, "i had not time to salute the company, before my eyes were diverted by ten thousand gimcracks round the room, and on the ceiling. when my first astonishment was over, comes to me a sage of thin and meagre countenance, which aspect made me doubt whether reading or fretting had made it so philosophic; but i very soon perceived him to be of that sort which the ancients call 'gingivistee,' in our language 'tooth-drawers,' i immediately had a respect for the man; for these practical philosophers go upon a very practical hypothesis, not to cure, but to take away the part affected. my love of mankind made me very benevolent to mr. salter, for such is the name of this eminent barber and antiquary." the don was famous for his punch and his skill on the fiddle; he also drew teeth, and wrote verses; he described his museum in several stanzas, one of which is-- "monsters of all sorts are seen: strange things in nature as they grew so; some relicks of the sheba queen, and fragments of the fam'd bob crusoe." steele then plunges into a deep thought why barbers should go further in hitting the ridiculous than any other set of men; and maintains that don saltero is descended in a right line, not from john tradescant, as he himself asserts, but from the memorable companion of the knight of mancha. steele then certifies that all the worthy citizens who travel to see the don's rarities, his double-barrelled pistols, targets, coats of mail, his sclopeta, and sword of toledo, were left to his ancestor by the said don quixote, and by his ancestor to all his progeny down to saltero. though steele thus goes far in favour of don saltero's great merit, he objects to his imposing several names (without his licence) on the collection he has made, to the abuse of the good people of england; one of which is particularly calculated to deceive religious persons, to the great scandal of the well-disposed, and may introduce heterodox opinions. [among the curiosities presented by admiral munden was a coffin, containing the body or relics of a spanish saint, who had wrought miracles.] "he shows you a straw hat, which," says steele, "i know to be made by madge peskad, within three miles of bedford; and tells you 'it is pontius pilate's wife's chambermaid's sister's hat.' to my knowledge of this very hat, it may be added that the covering of straw was never used among the jews, since it was demanded of them to make bricks without it. therefore, this is nothing but, under the specious pretence of learning and antiquities, to impose upon the world. there are other things which i cannot tolerate among his rarities, as, the china figure of the lady in the glass-case; the italian engine, for the imprisonment of those who go abroad with it; both of which i hereby order to be taken down, or else he may expect to have his letters patent for making punch superseded, be debarred wearing his muff next winter, or ever coming to london without his wife." babillard says that salter had an old grey muff, and that, by wearing it up to his nose, he was distinguishable at the distance of a quarter of a mile. his wife was none of the best, being much addicted to scolding; and salter, who liked his glass, if he could make a trip to london by himself, was in no haste to return. don saltero's proved very attractive as an exhibition, and drew crowds to the coffee-house. a catalogue was published, of which were printed more than forty editions. smollett, the novelist, was among the donors. the catalogue, in , comprehended the following rarities:--tigers' tusks; the pope's candle; the skeleton of a guinea-pig; a fly-cap monkey; a piece of the true cross; the four evangelists' heads cut on a cherry-stone; the king of morocco's tobacco-pipe; mary queen of scots' pincushion; queen elizabeth's prayer-book; a pair of nun's stockings; job's ears, which grew on a tree; a frog in a tobacco-stopper; and five hundred more odd relics! the don had a rival, as appears by "a catalogue of the rarities to be seen at adams's, at the royal swan, in kingsland-road, leading from shoreditch church, ." mr. adams exhibited, for the entertainment of the curious, "miss jenny cameron's shoes; adam's eldest daughter's hat; the heart of the famous bess adams, that was hanged at tyburn with lawyer carr, january , - ; sir walter raleigh's tobacco-pipe; vicar of bray's clogs; engine to shell green peas with; teeth that grew in a fish's belly; black jack's ribs; the very comb that abraham combed his son isaac and jacob's head with; wat tyler's spurs; rope that cured captain lowry of the head-ach, ear-ach, tooth-ach, and belly-ach; adam's key of the fore and back door of the garden of eden, &c., &c." these are only a few out of five hundred others equally marvellous. the don, in , issued a curious rhyming advertisement of his curiosities, dated "chelsea knackatory," and in one line he calls it "my museum coffee-house." in dr. franklin's _life_ we read:--"some gentlemen from the country went by water to see the college, and don saltero's curiosities, at chelsea." they were shown in the coffee-room till august, , when the collection was mostly sold or dispersed; a few gimcracks were left until about , when we were informed on the premises, they were thrown away! the house is now a tavern, with the sign of "the don saltero's coffee-house." the success of don saltero, in attracting visitors to his coffee-house, induced the proprietor of the chelsea bun-house to make a similar collection of rarities, to attract customers for the buns; and to some extent it was successful. saloop-houses. what was, in our time, occasionally sold at stalls in the streets of london, with this name, was a decoction of sassafras; but it was originally made from salep, the roots of _orchis mascula_, a common plant of our meadows, the tubers of which, being cleaned and peeled, are lightly browned in an oven. salep was much recommended in the last century by dr. percival, who stated that salep had the property of concealing the taste of salt water, which property it was thought might be turned to account in long sea-voyages. the root has been considered as containing the largest portion of nutritious matter in the smallest space; and when boiled, it was much used in this country before the introduction of tea and coffee, and their greatly reduced prices. salep is now almost entirely disused in great britain; but we remember many saloop-stalls in our streets. we believe the last house in which it was sold, to have been read's coffee-house, in fleet-street. the landlord of the noted mug-house, in salisbury-square, was one read. (see clubs, p. .) the smyrna coffee-house, in pall mall, was, in the reign of queen anne, famous for "that cluster of wise-heads" found sitting every evening, from the left side of the fire to the door. the following announcement in the _tatler_, no. , is amusing: "this is to give notice to all ingenious gentlemen in and about the cities of london and westminster, who have a mind to be instructed in the noble sciences of music, poetry, and politics, that they repair to the smyrna coffee-house, in pall mall, betwixt the hours of eight and ten at night, where they may be instructed gratis, with elaborate essays by word of mouth," on all or any of the above-mentioned arts. the disciples are to prepare their bodies with three dishes of bohea, and to purge their brains with two pinches of snuff. if any young student gives indication of parts, by listening attentively, or asking a pertinent question, one of the professors shall distinguish him, by taking snuff out of his box in the presence of the whole audience. "n.b. the seat of learning is now removed from the corner of the chimney, on the left hand towards the window, to the round table in the middle of the floor over against the fire; a revolution much lamented by the porters and chairmen, who were much edified through a pane of glass that remained broken all the last summer." prior and swift were much together at the smyrna: we read of their sitting there two hours, "receiving acquaintance;" and one entry of swift's tells us that he walked a little in the park till prior made him go with him to the smyrna coffee-house. it seemed to be the place to _talk politics_; but there is a more agreeable record of it in association with our "poet of the year," thus given by cunningham: "in the printed copy of thomson's proposals for publishing, by subscription, the four seasons, with a hymn on their succession, the following note is appended:--'subscriptions now taken in by the author, at the smyrna coffee-house, pall mall.'"[ ] we find the smyrna in a list of coffee-houses in . footnote: [ ] the dane coffee-house, between the upper and lower malls, hammersmith, was frequented by thomson, who wrote here a part of his _winter_. on the terrace resided, for many years, arthur murphy, and loutherbourg, the painter. the latter died there, in . st. james's coffee-house. this was the famous whig coffee-house from the time of queen anne till late in the reign of george iii. it was the last house but one on the south-west corner of st. james's-street, and is thus mentioned in no. of the _tatler_: "foreign and domestic news you will have from st. james's coffee-house." it occurs also in the passage quoted at page , from the _spectator_. the st. james's was much frequented by swift; letters for him were left here. in his journal to stella he says: "i met mr. harley, and he asked me how long i had learnt the trick of writing to myself? he had seen your letter through the glass case at the coffee-house, and would swear it was my hand." the letters from stella were enclosed under cover to addison. elliot, who kept the coffee-house, was, on occasions, placed on a friendly footing with his guests. swift, in his journal to stella, nov. , , records an odd instance of this familiarity: "this evening i christened our coffee-man elliot's child; when the rogue had a most noble supper, and steele and i sat amongst some scurvy company over a bowl of punch." in the first advertisement of lady mary wortley montagu's _town eclogues_, they are stated to have been read over at the st. james's coffee-house, when they were considered by the general voice to be productions of a lady of quality. from the proximity of the house to st. james's palace, it was much frequented by the guards; and we read of its being no uncommon circumstance to see dr. joseph warton at breakfast in the st. james's coffee-house, surrounded by officers of the guards, who listened with the utmost attention and pleasure to his remarks. to show the order and regularity observed at the st. james's, we may quote the following advertisement, appended to the _tatler_, no. :--"to prevent all mistakes that may happen among gentlemen of the other end of the town, who come but once a week to st. james's coffee-house, either by miscalling the servants, or requiring such things from them as are not properly within their respective provinces; this is to give notice that kidney, keeper of the book-debts of the outlying customers, and observer of those who go off without paying, having resigned that employment, is succeeded by john sowton; to whose place of enterer of messages and first coffee-grinder, william bird is promoted; and samuel burdock comes as shoe-cleaner in the room of the said bird." but the st. james's is more memorable as the house where originated goldsmith's celebrated poem, _retaliation_. the poet belonged to a temporary association of men of talent, some of them members of the club, who dined together occasionally here. at these dinners he was generally the last to arrive. on one occasion, when he was later than usual, a whim seized the company to write epitaphs on him as "the late dr. goldsmith," and several were thrown off in a playful vein. the only one extant was written by garrick, and has been preserved, very probably, by its pungency:-- "here lies poet goldsmith, for shortness called noll; he wrote like an angel, but talked like poor poll." goldsmith did not relish the sarcasm, especially coming from such a quarter; and, by way of _retaliation_, he produced the famous poem, of which cumberland has left a very interesting account, but which mr. forster, in his _life of goldsmith_, states to be "pure romance." the poem itself, however, with what was prefixed to it when published, sufficiently explains its own origin. what had formerly been abrupt and strange in goldsmith's manners, had now so visibly increased, as to become matter of increased sport to such as were ignorant of its cause; and a proposition made at one of the dinners, when he was absent, to write a series of epitaphs upon him (his "country dialect" and his awkward person) was agreed to and put in practice by several of the guests. the active aggressors appear to have been garrick, doctor bernard, richard burke, and caleb whitefoord. cumberland says he, too, wrote an epitaph; but it was complimentary and grave, and hence the grateful return he received. mr. forster considers garrick's epitaph to indicate the tone of all. this, with the rest, was read to goldsmith when he next appeared at the st. james's coffee-house, where cumberland, however, says he never again met his friends. but "the doctor was called on for retaliation," says the friend who published the poem with that name, "and at their next meeting, produced the following, which i think adds one leaf to his immortal wreath." "_retaliation_," says sir walter scott, "had the effect of placing the author on a more equal footing with his society than he had ever before assumed." cumberland's account differs from the version formerly received, which intimates that the epitaphs were written before goldsmith arrived: whereas the pun, "the late dr. goldsmith," appears to have suggested the writing of the epitaphs. in the _retaliation_, goldsmith has not spared the characters and failings of his associates, but has drawn them with satire, at once pungent and good-humoured. garrick is smartly chastised; burke, the dinner-bell of the house of commons, is not let off; and of all the more distinguished names of the club, thomson, cumberland, and reynolds alone escape the lash of the satirist. the former is not mentioned, and the two latter are even dismissed with unqualified and affectionate applause. still, we quote cumberland's account of the _retaliation_, which is very amusing from the closely circumstantial manner in which the incidents are narrated, although they have so little relationship to truth:--"it was upon a proposal started by edmund burke, that a party of friends who had dined together at sir joshua reynolds's and my house, should meet at the st. james's coffee-house, which accordingly took place, and was repeated occasionally with much festivity and good fellowship. dr. bernard, dean of derry; a very amiable and old friend of mine, dr. douglas, since bishop of salisbury; johnson, david garrick, sir joshua reynolds, oliver goldsmith, edmund and richard burke, hickey, with two or three others, constituted our party. at one of these meetings an idea was suggested of extemporary epitaphs upon the parties present: pen and ink were called for, and garrick, off-hand, wrote an epitaph with a good deal of humour, upon poor goldsmith, who was the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that we committed to the grave. the dean also gave him an epitaph, and sir joshua illuminated the dean's verses with a sketch of his bust in pen-and-ink, inimitably caricatured. neither johnson nor burke wrote anything, and when i perceived that oliver was rather sore, and seemed to watch me with that kind of attention which indicated his expectation of something in the same kind of burlesque with theirs; i thought it time to press the joke no further, and wrote a few couplets at a side-table, which, when i had finished, and was called upon by the company to exhibit, goldsmith, with much agitation, besought me to spare him; and i was about to tear them, when johnson wrested them out of my hand, and in a loud voice read them at the table. i have now lost recollection of them, and, in fact, they were little worth remembering; but as they were serious and complimentary, the effect upon goldsmith was the more pleasing, for being so entirely unexpected. the concluding line, which was the only one i can call to mind, was:-- "'all mourn the poet, i lament the man.' this i recollect, because he repeated it several times, and seemed much gratified by it. at our next meeting he produced his epitaphs, as they stand in the little posthumous poem above mentioned, and this was the last time he ever enjoyed the company of his friends."[ ] mr. cunningham tells us that the st. james's was closed about ; and a large pile of building looking down pall mall, erected on its site. the globular oil-lamp was first exhibited by its inventor, michael cole, at the door of the st. james's coffee-house, in ; in the patent he obtained, it is mentioned as "a new kind of light." footnote: [ ] _cumberland's memoirs_, vol. i. the british coffee-house, in cockspur-street, "long a house of call for scotchmen," has been fortunate in its landladies. in , it was kept by the sister of bishop douglas, so well known for his works against lauder and bower, which may explain its scottish fame. at another period it was kept by mrs. anderson, described in mackenzie's _life of home_ as "a woman of uncommon talents, and the most agreeable conversation."[ ] the british figures in a political faction of , at which date walpole writes to sir horace mann: "the argyll carried all the scotch against the turnpike; they were willing to be carried, for the duke of bedford, in case it should have come into the lords, had writ to the sixteen peers, to solicit their votes; but with so little difference, that he enclosed all the letters under one cover directed to the british coffee-house." footnote: [ ] _cunningham's walpole_, vol. ii. p. , note. will's coffee-house.[ ] will's, the predecessor of button's, and even more celebrated than that coffee-house, was kept by william urwin, and was the house on the north side of russell-street at the end of bow-street--the corner house--now occupied as a ham and beef shop, and numbered twenty-three. "it was dryden who made will's coffee-house the great resort of the wits of his time." (_pope_ and _spence_). the room in which the poet was accustomed to sit was on the first floor; and his place was the place of honour by fire-side in the winter; and at the corner of the balcony, looking over the street, in fine weather; he called the two places his winter and his summer seat. this was called the dining-room floor in the last century. the company did not sit in boxes, as subsequently, but at various tables which were dispersed through the room. smoking was permitted in the public room: it was then so much in vogue that it does not seem to have been considered a nuisance. here, as in other similar places of meeting, the visitors divided themselves into parties; and we are told by ward, that the young beaux and wits, who seldom approached the principal table, thought it a great honour to have a pinch out of dryden's snuff-box. dean lockier has left this life-like picture of his interview with the presiding genius at will's:--"i was about seventeen when i first came up to town," says the dean, "an odd-looking boy, with short rough hair, and that sort of awkwardness which one always brings up at first out of the country with one. however, in spite of my bashfulness and appearance, i used, now and then, to thrust myself into will's, to have the pleasure of seeing the most celebrated wits of that time, who then resorted thither. the second time that ever i was there, mr. dryden was speaking of his own things, as he frequently did, especially of such as had been lately published. 'if anything of mine is good,' says he, ''tis _mac-flecno_; and i value myself the more upon it, because it is the first piece of ridicule written in heroics.' on hearing this i plucked up my spirit so far as to say, in a voice but just loud enough to be heard, 'that _mac-flecno_ was a very fine poem, but that i had not imagined it to be the first that was ever writ that way.' on this, dryden turned short upon me, as surprised at my interposing; asked me how long 'i had been a dealer in poetry;' and added, with a smile, 'pray, sir, what is it that you did imagine to have been writ so before?'--i named boileau's _lutrin_, and tassoni's _secchia rapita_, which i had read, and knew dryden had borrowed some strokes from each. ''tis true,' said dryden, 'i had forgot them.' a little after, dryden went out, and in going, spoke to me again, and desired me to come and see him the next day. i was highly delighted with the invitation; went to see him accordingly; and was well acquainted with him after, as long as he lived." will's coffee-house was the open market for libels and lampoons, the latter named from the established burden formerly sung to them:-- "lampone, lampone, camerada lampone." there was a drunken fellow, named julian, who was a characterless frequenter of will's, and sir walter scott has given this account of him and his vocation:-- "upon the general practice of writing lampoons, and the necessity of finding some mode of dispersing them, which should diffuse the scandal widely while the authors remained concealed, was founded the self-erected office of julian, secretary, as he calls himself, to the muses. this person attended will's, the wits' coffee-house, as it was called; and dispersed among the crowds who frequented that place of gay resort copies of the lampoons which had been privately communicated to him by their authors. 'he is described,' says mr. malone, 'as a very drunken fellow, and at one time was confined for a liable.' several satires were written, in the form of addresses to him as well as the following. there is one among the _state poems_ beginning-- "'julian, in verse, to ease thy wants i write, not moved by envy, malice, or by spite, or pleased with the empty names of wit and sense, but merely to supply thy want of pence: this did inspire my muse, when out at heel, she saw her needy secretary reel; grieved that a man, so useful to the age, should foot it in so mean an equipage; a crying scandal that the fees of sense should not be able to support the expense of a poor scribe, who never thought of wants, when able to procure a cup of nantz.' "another, called a 'consoling epistle to julian,' is said to have been written by the duke of buckingham. "from a passage in one of the _letters from the dead to the living_, we learn, that after julian's death, and the madness of his successor, called summerton, lampoon felt a sensible decay; and there was no more that brisk spirit of verse, that used to watch the follies and vices of the men and women of figure, that they could not start new ones faster than lampoons exposed them." how these lampoons were concocted we gather from bays, in the _hind and the panther transversed_:--"'tis a trifle hardly worth owning; i was 'tother day at will's, throwing out something of that nature; and, i' gad, the hint was taken, and out came that picture; indeed, the poor fellow was so civil as to present me with a dozen of 'em for my friends; i think i have here one in my pocket.... ay, ay, i can do it if i list, tho' you must not think i have been so dull as to mind these things myself; but 'tis the advantage of our coffee-house, that from their talk, one may write a very good polemical discourse, without ever troubling one's head with the books of controversy." tom brown describes "a wit and a beau set up with little or no expense. a pair of red stockings and a sword-knot set up one, and peeping once a day in at will's, and two or three second-hand sayings, the other." pepys, one night, going to fetch home his wife, stopped in covent garden, at the great coffee-house there, as he called will's, where he never was before: "where," he adds, "dryden, the poet (i knew at cambridge), and all the wits of the town, and harris the player, and mr. hoole of our college. and had i had time then, or could at other times, it will be good coming thither, for there, i perceive, is very witty and pleasant discourse. but i could not tarry; and, as it was late, they were all ready to go away." addison passed each day alike, and much in the manner that dryden did. dryden employed his mornings in writing, dined _en famille_, and then went to will's, "only he came home earlier o' nights." pope, when very young, was impressed with such veneration for dryden, that he persuaded some friends to take him to will's coffee-house, and was delighted that he could say that he had seen dryden. sir charles wogan, too, brought up pope from the forest of windsor, to dress _à la mode_, and introduce at will's coffee-house. pope afterwards described dryden as "a plump man with a down look, and not very conversible;" and cibber could tell no more "but that he remembered him a decent old man, arbitor of critical disputes at will's." prior sings of-- "the younger stiles, whom dryden pedagogues at will's!" most of the hostile criticisms on his plays, which dryden has noticed in his various prefaces, appear to have been made at his favourite haunt, will's coffee-house. dryden is generally said to have been returning from will's to his house in gerard-street, when he was cudgelled in rose-street by three persons hired for the purpose by wilmot, earl of rochester, in the winter of . the assault, or "the rose-alley ambuscade," certainly took place; but it is not so certain that dryden was on his way from will's, and he then lived in long acre, not gerard-street. it is worthy of remark that swift was accustomed to speak disparagingly of will's, as in his _rhapsody on poetry_:-- "be sure at will's the following day lie snug, and hear what critics say; and if you find the general vogue pronounces you a stupid rogue, damns all your thoughts as low and little; sit still, and swallow down your spittle." swift thought little of the frequenters of will's: he used to say, "the worst conversation he ever heard in his life was at will's coffee-house, where the wits (as they were called) used formerly to assemble; that is to say, five or six men, who had writ plays or at least prologues, or had a share in a miscellany, came thither, and entertained one another with their trifling composures, in so important an air as if they had been the noblest efforts of human nature, or that the fate of kingdoms depended on them." in the first number of the _tatler_, poetry is promised under the article of will's coffee-house. the place, however, changed after dryden's time: "you used to see songs, epigrams, and satires in the hands of every man you met; you have now only a pack of cards; and instead of the cavils about the turn of the expression, the elegance of the style, and the like, the learned now dispute only about the truth of the game." "in old times, we used to sit upon a play here, after it was acted, but now the entertainment's turned another way." the _spectator_ is sometimes seen "thrusting his head into a round of politicians at will's, and listening with great attention to the narratives that are made in these little circular audiences." then, we have as an instance of no one member of human society but that would have some little pretension for some degree in it, "like him who came to will's coffee-house upon the merit of having writ a posie of a ring." and, "robin, the porter who waits at will's, is the best man in town for carrying a billet: the fellow has a thin body, swift step, demure looks, sufficient sense, and knows the town."[ ] after dryden's death in , will's continued for about ten years to be still the wits' coffee-house, as we see by ned ward's account, and by that in the _journey through england_ in . pope entered with keen relish into society, and courted the correspondence of the town wits and coffee-house critics. among his early friends was mr. henry cromwell, one of the _cousinry_ of the protector's family: he was a bachelor, and spent most of his time in london; he had some pretensions to scholarship and literature, having translated several of ovid's elegies, for tonson's miscellany. with wycherley, gay, dennis, the popular actors and actresses of the day, and with all the frequenters of will's, cromwell was familiar. he had done more than take a pinch out of dryden's snuff-box, which was a point of high ambition and honour at will's; he had quarrelled with him about a frail poetess, mrs. elizabeth thomas, whom dryden had christened corinna, and who was also known as sappho. gay characterized this literary and eccentric beau as "honest, hatless cromwell, with red breeches;" it being his custom to carry his hat in his hand when walking with ladies. what with ladies and literature, rehearsals and reviews, and critical attention to the quality of his coffee and brazil snuff, henry cromwell's time was fully occupied in town. cromwell was a dangerous acquaintance for pope at the age of sixteen or seventeen, but he was a very agreeable one. most of pope's letters to his friend are addressed to him at the blue ball, in great wild-street, near drury-lane; and others to "widow hambledon's coffee-house at the end of princes-street, near drury-lane, london." cromwell made one visit to binfield; on his return to london, pope wrote to him, "referring to the ladies in particular," and to his favourite coffee: "as long as mocha's happy tree shall grow, while berries crackle, or while mills shall go; while smoking streams from silver spouts shall glide or china's earth receive the sable tide, while coffee shall to british nymphs be dear, while fragrant steams the bended head shall cheer, or grateful bitters shall delight the taste, so long her honours, name, and praise shall last." even at this early period pope seems to have relied for relief from headache to the steam of coffee, which he inhaled for this purpose throughout the whole of his life.[ ] the taverns and coffee-houses supplied the place of the clubs we have since seen established. although no exclusive subscription belonged to any of these, we find by the account which colley cibber gives of his first visit to will's, in covent garden, that it required an introduction to this society not to be considered as an impertinent intruder. there the veteran dryden had long presided over all the acknowledged wits and poets of the day, and those who had the pretension to be reckoned among them. the politicians assembled at the st. james's coffee-house, from whence all the articles of political news in the first _tatlers_ are dated. the learned frequented the grecian coffee-house in devereux-court. locket's, in gerard-street, soho, and pontac's, were the fashionable taverns where the young and gay met to dine: and white's and other chocolate houses seem to have been the resort of the same company in the morning. three o'clock, or at latest four, was the dining-hour of the most fashionable persons in london, for in the country no such late hours had been adopted. in london, therefore, soon after six, the men began to assemble at the coffee-house they frequented if they were not setting in for hard drinking, which seems to have been much less indulged in private houses than in taverns. the ladies made visits to one another, which it must be owned was a much less waste of time when considered as an amusement for the evening, than now, as being a morning occupation. footnotes: [ ] will's coffee-house first had the title of the red cow, then of the rose, and, we believe, is the same house alluded to in the pleasant story in the second number of the _tatler_:-- "supper and friends expect we at the rose." the rose, however, was a common sign for houses of public entertainment. [ ] _the spectator_, no. . [ ] carruthers: life of pope. button's coffee-house. will's was the great resort for the wits of dryden's time, after whose death it was transferred to button's. pope describes the houses as "opposite each other, in russell-street, covent garden," where addison established daniel button, in a new house, about ; and his fame, after the production of _cato_, drew many of the whigs thither. button had been servant to the countess of warwick. the house is more correctly described as "over against tom's, near the middle of the south side of the street." addison was the great patron of button's; but it is said that when he suffered any vexation from his countess, he withdrew the company from button's house. his chief companions, before he married lady warwick, were steele, budgell, philips, carey, davenant, and colonel brett. he used to breakfast with one or other of them in st. james's-place, dine at taverns with them, then to button's, and then to some tavern again, for supper in the evening; and this was the usual round of his life, as pope tells us, in spence's _anecdotes_; where pope also says: "addison usually studied all the morning, then met his party at button's, dined there, and stayed five or six hours; and sometimes far into the night. i was of the company for about a year, but found it too much for me: it hurt my health, and so i quitted it." again: "there had been a coldness between me and mr. addison for some time, and we had not been in company together for a good while anywhere but at button's coffee-house, where i used to see him almost every day." here pope is reported to have said of patrick, the lexicographer, that "a dictionary-maker might know the meaning of one word, but not of two put together." button's was the receiving-house for contributions to _the guardian_, for which purpose was put up a lion's head letter-box, in imitation of the celebrated lion at venice, as humorously announced. thus:-- "n.b.--mr. ironside has, within five weeks last past, muzzled three lions, gorged five, and killed one. on monday next the skin of the dead one will be hung up, _in terrorem_, at button's coffee-house, over against tom's in covent garden."[ ] "button's coffee-house,-- "mr. ironside, i have observed that this day you make mention of will's coffee-house, as a place where people are too polite to hold a man in discourse by the button. everybody knows your honour frequents this house, therefore they will take an advantage against me, and say if my company was as civil as that at will's. you would say so. therefore pray your honour do not be afraid of doing me justice, because people would think it may be a conceit below you on this occasion to name the name of your humble servant, daniel button.--the young poets are in the back room, and take their places as you directed."[ ] "i intend to publish once every week the roarings of the lion, and hope to make him roar so loud as to be heard over all the british nation. "i have, i know not how, been drawn into tattle of myself, _more majorum_, almost the length of a whole _guardian_. i shall therefore fill up the remaining part of it with what still relates to my own person, and my correspondents. now i would have them all know that on the th instant it is my intention to erect a lion's head, in imitation of those i have described in venice, through which all the private commonwealth is said to pass. this head is to open a most wide and voracious mouth, which shall take in such letters and papers as are conveyed to me by my correspondents, it being my resolution to have a particular regard to all such matters as come to my hands through the mouth of the lion. there will be under it a box, of which the key will be in my own custody, to receive such papers as are dropped into it. whatever the lion swallows i shall digest for the use of the publick. this head requires some time to finish, the workmen being resolved to give it several masterly touches, and to represent it as ravenous as possible. it will be set up in button's coffee-house, in covent garden, who is directed to shew the way to the lion's head, and to instruct any young author how to convey his works into the mouth of it with safety and secrecy."[ ] "i think myself obliged to acquaint the publick, that the lion's head, of which i advertised them about a fortnight ago, is now erected at button's coffee-house, in russell-street, covent garden, where it opens its mouth at all hours for the reception of such intelligence as shall be thrown into it. it is reckoned an excellent piece of workmanship, and was designed by a great hand in imitation of the antique egyptian lion, the face of it being compounded out of that of a lion and a wizard. the features are strong and well furrowed. the whiskers are admired by all that have seen them. it is planted on the western side of the coffee-house, holding its paws under the chin, upon a box, which contains everything that he swallows. he is, indeed, a proper emblem of knowledge and action, being all head and paws."[ ] "being obliged, at present, to attend a particular affair of my own, i do empower my printer to look into the arcana of the lion, and select out of them such as may be of publick utility; and mr. button is hereby authorized and commanded to give my said printer free ingress and egress to the lion, without any hindrance, lest, or molestation whatsoever, until such time as he shall receive orders to the contrary. and, for so doing, this shall be his warrant."[ ] "my lion, whose jaws are at all times open to intelligence, informs me that there are a few enormous weapons still in being; but that they are to be met with only in gaming-houses and some of the obscure retreats of lovers, in and about drury-lane and covent garden."[ ] this memorable lion's head was tolerably well carved: through the mouth the letters were dropped into a till at button's; and beneath were inscribed these two lines from martial:-- "cervantur magnis isti cervicibus ungues: non nisi delictâ pascitur ille ferâ." the head was designed by hogarth, and is etched in ireland's _illustrations_. lord chesterfield is said to have once offered for the head fifty guineas. from button's it was removed to the shakspeare's head tavern, under the piazza, kept by a person named tomkyns; and in , was, for a short time, placed in the bedford coffee-house immediately adjoining the shakspeare, and there employed as a letter-box by dr. john hill, for his _inspector_. in , tomkyns was succeeded by his waiter, campbell, as proprietor of the tavern and lion's head, and by him the latter was retained until nov. , , when it was purchased by mr. charles richardson, of richardson's hotel, for £ . _s._, who also possessed the original sign of the shakspeare's head. after mr. richardson's death in , the lion's head devolved to his son, of whom it was bought by the duke of bedford, and deposited at woburn abbey, where it still remains. pope was subjected to much annoyance and insult at button's. sir samuel garth wrote to gay, that everybody was pleased with pope's translation, "but a few at button's;" to which gay adds, to pope, "i am confirmed that at button's your character is made very free with, as to morals, etc." cibber, in a letter to pope, says:--"when you used to pass your hours at button's, you were even there remarkable for your satirical itch of provocation; scarce was there a gentleman of any pretension to wit, whom your unguarded temper had not fallen upon in some biting epigram, among which you once caught a pastoral tartar, whose resentment, that your punishment might be proportionate to the smart of your poetry, had stuck up a birchen rod in the room, to be ready whenever you might come within reach of it; and at this rate you writ and rallied and writ on, till you rhymed yourself quite out of the coffee-house." the "pastoral tartar" was ambrose philips, who, says johnson, "hung up a rod at button's, with which he threatened to chastise pope." pope, in a letter to craggs, thus explains the affair:--"mr. philips did express himself with much indignation against me one evening at button's coffee-house, (as i was told,) saying that i was entered into a cabal with dean swift and others, to write against the whig interest, and in particular to undermine his own reputation and that of his friends, steele and addison; but mr. philips never opened his lips to my face, on this or any like occasion, though i was almost every night in the same room with him, nor ever offered me any indecorum. mr. addison came to me a night or two after philips had talked in this idle manner, and assured me of his disbelief of what had been said, of the friendship we should always maintain, and desired i would say nothing further of it. my lord halifax did me the honour to stir in this matter, by speaking to several people to obviate a false aspersion, which might have done me no small prejudice with one party. however, philips did all he could secretly to continue the report with the hanover club, and kept in his hands the subscriptions paid for me to him, as secretary to that club. the heads of it have since given him to understand, that they take it ill; but (upon the terms i ought to be with such a man,) i would not ask him for this money, but commissioned one of the players, his equals, to receive it. this is the whole matter; but as to the secret grounds of this malignity, they will make a very pleasant history when we meet." another account says that the rod was hung up at the bar of button's, and that pope avoided it by remaining at home--"his usual custom." philips was known for his courage and superior dexterity with the sword: he afterwards became justice of the peace, and used to mention pope, whenever he could get a man in authority to listen to him, as an enemy to the government. at button's the leading company, particularly addison and steele, met in large flowing flaxen wigs. sir godfrey kneller, too, was a frequenter. the master died in , when in the _daily advertiser_, oct. , appeared the following:--"on sunday morning, died, after three days' illness, mr. button, who formerly kept button's coffee-house, in russell-street, covent garden; a very noted house for wits, being the place where the lyon produced the famous _tatlers_ and _spectators_, written by the late mr. secretary addison and sir richard steele, knt., which works will transmit their names with honour to posterity." mr. cunningham found in the vestry-books of st. paul's, covent garden: " , april . received of mr. daniel button, for two places in the pew no. , on the south side of the north isle,-- _l._ _s._" j. t. smith states that a few years after button, the coffee-house declined, and button's name appeared in the books of st. paul's, as receiving an allowance from the parish. button's continued in vogue until addison's death and steele's retirement into wales, after which the house was deserted; the coffee-drinkers went to the bedford coffee-house, the dinner-parties to the shakspeare. among other wits who frequented button's were swift, arbuthnot, savage, budgell, martin folkes, and drs. garth and armstrong. in , hogarth mentions "four drawings in indian ink" of the characters at button's coffee-house. in these were sketches of arbuthnot, addison, pope, (as it is conjectured,) and a certain count viviani, identified years afterwards by horace walpole, when the drawings came under his notice. they subsequently came into ireland's possession.[ ] jemmy maclaine, or m'clean, the fashionable highwayman, was a frequent visitor at button's. mr. john taylor, of the _sun_ newspaper, describes maclaine as a tall, showy, good-looking man. a mr. donaldson told taylor that, observing maclaine paid particular attention to the bar-maid of the coffee-house, the daughter of the landlord, he gave a hint to the father of maclaine's dubious character. the father cautioned the daughter against the highwayman's addresses, and imprudently told her by whose advice he put her on her guard; she as imprudently told maclaine. the next time donaldson visited the coffee-room, and was sitting in one of the boxes, maclaine entered, and in a loud tone said, "mr. donaldson, i wish to _spake_ to you in a private room." mr. d. being unarmed, and naturally afraid of being alone with such a man, said, in answer, that as nothing could pass between them that he did not wish the whole world to know, he begged leave to decline the invitation. "very well," said maclaine, as he left the room, "we shall meet again." a day or two after, as mr. donaldson was walking near richmond, in the evening, he saw maclaine on horseback; but, fortunately, at that moment, a gentleman's carriage appeared in view, when maclaine immediately turned his horse towards the carriage, and donaldson hurried into the protection of richmond as fast as he could. but for the appearance of the carriage, which presented better prey, it is probable that maclaine would have shot mr. donaldson immediately. maclaine's father was an irish dean; his brother was a calvinist minister in great esteem at the hague. maclaine himself has been a grocer in welbeck-street, but losing a wife that he loved extremely, and by whom he had one little girl, he quitted his business with two hundred pounds in his pocket, which he soon spent, and then took to the road with only one companion, plunket, a journeyman apothecary. maclaine was taken in the autumn of , by selling a laced waistcoat to a pawnbroker in monmouth-street, who happened to carry it to the very man who had just sold the lace. maclaine impeached his companion, plunket, but he was not taken. the former got into verse: gray, in his _long story_, sings: "a sudden fit of ague shook him; he stood as mute as poor m'lean." button's subsequently became a private house, and here mrs. inchbald lodged, probably, after the death of her sister, for whose support she practised such noble and generous self-denial. mrs. inchbald's income was now _l._ a year, and we are told that she now went to reside in a boarding-house, where she enjoyed more of the comforts of life. phillips, the publisher, offered her a thousand pounds for her memoirs, which she declined. she died in a boarding-house at kensington, on the st of august, ; leaving about _l._ judiciously divided amongst her relatives. her simple and parsimonious habits were very strange. "last thursday," she writes, "i finished scouring my bedroom, while a coach with a coronet and two footmen waited at my door to take me an airing." "one of the most agreeable memories connected with button's," says leigh hunt, "is that of garth, a man whom, for the sprightliness and generosity of his nature, it is a pleasure to name. he was one of the most amiable and intelligent of a most amiable and intelligent class of men--the physicians." footnotes: [ ] _the guardian_, no. . [ ] _the guardian_, no. . [ ] _the guardian_, no. . [ ] _the guardian_, no. . [ ] _the guardian_, no. . [ ] _the guardian_, no. . [ ] from mr. sala's vivid "william hogarth;" cornhill magazine, vol. i. p. . dean swift at button's. it was just after queen anne's accession that swift made acquaintance with the leaders of the wits at button's. ambrose philips refers to him as the strange clergyman whom the frequenters of the coffee-house had observed for some days. he knew no one, no one knew him. he would lay his hat down on a table, and walk up and down at a brisk pace for half an hour without speaking to any one, or seeming to pay attention to anything that was going forward. then he would snatch up his hat, pay his money at the bar, and walk off, without having opened his lips. the frequenters of the room had christened him "the mad parson." one evening, as mr. addison and the rest were observing him, they saw him cast his eyes several times upon a gentleman in boots, who seemed to be just come out of the country. at last, swift advanced towards this bucolic gentleman, as if intending to address him. they were all eager to hear what the dumb parson had to say, and immediately quitted their seats to get near him. swift went up to the country gentleman, and in a very abrupt manner, without any previous salute, asked him, "pray, sir, do you know any good weather in the world?" after staring a little at the singularity of swift's manner and the oddity of the question, the gentleman answered, "yes, sir, i thank god i remember a great deal of good weather in my time."--"that is more," replied swift, "than i can say; i never remember any weather that was not too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry; but, however god almighty contrives it, at the end of the year 'tis all very well." sir walter scott gives, upon the authority of dr. wall, of worcester, who had it from dr. arbuthnot himself, the following anecdote--less coarse than the version generally told. swift was seated by the fire at button's: there was sand on the floor of the coffee-room, and arbuthnot, with a design to play upon this original figure, offered him a letter, which he had been just addressing, saying at the same time, "there--sand that."--"i have got no sand," answered swift, "but i can help you to a little _gravel_." this he said so significantly, that arbuthnot hastily snatched back his letter, to save it from the fate of the capital of lilliput. tom's coffee-house, in birchin-lane, cornhill, though in the main a mercantile resort, acquired some celebrity from its having been frequented by garrick, who, to keep up an interest in the city, appeared here about twice in a winter at 'change time, when it was the rendezvous of young merchants. hawkins says: "after all that has been said of mr. garrick, envy must own that he owed his celebrity to his merit; and yet, of that himself seemed so diffident, that he practised sundry little but innocent arts, to insure the favour of the public:" yet, he did more. when a rising actor complained to mrs. garrick that the newspapers abused him, the widow replied, "you should write your own criticisms; david always did." one evening, murphy was at tom's, when colley cibber was playing at whist, with an old general for his partner. as the cards were dealt to him, he took up every one in turn, and expressed his disappointment at each indifferent one. in the progress of the game he did not follow suit, and his partner said, "what! have you not a spade, mr. cibber?" the latter, looking at his cards, answered, "oh yes, a thousand;" which drew a very peevish comment from the general. on which, cibber, who was shockingly addicted to swearing, replied, "don't be angry, for ---- i can play ten times worse if i like." the bedford coffee-house, in covent garden. this celebrated resort once attracted so much attention as to have published, "memoirs of the bedford coffee-house," two editions, and . it stood "under the piazza, in covent garden," in the north-west corner, near the entrance to the theatre, and has long ceased to exist. in _the connoisseur_, no. , , we are assured that "this coffee-house is every night crowded with men of parts. almost every one you meet is a polite scholar and a wit. jokes and bon-mots are echoed from box to box: every branch of literature is critically examined, and the merit of every production of the press, or performance of the theatres, weighed and determined." and in the above-named _memoirs_, we read that "this spot has been signalized for many years as the emporium of wit, the seat of criticism, and the standard of taste.--names of those who frequented the house:--foote, mr. fielding, mr. woodward, mr. leone, mr. murphy, mopsy, dr. arne. dr. arne was the only man in a suit of velvet in the dog-days." stacie kept the bedford when john and henry fielding, hogarth, churchill, woodward, lloyd, dr. goldsmith, and many others met there and held a gossiping shilling rubber club. henry fielding was a very merry fellow. the _inspector_ appears to have given rise to this reign of the bedford, when there was placed here the lion from button's, which proved so serviceable to steele, and once more fixed the dominion of wit in covent garden. the reign of wit and pleasantry did not, however, cease at the bedford at the demise of the _inspector_. a race of punsters next succeeded. a particular box was allotted to this occasion, out of the hearing of the lady at the bar, that the _double entendres_, which were sometimes very indelicate, might not offend her. the bedford was beset with scandalous nuisances, of which the following letter, from arthur murphy to garrick, april , , presents a pretty picture: "tiger roach (who used to bully at the bedford coffee-house because his name was roach) is set up by wilkes's friends to burlesque luttrel and his pretensions. i own i do not know a more ridiculous circumstance than to be a joint candidate with the tiger. o'brien used to take him off very pleasantly, and perhaps you may, from his representation, have some idea of this important wight. he used to sit with a half-starved look, a black patch upon his cheek, pale with the idea of murder, or with rank cowardice, a quivering lip, and a downcast eye. in that manner he used to sit at a table all alone, and his soliloquy, interrupted now and then with faint attempts to throw off a little saliva, was to the following effect:--'hut! hut! a mercer's 'prentice with a bag-wig;--d--n my s--l, if i would not skiver a dozen of them like larks! hut! hut! i don't understand such airs!--i'd cudgel him back, breast, and belly, for three skips of a louse!--how do you do, pat! hut! hut! god's blood--larry, i'm glad to see you;--'prentices! a fine thing indeed!--hut! hut! how do you, dominick!--d--n my s--l, what's here to do!' these were the meditations of this agreeable youth. from one of these reveries he started up one night, when i was there, called a mr. bagnell out of the room, and most heroically stabbed him in the dark, the other having no weapon to defend himself with. in this career the tiger persisted, till at length a mr. lennard brandished a whip over his head, and stood in a menacing attitude, commanding him to ask pardon directly. the tiger shrank from the danger, and with a faint voice pronounced--'hut! what signifies it between you and me? well! well! i ask your pardon,' 'speak louder, sir; i don't hear a word you say.' and indeed he was so very tall, that it seemed as if the sound, sent feebly from below, could not ascend to such a height. this is the hero who is to figure at brentford." foote's favourite coffee-house was the bedford. he was also a constant frequenter of tom's, and took a lead in the club held there, and already described.[ ] dr. barrowby, the well-known newsmonger of the bedford, and the satirical critic of the day, has left this whole-length sketch of foote:--"one evening (he says), he saw a young man extravagantly dressed out in a frock suit of green and silver lace, bag-wig, sword, bouquet, and point-ruffles, enter the room (at the bedford), and immediately join the critical circle at the upper end. nobody recognised him; but such was the ease of his bearing, and the point of humour and remark with which he at once took up the conversation, that his presence seemed to disconcert no one, and a sort of pleased buzz of 'who is he?' was still going round the room unanswered, when a handsome carriage stopped at the door; he rose, and quitted the room, and the servants announced that his name was foote, that he was a young gentleman of family and fortune, a student of the inner temple, and that the carriage had called for him on its way to the assembly of a lady of fashion." dr. barrowby once turned the laugh against foote at the bedford, when he was ostentatiously showing his gold repeater, with the remark--"why, my watch does not go!" "it soon _will go_," quietly remarked the doctor. young collins, the poet, who came to town in to seek his fortune, made his way to the bedford, where foote was supreme among the wits and critics. like foote, collins was fond of fine clothes, and walked about with a feather in his hat, very unlike a young man who had not a single guinea he could call his own. a letter of the time tells us that "collins was an acceptable companion everywhere; and among the gentlemen who loved him for a genius, may be reckoned the doctors armstrong, barrowby, hill, messrs. quin, garrick, and foote, who frequently took his opinion upon their pieces before they were seen by the public. he was particularly noticed by the geniuses who frequented the bedford and slaughter's coffee-houses."[ ] ten years later ( ) we find foote again supreme in his critical corner at the bedford. the regular frequenters of the room strove to get admitted to his party at supper; and others got as nearly as they could to the table, as the only humour flowed from foote's tongue. the bedford was now in its highest repute. foote and garrick often met at the bedford, and many and sharp were their encounters. they were the two great rivals of the day. foote usually attacked, and garrick, who had many weak points, was mostly the sufferer. garrick, in early life, had been in the wine trade, and had supplied the bedford with wine; he was thus described by foote as living in durham-yard, with three quarts of vinegar in the cellar, calling himself a wine-merchant. how foote must have abused the bedford wine of this period! one night, foote came into the bedford, where garrick was seated, and there gave him an account of a most wonderful actor he had just seen. garrick was on the tenters of suspense, and there foote kept him a full hour. at last foote, compassionating the suffering listener, brought the attack to a close by asking garrick what he thought of mr. pitt's histrionic talents, when garrick, glad of the release, declared that if pitt had chosen the stage, he might have been the first actor upon it. one night, garrick and foote were about to leave the bedford together, when the latter, in paying the bill, dropped a guinea; and not finding it at once, said, "where on earth can it be gone to?"--"gone to the devil, i think," replied garrick, who had assisted in the search.--"well said, david!" was foote's reply; "let you alone for making a guinea go further than anybody else." churchill's quarrel with hogarth began at the shilling rubber club, in the parlour of the bedford; when hogarth used some very insulting language towards churchill, who resented it in the _epistle_. this quarrel showed more venom than wit:--"never," says walpole, "did two angry men of their abilities throw mud with less dexterity." woodward, the comedian, mostly lived at the bedford, was intimate with stacie, the landlord, and gave him his (w.'s) portrait, with a mask in his hand, one of the early pictures by sir joshua reynolds. stacie played an excellent game at whist. one morning, about two o'clock, one of his waiters awoke him to tell him that a nobleman had knocked him up, and had desired him to call his master to play a rubber with him for one hundred guineas. stacie got up, dressed himself, won the money, and was in bed and asleep, all within an hour. of two houses in the piazza, built for francis, earl of bedford, we obtain some minute information from the lease granted in , to sir edmund verney, knight marshal to king charles i.; these two houses being just then erected as part of the piazza. there are also included in the lease the "yardes, stables, coach-houses, and gardens now layd, or hereafter to be layd, to the said messuages," which description of the premises seems to identify them as the two houses at the southern end of the piazza, adjoining to great russell-street, and now occupied as the bedford coffee-house and hotel. they are either the same premises, or they immediately adjoin the premises, occupied a century later as the bedford coffee-house. (mr. john bruce, _archæologia_, xxxv. .) the lease contains a minute specification of the landlord's fittings and customary accommodations of what were then some of the most fashionable residences in the metropolis. in the attached schedule is the use of the wainscot, enumerating separately every piece of wainscot on the premises. the tenant is bound to keep in repair the "portico walke" underneath the premises; he is at all times to have "ingresse, egresse and regresse" through the portico walk; and he may "expel, put, or drive away out of the said walke any youth or other person whatsoever which shall eyther play or be in the said portico walke in offence or disturbance to the said sir edmund verney." the inventory of the fixtures is curious. it enumerates every apartment, from the beer-cellar, and the strong beer-cellar, the scullery, the pantry, and the buttery, to the dining and withdrawing-rooms. most of the rooms had casement windows, but the dining-room next russell-street, and other principal apartments, had "shutting windowes." the principal rooms were also "double creasted round for hangings," and were wainscoted round the chimney-pieces, and doors and windows. in one case, a study, "south towards russell-street, the whole room was wainscoted, and the hall in part." most of the windows had "soil-boards" attached; the room-doors had generally "stock locks," in some places "spring plate locks" and spring bolts. there is not mentioned anything approaching to a fire-grate in any of the rooms, except perhaps in the kitchen, where occurs "a travers barre for the chimney." footnotes: [ ] see "club at tom's coffee-house," vol. i. pp. - . [ ] memoir by moy thomas, prefixed to collins's poetical works. bell and daldy, . macklin's coffee-house oratory. after macklin had retired from the stage, in , he opened that portion of the piazza-houses, in covent garden, which is now the tavistock hotel. here he fitted up a large coffee-room, a theatre for oratory, and other apartments. to a three-shilling ordinary he added a shilling lecture, or "school of oratory and criticism;" he presided at the dinner-table, and carved for the company; after which he played a sort of "oracle of eloquence." fielding has happily sketched him in his _voyage to lisbon_: "unfortunately for the fishmongers of london, the dory only resides in the devonshire seas; for could any of this company only convey one to the temple of luxury under the piazza, where macklin, the high priest, daily serves up his rich offerings, great would be the reward of that fishmonger." in the lecture, macklin undertook to make each of his audience an orator, by teaching him how to speak. he invited hints and discussions; the novelty of the scheme attracted the curiosity of numbers; and this curiosity he still further excited by a very uncommon controversy, which now subsisted either in imagination or reality, between him and foote, who abused one another very openly--"squire sammy" having for his purpose engaged the little theatre in the haymarket. besides this personal attack, various subjects were debated here in the manner of the robin hood society, which filled the orator's pocket, and proved his rhetoric of some value. here is one of his combats with foote. the subject was duelling in ireland, which macklin had illustrated as far as the reign of elizabeth. foote cried "order;" he had a question to put. "well, sir," said macklin, "what have you to say upon this subject?" "i think, sir," said foote, "this matter might be settled in a few words. what o'clock is it, sir?" macklin could not possibly see what the clock had to do with a dissertation upon duelling, but gruffly reported the hour to be half-past nine. "very well," said foote, "about this time of the night every gentleman in ireland that can possibly afford it is in his third bottle of claret, and therefore in a fair way of getting drunk; and from drunkenness proceeds quarrelling, and from quarrelling, duelling, and so there's an end of the chapter." the company were much obliged to foote for his interference, the hour being considered; though macklin did not relish the abridgment. the success of foote's fun upon macklin's lectures, led him to establish a summer entertainment of his own at the haymarket. he took up macklin's notion of applying greek tragedy to modern subjects, and the squib was so successful that foote cleared by it _l._, in five nights, while the great piazza coffee-room in covent garden was shut up, and macklin in the _gazette_ as a bankrupt. but when the great plan of mr. macklin proved abortive, when as he said in a former prologue, upon a nearly similar occasion-- "from scheming, fretting, famine, and despair, we saw to grace restor'd an exiled player;" when the town was sated with the seemingly-concocted quarrel between the two theatrical geniuses, macklin locked up his doors, all animosity was laid aside, and they came and shook hands at the bedford; the group resumed their appearance, and, with a new master, a new set of customers was seen. tom king's coffee-house. this was one of the old night-houses of covent garden market: it was a rude shed immediately beneath the portico of st. paul's church, and was one "well known to all gentlemen to whom beds are unknown." fielding in one of his prologues says: "what rake is ignorant of king's coffee-house?" it is in the background of hogarth's print of _morning_, where the prim maiden lady, walking to church, is soured with seeing two fuddled _beaux_ from king's coffee-house caressing two frail women. at the door there is a drunken row, in which swords and cudgels are the weapons. harwood's _alumni etonenses_, p. , in the account of the boys elected from eton to king's college, contains this entry: "a.d. , thomas king, born at west ashton, in wiltshire, went away scholar in apprehension that his fellowship would be denied him; and afterwards kept that coffee-house in covent garden, which was called by his own name." moll king was landlady after tom's death: she was witty, and her house was much frequented, though it was little better than a shed. "noblemen and the first _beaux_," said stacie, "after leaving court, would go to her house in full dress, with swords and bags, and in rich brocaded silk coats, and walked and conversed with persons of every description. she would serve chimney-sweepers, gardeners, and the market-people in common with her lords of the highest rank. mr. apreece, a tall thin man in rich dress, was her constant customer. he was called cadwallader by the frequenters of moll's." it is not surprising that moll was often fined for keeping a disorderly house. at length, she retired from business--and the pillory--to hampstead, where she lived on her ill-earned gains, but paid for a pew in church, and was charitable at appointed seasons, and died in peace in . it was at that period that mother needham, mother douglass (_alias_, according to foote's _minor_, mother cole), and moll king, the tavern-keepers and the gamblers, took possession of premises abdicated by people of fashion. upon the south side of the market-sheds was the noted "finish," kept by mrs. butler, open all night, the last of the garden taverns, and only cleared away in . this house was originally the queen's head. shuter was pot-boy here. here was a picture of the hazard club, at the bedford: it was painted by hogarth, and filled a panel of the coffee-room. captain laroon, an amateur painter of the time of hogarth, who often witnessed the nocturnal revels at moll king's, made a large and spirited drawing of the interior of her coffee-house, which was at strawberry hill. it was bought for walpole, by his printer, some seventy years since. there is also an engraving of the same room, in which is introduced a whole-length of mr. apreece, in a full court-dress: an impression of this plate is extremely rare. justice welsh used to say that captain laroon, his friend captain montague, and their constant companion, little casey, the link-boy, were the three most troublesome of all his bow-street visitors. the portraits of these three heroes are introduced in boitard's rare print of "the covent garden morning frolic." laroon is brandishing an artichoke. c. montague is seated, drunk, on the top of bet careless's sedan, which is preceded by little casey, as a link-boy. captain laroon also painted a large folding-screen; the figures were full of broad humour, two representing a quack doctor and his merry andrew, before the gaping crowd. laroon was deputy-chairman, under sir robert walpole, of a club, consisting of six gentlemen only, who met, at stated times, in the drawing-room of scott, the marine painter, in henrietta-street, covent garden; and it was unanimously agreed by the members, that they should be attended by scott's wife only, who was a remarkable witty woman. laroon made a beautiful conversation drawing of the club, which is highly prized by j. t. smith. piazza coffee-house. this establishment, at the north-eastern angle of covent garden piazza, appears to have originated with macklin's; for we read in an advertisement in the _public advertiser_, march, , : "the great piazza coffee-room, in covent-garden." the piazza was much frequented by sheridan; and here is located the well-known anecdote told of his coolness during the burning of drury-lane theatre, in . it is said that as he sat at the piazza, during the fire, taking some refreshment, a friend of his having remarked on the philosophical calmness with which he bore his misfortune, sheridan replied: "a man may surely be allowed to take a glass of wine _by his own fireside_." sheridan and john kemble often dined together at the piazza, to be handy to the theatre. during kemble's management, sheridan had occasion to make a complaint, which brought a "nervous" letter from kemble, to which sheridan's reply is amusing enough. thus, he writes: "that the management of a theatre is a situation capable of becoming _troublesome_, is information which i do not want, and a discovery which i thought you had made long ago." sheridan then treats kemble's letter as "a nervous flight," not to be noticed seriously, adding his anxiety for the interest of the theatre, and alluding to kemble's touchiness and reserve; and thus concludes: "if there is anything amiss in your mind not arising from the _troublesomeness_ of your situation, it is childish and unmanly not to disclose it. the frankness with which i have dealt towards you entitles me to expect that you should have done so. "but i have no reason to believe this to be the case; and attributing your letter to a disorder which i know ought not to be indulged, i prescribe that thou shalt keep thine appointment at the piazza coffee-house, to-morrow at five, and, taking four bottles of claret instead of three, to which in sound health you might stint yourself, forget that you ever wrote the letter, as i shall that i ever received it. "r. b. sheridan." the piazza façade, and interior, were of gothic design. the house has been taken down, and in its place was built the floral hall, after the crystal palace model. the chapter coffee-house. in our first volume, pp. - , we described this as a literary place of resort in paternoster row, more especially in connection with the wittinagemot of the last century. a very interesting account of the chapter, at a later period, ( ,) is given by mrs. gaskell. the coffee-house is thus described:-- "paternoster row was for many years sacred to publishers. it is a narrow flagged street, lying under the shadow of st. paul's; at each end there are posts placed, so as to prevent the passage of carriages, and thus preserve a solemn silence for the deliberations of the 'fathers of the row.' the dull warehouses on each side are mostly occupied at present by wholesale stationers; if they be publishers' shops, they show no attractive front to the dark and narrow street. halfway up on the left-hand side is the chapter coffee-house. i visited it last june. it was then unoccupied; it had the appearance of a dwelling-house two hundred years old or so, such as one sometimes sees in ancient country towns; the ceilings of the small rooms were low, and had heavy beams running across them; the walls were wainscoted breast-high; the staircase was shallow, broad, and dark, taking up much space in the centre of the house. this then was the chapter coffee-house, which, a century ago, was the resort of all the booksellers and publishers, and where the literary hacks, the critics, and even the wits used to go in search of ideas or employment. this was the place about which chatterton wrote, in those delusive letters he sent to his mother at bristol, while he was starving in london. "years later it became the tavern frequented by university men, and country clergymen, who were up in london for a few days, and, having no private friends or access into society, were glad to learn what was going on in the world of letters, from the conversation which they were sure to hear in the coffee-room. it was a place solely frequented by men; i believe there was but one female servant in the house. few people slept there: some of the stated meetings of the trade were held in it, as they had been for more than a century; and occasionally country booksellers, with now and then a clergyman, resorted to it. in the long, low, dingy room upstairs, the meetings of the trade were held. the high narrow windows looked into the gloomy row; nothing of motion or of change could be seen in the grim dark houses opposite, so near and close, although the whole breadth of the row was between. the mighty roar of london was round, like the sound of an unseen ocean, yet every foot-fall on the pavement below might be heard distinctly, in that unfrequented street." goldsmith frequented the chapter, and always occupied one place, which, for many years after was the seat of literary honour there. there are leather tokens of the chapter coffee-house in existence. child's coffee-house, in st. paul's churchyard, was one of the _spectator's_ houses. "sometimes," he says, "i smoke a pipe at child's, and whilst i seem attentive to nothing but the _postman_, overhear the conversation of every table in the room." it was much frequented by the clergy; for the _spectator_, no. , notices the mistake of a country gentleman in taking all persons in scarfs for doctors of divinity, since only a scarf of the first magnitude entitles him to "the appellation of doctor from his landlady and the _boy at child's_." child's was the resort of dr. mead, and other professional men of eminence. the fellows of the royal society came here. whiston relates that sir hans sloane, dr. halley, and he were once at child's, when dr. h., asked him, w., why he was not a member of the royal society? whiston answered, because they durst not choose a heretic. upon which dr. h. said, if sir hans sloane would propose him, w., he, dr. h., would second it, which was done accordingly. the propinquity of child's to the cathedral and doctors' commons, made it the resort of the clergy, and ecclesiastical loungers. in one respect, child's was superseded by the chapter, in paternoster row. london coffee-house. this coffee-house was established previous to the year , for we find of it the following advertisement:-- "may, . "whereas, it is customary for coffee-houses and other public-houses, to take _s._ for a quart of arrack, and _s._ for a quart of brandy or rum, made into punch: "this is to give notice, "that james ashley has opened, on ludgate hill, the london coffee-house, punch-house, dorchester beer and welsh ale warehouse, where the finest and best old arrack, rum, and french brandy is made into punch, with the other of the finest ingredients--viz., a quart of arrack made into punch for six shillings; and so in proportion to the smallest quantity, which is half-a-quartern for fourpence halfpenny. a quart of rum or brandy made into punch for four shillings; and so in proportion to the smallest quantity, which is half-a-quartern for fourpence halfpenny; and gentlemen may have it as soon made as a gill of wine can be drawn." the premises occupy a roman site; for, in , in the rear of the house, in a bastion of the city wall, was found a sepulchral monument, dedicated to claudina martina by her husband, a provincial roman soldier; here also were found a fragment of a statue of hercules, and a female head. in front of the coffee-house, immediately west of st. martin's church, stood ludgate. the london coffee-house (now a tavern) is noted for its publishers' sales of stock and copyrights. it was within the rules of the fleet prison: and in the coffee-house are "locked up" for the night such juries from the old bailey sessions, as cannot agree upon verdicts. the house was long kept by the grandfather and father of mr. john leech, the celebrated artist. a singular incident occurred at the london coffee-house, many years since: mr. brayley, the topographer, was present at a party here, when mr. broadhurst, the famous tenor, by singing a high note, caused a wine-glass on the table to break, the bowl being separated from the stem. at the bar of the london coffee-house was sold rowley's british cephalic snuff. turk's head coffee house in change alley. from _the kingdom's intelligencer_, a weekly paper, published by authority, in , we learn that there had just been opened a "new coffee-house," with the sign of the turk's head, where was sold by retail "the right coffee-powder," from _s._ to _s._ _d._ per pound; that pounded in a mortar, _s._; east india berry, _s._ _d._; and the right turkie berry, well garbled, at _s._ "the ungarbled for lesse, with directions how to use the same." also chocolate at _s._ _d._ per pound; the perfumed from _s._ to _s._; "also, sherbets made in turkie, of lemons, roses, and violets perfumed; and tea, or chaa, according to its goodness. the house seal was morat the great. gentlemen customers and acquaintances are (the next new year's day) invited to the sign of the great turk at this new coffee-house, where coffee will be on free cost." the sign was also morat the great. morat figures as a tyrant in dryden's _aurung zebe_. there is a token of this house, with the sultan's head, in the beaufoy collection. another token, in the same collection, is of unusual excellence, probably by john roettier. it has on the obverse, morat ye great men did mee call,--sultan's head; reverse, where eare i came i conquered all.--in the field, coffee, tobacco, sherbet, tea, chocolat, retail in exchange alee. "the word tea," says mr. burn, "occurs on no other tokens than those issued from 'the great turk' coffee-house, in exchange-alley;" in one of its advertisements, , tea is from _s._ to _s._ a pound. competition arose. one constantine jennings in threadneedle-street, over against st. christopher's church, advertised that coffee, chocolate, sherbet, and tea, the right turkey berry, may be had as cheap and as good of him as is any where to be had for money; and that people may there be taught to prepare the said liquors gratis. pepys, in his _diary_, tells, sept. , , of his sending for "a cup of tea, a china drink, he had not before tasted." henry bennet, earl of arlington, about , introduced tea at court. and, in his sir charles sedley's _mulberry garden_, we are told that "he who wished to be considered a man of fashion always drank wine-and-water at dinner, and a dish of tea afterwards." these details are condensed from mr. burn's excellent _beaufoy catalogue_. nd edition, . in gerard-street, soho, also, was another turk's head coffee-house, where was held a turk's head society; in , we find gibbon writing to garrick: "at this time of year, (aug. ,) the society of the turk's head can no longer be addressed as a corporate body, and most of the individual members are probably dispersed: adam smith in scotland; burke in the shades of beaconsfield; fox, the lord or the devil knows where." this place was a kind of head-quarters for the loyal association during the rebellion of . here was founded "the literary club," already described in vol. i., pp. - . in , several artists met at the turk's head, and from thence, their secretary, mr. f. m. newton, dated a printed letter to the artists to form a select body for the protection and encouragement of art. another society of artists met in peter's-court, st. martin's-lane, from the year to . after continued squabbles, which lasted for many years, the principal artists met together at the turk's head, where many others having joined them, they petitioned the king (george iii.) to become patron of a royal academy of art. his majesty consented; and the new society took a room in pall mall, opposite to market-lane, where they remained until the king, in the year , granted them apartments in old somerset house.--_j. t. smith._ the turk's head coffee-house, no. , in the strand, was a favourite supping-house with dr. johnson and boswell, in whose life of johnson are several entries, commencing with --"at night, mr. johnson and i supped in a private room at the turk's head coffee-house, in the strand; 'i encourage this house,' said he, 'for the mistress of it is a good civil woman, and has not much business.'" another entry is--"we concluded the day at the turk's head coffee-house very socially." and, august , --"we had our last social meeting at the turk's head coffee-house, before my setting out for foreign parts." the name was afterwards changed to "the turk's head, canada and bath coffee-house," and was a well frequented tavern and hotel: it was taken down, and a very handsome lofty house erected upon the site, at the cost of, we believe, eight thousand pounds; it was opened as a tavern and hotel, but did not long continue. at the turk's head, or miles's coffee-house, new palace-yard, westminster, the noted rota club met, founded by harrington, in : where was a large oval table, with a passage in the middle, for miles to deliver his coffee. (see _clubs_, vol. i., pp. , ). squire's coffee-house. in fulwood's (_vulgo_ fuller's) rents, in holborn, nearly opposite chancery-lane, in the reign of james i., lived christopher fulwood, in a mansion of some pretension, of which an existing house of the period is said to be the remains. "some will have it," says hatton, , "that it is called from being a _woody_ place before there were buildings here; but its being called fullwood's rents (as it is in deeds and leases), shows it to be the rents of one called fullwood, the owner or builder thereof." strype describes the rents, or court, as running up to gray's-inn, "into which it has an entrance through the gate; a place of good resort, and taken up by coffee-houses, ale-houses, and houses of entertainment, by reason of its vicinity to gray's-inn. on the east side is a handsome open place, with a handsome freestone pavement, and better built, and inhabited by private house-keepers. at the upper end of this court is a passage into the castle tavern, a house of considerable trade, as is the golden griffin tavern, on the west side." here was john's, one of the earliest coffee-houses; and adjoining gray's-inn gate is a deep-coloured red-brick house, once squire's coffee-house, kept by squire, "a noted man in fuller's rents," who died in . the house is very roomy; it has been handsome, and has a wide staircase. squire's was one of the receiving-houses of the _spectator_: in no. , january , - , he accepts sir roger de coverley's invitation to "smoke a pipe with him over a dish of coffee at squire's. as i love the old man, i take delight in complying with everything that is agreeable to him, and accordingly waited on him to the coffee-house, where his venerable figure drew upon us the eyes of the whole room. he had no sooner seated himself at the upper end of the high table, but he called for a clean pipe, a paper of tobacco, a dish of coffee, a wax candle, and the _supplement_ [a periodical paper of that time], with such an air of cheerfulness and good humour, that all the boys in the coffee-room, (who seemed to take pleasure in serving him,) were at once employed on his several errands, insomuch that nobody else could come at a dish of tea, until the knight had got all his conveniences about him." such was the coffee-room in the _spectator's_ day. gray's-inn walks, to which the rents led, across field-court, were then a fashionable promenade; and here sir roger could "clear his pipes in good air;" for scarcely a house intervened thence to hampstead. though ned ward, in his _london spy_, says--"i found none but a parcel of superannuated debauchees, huddled up in cloaks, frieze coats, and wadded gowns, to protect their old carcases from the sharpness of hampstead air; creeping up and down in pairs and leashes no faster than the hand of a dial, or a county convict going to execution: some talking of law, some of religion, and some of politics. after i had walked two or three times round, i sat myself down in the upper walk, where just before me, on a stone pedestal, we fixed an old rusty horizontal dial, with the gnomon broke short off." round the sun-dial, seats were arranged in a semicircle. gray's-inn gardens were resorted to by dangerous classes. expert pickpockets and plausible ring-droppers found easy prey there on crowded days; and in old plays the gardens are repeatedly mentioned as a place of negotiation for clandestine lovers, which led to the walks being closed, except at stated hours. returning to fulwood's rents, we may here describe another of its attractions, the tavern and punch-house, within one door of gray's-inn, apparently the king's head. from some time before , until his death in , ward kept this house, which he thus commemorates, or, in another word, puffs, in his _london spy_: being a vintner himself, we may rest assured that he would have penned this in praise of no other than himself: "to speak but the truth of my honest friend ned, the best of all vintners that ever god made; he's free of the beef, and as free of his bread, and washes both down with his glass of rare red, that tops all the town, and commands a good trade; such wine as will cheer up the drooping king's head, and brisk up the soul, though our body's half dead; he scorns to draw bad, as he hopes to be paid; and now his name's up, he may e'en lie abed; for he'll get an estate--there's no more to be said." we ought to have remarked, that the ox was roasted, cut up, and distributed gratis; a piece of generosity which, by a poetic fiction, is supposed to have inspired the above limping balderdash. slaughter's coffee-house. this coffee-house, famous as the resort of painters and sculptors, in the last century, was situated at the upper end of the west side of st. martin's-lane, three doors from newport-street. its first landlord was thomas slaughter, . mr. cunningham tells us that a second slaughter's (new slaughter's), was established in the same street about , when the original establishment adopted the name of "old slaughter's," by which designation it was known till within a few years of the final demolition of the house to make way for the new avenue between long-acre and leicester-square, formed - . for many years previous to the streets of london being completely paved, "slaughter's" was called "the coffee-house on the pavement." in like manner, "the pavement," moor fields, received its distinctive name. besides being the resort of artists, old slaughter's was the house of call for frenchmen. st. martin's-lane was long one of the head-quarters of the artists of the last century. "in the time of benjamin west," says j. t. smith, "and before the formation of the royal academy, greek-street, st. martin's-lane, and gerard-street, was their colony. old slaughter's coffee-house, in st. martin's-lane, was their grand resort in the evenings, and hogarth was a constant visitor." he lived at the golden head, on the eastern side of leicester fields, in the northern half of the sabloniere hotel. the head he cut out himself from pieces of cork, glued and bound together; it was placed over the street-door. at this time, young benjamin west was living in chambers, in bedford-street, covent garden, and had there set up his easel; he was married, in , at st. martin's church. roubiliac was often to be found at slaughter's in early life; probably before he gained the patronage of sir edward walpole, through finding and returning to the baronet the pocket-book of bank-notes, which the young maker of monuments had picked up in vauxhall gardens. sir edward, to remunerate his integrity, and his skill, of which he showed specimens, promised to patronize roubiliac through life, and he faithfully performed this promise. young gainsborough, who spent three years amid the works of the painters in st. martin's-lane, hayman, and cipriani, who were all eminently convivial, were, in all probability, frequenters of slaughter's. smith tells us that quin and hayman were inseparable friends, and so convivial, that they seldom parted till daylight. mr. cunningham relates that here, "in early life, wilkie would enjoy a small dinner at a small cost. i have been told by an old frequenter of the house, that wilkie was always the last dropper-in for a dinner, and that he was never seen to dine in the house by daylight. the truth is, he slaved at his art at home till the last glimpse of daylight had disappeared." haydon was accustomed in the early days of his fitful career, to dine here with wilkie. in his _autobiography_, in the year , haydon writes: "this period of our lives was one of great happiness: painting all day, then dining at the old slaughter chop-house, then going to the academy until eight, to fill up the evening, then going home to tea--that blessing of a studious man--talking over our respective exploits, what he [wilkie] had been doing, and what i had done, and then, frequently to relieve our minds fatigued by their eight and twelve hours' work, giving vent to the most extraordinary absurdities. often have we made rhymes on odd names, and shouted with laughter at each new line that was added. sometimes lazily inclined after a good dinner, we have lounged about, near drury-lane or covent garden, hesitating whether to go in, and often have i (knowing first that there was nothing i wished to see) assumed a virtue i did not possess, and pretending moral superiority, preached to wilkie on the weakness of not resisting such temptations for the sake of our art and our duty, and marched him off to his studies, when he was longing to see mother goose." j. t. smith has narrated some fifteen pages of characteristic anecdotes of the artistic visitors of old slaughter's, which he refers to as "formerly the rendezvous of pope, dryden, and other wits, and much frequented by several eminently clever men of his day." thither came ware, the architect, who, when a little sickly boy, was apprenticed to a chimney-sweeper, and was seen chalking the street-front of whitehall, by a gentleman, who purchased the remainder of the boy's time; gave him an excellent education; then sent him to italy, and, upon his return, employed him, and introduced him to his friends as an architect. ware was heard to tell this story, while he was sitting to roubiliac for his bust. ware built chesterfield house and several other noble mansions, and compiled a palladio, in folio: he retained the soot in his skin to the day of his death. he was very intimate with roubiliac, who was an opposite eastern neighbour of old slaughter's. another architect, gwynn, who competed with mylne for designing and building blackfriars bridge, was also a frequent visitor at old slaughter's, as was gravelot, who kept a drawing-school in the strand, nearly opposite to southampton-street. hudson, who painted the dilettanti portraits; m'ardell, the mezzotinto-scraper; and luke sullivan, the engraver of hogarth's march to finchley, also frequented old slaughter's; likewise theodore gardell, the portrait painter, who was executed for the murder of his landlady; and old moser, keeper of the drawing academy in peter's-court. richard wilson, the landscape painter, was not a regular customer here: his favourite house was the constitution, bedford-street, covent garden, where he could indulge in a pot of porter more freely, and enjoy the fun of mortimer, the painter. parry, the welsh harper, though totally blind, was one of the first draught-players in england, and occasionally played with the frequenters of old slaughter's; and here, in consequence of a bet, roubiliac introduced nathaniel smith (father of john thomas), to play at draughts with parry; the game lasted about half an hour: parry was much agitated, and smith proposed to give in; but as there were bets depending, it was played out, and smith won. this victory brought smith numerous challenges; and the dons of the barn, a public-house, in st. martin's-lane, nearly opposite the church, invited him to become a member; but smith declined. the barn, for many years, was frequented by all the noted players of chess and draughts; and it was there that they often decided games of the first importance, played between persons of the highest rank, living in different parts of the world. t. rawle,[ ] the inseparable companion of captain grose, the antiquary, came often to slaughter's. it was long asserted of slaughter's coffee-house that there never had been a person of that name as master of the house, but that it was named from its having been opened for the use of the men who slaughtered the cattle for the butchers of newport market, in an open space then adjoining. "this," says j. t. smith, "may be the fact, if we believe that coffee was taken as refreshment by slaughtermen, instead of purl or porter; or that it was so called by the neighbouring butchers in derision of the numerous and fashionable coffee-houses of the day; as, for instance, 'the old man's coffee-house,' and 'the young man's coffee-house.' be that as it may, in my father's time, and also within memory of the most aged people, this coffee-house was called '_old_ slaughter's,' and not the slaughter, or the slaughterer's coffee-house." in , there was sold by stewart, wheatley, and adlard, in piccadilly, a picture attributed to hogarth, for guineas; it was described a conversation over a bowl of punch, at _old_ slaughter's coffee-house, in st. martin's-lane, and the figures were said to be portraits of the painter, doctor monsey, and the landlord, _old_ slaughter. but this picture, as j. t. smith shows, was painted by highmore, for his father's godfather, nathaniel oldham, and one of the artist's patrons; "it is neither a scene at old slaughter's, nor are the portraits rightly described in the sale catalogue, but a scene at oldham's house, at ealing, with an old schoolmaster, a farmer, the artist highmore, and oldham himself." footnote: [ ] rawle was one of his majesty's accoutrement makers; and after his death, his effects were sold by hutchins, in king-street, covent garden. among the lots were a helmet, a sword, and several letters, of oliver cromwell; also the doublet in which cromwell dissolved the long parliament. another singular lot was a large black wig, with long flowing curls, stated to have been worn by king charles ii.: it was bought by suett, the actor, who was a great collector of wigs. he continued to act in this wig for many years, in _tom thumb_, and other pieces, till it was burnt when the theatre at birmingham was destroyed by fire. next morning, suett, meeting mrs. booth, the mother of the lively actress s. booth, exclaimed, "mrs. booth, my wig's gone!" will's and serle's coffee-houses. at the corner of serle-street and portugal-street, most invitingly facing the passage to lincoln's inn new-square, was will's, of old repute, and thus described in the _epicure's almanack_, : "this is, indubitably, a house of the first class, which dresses very desirable turtle and venison, and broaches many a pipe of mature port, double voyaged madeira, and princely claret; wherewithal to wash down the dust of making law-books, and take out the inky blots from rotten parchment bonds; or if we must quote and parodize will's, 'hath a sweet oblivious antidote which clears the cranium of that perilous stuff that clouds the cerebellum.'" the coffee-house has some time being given up. serle's coffee-house is one of those mentioned in no. , of the _spectator_: "i do not know that i meet in any of my walks, objects which move both my spleen and laughter so effectually as those young fellows at the grecian, squire's, serle's, and all other coffee-houses adjacent to the law, who rise for no other purpose but to publish their laziness." the grecian coffee-house, devereux-court, strand, (closed in ,) was named from constantine, of threadneedle-street, the _grecian_ who kept it. in the _tatler_ announcement, all accounts of learning are to be "under the title of the grecian;" and, in the _tatler_, no. : "while other parts of the town are amused with the present actions, [marlborough's,] we generally spend the evening at this table [at the grecian], in inquiries into antiquity, and think anything new, which gives us new knowledge. thus, we are making a very pleasant entertainment to ourselves in putting the actions of homer's iliad into an exact journal." the _spectator's_ face was very well-known at the grecian, a coffee-house "adjacent to the law." occasionally, it was the scene of learned discussion. thus dr. king relates that one evening, two gentlemen, who were constant companions, were disputing here, concerning the accent of a greek word. this dispute was carried to such a length, that the two friends thought proper to determine it with their swords: for this purpose they stepped into devereux-court, where one of them (dr. king thinks his name was fitzgerald) was run through the body, and died on the spot. the grecian was foote's morning lounge. it was handy, too, for the young templar, goldsmith, and often did it echo with oliver's boisterous mirth; for "it had become the favourite resort of the irish and lancashire templars, whom he delighted in collecting around him, in entertaining with a cordial and unostentatious hospitality, and in occasionally amusing with his flute, or with whist, neither of which he played very well!" here goldsmith occasionally wound up his "shoemaker's holiday" with supper. it was at the grecian that fleetwood shephard told this memorable story to dr. tancred robinson, who gave richardson permission to repeat it. "the earl of dorset was in little britain, beating about for books to his taste: there was _paradise lost_. he was surprised with some passages he struck upon, dipping here and there and bought it; the bookseller begged him to speak in its favour, if he liked it, for they lay on his hands as waste paper. jesus!--shephard was present. my lord took it home, read it, and sent it to dryden, who in a short time returned it. 'this man,' says dryden, 'cuts us all out, and the ancients too!'" the grecian was also frequented by fellows of the royal society. thoresby, in his _diary_, tells us, may, , that "having bought each a pair of black silk stockings in westminster hall, they returned by water, and then walked, to meet his friend, dr. sloane, the secretary of the royal society, at the grecian coffee-house, by the temple." and, on june th, same year, "thoresby attended the royal society, where were present, the president, sir isaac newton, both the secretaries, the two professors from oxford, dr. halley and kell, with others, whose company we after enjoyed at the grecian coffee-house." in devereux-court, also, was tom's coffee-house, much resorted to by men of letters; among whom were dr. birch, who wrote the history of the royal society; also akenside, the poet; and there is in print a letter of pope's, addressed to fortescue, his "counsel learned in the law," at this coffee-house. george's coffee-house, no. , strand, near temple bar, was a noted resort in the last and present century. when it was a coffee-house, one day, there came in sir james lowther, who after changing a piece of silver with the coffee-woman, and paying twopence for his dish of coffee, was helped into his chariot, for he was very lame and infirm, and went home: some little time afterwards, he returned to the same coffee-house, on purpose to acquaint the woman who kept it, that she had given him a bad half-penny, and demanded another in exchange for it. sir james had about , _l._ per annum, and was at a loss whom to appoint his heir. shenstone, who found "the warmest welcome at an inn," found george's to be economical. "what do you think," he writes, "must be my expense, who love to pry into everything of the kind? why, truly one shilling. my company goes to george's coffee-house, where, for that small subscription i read all pamphlets under a three shillings' dimension; and indeed, any larger would not be fit for coffee-house perusal." shenstone relates that lord orford was at george's, when the mob that were carrying his lordship in effigy, came into the box where he was, to beg money of him, amongst others: this story horace walpole contradicts, adding that he supposes shenstone thought that after lord orford quitted his place, he went to the coffee-house to learn news. arthur murphy frequented george's, "where the town wits met every evening." lloyd, the law-student, sings:-- "by law let others toil to gain renown! florio's a gentleman, a man o' the town. he nor courts clients, or the law regarding, hurries from nando's down to covent garden, yet, he's a scholar; mark him in the pit, with critic catcall sound the stops of wit! supreme at george's, he harangues the throng, censor of style, from tragedy to song." the percy coffee-house, rathbone-place, oxford-street, no longer exists; but it will be kept in recollection for its having given name to one of the most popular publications, of its class, in our time, namely, the _percy anecdotes_, "by sholto and reuben percy, brothers of the benedictine monastery of mont benger," in parts, commencing in . so said the title pages, but the names and the locality were _supposé_. reuben percy was thomas byerley, who died in ; he was the brother of sir john byerley, and the first editor of the _mirror_, commenced by john limbird, in . sholto percy was joseph clinton robertson, who died in ; he was the projector of the _mechanics' magazine_, which he edited from its commencement to his death. the name of the collection of anecdotes was not taken, as at the time supposed, from the popularity of the _percy reliques_, but from the percy coffee-house, where byerley and robertson were accustomed to meet to talk over their joint work. the _idea_ was, however, claimed by sir richard phillips, who stoutly maintained that it originated in a suggestion made by him to dr. tilloch and mr. mayne, to cut the anecdotes from the many years' files of the _star_ newspaper, of which dr. tilloch was the editor, and mr. byerley assistant editor; and to the latter overhearing the suggestion, sir richard contested, might the _percy anecdotes_ be traced. they were very successful, and a large sum was realized by the work. peele's coffee-house, nos. and , fleet-street, east corner of fetter-lane, was one of the coffee-houses of the johnsonian period; and here was long preserved a portrait of dr. johnson, on the key-stone of a chimney-piece, stated to have been painted by sir joshua reynolds. peele's was noted for files of newspapers from these dates: _gazette_, ; _times_, ; _morning chronicle_, ; _morning post_, ; _morning herald_, ; _morning advertiser_, ; and the evening papers from their commencement. the house is now a tavern. taverns. the taverns of old london. the changes in the manners and customs of our metropolis may be agreeably gathered from such glimpses as we gain of the history of "houses of entertainment" in the long lapse of centuries. their records present innumerable pictures in little of society and modes, the interest of which is increased by distance. they show us how the tavern was the great focus of news long before the newspaper fully supplied the intellectual want. much of the business of early times was transacted in taverns, and it is to some extent in the present day. according to the age, the tavern reflects the manners, the social tastes, customs, and recreations; and there, in days when travelling was difficult and costly, and not unattended with danger, the traveller told his wondrous tale to many an eager listener; and the man who rarely strayed beyond his own parish, was thus made acquainted with the life of the world. then, the old tavern combined, with much of the comfort of an english home, its luxuries, without the forethought of providing either. its come-and-go life presented many a useful lesson to the man who looked beyond the cheer of the moment. the master, or taverner, was mostly a person of substance, often of ready wit and cheerful manners--to render his public home attractive. the "win-hous," or tavern, is enumerated among the houses of entertainment in the time of the saxons; and no doubt existed in england much earlier. the peg-tankard, a specimen of which we see in the ashmolean collection at oxford, originated with the saxons; the pegs inside denoted how deep each guest was to drink: hence arose the saying, "he is a peg too low," when a man was out of spirits. the danes were even more convivial in their habits than the saxons, and may be presumed to have multiplied the number of "guest houses," as the early taverns were called. the norman followers of the conqueror soon fell into the good cheer of their predecessors in england. although wine was made at this period in great abundance from vineyards in various parts of england, the trade of the taverns was principally supplied from france. the traffic for bordeaux and the neighbouring provinces is said to have commenced about , through the marriage of henry ii. with eleanor of aquitaine. the normans were the great carriers, and guienne the place whence most of our wines were brought; and which are described in this reign to have been sold in the ships and in the wine-cellars near the public place of cookery, on the banks of the thames. we are now speaking of the customs of seven centuries since; of which the public wine-cellar, known to our time as _the shades_, adjoining old london bridge, was unquestionably a relic. the earliest dealers in wines were of two descriptions: the _vintners_, or importers; and the _taverners_, who kept taverns for them, and sold the wine by retail to such as came to the tavern to drink it, or fetched it to their own homes. in a document of the reign of edward ii., we find mentioned a tenement called pin tavern, situated in the vintry, where the bordeaux merchants _craned_ their wines out of lighters, and other vessels on the thames; and here was the famous old tavern with the sign of the _three cranes_. chaucer makes the apprentice of this period loving better the tavern than the shop:-- "a prentis whilom dwelt in our citee,-- at ev'ry bridale would he sing and hoppe; he loved bet' the _tavern_ than the shoppe, for when ther any riding was in chepe, out of the shoppe thider would he lepe; and til that he had all the sight ysein and dancid wil, he wold not com agen." thus, the idle city apprentice was a great tavern haunter, which was forbidden in his indenture; and to this day, the apprentice's indenture enacts that he shall not "haunt taverns." in a play of , the apprentices of old hobson, a rich citizen, in , frequent the _rose and crown_, in the poultry, and the _dagger_, in cheapside. "_enter hobson, two prentices, and a boy._ " pren. prithee, fellow goodman, set forth the ware, and looke to the shop a little. i'll but drink a cup of wine with a customer, at the rose and crown in the poultry, and come again presently. " pren. i must needs step to the _dagger in cheape_, to send a letter into the country unto my father. stay, boy, you are the youngest prentice; look you to the shop." in the reign of richard ii., it was ordained by statute that "the wines of gascoine, of osey, and of spain," as well as rhenish wines, should not be sold above sixpence the gallon; and the taverners of this period frequently became very rich, and filled the highest civic offices, as sheriffs and mayors. the fraternity of vintners and taverners, anciently the merchant wine tonners of gascoyne, became the craft of vintners, incorporated by henry vi. as the vintners' company. the curious old ballad of london lyckpenny, written in the reign of henry v., by lydgate, a monk of bury, confirms the statement of the prices in the reign of richard ii. he comes to cornhill, when the wine-drawer of the pope's head tavern, standing without the street-door, it being the custom of drawers thus to waylay passengers, takes the man by the hand, and says,--"will you drink a pint of wine?" whereunto the countryman answers, "a penny spend i may," and so drank his wine. "for bread nothing did he pay"--for that was given in. this is stow's account: the ballad makes the taverner, not the drawer, invite the countryman; and the latter, instead of getting bread for nothing, complains of having to go away hungry:-- "the taverner took me by the sleeve, 'sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?' i answered, 'that cannot much me grieve, a penny can do no more than it may;' i drank a pint, and for it did pay; yet, sore a-hungered from thence i yede, and, wanting money, i could not speed," etc. there was no eating at taverns at this time, beyond a crust to relish the wine; and he who wished to dine before he drank, had to go to the cook's. the furnishing of the boar's head, in eastcheap, with sack, in henry iv., is an anachronism of shakspeare's; for the vintners kept neither sacks, muscadels, malmseys, bastards, alicants, nor any other wines but white and claret, until . all the other sweet wines before that time, were sold at the apothecaries' shops for no other use but for medicine. taking it as the picture of a tavern a century later, we see the alterations which had taken place. the single drawer or taverner of lydgate's day is now changed to a troop of waiters, besides the under skinker, or tapster. eating was no longer confined to the cook's row, for we find in falstaff's bill "a capon _s._ _d._; sack, two gallons, _s._ _d._; anchovies and sack, after supper, _s._ _d._; bread, one halfpenny." and there were evidently _different rooms_[ ] for the guests, as francis[ ] bids a brother waiter "look down in the pomgranite;" for which purpose they had windows, or loopholes, affording a view from the upper to the lower apartments. the custom of naming the principal rooms in taverns and hotels is usual to the present day. taverns and wine-bibbing had greatly increased in the reign of edward vi., when it was enacted by statute that no more than _d._ a gallon should be taken for any french wines, and the consumption limited in private houses to ten gallons each person yearly; that there should not be "any more or great number of taverns in london of such tavernes or wine sellers by retaile, above the number of fouretye tavernes or wyne sellers," being less than two, upon an average to each parish. nor did this number much increase afterwards; for in a return made to the vintners' company, late in elizabeth's reign, there were only one hundred and sixty-eight taverns in the whole city and suburbs. it seems to have been the fashion among old ballad-mongers, street chroniclers, and journalists, to sing the praises of the taverns in rough-shod verse, and that lively rhyme which, in our day, is termed "patter." here are a few specimens, of various periods. in a black-letter poem of queen elizabeth's reign, entitled _newes from bartholomew fayre_, there is this curious enumeration: "there hath been great sale and utterance of wine, besides beere, and ale, and ipocras fine, in every country, region, and nation, but chiefly in billingsgate, at the _salutation_; and the _bore's head_, near london stone; the _swan_ at dowgate, a tavern well knowne; the _miter_ in cheape, and then the _bull head_; and many like places that make noses red; the _bore's head_ in old fish-street; _three cranes_ in the vintry; and now, of late, st. martins in the sentree; the _windmill_ in lothbury; the _ship_ at th' exchange; _king's head_ in new fish-street, where roysterers do range; the _mermaid_ in cornhill; _red lion_ in the strand; _three tuns_ in newgate market; old fish-street at the _swan_." this enumeration omits the mourning bush, adjoining aldersgate, containing divers large rooms and lodgings, and shown in aggas's plan of london, in . there are also omitted the pope's head, the london stone, the dagger, the rose and crown, etc. several of the above _signs_ have been continued to our time in the very places mentioned; but nearly all the original buildings were destroyed in the great fire of ; and the few which escaped have been re-built, or so altered, that their former appearance has altogether vanished. the following list of taverns is given by thomas heywood, the author of the fine old play of _a woman killed with kindness_. heywood, who wrote in , is telling us what particular houses are frequented by particular classes of people:-- "the gentry to the king's head, the nobles to the crown, the knights unto the golden fleece, and to the plough the clown. the churchman to the mitre, the shepherd to the star, the gardener hies him to the rose, to the drum the man of war; to the feathers, ladies you; the globe the seaman doth not scorn; the usurer to the devil, and the townsman to the horn. the huntsman to the white hart, to the ship the merchants go, but you who do the muses love, the sign called river po. the banquerout to the world's end, the fool to the fortune pie, unto the mouth the oyster-wife, the fiddler to the pie. the punk unto the cockatrice, the drunkard to the vine, the beggar to the bush, then meet, and with duke humphrey dine." in the _british apollo_ of , is the following doggrel:-- "i'm amused at the signs, as i pass through the town, to see the odd mixture-- a magpie and crown, the whale and the crow, the razor and the hen, the leg and seven stars, the axe and the bottle, the tun and the lute, the eagle and child, the shovel and boot." in _look about you_, , we read that "the drawers kept sugar folded up in paper, ready for those who called for _sack_;" and we further find in another old tract, that the custom existed of bringing two cups of _silver_ in case the wine should be wanted diluted; and this was done by rose-water and sugar, generally about a pennyworth. a sharper in the _bellman of london_, described as having decoyed a countryman to a tavern, "calls for two pintes of sundry wines, the drawer setting the wine with _two cups_, as the custome is, the sharper tastes of one pinte, no matter which, and finds fault with the wine, saying, ''tis too hard, but rose-water and sugar would send it downe merrily'--and for that purpose takes up one of the cups, telling the stranger he is well acquainted with the boy at the barre, and can have two-pennyworth of rose-water for a penny of him; and so steps from his seate: the stranger suspects no harme, because the fawne guest leaves his cloake at the end of the table behind him,--but the other takes good care not to return, and it is then found that he hath stolen ground, and out-leaped the stranger more feet than he can recover in haste, for the cup is leaped with him, for which the wood-cock, that is taken in the springe, must pay fifty shillings, or three pounds, and hath nothing but an old threadbare cloake not worth two groats to make amends for his losses." bishop earle, who wrote in the first half of the seventeenth century, has left this "character" of a tavern of his time. "a tavern is a degree, or (if you will) a pair of stairs above an alehouse, where men are drunk with more credit and apology. if the vintner's nose be at the door, it is a sign sufficient, but the absence of this is supplied by the ivy-bush. it is a broacher of more news than hogsheads, and more jests than news, which are sucked up here by some spungy brain, and from thence squeezed into a comedy. men come here to make merry, but indeed make a noise, and this music above is answered with a clinking below. the drawers are the civilest people in it, men of good bringing up, and howsoever we esteem them, none can boast more justly of their high calling. 'tis the best theatre of natures, where they are truly acted, not played, and the business as in the rest of the world up and down, to wit, from the bottom of the cellar to the great chamber. a melancholy man would find here matter to work upon, to see heads, as brittle as glasses, and often broken; men come hither to quarrel, and come here to be made friends; and if plutarch will lend me his simile, it is even telephus's sword that makes wounds, and cures them. it is the common consumption of the afternoon, and the murderer or the maker away of a rainy day. it is the torrid zone that scorches the face, and tobacco the gunpowder that blows it up. much harm would be done if the charitable vintner had not water ready for the flames. a house of sin you may call it, but not a house of darkness, for the candles are never out; and it is like those countries far in the north, where it is as clear at midnight as at mid-day. after a long sitting it becomes like a street in a dashing shower, where the spouts are flushing above, and the conduits running below, etc. to give you the total reckoning of it, it is the busy man's recreation, the idle man's business, the melancholy man's sanctuary, the stranger's welcome, the inns-of-court man's entertainment, the scholar's kindness, and the citizen's courtesy. it is the study of sparkling wits, and a cup of comedy their book, whence we leave them." the conjunction of vintner and victualler had now become common, and would require other accommodation than those mentioned by the bishop, as is shown in massinger's _new way to pay old debts_, where justice greedy makes tapwell's keeping no victuals in his house as an excuse for pulling down his sign: "thou never hadst in thy house to stay men's stomachs, a piece of suffolk cheese, or gammon of bacon, or any esculent as the learned call it, for their emolument, but _sheer drink only_. for which gross fault i here do damn thy licence, forbidding thee henceforth to tap or draw; for instantly i will in mine own person, command the constable to pull down thy sign, and do't before i eat." and the decayed vinter, who afterwards applies to wellborn for payment of his tavern score, answers, on his inquiring who he is: "a decay'd vintner, sir; that might have thriv'd, but that your worship broke me with trusting you with muscadine and eggs, and _five-pound suppers_, with your after-drinkings, when you lodged upon the bankside." dekker tells us, near this time, of regular ordinaries of three kinds: st. an ordinary of the longest reckoning, whither most of your courtly gallants do resort: nd. a twelvepenny ordinary, frequented by the justice of the peace, a young knight; and a threepenny ordinary, to which your london usurer, your stale bachelor, and your thrifty attorney, doth resort. then dekker tells us of a custom, especially in the city, to send presents of wine from one room to another, as a complimentary mark of friendship. "inquire," directs he, "what gallants sup in the next room; and if they be of your acquaintance, do not, after the city fashion, send them in a pottle of wine and your name." then, we read of master brook sending to the castle inn at windsor, a morning draught of sack. ned ward, in the _london spy_, , describes several famous taverns, and among them the rose, anciently, the rose and crown, as famous for good wine. "there was no parting," he says, "without a glass; so we went into the rose tavern in the poultry, where the wine, according to its merit, had justly gained a reputation; and there, in a snug room, warmed with brash and faggot, over a quart of good claret, we laughed over our night's adventure." "from hence, pursuant to my friend's inclination, we adjourned to the sign of the angel, in fenchurch-street, where the vintner, like a double-dealing citizen, condescended as well to draw carmen's comfort as the consolatory juice of the vine. "having at the king's head well freighted the hold of our vessels with excellent food and delicious wine, at a small expense, we scribbled the following lines with chalk upon the wall." (see page .) the tapster was a male vendor, not "a woman who had the care of the tap," as tyrwhitt states. in the th century ballad, _the times_, occurs: "the bar-boyes and the tapsters leave drawing of their beere, and running forth in haste they cry, 'see, where mull'd sack comes here!'" the ancient drawers and tapsters were now superseded by the barmaid, and a number of waiters: ward describes the barmaid as "all ribbon, lace, and feathers, and making such a noise with her bell and her tongue together, that had half-a-dozen paper-mills been at work within three yards of her, they'd have signified no more to her clamorous voice than so many lutes to a drum, which alarmed two or three nimble fellows aloft, who shot themselves downstairs with as much celerity as a mountebank's mercury upon a rope from the top of a church-steeple, every one charged with a mouthful of coming, coming, coming." the barmaid (generally the vintner's daughter) is described as "bred at the dancing-school, becoming a bar well, stepping a minuet finely, playing sweetly on the virginals, 'john come kiss me now, now, now,' and as proud as she was handsome." tom brown sketches a flirting barmaid of the same time, "as a fine lady that stood pulling a rope, and screaming like a peacock against rainy weather, pinned up by herself in a little pew, all people bowing to her as they passed by, as if she was a goddess set up to be worshipped, armed with the chalk and sponge, (which are the principal badges that belong to that honourable station you beheld her in,) was the _barmaid_." of the nimbleness of the waiters, ward says in another place--"that the chief use he saw in the monument was, for the improvement of vintners' boys and drawers, who came every week to exercise their supporters, and learn the tavern trip, by running up to the balcony and down again." owen swan, at the black swan tavern, bartholomew lane, is thus apostrophized by tom brown for the goodness of his wine:-- "thee, _owen_, since the god of wine has made thee steward of the gay carousing trade, whose art decaying nature still supplies, warms the faint pulse, and sparkles in our eyes. be bountiful like him, bring t'other _flask_, were the stairs wider we would have the _cask_. this pow'r we from the god of wine derive, draw such as this, and i'll pronounce thou'lt live." the bear at the bridge foot. this celebrated tavern, situated in southwark, on the west side of the foot of london bridge, opposite the end of st. olave's or tooley-street, was a house of considerable antiquity. we read in the accounts of the steward of sir john howard, march th, - (edward iv.), "item, payd for red wyn at the bere in southwerke, iij_d._" garrard, in a letter to lord strafford, dated intimates that "all back-doors to taverns on the thames are commanded to be shut up, only the bear at bridge foot is exempted, by reason of the passage to greenwich," which mr. burn suspects to have been "the avenue or way called bear alley." the cavaliers' ballad on the funeral pageant of admiral deane, killed june nd, , while passing by water to henry the seventh's chapel, westminster, has the following allusion:-- "from greenwich towards the bear at bridge foot, he was wafted with wind that had water to't, but i think they brought the devil to boot, which nobody can deny." pepys was told by a waterman, going through the bridge, th feb. - , that the mistress of the beare tavern, at the bridge foot, "did lately fling herself into the thames, and drown herself." the bear must have been a characterless house, for among its gallantries was the following, told by wycherley to major pack, "just for the oddness of the thing." it was this: "there was a house at the bridge foot where persons of better condition used to resort for pleasure and privacy. the liquor the ladies and their lovers used to drink at these meetings was canary; and among other compliments the gentlemen paid their mistresses, this it seems was always one, to take hold of the bottom of their smocks, and pouring the wine through that filter, feast their imaginations with the thought of what gave the zesto, and so drink a health to the toast." the bear tavern was taken down in december, , when the labourers found gold and silver coins, of the time of elizabeth, to a considerable value. the wall that enclosed the tavern was not cleared away until , when the ground was cleared and levelled quite up to pepper alley stairs. there is a token of the bear tavern, in the beaufoy cabinet, which, with other rare southwark tokens, was found under the floors in taking down st. olave's grammar school in . mermaid taverns. the celebrated mermaid, in bread-street, with the history of "the mermaid club," has been described in vol. i. pp. - ; its interest centres in this famous company of wits. there was another mermaid, in cheapside, next to paul's gate, and still another in cornhill. of the latter we find in burn's beaufoy catalogue, that the vintner, buried in st. peter's, cornhill, in , "gave forty shillings yearly to the parson for preaching four sermons every year, so long as the lease of the mermaid, in cornhill, (the tavern so called,) should endure. he also gave to the poor of the said parish thirteen penny loaves every sunday, during the aforesaid lease." there are tokens of both these taverns in the beaufoy collection. the boar's head tavern. this celebrated shakspearean tavern was situated in great eastcheap, and is first mentioned in the time of richard ii.; the scene of the revels of falstaff and henry v., when prince of wales, in shakspeare's henry iv., part . stow relates a riot in "the cooks' dwellings" here on st. john's eve, , by princes john and thomas. the tavern was destroyed in the great fire of , but was rebuilt in two years, as attested by a boar's head cut in stone, with the initials of the landlord, i. t., and the date , above the first-floor window. this sign-stone is now in the guildhall library. the house stood between small-alley and st. michael's-lane, and in the rear looked upon st. michael's churchyard, where was buried a _drawer_, or waiter, at the tavern, d. : in the church was interred john rhodoway, "vintner at the bore's head," . maitland, in , mentions the boar's head, as "the chief tavern in london" under the sign. goldsmith (_essays_), boswell (_life of dr. johnson_), and washington irving (_sketch-book_), have idealized the house as the identical place which falstaff frequented, forgetting its destruction in the great fire. the site of the boar's head is very nearly that of the statue of king william iv. in , mr. kempe, f.s.a., exhibited to the society of antiquaries a carved oak figure of sir john falstaff, in the costume of the th century; it had supported an ornamental bracket over one side of the door of the boar's head, a figure of prince henry sustaining that on the other. the falstaff was the property of one shelton, a brazier, whose ancestors had lived in the shop he then occupied in great eastcheap, since the great fire. he well remembered the last shakspearean grand dinner-party at the boar's head, about : at an earlier party, mr. wilberforce was present. a boar's head, with tusks, which had been suspended in a room of the tavern, perhaps the half-moon or pomegranate, (see henry iv. act ii. sc. ,) at the great fire, fell down with the ruins of the house, and was conveyed to whitechapel mount, where, many years after, it was recovered, and identified with its former locality. at a public house, no. , miles-lane, was long preserved a tobacco-box, with a painting of the original boar's head tavern on the lid.[ ] in high-street, southwark, in the rear of nos. and , was formerly the _boar's head inn_, part of sir john falstolf's benefaction to magdalen college, oxford. sir john was one of the bravest generals in the french wars, under the fourth, fifth, and sixth henries; but he is not the falstaff of shakspeare. in the _reliquiæ hearnianæ_, edited by dr. bliss, is the following entry relative to this bequest:-- " . june .--the reason why they cannot give so good an account of the benefaction of sir john fastolf to magd. coll. is, because he gave it to the founder, and left it to his management, so that 'tis suppos'd 'twas swallow'd up in his own estate that he settled it upon the college. however, the college knows this, that the _boar's head_ in southwark, which was then an inn, and still retains the name, tho' divided into several tenements (which bring the college about _l._ per ann.), was part of sir john's gift." the above property was for many years sublet to the family of the author of the present work, at the rent of _l._ per annum; the cellar, finely vaulted, and excellent for wine, extended beneath the entire court, consisting of two rows of tenements, and two end houses, with galleries, the entrance being from the high-street. the premises were taken down for the new london bridge approaches. there was also a noted boar's head in old fish-street. can he forget who has read goldsmith's nineteenth essay, his reverie at the boar's head?--when, having confabulated with the landlord till long after "the watchman had gone twelve," and suffused in the potency of his wine a mutation in his ideas, of the person of the host into that of dame quickly, mistress of the tavern in the days of sir john, is promptly effected, and the liquor they were drinking seemed shortly converted into sack and sugar. mrs. quickly's recital of the history of herself and doll tearsheet, whose frailties in the flesh caused their being both sent to the house of correction, charged with having allowed the famed boar's head to become a low brothel; her speedy departure to the world of spirits; and falstaff's impertinences as affecting madame proserpine; are followed by an enumeration of persons who had held tenancy of the house since her time. the last hostess of note was, according to goldsmith's account, jane rouse, who, having unfortunately quarrelled with one of her neighbours, a woman of high repute in the parish for sanctity, but as jealous as chaucer's wife of bath, was by her accused of witchcraft, taken from her own bar, condemned, and executed accordingly!--these were times, indeed, when women could not scold in safety. these and other prudential apophthegms on the part of dame quickly, seem to have dissolved goldsmith's stupor of ideality; on his awaking, the landlord is really the landlord, and not the hostess of a former day, when "falstaff was in fact an agreeable old fellow, forgetting age, and showing the way to be young at sixty-five. age, care, wisdom, reflection, begone! i give you to the winds. let's have t'other bottle. here's to the memory of shakspeare, falstaff, and all the merry men of eastcheap."[ ] footnotes: [ ] this negatives a belief common in our day that a covent garden tavern was the first divided into rooms for guests. [ ] a successor of francis, a waiter at the boar's head, in the last century, had a tablet with an inscription in st. michael's crooked-lane churchyard, just at the back of the tavern; setting forth that he died, "drawer at the boar's head tavern, in great eastcheap," and was noted for his honesty and sobriety; in that-- "tho' nurs'd among full hogsheads he defied the charms of wine, as well as others' pride." he also practised the singular virtue of drawing good wine and of taking care to "fill his pots," as appears by the closing lines of the inscription:-- "ye that on bacchus have a like dependance, pray copy bob in measure and attendance.'" [ ] _curiosities of london_, p. . [ ] _burn's catalogue of the beaufoy tokens._ three cranes in the vintry. this was one of ben jonson's taverns, and has already been incidentally mentioned. strype describes it as situate in "new queen-street, commonly called the three cranes in the vintry, a good open street, especially that part next cheapside, which is best built and inhabited. at the lowest end of the street, next the thames, is a pair of stairs, the usual place for the lord mayor and aldermen to take water at, to go to westminster hall, for the new lord mayor to be sworn before the barons of the exchequer. this place, with the three cranes, is now of some account for the costermongers, where they have their warehouse for their fruit." in scott's _kenilworth_ we hear much of this tavern. london stone tavern. this tavern, situated in cannon-street, near the stone, is stated, but not correctly, to have been the oldest in london. here was formed a society, afterwards the famous robin hood, of which the history was published in , where it is stated to have originated in a meeting of the editor's grandfather with the great sir hugh myddelton, of new river memory. king charles ii. was introduced to the society, disguised, by sir hugh, and the king liked it so well, that he came thrice afterwards. "he had," continues the narrative, "a piece of black silk over his left cheek, which almost covered it; and his eyebrows, which were quite black, he had, by some artifice or other, converted to a light brown, or rather flaxen colour; and had otherwise disguised himself so effectually in his apparel and his looks, that nobody knew him but sir hugh, by whom he was introduced." this is very circumstantial, but is very doubtful; since sir hugh myddelton died when charles was in his tenth year. the robin hood. mr. akerman describes a token of the robin hood tavern:--"iohn thomlinson at the. an archer fitting an arrow to his bow; a small figure behind, holding an arrow.--rx. in chiswell street, . in the centre, his halfe penny, and i. s. t." mr. akerman continues: "it is easy to perceive what is intended by the representation on the obverse of this token. though 'little john,' we are told, stood upwards of six good english feet without his shoes, he is here depicted to suit the popular humour--a dwarf in size, compared with his friend and leader, the bold outlaw. the proximity of chiswell-street to finsbury-fields may have led to the adoption of the sign, which was doubtless at a time when archery was considered an elegant as well as an indispensable accomplishment of an english gentleman. it is far from obsolete now, as several low public-houses and beer-shops in the vicinity of london testify. one of them exhibits robin hood and his companion dressed in the most approved style of 'astley's,' and underneath the group is the following irresistible invitation to slake your thirst:-- "ye archers bold and yeomen good, stop and drink with robin hood: if robin hood is not at home, stop and drink with little john. "our london readers could doubtless supply the variorum copies of this elegant distich, which, as this is an age for 'family shakspeares,' modernized chaucers, and new versions of 'robin hood's garland,' we recommend to the notice of the next editor of the ballads in praise of the sherwood freebooter." pontack's, abchurch lane. after the destruction of the white bear tavern, in the great fire of , the proximity of the site for all purposes of business, induced m. pontack, the son of the president of bordeaux, owner of a famous claret district, to establish a tavern, with all the novelties of french cookery, with his father's head as a sign, whence it was popularly called "pontack's head." the dinners were from four or five shillings a head "to a guinea, or what sum you pleased." swift frequented the tavern, and writes to stella:--"pontack told us, although his wine was so good, he sold it cheaper than others; he took but seven shillings a flask. are not these pretty rates?" in the _hind and panther transversed_, we read of drawers:-- "sure these honest fellows have no knack of putting off stum'd claret for pontack." the fellows of the royal society dined at pontack's until , when they removed to the devil tavern. there is a token of the white bear in the beaufoy collection; and mr. burn tells us, from _metamorphoses of the town_, a rare tract, , of pontack's "guinea ordinary," "ragout of fatted snails," and "chickens not two hours from the shell." in january, , mrs. susannah austin, who lately kept pontack's, and had acquired a considerable fortune, was married to william pepys, banker, in lombard-street. pope's head tavern. this noted tavern, which gave name to pope's head alley, leading from cornhill to lombard-street, is mentioned as early as the th edward iv. ( ) in the account of a wager between an alicant goldsmith and an english goldsmith; the alicant stranger contending in the tavern that "englishmen were not so cunning in workmanship of goldsmithry as alicant strangers;" when work was produced by both, and the englishman gained the wager. the tavern was left in , by sir william craven to the merchant tailors' company. pepys refers to "the fine painted room" here in - . in the tavern, april , , quin, the actor, killed in self-defence, his fellow-comedian, bowen, a clever but hot-headed irishman, who was jealous of quin's reputation: in a moment of great anger, he sent for quin to the tavern, and as soon as he had entered the room, bowen placed his back against the door, drew his sword, and bade quin draw his. quin, having mildly remonstrated to no purpose, drew in his own defence, and endeavoured to disarm his antagonist. bowen received a wound, of which he died in three days, having acknowledged his folly and madness, when the loss of blood had reduced him to reason. quin was tried and acquitted. (_cunningham, abridged._) the pope's head tavern was in existence in . the old swan, thames-street, was more than five hundred years ago a house for public entertainment: for, in , edw. ii., rose wrytell bequeathed "the tenement of olde tyme called the swanne on the hope in thames-street," in the parish of st. mary-at-hill, to maintain a priest at the altar of st. edmund, king and martyr, "for her soul, and the souls of her husband, her father, and mother:" and the purposes of her bequest were established; for, in the parish book, in , is entered a disbursement of fourpence, "for a cresset to rose wrytell's chantry." eleanor cobham, duchess of gloucester, in , in her public penance for witchcraft and treason, landed at old swan, bearing a large taper, her feet bare, etc. stow, in , mentions the old swan as a great brew-house. taylor, the water-poet, advertised the professor and author of the barmoodo and vtopian tongues, dwelling "at the old swanne, neare london bridge, who will teach them at are willing to learne, with agility and facility." in the scurrilous cavalier ballad of admiral deane's funeral, by water, from greenwich to westminster, in june, , it is said:-- "the old swan, as he passed by, said she would sing him a dirge, lye down and die: wilt thou sing to a bit of a body? quoth i, which nobody can deny." the old swan tavern and its landing-stairs were destroyed in the great fire; but rebuilt. its token, in the beaufoy collection, is one of the rarest, of large size. cock tavern, threadneedle-street. this noted house, which faced the north gate of the old royal exchange, was long celebrated for the excellence of its soups, which were served at an economical price, in silver. one of its proprietors was, it is believed, john ellis, an eccentric character, and a writer of some reputation, who died in . eight stanzas addressed to him in praise of the tavern, commenced thus:-- "when to ellis i write, i in verse must indite, come phoebus, and give me a knock, for on fryday at eight, all behind 'the 'change gate,' master ellis will be at 'the cock.'" after comparing it to other houses, the pope's head, the king's arms, the black swan, and the fountain, and declaring the cock the best, it ends: "'tis time to be gone, for the 'change has struck one: o 'tis an impertinent clock! for with ellis i'd stay from december to may; i'll stick to my friend, and 'the cock!'" this house was taken down in ; when, in a claim for compensation made by the proprietor, the trade in three years was proved to have been , basins of various soups--viz. , mock turtle, , giblet, , ox-tail, , bouilli, , gravy and other soups: sometimes basins of soup were sold in a day. crown tavern, threadneedle-street. upon the site of the present chief entrance to the bank of england, in threadneedle-street, stood the crown tavern, "behind the 'change:" it was frequented by the fellows of the royal society, when they met at gresham college hard by. the crown was burnt in the great fire, but was rebuilt; and about a century since, at this tavern, "it was not unusual to draw a butt of mountain wine, containing gallons, in gills, in a morning."--_sir john hawkins._ behind the change, we read in the _connoisseur_, , a man worth a plum used to order a twopenny mess of broth with a boiled chop in it; placing the chop between the two crusts of a half-penny roll, he would wrap it up in his check handkerchief, and carry it away for the morrow's dinner. the king's head tavern, in the poultry. this tavern, which stood at the western extremity of the stocks' market, was not first known by the sign of the king's head, but the rose: machin, in his diary, jan. , , thus mentions it: "a gentleman arrested for debt; master cobham, with divers gentlemen and serving-men, took him from the officers, and carried him to the rose tavern, where so great a fray, both the sheriffs were feign to come, and from the rose tavern took all the gentlemen and their servants, and carried them to the compter." the house was distinguished by the device of a large, well-painted rose, erected over a doorway, which was the only indication in the main street of such an establishment. in the superior houses of the metropolis in the sixteenth century, room was gained in the rear of the street-line, the space in front being economized, so that the line of shops might not be interrupted. upon this plan, the larger taverns in the city were constructed, wherever the ground was sufficiently spacious behind: hence it was that the poultry tavern of which we are speaking, was approached through a long, narrow, covered passage, opening into a well-lighted quadrangle, around which were the tavern-rooms. the sign of the rose appears to have been a costly work, since there was the fragment of a leaf of an old account-book preserved, when the ruins of the house were cleared after the great fire, on which were written these entries:--"pd. to hoggestreete, the duche paynter, for ye picture of a rose, with a standing-bowle and glasses, for a signe, xx_li._ besides diners and drinkings. also for a large table of walnut-tree, for a frame; and for iron-worke and hanging the picture, v_li._" the artist who is referred to in this memorandum, could be no other than samuel van hoogstraten, a painter of the middle of the seventeenth century, whose works in england are very rare. he was one of the many excellent artists of the period, who, as walpole contemptuously says, "painted still-life, oranges and lemons, plate, damask curtains, cloth-of-gold, and that medley of familiar objects that strike the ignorant vulgar." but, beside the claims of the painter, the sign of the rose cost the worthy tavern-keeper, a still further outlay, in the form of divers treatings and advances made to a certain rather loose man of letters of his acquaintance, possessed of more wit than money, and of more convivial loyalty than either discretion or principle. master roger blythe frequently patronized the rose tavern as his favourite ordinary. like falstaff, he was "an infinite thing" upon his host's score; and, like his prototype also, there was no probability of his ever discharging the account. when the tavern-sign was about to be erected, this master blythe contributed the poetry to it, after the fashion of the time, which he swore was the envy of all the rose taverns in london, and of all the poets who frequented them. "there's your rose at temple bar, and your rose in covent-garden, and the rose in southwark: all of them indifferent good for wits, and for drawing neat wines too; but, smite me, master king," he would say, "if i know one of them all fit to be set in the same hemisphere with yours! no! for a bountiful host, a most sweet mistress, unsophisticated wines, honest measures, a choicely-painted sign, and a witty verse to set it forth withal,--commend me to the rose tavern in the poultry!" even the tavern-door exhibited a joyous frontispiece; since the entrance was flanked by two columns twisted with vines carved in wood, which supported a small square gallery over the portico surrounded by handsome iron-work. on the front of this gallery was erected the sign, in a frame of similar ornaments. it consisted of a central compartment containing the rose, behind which appeared a tall silver cup, called in the language of the time "a standing-bowl," with drinking-glasses. beneath the painting was this inscription:-- "this is the rose taverne in the poultrey: kept by william king, citizen and vintner. "this taverne's like its signe--a lustie rose, a sight of joy that sweetness doth enclose: the daintie flow're well-pictur'd here is seene, but for its rarest sweetes--come, searche within!" the authorities of st. peter-upon-cornhill soon determined, on the th of may, , in vestry, "that the king's arms, in painted-glass, should be refreshed, and forthwith be set up by the churchwarden at the parish-charges; with whatsoever he giveth to the glazier as a gratuity, for his care in keeping of them all this while." the host of the rose resolved at once to add a crown to his sign, with the portrait of charles, wearing it in the centre of the flower, and openly to name his tavern "the royal rose and king's head." he effected his design, partly by the aid of one of the many excellent pencils which the time supplied, and partly by the inventive muse of master blythe, which soon furnished him with a new poesy. there is not any further information extant concerning the painting, but the following remains of an entry on another torn fragment of the old account-book already mentioned, seem to refer to the poetical inscription beneath the picture:-- ... "_on ye night when he made ye verses for my new signe, a soper, and v. peeces_." the verses themselves were as follow:-- "gallants, rejoice!--this flow're is now full-blowne; 'tis a rose--noble better'd by a crowne; all you who love the embleme and the signe, enter, and prove our loyaltie and wine." beside this inscription, master king also recorded the auspicious event referred to, by causing his painter to introduce into the picture a broad-sheet, as if lying on the table with the cup and glasses--on which appeared the title "_a kalendar for this happy yeare of restauration , now newly imprinted_." as the time advanced when charles was to make his entry into the metropolis, the streets were resounding with the voices of ballad-singers pouring forth loyal songs, and declaring, with the whole strength of their lungs, that "the king shall enjoy his own again." then, there were also to be heard, the ceaseless horns and proclamations of hawkers and flying-stationers, publishing the latest passages or rumours touching the royal progress; which, whether genuine or not, were bought and read, and circulated, by all parties. at length all the previous pamphlets and broad-sheets were swallowed up by a well-known tract, still extant, which the newsmen of the time thus proclaimed:--"here is _a true accompt and narrative--of his majestie's safe arrival in england--as 'twas reported to the house of commons, on friday, the th day of this present may--with the resolutions of both houses thereupon:--also a letter very lately writ from dover--relating divers remarkable passages of his majestie's reception there_." on every side the signs and iron-work were either refreshed, or newly gilt and painted: tapestries and rich hangings, which had engendered moth and decay from long disuse, were flung abroad again, that they might be ready to grace the coming pageant. the paving of the streets was levelled and repaired for the expected cavalcade; and scaffolds for spectators were in the course of erection throughout all the line of march. floods of all sorts of wines were consumed, as well in the streets as in the taverns; and endless healths were devotedly and energetically swallowed, at morning, noon, and night. at this time mistress rebecca king was about to add another member to master king's household: she received from hour to hour accounts of the proceedings as they occurred, which so stimulated her curiosity, that she declared, first to her gossips, and then to her husband, that she "must see the king pass the tavern, or matters might go cross with her." a kind of arbour was made for mistress rebecca in the small iron gallery surmounting the entrance to the tavern. this arbour was of green boughs and flowers, hung round with tapestry and garnished with silver plate; and here, when the guns at the tower announced that charles had entered london, mistress king took her seat, with her children and gossips around her. all the houses in the main streets from london-bridge to whitehall, were decorated like the tavern with rich silks and tapestries, hung from every scaffold, balcony, and window; which, as herrick says, turned the town into a park, "made green and trimmed with boughs." the road through london, so far as temple-bar, was lined on the north side by the city companies, dressed in their liveries, and ranged in their respective stands, with their banners; and on the south by the soldiers of the trained-bands. one of the wine conduits stood on the south side of the stocks' market, over which sir robert viner subsequently erected a triumphal statue of charles ii. about this spot, therefore, the crowd collected in the market-place, aided by the fierce loyalty supplied from the conduit, appears for a time to have brought the procession to a full stop, at the moment when charles, who rode between his brothers the dukes of york and gloucester, was nearly opposite to the newly-named king's head tavern. in this most favourable interval, master blythe, who stood upon a scaffold in the doorway, took the opportunity of elevating a silver cup of wine and shouting out a health to his majesty. his energetical action, as he pointed upwards to the gallery, was not lost; and the duke of buckingham, who rode immediately before the king with general monk, directed charles's attention to mistress rebecca, saying, "your majesty's return is here welcomed even by a subject as yet unborn." as the procession passed by the door of the king's head tavern, the king turned towards it, raised himself in his stirrups, and gracefully kissed his hand to mistress rebecca. immediately such a shout was raised from all who beheld it or heard of it, as startled the crowd up to cheapside conduit; and threw the poor woman herself into such an ecstasy, that she was not conscious of anything more, until she was safe in her chamber and all danger happily over.[ ] the tavern was rebuilt after the great fire, and flourished many years. it was long a depôt in the metropolis for turtle; and in the quadrangle of the tavern might be seen scores of turtle, large and lively, in huge tanks of water; or laid upward on the stone floor, ready for their destination. the tavern was also noted for large dinners of the city companies and other public bodies. the house was refitted in , but has since been closed. another noted poultry tavern was the three cranes, destroyed in the great fire, but rebuilt, and noticed in , in one of the many paper controversies of that day. a fulminating pamphlet, entitled "_ecclesia et factio_: a dialogue between bow church steeple and the exchange grasshopper," elicited "an answer to the dragon and grasshopper: in a dialogue between an old monkey and a young weasel, at the three cranes tavern, in the poultry." footnote: [ ] abridged from an account of the tavern, by an antiquary. the mitre, in wood street, was a noted old tavern. pepys, in his _diary_, sept. , , records his going "to the mitre tavern, in wood-street, (a house of the greatest note in london,) where i met w. symons, d. scoball, and their wives. here some of us fell to handicap, a sport i never knew before, which was very good." the tavern was destroyed in the great fire. the salutation and cat tavern, no. , newgate-street (north side), was, according to the tradition of the house, the tavern where sir christopher wren used to smoke his pipe, whilst st. paul's was re-building. there is more positive evidence of its being a place well frequented by men of letters at the above period. thus, there exists a poetical invitation to a social feast held here on june , - , issued by the two stewards, edward cave and william bowyer: "saturday, jan. , - . "sir, "you're desir'd on monday next to meet at salutation tavern, newgate-street. supper will be on table just at eight, [_stewards_] one of st. john's [bowyer], 'tother of st. john's gate [cave]." this brought a poetical answer from samuel richardson, the novelist, printed _in extenso_ in bowyer's _anecdotes_: "for me, i'm much concerned i cannot meet 'at salutation tavern, newgate-street.' your notice, like your verse, so sweet and short! if longer, i'd sincerely thank you for it. howe'er, receive my wishes, sons of verse! may every man who meets, your praise rehearse! may mirth, as plenty, crown your cheerful board, and ev'ry one part happy--as a lord! that when at home, (by such sweet verses fir'd) your families may think you all inspir'd. so wishes he, who pre-engag'd, can't know the pleasures that would from your meeting flow." the proper sign is the salutation and cat,--a curious combination, but one which is explained by a lithograph, which some years ago hung in the coffee-room. an aged dandy is saluting a friend whom he has met in the street, and offering him a pinch out of the snuff-box which forms the top of his wood-like cane. this box-nob was, it appears, called a "cat"--hence the connection of terms apparently so foreign to each other. some, not aware of this explanation, have accounted for the sign by supposing that a tavern called "the cat" was at some time pulled down, and its trade carried to the salutation, which thenceforward joined the sign to its own; but this is improbable, seeing that we have never heard of _any_ tavern called "the cat" (although we _do_ know of "the barking dogs") as a sign. neither does the _salutation_ take its name from any scriptural or sacred source, as the _angel and trumpets_, etc. more positive evidence there is to show of the "little smoky room at the _salutation and cat_," where coleridge and charles lamb sat smoking oronoko and drinking egg-hot; the first discoursing of his idol, bowles, and the other rejoicing mildly in cowper and burns, or both dreaming of "pantisocracy, and golden days to come on earth." "salutation" taverns. the sign salutation, from scriptural or sacred source, remains to be explained. mr. akerman suspects the original sign to have really represented the salutation of the virgin by the angel--"ave maria, gratia plena"--a well-known legend on the jettons of the middle ages. the change of representation was properly accommodated to the times. the taverns at that period were the "gossiping shops" of the neighbourhood; and both puritan and churchman frequented them for the sake of hearing the news. the puritans loved the good things of this world, and relished a cup of canary, or noll's nose lied, holding the maxim-- "though the devil trepan the adamical man, the saint stands uninfected." hence, perhaps, the salutation of the virgin was exchanged for the "booin' and scrapin'" scene (two men bowing and greeting), represented on a token which still exists, the tavern was celebrated in the days of queen elizabeth. in some old black-letter doggrel, entitled _news from bartholemew fayre_ it is mentioned for wine:-- "there hath been great sale and utterance of wine, besides beere, and ale, and ipocras fine; in every country, region, and nation, but chiefly in billingsgate, _at the salutation_." _the flower-pot_ was originally part of a symbol of the annunciation to the virgin. queen's arms, st. paul's churchyard. garrick appears to have kept up his interest in the city by means of clubs, to which he paid periodical visits. we have already mentioned the club of young merchants, at tom's coffee-house, in cornhill. another club was held at the queen's arms tavern, in st. paul's churchyard, where used to assemble: mr. samuel sharpe, the surgeon; mr. paterson, the city solicitor; mr. draper, the bookseller; mr. clutterbuck, the mercer; and a few others. sir john hawkins tells us that "they were none of them drinkers, and in order to make a reckoning, called only for french wine." these were garrick's standing council in theatrical affairs. at the queen's arms, after a thirty years' interval, johnson renewed his intimacy with some of the members of his old ivy-lane club. brasbridge, the old silversmith of fleet-street, was a member of the sixpenny card-club held at the queen's arms: among the members was henry baldwyn, who, under the auspices of bonnel thornton, colman the elder, and garrick, set up the _st. james's chronicle_, which once had the largest circulation of any evening paper. this worthy newspaper-proprietor was considerate and generous to men of genius: "often," says brasbridge, "at his hospitable board i have seen needy authors, and others connected with his employment, whose abilities, ill-requited as they might have been by the world in general, were by him always appreciated." among brasbridge's acquaintance, also, were john walker, shopman to a grocer and chandler in well-street, ragfair, who died worth , _l._, most assuredly not gained by lending money on doubtful security; and ben kenton, brought up at a charity-school, and who realized , _l._, partly at the magpie and crown, in whitechapel. dolly's, paternoster row. this noted tavern, established in the reign of queen anne, has for its sign, the cook dolly, who is stated to have been painted by gainsborough. it is still a well-appointed chop-house and tavern, and the coffee-room, with its projecting fireplaces, has an olden air. nearly on the site of dolly's, tarlton, queen elizabeth's favourite stage-clown, kept an ordinary, with the sign of the castle. the house, of which a token exists, was destroyed in the great fire, but was rebuilt; there the "castle society of music" gave their performances. part of the old premises were subsequently the oxford bible warehouse, destroyed by fire in , and rebuilt. the entrance to the chop-house is in queen's head passage; and at dolly's is a window-pane painted with the head of queen anne, which may explain the name of the court. at dolly's and horsman's beef-steaks were eaten with gill-ale. aldersgate taverns. two early houses of entertainment in aldersgate were the taborer's inn and the crown. of the former, stated to have been of the time of edward ii., we know nothing but the name. the crown, more recent, stood at the end of duck-lane, and is described in ward's _london spy_, as containing a noble room, painted by fuller, with the muses, the judgment of paris, the contention of ajax and ulysses, etc. "we were conducted by the jolly master," says ward, "a true kinsman of the bacchanalian family, into a large stately room, where at the first entrance, i discerned the master-strokes of the famed fuller's pencil; the whole room painted by that commanding hand, that his dead figures appeared with such lively majesty that they begat reverence in the spectators towards the awful shadows. we accordingly bade the complaisant waiter oblige us with a quart of his richest claret, such as was fit only to be drank in the presence of such heroes, into whose company he had done us the honour to introduce us. he thereupon gave directions to his drawer, who returned with a quart of such inspiring juice, that we thought ourselves translated into one of the houses of the heavens, and were there drinking immortal nectar with the gods and goddesses: "who could such blessings when thus found resign? an honest vintner faithful to the vine; a spacious room, good paintings, and good wine." far more celebrated was the mourning bush tavern, in the cellars of which have been traced the massive foundations of aldersgate, and the portion of the city wall which adjoins them. this tavern, one of the largest and most ancient in london, has a curious history. the bush tavern, its original name, took for its sign the _ivy-bush_ hung up at the door. it is believed to have been the house referred to by stowe, as follows:--"this gate (aldersgate) hath been at sundry times increased with building; namely, on the south or _inner side_, a great frame of timber, (or house of wood lathed and plastered,) hath been added and set up containing divers large rooms and lodgings," which were an enlargement of the bush. fosbroke mentions the bush as the chief sign of taverns in the middle ages, (it being ready to hand,) and so it continued until superseded by "a thing to resemble one containing three or four tiers of hoops fastened one above another with vine leaves and grapes, richly carved and gilt." he adds: "the owner of the mourning bush, aldersgate, was so affected at the decollation of charles i., that he _painted his bush black_." from this period the house is scarcely mentioned until the year , when we find its name changed to the fountain, whether from political feeling against the then exiled house of stuart, or the whim of the proprietor, we cannot learn; though it is thought to have reference to a spring on the east side of the gate. tom brown mentions the fountain satirically, with four or five topping taverns of the day, whose landlords are charged with doctoring their wines, but whose trade was so great that they stood fair for the alderman's gown. and, in a letter from an old vintner in the city to one newly set up in covent garden, we find the following in the way of advice: "as all the world are wholly supported by hard and unintelligible names, you must take care to christen your wines by some hard name, the further fetched so much the better, and this policy will serve to recommend the most execrable scum in your cellar. i could name several of our brethren to you, who now stand fair to sit in the seat of justice, and sleep in their golden chain at churches, that had been forced to knock off long ago, if it had not been for this artifice. it saved the sun from being eclipsed; the crown from being abdicated; the rose from decaying; and the fountain from being dry; as well as both the devils from being confined to utter darkness." twenty years later, in a large plan of aldersgate ward, - , we find the fountain changed to the original bush. the fire of london had evidently, at this time, curtailed the ancient extent of the tavern. the exterior is shown in a print of the south side of aldersgate; it has the character of the larger houses, built after the great fire, and immediately adjoins the gate. the last notice of the bush, as a place of entertainment, occurs in maitland's _history of london_, ed. , where it is described as "the fountain, commonly called the mourning bush, which has a back door into st. anne's-lane, and is situated near unto aldersgate." the house was refitted in . in the basement are the original wine-vaults of the old bush; many of the walls are six feet thick, and bonded throughout with roman brick. a very agreeable account of the tavern and the antiquities of neighbourhood was published in . "the mourning crown." in phoenix alley, (now hanover court,) long acre, john taylor, the water poet, kept a tavern, with the sign of "the mourning crown," but this being offensive to the commonwealth ( ), he substituted for a sign his own head with this inscription-- "there's many a head stands for a sign; then, gentle reader, why not mine?" he died here in the following year; and his widow in . jerusalem taverns, clerkenwell. these houses took their name from the knights of st. john of jerusalem, around whose priory, grew up the village of clerkenwell. the priory gate remains. at the suppression, the priory was undermined, and blown up with gunpowder; the gate also would probably have been destroyed, but for its serving to define the property. in , it was granted to sir roger wilbraham for his life. at this time clerkenwell was inhabited by people of condition. forty years later, fashion had travelled westward; and the gate became the printing-office of edward cave, who, in , published here the first number of the _gentleman's magazine_, which to this day bears the gate for its vignette. dr. johnson was first engaged upon the magazine here by cave in . at the gate johnson first met richard savage; and here in cave's room, when visitors called, he ate his plate of victuals behind the screen, his dress being "so shabby that he durst not make his appearance." garrick, when first he came to london, frequently called upon johnson at the gate. goldsmith was also a visitor here. when cave grew rich, he had st. john's gate painted, instead of his arms, on his carriage, and engraven on his plate. after cave's death in , the premises became the "jerusalem" public-house, and the "jerusalem tavern." there was likewise another jerusalem tavern, at the corner of red lion-street on clerkenwell-green, which was the original; st. john's gate public-house, having assumed the name of "jerusalem tavern" in consequence of the old house on the green giving up the tavern business, and becoming the "merchants' house." in its dank and cobwebbed vaults john britton served an apprenticeship to a wine-merchant; and in reading at intervals by candle-light, first evinced that love of literature which characterized his long life of industry and integrity. he remembered clerkenwell in , with st. john's priory-church and cloisters; when spafields were pasturage for cows; the old garden-mansions of the aristocracy remained in clerkenwell-close; and sadler's wells, islington spa, merlin's cave, and bagnigge wells, were nightly crowded with gay company. in a friendly note, sept. , , mr. britton tells us: "our house sold wines in _full_ quarts, _i.e._ twelve held three gallons, wine measure; and each bottle was marked with four lines cut by a diamond on the neck. our wines were famed, and the character of the house was high, whence the gate imitated the bottles and name." in , by the aid of "the freemasons of the church," and mr. w. p. griffith, architect, the north and south fronts were restored. the gateway is a good specimen of groining of the th century, with moulded ribs, and bosses ornamented with shields of the arms of the priory, prior docwra, etc. the east basement is the tavern-bar, with a beautifully moulded ceiling. the stairs are elizabethan. the principal room over the arch has been despoiled of its window-mullions and groined roof. the foundation-wall of the gate face is feet inches thick, and the upper walls are nearly feet, hard red brick, stone-cased: the view from the top of the staircase-turret is extensive. in excavating there have been discovered the original pavement, three feet below the gate; and the priory walls, north, south, and west. in , there was published, by b. foster, proprietor of the tavern, _ye history of ye priory and gate of st. john_. in the principal room of the gate, over the great arch, meet the urban club, a society, chiefly of authors and artists, with whom originated the proposition to celebrate the tercentenary of the birth of shakespeare, in . white hart tavern, bishopsgate without. about forty years since there stood at a short distance north of st. botolph's church, a large old _hostelrie_, according to the date it bore ( ), towards the close of the reign of edward iv. stow, in , describes it as "a fair inn for receipt of travellers, next unto the parish church of st. botolph without bishopsgate." it preserved much of its original appearance, the main front consisting of three bays of two storeys, which, with the interspaces, had throughout casements; and above which was an overhanging storey or attic, and the roof rising in three points. still, this was not the original front, which was altered in : upon the old inn yard was built white hart court. in , the tavern was taken down, and rebuilt, in handsome modern style; when the entrance into old bedlam, and formerly called bedlam gate, was widened, and the street re-named liverpool-street. a lithograph of the old tavern was published in . somewhat lower down, is the residence of sir paul pindar, now wine-vaults, with the sign of paul pindar's head, corner of half-moon-alley, no. , bishopsgate-street without. sir paul was a wealthy merchant, contemporary with sir thomas gresham. the house was built towards the end of the th century, with a wood-framed front and caryatid brackets; and the principal windows bayed, their lower fronts enriched with panels of carved work. in the first-floor front room is a fine original ceiling in stucco, in which are the arms of sir paul pindar. in the rear of these premises, within a garden, was formerly a lodge, of corresponding date, decorated with four medallions, containing figures in italian taste. in half-moon-alley, was the half-moon brewhouse, of which there is a token in the beaufoy collection. the mitre, in fenchurch street, was one of the political taverns of the civil war, and was kept by daniel rawlinson, who appears to have been a staunch royalist: his token is preserved in the beaufoy collection. dr. richard rawlinson, whose jacobite principles are sufficiently on record, in a letter to hearne, the nonjuring antiquary at oxford, says of "daniel rawlinson, who kept the mitre tavern in fenchurch-street, and of whose being suspected in the rump time, i have heard much. the whigs tell this, that upon the king's murder, january th, , he hung his sign in mourning: he certainly judged right; the honour of the mitre was much eclipsed by the loss of so good a parent to the church of england; these rogues [the whigs] say, this endeared him so much to the churchmen, that he strove amain, and got a good estate." pepys, who expressed great personal fear of the plague, in his diary, august , , notices that notwithstanding dan rowlandson's being all last year in the country, the sickness in a great measure past, one of his men was then dead at the mitre of the pestilence; his wife and one of his maids both sick, and himself shut up, which, says pepys, "troubles me mightily. god preserve us!" rawlinson's tavern, the mitre, appears to have been destroyed in the great fire, and immediately after, rebuilt; as horace walpole, from vertue's notes, states that "isaac fuller was much employed to paint the great taverns in london; particularly the mitre, in fenchurch-street, where he adorned all the sides of a great room, in panels, as was then the fashion;" "the figures being as large as life; over the chimney, a venus, satyr, and sleeping cupid; a boy riding a goat, and another fallen down:" this was, he adds, "the best part of the performance. saturn devouring a child, the colouring raw, and the figure of saturn too muscular; mercury, minerva, diana, and apollo; bacchus, venus, and ceres, embracing; a young silenus fallen down, and holding a goblet into which a boy was pouring wine. the seasons between the windows, and on the ceiling, in a large circle, two angels supporting a mitre." yet, fuller was a wretched painter, as borne out by elsum's _epigram on a drunken sot_:-- "his head does on his shoulder lean, his eyes are sunk, and hardly seen: who sees this sot in his own colour is apt to say, 'twas done by fuller." _burn's beaufoy catalogue._ the king's head, fenchurch street. no. is a place of historic interest; for, the princess elizabeth, having attended service at the church of allhallows staining, in langbourn ward, on her release from the tower, on the th of may, , dined off pork and peas afterwards, at the king's head in fenchurch street, where the metal dish and cover she is said to have used are still preserved. the tavern has been of late years enlarged and embellished, in taste accordant with its historical association; the ancient character of the building being preserved in the smoking-room, feet in length, upon the walls of which are displayed corslets, shields, helmets, and knightly arms. the elephant, fenchurch street. in the year was taken down the old elephant tavern, which was built before the great fire, and narrowly escaped its ravages. it stood on the north side of fenchurch-street, and was originally the elephant and castle. previous to the demolition of the premises there were removed from the wall two pictures, which hogarth is said to have painted while a lodger there. about this time, a parochial entertainment which had hitherto been given at the elephant, was removed to the king's head (henry viii.) tavern nearly opposite. at this hogarth was annoyed, and he went over to the king's head, when an altercation ensued, and he left, threatening to _stick them all up_ on the elephant taproom; this he is said to have done, and on the opposite wall subsequently painted the hudson's bay company's porters going to dinner, representing fenchurch-street a century and a half ago. the first picture was set down as hogarth's first idea of his modern midnight conversation, in which he is supposed to have represented the parochial party at the king's head, though it differs from hogarth's print. there was a third picture, harlequin and pierrot, and on the wall of the _elephant_ first-floor was found a picture of harlow bush fair, coated over with paint. only two of the pictures were claimed as hogarth's. the _elephant_ has been engraved; and at the foot of the print, the information as to hogarth having executed these paintings is rested upon the evidence of mrs. hibbert, who kept the house between thirty and forty years, and received her information from persons at that time well acquainted with hogarth. still, his biographers do not record his abode in fenchurch-street. the tavern has been rebuilt. the african, st. michael's alley. another of the cornhill taverns, the african, or cole's coffee-house, is memorable as the last place at which professor porson appeared. he had, in some measure, recovered from the effects of the fit in which he had fallen on the th of september, , when he was brought in a hackney-coach to the london institution, in the old jewry. next morning he had a long discussion with dr. adam clarke, who took leave of him at its close; and this was the last conversation porson was ever capable of holding on any subject. porson is thought to have fancied himself under restraint, and to convince himself of the contrary, next morning, the th, he walked out, and soon after went to the african, in st. michael's alley, which was one of his city resorts. on entering the coffee-room, he was so exhausted that he must have fallen, had he not caught hold of the curtain-rod of one of the boxes, when he was recognized by mr. j. p. leigh, a gentleman with whom he had frequently dined at the house. a chair was given him; he sat down, and stared around, with a vacant and ghastly countenance, and he evidently did not recollect mr. leigh. he took a little wine, which revived him, but previously to this his head lay upon his breast, and he was continually muttering something, but in so low and indistinct a tone as scarcely to be audible. he then took a little jelly dissolved in warm brandy-and-water, which considerably roused him. still he could make no answer to questions addressed to him, except these words, which he repeated, probably, twenty times:--"the gentleman said it was a lucrative piece of business, and _i_ think so too,"--but in a very low tone. a coach was now brought to take him to the london institution, and he was helped in, and accompanied by the waiter; he appeared quite senseless all the way, and did not utter a word; and in reply to the question where they should stop, he put his head out of the window, and waved his hand when they came opposite the door of the institution. upon this dr. clarke touchingly observes: "how quick the transition from the highest degree of intellect to the lowest apprehensions of sense! on what a precarious tenure does frail humanity hold even its choicest and most necessary gifts." porson expired on the night of sunday, september , with a deep groan, exactly as the clock struck twelve, in the forty-ninth year of his age. the grave maurice tavern. there are two taverns with this name,--in st. leonard's-road, and whitechapel-road. the history of the sign is curious. many years ago the latter house had a written sign, "the grave morris," but this has been amended. but the original was the famous prince of orange, grave maurice, of whom we read in howel's _familiar letters_. in junius's _etymologicon_, grave is explained to be comes, or count, as palsgrave is palatine count; of which we have an instance in palsgrave count, or elector palatine, who married princess elizabeth, daughter of james i. their issue were the palsgrave charles louis, the grave count or prince palatine rupert, and the grave count or prince maurice, who alike distinguished themselves in the civil wars. the two princes, rupert and maurice, for their loyalty and courage, were after the restoration, very popular; which induced the author of the _tavern anecdotes_ to conjecture: "as we have an idea that the mount at whitechapel was raised to overawe the city, maurice, before he proceeded to the west, might have the command of the work on the east side of the metropolis, and a temporary residence on the spot where his sign was so lately exhibited." at the close of the troubles of the reign, the two princes retired. in , they were endeavouring to annoy the enemies of charles ii. in the west indies; when the grave maurice lost his life in a hurricane. the sign of the grave maurice remained against the house in the whitechapel-road till the year , when it was taken down to be repainted. it represented a soldier in a hat and feather, and blue uniform. the tradition of the neighbourhood is, that it is the portrait of a prince of hesse, who was a great warrior, but of so inflexible a countenance, that he was never seen to smile in his life; and that he was, therefore, most properly termed _grave_. mathematical society, spitalfields. it is curious to find that a century and a half since, science found a home in spitalfields, chiefly among the middle and working classes; they met at small taverns in that locality. it appears that a mathematical society, which also cultivated electricity, was established in , and met at the monmouth's head in monmouth-street, until , when they removed to the white horse tavern, in wheeler-street; from thence, in , to ben jonson's head in pelham-street; and next to crispin-street, spitalfields. the members were chiefly tradesmen and artisans; among those of higher rank were canton, dollond, thomas simpson, and crossley. the society lent their instruments (air-pumps, reflecting telescopes, reflecting microscopes, electrical machines, surveying-instruments, etc.) with books for the use of them, on the borrowers giving a note of hand for the value thereof. the number of members was not to exceed the square of seven, except such as were abroad or in the country; but this was increased to the squares of eight and nine. the members met on saturday evenings: each present was to employ himself in some mathematical exercise, or forfeit one penny; and if he refused to answer a question asked by another in mathematics, he was to forfeit twopence. the society long cherished a taste for exact science among the residents in the neighbourhood of spitalfields, and accumulated a library of nearly volumes; but in , when on the point of dissolution, the few remaining members made over their books, records, and memorials to the royal astronomical society, of which these members were elected fellows.[ ] this amalgamation was chiefly negotiated by captain, afterwards admiral smyth. footnote: [ ] curiosities of london, p. . globe tavern, fleet-street. in the last century, when public amusements were comparatively few, and citizens dwelt in town, the globe in fleet-street was noted for its little clubs and card-parties. here was held, for a time, the robin hood club, a wednesday club, and later, oliver goldsmith and his friends often finished their shoemaker's holiday by supping at the globe. among the company was a surgeon, who, living on the surrey side of the thames (blackfriars bridge was not then built), had to take a boat every night, at _s._ or _s._ expense, and the risk of his life; yet, when the bridge was built, he grumbled at having a penny to pay for crossing it. other frequenters of the globe were archibald hamilton, "with a mind fit for a lord chancellor;" carnan, the bookseller, who defeated the stationers' company upon the almanac trial; dunstall, the comedian; the veteran macklin; akerman, the keeper of newgate, who always thought it most prudent not to venture home till daylight; and william woodfall, the reporter of the parliamentary debates. then there was one glover, a surgeon, who restored to life a man who had been hung in dublin, and who ever after was a plague to his deliverer. brasbridge, the silversmith of fleet-street, was a frequenter of the globe. in his eightieth year he wrote his _fruits of experience_, full of pleasant gossip about the minor gaieties of st. bride's. he was more fond of following the hounds than his business, and failure was the ill consequence: he tells of a sporting party of four--that he and his partner became bankrupt; the third, mr. smith, became lord mayor; and the fourth fell into poverty, and was glad to accept the situation of patrol before the house of his lordship, whose associate he had been only a few years before. smith had , _l._ of bad debts on his books, yet died worth one-fourth of that sum. we remember the globe, a handsomely-appointed tavern, some forty years since; but it has long ceased to be a tavern. the devil tavern. this celebrated tavern is described in the present work, vol. i., pp. - , as the meeting-place of the apollo club. its later history is interesting. mull sack, _alias_ john cottington, the noted highwayman of the time of the commonwealth, is stated to have been a constant visitor at the devil tavern. in the garb and character of a man of fashion, he appears to have levied contributions on the public as a pick-pocket and highwayman, to a greater extent than perhaps any other individual of his fraternity on record. he not only had the honour of picking the pocket of oliver cromwell, when lord protector, but he afterwards robbed king charles ii., then living in exile at cologne, of plate valued at £ . another of his feats was his robbing the wife of the lord general fairfax. "this lady," we are told, "used to go to a lecture on a weekday, to ludgate church, where one mr. jacomb preached, being much followed by the precisians. mull sack, observing this,--and that she constantly wore her watch hanging by a chain from her waist,--against the next time she came there, dressed himself like an officer in the army; and having his comrades attending him like troopers, one of them takes out the pin of a coach-wheel that was going upwards through the gate, by which means, it falling off, the passage was obstructed; so that the lady could not alight at the church-door, but was forced to leave her coach without. mull sack, taking advantage of this, readily presented himself to her ladyship; and having the impudence to take her from her gentleman usher, who attended her alighting, led her by the arm into the church; and by the way, with a pair of keen or sharp scissors for the purpose, cut the chain in two, and got the watch clear away: she not missing it till sermon was done, when she was going to see the time of the day." at the devil tavern mull sack could mix with the best society, whom he probably occasionally relieved of their watches and purses. there is extant a very rare print of him, in which he is represented partly in the garb of a chimney-sweep, his original avocation, and partly in the fashionable costume of the period.[ ] in the apollo chamber, at the devil tavern, were rehearsed, with music, the court-day odes of the poets laureate: hence pope, in the _dunciad_: "back to the devil the loud echoes roll, and 'coll!' each butcher roars at hockley hole." the following epigram on the odes rehearsals is by a wit of those times: "when laureates make odes, do you ask of what sort? do you ask if they're good, or are evil? you may judge--from the devil they come to the court, and go from the court to the devil." st. dunstan's, or the devil tavern, is mentioned as a house of old repute, in the interlude, _jacke jugeler_, , where jack, having persuaded his cousin jenkin, "as foolish a knave withall, as any is now, within london wall," that he was not himself, thrusts him from his master's door, and in answer to jenkin's sorrowful question--where his master and he were to dwell, replies, "at the devyll yf you lust, i can not tell!" ben jonson being one night at the devil tavern, a country gentleman in the company was obtrusively loquacious touching his land and tenements; ben, out of patience, exclaimed, "what signifies to us your dirt and your clods? where you have an acre of land i have ten acres of wit!" "have you so," retorted the countryman, "good mr. wise-acre?" "why, how now, ben?" said one of the party, "you seem to be quite stung!" "i was never so pricked by a hobnail before," grumbled ben. there is a ludicrous reference to this old place in a song describing the visit of james i. to st. paul's cathedral on sunday, th of march, : "the maior layd downe his mace, and cry'd, 'god save your grace, and keepe our king from all evill!' with all my hart i then wist, the good mace had been in my fist, to ha' pawn'd it for supper at the _devill_!" we have already given the famous apollo "welcome," but not immortal ben's rules, which have been thus happily translated by alexander brome, one of the wits who frequented the devil, and who left _poems and songs_, : he was an attorney in the lord mayor's court: "_ben jonson's sociable rules for the apollo._ "let none but guests, or clubbers, hither come. let dunces, fools, sad sordid men keep home. let learned, civil, merry men, b' invited, and modest too; nor be choice ladies slighted. let nothing in the treat offend the guests; more for delight than cost, prepare the feast. the cook and purvey'r must our palates know; and none contend who shall sit high or low. our waiters must quick-sighted be, and dumb, and let the drawers quickly hear and come. let not our wine be mix'd, but brisk and neat, or else the drinkers may the vintners beat. and let our only emulation be, not drinking much, but talking wittily. let it be voted lawful to stir up each other with a moderate chirping cup; let not our company be, or talk too much; on serious things, or sacred, let's not touch with sated heads and bellies. neither may fiddlers unask'd obtrude themselves to play. with laughing, leaping, dancing, jests, and songs, and whate'er else to grateful mirth belongs, let's celebrate our feasts; and let us see that all our jests without reflection be. insipid poems let no man rehearse, nor any be compelled to write a verse. all noise of vain disputes must be forborne, and let no lover in a corner mourn. to fight and brawl, like hectors, let none dare, glasses or windows break, or hangings tear. whoe'er shall publish what's here done or said from our society must be banishèd; let none by drinking do or suffer harm, and, while we stay, let us be always warm." we must now say something of the noted hosts. simon wadlow appears for the last time, as a licensed vintner, in the wardmote return, of december, ; and the burial register of st. dunstan's records: "march th, , symon wadlowe, vintner, was buried out of fleet-street." on st. thomas's day, in the last-named year, the name of "the widow wadlowe" appears; and in the following year, , of the eight licensed victuallers, five were widows. the widow wadlowe's name is returned for the last time by the wardmote on december st, . the name of john wadlow, apparently the son of old simon, appears first as a licensed victualler, in the wardmote return, december , . he issued his token, showing on its obverse st. dunstan holding the devil by his nose, his lower half being that of a satyr, the devil on the signboard was as usual, _sable_; the origin of the practice being thus satisfactorily explained by dr. jortin: "the devils used often to appear to the monks in the figure of ethiopian boys or men; thence probably the painters learned to make the devil black." hogarth, in his print of the burning of the rumps, represents the hanging of the effigy against the sign-board of the devil tavern. in a ludicrous and boasting ballad of , we read: "not the vintry cranes, nor st. clement's danes, nor the devill can put us down-a." john wadlow's name occurs for the last time in the wardmote return of december, . after the great fire, he rebuilt the sun tavern, behind the royal exchange: he was a loyal man, and appears to have been sufficiently wealthy to have advanced money to the crown; his autograph was attached to several receipts among the exchequer documents lately destroyed. hollar's map of london, , shows the site of the devil tavern, and its proximity to the barrier designated temple bar, when the house had become the resort of lawyers and physicians. in the rare volume of _cambridge merry jests_, printed in the reign of charles ii., the will of a tavern-hunter has the bequeathment of "ten pounds to be drank by lawyers and physicians at the devil's tavern, by temple bar." _the tatler_, october , , contains bickerstaff's account of the wedding entertainment at the devil tavern, in honour of his sister jenny's marriage. he mentions "the rules of ben's club in gold letters over the chimney;" and this is the latest notice of this celebrated ode. when, or by whom, the board was taken from "over the chimney," mr. burn has failed to discover. swift tells stella that oct. , , he dined at the devil tavern with mr. addison and dr. garth, when the doctor treated. in , the royal society held here their annual dinner; and in , concerts of vocal and instrumental music were given in the great room. a view of the exterior of the devil tavern, with its gable-pointed front, engraved from a drawing by wale, was published in dodsley's _london and its environs_, . the sign-iron bears its pendent sign--the saint painted as a half-length, and the devil behind him grinning grimly over his shoulder. on the removal of projecting signs, by authority, in , the devil tavern sign was placed flat against the front, and there remained till the demolition of the house. brush collins, in march, , delivered for several evenings, in the great room, a satirical lecture on modern oratory. in the following year, a pandemonium club was held here; and, according to a notice in mr. burn's possession, "the first meeting was to be on monday, the th of november, . these devils were lawyers, who were about commencing term, to the annoyance of many a hitherto happy _bon-vivant_." from bad to worse, the devil tavern fell into disuse, and messrs. child, the bankers, purchased the freehold in , for £ . it was soon after demolished, and the site is now occupied by the houses called child's-place. we have selected and condensed these details from mr. burn's exhaustive article on the devil tavern, in the beaufoy catalogue. there is a token of this tavern, which is very rare. the initials stand for simon wadloe, embalmed in squire western's favourite air "old sir simon the king:"--"at the d. and dvnstans. the representation of the saint standing at his anvil, and pulling the nose of the 'd.' with his pincers.--r. within temple barre. in the field, i. s. w." footnote: [ ] jesse's 'london and its celebrities.' the young devil tavern. the notoriety of the devil tavern, as common in such cases, created an opponent on the opposite side of fleet-street, named "the young devil." the society of antiquaries, who had previously met at the bear tavern, in the strand, changed their rendezvous jan. , - , to the young devil tavern; but the host failed, and as browne willis tells us, the antiquaries, in or about , "met at the fountain tavern, as we went down into the inner temple, against chancery lane." later, a music-room, called the apollo, was attempted, but with no success: an advertisement for a concert, december , , intimated "tickets to be had at will's coffee-house, formerly the apollo, in bell yard, near temple bar." this may explain the apollo court, in fleet-street, unless it is found in the next page. cock tavern, fleet-street. the apollo club, at the devil tavern, is kept in remembrance by apollo court, in fleet-street, nearly opposite; next door eastward of which is an old tavern nearly as well known. it is, perhaps, the most primitive place of its kind in the metropolis: it still possesses a fragment of decoration of the time of james i., and the writer remembers the tavern half a century ago, with considerably more of its original panelling. it is just two centuries since ( ), when the plague was raging, the landlord shut up his house, and retired into the country; and there is preserved one of the farthings referred to in this advertisement:--"this is to certify that the master of the cock and bottle, commonly called the cock alehouse, at temple bar, hath dismissed his servants, and shut up his house, for this long vacation, intending (god willing) to return at michaelmas next; so that all persons whatsoever who may have any accounts with the said master, or _farthings belonging to the said house_, are desired to repair thither before the th of this instant, and they shall receive satisfaction." three years later, we find pepys frequenting this tavern: " rd april, . thence by water to the temple, and there to the cock alehouse, and drank, and eat a lobster, and sang, and mightily merry. so almost night, i carried mrs. pierce home, and then knipp and i to the temple again, and took boat, it being now night." the tavern has a gilt signbird over the passage door, stated to have been carved by gibbons. over the mantelpiece is some carving, at least of the time of james i.; but we remember the entire room similarly carved, and a huge black-and-gilt clock, and settle. the head-waiter of our time lives in the verse of laureate tennyson--"o plump head-waiter of the cock!" apostrophizes the "will water-proof" of the bard, in a reverie wherein he conceives william to have undergone a transition similar to that of jove's cup-bearer:-- "and hence (says he) this halo lives about the waiter's hands, that reach to each his perfect pint of stout, his proper chop to each. he looks not with the common breed, that with the napkin dally; i think he came, like ganymede, from some delightful valley." and of the redoubtable bird, who is supposed to have performed the eagle's part in this abduction, he says:-- "the cock was of a larger egg than modern poultry drop, stept forward on a firmer leg, and cramm'd a plumper crop." the hercules' pillars taverns. hercules pillars alley, on the south side of fleet-street, near st. dunstan's church, is described by strype as "altogether inhabited by such as keep publick houses for entertainment, for which it is of note." the token of the hercules pillars is thus described by mr. akerman:--"ed. oldham at y hercvles. a crowned male figure standing erect, and grasping a pillar with each hand.--rx. pillers in fleet street. in the field, his half penny, e. p. o." "from this example," illustratively observes mr. akerman, "it would seem that the locality, called hercules pillars alley, like other places in london, took its name from the tavern. the mode of representing the pillars of hercules is somewhat novel; and, but for the inscription, we should have supposed the figure to represent samson clutching the pillars of temple of dagon. at the trial of stephen colledge, for high-treason, in , an irishman named haynes, swore that he walked to the hercules pillars with the accused, and that in a room upstairs colledge spoke of his treasonable designs and feeling. on another occasion the parties walked from richard's coffee-house[ ] to this tavern, where it was sworn they had a similar conference. colledge, in his defence, denies the truth of the allegation, and declares that the walk from the coffee-house to the tavern is not more than a bow-shot, and that during such walk the witness had all the conversation to himself, though he had sworn that treasonable expressions had been made use of on their way thither. "pepys frequented this tavern: in one part of his _diary_ he says, 'with mr. creed to hercules pillars, where we drank.' in another, 'in fleet-street i met with mr. salisbury, who is now grown in less than two years' time so great a limner that he is become excellent and gets a great deal of money at it. i took him to hercules pillars to drink.'" again: "after the play was done, we met with mr. bateller and w. hewer, and talbot pepys, and they followed us in a hackney-coach; and we all supped at hercules pillars; and there i did give the best supper i could, and pretty merry; and so home between eleven and twelve at night." "at noon, my wife came to me at my tailor's, and i sent her home, and myself and tom dined at hercules pillars." another noted "hercules pillars" was at hyde park corner, near hamilton-place, on the site of what is now the pavement opposite lord willoughby's. "here," says cunningham, "squire western put his horses up when in pursuit of tom jones; and here field marshal the marquis of gransby was often found." and wycherley, in his _plain dealer_, , makes the spendthrift, jerry blackacre, talk of picking up his mortgaged silver "out of most of the ale-houses between hercules pillars and the boatswain in wapping." hyde park corner was noted for its petty taverns, some of which remained as late as . it was to one of these taverns that steele took savage to dine, and where sir richard dictated and savage wrote a pamphlet, which he went out and sold for two guineas, with which the reckoning was paid. steele then "returned home, having retired that day only to avoid his creditors, and composed the pamphlet only to discharge his reckoning." footnote: [ ] subsequently "dick's." hole-in-the-wall taverns. this odd sign exists in chancery-lane, at a house on the east side, immediately opposite the old gate of lincoln's-inn; "and," says mr. burn, "being supported by the dependants on legal functionaries, appears to have undergone fewer changes than the law, retaining all the vigour of a new establishment." there is another "hole in the wall" in st. dunstan's-court, fleet-street, much frequented by printers. mr. akerman says:--"it was a popular sign, and several taverns bore the same designation, which probably originated in a certain tavern being situated in some umbrageous recess in the old city walls. many of the most popular and most frequented taverns of the present day are located in twilight courts and alleys, into which phoebus peeps at midsummer-tide only when on the meridian. such localities may have been selected on more than one account: they not only afforded good skulking 'holes' for those who loved drinking better than work; but beer and other liquors keep better in the shade. these haunts, like lady mary's farm, were-- 'in summer shady, and in winter warm.' rawlins, the engraver of the fine and much coveted oxford crown, with a view of the city under the horse, dates a quaint supplicatory letter to john evelyn, 'from the hole in the wall, in st. martin's;' no misnomer, we will be sworn, in that aggregation of debt and dissipation, when debtors were imprisoned with a very remote chance of redemption. in the days of rye-house and meal-tub plots, philanthropy overlooked such little matters; and small debts bills were not dreamt of in the philosophy of speculative legislators. among other places which bore the designation of the hole in the wall, there was one in chandos-street, in which the famous duval, the highwayman, was apprehended after an attack on--two bottles of wine, probably drugged by a 'friend' or mistress." the mitre, in fleet-street. this was the true johnsonian mitre, so often referred to in _boswell's life_; but it has earlier fame. here, in , lilly met old will poole, the astrologer, then living in ram-alley. the royal society club dined at the mitre from to , the society then meeting in crane-court, nearly opposite. the society of antiquaries met some time at the mitre. dr. macmichael, in _the gold-headed cane_, makes dr. radcliffe say:--"i never recollect to have spent a more delightful evening than that at the mitre tavern, in fleet-street, where my good friend billy nutly, who was indeed the better half of me, had been prevailed upon to accept of a small temporary assistance, and joined our party, the earl of denbigh, lords colepeper and stowel, and mr. blackmore." the house has a token:--william paget at the. a mitre.--rx. mitre in fleet street. in the field, w. e. p. johnson's mitre is commonly thought to be the tavern with that sign, which still exists in mitre-court, over against fetter-lane; where is shown a cast of nollekens' bust of johnson, in confirmation of this house being his resort. such was not the case; boswell distinctly states it to have been the mitre tavern _in_ _fleet-street_; and the records by lilly and the royal society, alike specify "in fleet-street," which mr. burn, in his excellent account of the beaufoy tokens, explains was the house, no. , fleet-street, that macklin opened, in , as the poet's gallery; and lastly, saunders's auction-rooms. it was taken down to enlarge the site for messrs. hoares' new banking-house. the now mitre tavern, in mitre-court, was originally called joe's coffee-house; and on the shutting up of the old mitre, in fleet-street, took its name; this being four years after johnson's death. the mitre was dr. johnson's favourite supper-house, the parties including goldsmith, percy, hawkesworth, and boswell; there was planned the tour to the hebrides. johnson had a strange nervous feeling, which made him uneasy if he had not touched every post between the mitre and his own lodgings. johnson took goldsmith to the mitre, where boswell and the doctor had supped together in the previous month, when boswell spoke of goldsmith's "very loose, odd, scrambling kind of life," and johnson defended him as one of our first men as an author, and a very worthy man;--adding, "he has been loose in his principles, but he is coming right." boswell was impatient of goldsmith from the first hour of their acquaintance. chamberlain clarke, who died in , aged , was the last surviving of dr. johnson's mitre friends. mr. william scott, lord stowell, also frequented the mitre. boswell has this remarkable passage respecting the house:--"we had a good supper, and port-wine, of which he (johnson) sometimes drank a bottle. the orthodox high-church sound of the mitre--the figure and manner of the celebrated samuel johnson--the extraordinary power and precision of his conversation, and the pride arising from finding myself admitted as his companion, produced a variety of sensations, and a pleasing elevation of mind, beyond what i had ever experienced." ship tavern, temple bar. this noted tavern, the site of which is now denoted by ship-yard, is mentioned among the grants to sir christopher hatton, . there is, in the beaufoy collection, a ship token, dated , which is evidence that the inner tavern of that sign was then extant. it was also called the drake, from the ship painted as the sign being that in which sir francis drake voyaged round the world. faithorne, the celebrated engraver, kept shop, next door to the drake. "the ship tavern, in the butcher-row, near temple bar," occurs in an advertisement so late as june, . the taverns about temple bar were formerly numerous; and the folly of disfiguring sign-boards was then, as at a later date, a street frolic. "sir john denham, the poet, when a student at lincoln's-inn, in , though generally temperate as a drinker, having stayed late at a tavern with some fellow-students, induced them to join him in 'a frolic,' to obtain a pot of ink and a plasterer's brush, and blot out all the signs between temple bar and charing cross. aubrey relates that r. estcourt, esq., carried the ink-pot: and that next day it caused great confusion; but it happened sir john and his comrades were discovered, and it cost them some moneys." the palsgrave head, temple bar. this once celebrated tavern, opposite the ship, occupied the site of palsgrave-place, on the south side of the strand, near temple bar. the palsgrave frederick, afterwards king of bohemia, was affianced to the princess elizabeth (only daughter of james i.), in the old banqueting house at whitehall, december , , when the sign was, doubtless, set up in compliment to him. there is a token of the house in the beaufoy collection. (see _burn's catalogue_, p. .) here prior and montague, in _the hind and panther transversed_, make the country mouse and the city mouse bilk the hackney coachman: "but now at piccadilly they arrive, and taking coach, t'wards temple bar they drive, but at st. clement's eat out the back; and slipping through the palsgrave, bilkt poor hack." heycock's, temple bar, near the palsgrave's head tavern, was heycock's ordinary, much frequented by parliament men and gallants. andrew marvell usually dined here: one day, having eaten heartily of boiled beef, with some roasted pigeons and asparagus, he drank his pint of port; and on the coming in of the reckoning, taking a piece of money out of his pocket, held it up, and addressing his associates, certain members of parliament, known to be in the pay of the crown, said, "gentlemen, who would lett himself out for hire, while he can have such a dinner for half-a-crown?" the crown and anchor, strand. this famous tavern extended from arundel-street eastward to milford-lane, in the rear of the south side of the strand, and occupied the site of an older house with the same sign. strype, in , described it as "the crown tavern; a large and curious house, with good rooms and other conveniences fit for entertainments." here was instituted the academy of music in ; and here the royal society club, who had previously met at the mitre in fleet-street, removed in , and dined here for the first time on december , and here they continued until the tavern was converted into a club-house in . the second tavern was built in . its first landlord was thomas simpkin, a very corpulent man, who, in superintending the serving of a large dinner, leaned over a balustrade, which broke, when he fell from a considerable height to the ground, and was killed. the sign appears to have been originally "the crown," to which may have been added the anchor, from its being the emblem of st. clement's, opposite; or from the lord high admiral having once resided on the site. the tavern contained a ball-room, feet by feet inches; in , on the birthday of c. j. fox, was given in this house, a banquet to persons, when the duke of norfolk presided. the large room was noted for political meetings in the stormy tory and radical times; and the crown and anchor was long the rallying-point of the westminster electors. the room would hold persons: one of the latest popular orators who spoke here was daniel o'connell, m.p. there was originally an entrance to the house from the strand, by a long passage, such as was the usual approach to our old metropolitan taverns. the premises were entirely destroyed by fire, in , but have been rebuilt.[ ] here johnson and boswell occasionally supped; and here johnson quarrelled with percy about old dr. monsey. thither was brought the altar-piece (st. cecilia), painted by kent for st. clement's church, whence it was removed, in , by order of bishop gibson, on the supposition that the picture contained portraits of the pretender's wife and children. footnote: [ ] see whittington club, vol. i. p. . the canary-house, in the strand. there is a rare token of this house, with the date, . the locality of the "canary house in the strande," says mr. e. b. price, "is now, perhaps, impossible to trace; and it is, perhaps, as vain to attempt a description of the wine from which it took its name, and which was so celebrated in that and the preceding century. some have erroneously identified it with sack. we find it mentioned among the various drinks which gascoyne so virtuously inveighs against in his _delicate diet for daintie mouthde droonkardes_, published in : "_we_ must have march beere, dooble-dooble beere, dagger ale, bragget, renish wine, white wine, french wine, gascoyne wine, sack, hollocke, canaria wine, _vino greco_, _vinum amabile_, and al the wines that may be gotten. yea, wine of its selfe is not sufficient; but suger, limons, and sundry sortes of spices must be drowned therein." the bibbers of this famed wine were wont to be termed "canary birds." of its qualities we can perhaps form the best estimate from the colloquy between "mine hostess of the boar's head and doll tearsheet;" in which the former charges the latter with having "drunk too much _canaries_; and that's a _marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say, what's this?_"[ ] footnote: [ ] we learn from collier's _roxburghe ballads_ (_lit. gaz._ no. ) that in the reign of james i. "sparkling sack" was sold at _s._ _d._ per quart, and "canary--pure french wine," at pence. the fountain tavern, strand, now the site of nos. and , ries's divan, gave the name to the fountain club, composed of political opponents of sir robert walpole. strype describes it as "a very fine tavern, with excellent vaults, good rooms for entertainment, and a curious kitchen for dressing of meat, which, with the good wine there sold, make it well resorted to." dennis, the critic, describes his supping here with loggan, the painter, and others, and that after supper they "drank mr. wycherley's health by name of captain wycherley." here, feb. , , was held a great meeting, at which near members of both houses of parliament were present, to consider the ministerial crisis, when the duke of argyll observed to mr. pulteney, that a grain of honesty was worth a cart-load of gold. the meeting was held too late to be of any avail, to which sir charles hanbury williams alludes in one of his odes to pulteney, invoking his muse thus:-- "then enlarge on his cunning and wit; say, how he harang'd at the fountain; say, how the old patriots were bit, and a mouse was produc'd by a mountain." upon the tavern site was a drawing academy, of which cosway and wheatley were pupils; here also was the lecture-room of john thelwall, the political elocutionist. at no. , ackermann, the printseller, illuminated his gallery with cannel coal, when gas-lighting was a novelty. in fountain-court, named from the tavern, is the coal-hole tavern, upon the site of a coal-yard; it was much resorted to by edmund kean, and was one of the earliest night taverns for singing. tavern life of sir richard steele. among the four hundred letters of steele's preserved in the british museum, are some written from his tavern haunts, a few weeks after marriage, to his "dearest being on earth:" "_eight o'clock, fountain tavern, oct. , ._ "my dear, "i beg of you not to be uneasy; for i have done a great deal of business to-day very successfully, and wait an hour or two about my _gazette_." in the next, he does "not come home to dinner, being obliged to attend to some business abroad." then he writes from the devil tavern, temple bar, january , - , as follows:-- "i have partly succeeded in my business, and enclose two guineas as earnest of more. dear prue, i cannot come home to dinner; i languish for your welfare, and will never be a moment careless more. "your faithful husband," etc. within a few days, he writes from a pall mall tavern:-- "dear wife, "mr. edgecombe, ned ask, and mr. lumley, have desired me to sit an hour with them at the george, in pall mall, for which i desire your patience till twelve o'clock, and that you will go to bed," etc. when money-matters were getting worse, steele found it necessary to sleep away from home for a day or two, and he writes:-- "_tennis-court coffee-house, may , ._ "dear wife, "i hope i have done this day what will be pleasing to you; in the meantime shall lie this night at a baker's, one leg, over against the devil tavern, at charing cross. i shall be able to confront the fools who wish me uneasy, and shall have the satisfaction to see thee cheerful and at ease. "if the printer's boy be at home, send him hither; and let mr. todd send by the boy my night-gown, slippers, and clean linen. you shall hear from me early in the morning," etc. he is found excusing his coming home, being "invited to supper at mr. boyle's." "dear prue," he says on this occasion, "do not send after me, for i shall be ridiculous." there were _caudles_ in those days.[ ] footnote: [ ] lives of wits and humourists, vol. i. p. . clare market taverns. clare market lying between the two great theatres, its butchers were the arbiters of the galleries, the leaders of theatrical rows, the musicians at actresses' marriages, the chief mourners at players' funerals. in and around the market were the signs of the sun; the bull and butcher, afterwards spiller's head; the grange; the bull's head, where met "the shepherd and his flock club," and where dr. radcliffe was carousing when he received news of the loss of his _l._ venture. here met weekly a club of artists, of which society hogarth was a member, and he engraved for them a silver tankard with a shepherd and his flock. next is the black jack in portsmouth-street, the haunt of joe miller, the comedian, and where he uttered his time-honoured "jests:" the house remains, but the sign has disappeared. miller died in , and was buried in st. clement's upper ground, in portugal-street, where his gravestone was inscribed with the following epitaph, written by stephen duck: "here lie the remains of honest joe miller, who was a tender husband, a sincere friend, a facetious companion, and an excellent comedian. he departed this life the th day of august, , aged years. "if humour, wit, and honesty could save the humorous, witty, honest, from the grave, this grave had not so soon its tenant found, with honesty, and wit, and humour crown'd. or could esteem and love preserve our health, and guard us longer from the stroke of death, the stroke of death on him had later fell, whom all mankind esteem'd and loved so well." the stone was restored by the parish grave-digger at the close of the last century; and in , a new stone was set up by mr. jarvis buck, churchwarden, who added s. duck to the epitaph. the burial-ground has been cleared away, and the site has been added to the grounds of king's college hospital. at the black jack, also called the jump, (from jack sheppard having once jumped out of a first-floor window, to escape his pursuers, the thief-takers,) a club known as "the honourable society of jackers," met until . the roll of the fraternity "numbers many of the popular actors since the time of joe miller, and some of the wits; from john kemble, palmer, and theodore hook down to kean, liston, and the mercurial john pritt harley. since the dissolution of this last relic of the sociality of the joe miller age, 'wit-combats' have been comparatively unknown at the old black jack."[ ] footnote: [ ] jo. miller; a biography, . the craven head, drury lane. this modern tavern was part of the offices of craven house, and the adjoining stabling belonged to the mansion; the extensive cellars still remain, though blocked up. craven house was built for william lord craven, the hero of creutznach, upon part of the site of drury house, and was a large square pile of brick, four storeys high, which occupied the site of the present craven-buildings, built in . that portion of the mansion abutting on magpie-alley, now newcastle-street, was called bohemia house, and was early in the last century, converted into a tavern, with the sign of the head of its former mistress, the queen of bohemia. but a destructive fire happening in the neighbourhood, the tavern was shut up, and the building suffered to decay; till, at length, in , what remained of the dilapidated mansion was pulled down, and the materials sold; and upon the ground, in , philip astley erected his olympic pavilion, which was burnt down in . the craven head was some time kept by william oxberry, the comedian, who first appeared on the stage in ; he also edited a large collection of dramas. another landlord of the craven head was robert hales, "the norfolk giant" (height ft. in.), who, after visiting the united states, where barnum made a speculation of the giant, and , persons flocked to see him in ten days,--in january, , returned to england, and took the craven head tavern. on april th hales had the honour of being presented to the queen and royal family, when her majesty gave him a gold watch and chain, which he wore to the day of his death. his health had been much impaired by the close confinement of the caravans in which he exhibited. he died in , of consumption. hales was cheerful and well-informed. he had visited several continental capitals, and had been presented to louis philippe, king of the french. the cock tavern, in bow-street. this tavern, of indecent notoriety, was situated about the middle of the east side of bow-street, then consisting of very good houses, well inhabited, and resorted to by gentry for lodgings. here wycherley and his first wife, the countess of drogheda, lodged over against the cock, "whither, if he at any time were with his friends, he was obliged to leave the windows open, that the lady might see there was no woman in the company, or she would be immediately in a downright raving condition." (_dennis's letters._) the cock tavern was the resort of the rakes and mohocks of that day, when the house was kept by a woman called "oxford kate." here took place the indecent exposure, which has been told by johnson, in his life of sackville, lord dorset. "sackville, who was then lord buckhurst, with sir charles sedley, and sir thomas ogle, got drunk at the cock, in bow-street, by covent-garden, and going into the balcony, exposed themselves to the company in very indecent postures. at last, as they grew warmer, sedley stood forth naked, and harangued the populace in such profane language, that the public indignation was awakened; the crowd attempted to force the door, and being repulsed, drove in the performers with stones, and broke the windows of the house. for this misdemeanour they were indicted, and sedley was fined five hundred pounds; what was the sentence of the others is not known. sedley employed killegrew and another to procure a remission of the king, but (mark the friendship of the dissolute!) they begged the fine for themselves, and exacted it to the last groat." sir john coventry had supped at the cock tavern, on the night when, in his way home, his nose was cut to the bone, at the corner of suffolk-street, in the haymarket, "for reflecting on the king, who, therefore, determined to _set a mark_ upon him:" he was watched; when attacked, he stood up to the wall, and snatched the flambeau out of the servant's hands, and with that in one hand, and the sword in the other, he defended himself, but was soon disarmed, and his nose was cut to the bone; it was so well sewed up, that the scar was scarce to be discerned. this attempt at assassination occasioned the coventry act, and car. ii. c. , by which specific provisions were made against the offence of maiming, cutting off, or disabling, a limb or member. the queen's head, bow-street. this tavern, in duke's court, was once kept by a facetious person, named jupp, and is associated with a piece of humour, which may either be matter of fact, or interpreted as a pleasant satire upon etymological fancies. one evening, two well-known characters, annesley shay and bob todrington (the latter caricatured by old dighton), met at the queen's head, and at the bar asked for "half a quartern" each, with a little cold water. they continued to drink until they had swallowed four-and-twenty half-quarterns in water, when shay said to the other, "now, we'll go." "oh, no," replied he, "we'll have another, and then go." this did not satisfy the hibernians, and they continued drinking on till three in the morning, when they both agreed to go; so that under the idea of going they made a long stay, and this was the origin of drinking, or calling for, goes of liquor; but another, determined to eke out the measure his own way, used to call for a quartern at a time, and these, in the exercise of his humour, he called _stays_. we find the above in the very pleasant _etymological compendium_, third edition, revised and improved by merton a. thoms, . the shakspeare tavern. of this noted theatrical tavern, in the piazza, covent garden, several details were received by mr. john green, in , from twigg, who was apprentice at the shakspeare. they had generally fifty turtles at a time; and upon an average from ten to fifteen were dressed every week; and it was not unusual to send forty quarts of turtle soup a-week into the country, as far as yorkshire. the sign of shakspeare, painted by wale, cost nearly _l._: it projected at the corner, over the street, with very rich iron-work. dick milton was once landlord; he was a great gamester, and once won , _l._ he would frequently start with his coach-and-six, which he would keep about six months, and then sell it. he was so much reduced, and his credit so bad, at times, as to send out for a dozen of wine for his customers; it was sold at s. a bottle. this is chronicled as the first tavern in london that had rooms; and from this house the other taverns were supplied with waiters. here were held three clubs--the madras, bengal, and bombay. twigg was cook at the shakspeare. the largest dinner ever dressed here consisted of made-dishes, besides hams, etc., and vegetables; this was the dinner to admiral keppel, when he was made first lord of the admiralty. twigg told of another dinner to sir richard simmons, of earl's court, mr. small, and three other gentlemen; it consisted of the following dishes:--a turbot, of lb., a thames salmon, a haunch of venison, french beans and cucumbers, a green goose, an apricot tart, and green peas. the dinner was dressed by twigg, and it came to about seven guineas a head. the shakspeare is stated to have been the first tavern in covent garden. twigg relates of tomkins, the landlord, that his father had been a man of opulence in the city, but failed for vast sums. tomkins kept his coach and his country-house, but was no gambler, as has been reported. he died worth , _l._ his daughter married mr. longman, the music-seller. tomkins had never less than a hundred pipes of wine in his cellar; he kept seven waiters, one cellar-man, and a boy. each waiter was smartly dressed in his ruffles, and thought it a bad week if he did not make _l._ stacie, who partly served his apprenticeship to tomkins, told twigg, that he had betted nearly _l._ upon one of his racehorses of the name of goldfinder. stacie won, and afterwards sold the horse for a large sum. there was likewise a shakspeare tavern in little russell-street, opposite drury-lane theatre; the sign was altered in , to the albion. shuter, and his tavern-places. shuter, the actor, at the age of twelve, was pot-boy at the queen's head (afterwards mrs. butler's), in covent garden, where he was so kind to the rats in the cellar, by giving them sops from porter, (for, in his time, any person might have a toast in his beer,) that they would creep about him and upon him; he would carry them about between his shirt and his waistcoat, and even call them by their names. shuter was next pot-boy at the blue posts, opposite brydges-street, then kept by ellidge, and afterwards by carter, who played well at billiards, on account of the length of his arms. shuter used to carry beer to the players, behind the scenes at drury-lane theatre, and elsewhere, and being noticed by hippisley, was taken as his servant, and brought on the stage. he had also been at the house next the blue posts,--the sun, in russell-street, which was frequented by hippisley. mr. theophilus forrest, when he paid shuter his money, allowed him in his latter days, two guineas per week, found him calling for gin, and his shirt was worn to half its original size. latterly, he was hooted by the boys in the street: he became a methodist, and died at king john's palace, tottenham court road. the rose tavern, covent garden. this noted tavern, on the east side of brydges-street, flourished in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and from its contiguity to drury-lane theatre, and close connection with it, was frequented by courtiers and men of letters, of loose character, and other gentry of no character at all. the scenes of _the morning ramble, or the town humour_, , are laid "at the rose tavern, in covent garden," which was constantly a scene of drunken broils, midnight orgies, and murderous assaults, by men of fashion, who were designated "hectors," and whose chief pleasure lay in frequenting taverns for the running through of some fuddled toper, whom wine had made valiant. shadwell, in his comedy of the _scowrers_, , written at a time when obedience to the laws was enforced, and these excesses had in consequence declined, observes of these cowardly ruffians: "they were brave fellows, indeed! in those days a man could not go from the rose tavern to the piazza once, but he must venture his life twice." women of a certain freedom of character frequented taverns at the commencement of the last century, and the rose, doubtless, resembled the box-lobby of a theatre. in the _rake reformed_, , this tavern is thus noticed: "not far from thence appears a pendent sign, whose bush declares the product of the vine, whence to the traveller's sight the full-blown rose its dazzling beauties doth in gold disclose; and painted faces flock in tally'd clothes." dramatists and poets resorted to the house, and about , gay and other wits, by clubbing verses, concocted the well-known love ditty, entitled _molly mogg of the rose_, in compliment to the then barmaid or waitress. the welsh ballad, _gwinfrid shones_, printed in , has also this tribute to molly mogg, as a celebrated toast: "some sing molly mogg of the rose, and call her the oakingham pelle; whilst others does farces compose, on peautiful molle lepelle." hogarth's third print of the rake's progress, published in , exhibits a principal room in the rose tavern: lethercoat, the fellow with a bright pewter dish and a candle, is a portrait; he was for many years a porter attached to the house. garrick, when he enlarged drury-lane theatre, in , raised the new front designed by robert adam, took in the whole of the tavern, as a convenience to the theatre, and retained the sign of the rose in an oval compartment, as a conspicuous part of the decoration, which is shown in a popular engraving by j. t. smith. in d'urfey's songs, , we find these allusions to the rose: "_a song in praise of chalk, by w. pettis._ "we the lads at the rose a patron have chose, who's as void as the best is of thinking; and without dedication, will assist in his station, and maintains us in eating and drinking." "_song.--the nose._ "three merry lads met at the rose, to speak in the praises of the nose: the flat, the sharp, the roman snout, the hawk's nose circled round about; the crooked nose that stands awry, the ruby nose of scarlet dye; the brazen nose without a face, that doth the learned college grace. invention often barren grows, yet still there's matter in the nose." evans's, covent garden. at the north-west corner of covent garden market is a lofty edifice, which, with the building that preceded it, possesses a host of interesting associations. sir kenelm digby came to live here after the restoration of charles ii.: here he was much visited by the philosophers of his day, and built in the garden in the rear of the house a laboratory. the mansion was altered, if not rebuilt, for the earl of orford, better known as admiral russell, who, in , defeated admiral de tourville, and ruined the french fleet. the façade of the house originally resembled the forecastle of a ship. the fine old staircase is formed of part of the vessel admiral russell commanded at la hogue; it has handsomely carved anchors, ropes, and the coronet and initials of lord orford. the earl died here in ; and the house was afterwards occupied by thomas, lord archer, until ; and by james west, the great collector of books, etc., and president of the royal society, who died in . mr. twigg recollected lord archer's garden (now the site of the singing-room), at the back of the grand hotel, about , well stocked; mushrooms and cucumbers were grown there in high perfection. in , the house was opened by david low as an hotel; the first family hotel, it is said, in london. gold, silver, and copper medals were struck, and given by low, as advertisements of his house; the gold to the princes, silver to the nobility, and copper to the public generally. about , mrs. hudson, then proprietor, advertised her hotel, "with stabling for one hundred noblemen and horses." the next proprietors were richardson and joy. at the beginning of the present century, and some years afterwards, the hotel was famous for its large dinner- and coffee-room. this was called the "star," from the number of men of rank who frequented it. one day a gentleman entered the dining-room, and ordered of the waiter two lamb-chops; at the same time inquiring, "john, have you a cucumber?" the waiter replied in the negative--it was so early in the season; but he would step into the market, and inquire if there were any. the waiter did so, and returned with--"there are a few, but they are half-a-guinea apiece." "half-a-guinea apiece! are they small or large?" "why, rather small." "then buy two," was the reply. this incident has been related of various epicures; it occurred to charles duke of norfolk, who died in . evans, of covent-garden theatre, removed here from the cider cellar in maiden-lane, and, using the large dining-room for a singing-room, prospered until , when he resigned the property to mr. john green. meanwhile, the character of the entertainment, by the selection of music of a higher class than hitherto, brought so great an accession of visitors, that mr. green built, in , on the site of the old garden (digby's garden) an extremely handsome hall, to which the former singing-room forms a sort of vestibule. the latter is hung with the collection of portraits of celebrated actors and actresses, mostly of our own time, which mr. green has been at great pains to collect. the _spécialité_ of this very agreeable place is the olden music, which is sung here with great intelligence and spirit; the visitors are of the better and more appreciative class, and often include amateurs of rank. the reserved gallery is said to occupy part of the site of the cottage in which the kembles occasionally resided during the zenith of their fame at covent-garden theatre; and here the gifted fanny kemble is said to have been born. the fleece, covent garden. the restoration did not mend the morals of the taverns in covent garden, but increased their licentiousness, and made them the resort of bullies and other vicious persons. the fleece, on the west side of brydges-street, was notorious for its tavern broils; l'estrange, in his translation of quevedo's _visions_, , makes one of the fleece hectors declare he was never well but either at the fleece tavern or bear at bridge-foot, stuffing himself "with food and tipple, till the hoops were ready to burst." according to aubrey, the fleece was "very unfortunate for homicides;" there were several killed there in his time; it was a private house till . aubrey places it in york-street, so that there must have been a back or second way to the tavern--a very convenient resource. the bedford head, covent garden. was a luxurious refectory, in southampton-street, whose epicurism is commemorated by pope:-- "let me extol a cat on oysters fed, i'll have a party at the bedford head." _ nd sat. of horace, nd bk._ "when sharp with hunger, scorn you to be fed except on pea-chicks, at the bedford head?" _pope, sober advice.___ walpole refers to a great supper at the bedford head, ordered by paul whitehead, for a party of gentlemen dressed like sailors and masked, who, in , on the night of vernon's birthday, went round covent garden with a drum, beating up for a volunteer mob; but it did not take. the salutation, tavistock street. this was a noted tavern in the last century, at the corner of tavistock-court, covent garden. its original sign was taken down by mr. yerrel, the landlord, who informed j. t. smith, that it consisted of two gentlemen saluting each other, dressed in flowing wigs, and coats with square pockets, large enough to hold folio books, and wearing swords, this being the dress of the time when the sign was put up, supposed to have been about , the date on a stone at the covent garden end of the court. richard leveridge, the celebrated singer, kept the salutation after his retirement from the stage; and here he brought out his _collection of songs_, with the music, engraved and printed for the author, . among the frequenters of the salutation was william cussans, or cuzzons, a native of barbadoes, and a most eccentric fellow, who lived upon an income allowed him by his family. he once hired himself as a potman, and then as a coal-heaver. he was never seen to smile. he personated a chimney-sweeper at the pantheon and opera-house masquerades, and wrote the popular song of robinson crusoe: "he got all the wood that ever he could, and he stuck it together with glue so; and made him a hut, and in it he put the carcase of robinson crusoe." he was a bacchanalian customer at the salutation, and his nightly quantum of wine was liberal: he would sometimes take eight pints at a sitting, without being the least intoxicated. the constitution tavern, covent garden. in bedford-street, near st. paul's church-gate, was an old tavern, the constitution (now rebuilt), noted as the resort of working men of letters, and for its late hours; indeed, the sittings here were perennial. among other eccentric persons we remember to have seen here, was an accomplished scholar named churchill, who had travelled much in the east, smoked and ate opium to excess, and was full of information. of another grade were two friends who lived in the same house, and had for many years "turned night into day;" rising at eight o'clock in the evening, and going to bed at eight next morning. they had in common some astrological, alchemical, and _spiritual_ notions, and often passed the whole night at the constitution. this was the favourite haunt of wilson, the landscape-painter, who then lived in the garden; he could, at the constitution, freely indulge in a pot of porter, and enjoy the fun of his brother-painter, mortimer, who preferred this house, as it was near his own in church-passage. the cider cellar. this strange place, upon the south side of maiden-lane, covent garden, was opened about , and is described as a "midnight concert room," in _adventures underground_, . professor porson was a great lover of cider, the patronymic drink for which the cellar was once famed; it became his nightly haunt, for wherever he spent the evening, he finished the night at the cider cellar. one night, in , as he sat here smoking his pipe, with his friend george gordon, he abruptly said, "friend george, do you think the widow lunan an agreeable sort of personage, as times go?" gordon assented. "in that case," replied porson, "you must meet me to-morrow morning at st. martin's-in-the-fields, at eight o'clock;" and without saying more, porson paid his reckoning, and went home. next morning, gordon repaired to the church, and there found porson with mrs. lunan and a female friend, and the parson waiting to begin the ceremony. the service being ended, the bride and her friend retired by one door of the church, and porson and gordon by another. the bride and bridegroom dined together with friends, but after dinner porson contrived to slip away, and passed the rest of the day with a learned friend, and did not leave till the family were about to retire for the night, when porson adjourned to the cider cellar, and there stayed till eight o'clock next morning. one of his companions here is said to have shouted before porson, "dick can beat us all: he can drink all night and spout all day," which greatly pleased the professor. we remember the place not many years after porson's death, when it was, as its name implied, _a cellar_, and the fittings were rude and rough: over the mantelpiece was a large mezzotint portrait of porson, framed and glazed, which we take to be the missing portrait named by the rev. mr. watson, in his life of the professor. the cider cellar was subsequently enlarged; but its exhibitions grew to be too sensational for long existence. offley's, henrietta-street. this noted tavern, of our day, enjoyed great and deserved celebrity, though short-lived. it was no. , on the south side of henrietta-street, covent garden, and its fame rested upon burton ale, and the largest supper-room in this theatrical neighbourhood; with no pictures, placards, paper-hangings, or vulgar coffee-room finery, to disturb one's relish of the good things there provided. offley, the proprietor, was originally at bellamy's, and "as such, was privileged to watch, and occasionally admitted to assist, the presiding priestess of the gridiron at the exercise of her mysteries." offley's chop was thick and substantial; the house of commons' chop was small and thin, and honourable members sometimes ate a dozen at a sitting. offley's chop was served with shalots shred, and warmed in gravy, and accompanied by nips of burton ale, and was a delicious after-theatre supper. the large room at that hour was generally crowded with a higher class of men than are to be seen in taverns of the present day. there was excellent dining up-stairs, with wines really worth drinking--all with a sort of quakerly plainness, but solid comfort. the fast men came to the great room, where the _spécialité_ was singing by amateurs upon one evening of the week; and to prevent the chorus waking the dead in their cerements in the adjoining churchyard, the coffee-room window was double. the "professionals" stayed away. francis crew sang moore's melodies, then in their zenith; sometimes, in a spirit of waggery, an amateur would sing "chevy chase" in full; and now and then offley himself trolled out one of captain morris's lyrics. such was this right joyously convivial place some five-and-forty years since upon the singing night. upon other evenings, there came to a large round table (a sort of privileged place) a few well-to-do, substantial tradesmen from the neighbourhood, among whom was the renowned surgical-instrument maker from the strand, who had the sagacity to buy the iron from off the piles of old london bridge, and convert it (after it had lain for centuries under water) into some of the finest surgical instruments of the day. offley's, however, declined: the singing was discontinued; time had thinned the ranks and groups of the bright and buoyant; the large room was mostly frequented by quiet, orderly persons, who kept good hours; the theatre-suppers grew few and far between; the merry old host departed,--when it was proposed to have his portrait painted--but in vain; success had ebbed away, and at length the house was closed.[ ] offley's was sketched with a free hand, in _horæ offleanæ, bentley's miscellany_, march, . footnote: [ ] walks and talks about london, , pp. - . the rummer tavern. the locality of this noted tavern is given by cunningham, as "two doors from locket's, between whitehall and charing cross, removed to the water-side of charing cross, in , and burnt down nov. th, . it was kept in the reign of charles ii., by samuel prior, uncle of matthew prior, the poet, who thus wrote to fleetwood shephard: "my uncle, rest his soul! when living, might have contriv'd me ways of thriving: taught me with cider to replenish my vats, or ebbing tide of rhenish. so when for hock i drew prickt white-wine, swear't had the flavour, and was right wine." the rummer is introduced by hogarth into his picture of "night." here jack sheppard committed his first robbery by stealing two silver spoons. the rummer, in queen-street, was kept by brawn, a celebrated cook, of whom dr. king, in his _art of cookery_, speaks in the same way as kit-kat and locket. king, also, in his _analogy between physicians, cooks, and playwrights_, thus describes a visit:-- "though i seldom go out of my own lodgings, i was prevailed on the other day to dine with some friends at the rummer in queen-street.... sam trusty would needs have me go with him into the kitchen, and see how matters went there.... he assured me that mr. brawn had an art, etc. i was, indeed, very much pleased and surprised with the extraordinary splendour and economy i observed there; but above all with the great readiness and dexterity of the man himself. his motions were quick, but not precipitate; he in an instant applied himself from one stove to another, without the least appearance of hurry, and in the midst of smoke and fire preserved an incredible serenity of countenance." beau brummel, according to mr. jesse, spoke with a relish worthy a descendant of "the rummer," of the savoury pies of his aunt brawn, who then resided at kilburn; she is said to have been the widow of a grandson of the celebrity of queen-street, who had himself kept the public-house at the old mews gate, at charing cross.--see _notes and queries_, nd s., no. xxxvi. we remember an old tavern, "the rummer," in , which was taken down with the lower portion of st. martin's-lane, to form trafalgar-square. spring garden taverns. spring garden is named from its water-spring or fountain, set playing by the spectator treading upon its hidden machinery--an eccentricity of the elizabethan garden. spring garden, by a patent which is extant, in was made a bowling-green by command of charles i. "there was kept in it an ordinary of six shillings a meal (when the king's proclamation allows but two elsewhere); continual bibbing and drinking wine all day under the trees; two or three quarrels every week. it was grown scandalous and insufferable; besides, my lord digby being reprehended for striking in the king's garden, he said he took it for a common bowling-place, where all paid money for their coming in."--_mr. garrard to lord strafford._ in spring garden was put down by the king's command, and ordered to be hereafter no common bowling-place. this led to the opening of "a new spring garden" (shaver's hall), by a gentleman-barber, a servant of the lord chamberlain's. the old garden was, however, re-opened; for th june, , says evelyn, "i treated divers ladies of my relations in spring gardens;" but th may, , he records that cromwell and his partisans had shut up and seized on spring gardens, "w'ch till now had been ye usual rendezvous for the ladys and gallants at this season." spring garden was, however, once more re-opened; for, in _a character of england_, , it is described as "the inclosure not disagreeable, for the solemnness of the grove, the warbling of the birds, and as it opens into the spacious walks at st. james's.... it is usual to find some of the young company here till midnight; and the thickets of the garden seem to be contrived to all advantages of gallantry, after they have refreshed with the collation, which is here seldom omitted, at a certain cabaret in the middle of this paradise, where the forbidden fruits are certain trifling tarts, neats' tongues, salacious meats, and bad rhenish." "the new spring garden" at lambeth (afterwards vauxhall) was flourishing in - ; when the ground at charing cross was built upon, as "inner spring garden" and "outer spring garden." buckingham-court is named from the duke of buckingham, one of the rakish frequenters of the garden; and upon the site of drummond's banking-house was "locket's ordinary, a house of entertainment much frequented by gentry," and a relic of the spring garden gaiety: "for locket's stands where gardens once did spring." dr. king's _art of cookery_, . here the witty and beautiful dramatist, mrs. centlivre, died, december , , at the house of her third husband, joseph centlivre, "yeoman of the mouth" (head cook) "to queen anne."[ ] in her prologue to _love's contrivances_, , we have "at locket's, brown's, and at pontack's enquire what modish kickshaws the nice beaux desire, what famed ragouts, what new invented sallad, has best pretensions to regain the palate." locket's was named from its first landlord:[ ] its fame declined in the reign of queen anne, and expired early in the next reign. footnotes: [ ] curiosities of london, pp. , . [ ] edward locket, in , took the bowling-green house, on putney heath, where all gentlemen might be entertained. in a house built on the site of the above, died, jan. , , the rt. hon. william pitt. "heaven" and "hell" taverns, westminster. at the north end of lindsay-lane, upon the site of the committee-rooms of the house of commons, was a tavern called "heaven;" and under the old exchequer chamber were two subterraneous passages called "hell" and "purgatory." butler, in _hudibras_, mentions the first as "false heaven at the end of the hell;" gifford, in his notes on ben jonson, says: "heaven and hell were two common alehouses, abutting on westminster hall. whalley says that they were standing in his remembrance. they are mentioned together with a third house, called purgatory, in a grant which i have read, dated in the first year of henry vii." old fuller quaintly says of hell: "i could wish it had another name, seeing it is ill jesting with edged tools. i am informed that formerly this place was appointed a prison for the king's debtors, who never were freed thence until they had paid their uttermost due demanded of them. this proverb is since applied to moneys paid into the exchequer, which thence are irrecoverable, upon what plea or pretence whatever." peacham describes hell as a place near westminster hall, "where very good meat is dressed all the term time;" and the company of parish clerks add, it is "very much frequented by lawyers." according to ben jonson, hell appears to have been frequented by lawyers' clerks; for, in his play of the _alchemist_, dapper is forbidden "to break his fast in heaven or hell." hugh peters, on his trial, tells us that he went to westminster to find out some company to dinner with him, and having walked about an hour in westminster hall, and meeting none of his friends to dine with him, he went "to that place called heaven, and dined there." when pride "purged" the parliament, on dec. , , the forty-one he excepted were shut up for the night in the hell tavern, kept by a mr. duke (_carlyle_); and which dugdale calls "their great victualling-house near westminster hall, where they kept them all night without any beds." pepys, in his _diary_, thus notes his visit: " jan. - . and so i returned and went to heaven, where ludlin and i dined." six years later, at the time of the restoration, four days before the king landed, in one of these taverns, pepys spent the evening with locke and purcell, hearing a variety of brave italian and spanish songs, and a new canon of locke's on the words, "domine salvum fac regem." "here, out of the windows," he says, "it was a most pleasant sight to see the city, from one end to the other, with a glory about it, so high was the light of the bonfires, and thick round the city, and the bells rang everywhere." after all, "hell" may have been so named from its being a prison of the king's debtors, most probably a very bad one: it was also called the constabulary. its wardenship was valued yearly at the sum of _s._, and paradise at _l._ purgatory appears also to have been an ancient prison, the keys of which, attached to a leathern girdle, says walcot's _westminster_, are still preserved. herein were kept the ducking-stools for scolds, who were placed in a chair fastened on an iron pivot to the end of a long pole, which was balanced at the middle upon a high trestle, thus allowing the culprit's body to be _ducked_ in the thames. "bellamy's kitchen." in a pleasantly written book, entitled _a career in the commons_, we find this sketch of the singular apartment, in the vicinity of the (old) house of commons called "the kitchen." "mr. bellamy's beer may be unexceptionable, and his chops and steaks may be unrivalled, but the legislators of england delight in eating a dinner in the place where it is cooked, and in the presence of the very fire where the beef hisses and the gravy runs! bellamy's kitchen seems, in fact, a portion of the british constitution. a foreigner, be he a frenchman, american, or dutchman, if introduced to the 'kitchen,' would stare with astonishment if you told him that in this plain apartment, with its immense fire, meatscreen, gridirons, and a small tub under the window for washing the glasses, the statesmen of england very often dine, and men, possessed of wealth untold, and with palaces of their own, in which luxury and splendour are visible in every part, are willing to leave their stately dining-halls and powdered attendants, to be waited upon, while eating a chop in bellamy's kitchen, by two unpretending old women. bellamy's kitchen, i repeat, is part and parcel of the british constitution. baronets who date from the conquest, and squires of every degree, care nothing for the unassuming character of the 'kitchen,' if the steak be hot and good, if it can be quickly and conveniently dispatched, and the tinkle of the division-bell can be heard while the dinner proceeds. call england a proud nation, forsooth! say that the house of commons is aristocratic! both the nation and its representatives must be, and are, unquestionable patterns of republican humility, if all the pomp and circumstance of dining can be forgotten in bellamy's kitchen!"[ ] footnote: [ ] at the noted cat and bagpipes tavern, at the south-west corner of downing-street, george rose used to eat his mutton-chop; he subsequently became secretary to the treasury. a coffee-house canary-bird. of "a great coffee-house" in pall mall we find the following amusing story, in the _correspondence of gray and mason_, edited by mitford: "in the year , my lord peterborough had a great mind to be well with lady sandwich, mrs. bonfoy's old friend. there was a woman who kept a great coffee-house in pall mall, and she had a miraculous canary-bird that piped twenty tunes. lady sandwich was fond of such things, had heard of and seen the bird. lord peterborough came to the woman, and offered her a large sum of money for it; but she was rich, and proud of it, and would not part with it for love or money. however, he watched the bird narrowly, observed all its marks and features, went and bought just such another, sauntered into the coffee-room, took his opportunity when no one was by, slipped the wrong bird into the cage and the right into his pocket, and went off undiscovered to make my lady sandwich happy. this was just about the time of the revolution; and, a good while after, going into the same coffee-house again, he saw his bird there, and said, 'well, i reckon you would give your ears now that you had taken my money.' 'money!' says the woman, 'no, nor ten times that money now, dear little creature! for, if your lordship will believe me (as i am a christian, it is true), it has moped and moped, and never once opened its pretty lips since the day that the poor king went away!" star and garter, pall mall. fatal duel. pall mall has long been noted for its taverns, as well as for its chocolate- and coffee-houses, and "houses for clubbing." they were resorted to by gay nobility and men of estate; and, in times when gaming and drinking were indulged in to frightful excess, these taverns often proved hot-beds of quarrel and fray. one of the most sanguinary duels on record--that between the duke of hamilton and lord mohun--was planned at the queen's arms, in pall mall, and the rose in covent garden; at the former, lord mohun supped with his second on the two nights preceding the fatal conflict in hyde park. still more closely associated with pall mall was the fatal duel between lord byron and mr. chaworth, which was _fought in a room_ of the star and garter, when the grand-uncle of the poet lord killed in a duel, or rather scuffle, his relation and neighbour, "who was run through the body, and died next day." the duellists were neighbours in the country, and were members of the nottinghamshire club, which met at the star and garter once a month. the meeting at which arose the unfortunate dispute that produced the duel, was on the th of january, , when were present mr. john hewet, who sat as chairman; the hon. thomas willoughby; frederick montagu, john sherwin, francis molyneux, esqrs., and lord byron; william chaworth, george donston, and charles mellish, junior, esq.; and sir robert burdett; who were all the company. the usual hour of dining was soon after four, and the rule of the club was to have the bill and a bottle brought in at seven. till this hour all was jollity and good-humour; but mr. hewet, happening to start some conversation about the best method of preserving game, setting the laws for that purpose out of the question, mr. chaworth and lord byron were of different opinions; mr. chaworth insisting on severity against poachers and unqualified persons; and lord byron declaring that the way to have most game was to take no care of it at all. mr. chaworth, in confirmation of what he had said, insisted that sir charles sedley and himself had more game on five acres than lord byron had on all his manors. lord byron, in reply, proposed a bet of guineas, but this was not laid. mr. chaworth then said, that were it not for sir charles sedley's care, and his own, lord byron would not have a hare on his estate; and his lordship asking with a smile, what sir charles sedley's manors were, was answered by mr. chaworth,--nuttall and bulwell. lord byron did not dispute nuttall, but added, bulwell was his; on which mr. chaworth, with some heat, replied: "if you want information as to sir charles sedley's manors, he lives at mr. cooper's, in dean street, and, i doubt not, will be ready to give you satisfaction; and, as to myself, your lordship knows where to find me, in berkeley row." the subject was now dropped; and little was said, when mr. chaworth called to settle the reckoning, in doing which the master of the tavern observed him to be flurried. in a few minutes, mr. chaworth having paid the bill, went out, and was followed by mr. donston, whom mr. c. asked if he thought he had been short in what he had said; to which mr. d. replied, "no; he had gone rather too far upon so trifling an occasion, but did not believe that lord byron or the company would think any more of it." mr. donston then returned to the club-room. lord byron now came out, and found mr. chaworth still on the stairs: it is doubtful whether his lordship called upon mr. chaworth, or mr. chaworth called upon lord byron; but both went down to the first landing-place--having dined upon the second floor--and both called a waiter to show an empty room, which the waiter did, having first opened the door, and placed a small tallow-candle, which he had in his hand, on the table; he then retired, when the gentlemen entered, and shut the door after them. in a few minutes the affair was decided: the bell was rung, but by whom is uncertain: the waiter went up, and perceiving what had happened, ran down very frightened, told his master of the catastrophe, when he ran up to the room, and found the two antagonists standing close together: mr. chaworth had his sword in his left hand, and lord byron his sword in his right; lord byron's left hand was round mr. chaworth, and mr. chaworth's right hand was round lord byron's neck, and over his shoulder. mr. c. desired mr. fynmore, the landlord, to take his sword, and lord b. delivered up his sword at the same moment: a surgeon was sent for, and came immediately. in the meantime, six of the company entered the room; when mr. chaworth said that "he could not live many hours; that he forgave lord byron, and hoped the world would; that the affair had passed in the dark, only a small tallow-candle burning in the room; that lord byron asked him, if he addressed the observation on the game to sir charles sedley, or to him?--to which he replied, 'if you have anything to say, we had better shut the door;' that while he was doing this, lord byron bid him draw, and in turning he saw his lordship's sword half-drawn, on which he whipped out his own sword and made the first pass; that the sword being through my lord's waistcoat, he thought that he had killed him; and, asking whether he was not mortally wounded, lord byron, while he was speaking, shortened his sword, and stabbed him in the belly." when mr. mawkins, the surgeon, arrived, he found mr. chaworth sitting by the fire, with the lower part of his waistcoat open, his shirt bloody, and his hand upon his belly. he inquired if he was in immediate danger, and being answered in the affirmative, he desired his uncle, mr. levinz, might be sent for. in the meantime, he stated to mr. hawkins, that lord byron and he (mr. chaworth) entered the room together; that his lordship said something of the dispute, on which he, mr. c., fastened the door, and turning round, perceived his lordship with his sword either drawn or nearly so; on which he instantly drew his own and made a thrust at him, which he thought had wounded or killed him; that then perceiving his lordship shorten his sword to return the thrust, he thought to have parried it with his left hand, at which he looked twice, imagining that he had cut it in the attempt; that he felt the sword enter his body, and go deep through his back; that he struggled, and being the stronger man, disarmed his lordship, and expressed his apprehension that he had mortally wounded him; that lord byron replied by saying something to the like effect; adding that he hoped now he would allow him to be as brave a man as any in the kingdom. after a little while, mr. chaworth seemed to grow stronger, and was removed to his own house: additional medical advice arrived, but no relief could be given him: he continued sensible till his death. mr. levinz, his uncle, now arrived with an attorney, to whom mr. chaworth gave very sensible and distinct instructions for making his will. the will was then executed, and the attorney, mr. partington, committed to writing the last words mr. chaworth was heard to say. this writing was handed to mr. levinz, and gave rise to a report that a paper was written by the deceased, and sealed up, not to be opened till the time that lord byron should be tried; but no paper was written by mr. chaworth, and that written by mr. partington was as follows: "sunday morning, the th of january, about three of the clock, mr. chaworth said, that my lord's sword was half-drawn, and that he, knowing the man, immediately, or as quick as he could, whipped out his sword, and had the first thrust; that then my lord wounded him, and he disarmed my lord, who then said, 'by g--, i have as much courage as any man in england.'" lord byron was committed to the tower, and was tried before the house of peers, in westminster hall, on the th and th of april, . lord byron's defence was reduced by him into writing, and read by the clerk. the peers present, including the high steward, declared lord byron, on their honour, to be not guilty of murder, but of manslaughter; with the exception of four peers, who found him not guilty generally. on this verdict being given, lord byron was called upon to say why judgment of manslaughter should not be pronounced upon him. his lordship immediately claimed the benefit of the st edward vi. cap. , a statute, by which, whenever a peer was convicted of any felony for which a commoner might have benefit of clergy, such peer, on praying the benefit of that act, was always to be discharged without burning in the hand, or any penal consequence whatever. the claim of lord byron being accordingly allowed, he was forthwith discharged on payment of his fees. this singular privilege was supposed to be abrogated by the & geo. iv. cap. , s. , which abolished benefit of clergy; but some doubt arising on the subject, it was positively put an end to by the & vict. cap. . (see _celebrated trials connected with the aristocracy_, by mr. serjeant burke.) mr. chaworth was the descendant of one of the oldest houses in england, a branch of which obtained an irish peerage. his grand-niece, the eventual heiress of the family, was mary chaworth, the object of the early unrequited love of lord byron, the poet. singularly enough, there was the same degree of relationship between that nobleman and the lord byron who killed mr. chaworth, as existed between the latter unfortunate gentleman and mr. chaworth.[ ] several stories are told of the high charges of the star and garter tavern, even in the reign of queen anne. the duke of ormond, who gave here a dinner to a few friends, was charged twenty-one pounds, six shillings, and eight pence, for four, that is, first and second course, without wine or dessert. from the _connoisseur_ of , we learn that the fools of quality of that day "drove to the star and garter to regale on macaroni, or piddle with an ortolan at white's or pontac's." at the star and garter, in , was formed the first cricket club. sir horace mann, who had promoted cricket in kent, and the duke of dorset and lord tankerville, leaders of the surrey and hants eleven, conjointly with other noblemen and gentlemen, formed a committee under the presidency of sir william draper. they met at the star and garter, and laid down the first rules of cricket, which very rules form the basis of the laws of cricket of this day. footnote: [ ] abridged from the romance of london, vol. i. pp. - . thatched-house tavern, st. james's-street. "come and once more together let us greet the long-lost pleasures of st. james's-street."--_tickell._ little more than a century and a half ago the parish of st. james was described as "all the houses and grounds comprehended in a place heretofore called 'st. james's fields' and the confines thereof." previously to this, the above tavern was most probably a _thatched house_. st. james's-street dates from : the poets waller and pope lived here; sir christopher wren died here, in ; as did gibbon, the historian, in , at elmsley's, the bookseller's, at no. , at the corner of little st. james's-street. fox lived next to brookes's in ; and lord byron lodged at no. , in . at the south-west end was the st. james's coffee-house, taken down in ; the foreign and domestic news house of the _tatler_, and the "fountain-head" of the _spectator_. thus early, the street had a sort of literary fashion favourable to the growth of taverns and clubs. the thatched house, which was taken down in and , had been for nearly two centuries celebrated for its club meetings, its large public room, and its public dinners, especially those of our universities and great schools. it was one of swift's favourite haunts: in some birthday verses he sings:-- "the deanery-house may well be matched, under correction, with the thatch'd." the histories of some of the principal clubs which met here, will be found in vol. i.; as the brothers, literary, dilettanti, and others; (besides a list, page .) the royal naval club held its meetings at the thatched house, as did some art societies and kindred associations. the large club-room faced st. james's-street, and when lit in the evening with wax-candles in large old glass chandeliers, the dilettanti pictures could be seen from the pavement of the street. beneath the tavern front was a range of low-built shops, including that of rowland, or rouland, the fashionable coiffeur, who charged five shillings for cutting hair, and made a large fortune by his "incomparable _huile_ macassar." through the tavern was a passage to thatched house-court, in the rear; and here, in catherine-wheel-alley, in the last century, lived the good old widow delany, after the doctor's death, as noted in her autobiography, edited by lady llanover. some of mrs. delany's fashionable friends then resided in dean-street, soho. thatched house-court and the alley have been swept away. elmsley's was removed for the site of the conservative club, in an adjoining house lived the famous betty, "the queen of apple-women," whom mason has thus embalmed in his _heroic epistle_:-- "and patriot betty fix her fruitshop here." it was a famous place for gossip. walpole says of a story much about, "i should scruple repeating it, if betty and the waiters at arthur's did not talk of it publicly." again, "would you know what officer's on guard in betty's fruitshop?" the tavern, which has disappeared, was nearly the last relic of old st. james's-street, although its memories survive in various modern club-houses, and the thatched house will be kept in mind by the graceful sculpture of the civil service clubhouse, erected upon a portion of the site. "the running footman," may fair. this sign, in charles-street, berkeley square, carries us back to the days of bad roads, and journeying at snail's pace, when the travelling equipage of the nobility required that one or more men should run in front of the carriage, chiefly as a mark of the rank of the traveller; they were likewise sent on messages, and occasionally for great distances. the running footman required to be a healthy and active man; he wore a light black cap, a jockey-coat, and carried a pole with at the top a hollow ball, in which he kept a hard-boiled egg and a little white wine, to serve as refreshment on his journey; and this is supposed to be the origin of the footman's silver-mounted cane. the duke of queensberry, who died in , kept a running footman longer than his compeers in london; and mr. thoms, in _notes and queries_, relates an amusing anecdote of a man who came to be hired for the duty by the duke. his grace was in the habit of trying their paces, by seeing how they could run up and down piccadilly, he watching them and timing them from his balcony. the man put on a livery before the trial; on one occasion, a candidate, having run, stood before the balcony. "you will do very well for me," said the duke. "and your livery will do very well for me," replied the man, and gave the duke a last proof of his ability by running away with it. the sign in charles-street represents a young man, dressed in a kind of livery, and a cap with a feather in it; he carries the usual pole, and is running; and beneath is "i am the only running footman," which may relate to the superior speed of the runner, and this may be a portrait of a celebrity. kindred to the above is the old sign of "the two chairmen," in warwick-street, charing cross,[ ] recalling the sedans or chairs of pall mall; and there is a similar sign on hay hill. footnote: [ ] the old golden cross inn, charing cross, stood a short distance west of the present golden cross hotel, no. , strand. of the former we read: "april , . it was at this period, by order of the committee or commission appointed by the house, the sign of a tavern, the golden cross, at charing cross, was taken down, as superstitious and idolatrous."--in suffolk-street, haymarket, was the tavern before which took place "the calves' head club" riot.--see vol. i., p. . piccadilly inns and taverns. piccadilly was long noticed for the variety and extent of its inns and taverns, although few remain. at the east end were formerly the black bear and white bear (originally the fleece), nearly opposite each other. the black bear was taken down . the white bear remains: it occurs in st. martin's parish-books, : here chatelain and sullivan, the engravers, died; and benjamin west, the painter, lodged, the first night after his arrival from america. strype mentions the white horse cellar in ; and the booking-office of the new white horse cellar is to this day in "the cellar." the three kings stables gateway, no. , had two corinthian pilasters, stated by disraeli to have belonged to clarendon house: "the stable-yard at the back presents the features of an old galleried inn-yard, and it is noted as the place from which general palmer started the first bath mail-coach." (j. w. archer: _vestiges_, part vi.) the hercules' pillars (a sign which meant that no habitation was to be found beyond it) stood a few yards west of hamilton-place, and has been mentioned. the hercules' pillars, and another roadside tavern, the triumphant car, were standing about , and were mostly frequented by soldiers. two other piccadilly inns, the white horse and half moon, both of considerable extent, have given names to streets. the older and more celebrated house of entertainment was piccadilly hall, which appears to have been built by one robert baker, in "the fields behind the mews," leased to him by st. martin's parish, and sold by his widow to colonel panton, who built panton-square and panton-street. lord clarendon, in his _history of the rebellion_, speaks of "mr. hyde going to a house called piccadilly for entertainment and gaming:" this house, with its gravel-walks and bowling-greens, extended from the corner of windmill-street and the site of panton-square, as shown in porter and faithorne's map, . mr. cunningham found (see _handbook_, nd edit. p. ), in the parish accounts of st. martin's, "robt backer, of pickadilley halle;" and the receipts for lammas money paid for the premises as late as . sir john suckling, the poet, was one of the frequenters; and aubrey remembered suckling's "sisters coming to the peccadillo bowling-green, crying, for the feare he should lose all their portions." the house was taken down about : a tennis-court in the rear remained to our time, upon the site of the argyll rooms, great windmill-street. the society of antiquaries possess a printed proclamation (_temp._ charles ii. ) against the increase of buildings in windmill-fields and the fields adjoining soho; and in the plan of , great windmill-street consists of straggling houses, and a windmill in a field west. colonel panton, who is named above, was a celebrated gamester of the time of the restoration, and in one night, it is said, he won as many thousands as purchased him an estate of above _l._ a year. "after this good fortune," says lucas, "he had such an aversion against all manner of games, that he would never handle cards or dice again; but lived very handsomely on his winnings to his dying day, which was in the year ." he was the last proprietor of piccadilly hall, and was in possession of land on the site of the streets and buildings which bear his name, as early as the year . yet we remember to have seen it stated that panton-street was named from a particular kind of horse-shoe called a _panton_; and from its contiguity to the haymarket, this origin was long credited. at the north-east end of the haymarket stood the gaming-house built by the barber of the earl of pembroke, and hence called shaver's hall: it is described by garrard, in a letter to lord strafford in , as "a new spring gardens, erected in the fields beyond the mews:" its tennis-court remains in james-street. from a survey of the premises, made in , we gather that shaver's hall was strongly built of brick, and covered with lead: its large "seller" was divided into six rooms; above these four rooms, and the same in the first storey, to which was a balcony, with a prospect southward to the bowling-alleys. in the second storey were six rooms; and over the same a walk, leaded, and enclosed with rails, "very curiously carved and wrought," as was also the staircase, throughout the house. on the west were large kitchens and coal-house, with lofts over, "as also one faire tennis court," of brick, tiled, "well accommodated with all things fitting for the same;" with upper rooms; and at the entrance gate to the upper bowling-green, a parlour-lodge; and a double flight of steps descending to the lower bowling alley; there was still another bowling alley, and an orchard-wall, planted with choice fruit-trees; "as also one pleasant banqueting house, and one other faire and pleasant roome, called the greene roome, and one other conduit-house, and other turrets adjoininge to the walls. the ground whereon the said buildings stand, together with fayre bowling alleys, orchard gardens, gravily walks, and other green walks, and courts and courtyards, containinge, by estimacion, acres and qrs., lying betweene a roadway leading from charinge crosse to knightsbridge west, now in the possession of captayne geeres, and is worth per ann. clli."[ ] footnote: [ ] in jermyn-street, haymarket, was the one tun tavern, a haunt of sheridan's; and, upon the site of "the little theatre," is the café de l'europe. islington taverns. if you look at a map of london, in the reign of queen elizabeth, the openness of the northern suburbs is very remarkable. cornhill was then a clear space, and the ground thence to bishopsgate-street was occupied as gardens. the spitalfields were entirely open, and shoreditch church was nearly the last building of london in that direction. moorfields were used for drying linen; while cattle grazed, and archers shot, in finsbury fields, at the verge of which were three windmills. on the western side of smithfield was a row of trees. goswell-street was a lonely road, and islington church stood in the distance, with a few houses and gardens near it. st. giles's was also a small village, with open country north and west. the ancient islington continued to be a sort of dairy-farm for the metropolis. like her father, henry viii., elizabeth paid frequent visits to this neighbourhood, where some wealthy commoners dwelt; and her partiality to the place left many evidences in old houses, and spots traditionally said to have been visited by the queen, whose delight it was to go among her people. islington retained a few of its elizabethan houses to our times; and its rich dairies were of like antiquity: in the entertainment given to queen elizabeth at kenilworth castle, in , the squier minstrel of middlesex glorifies islington with the motto, "_lac caseus infans_;" and it is still noted for its cow-keepers. it was once as famous for its cheese-cakes as chelsea for its buns; and among its other notabilities were custards and stewed "pruans," its mineral spa and its ducking-ponds; ball's pond dates from the time of charles i. at the lower end of islington, in , were eight inns, principally supported by summer visitors: "hogsdone, _islington_, and tothnam court, for cakes and creame had then no small resort." wither's _britain's remembrancer_, . among the old inns and public-houses were the crown apparently of the reign of henry vii., and the old queen's head of about the same date: "the queen's head and crown in islington town, bore, for its brewing, the brightest renown." near the green, the duke's head, was kept by topham, "the strong man of islington;" in frog-lane, the barley-mow, where george morland painted; at the old parr's head, in upper-street, henderson the tragedian first acted; the three hats, near the turnpike, was taken down in ; and of the angel, originally a galleried inn, a drawing may be seen at the present inn. timber gables and rudely-carved brackets are occasionally to be seen in house-fronts; also here and there an old "house of entertainment," which, with the little remaining of "the green," remind one of islington village. the old queen's head was the finest specimen in the neighbourhood of the domestic architecture of the reign of henry vii. it consisted of three storeys, projecting over each other in front, with bay-windows supported by brackets, and figures carved in wood. the entrance was by a central porch, supported by caryatides of oak, bearing ionic scrolls. to the left was the oak parlour, with carved mantelpiece, of chest-like form; and caryatid jambs, supporting a slab sculptured with the story of diana and actæon. the ceiling was a shield, bearing j. m. in a glory, with cherubim, two heads of roman emperors, with fish, flowers, and other figures, within wreathed borders, with bosses of acorns. white conduit house was first built in the fields, in the reign of charles i., and was named from a stone conduit, , which supplied the charterhouse with water by a leaden pipe. the tavern was originally a small ale and cake house: sir william davenant describes a city wife going to the fields to "sop her cake in milke;" and goldsmith speaks of tea-drinking parties here with hot-rolls and butter. white conduit rolls were nearly as famous as chelsea buns. the wheel pond close by was a noted place for duck-hunting. in may, , a poetical description of white conduit house appeared in the _gentleman's magazine_. a description of the old place, in , presents a general picture of the tea-garden of that period: "it is formed into walks, prettily disposed. at the end of the principal one is a painting which seems to render it (the walk) in appearance longer than it really is. in the centre of the garden is a fish-pond. there are boxes for company, curiously cut into hedges, adorned with flemish and other paintings. there are two handsome tea-rooms, and several inferior ones." to these were added a new dancing and tea-saloon, called the apollo room. in , the gardens were opened as a minor vauxhall; and here the charming vocalist, mrs. bland, last sang in public. in , the original tavern was taken down, and rebuilt upon a much larger plan: in its principal room persons could dine. in , these premises were also taken down, the tavern rebuilt upon a smaller scale, and the garden-ground let on building leases. cricket was played here by the white conduit club, as early as ; and one of its attendants, thomas lord, subsequently established the marylebone club. white conduit house was for some years kept by mr. christopher bartholomew, at one time worth , _l._ he had some fortunate hits in the state lottery, and celebrated his good fortune by a public breakfast in his gardens. he was known to spend upwards of guineas a day for insurance: fortune forsook him, and he passed the latter years of his life in great poverty, partly subsisting on charity. but his gambling propensity led him, in , to purchase with a friend a sixteenth of a lottery-ticket, which was drawn a prize of , _l._, with his moiety of which he purchased a small annuity, which he soon sold, and died in distress, in . bagnigge wells, on the banks of the fleet brook, between clerkenwell and old st. pancras church, was another tavern of this class. we remember its concert-room and organ, its grottoes, fountain and fishpond, its trim trees, its grotesque costumed figures, and its bust of nell gwynne to support the tradition that she had a house here. a comedy of the seventeenth century has its scene laid at the saracen's head, an old hostelrie, which in queen mary's reign had been hallowed by secret protestant devotion, and stood between river lane and the city road. highbury barn, upon the site of the barn of the monks of canonbury, was another noted tavern.[ ] nearly opposite canonbury tower are the remains of a last-century tea-garden; and in barnsbury is a similar relic. and on the entrance of a coppice of trees is hornsey wood house, a tavern with a delightful prospect. islington abounds in chalybeate springs, resembling the tunbridge wells water; one of which was rediscovered in , in the garden of sadler's music-house, subsequently sadler's wells theatre; and at the sir hugh myddelton's head tavern was formerly a conversation-picture with twenty-eight portraits of the sadler's wells club. in spa fields, was held "gooseberry fair," where the stalls of gooseberry-fool vied with the "threepenny tea-booths," and the beer at "my lord cobham's head," which denotes the site of the mansion of sir john oldcastle, the wickliffite, burnt in . footnote: [ ] canonbury tavern was in the middle of the last century a small ale-house. it was taken by a mr. lane, who had been a private soldier: he improved the house, but its celebrity was gained by the widow sutton, who kept the place from to , and built new rooms, and laid out the bowling-green and tea-gardens. an assembly was first established here in the year . nearly the entire premises, which then occupied about four acres, were situated within the old park wall of the priory of st. bartholomew; it formed, indeed, a part of the eastern side of the house; the ancient fish-pond was also connected with the grounds. the tavern has been rebuilt. copenhagen house. this old suburban tavern, which stood in copenhagen fields, islington, was cleared away in forming the site of the new cattle market. the house had a curious history. in the time of nelson, the historian of islington ( ), it was a house of considerable resort, the situation affording a fine prospect over the western part of the metropolis. adjoining the house was a small garden, furnished with seats and tables for the accommodation of company; and a fives ground. the principal part of copenhagen house, although much altered, was probably as old as the time of james i., and is traditionally said to have derived its name from having been the residence of a danish prince or ambassador during the great plague of . hone, in , says: "it is certain that copenhagen house has been licensed for the sale of beer, wine, and spirits, upwards of a century; and for refreshments, and as a tea-house, with garden and ground for skittles and dutch pins, it has been greatly resorted to by londoners." the date of this hostelry must be older than stated by hone. cunningham says: "a public-house or tavern in the parish of islington, is called coopenhagen in the map before bishop gibson's edition of camden, ." about the year this house was kept by a person named harrington. at his decease the business was continued by his widow, wherein she was assisted for several years by a young woman from shropshire. this female assistant afterwards married a person named tomes, from whom hone got much information respecting copenhagen-house. in --the time of the london riots--a body of the rioters passed on their way to attack the seat of lord mansfield at caen-wood; happily, they passed by without doing any damage, but mrs. harrington and her maid were so much alarmed that they dispatched a man to justice hyde, who sent a party of soldiers to garrison the place, where they remained until the riots were ended. from this spot the view of the nightly conflagrations in the metropolis must have been terrific. mrs. tomes says she saw nine fires at one time. on the new year's-day previous to this, mrs. harrington was not so fortunate. after the family had retired to rest, a party of burglars forced the kitchen window, and mistaking the salt-box, in the chimney corner, for a man's head, fired a ball through it. they then ran upstairs with a dark lantern, tied the servants, burst the lower panel of mrs. harrington's room door--while she secreted _l._ between her bed and the mattresses--and three of them rushed to her bed-side, armed with a cutlass, crowbar, and a pistol, while a fourth kept watch outside. they demanded her money, and as she denied that she had any, they wrenched her drawers open with the crowbar, refusing to use the keys she offered to them. in these they found about _l._ belonging to her daughter, a little child, whom they threatened to murder unless she ceased crying; while they packed up all the plate, linen, and clothes, which they carried off. they then went into the cellar, set all the ale barrels running, broke the necks of the wine bottles, spilt the other liquors, and slashed a round of beef with their cutlasses. from this wanton destruction they returned to the kitchen, where they ate, drank, and sung; and eventually frightened mrs. harrington into delivering up the _l._ she had secreted, and it was with difficulty she escaped with her life. rewards were offered by government and the parish of islington for the apprehension of the robbers; and in may following one of them, named clarkson, was discovered, and hopes of mercy tendered to him if he would discover his accomplices. this man was a watchmaker of clerkenwell; the other three were tradesmen. they were tried and executed, and clarkson pardoned. he was, however, afterwards executed for another robbery. in a sense, this robbery was fortunate to mrs. harrington. a subscription was raised, which more than covered the loss, and the curiosity of the londoners induced them to throng to the scene of the robbery. so great was the increase of business that it became necessary to enlarge the premises. soon afterwards the house was celebrated for fives-playing. this game was our old _hand tennis_, and is a very ancient game. this last addition was almost accidental. "i made the first fives-ball," says mrs. tomes, "that was ever thrown up against copenhagen house. one hickman, a butcher at highgate, a countryman of mine, called, and, seeing me counting, we talked about our country sports, and, amongst the rest, _fives_. i told him we'd have a game some day. i laid down the stone myself, and against he came again made a ball. i struck the ball the first blow, he gave it the second--and so we played--and as there was company, they liked the sport, and it got talked of." this was the beginning of fives-play which became so famous at copenhagen house. topham, the strong man, and his taverns. in upper-street, islington, was formerly a house with the sign of the duke's head, at the south-east corner of gadd's row, (now st. alban's place), which was remarkable, towards the middle of the last century, on account of its landlord, thomas topham, "the strong man of islington." he was brought up to the trade of a carpenter, but abandoned it soon after his apprenticeship had expired; and about the age of twenty-four became the host of the red lion, near the old hospital of st. luke, in which house he failed. when he had attained his full growth, his stature was about five feet ten inches, and he soon began to give proof of his superior strength and muscular power. the first public exhibition of his extraordinary strength was that of pulling against a horse, lying upon his back, and placing his feet against the dwarf wall that divided upper and lower moorfields. by the strength of his fingers, he rolled up a very strong and large pewter dish, which was placed among the curiosities of the british museum, marked near the edge, "april, , , thomas topham, of london, carpenter, rolled up this dish (made of the hardest pewter) by the strength of his hands, in the presence of dr. john desaguliers," etc. he broke seven or eight pieces of a tobacco-pipe, by the force of his middle finger, having laid them on his first and third fingers. having thrust the bowl of a strong tobacco-pipe under his garter, his legs being bent, he broke it to pieces by the tendons of his hams, without altering the position of his legs. another bowl of this kind he broke between his first and second finger, by pressing them together sideways. he took an iron kitchen poker, about a yard long, and three inches round, and bent it nearly to a right angle, by striking upon his bare left arm between the elbow and the wrist. holding the ends of a poker of like size in his hands, and the middle of it against the back of his neck, he brought both extremities of it together before him; and, what was yet more difficult, pulled it almost straight again. he broke a rope of two inches in circumference; though, from his awkward manner, he was obliged to exert four times more strength than was necessary. he lifted a rolling stone of eight hundred pounds' weight with his hands only, standing in a frame above it, and taking hold of a chain fastened thereto. but his grand feat was performed in coldbath fields, may , , in commemoration of the taking of porto bello, by admiral vernon. at this time topham was landlord of the apple-tree, nearly facing the entrance to the house of correction; here he exhibited the exploit of lifting three hogsheads of water, weighing one thousand eight hundred and thirty-one pounds: he also pulled against one horse, and would have succeeded against two, or even four, had he taken a proper position; but in pulling against two, he was jerked from his seat, and had one of his knees much hurt. admiral vernon was present at the above exhibition, in the presence of thousands of spectators; and there is a large print of the strange scene. topham subsequently removed to hog-lane, shoreditch. his wife proved unfaithful to him, which so distressed him that he stabbed her, and so mutilated himself that he died, in the flower of his age. many years since, there were several signs in the metropolis, illustrative of topham's strength: the last was one in east smithfield, where he was represented as "the strong man pulling against two horses." the castle tavern, holborn. this noted tavern, described by strype, a century and a half ago, as a house of considerable trade, has been, in our time, the head-quarters of the prize ring, kept by two of its heroes, tom belcher and tom spring. here was instituted the daffy club; and the long room was adorned with portraits of pugilistic heroes, including jem belcher, burke, jackson, tom belcher, old joe ward, dutch sam, gregson, humphreys, mendoza, cribb, molyneux, gulley, randall, turner, martin, harmer, spring, neat, hickman, painter, scroggins, tom owen, etc.; and among other sporting prints, the famous dog, trusty, the present of lord camelford to jem belcher, and the victor in fifty battles. in _cribb's memorial to congress_ is this picture of the great room:-- "lent friday night a bang-up set of milling blades at belcher's met, all high-bred heroes of the ring, whose very gammon would delight one; who, nurs'd beneath the fancy's wing, show all her feathers but the white one. brave tom, the champion, with an air almost corinthian, took the chair, and kept the coves in quiet tune, by showing such a fist of mutton as on a point of order soon would take the shine from speaker sutton. and all the lads look'd gay and bright, and gin and genius flashed about; and whosoe'er grew unpolite, the well-bred champion serv'd him out." in , belcher retired from the tavern and was succeeded by tom spring (thomas winter), the immediate successor of cribb, as champion of england. spring prospered at the castle many years. he died august , , in his fifty-sixth year; he was highly respected, and had received several testimonials of public and private esteem; among which were these pieces of plate:-- . the manchester cup, presented in . . the hereford cup, . . a noble tankard and a purse, value upwards of five hundred pounds. . a silver goblet, from spring's early patron, mr. sant. spring's figure was an extremely fine one, and his face and forehead most remarkable. his brow had something of the greek jupiter in it, expressing command, energy, determination, and cool courage. its severity was relieved by the lower part of his countenance, the features of which denoted mildness and playfulness. his actual height was five feet eleven inches and a half; but he could stretch his neck so as to make his admeasurement more than six feet. marylebone and paddington taverns. smith, in his very amusing _book for a rainy day_, tells us that in , beyond portland chapel, (now st. paul's,) the highway was irregular, with here and there a bank of separation; and having crossed the new road, there was a turnstile, at the entrance of a meadow leading to a little old public-house--the queen's head and artichoke--an odd association: the sign was much weather-beaten, though perhaps once a tolerably good portrait of queen elizabeth: the house was reported to have been kept by one of her majesty's gardeners. a little beyond was another turnstile opening also into the fields, over which was a walk to the jew's harp tavern and tea gardens. it consisted of a large upper room, ascended by an outside staircase for the accommodation of the company on ball-nights. there were a semicircular enclosure of boxes for tea and ale drinkers; and tables and seats for the smokers, guarded by deal-board soldiers between every box, painted in proper colours. there were trap-ball and tennis grounds, and skittle-grounds. south of the tea-gardens were summer-houses and gardens, where the tenant might be seen on sunday evening, in a bright scarlet waistcoat, ruffled shirt, and silver shoe-buckles, comfortably taking his tea with his family, honouring a seven dials friend with a nod on his peregrination to the famed wells of kilburn. such was the suburban rural enjoyment of a century since on the borders of marylebone park. there is a capital story told of mr. speaker onslow, who, when he could escape from the heated atmosphere of the house of commons, in his long service of thirty-three years, used to retire to the jew's harp. he dressed himself in plain attire, and preferred taking his seat in the chimney-corner of the kitchen, where he took part in the passing joke, and ordinary concerns of the landlord, his family and customers! he continued this practice for a year or two, and thus ingratiated himself with his host and his family, who, not knowing his name, called him "the gentleman," but from his familiar manners, treated him as one of themselves. it happened, however, one day, that the landlord of the jew's harp was walking along parliament-street, when he met the speaker, in his state-coach, going up with an address to the throne; and looking narrowly at the chief personage, he was astonished and confounded at recognising the features of the gentleman, his constant customer. he hurried home and communicated the extraordinary intelligence to his wife and family, all of whom were disconcerted at the liberties which, at different times, they had taken with so important a person. in the evening, mr. onslow came as usual to the jew's harp, with his holiday face and manners, and prepared to take his seat, but found everything in a state of peculiar preparation, and the manners of the landlord and his wife changed from indifference and familiarity to form and obsequiousness: the children were not allowed to climb upon him, and pull his wig as heretofore, and the servants were kept at a distance. he, however, took no notice of the change, but, finding that his name and rank had by some means been discovered, he paid his reckoning, civilly took his departure, and never visited the house afterwards. the celebrated speaker is buried in the family vault of the onslows, at merrow; and in trinity church, guildford, is a memorial of him--"the figure of the deceased in a _roman habit_," and he is resting upon volumes of the votes and journals of the house of commons. the monument is overloaded with inscriptions and armorial displays: we suspect that "the gentleman" of the jews' harp chimney-corner would rather that such indiscriminate ostentation had been spared, especially "the roman habit." if we remember rightly, speaker onslow presented to the people of merrow, for their church, a cedar-wood pulpit, which the churchwardens ordered to be _painted white_! to return to the taverns. wilson, our great landscape-painter, was fond of playing at skittles, and frequented the green man public-house, in the new-road, at the end of norton-street, originally known under the appellation of the "farthing pye-house;" where bits of mutton were put into a crust shaped like a pie, and actually sold for a farthing. this house was kept by a facetious man named price, of whom there is a mezzotinto portrait: he was an excellent salt-box player, and frequently accompanied the famous abel, when playing on the violoncello. wilkes was a frequenter of this house to procure votes for middlesex, as it was visited by many opulent freeholders. the mother redcap, at kentish town, was a house of no small terror to travellers in former times. it has been stated that mother redcap was the "mother damnable" of kentish town; and that it was at her house that the notorious moll cutpurse, the highway-woman of the time of oliver cromwell, dismounted, and frequently lodged. kentish town has had some of its old taverns rebuilt. here was the castle tavern, which had a perpendicular stone chimney-piece; the house was taken down in : close to its southern wall was a sycamore planted by lord nelson, when a boy, at the entrance to his uncle's cottage; the tree has been spared. opposite were the old assembly-rooms, taken down in : here was a table with an inscription by an invalid, who recovered his health by walking to this spot every morning to take his breakfast in front of the house. bowling-greens were also among the celebrities of marylebone: where, says the grave john locke (_diary_, ), a curious stranger "may see several persons of quality bowling, two or three times a week, all the summer." the bowling-green of the rose of normandy tavern and gaming-house in high-street is supposed to be that referred to in lady mary wortley montagu's memorable line; and it is one of the scenes of captain macheath's debaucheries, in gay's _beggar's opera_. the rose was built some years ago, and was the oldest house in marylebone parish: it was originally a detached building, used as a house of entertainment in connection with the bowling-green at the back; and in the place was described as a square brick wall, set with fruit-trees, gravel walks, and the bowling-green; "all, except the first, double set with quickset hedges, full-grown, and kept in excellent order, and indented like town walls." in a map of the duke of portland's estate, of , there are shown two bowling-greens, one near the top of high-street, and abutting on the grounds of the old manor house; the other at the back of this house: in connection with the latter was the rose tavern, once much frequented by persons of the first rank, but latterly in much disrepute, and supposed to be referred to by pennant, who, when speaking of the duke of buckingham's minute description of the house afterwards the queen's palace, says: "he has omitted his constant visits to the noted gaming-house at marybone; the place of assemblage of all the infamous sharpers of the time;" to whom his grace always gave a dinner at the conclusion of the season; and his parting toast was, "may as many of us as remain unhanged next spring meet here again." these bowling-greens were afterwards incorporated with the well-known marylebone gardens, upon the site of which are now built beaumont-street, part of devonshire-street, and devonshire-place. the principal entrance was in high-street. pepys was here in : "then we abroad to marrowbone, and there walked in the gardens: the first time i was ever there, and a pretty place it is." in the _london gazette_, , we read of "long's bowling-green, at the rose, at marylebone, half a mile distant from london." the gardens were at first opened gratis to all classes; after the addition of the bowling-greens, the company became more select, by one shilling entrance-money being charged, an equivalent being allowed in viands. an engraving of shows the gardens in their fullest splendour: the centre walk had rows of trees, with irons for the lamps in the stems; on either side, latticed alcoves; and on the right, the bow-fronted orchestra with balustrades, supported by columns; with a projecting roof, to keep the musicians and singers free from rain; on the left is a room for balls and suppers. in , the gardens were taken by lowe, the singer; he kept them until , when he conveyed the property by assignment, to his creditors; the deed we remember to have seen in mr. sampson hodgkinson's collection at acton green: from it we learn that the premises of rysbrack, the sculptor, were formerly part of the gardens. nan cattley and signor storace were among the singers. james hook, father of theodore hook, composed many songs for the gardens; and dr. arne, catches and glees; and under his direction was played handel's music, followed by fireworks; and in , a model-picture of mount etna, in eruption. burlettas from shakspeare were recited here in . in , baddeley, the comedian, gave here his modern magic lantern, including punch's election; next, george saville carey his lecture on mimicry; and in , fantoccini, sleight of hand, and representations of the boulevards at paris and pyramids of egypt. chatterton wrote for the gardens _the revenge_, a burletta, the manuscript of which, together with chatterton's receipt, given to henslow, the proprietor of the gardens, for the amount paid for the drama, was found by mr. upcott, at a cheesemonger's shop, in the city; it was published, but its authenticity was at the time doubted by many eminent critics. (_crypt_, november, .) paddington was long noted for its old taverns. the white lion, edgware-road, dates , the year when hops were first imported. at the red lion, near the harrow-road, tradition says, shakspeare acted; and another red lion, formerly near the harrow-road bridge over the bourn, is described in an inquisition of edward vi. in this road is also an ancient pack-horse; and the wheatsheaf, edgware-road, was a favourite resort of ben jonson.[ ] kilburn wells, a noted tea-drinking tavern and garden, sprang up from the fame of the spring of mineral water there. bayswater had, within memory, its tea-garden taverns, the most extensive of which were the "physic gardens" of sir john hill, who here cultivated his medicinal plants, and prepared from them his tinctures, essences, etc. the ground is now the site of noble mansions. the bayswater springs, reservoirs, and conduits, in olden times, brought here thousands of pleasure-seekers; as did shepherd's bush, with its rural name. acton, with its wells of mineral water, about the middle of the last century, were in high repute; the assembly-room was then a place of great fashionable resort, but on its decline was converted into tenements. the two noted taverns, the hats, at ealing, were much resorted to in the last century, and early in the present. footnote: [ ] robins's _paddington, past and present_. kensington and brompton taverns. kensington, on the great western road, formerly had its large inns. the coffee-house west of the palace road was much resorted to as a tea-drinking place, handy to the gardens. kensington, to this day, retains its memorial of the residence of addison at holland house, from the period of his marriage. the thoroughfare from the kensington road to notting hill is named addison road. at holland house are shown the table upon which the essayist wrote; his reputed portrait; and the chamber in which he died. it has been commonly stated and believed that addison's marriage with the countess of warwick was a most unhappy match; and that, to drown his sorrow, and escape from his termagant wife, he would often slip away from holland house to the white horse inn, which stood at the corner of lord holland's lane, and on the site of the present holland arms inn. here addison would enjoy his favourite dish of a fillet of veal, his bottle, and perhaps a friend. he is also stated to have had another way of showing his spite to the countess, by withdrawing the company from button's coffee-house, set up by her ladyship's old servant. moreover, addison is accused of having taught dryden to drink, so as to hasten his end: how doubly "glorious" old john must have been in his cups. pope also states that addison kept such late hours that he was compelled to quit his company. but both these anecdotes are from spence, and are doubted; and they have done much injury to addison's character. miss aikin, in her _life of addison_, endeavours to invalidate these imputations, by reference to the sobriety of addison's early life. he had a remarkably sound constitution, and could, probably, sit out his companions, and stop short of actual intoxication; indeed, it was said that he was only warmed into the utmost brilliancy of table conversation, by the time that steele had rendered himself nearly unfit for it. miss aikin refers to the tone and temper, the correctness of taste and judgment of addison's writings, in proof of his sobriety; and doubts whether a man, himself stained with the vice of intoxication, would have dared to stigmatize it as in his th _spectator_. the idea that domestic unhappiness led him to contract this dreadful habit, is then repudiated; and the opposite conclusion supported by the bequest of his whole property to his lady. "is it conceivable," asks miss aikin, "that any man would thus 'give and hazard all he had,' even to his precious only child, in compliment to a woman who should have rendered his last years miserable by her pride and petulance, and have driven him out from his home, to pass his comfortless evenings in the gross indulgence of a tavern." our amiable biographer, therefore, equally discredits the stories of addison's unhappy marriage, and of his intemperate habits. the white horse was taken down many years since. the tradition of its being the tavern frequented by addison, was common in kensington when faulkner printed his _history_, in . there was a celebrated visitor at holland house who, many years later, partook of "the gross indulgence." sheridan was often at holland house in his latter days; and lady holland told moore that he used to take a bottle of wine and a book up to bed with him always; the _former_ alone intended for use. in the morning, he breakfasted in bed, and had a little brandy or rum in his tea or coffee; made his appearance between one or two, and pretending important business, used to set out for town, but regularly stopped at the adam and eve public-house for a dram, and there ran up a long bill, which lord holland had to pay. this was the old roadside inn, long since taken down. when the building for the great exhibition of was in course of construction, alexis soyer, the celebrated cook from the reform club, hired for a term, gore house, and converted lady blessington's well-appointed mansion and grounds into a sort of large _restaurant_, which our poetical cook named "the symposium." the house was ill planned for the purpose, and underwent much grotesque decoration and _bizarre_ embellishment, to meet soyer's somewhat unorthodox taste; for his chief aim was to show the public "something they had never seen before." the designation of the place--symposium--led to a dangerous joke: "ah! i understand," said a wag, "impose-on-'em." soyer was horrified, and implored the joker not to name his witticism upon 'change in the city, but he disregarded the _restaurateur's_ request, and the pun was often repeated between cornhill and kensington. in the reconstruction and renovation of the place, soyer was assisted by his friend mr. george augustus sala, who, some years after, when he edited _temple bar_, described in his very clever manner, what he saw and thought, whilst for "many moons he slept, and ate, and drank, and walked, and talked, in gore house, surrounded by the very strangest of company":-- "from february to mid-march a curious medley of carpenters, scene-painters, plumbers, glaziers, gardeners, town-travellers for ironmongers, wine-merchants, and drapers, held high carnival in the place. by-and-by came dukes and duchesses, warriors and statesmen, ambassadors, actors, artists, authors, quack-doctors, ballet-dancers, journalists, indian princes, irish members, nearly all that was odd and all that was distinguished, native or foreign, in london town. they wandered up and down the staircases, and in and out of the saloons, quizzing, and talking, and laughing, and flirting sometimes in sly corners. they signed their names in a big book, blazing with gold and morocco, which lay among shavings on a carpenter's bench in the library. where is that wondrous collection of autographs, that _libro d'oro_, now? mr. keeley's signature followed suit to that of lord carlisle. fanny cerito inscribed her pretty name, with that of 'st. leon' added, next to the signature of the magnificent duchess of sutherland. i was at work with the whitewashers on the stairs, and saw semiramis sweep past. baron brunnow met prof. holloway on the neutral ground of a page of autographs. jules janin's name came close to the laborious _paraphe_ of an eminent pugilist. members of the american congress found themselves in juxtaposition with frederick douglas and the dark gentleman who came as ambassador from hayti. i remember one sunday, during that strange time, seeing mr. disraeli, madame doche, the author of _vanity fair_, a privy councillor, a sardinian attaché, the marquis of normanby, the late mr. flexmore the clown, the editor of _punch_, and the wizard of the north, all pressing to enter the whilom boudoir of the blessington. "meanwhile, i and the whitewashers were hard at work. we summoned upholsterers, carvers and gilders to our aid. troops of men in white caps and jackets began to flit about the lower regions. the gardeners were smothering themselves with roses in the adjacent parterres. marvellous erections began to rear their heads in the grounds of gore house. the wilderness had become, not exactly a paradise, but a kind of garden of epicurus, in which some of the features of that classical bower of bliss were blended with those of the kingdom of cockaigne, where pigs are said to run about ready roasted with silver knives and forks stuck in them, and crying, 'come, eat us; our crackling is delicious, and the sage-and-onions with which we are stuffed distils an odour as sweet as that of freshly gathered violets.' vans laden with wines, with groceries, with plates and dishes, with glasses and candelabra, and with bales of calico, and still more calico, were perpetually arriving at gore house. the carriages of the nobility and gentry were blocked up among railway goods-vans and parcels delivery carts. the authorities of the place were obliged to send for a detective policeman to mount permanent guard at the gore, for the swell-mob had found us out, and flying squadrons of felonry hung on the skirts of our distinguished visitors, and harassed their fobs fearfully. then we sent forth advertisements to the daily papers, and legions of mothers, grandmothers, and aunts brought myriads of newly-washed boys; some chubby and curly-haired, some lanky and straight-locked, from whom we selected the comelier youths, and put them into picturesque garbs, confected for us by mr. nicoll. then we held a competitive examination of pretty girls; and from those who obtained the largest number of marks (of respect and admiration) we chose a bevy of hebes, whose rosy lips, black eyes and blue eyes, fair hair and dark hair, very nearly drove me crazy in the spring days of . "and by the end of april we had completely metamorphosed gore house. i am sure that poor lady blessington would not have known her coquettish villa again had she visited it; and i am afraid she would not have been much gratified to see that which the upholsterers, the whitewashers, the hangers of calico, and your humble servant, had wrought. as for the venerable mr. wilberforce, who, i believe, occupied gore house some years before lady blessington's tenancy, he would have held up his hands in pious horror to see the changes we had made. a madcap masquerade of bizarre taste and queer fancies had turned gore house completely inside out. in honest truth, we had played the very dickens with it. the gardens were certainly magnificent; and there was a sloping terrace of flowers in the form of a gigantic shell, and literally crammed with the choicest roses, which has seldom, i believe, been rivalled in ornamental gardening. but the house itself! the library had been kindly dealt by, save that from the ceiling were suspended a crowd of quicksilvered glass globes, which bobbed about like the pendent ostrich-eggs in an eastern mosque. there was a room called the 'floriana,' with walls and ceiling fluted with blue and white calico, and stuck all over with spangles. there was the 'doriana,' also in calico, pink and white, and approached by a portal called the 'door of the dungeon of mystery,' which was studded with huge nails, and garnished with fetters in the well-known newgate fashion. looking towards the garden were the alhambra terrace and the venetian bridge. the back drawing-room was the night of stars, or the _rêverie de l'etoile polaire_; the night being represented by a cerulean ceiling painted over with fleecy clouds, and the firmament by hangings of blue gauze spangled with stars cut out of silver-foil paper! then there was the vestibule of jupiter tonans, the walls covered with a salmagundi of the architecture of all nations, from the acropolis to the pyramids of egypt, from temple bar to the tower of babel. the dining-room became the hall of jewels, or the _salon des larmes de danaë_, and the 'shower of gems,' with a grand arabesque perforated ceiling, gaudy in gilding and distemper colours. upstairs there was a room fitted up as a chinese pagoda, another as an italian cottage overlooking a vineyard and the lake of como; another as a cavern of ice in the arctic regions, with sham columns imitating icebergs, and a stuffed white fox--bought cheap at a sale--in the chimney. the grand staircase belonged to me, and i painted its walls with a grotesque nightmare of portraits of people i had never seen, and hundreds more upon whom i had never set eyes save in the print-shops, till i saw the originals grinning, or scowling, or planted in blank amazement before the pictorial libels on the walls. "in the gardens sir charles fox built for us a huge barrack of wood, glass, and iron, which we called the 'baronial hall,' and which we filled with pictures and lithographs, and flags and calico, in our own peculiar fashion. we hired a large grazing-meadow at the back of the gardens, from a worthy kensington cowkeeper, and having fitted up another barrack at one end of it, called it the 'pré d'orsay.' we memorialized the middlesex magistrates, and, after a great deal of trouble, got a licence enabling us to sell wines and spirits, and to have music and dancing if we so chose. we sprinkled tents and alcoves all over our gardens, and built a gipsies' cavern, and a stalactite pagoda with double windows, in which gold and silver fish floated. and finally, having engaged an army of pages, cooks, scullions, waiters, barmaids, and clerks of the kitchen, we opened this monstrous place on the first of may, , and bade all the world come and dine at soyer's symposium." however, the ungrateful public disregarded the invitation, and poor alexis soyer is believed to have lost _l._ by this enterprise. he died a few years after, at the early age of fifty. his friend mr. sala has said of him with true pathos:--"he was a vain man; but he was good and kind and charitable. there are paupers and beggars _even among french cooks_, and alexis always had his pensioners and his alms-duns, to whom his hand was ever open. he was but a cook, but he was my dear and good friend." we remember to have heard soyer say of the writer of these truthful words, in reply to an inquiry as to the artist of the figures upon the staircase-walls, "he is a very clever fellow, of whom you will hear much,"--a prediction which has been fully verified. brompton, with its two centuries of nursery fame, lasted to our time; southward, among "the groves," were the florida, hoop and toy, and other tea-garden taverns; there remains the swan, with its bowling-green. knightsbridge taverns. knightsbridge was formerly a noted "spring-garden," with several taverns, of gay and questionable character. some of the older houses have historical interest. the rose and crown, formerly the oliver cromwell, has been licensed above three hundred years. it is said to be the house which sheltered wyat, while his unfortunate kentish followers rested on the adjacent green. a tradition of the locality also is that cromwell's body-guard was once quartered here, the probability of which is carefully examined in davis's _memorials of knightsbridge_. the house has been much modernized of late years; "but," says mr. davis, "enough still remains in its peculiar chimneys, oval-shaped windows, the low rooms, large yard, and extensive stabling, with the galleries above, and office-like places beneath, to testify to its antiquity and former importance." the rising sun, hard by, is a seventeenth century red-brick house, which formerly had much carved work in the rooms, and a good staircase remains. the fox and bull is the third house that has existed under the same sign. the first was elizabethan with carved and panelled rooms, ornamented ceiling; and it was not until , that the immense fireplaces and dog-irons were removed for stove-grates. this house was pulled down about , and the second immediately built upon its site; this stood till the albert-gate improvements made the removal of the tavern business to its present situation.[ ] the original fox and bull is traditionally said to have been used by queen elizabeth on her visits to lord burghley, at brompton. its curious sign is said to be the only one of the kind existing. here for a long time was maintained that queen anne style of society, where persons of parts and reputation were to be met with in public rooms. captain corbet was for a long time its head; mr. shaw, of the war office, supplied the _london gazette_; and mr. harris, of covent garden, his play-bills. sir joshua reynolds is said to have been occasionally a visitor; as also sir w. wynn, the patron of ryland. george morland, too, was frequently here. the sign was once painted by sir joshua, and hung till , when it was blown down and destroyed in a storm. the house is referred to in the _tatler_, no. . at about where william-street joins lowndes-square was "an excellent spring garden." among the entries of the virtuosi, or st. luke's club, established by vandyke, is the following: "paid and spent at spring gardens, by knightsbridge, forfeiture, _l._ _s._" pepys being at kensington, "on a frolic," june , , "lay in his drawers, and stockings, and waistcoat, till five of the clock, and so up, walked to knightsbridge, and there eat a mess of cream, and so to st. james's," etc. and, april , , the king being in the park, and sly pepys being doubtful of being seen in any pleasure, stepped out of the park to knightsbridge, and there ate and drank in the coach. pepys also speaks of "the world's end," at knightsbridge, which mr. davis thinks could only have been the sign adopted for the garden; and pepys, being too soon to go into hyde park, went on to knightsbridge, and there ate and drank at the world's end; and elsewhere the road going "to the world's end, a drinking-house by the park, and there merry, and so home late." congreve, in his _love for love_, alludes, in a woman's quarrel, to the place, between mrs. frail and mrs. foresight, in which the former says: "i don't doubt but you have thought yourself happy in a hackney-coach before now. if i had gone to knightsbridge, or to chelsea, or to spring garden, or barn elms, with a man alone, something might have been said." the house belonging to this garden stood till about . knightsbridge grove, approached through a stately avenue of trees from the road, was a sporting-house. here the noted mrs. cornelys endeavoured to retrieve her fortunes, after her failure at carlisle house. in , she gave up her precarious trade. "ten years after," says davis's _memorials of knightsbridge_, "to the great surprise of the public, she re-appeared at knightsbridge as mrs. smith, a retailer of asses' milk. a suite of breakfast-rooms was opened; but her former influence could not be recovered. the speculation utterly failed; and at length she was confined to the fleet prison. there she ended her shallow career, dying august , ." a once notorious house, the swan, still exists on the knightsbridge-road, a little beyond the green. it is celebrated by tom brown. in otway's _soldier's fortune_, , sir davy dunce says:-- "i have surely lost, and ne'er shall find her more. she promised me strictly to stay at home till i came back again; for ought i know, she may be up three pair of stairs in the temple now, or, it may be, taking the air as far as knightsbridge, with some smooth-faced rogue or another; 'tis a damned house that swan,--that swan at knightsbridge is a confounded house." to the feathers, which stood to the south of grosvenor-row, an odd anecdote is attached. a lodge of odd fellows, or some similar society, was in the habit of holding its meetings in a room at the feathers; and on one occasion, when a new member was being initiated in the mysteries thereof, in rushed two persons, whose abrupt and unauthorized entrance threw the whole assemblage into an uproar. summary punishment was proposed by an expeditious kick into the street; but, just as it was about to be bestowed, the secretary recognized one of the intruders as george, prince of wales, afterwards george iv. circumstances instantly changed: it indeed was he, out on a nocturnal excursion; and accordingly it was proposed and carried that the prince and his companion should be admitted members. the prince was chairman the remainder of the evening; and the chair in which he sat, ornamented, in consequence, with the plume, is still preserved in the parlour of the modern inn in grosvenor-street west, and over it hangs a coarsely-executed portrait of the prince in the robes of the order. the inn, the hospital, and various small tenements were removed in , when the present stately erections were immediately commenced. on the ground being cleared away, various coins, old horse-shoes, a few implements of warfare, and some human remains were discovered.[ ] jenny's whim, another celebrated place of entertainment, has only just entirely disappeared; it was on the site of st. george's-row. mr. davis thinks it to have been named from the fantastic way in which jenny, the first landlady, laid out the garden. angelo says, it was established by a firework-maker, in the reign of george i. there was a large breakfast-room, and the grounds comprised a bowling-green, alcoves, arbours, and flower-beds; a fish-pond, a cock-pit, and a pond for duck-hunting. in the _connoisseur_, may , , we read: "the lower sort of people had their ranelaghs and their vauxhalls as well as the quality. perrot's inimitable grotto may be seen, for only calling for a pint of beer; and the royal diversion of duck-hunting may be had into the bargain, together with a decanter of dorchester, for your sixpence, at jenny's whim." the large garden here had some amusing deceptions; as by treading on a spring--taking you by surprise--up started different figures, some ugly enough to frighten you--a harlequin, a mother shipton, or some terrific animal. in a large piece of water facing the tea-alcoves, large fish or mermaids were showing themselves above the surface. horace walpole, in his letters, occasionally alludes to jenny's whim; in one to montagu he spitefully says--"here (at vauxhall) we picked up lord granby, arrived very drunk from jenny's whim." towards the close of the last century, jenny's whim began to decline; its morning visitors were not so numerous, and opposition was also powerful. it gradually became forgotten, and at last sank to the condition of a beer-house, and about the business altogether ceased.[ ] jenny's whim has more than once served the novelist for an illustration; as in _maids of honour, a tale of the times of george the first_:--"there were gardens," says the writer, mentioning the place, "attached to it, and a bowling-green; and parties were frequently made, composed of ladies and gentlemen, to enjoy a day's amusement there in eating strawberries and cream, syllabubs, cake, and taking other refreshments, of which a great variety could be procured, with cider, perry, ale, wine, and other liquors in abundance. the gentlemen played at bowls--some employed themselves at skittles; whilst the ladies amused themselves at a swing, or walked about the garden, admiring the sunflowers, hollyhocks, the duke of marlborough cut out of a filbert-tree, and the roses and daisies, currants and gooseberries, that spread their alluring charms in every path. "this was a favourite rendezvous for lovers in courting time--a day's pleasure at jenny's whim being considered by the fair one the most enticing enjoyment that could be offered her; and often the hearts of the most obdurate have given way beneath the influence of its attractions. jenny's whim, therefore, had always, during the season, plenty of pleasant parties of young people of both sexes. sometimes all its chambers were filled, and its gardens thronged by gay and sentimental visitors."[ ] footnotes: [ ] stolen marriages were the source of the old knightsbridge tavern success; and ten books of marriages and baptisms solemnized here, to , are preserved. trinity chapel, the old edifice, was one of the places where these irregular marriages were solemnized. thus, in shadwell's _sullen lovers_, lovell is made to say, "let's dally no longer; there is a person at knightsbridge that yokes all stray people together; we'll to him, he'll dispatch us presently, and send us away as lovingly as any two fools that ever yet were condemned to marriage." some of the entries in this marriage register are suspicious enough--"secrecy for life," or "great secrecy," or "secret for fourteen years" being appended to the names. mr. davis, in his _memorials of knightsbridge_, was the first to exhume from this document the name of the adventuress "mrs. mary aylif," whom sir samuel morland married as his fourth wife, in . readers of pepys will remember how pathetically morland wrote, eighteen days after the wedding, that when he had expected to marry an heiress, "i was, about a fortnight since, led as a fool to the stocks, and married a coachman's daughter not worth a shilling." [ ] davis's _memorials of knightsbridge_. [ ] the last relic of "jenny's whim" was removed in november, . [ ] in , a quarto satirical tract was published, entitled "jenny's whim; or, a sure guide to the nobility, gentry, and other eminent persons in this metropolis." ranelagh gardens. this famous place of entertainment was opened in , on the site of the gardens of ranelagh house, eastward of chelsea hospital. it was originally projected by lacy, the patentee of drury lane theatre, as a sort of winter vauxhall. there was a rotunda, with a doric portico, and arcade and gallery; a venetian pavilion in a lake, to which the company were rowed in boats; and the grounds were planted with trees and _allées vertes_. the several buildings were designed by capon, the eminent scene-painter. there were boxes for refreshments, and in each was a painting: in the centre was a heating apparatus, concealed by arches, porticoes and niches, paintings, etc.; and supporting the ceiling, which was decorated with celestial figures, festoons of flowers, and arabesques, and lighted by circles of chandeliers. the rotunda was opened with a public breakfast, april , . walpole describes the high fashion of ranelagh: "the prince, princess, duke, much nobility, and much mob besides, were there." "my lord chesterfield is so fond of it, that he says he has ordered all his letters to be directed thither." the admission was one shilling; but the ridottos, with supper and music, were one guinea. concerts were also given here: dr. arne composed the music, tenducci and mara sang; and here were first publicly performed the compositions of the catch club. fireworks and a mimic etna were next introduced; and lastly masquerades, described in fielding's _amelia_, and satirized in the _connoisseur_, no. , may , ; wherein the sunday-evening's tea-drinkings at ranelagh being laid aside, it is proposed to exhibit "the story of the fall of man in a masquerade." but the promenade of the rotunda, to the music of the orchestra and organ, soon declined. "there's your famous ranelagh, that you make such a fuss about; why, what a dull place is that!" says miss burney's _evelina_. in , the installation ball of the knights of the bath was given here; and the pic-nic society gave here a breakfast to persons, when garnerin ascended in his balloon. after the peace fête, in , for which allegorical scenes were painted by capon, ranelagh was deserted, and in , the buildings were removed. there was subsequently opened in the neighbourhood a new ranelagh. cremorne tavern and gardens. this property was formerly known as chelsea farm, and in , devolved to the viscount cremorne, after whom it was named, and who employed wyatt to build the elegant and commodious mansion. in the early part of the present century, cremorne was often visited by george iii., and queen charlotte, and the prince of wales. in , the house and grounds devolved to mr. granville penn, by whom they were much improved. next, the beauty of the spot, and its fitness for a pleasure-garden, led to its being opened to the public as "the stadium." after this, the estate fell into other hands, and was appropriated to a very different object. at length, under the proprietorship of mr. t. b. simpson, the grounds were laid out with taste, and the tavern enlarged; and the place has prospered for many years as a sort of vauxhall, with multitudinous amusements, in variety far outnumbering the old proto-gardens. the mulberry garden, upon the site of which is built the northern portion of buckingham palace, was planted by order of james i., in , and in the next two reigns became a public garden. evelyn describes it in as "ye only place of refreshment about ye towne for persons of ye best quality to be exceedingly cheated at;" and pepys refers to it as "a silly place," but with "a wilderness somewhat pretty." it is a favourite locality in the gay comedies of charles ii.'s reign. dryden frequented the mulberry garden; and according to a contemporary, the poet ate tarts there with mrs. anne reeve, his mistress. the company sat in arbours, and were regaled with cheesecakes, syllabubs, and sweetened wine; wine-and-water at dinner, and a dish of tea afterwards. sometimes the ladies wore masks. "the country ladys, for the first month, take up their places in the mulberry garden as early as a citizen's wife at a new play."--sir charles sedley's _mulberry garden_, . "a princely palace on that space does rise, where sedley's noble muse found mulberries."--_dr. king._ upon the above part of the garden site was built _goring house_, let to the earl of arlington in , and thence named _arlington house_: in this year the earl brought from holland, for _s._, the first pound of tea received in england; so that, in all probability, _the first cup of tea made in england was drunk upon the site of buckingham palace_. pimlico taverns. pimlico is a name of gardens of public entertainment, often mentioned by our early dramatists, and in this respect resembles "spring garden." in a rare tract, _newes from hogsdon_, , is: "have at thee, then, my merrie boys, and hey for old ben pimlico's nut-browne!" and the place, in or near hoxton, was afterwards named from him. ben jonson has: "a second hogsden, in days of pimlico and eye-bright."--_the alchemist._ "pimlico-path" is a gay resort of his _bartholomew fair_; and meercraft, in _the devil is an ass_, says: "i'll have thee, captain gilthead, and march up and take in pimlico, and kill the bush at every tavern." in , was printed a tract entitled _pimlyco_, or _prince red cap, 'tis a mad world at hogsden_. sir lionel hash, in green's _tu quoque_, sends his daughter "as far as pimlico for a draught of derby ale, that it may bring colour into her cheeks." massinger mentions, "eating pudding-pies on a sunday, at pimlico or islington."--_city madam._ aubrey, in his _surrey_, speaks of "a pimlico garden on bankside." pimlico, the district between knightsbridge and the thames, and st. james's park and chelsea, was noted for its public gardens: as the mulberry garden, now part of the site of buckingham palace; the dwarf tavern and gardens, afterwards spring gardens, between ebury-street and belgrave-terrace; the star and garter, at the end of five-fields-row, famous for its equestrianism, fireworks, and dancing; and the orange, upon the site of st. barnabas' church. here, too, were ranelagh and new ranelagh. but the largest garden in pimlico was jenny's whim, already described. in later years it was frequented by crowds from bull-baiting in the adjoining fields. among the existing old signs are, the bag o' nails, arabella-row, from ben jonson's "bacchanals;" the compasses, of cromwell's time (near grosvenor-row); and the gun tavern and tea-gardens, queen's-row, with its harbours and costumed figures taken down for the buckingham gate improvements. pimlico is still noted for its ale-breweries. lambeth,--vauxhall taverns and gardens, etc. on the south bank of the thames, at the time of the restoration, were first laid out the new spring gardens, at lambeth (vauxhall), so called to distinguish them from spring garden, charing cross. nearly two centuries of gay existence had vauxhall gardens, notwithstanding the proverbial fickleness of our climate, and its ill-adaptation for out-door amusements. the incidents of its history are better known than those of marylebone or ranelagh gardens; so that we shall not here repeat the vauxhall programmes. the gardens were finally closed in , and the ground is now built upon: a church, of most beautiful design, and a school of art, being the principal edifices. "though vauxhall gardens retained their plan to the last, the lamps had long fallen off in their golden fires; the punch got weaker, the admission-money less; and the company fell in a like ratio of respectability, and grew dingy, not to say raffish,--a sorry falling-off from the vauxhall crowd of a century since, when it numbered princes and ambassadors; 'on its tide and torrent of fashion floated all the beauty of the time; and through its lighted avenues of trees glided cabinet ministers and their daughters, royal dukes and their wives, and all the red-heeled macaronies.' even fifty years ago, the evening costume of the company was elegant: head-dresses of flowers and feathers were seen in the promenade, and the entire place sparkled as did no other place of public amusement. but low prices brought low company. the conventional wax-lights got fewer; the punch gave way to fiery brandy or doctored stout. the semblance of vauxhall was still preserved in the orchestra printed upon the plates and mugs; and the old fire-work bell tinkled as gaily as ever. but matters grew more seedy; the place seemed literally worn out; the very trees were scrubby and singed; and it was high time to say, as well as see, in letters of lamps, 'farewell for ever!'"[ ] several other taverns and gardens have existed at different times in this neighbourhood. cumberland gardens' site is now vauxhall bridge-road, and cuper's garden was laid out with walks and arbours by boydell cuper, gardener to thomas, earl of arundel, who gave him some of the mutilated arundelian marbles (statues), which cuper set up in his ground: it was suppressed in : the site is now crossed by waterloo bridge road. belvidere house and gardens adjoined cuper's garden, in queen anne's reign. the hercules inn and gardens occupied the site of the asylum for female orphans, opened in ; and opposite were the apollo gardens and the temple of flora, mount-row, opened . a century earlier there existed, in king william's reign, lambeth wells, in three coney walk, now lambeth walk; it was reputed for its mineral waters, sold at a penny a quart, "the same price paid by st. thomas's hospital." about a musical society was held here, and lectures and experiments were given on natural philosophy by erasmus king, who had been coachman to dr. desaguliers. in stangate-lane, carlisle-street, is the bower saloon, with its theatre and music-room, a pleasure-haunt of our own time. next is canterbury hall, the first established of the great music halls of the metropolis. the dog and duck was a place of entertainment in st. george's fields, where duck-hunting was one of its brutal amusements. the house was taken down upon the rebuilding of bethlehem hospital; and the sign-stone, representing a dog squatting upon his haunches, with a duck in his mouth, with the date , is imbedded in the brick wall of the hospital garden, upon the site of the entrance to the old tavern; and at the hospital is a drawing of the dog and duck: it was a resort of hannah more's "cheapside apprentice." bermondsey spa, a chalybeate spring, discovered about , was opened, in , as a minor vauxhall, with fireworks, pictures of still life, and a picture-model of the siege of gibraltar, painted by keyse, the entire apparatus occupying about four acres. he died in , and the garden was shut up about . there are tokens of the place extant, and the spa-road is named from it. a few of the old southwark taverns have been described. from its being the seat of our early theatres, the houses of entertainment were here very numerous, in addition to the old historic inns, which are fast disappearing. in the beaufoy collection are several southwark tavern tokens; as--the bore's head, (between nos. and high-street). next also is a dogg and dvcke token, (st. george's fields); the greene man, (which remains in blackman-street); ye bull head taverne, , mentioned by edward alleyn, founder of dulwich college, as one of his resorts; duke of suffolk's head, ; and the swan with two necks. footnote: [ ] see the descriptions of vauxhall gardens in _curiosities of london_, pp. - . _walks and talks about london_, pp. - . _romance of london_, vol. iii. pp. - . freemasons' lodges. mr. elmes, in his admirable work, _sir christopher wren and his times_, , thus glances at the position of freemasonry in the metropolis two centuries since, or from the time of the great fire: "in wren was nominated deputy grand master under earl rivers, and distinguished himself above all his predecessors in legislating for the body at large, and in promoting the interests of the lodges under his immediate care. he was master of the st. paul's lodge, which, during the building of the cathedral, assembled at the goose and gridiron in st. paul's churchyard, and is now the lodge of antiquity, acting by immemorial prescription, and regularly presided at its meetings for upwards of eighteen years. during his presidency he presented that lodge with three mahogany candlesticks, beautifully carved, and the trowel and mallet which he used in laying the first stone of the cathedral, june , , which the brethren of that ancient and distinguished lodge still possess and duly appreciate. "during the building of the city, lodges were held by the fraternity in different places, and several new ones constituted, which were attended by the leading architects and the best builders of the day, and amateur brethren of the mystic craft. in earl rivers resigned his grand-mastership, and george villiers, duke of buckingham, was elected to the dignified office. he left the care of the grand lodge and the brotherhood to the deputy grand master wren and his wardens. during the short reign of james ii., who tolerated no secret societies but the jesuits, the lodges were but thinly attended; but in , sir christopher wren was elected grand master of the order, and nominated gabriel cibber, the sculptor, and edward strong, the master mason at st. paul's and other of the city churches, as grand wardens. the society has continued with various degrees of success to the present day, particularly under the grand-masterships of the prince of wales, afterwards king george iv.,[ ] and his brother, the late duke of sussex, and since the death of the latter, under that of the earl of zetland; and lodges under the constitution of the grand lodge of england are held in every part of the habitable globe, as its numerically and annually-increasing lists abundantly show." sir francis palgrave, in an elaborate paper in the _edinburgh review_, april, , however, takes another view of the subject, telling us that "the connexion between the operative masons,[ ] and those whom, without disrespect, we must term a convivial society of good fellows, met at the 'goose and gridiron, in st. paul his churchyard,' appears to have been finally dissolved about the beginning of the eighteenth century. the theoretical and mystic, for we dare not say ancient, freemasons, separated from the worshipful company of masons and citizens of london about the period above mentioned. it appears from an inventory of the contents of the chest of the london company, that not very long since, it contained 'a book wrote on parchment, and bound or stitched in parchment, containing annals of the antiquity, rise, and progress of the art and mystery of masonry.' but this document is not now to be found." there is in existence, and known to persons who take an interest in the history of freemasonry, a copperplate list of freemasons' lodges in london in the reign of queen anne, with a representation of the signs, and some masonic ceremony, in which are eleven figures of well-dressed men, in the costume of the above period. there were then lodges, of which were in london, in english cities, and seven abroad. freemasonry evidently sprang up in london at the building of st. paul's; and many of the oldest lodges are in the neighbourhood. but the head-quarters of freemasonry, are the grand hall, in the rear of freemasons' tavern, , great queen-street, lincoln's inn fields: it was commenced may , , from the designs of thomas sandby, r.a., professor of architecture in the royal academy: _l._ was raised by a tontine towards the cost; and the hall was opened and dedicated in solemn form, may , ; lord petre, grand-master. "it is the first house built in this country with the appropriate symbols of masonry, and with the suitable apartments for the holding of lodges, the initiating, passing, raising, and exalting of brethren." here are held the grand and other lodges, which hitherto assembled in the halls of the city companies. freemasons' hall, as originally decorated, is shown in a print of the annual procession of freemasons' orphans, by t. stothard, r.a. it is a finely-proportioned room, feet by feet, and feet high; and will hold persons: it was re-decorated in : the ceiling and coving are richly decorated; above the principal entrance is a large gallery, with an organ; and at the opposite end is a coved recess, flanked by a pair of fluted ionic columns, and egyptian doorways; the sides are decorated with fluted ionic pilasters; and throughout the room in the frieze are masonic emblems, gilt upon a transparent blue ground. in the intercolumniations are full-length royal and other masonic portraits, including that of the duke of sussex, as grand-master, by sir w. beechey, r.a. in the end recess is a marble statue of the duke of sussex, executed for the grand lodge, by e. h. baily, r.a. the statue is seven feet six inches high, and the pedestal six feet; the duke wears the robes of a knight of the garter, and the guelphic insignia: at his side is a small altar, sculptured with masonic emblems. footnotes: [ ] the prince was initiated in a lodge at the key and garter, no. , pall mall. [ ] hampton court palace was built by freemasons, as appears from the very curious accounts of the expenses of the fabric, extant among the public records of london. whitebait taverns. at what period the lovers of good living first went to eat whitebait at "the taverns contiguous to the places where the fish is taken," is not very clear. at all events, the houses did not resemble the brunswick, the west india dock, the ship, or the trafalgar, of the present day, these having much of the architectural pretension of a modern club-house. whitebait have long been numbered among the delicacies of our tables; for we find "six dishes of whitebait" in the funeral feast of the munificent founder of the charterhouse, given in the hall of the stationers' company, on may , --the year before the globe theatre was burnt down, and the new river completed. for aught we know these delicious fish may have been served up to henry viii. and queen elizabeth in their palace at greenwich, off which place, and blackwall opposite, whitebait have been for ages taken in the thames at flood-tide. to the river-side taverns we must go to enjoy a "whitebait dinner," for, one of the conditions of success is that the fish should be directly netted out of the river into the cook's cauldron. about the end of march, or early in april, whitebait make their appearance in the thames, and are then small, apparently but just changed from the albuminous state of the young fry. during june, july, and august, immense quantities are consumed by visitors to the different taverns at greenwich and blackwall. pennant says: whitebait "are esteemed very delicious when fried with fine flour, and occasion during the season a vast resort of the _lower order of epicures_ to the taverns contiguous to the places where they are taken." if this account be correct, there must have been a strange change in the grade of the epicures frequenting greenwich and blackwall since pennant's days; for at present, the fashion of eating whitebait is sanctioned by the highest authorities, from the court of st. james's palace in the west, to the lord mayor and _his_ court in the east; besides the philosophers of the royal society, and her majesty's cabinet ministers. who, for example, does not recollect such a paragraph as the following, which appeared in the _morning post_ of the day on which mr. yarrell wrote his account of whitebait, september th, ?-- "yesterday, the cabinet ministers went down the river in the ordnance barges to lovegrove's west india dock tavern, blackwall, to partake of their annual fish dinner. covers were laid for thirty-five gentlemen." for our own part, we consider the ministers did not evince their usual good policy in choosing so late a period as september; the whitebait being finer eating in july or august; so that their "annual fish dinner" must rather be regarded as a sort of prandial wind-up of the parliamentary session than as a specimen of refined epicurism. we remember many changes in matters concerning whitebait at greenwich and blackwall. formerly, the taverns were mostly built with weather-board fronts, with bow-windows, so as to command a view of the river. the old ship, and the crown and sceptre, taverns at greenwich were built in this manner; and some of the blackwall houses were of humble pretensions: these have disappeared, and handsome architectural piles have been erected in their places. meanwhile, whitebait have been sent to the metropolis, by railway, or steamer, where they figure in fishmongers' shops, and tavern _cartes_ of almost every degree. perhaps the famed delicacy of whitebait rests as much upon its skilful cookery as upon the freshness of the fish. dr. pereira has published the mode of cooking in one of lovegrave's "bait-kitchens" at blackwall. the fish should be dressed within an hour after being caught, or they are apt to cling together. they are kept in water, from which they are taken by a skimmer as required; they are then thrown upon a layer of flour, contained in a large napkin, in which they are shaken until completely enveloped in flour; they are then put into a colander, and all the superfluous flour is removed by sifting; the fish are next thrown into hot lard contained in a copper cauldron or stew-pan placed over a charcoal fire; in about two minutes they are removed by a tin skimmer, thrown into a colander to drain, and served up instantly, by placing them on a fish-drainer in a dish. the rapidity of the cooking process is of the utmost importance; and if it be not attended to, the fish will lose their crispness, and be worthless. at table, lemon juice is squeezed over them, and they are seasoned with cayenne pepper; brown bread and butter is substituted for plain bread; and they are eaten with iced champagne, or punch. the origin of the ministers' fish dinner, already mentioned, has been thus pleasantly narrated: every year, the approach of the close of the parliamentary session is indicated by what is termed "the ministerial fish dinner," in which whitebait forms a prominent dish; and cabinet ministers are the company. the dinner takes place at a principal tavern, usually at greenwich, but sometimes at blackwall: the dining-room is decorated for the occasion, which partakes of a state entertainment. formerly, however, the ministers went down the river from whitehall in an ordnance gilt barge: now, a government steamer is employed. the origin of this annual festivity is told as follows. on the banks of dagenham lake or reach, in essex, many years since, there stood a cottage, occupied by a princely merchant named preston, a baronet of scotland and nova scotia, and sometime m.p. for dover. he called it his "fishing cottage," and often in the spring he went thither, with a friend or two, as a relief to the toils of parliamentary and mercantile duties. his most frequent guest was the right hon. george rose, secretary of the treasury, and an elder brother of the trinity house. many a day did these two worthies enjoy at dagenham reach; and mr. rose once intimated to sir robert, that mr. pitt, of whose friendship they were both justly proud, would, no doubt, delight in the comfort of such a retreat. a day was named, and the premier was invited; and he was so well pleased with his reception at the "fishing cottage"--they were all two if not three bottle men--that, on taking leave, mr. pitt readily accepted an invitation for the following year. for a few years, the premier continued a visitor to dagenham, and was always accompanied by mr. george rose. but the distance was considerable; the going and coming were somewhat inconvenient for the first minister of the crown. sir robert preston, however, had his remedy, and he proposed that they should in future dine nearer london. greenwich was suggested: we do not hear of whitebait in the dagenham dinners, and its introduction, probably, dates from the removal to greenwich. the party of three was now increased to four; mr. pitt being permitted to bring lord camden. soon after, a fifth guest was invited--mr. charles long, afterwards lord farnborough. all were still the guests of sir robert preston; but, one by one, other notables were invited,--all tories--and, at last, lord camden considerately remarked, that, as they were all dining at a tavern, it was but fair that sir robert preston should be relieved from the expense. it was then arranged that the dinner should be given, as usual, by sir robert preston, that is to say, at his invitation; and he insisted on still contributing a buck and champagne: the rest of the charges were thenceforth defrayed by the several guests; and, on this plan, the meeting continued to take place annually till the death of mr. pitt. sir robert was requested, next year, to summon the several guests, the list of whom, by this time, included most of the cabinet ministers. the time for meeting was usually after trinity monday, a short period before the end of the session. by degrees, the meeting, which was originally purely gastronomic, appears to have assumed, in consequence of the long reign of the tories, a political, or semi-political character. sir robert preston died; but mr. long, now lord farnborough, undertook to summon the several guests, the list of whom was furnished by sir robert preston's private secretary. hitherto, the invitations had been sent privately: now they were dispatched in cabinet boxes, and the party was, certainly, for some time, limited to the members of the cabinet. a dinner lubricates ministerial as well as other business; so that the "ministerial fish dinner" may "contribute to the grandeur and prosperity of our beloved country." the following carte is from the last edition of the _art of dining_, in murray's _railway reading_:-- _fish dinner at blackwall or greenwich._ la tortue à l'anglaise. la bisque d'écrevisses. le consommé aux quenelles de merlan. de tortue claire. les casseroles de green fat feront le tour de la table. les tranches de saumon (crimped). le poisson de st. pierre à la crême. le zoutchet de perches. " de truites. " de flottons. " de soles (crimped). " de saumon. " d'anguilles. les lamproies à la worcester. les croques en bouches de laitances de maquereau. les boudins de merlans à la reine. garnis { les soles menues frites. de { les petits carrelets frites. persil { croquettes de homard. frit. { les filets d'anguilles. la truite saumonée à la tartare. le whitebait: _id._ à la diable. _second service._ les petits poulets au cresson--le jambonneau aux épinards. la mayonnaise de filets de soles--les filets de merlans à l'arpin. les petits pois à l'anglaise--les artichauts à la barigoule. la gelée de marasquin aux fraises--les pets de nonnes. les tartelettes aux cerises--les célestines à la fleur d'orange. le baba à la compôte d'abricots--le fromage plombière. mr. walker, in his _original_, gives an account of a dinner he ordered, at lovegrove's, at blackwall, where if you never dined, so much the worse for you:-- "the party will consist of seven men besides myself, and every guest is asked for some reason--upon which good fellowship mainly depends; for people brought together unconnectedly had, in my opinion, better be kept separately. eight i hold the golden number, never to be exceeded without weakening the efficacy of concentration. the dinner is to consist of turtle, followed by no other fish but whitebait, which is to be followed by no other meat but grouse, which are to be succeeded simply by apple-fritters and jelly, pastry on such occasions being quite out of place. with the turtle, of course, there will be punch; with the whitebait, champagne; and with the grouse, claret; the two former i have ordered to be particularly well iced, and they will all be placed in succession upon the table, so that we can help ourselves as we please. i shall permit no other wines, unless, perchance, a bottle or two of port, if particularly wanted, as i hold variety of wines a great mistake. with respect to the adjuncts, i shall take care that there is cayenne, with lemons cut in halves, not in quarters, within reach of every one, for the turtle, and that brown bread and butter in abundance is set upon the table for the whitebait. it is no trouble to think of these little matters beforehand, but they make a vast difference in convivial contentment. the dinner will be followed by ices, and a good dessert, after which coffee and one glass of liqueur each, and no more; so that the present may be enjoyed without inducing retrospective regrets. if the master of a feast wish his party to succeed, he must know how to command; and not let his guests run riot, each according to his own wild fancy." the london tavern, situated about the middle of the western side of bishopsgate-street. within, presents in its frontage a mezzanine-storey, and lofty venetian windows, reminding one of the old-fashioned assembly-room façade. the site of the present tavern was previously occupied by the white lion tavern, which was destroyed in an extensive fire on the th of november, ; it broke out at a peruke-maker's opposite; the flames were carried by a high wind across the street, to the house immediately adjoining the tavern, the fire speedily reaching the corner; the other angles of cornhill, gracechurch-street, and leadenhall-street, were all on fire at the same time, and fifty houses and buildings were destroyed and damaged, including the white lion and black lion taverns. upon the site of the former was founded "the london tavern," on the tontine principle; it was commenced in , and completed and opened in september, ; richard b. jupp, architect. the front is more than feet wide by nearly feet in height. the great dining-room, or "pillar-room," as it is called, is feet by feet, decorated with medallions and garlands, corinthian columns and pilasters. at the top of the edifice is the ball-room, extending the whole length of the structure, by feet in width and feet in height, which may be laid out as a banqueting-room for feasters; exclusively of accommodating ladies as spectators in the galleries at each end. the walls are throughout hung with paintings; and the large room has an organ. the turtle is kept in large tanks, which occupy a whole vault, where two tons of turtle may sometimes be seen swimming in one vat. we have to thank mr. cunningham for this information, which is noteworthy, independently of its epicurean association,--that "turtles will live in cellars for three months in excellent condition if kept in the same water in which they were brought to this country. to change the water is to lessen the weight and flavour of the turtle." turtle does not appear in bills of fare of entertainments given by lord mayors and sheriffs between the years and ; and it is not till that turtle appears by name, and then in the bill of the banquet at the mansion house to the king of denmark. the cellars, which consist of the whole basement storey, are filled with barrels of porter, pipes of port, butts of sherry, etc. then there are a labyrinth of walls of bottle ends, and a region of bins, six bottles deep; the catacombs of johannisberg, tokay, and burgundy. "still we glide on through rivers of sawdust, through embankments of genial wine. there are twelve hundred of champagne down here; there are between six and seven hundred dozen of claret; corked up in these bins is a capital of from eleven to twelve thousand pounds; these bottles absorb, in simple interest at five per cent., an income amounting to some five or six hundred pounds per annum."[ ] "it was not, however, solely for uncovering these floods of mighty wines, nor for luxurious feasting that the london tavern was at first erected, nor for which it is still exclusively famous, since it was always designed to provide a spacious and convenient place for public meetings. one of the earliest printed notices concerning the establishment is of this character, it being the account of a meeting for promoting a public subscription for john wilkes, on the th of february, , at which _l._ were raised, and local committees appointed for the provinces. in the spring season such meetings and committees of all sorts are equally numerous and conflicting with each other, for they not unfrequently comprise an interesting charitable election or two; and in addition the day's entertainments are often concluded with more than one large dinner, and an evening party for the lady spectators. "here, too, may be seen the hasty arrivals of persons for the meetings of the mexican bondholders on the second-floor; of a railway assurance 'up-stairs, and first to the left;' of an asylum election at the end of the passage; and of the party on the 'first-floor to the right,' who had to consider of 'the union of the gibbleton line to the great-trunk-due-eastern-junction.' "for these business meetings the rooms are arranged with benches, and sumptuously turkey-carpeted; the end being provided with a long table for the directors, with an imposing array of papers and pens, "'the morn, the noon, the day is pass'd' in the reports, the speeches, the recriminations and defences of these parties, until it is nearly five o'clock. in the very same room the hooping cough asylum dinner is to take place at six; and the mexican bondholders are stamping and hooting above, on the same floor which in an hour is to support the feast of some worshipful company which makes it their hall. the feat appears to be altogether impossible; nevertheless, it must and will be most accurately performed." the secretary has scarcely bound the last piece of red tape round his papers, when four men rush to the four corners of the turkey carpet, and half of it is rolled up, dust and all. four other men with the half of a clean carpet bowl it along in the wake of the one displaced. while you are watching the same performance with the remaining half of the floor, a battalion of waiters has fitted up, upon the new half carpet, a row of dining-tables and covered them with table-cloths. while in turn you watch them, the entire apartment is tabled and table-clothed. thirty men are at this work upon a system, strictly departmental. rinse and three of his followers lay the knives; burrows and three more cause the glasses to sparkle on the board. you express your wonder at this magical celerity. rinse moderately replies that the same game is going on in the other four rooms; and this happens six days out of the seven in the dining-room. when the banquet was given to mr. macready in february, , the london tavern could not accommodate all the company, because there were seven hundred and odd; and the hall of commerce was taken for the dinner. the merchants and brokers were transacting business there at four o'clock; and in two hours, seats, tables, platforms, dinner, wine, gas, and company, were all in. by a quarter before six everything was ready, and a chair placed before each plate. exactly at six, everything was placed upon the table, and most of the guests were seated. for effecting these wonderful evolutions, it will be no matter of surprise that we are told that an army of servants, sixty or seventy strong, is retained on the establishment; taking on auxiliary legions during the dining season. the business of this gigantic establishment is of such extent as to be only carried on by this systematic means. among the more prominent displays of its resources which take place here are the annual banquets of the officers of some twenty-eight different regiments, in the month of may. there are likewise given here a very large number of the annual entertainments of the different charities of london. twenty-four of the city companies hold their banquets here, and transact official business. several balls take place here annually. masonic lodges are held here; and almost innumerable meetings, sales, and elections for charities alternate with the more directly festive business of the london tavern. each of the departments of so vast an establishment has its special interest. we have glanced at its dining-halls, and its turtle and wine cellars.[ ] to detail its kitchens and the management of its stores and supplies, and consumption, would extend beyond our limit, so that we shall end by remarking that upon no portion of our metropolis is more largely enjoyed the luxury of doing good, and the observance of the rights and duties of goodfellowship, than at the london tavern. footnotes: [ ] _household words_, . [ ] the usual allowance at what is called a turtle-dinner, is lb. live weight per head. at the spanish-dinner, at the city of london tavern, in , four hundred guests attended, and lb. of turtle were consumed. for the banquet at guildhall, on lord mayor's day, tureens of turtle are provided. turtle may be enjoyed in steaks, cutlets, or fins, and as soup, clear and _purée_, at the albion, london, and freemasons', and other large taverns. "the ship and turtle tavern," nos. and , leadenhall-street, is especially famous for its turtle; and from this establishment several of the west-end club-houses are supplied. the clarendon hotel. this sumptuous hotel, the reader need scarcely be informed, takes its name from its being built upon a portion of the gardens of clarendon house gardens, between albemarle and bond streets, in each of which the hotel has a frontage. the house was, for a short term, let to the earl of chatham, for his town residence. the clarendon contains series of apartments, fitted for the reception of princes and their suites, and for nobility. here are likewise given official banquets on the most costly scale. among the records of the house is the _menu_ of the dinner given to lord chesterfield, on his quitting the office of master of the buckhounds, at the clarendon. the party consisted of thirty; the price was six guineas a head; and the dinner was ordered by count d'orsay, who stood almost without a rival amongst connoisseurs in this department of art:-- "_premier service._ "_potages._--printanier: à la reine: _turtle_. "_poissons._--turbot (_lobster and dutch sauces_): saumon à la tartare: rougets à la cardinal: friture de morue: _whitebait_. "_relevés._--filet de boeuf à la napolitaine: dindon à la chipolata: timballe de macaroni: _haunch of venison_. "_entrées._--croquettes de volaille: petits pâtés aux huîtres: côtelettes d'agneau: purée de champignons: côtelettes d'agneau aux points d'asperge: fricandeau de veau à l'oseille: ris de veau piqué aux tomates: côtelettes de pigeons à la dusselle: chartreuse de légumes aux faisans: filets de cannetons à la bigarrade: boudins à la richelieu: sauté de volaille aux truffes: pâté de mouton monté. "_côté._--boeuf rôti: jambon: salade. "_second service._ "_rôts._--chapons, quails, turkey poults, _green goose_. "_entremets._--asperges: haricot à la française: mayonnaise de homard: gelée macédoine: aspics d'oeufs de pluvier: charlotte russe: gelée au marasquin: crême marbre: corbeille de pâtisserie: vol-au-vent de rhubarb: tourte d'abricots: corbeille des meringues: dressed crab: salade au gélantine.--champignons aux fines herbes. "_relevés._--soufflé à la vanille: nesselrode pudding: adelaide sandwiches: fondus. pièces montées," etc. the reader will not fail to observe how well the english dishes,--turtle, whitebait, and venison,--relieve the french in this dinner: and what a breadth, depth, solidity, and dignity they add to it. green goose, also, may rank as english, the goose being held in little honour, with the exception of its liver, by the french; but we think comte d'orsay did quite right in inserting it. the execution is said to have been pretty nearly on a par with the conception, and the whole entertainment was crowned with the most inspiriting success. the price was not unusually large.[ ] footnote: [ ] _the art of dining._ murray, . freemasons' tavern, great queen-street. this well-appointed tavern, built by william tyler, in , and since considerably enlarged, in addition to the usual appointments, possesses the great advantage of freemasons' hall, wherein take place some of our leading public festivals and anniversary dinners, the latter mostly in may and june. here was given the farewell dinner to john philip kemble, upon his retirement from the stage, in ; the public dinner, on his birthday, to james hogg, the ettrick shepherd, in ; mollard, who has published an excellent _art of cookery_, was many years _maître d'hôtel_, and proprietor of the freemasons' tavern. in the hall meet the madrigal society, the melodists' and other musical clubs: and the annual dinners of the theatrical fund, artists' societies, and other public institutions, are given here. freemasons' hall has obtained some notoriety as the arena in which were delivered and acted the addresses at the anniversary dinners of the literary fund, upon whose eccentricities we find the following amusing note in the latest edition of the _rejected addresses_:-- "the annotator's first personal knowledge of william thomas fitzgerald, was at harry greville's pic-nic theatre, in tottenham-street, where he personated zanga in a wig too small for his head. the second time of seeing him was at the table of old lord dudley, who familiarly called him fitz, but forgot to name him in his will. the viscount's son, however, liberally supplied the omission by a donation of five thousand pounds. the third and last time of encountering him was at an anniversary dinner of the literary fund, at the freemasons' tavern. both parties, as two of the stewards, met their brethren in a small room about half-an-hour before dinner. the lampooner, out of delicacy, kept aloof from the poet. the latter, however, made up to him, when the following dialogue took place: "fitzgerald (with good humour). 'mr. ----, i mean to recite after dinner,' "mr. ----. 'do you?' "fitzgerald. 'yes: you'll have more of god bless the regent and the duke of york!' "the whole of this imitation, (one of the rejected addresses,) after a lapse of twenty years, appears to the authors too personal and sarcastic; but they may shelter themselves under a very broad mantle:-- "let hoarse fitzgerald bawl his creaking couplets in a tavern-hall."--_byron._ "fitzgerald actually sent in an address to the committee on the st of august, . it was published among the other _genuine rejected addresses_, in one volume, in that year. the following is an extract:-- "the troubled shade of garrick, hovering near, dropt on the burning pile a pitying tear." "what a pity that, like sterne's recording angel, it did not succeed in blotting the fire out for ever! that falling, why not adopt gulliver's remedy?" upon the "rejected," the _edinburgh review_ notes:--"the first piece, under the name of the loyal mr. fitzgerald, though as good we suppose as the original, is not very interesting. whether it be very like mr. fitzgerald or not, however, it must be allowed that the vulgarity, servility, and gross absurdity of the newspaper scribblers is well rendered." the albion, aldersgate-street. this extensive establishment has long been famed for its good dinners, and its excellent wines. here take place the majority of the banquets of the corporation of london, the sheriffs' inauguration dinners, as well as those of civic companies and committees, and such festivals, public and private, as are usually held at taverns of the highest class. the farewell dinners given by the east india company to the governors-general of india, usually take place at the albion. "here likewise (after dinner) the annual trade sales of the principal london publishers take place," revivifying the olden printing and book glories of aldersgate and little britain. the _cuisine_ of the albion has long been celebrated for its _recherché_ character. among the traditions of the tavern it is told that a dinner was once given here, under the auspices of the _gourmand_ alderman sir william curtis, which cost the party between thirty and forty pounds apiece. it might well have cost twice as much, for amongst other acts of extravagance, they dispatched a special messenger to westphalia to choose a ham. there is likewise told a bet as to the comparative merits of the albion and york house (bath) dinners, which was to have been formally decided by a dinner of unparalleled munificence, and nearly equal cost at each; but it became a drawn bet, the albion beating in the first course, and the york house in the second. still, these are reminiscences on which, we frankly own, no great reliance is to be placed. lord southampton once gave a dinner at the albion, at ten guineas a head; and the ordinary price for the best dinner at this house (including wine) is three guineas.[ ] footnote: [ ] _the art of dining._--murray, . st. james's hall. this new building which is externally concealed by houses, except the fronts, in piccadilly and regent-street, consists of a greater hall and two minor halls, which are let for concerts, lectures, etc., and also form part of the tavern establishment, two of the halls being used as public dining-rooms. the principal hall, larger than st. martin's, but smaller than exeter hall, is feet long, feet wide, and feet high. at one end is a semicircular recess, in which stands the large organ. the noble room has been decorated by mr. owen jones with singularly light, rich, and festive effect: the grand feature being the roof, which is blue and white, red and gold, in alhambresque patterns. the lighting is quite novel, and consists of gas-stars, depending from the roof, which thus appears spangled. the superb decoration and effective lighting, render this a truly festive hall, with abundant space to set off the banquet displays. the first public dinner was given here on june , , when mr. robert stephenson, the eminent engineer, presided, and a silver salver and claret-jug, with a sum of money--altogether in value _l._--were presented to mr. f. petit smith, in recognition of his bringing into general use the system of screw propulsion; the testimonial being purchased by subscribers, chiefly eminent naval officers, ship-builders, ship-owners, and men of science. in the following month, ( th of july,) a banquet was given here to mr. charles kean, f.s.a., in testimony of his having exalted the english theatre--of his public merits and private virtues. the duke of newcastle presided: there was a brilliant presence of guests, and nearly four hundred ladies were in the galleries. subsequently, in the hall was presented to mr. kean the magnificent service of plate, purchased by public subscription. the success of these intellectual banquets proved a most auspicious inauguration of st. james's hall for-- "the feast of reason and the flow of soul." theatrical taverns. among these establishments, the eagle, in the city-road, deserves mention. it occupies the site of the shepherd and shepherdess, a tavern and tea-garden of some seventy-five years since. to the eagle is annexed a large theatre. sadler's wells was, at one period, a tavern theatre, where the audience took their wine while they sat and witnessed the performances. appendix. beefsteak society. (vol. i. page .) we find in smith's _book for a rainy day_ the following record respecting the beefsteak society, or, as he calls it, in an unorthodox way, club:-- "mr. john nixon, of basinghall-street, gave me the following information. mr. nixon, as secretary, had possession of the original book. lambert's club was first held in covent garden theatre [other accounts state, in the lincoln's-inn-fields theatre,] in the upper room called the 'thunder and lightning;' then in one even with the two-shilling gallery; next in an apartment even with the boxes; and afterwards in a lower room, where they remained until the fire. after that time, mr. harris insisted upon it, as the playhouse was a new building, that the club should not be held there. they then went to the bedford coffee-house, next-door. upon the ceiling of the dining-room they placed lambert's original gridiron, which had been saved from the fire. they had a kitchen, a cook, a wine-cellar, etc., entirely independent of the bedford hotel. "there was also a society held at robins's room, called 'the ad libitum,' of which mr. nixon had the books; but it was a totally different society, quite unconnected with the beefsteak club." white's club. (vol. i. page .) the following humorous address was supposed to have been written by colonel lyttelton, brother to sir george lyttelton, in , on his majesty's return from hanover, when numberless addresses were presented. white's was then a chocolate-house, near st. james's palace, and was the famous gaming-house, where most of the nobility had meetings and a society:-- "_the gamesters' address to the king._ "most righteous sovereign, "may it please your majesty, we, the lords, knights, etc., of the society of white's, beg leave to throw ourselves at your majesty's feet (our honours and consciences lying under the _table_, and our fortunes being ever at stake), and congratulate your majesty's happy return to these kingdoms which assemble us together, to the great advantage of some, the ruin of others, and the unspeakable satisfaction of all, both us, our wives, and children. we beg leave to acknowledge your majesty's great goodness and lenity, in allowing us to break those laws, which we ourselves have made, and you have sanctified and confirmed: while your majesty alone religiously observes and regards them. and we beg leave to assure your majesty of our most unfeigned loyalty and attachment to your sacred person; and that next to the kings of diamonds, clubs, spades, and hearts, we love, honour, and adore you." to which his majesty was pleased to return this most gracious answer:-- "my lords and gentlemen, "i return you my thanks for your loyal address; but while i have such rivals in your affection, as you tell me of, i can neither think it worth preserving or regarding. i look upon you yourselves as a _pack_ of _cards_, and shall _deal_ with you accordingly."--_cole's mss._ vol. xxxi. p. ,--in the british museum. in _richardsoniana_ we read: "very often the taste of running perpetually after diversions is not a mark of any pleasure taken in them, but of none taken in ourselves. this sallying abroad is only from uneasiness at home, which is in every one's self. like a gentleman who overlooking them at white's at piquet, till three or four in the morning: on a dispute they referred to him; when he protested he knew nothing of the game; 'zounds,' say they, 'and sit here till this time?'--'gentlemen, i'm married!'--'oh! sir, we beg pardon.'" the royal academy club. this club consisted exclusively of members of the royal academy. nollekens, the sculptor, for many years, made one at the table; and so strongly was he bent upon saving all he could privately conceal, that he did not mind paying two guineas a year for his admission-ticket, in order to indulge himself with a few nutmegs, which he contrived to pocket privately; for as red-wine negus was the principal beverage, nutmegs were used. now, it generally happened, if another bowl was wanted, that the nutmegs were missing. nollekens, who had frequently been seen to pocket them, was one day requested by rossi the sculptor, to see if they had not fallen under the table; upon which nollekens actually went crawling beneath, upon his hands and knees, pretending to look for them, though at that very time they were in his waistcoat-pocket. he was so old a stager at this monopoly of nutmegs, that he would sometimes engage the maker of the negus in conversation, looking him full in the face, whilst he, slyly and unobserved, as he thought, conveyed away the spice; like the fellow who is stealing the bank-note from the blind man, in hogarth's admirable print of the royal cockpit.--_smith's nollekens and his times_, vol. i. p. . destruction of taverns by fire. on the morning of the th of march, , a most calamitous and destructive fire commenced at a peruke-maker's, named eldridge, in exchange alley, cornhill; and within twelve hours totally destroyed between and houses, besides damaging many others. the flames spread in three directions at once, and extending into cornhill, consumed about twenty houses there, including the london assurance office; the fleece and the three tuns taverns; and tom's and the rainbow coffee-houses. in exchange alley, the swan tavern, with garraway's, jonathan's and the jerusalem coffee-houses, were burnt down; and in the contiguous avenues and birchin-lane, the george and vulture tavern, with several other coffee-houses, underwent a like fate. mr. eldridge, with his wife, children, and servants, all perished in the flames. the value of the effects and merchandise destroyed was computed at , _l._, exclusive of that of the numerous buildings. in the above fire was consumed the house in which was born the poet gray; and the injury which his property sustained on the occasion, induced him to sink a great part of the remainder in purchasing an annuity: his father had been an exchange broker. the house was within a few doors of birchin-lane. the tzar of muscovy's head, tower-street. close to tower-hill, and not far from the site of the rose tavern, is a small tavern, or public-house, which received its sign in commemoration of the convivial eccentricities of an emperor, one of the most extraordinary characters that ever appeared on the great theatre of the world--"who gave a polish to his nation and was himself a savage." such was peter the great, who, with his suite, consisting of menzikoff, and some others, came to london on the twenty-first of january, , principally with the view of acquiring information on matters connected with naval architecture. we have little evidence that during his residence here peter ever worked as a shipwright in deptford dockyard, as is generally believed. he was, however, very fond of sailing and managing boats and a yacht on the thames; and his great delight was to get a small decked-boat, belonging to the dockyard, and taking only menzikoff, and three or four others of his suite, to work the vessel with them, he being the helmsman. now, the great failing of peter was his love of strong liquors. he and his companions having finished their day's work, used to resort to a public-house in great tower-street, close to tower-hill, to smoke their pipes, and drink beer and brandy. the landlord, in gratitude for the imperial custom, had the tzar of muscovy's head painted, and put up for his sign, which continued till the year , when a person of the name of waxel took a fancy to the old sign, and offered the then occupier of the house to paint him a new one for it. a copy was accordingly made from the original, as the sign of "the tzar of the muscovy," looking like a tartar. the house has, however, been rebuilt, and the sign removed, but the name remains. rose tavern, tower-street. in tower-street, before the great fire, was the rose tavern, which, upon the th of january, , was the scene of a memorable explosion of gunpowder, and miraculous preservation. it appears that over-against the wall of allhallows barking churchyard, was the house of a ship-chandler, who, about seven o'clock at night, being busy in his shop, barreling up gunpowder, it took fire, and in the twinkling of an eye, blew up not only that, but all the houses thereabout, to the number (towards the street and in back alleys) of fifty or sixty. the number of persons destroyed by this blow could never be known, for the next house but one was the rose tavern, a house never (at that time of night) but full of company; and that day the parish-dinner was at the house. and in three or four days, after digging, they continually found heads, arms, legs, and half bodies, miserably torn and scorched; besides many whole bodies, not so much as their clothes singed. in the course of this accident, says the narrator (mr. leybourne, in strype), "i will instance two; the one a dead, the other a living monument. in the digging (strange to relate) they found the mistress of the house of the rose tavern, sitting in her bar, and one of the drawers standing by the bar's side, with a pot in his hand, only stifled with dust and smoke; their bodies being preserved whole by means of great timbers falling across one another. this is one. another is this:--the next morning there was found upon the upper leads of barking church, a young child lying in a cradle, as newly laid in bed, neither the child nor the cradle having the least sign of any fire or other hurt. it was never known whose child it was, so that one of the parish kept it as a memorial; for in the year i saw the child, grown to be then a proper maiden, and came to the man that kept her at that time, where he was drinking at a tavern with some other company then present. and he told us she was the child so found in the cradle upon the church leads as aforesaid." according to a tablet which hangs beneath the organ gallery of the church, the quantity of gunpowder exploded in this catastrophe was twenty-seven barrels. tower-street was wholly destroyed in the great fire of . the nag's head tavern, cheapside. as you pass through cheapside, you may observe upon the front of the old house, no. , the sign-stone of a "nag's head:" this is presumed to have been the sign of the nag's head tavern, which is described as at the cheapside corner of friday-street. this house obtained some notoriety from its having been the pretended scene of the consecration of matthew parker, archbishop of canterbury, in the reign of queen elizabeth, at that critical period when the english protestant or reformed church was in its infancy. pennant thus relates the scandalous story. "it was pretended by the adversaries of our religion, that a certain number of ecclesiastics, in their hurry to take possession of the vacant see, assembled here, where they were to undergo the ceremony from anthony kitchen, alias dunstan, bishop of landaff, a sort of occasional conformist who had taken the oaths of supremacy to elizabeth. bonner, bishop of london, (then confined in the tower,) hearing of it, sent his chaplain to kitchen, threatening him with excommunication, in case he proceeded. the prelate therefore refused to perform the ceremony: on which, say the roman catholics, parker and the other candidates, rather than defer possession of their dioceses, determined to consecrate one another; which, says the story, they did without any sort of scruple, and scorey began with parker, who instantly rose archbishop of canterbury. the refutation of this tale may be read in strype's _life of archbishop parker_, at p. . a view of the nag's head tavern and its sign, is preserved in la serre's prints, entrée de la reyne mère du roy, , and is copied in wilkinson's _londina illustrata_. the roman catholics laid the scene in the tavern: the real consecration took place in the adjoining church of st. mary-le-bow. as the form then adopted has been the subject of much controversy, the following note, from a letter of dr. pusey, dated dec. , , may be quoted here: "the form adopted at the _confirmation_ of archbishop parker was carefully framed on the old form used in the _confirmations_ by archbishop chichele" (which was the point for which i examined the registers in the lambeth library). the words used in the _consecrations_ of the bishops confirmed by chichele do not occur in the registers. the words used by the consecrators of parker, "_accipe spiritum sanctum_," were used in the later pontificals, as in that of exeter, lacy's (_maskell, monumenta ritualia_, iii. ). roman catholic writers admit that _that_ only is essential to consecration which the english service-book retained--prayer during the service, which should have reference to the office of bishops, and the imposition of hands. and in fact cardinal pole engaged to retain in their orders those who had been so ordained under edward vi., and his act was confirmed by paul iv. (_sanders de schism. angl._, l. iii. ). the hummums, covent garden. "hammam" is the arabic word for a bagnio, or bath, such as was originally "the hummums," in covent garden, before it became an hotel. there is a marvellous ghost story connected with this house, where died parson ford, who makes so conspicuous a figure in hogarth's _midnight modern conversation_. the narrative is thus given in boswell's _johnson_ by croker:-- "_boswell._ was there not a story of parson ford's ghost having appeared? "_johnson._ sir, it was believed. a waiter at the hummums, in which house ford died, had been absent for some time, and returned, not knowing that ford was dead. going down to the cellar, according to the story, he met him; going down again, he met him a second time. when he came up, he asked some people of the house what ford could be doing there. they told him ford was dead. the waiter took a fever, in which he lay for some time. when he recovered, he said he had a message to deliver to some woman from ford; but he was not to tell what or to whom. he walked out; he was followed; but somewhere about st. paul's they lost him. he came back and said he had delivered it, and the women exclaimed, 'then we are all undone.' dr. pallet, who was not a credulous man, inquired into the truth of this story, and he said the evidence was irresistible. my wife went to the hummums; (it is a place where people get themselves cupped.) i believe she went with intention to hear about this story of ford. at first they were unwilling to tell her; but after they had talked to her, she came away satisfied that it was true. to be sure, the man had a fever; and this vision may have been the beginning of it. but if the message to the women, and their behaviour upon it, were true, as related, there was something supernatural. that rests upon his word, and there it remains." origin of tavern signs. the cognisances of many illustrious persons connected with the middle ages are still preserved in the signs attached to our taverns and inns. thus the white hart with the golden chain was the badge of king richard ii.; the antelope was that of king henry iv.; the feathers was the cognisance of henry vi.; and the white swan was the device of edward of lancaster, his ill-fated heir slain at the battle of tewkesbury. before the great fire of london, in , almost all the liveries of the great feudal lords were preserved at these houses of public resort. many of their heraldic signs were then unfortunately lost: but the bear and ragged staff, the ensign of the famed warwick, still exists as a sign: while the star of the lords of oxford, the brilliancy of which decided the fate of the battle of barnet; the lion of norfolk, which shone so conspicuously on bosworth field; the sun of the ill-omened house of york, together with the red and white rose, either simply or conjointly, carry the historian and the antiquary back to a distant period, although now disguised in the gaudy colouring of a freshly-painted sign-board. the white horse was the standard of the saxons before and after their coming into england. it was a proper emblem of victory and triumph, as we read in ovid and elsewhere. the white horse is to this day the ensign of the county of kent, as we see upon hop-pockets and bags; and throughout the county it is a favourite inn-sign. the saracen's head inn-sign originated in the age of the crusades. by some it is thought to have been adopted in memory of the father of st. thomas à becket, who was a saracen. selden thus explains it: "do not undervalue an enemy by whom you have been worsted. when our countrymen came home from fighting with the saracens, and were beaten by them, they pictured them with huge, big, terrible faces (as you still see the sign of the saracen's head is), when in truth they were like other men. but this they did to save their own credit." still more direct is the explanation in richard the crusader causing a saracen's head to be served up to the ambassadors of saladin. may it not also have some reference to the saracen's head of the quintain, a military exercise antecedent to jousts and tournaments? the custom of placing a bush at tavern doors has already been noticed; we add a few notes:--in the preface to the _law of drinking_, keeping a public-house is called the trade of the ivy-bush: the bush was a sign so very general, that probably from thence arose the proverb "good wine needs no bush," or indication as to where it was sold. in _good newes and bad newes_, , a host says:-- "i rather will take down my bush and sign than live by means of riotous expense." the ancient method of putting a bough of a tree upon anything, to signify that it was for disposal, is still exemplified by an old besom (or birch broom) being placed at the mast-head of a vessel that is intended for sale. in dekker's _wonderful yeare_, , is the passage "spied a bush at the end of a pole, the ancient badge of a countrey ale-house." and in harris's _drunkard's cup_, p. , "nay, if the house be not with an ivie bush, let him have his tooles about him, nutmegs, rosemary, tobacco, with other the appurtenances, and he knows how of puddle ale to make a cup of english wine." from a passage in _whimzies, or a new cast of characters_, , it would seem that signs in alehouses succeeded birch poles. it is usual in some counties, particularly staffordshire, to hang a bush at the door of an ale-house, or mug-house. sir thomas browne considers that the human faces depicted on sign-boards, for the sun and moon, are relics of paganism, and that they originally meant apollo and diana. this has been noticed in hudibras-- "tell me but what's the nat'ral cause why on a sign no painter draws the full moon ever, but the half." a bell sign-stone may be seen on the house-front, no. , great knight-rider-street: it bears the date , and is boldly carved; whether it is of tavern or other trade it is hard to say: the house appears to be of the above date. the bell, in great carter-lane, in this neighbourhood, has been taken down: it was an interesting place, for, hence, october , , richard quiney addressed to his "loveing good ffrend and countryman, mr. wm. schackespere," (then living in southwark, near the bear-garden), a letter for a loan of thirty pounds; which letter we have seen in the possession of mr. r. bell wheler, at stratford-upon-avon: it is believed to be the only existing letter addressed to shakspere. the bull, bishopsgate, is noteworthy; for the yard of this inn supplied a stage to our early actors, before james burbadge and his fellows obtained a patent from queen elizabeth for erecting a permanent building for theatrical entertainments. tarleton often played here. anthony bacon, the brother of francis, lived in a house in bishopsgate-street, not far from the bull inn, to the great concern of his mother, who not only dreaded that the plays and interludes acted at the bull might corrupt his servants, but on her own son's account objected to the parish as being without a godly clergyman. gerard's hall, basing-lane, had the fine norman crypt of the ancient hall of the sisars for its wine-cellar; besides the tutelar effigies of "gerard the gyant," a fair specimen of a london sign, _temp._ charles ii. here also was shown the staff used by gerard in the wars, and a ladder to ascend to the top of the staff; and in the neighbouring church of st. mildred, bread-street, hangs a huge tilting-helmet, said to have been worn by the said giant. the staff, stow thinks, may rather have been used as a may-pole, and to stand in the hall decked with evergreens at christmas; the ladder serving for decking the pole and hall-roof. fosbroke says, that the bell savage is a strange corruption of the queen of sheba; the bell savage, of which the device was a savage man standing by a bell, is supposed to be derived from the french, belle sauvage, on account of a beautiful savage having been once shown there; by others it is considered, with more probability, to have been so named in compliment to some ancient landlady of the celebrated inn upon ludgate-hill, whose surname was savage, as in the close-rolls of the thirty-first year of the reign of henry vi. is an entry of a grant of that inn to "john frensch, gentilman," and called "savage's ynne," _alias_ the "bell on the hoof." the token of the house is--"henry yovng at ye. an indian woman holding an arrow and a bow.--rx on lvdgate hill. in the field, h. m. y." "there is a tradition [mr. akerman writes] that the origin of this sign, and not only of the inn, but also of the name of the court in which it is situate, was derived from that of isabella savage, whose property they once were, and who conveyed them by deed to the cutlers' company. this, we may observe, is a mistake. the name of the person who left the bell savage to the cutlers' company was craythorne, not savage." in flecknoe's _Ænigmatical characters_, , in alluding to "your fanatick reformers," he says, "as for the signs, they have pretty well begun the reformation already, changing the sign of the salutation of the angel and our lady into the shouldier and citizen, and the catherine wheel into the cat and wheel, so that there only wants their making the dragon to kill st. george, and the devil to tweak st. dunstan by the nose, to make the reformation compleat. such ridiculous work they make of their reformation, and so zealous are they against all mirth and jollity, as they would pluck down the sign of the cat and fiddle, too, if it durst but play so loud as they might hear it." the sign in god is our hope is still to be seen at a public-house on the western road between cranford and slough. coryatt mentions the ave maria, with verses, as the sign of an alehouse abroad, and a street where all the signs on one side were of birds. the swan with two nicks, or necks, as it is commonly called, was so termed from the two nicks or marks, to make known that it was a swan of the vintners' company; the swans of that company having two semicircular pieces cut from the upper mandible of the swan, one on each side, which are called nicks. the origin of the bolt-in-tun is thus explained. the bolt was the arrow shot from a cross-bow, and the tun or barrel was used as the target, and in this device the bolt is painted sticking in the bunghole. it appears not unreasonable to conclude, that hitting the bung was as great an object in crossbow-shooting as it is to a member of a toxophilite club to strike the target in the bull's eye. the sign of the three loggerheads is two grotesque wooden heads, with the inscription "here we three loggerheads be," the reader being the third. the honest lawyer is depicted at a beershop at stepney; the device is a lawyer with his head under his arm, to prevent his telling lies. the lamb and lark has reference to a well-known proverb that we should go to bed with the lamb and rise with the lark. the eagle and child, _vulgo_ bird and baby, is by some persons imagined to allude to jupiter taking ganymede; others suppose that it merely commemorates the fact of a child having been carried off by an eagle; but this sign is from the arms of the derby family (eagle and child) who had a house at lambeth, where is the bird and baby. the green man and still should be a green man (or man who deals in _green herbs_) with a bundle of peppermint or pennyroyal under his arm, which he brings to be distilled. upon the modern building of the bull and mouth has been conferred the more elegant name of the queen's hotel. now the former is a corruption of boulogne mouth, and the sign was put up to commemorate the destruction of the french flotilla at the mouth of boulogne harbour in the reign of henry viii. this absurd corruption has been perpetuated by a carving in stone of a bull and a human face with an enormous mouth. the bull and gate, palpably, has the like origin; as at the _gate_ of boulogne the treaty of capitulation to the english was signed. the spread eagle, which constitutes the arms of austria and russia, originated with charlemagne, and was in england introduced out of compliment to some german potentate. the oddest sign we know is now called the mischief, in oxford-street, and our remembrance of this dates over half a century, when the street was called oxford-road, then unpaved, is truly hogarthian. it was at that time called the man loaded with mischief, _i.e._ a wife, two squalling brats, a monkey, a cat, a jackdaw, etc. the perpetrator of this libel on the other sex, we suppose, was some poor henpecked individual.[ ] on the subject of sign combinations, a writer in _notes and queries_ says:--"this subject has been taken up by a literary contemporary, and some ingenious but farfetched attempts at explanation have been made, deduced from languages the publican is not likely to have heard of. the following seem at least to be undoubtedly english: the sun and whalebone, cock and bell, ram and teazle, cow and snuffers, crow and horseshoe, hoop and pie,--_cum multis aliis_. i have some remembrance of a very simple solution of the cause of the incongruity, which was this: the lease being out of (say) the sign of the ram, or the tenant had left for some cause, and gone to the sign of the teazle; wishing to be known, and followed by as many of his old connexion as possible, and also to secure the new, he took his old sign with him, and set it up beside the other, and the house soon became known as the ram and teazle. after some time the signs required repainting or renewing, and as one board was more convenient than two, the 'emblems,' as poor dick tinto calls them, were depicted together, and hence rose the puzzle." there have been some strange guesses. some have thought the goat and compasses to be a corruption of "god encompasseth us," but it has been much more directly traced as follows, by sir edmund head, who has communicated the same to mr. p. cunningham: "at cologne, in the church of santa maria in capitolio, is a flat stone on the floor, professing to be the grabstein der brüder und schwester eines ehrbaren wein- und fass-ampts, anno ; that is, i suppose, a vault belonging to the wine coopers' company. the arms exhibit a shield with a pair of compasses, an axe, and a dray, or truck, with goats for supporters. in a country, like england, dealing so much at one time in rhenish wine, a more likely origin for such a sign could hardly be imagined." the pig in the pound might formerly be seen towards the east end of oxford-street, not far from "the mischief." the magpie and horseshoe may be seen in fetter-lane: the ominous import attached to the bird and the shoe may account for this association in the sign: we can imagine ready bibbers going to houses with this sign "for luck." the george, snow-hill, is a good specimen of a carved sign-stone of-- "st. george that swing'd the dragon, and sits on horseback at mine hoste's door." footnote: [ ] communicated to the _builder_ by mr. rhodes. index to the first volume. alfred club, the, . allen, king, his play, . almack's assembly rooms, - . almack's, by capt. gronow, . almack's club, - . almack's rooms, . anacreontic _ad poculum_, by morris, . angling club anecdotes, . antiquarian club, . army and navy club, . apollo club, . arms for white's, . arnold and the steaks, , . arthur's club, . athenæum established, . athenæum club, the, - . athenæum club-house described, , . barry's reform club-house, . barry's travellers' club-house, , . beef-steak club, the, . beef-steak club, ivy-lane, . beef-steak clubs, various, . beef-steak society, history of the, - . beef-steaks, ward's address to, . bell tavern beef-steak club, . betting, extraordinary, at white's, , , . bibliomania, what is it?, . bickerstaffe and his club, , . bishops and judges at the alfred, . blasphemous clubs, . blue-stocking club, at mrs. montague's, . blue-stocking clubs, ancient, . bolland at the steaks, . boodle's club, . boodle's club-house and pictures, . bowl, silver, presented by the steaks to morris, . box of the past overseers' society, westminster, - . brookes's club, , , , , - . brookes, the club-house proprietor, , . brougham, lord, at the steaks, . brummel and alderman combe at brookes's, , . brummel and bligh at watier's, . buchan, dr., at the chapter, . burke and johnson at the literary club, . burke at the robin hood, . busby, dr., at the chapter, . byron and dudley, lords, at the alfred, . calves' head club, - . calves' head club laureat, , calves' head club, origin of, , , . canning, mr., at the clifford-street club, - . carlton club, the, . carlton club-house, new, . cavendish and the royal society club, . celebrities of the alfred, . celebrities of brookes's, . celebrities of the literary club, , . celebrities of the royal naval club, . celebrities of the royal society club, , . celebrities at the steaks, , . celebrities of tom's coffee-house club, , . celebrities of white's, early, . chapter coffee-house club, . chatterton at the chapter, . chess clubs, . child's coffee-house and the royal society club, . churchill at the steaks, . cibber, colley, at white's, . civil club in the city, . clark, alderman, at the essex head, . clifford-street club, the, . club defined by johnson, . club, the term, , . clubs of the ancients, . clubs, influences of, - , . club life experiences, , . clubs, origin of, . clubs of , by capt. gronow, . club system, advantages of, . clubs at the thatched house, . coachmanship, anecdotes of, , . cobb and old walsh at the steaks, . cocoa-tree club, the, - . conservative club, . colman at the literary club, . colman at the steaks, . commons of the royal society club, . covent garden celebrities, , . covent garden old taverns, . covent garden, by thackeray, . covent garden theatre and the steaks, . coventry club, the, . coverley, sir roger, and mohocks, . crockford's start in life, . crockford's club, - . crockford's fishmonger's-shop, at temple bar, . crown and anchor club, and royal society club, . curran and capt. morris, . curran at the king of clubs, , . curran and lord norbury, . daniel, g., of canonbury, his list of clubs, . darty's ham-pies at the kit-kat, . davies, scrope, play of, . devil tavern and royal society club, . dibdin, dr., and the roxburghe club, . dilettanti between and , . dilettanti, their object and name, , . dilettanti portraits, , . dilettanti society, the, - . dilettanti society's journeys, . dilettanti society's publications, . dinner, memorable, at the royal society club, . dinners of the roxburghe club, - . dinners of the royal society club, , , , . dunning, lord ashburton at brookes's, . eccentric club, - . eccentrics, the, . economy of the athenæum club, , . economy of clubs, . epicurism at white's, , . erectheum club, . essex head club, the, . estcourt, and the beef-steak club, , , . everlasting club, the, - . faro at white's, . fielding, sir john, on street clubs, . "fighting fitzgerald" at brookes's, - . fines of the dilettanti, . fire at white's chocolate house, . foote, at tom's coffee-house club, . fordyce and gower, dr., at the chapter, . forster, mr., his account of the literary club, . four-in-hand club, the, - . fox at brookes's, . fox's love of play, , , , , . fox's play at white's, , . francis, sir philip, at brookes's, . friday-street club, . gaming at almack's, , . gaming at white's, . gaming-houses kept by ladies, . garrick and the literary club, . garrick club-house, new, . garth and steele, at the kit-kat club, . gibbon at boodle's, . gibbon at the cocoa-tree, , . giffard on the mermaid club, . gin punch at the garrick, . globe tavern clubs, , . glover the poet, at white's, . "golden ball," the, . golden fleece club, cornhill, . goldsmith and annet, at the robin hood, , . goldsmith, beauclerk, and langton, at the literary club, , . goldsmith's clubs, . goldsmith at the crown, islington, . goosetree's, in pall mall, . gore, mrs., on clubs, . gourmands at crockford's, . green ribbon club, , . gridiron of the steaks society, . gridiron, silver, and the steaks, . grub-street account of the calves' head club, . guards' club, the, . harrington's _oceana_, . haslewood's account of the roxburghe club dinners, . hawkins and burke at the literary club, , . hazard at the cocoa-tree, . hell-fire club, . hill, sir john, and the royal society, . hill, thomas, at the garrick, , , . hippisley, sir john, at the steaks, , . hoadly, bishop, at the kit-kat club, , . hoax, calves' head club, . hood, thomas, on clubs, . hook, theodore, at the athenæum, , , . hook, theodore, at crockford's, . hook, theodore, at the garrick, . hoyle's treatise on whist, . ionian antiquities, walpole on, . ivy-lane club, the, . jacob and waithman, aldermen, at the chapter, . jacobite club, . jacobite and loyal mobs, . jerrold, douglas, at his clubs, - . johnson club, the, . johnson, dr., and the ivy-lane club, . johnson, dr., and boswell at the essex head, , . johnson, dr., founds the literary club, . johnson, dr., last at the literary club, . jonson, ben, his club, , , . kemble, john, at the steaks, . king club and club of kings, . king of clubs, the, - . king's head club, . kit-kat club, - . kit-kat, epigram on, . kit-kat, origin of, . kit-kat pictures, . ladies' club at almack's, . ladies' club, the farce, . lambert and the beef-steak society, . lawyers' club, the, . lennox celebration at the devil tavern, . lewis, the bookseller, covent garden, . library of the athenæum, . "life's a fable," by morris, . linley, william, at the steaks, . literary club, the, - . literary club dates, , . little club, the, . london club architecture, , . long acre mug-house club, . loyal society club, , , . lyceum theatre, the steaks, at, . lying club, westminster, . lynedoch, lord, at the united service, . macaulay, lord, his pictures of the literary club, . mackreth, and arthur's club, , . m'clean, the highwayman, at white's, . march club, . mathews, charles, his collection of pictures, , , . mermaid club, , , . middlesex, lord, and calves' head club, . mitre tavern and royal society club, , . mohocks, history of the, - . mohun, lord, at the kit-kat club, , . morris, capt., bard of the beef-steak society, , , . morris's farewell to the steaks, . morris making punch at the steaks, , . morris, recollections of, . morris's _songs_, political and convivial, . mountford, lord, tragic end of, . mug-house club, history of, - . mug-house riots, . mug-houses in london, . mug-house politics, . mug-house songs, , . mug-houses suppressed, . mulberry club, the, . murphy and kemble at the steaks, . norfolk, duke of, and capt. morris, . norfolk, duke of, at the steaks, . noviomagians, the, . october club, . one of a trade club, . onslow, lord, the celebrated whip, . onslow, tommy, epigram on, . oriental club, the, , . oxford and cambridge club, . p. p., clerk of the parish, . pall mall tavern clubs, . palmerston, lord, at the reform, . parthenon club, . parliamentary clubs, . past overseers society, westminster, - . peterborough, lord, and the beef-steak society, . phillidor at st. james's chess club, . phillips and chalmers, at the chapter, . pictures at the united service, . pictures at the garrick club, . pitt and wilberforce at goosetree's, . political clubs, early, . pontack's, royal society club at, . pope-burning processions, . presents to the royal society club, . pretender, the, and cocoa-tree chocolate-house, . prince's club racquet courts, - . prince of wales at brookes's, . prince of wales at the steaks, . queen's arms club, st. paul's churchyard, . racquet courts, prince's club, - . read's mug-house, salisbury-square, , , . red lions, the, . reform club, the, - . rich and the beef-steak society, . richards, jack, at the steaks, . rigby at white's, . robinson, "long sir thomas," . robin hood, the, in essex-street, . rota club, , , , . roxburghe club dinners, the, - . _roxburghe revels_, the, . royal society club, - . royal naval club, . rumbold at white's, . rump-steak, or liberty club, . st. james's palace clock, anecdote of, . st. leger at white's, . salisbury-square mug-house, , , , . saturday club, . scowrers, the, , . scriblerus club, . sealed knot, . secret history of the calves' head club, , , . selwyn's account of sheridan at brookes's, . selwyn at white's, . sharp, richard, at the king of clubs, . sheridan and whitbread at brookes's, , , , . shilling whist club at the devil tavern, . shire-lane and the kit-kat club, . shire-lane and the trumpet tavern, , . short whist, its origin, . smith, albert, at the garrick, . smith, bobus, at the king of clubs, . smith, james, at the union, . smyth, admiral, his history of the royal society club, , . soyer at the reform club, . spectator clubs, , . _spectator_ on the mohocks, . steaks, early members of, , . steaks' table-linen, and plate, . steele's tribute to estcourt, . stephens, alexander, at the chapter, . stevenson, rowland, at the steaks, . stewart, admiral, and fighting fitzgerald, . stillingfleet and the blue-stocking club, , . street clubs, . sublime society of steaks, . sweaters and tumblers, . swift at the brothers club, . swift and the mohocks, . swift at the october, . swift's account of white's, , . talleyrand at the travellers', . tatler's club, in shire-lane, - . temperance corner at the athenæum, . tennis courts in london, . thatched house, dilettanti at, - . thursday's club of royal philosophers, . toasting-glasses, verses written on, , . tom's coffee-house, club at, - . tonson, jacob, defended, . tonson, jacob, at kit-kat club, . toasts at the roxburghe club dinners, . travellers' club, the, - . treason clubs, . turtle and venison at the royal society club, , . twaddlers, the, in shire-lane, - . ude at crockford's, . united service club, the, . united service club, junior, . university club, the, , . walker, mr., his account of the athenæum, . ward's account of the beef-steaks, , , . ward, and calves' head club, , . ward's account of the kit-kat club, , . ward's account of the royal society club, . ward's _secret history of clubs_, . watier's club, . watier's club, by capt. gronow, . welcome, ben jonson's, , . wednesday club, at the globe, , . wet paper club, the, . whigs and kit-kat club, . whist clubs, . whist, laws of, . white's chocolate-house, , . white's club, - . white's and the _tatler_, . white's early rules of, , . white's present club-house, . whittington club, . wilberforce at brookes's, . wilkes at the steaks, . willis's rooms, . wilson, dick, at the steaks, . wittinagemot of the chapter coffee-house, - . woffington, peg, and beef-steak club, . world, the, . wyndham, mr., character of, . wyndham club, the, . index to the second volume. coffee-houses. addison at button's, , . artists' meeting, at the turks' head, . artists at slaughter's coffee-house, . baker's coffee-house, . barrowby, dr., at the bedford, , . bedford coffee-house, - . british coffee-house and the scots, . broadside against coffee, . button's coffee-house, - . celebrities at button's, . chapter coffee-house described by mrs. gaskell, . charles the second's wig, worn by suett, . child's coffee-house, . chocolate-houses and coffee-houses, , . churchill's quarrel with hogarth, . cibber, colley, at will's, . club of six members, . coffee and canary compared, . coffee, earliest mention of, . coffee first sold in london, . coffee-houses, early, . coffee-houses, th century, . coffee-house politics, . coffee-house sharpers, , . coffee-houses in , . conversation picture of old slaughter's, . covent garden piazza in , , . curiosities, saltero's, at chelsea, , . dick's coffee-house, . dryden at will's, , . farr and the rainbow coffee-house, . foote at the bedford, . foote at the grecian, . fulwood's rents, holborn, . garraway's coffee-house, - . garrick at the bedford, . garrick at tom's, . george's coffee-house, . giles's and jenny man's coffee-houses, . goldsmith at the chapter, . goldsmith at the grecian, . goldsmith's _retaliation_ and the st. james's, - . gray's inn walks described by ward, . grecian coffee-house, . _guardian_ lion's head, - . haydon and wilkie, anecdotes of, . hazard club, painted by hogarth, . hogarth designs button's lion's head, . hogarth's drawings from button's, . inchbald, mrs., in russell-street, covent garden, , . _inspector_ at the bedford, . jerusalem coffee-house, . jonathan's coffee-house, - . julian at will's, . king, moll, some account of, , . king, tom, his coffee-house, . laroon, capt., and king's coffee-house, , . lion's head at button's, - . lloyd's coffee-house, royal exchange, . lloyd's members in verse, . lloyd's subscription rooms, . lloyd's, _temp._ charles ii., a song, . lockier, dean, at will's, . london coffee-house and punch-house, . macklin's coffee-house oratory, - . macklin and foote quarrel, . maclaine, the highwayman, at button's, . man's coffee-house, . murphy at george's, . murphy and cibber at tom's, . nando's coffee-house, . parry the welsh harper, . pasqua rosee's coffee-house, . peele's coffee-house, . pepys's first cup of tea, . pepys at will's, . percy coffee-house, and _percy anecdotes_, . philips, ambrose, at button's, . piazza coffee-house, . pope on coffee, . pope cudgelled in rose-alley, , . pope at will's, . prince's council chamber in fleet-street, . prior and swift at the smyrna, rainbow coffee-house, fleet-street, - . richard's coffee-house, . rod hung up at button's, , . st. james's coffee-house, , - . st. martin's-lane, artists in, . sail-cloth permits, . sale by the candle at garraway's, . saloop houses, . saltero's coffee-house and museum, at chelsea, - . scene at jonathan's, . serle's coffee-house, . shenstone at george's, . sheridan and kemble at the piazza, . slaughter's coffee-house, - . smyrna coffee-house, . south sea scheme, . _spectator_, coffee-houses described in, . _spectator_ at lloyd's, . _spectator_ at squire's, . _spectator_ at will's, . squire's coffee-house, fulwood's rents, . swift at button's, . swift at the st. james's, . swift and the wits at will's, . tea, early sale of, , . tea first sold at garway's, . thurlow at nando's, . tiger roach at the bedford, . token of the rainbow, . tom's coffee-house, cornhill, . tom's coffee-house, devereux-court, . tottel's printing office, . turk's head coffee-house, change-alley, . turk's head coffee-house, gerard-street, . turk's head coffee-house, strand, . turk's head coffee-house, westminster, . ward's account of early coffee-houses, . ward's punch-house, fulwood's rents, . ware, the architect, at slaughter's, . will's coffee-house, - . will's coffee-house, lincoln's inn, . woodward at the bedford, . taverns. adam and eve, kensington-road, . african tavern, st. michael's alley, . aikin, miss, her defence of addison, . albion tavern, aldersgate-street, . aldersgate taverns, - . apollo chamber at the devil tavern, . apollo sociable rules, . apple-tree, topham at the, . bagnigge wells tavern, . bayswater taverns, . bear at the bridge-foot tavern, . bedford head, covent garden, . beefsteak society, . bellamy's kitchen, . bermondsey spa, . betty's fruit-shop, st. james's-street, . black jack, or jump, clare market, . blackwall and greenwich whitebait taverns, - . boar's head tavern, eastcheap, - . boar's head waiters, . boar's head, southwark, . brasbridge the silversmith, at the globe, . brompton taverns, . brummel and the rummer tavern, . bush, the, aldersgate-street, - . byron, lord, and mr. chaworth, duel between, . canary house in the strand, . canonbury tavern, . castle tavern, holborn, . centlivre, mrs., anecdote of, . chairmen, the two, . chatterton and marylebone gardens, . cider cellar, the, . clare market taverns, . clarendon hotel, the, . clubs at the queen's arms, . coal-hole tavern, fountain-court, . cock tavern, bow-street, . cock tavern, fleet-street, . cock tavern, threadneedle-street, . coffee-house canary-bird, . coleridge and lamb, at the salutation and cat, . colledge, stephen, and the hercules pillars, . constitution tavern, covent garden, . copenhagen house tavern, . cornelys, mrs., last of, . coventry act, origin of the, . craven head tavern, drury-lane, . craven house, drury-lane, . cremorne tavern and gardens, . cricket at white conduit house, . crown, the, aldersgate-street, . crown tavern, threadneedle-street, . crown and anchor tavern, strand, . cumberland and cuper's gardens, . dagger in cheapside, . devil tavern, fleet-street, - . devil tavern, views of, . devil tavern token, rare, . dog and duck, st. george's fields, . dolly's, paternoster-row, . drawers and tapsters, waiters, and barmaids, . dryden and pepys at the mulberry garden, . duke's head, islington, . d'urfey's songs of the rose, . elephant tavern, fenchurch-street, . evans's, covent garden, . feathers tavern, grosvenor-road, . fish dinner carte at blackwall or greenwich, . fitzgerald at freemasons' hall, . fives at copenhagen house, . fleece, covent garden, . fountain tavern, strand, . fox and bull, knightsbridge, . freemasons' hall, . freemasons' lodges, . freemasons' lodges in queen anne's reign, . freemasons' tavern, . french wine-trade in , . globe tavern, fleet-street, . golden cross sign, . goldsmith at the boar's head, . goldsmith at the globe, . goose and gridiron, , . grave maurice taverns, , . green man tavern, . hales, the giant, landlord of the craven head, . "heaven" and "hell" taverns, . hercules and apollo gardens, . hercules' pillars taverns, . hercules' pillars, hyde park corner, . heycock's ordinary, temple bar, . highbury barn tavern, . hole-in-the-wall, chandos-street, . hole-in-the-wall, st. martin's, . hole-in-the-wall taverns, . hummums, covent garden, . hyde park corner taverns, . islington taverns, . jackers, the society of, . jerusalem taverns, clerkenwell, - . jenny's whim tavern, , . jerusalem tavern, clerkenwell green, . jew's harp tavern, . joe miller, his grave, , . kent's st. cecilia picture, . kensington taverns, . kentish town taverns, . kilburn wells, . king's head tavern, fenchurch-street, . king's head tavern, poultry, - . knightsbridge taverns, . knightsbridge grove tavern, . leveridge's songs, . locket's tavern, . london stone tavern, . london tavern, the, . lovegrove's, dinner at, . lowe's hotel, . lydgate's ballad on taverns, . mathematical society, spitalfields, . marylebone gardens, account of, , . marylebone taverns, . mermaid taverns, three, . ministerial fish dinner, origin of, . mitre, dr. johnson and his friends at, . mitre painted room, . mitre tavern, fenchurch-street, . mitre tavern, fleet-street, . mitre tavern, wood-street, . molly mogg of the rose, . mother redcap tavern, . mourning bush tavern, aldersgate, - . mourning crown tavern and taylor, the water-poet, . mulberry garden, the, . mull sack at the devil tavern, . myddelton's head tavern, . nag's head tavern, cheapside, . offley's, henrietta-street, . old swan tavern, thames-street, . one tun tavern, jermyn-street, . onslow, speaker, at the jew's harp, . oxford kate, of the cock tavern, . paddington taverns, . paintings at the elephant, fenchurch-street, . palsgrave head tavern, temple bar, . panton, col., the gamester, . paul pindar's head tavern, bishopsgate, . pepys at the cock tavern, . pepys at the hercules' pillars, . piccadilly hall, . piccadilly inns and taverns, . pimlico taverns, . politics at the crown and anchor, . pontack's, abchurch-lane, . pope's head, cornhill, , . porson at the cider cellar, . porson taken ill at the african, . portraits, theatrical, . prince of wales an odd fellow, . purgatory tavern, . queen's arms tavern, st. paul's churchyard, . queen's head, islington, . queen's head tavern, bow-street, . ranelagh gardens described, . relics of the boar's head, . robin hood tavern, chiswell-street, . rose tavern and drury-lane theatre, . rose tavern, covent garden, . rose tavern, marylebone, . rose tavern, poultry, , - . rose tavern, tower-street, . royal academy club, . royal naval club, . rummer tavern, charing cross, . "running footman," may fair, . sadler's wells, . st. john's gate tavern, . st. john's gate, johnson at, . sala, mr., his account of soyer's symposium, . salutation taverns, . salutation and cat, newgate-street, . salutation, tavistock-street, . shakspeare tavern, covent garden, . shaver's hall, haymarket, . shepherd and his flock club, clare market, . ship tavern, (drake,) temple bar, . shuter, and his tavern places, . sign-boards, disfiguring, an old frolic, . southwark tavern tokens, . soyer's symposium, gore house, . spring garden taverns, . spring's tavern, holborn, . spring garden, knightsbridge, . star dining-room, . star and garter tavern, pall mall, . stolen marriages at knightsbridge, . st. james's hall, . sugar and sack, . swift at the devil tavern, . tavern, characterized by bishop earle, . tavern life of sir richard steele, . tavern signs, origin of, - . taverns of old london, - . taverns in and , . taverns, _temp._ edward vi., . taverns, _temp._ elizabeth, . taverns destroyed by fire, . thatched house tavern, st. james's-street, . theatrical taverns, . three cranes tavern, poultry, . three cranes in the vintry, , . tom brown on taverns, , . topham, the strong man, his taverns, , , . turtle at the london tavern, . tzar of muscovy's head, . vauxhall gardens, last of, . vintner, the, by massinger, . wadlows, hosts of the devil tavern, , . white conduit house, , . white hart tavern, bishopsgate without, . whitebait taverns, - . white horse, kensington, . white's club, . win-hous, saxon, . wines by old measure, . young devil tavern, . the end. john edward taylor, printer, little queen street, lincoln's inn fields. produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.) [illustration: "so you want me to come to your show, do you?" said mr. harriman.] _girl scouts series, volume _ the girl scouts rally or rosanna wins by katherine keene galt the saalfield publishing company chicago--akron, ohio--new york made in u. s. a. copyright, , by the saalfield publishing company the girl scouts series the girl scouts at home the girl scouts rally the girl scout's triumph the girl scouts rally chapter i three little girls sat in a row on the top step of a beautiful home in louisville. at the right was a dark-haired, fairylike child on whose docked hair a velvet berét, or french officer's cap, sat jauntily. her dark eyes were round and thoughtful as she gazed into space. there was a little wrinkle between her curved black brows. beside her, busily knitting on a long red scarf, sat a sparkling little girl whose hazel eyes danced under a fringe of blond curls. her dainty motions and her pretty way of tossing back her beautiful hair caused people to stop and look at her as they passed, but elise was all unconscious of their admiration. indeed, she was almost too shy, and few knew how full of fun and laughter she could be. the third girl wore a businesslike beaver hat over her blond docked hair, and her great eyes, blue and steady, were levelled across elise, who knitted on in silence, to the dark girl in the velvet cap. helen culver spoke at last. "well, rosanna, what are you thinking? have you any plan at all?" the dark child spoke. "no, helen, i can't think of a thing. it makes me _so_ provoked!" "tell me, will you not?" asked elise in her pretty broken english. she was trying so hard to speak like rosanna and helen that she could scarcely be prevailed upon to say anything in french. many months had passed since elise, in the care of the kind ladies of the american red cross, had come over from france to her adopted guardian, young mr. horton. she had grown to be quite american during that time, and was very proud of her attainments. the dark and dreadful past was indeed far behind, and while she sometimes wept for her dear grandmother, who had died in mr. horton's tender arms in the old château at home, she loved her foster mother, mrs. hargrave, with all her heart. and with elise laughing and dancing through it, the great old hargrave house was changed indeed. while elise was crossing the ocean, mrs. hargrave had fitted up three rooms for her. there was a sitting-room, that was like the sunny outdoors, with its dainty flowered chintzes, its ivory wicker furniture, its plants and canaries singing in wicker cages. then there was a bedroom that simply put you to sleep just to look at it: all blue and silver, like a summer evening. nothing sang here, but there was a big music box, old as mrs. hargrave herself, that tinkled elise to sleep if she so wished. and the bathroom was papered so that you didn't look at uninteresting tiles set like blocks when you splashed around in the tub. no; there seemed to be miles and miles of sunny sea-beach with little shells lying on the wet sand and sea gulls swinging overhead. mrs. hargrave was so delighted with all this when it was finished that it made her discontented with her own sitting-room with its dim old hangings and walnut furniture. "no wonder i was beginning to grow old," she said to her life-long friend, mrs. horton. "no wonder at all! all this dismal old stuff is going up in the attic. i shall bring down my great great-grandmother's mahogany and have all my wicker furniture cushioned with parrots and roses." "it sounds dreadful," said mrs. horton. "it won't be," retorted her friend. "it will be perfectly lovely. did you know that i can play the piano? i can, and well. i had forgotten it. i am going to have birds too--not canaries, but four cunning little green love-birds. they are going to have all that bay window for themselves. and i shall have a quarter grand piano put right there." "i do think you are foolish," said mrs. horton, who was a cautious person. "what if this child turns out to be a failure? all you have is my son's word for it, and what does a boy twenty-four years old know about little girls? you ought to wait and see what sort of a child she is." "i have faith, my dear," said her friend. "i have been so lonely for so many long years that i feel sure that at last the good lord is going to send me a real little daughter." "cross-eyed perhaps and with a frightful disposition," said mrs. horton. "all children look like angels to robert." mrs. hargrave was plucky. "very well, then; i can afford to have her eyes straightened, and i will see what i can do about the temper." "i won't tease you any more," said mrs. horton. "robert says the child is charming and good as gold. i know you will be happy with her, and if you find that she is too much of a care for you, you can simply throw her right back on robert's hands. i don't like to have him feel that he has no responsibility in the matter." elise proved to be all that mrs. hargrave had dreamed, and more. she sang like a bird and mrs. hargrave found her old skill returning as she played accompaniments or taught elise to play on the pretty piano. and the little girl, who was perfectly happy, repaid her over and over in love and a thousand sweet and pretty attentions. dear mrs. hargrave, who had been so lonely that she had not cared particularly whether she lived or died, found herself wishing for many years of life. the three little girls, elise, rosanna, of whom you have perhaps read, and her friend helen culver were great friends. they went to school and studied and played together, and rosanna and helen were both girl scouts. elise was to join too, as soon as she could qualify. at present, as uncle robert said slangily, she was "stuck on pie." she could not make a crust that could be cut or even _sawed_ apart although she tried to do so with all the earnestness in the world. perhaps you girls who are reading this remember rosanna. if so, you will be glad to know that she grew well and strong again after her accident and continued to be a very happy little girl who was devoted to her grandmother, who in turn was devoted to rosanna. the beautiful hair that rosanna had cut off was allowed to stay docked, and that was a great relief to rosanna, who was always worried by the weight of the long curls that hung over her shoulders like a dark glistening cape. it seemed _such_ fun to be able to shake her head like a pony and send the short, thick mane flying now that it was cut off. there were three people in rosanna's home: her stately grandmother mrs. horton, uncle robert, of whom you have heard, and rosanna herself. rosanna had had a maid, of whom she was very fond, but minnie was at home preparing to marry the young man to whom she had been engaged all through the war. he was at home again, and together they were fitting out a cunning little bungalow in the highlands. as soon as everything was arranged quite to their satisfaction, they were going to be married, and minnie vowed that she could never get married unless she could have a real wedding with bridesmaids and all, and she had a scheme! by the way she rolled her eyes and her young man chuckled, it seemed as though it must be a very wonderful scheme indeed, but although all three girls hung around her neck and teased, not another word would she say. minnie had two little sisters who were about the ages of rosanna and elise and helen, but they did not know what the scheme was either. it was _very_ trying. helen culver no longer lived over mrs. horton's garage and her father no longer drove the horton cars, but her home was very near in a dear little apartment as sweet and clean and dainty as it could be. mr. culver and uncle robert were often together and did a good deal of figuring and drawing but other than guessing that it was something to do with uncle robert's business, the children did not trouble their heads. helen was ahead of rosanna in school. she had had a better chance to start with, as rosanna had only had private teachers and so had had no reason to strive to forge ahead. there had been no one to get ahead _of_! now, however, she was studying to such good purpose that she hoped soon to overtake helen. but it was a hard task, because helen was a very bright little girl who could and would and _did_ put her best effort in everything she did. these, then, were the three little girls who sat on rosanna's doorstep and smelled the burning leaves and enjoyed the beautiful fall day. "rosanna is so good at making plans," said helen, smiling over at her friend. "what shall your good plan be for?" asked elise. "don't you remember, elise, our telling you about the picnic we had once, and the children who took supper with us?" "oh, _oui_--yess, yess!" said elise, correcting herself hastily. "and we told you how we took them home and saw poor gwenny, their sister, who is so lame that she cannot walk at all, and is so good and patient about it? we mean to take you over to see her, now that you can speak english so nicely. she wants to see you so much." "i would be charm to go," declared elise, nodding her curly head. "well," continued rosanna, "gwenny's mother says that gwenny could be cured, but that it would cost more than she could ever pay, and it is nothing that she could get done at the free dispensaries. those are places where very, very poor people can go and get good doctors and nurses and advice without paying anything at all, but gwenny could not go there. "she would have to go to a big hospital in cincinnati and stay for a long while. i thought about asking my grandmother if she would like to send gwenny there, but just as i was going to speak of it last night, she commenced to talk to uncle robert about money, and i heard her tell him that she was never so hard up in her life, and what with the liberty loan drives taking all her surplus out of the banks, and the high rate of taxes, she didn't know what she was going to do. so i couldn't say a thing." "the same with ma maman," said elise. "she calls those same taxes robbers. so you make the plan?" "that's just it: i _don't_," said rosanna ruefully. "i wish i could think up some way to earn money, a lot of it ourselves." "let's do it!" said helen in her brisk, decided way. "but _how_?" questioned rosanna. "it will take such a lot of money, helen. hundreds and hundreds of dollars, maybe _thousands_." "i should think the thing to do would be to ask a doctor exactly how much it would cost, first of all," said the practical helen. "another thing," said rosanna, "gwenny's family is very proud. they don't like to feel that people are taking care of them. the associated charities gave gwenny a chair once, so she could wheel herself around, but it made them feel badly, although gwenny's mother said she knew that it was the right thing to accept it." "she will feel that it is the thing to do if we can pay to have gwenny cured too," said helen. "you know how sensible she is, rosanna. she must realize that everybody knows that she does all she can in this world for her family. i heard mother say she never saw any woman work so hard to keep a home for her children. "mother says she never rests. and she is not trained, you know, to do special work like typewriting, or anything that is well paid, so she has to be a practical nurse and things like that." "aren't all nurses practical?" asked rosanna, a frown of perplexity on her brow. "trained nurses are not," replied helen. "trained nurses get thirty and forty dollars a week and a practical nurse gets seven or eight, and works harder. but you see she never had a chance to get trained. it takes a long time, like going to school and graduating, only you go to the hospital instead." "i know," said rosanna. "there were what they called undergraduate nurses at the norton infirmary and they wore a different uniform. but they were all pretty, and so good to me." "well, you can't do much on what gwenny's mother makes," said helen. elise sighed. "it is so sad," she declared. "do the robber taxes attack her also?" "no; she has nothing to attack," laughed helen. "is mees gwenny a girl scout?" asked elise. "no, but her sister mary is. she went in about the time rosanna joined, but she does not belong to our group. they live in another part of the city." "will my allowance help?" asked elise. "i will give it so gladly. ma maman is so good, so generous! i never can spend the half. i save it to help a little french child, but surely if mees gwenny is your dear friend and she suffers----" "she suffers all right," declared helen. "oh, rosanna, we have _got_ to think up some way to help her! i am going to ask mother." "helen, do you remember what our captain said at the very last meeting? no, you were not there; i remember now. she said that we must learn to act for ourselves and not forever be asking help from our families. she said that we should always consult them before we made any important move, but she wanted us to learn to use our own brains. now it does look to me as though this was a time to use all the brains we have. think how wonderful it would be if we could only do this ourselves!" "what do you mean by _we_? just us three, or the girl scouts in our group?" asked helen. "i don't know," said rosanna dismally. "i really haven't the first idea! let's all think." chapter ii three in a row, they sat and thought while the leaf piles smouldered and the afternoon went by. plan after plan was offered and discussed and cast aside. at last elise glanced at her little silver wrist watch, and wound up her scarf. "time for maman to come home," she said. "she likes it when i meet her at the door with my love, and myself likes it too." "of course you do, you dear!" said helen. "good-bye! we will keep on thinking and perhaps tomorrow we will be able to get hold of some plan that will be worth acting on. i must go too, rosanna." "i will walk around the block with you," said rosanna, rising and calling a gay good-bye after elise. she went with helen almost to the door of her apartment and then returned very slowly. how she did long to help gwenny! there must be some way. poor patient, uncomplaining gwenny! rosanna could not think of her at all without an ache in her heart. she was so thin and her young face had so many, _many_ lines of pain. she was so thoughtful at dinner time that her uncle robert teased her about it. he wanted to know if she had robbed a bank or had decided to run off and get married and so many silly things that his mother told him to leave rosanna alone. rosanna smiled and simply went on thinking. after dinner she slipped away and went up to her own sitting-room. then uncle robert commenced to worry in earnest. he had his hat in his hand ready to go over and see mr. culver, but he put it down again and went up to rosanna's room, three steps at a time. rosanna called "come," in answer to his knock in quite her usual tone of voice, and uncle robert heaved a sigh of relief. he stuck his head in the door, and said in a meek tone: "i thought i would come up to call on you, princess. mother is expecting a bridge party, and it is no place for me." "that is what i thought," said rosanna. "besides i wanted to think." "well, i am known as a hard thinker myself," said uncle robert. "if you will invite the part of me that is out here in the hall to follow my head, i will be glad to help you if i can." "i don't see why i shouldn't tell you about things anyway," mused rosanna. "you are not a parent, are you?" "no, ma'am, i am _not_," said uncle robert. "nary a parent! why?" he came in without a further invitation and sat down in rosanna's biggest chair. at that it squeaked in an alarming manner, and uncle robert made remarks about furniture that wouldn't hold up a growing boy like himself. when he appeared to be all settled and comfortable, and rosanna had shoved an ash tray over in a manner that uncle robert said made him feel like an old married man, he said, "now fire ahead!" and rosanna did. she told him all about gwenny and her family--her mother and mary and selfish tommy, and good little myron, and luella and the heavy baby, and the story was so well told that uncle robert had hard work holding himself down. he felt as though the check book in his pocket was all full of prickers which were sticking into him, and in another pocket a bank book with a big, big deposit, put in it that very day, kept shouting, "take care of gwenny yourself!" so loudly that he was sure rosanna must hear. but uncle robert knew that that was not the thing for him to do. he could not take all the beauty and generosity out of their effort when their dear little hearts were so eagerly trying to find a way to help. he hushed the bank book up as best he could and said to rosanna, "i don't worry a minute about this thing, rosanna. i know perfectly well that you will think up some wonderful plan that will bring you wads of money, and as long as i am _not_ a parent, i don't see why i can't be your councillor. there might be things that i could attend to. i could take the tickets at the door or something like that." "tickets!" said rosanna, quite horrified. "why, uncle bob, we can't give a _show_!" "i don't see why not, if you know what you want to show," answered uncle robert. "you see benefit performances given all the time for singers and pianists and actors who want to retire with a good income. some of them have one every year, but you couldn't do that for gwenny. however i'll stand by whenever you want me, you may feel sure of that, and if i can advance anything in the way of a little money--" he tapped the bank book, which jumped with joy. "oh, thank you!" said rosanna. "we will be sure to tell you as soon as we can hit on a plan, and we will have you to go to for advice, and that will be such a help!" after uncle bob had taken himself off, rosanna went slowly to bed. she thought while she was undressing and after she had put out the light and was waiting for her grandmother to come in and kiss her good-night. and the last thing before she dropped off to sleep her mind was whirling with all sorts of wild ideas, but not one seemed to be just what was wanted. one thing seemed to grow clearer and bigger and stronger, and that was the feeling that gwenny must be helped. the first thing that she and helen asked each other the next day when they met on the way to school was like a chorus. they both said, "did you think of anything?" and neither one had. sad to relate, neither rosanna nor helen made brilliant recitations that day, and coming home from school helen said gravely, "what marks did you get today, rosanna?" "seventy," answered rosanna with a flush. "i got seventy-two, and it was a review. oh dear, this won't do at all! i was thinking about gwenny, and trying to work up a plan so hard that i just couldn't study. either we have positively got to think up something right away, or else we will have to make up our minds that we must do our thinking on saturdays only. can't you think of a single thing?" "i seem to have glimmers of an idea," said rosanna, "but not very bright ones." "all i can think of is to get all the girls in our group to make fancy things and have a fair." "that is not bad," said rosanna, "but would we make enough to count for much? even if all the girls in our group should go to work and work every single night after school we would not be able to make enough fancy articles to make a whole sale." "i suppose not," sighed helen. "this is thursday. if we can't think of something between now and saturday afternoon, let's tell the girls about it at the meeting and see what they suggest, and ask if they would like to help gwenny. but oh, i wish we could be the ones to think up something! you see gwenny sort of belongs to us, and i feel as though we ought to do the most of the work." that night at dinner there was a guest at rosanna's house, young doctor maclaren, who had been in service with uncle robert. rosanna quite lost her heart to him, he was so quiet and so gentle and smiled so sweetly at her grandmother. she sat still as a mouse all through the meal, listening and thinking. after dinner when they had all wandered into the lovely old library that smelled of books, she sat on the arm of her uncle robert's chair, and while her grandmother was showing some pictures to the doctor, she whispered to her uncle, "don't you suppose the doctor could tell us how much it would cost to cure gwenny?" "you tickle my ear!" he said, and bit rosanna's. "behave!" said rosanna sternly. "don't you suppose he could?" "i am sure he could, sweetness, but i sort o' think he would have to see gwenny first. shall we ask him about it?" "oh, please let's!" begged rosanna. "th' deed is did!" said uncle robert, and as soon as he could break into the conversation, he said: "rick, rosanna and i want to consult you." rosanna squeezed his hand for that; it was so much nicer than to put it all off on her. doctor maclaren laughed his nice, friendly laugh. "well, if you are both in some scheme, i should say it was time for honest fellows like me to be careful. let's hear what it is." "you tell, rosanna," said uncle robert. "i can't talk and smoke all at the same time." so rosanna, very brave because of uncle robert's strong arm around her, commenced at the beginning and told all about gwenny and her family, and her bravery in bearing the burden of her lameness and ill health. and she went on to tell him about the girl scouts and all the good they do, and that she was sure that they would help, but they (she and helen) hated to put it before the meeting unless they had some idea of the amount of money it would be necessary for them to earn. and another thing; what if they should start to get the money, and couldn't? what a _dreadful_ disappointment it would be for gwenny and indeed all the family down to baby christopher! the two young men heard her out. then uncle robert said: "i don't know the exact reason, but it seems that you cannot work with these girl scouts if you are a parent. are you a parent, rick?" "please don't tease, uncle bobby," said rosanna pleadingly. "it is only that we scout girls are supposed to try to do things ourselves without expecting all sorts of help from our mothers and fathers--and grandmothers and uncles," she added rather pitifully. robert patted her hand. rosanna was an orphan. "i see now how it is," he said. "tell us, rick, what you think about this." "i think that saturday morning, when there is no school, rosanna might take me to call on miss gwenny and we will see about what the trouble is. and i think as she does, that it would be very wise to say nothing at all about this plan until we know something about the case. it would be cruel to get the child's hopes up for nothing. if there is anything that i dare do, i will promise you now that i will gladly do it, but i cannot tell until i see her." "thank you ever and ever so much!" said rosanna. "we won't tell anyone a thing about it!" "can you drive over to gwenny's tomorrow and tell her mother that a doctor friend of mine is coming to see her?" asked uncle robert. "indeed i can if grandmother is willing!" said rosanna. "oh, i _do_ feel as though we will think up some way of earning the money!" rosanna was so happy that she overslept next morning and was nearly late getting to school, so she did not see helen until they were dismissed. they walked slowly home and sat down on their favorite place on the top step. they had been sitting quietly, watching a group of children playing in the leaves, when rosanna jumped to her feet and commenced to dance up and down. "oh, helen, helen," she cried. "i believe i have it! i believe i have it! oh, i am _so_ excited!" "well, do tell me!" exclaimed helen. "that is just what i am going to do," said rosanna, still dancing. "let's go around in the garden and sit in the rose arbor where no one will disturb us." "that is the thing to do," agreed helen, and together they went skipping through the iron gateway that led into the lovely old garden. once upon a time that gate had been kept locked and little rosanna had been almost a prisoner among the flowers and trees that made the garden so lovely. but now the gate swung on well-oiled hinges and all the little girl scouts were welcome to come and play with rosanna in her playhouse or ride her fat little pony around the gravelled paths. the children banged the gate shut behind them and went to the most sheltered spot in the garden, the rose arbor, where they were hidden from view. they threw their school books on the rustic table and settled themselves in two big chairs. "now _do go on_," said helen with a little thrill in her voice. "oh, i _do_ feel that you have thought up something splendid!" chapter iii "i have been thinking and thinking," said rosanna, "and not an idea have i had until just now. here is what i just thought up. "you know uncle bob was telling me about benefit performances that actors and musicians have. i think they get them up themselves mostly, when they want some money, but i was talking to minnie about it yesterday when she came in for a minute and she says in her church they have benefits all the time. people sing and play and recite poetry, and it is lovely. and i thought up something better still. "what if you and i, helen, could make up a sort of play all about the girl scouts and give it?" "write it out of our heads?" said helen, quite aghast. "yes," said rosanna. "it is easy. before grandmother used to let me have little girls to play with, i used to make up plays, oh lots of times!" "with conversations?" pressed helen. "yes, made up of conversations and coming on the stage and going off again, and people dying, and everything." "dear me!" said helen with the air of one who never suspected such a thing of a friend. "_dear me!_" she said again. "i am sure i could _never_ do it. you will have to do it yourself. what is it going to be about?" "why, i have to have time to think," said rosanna. "you have to think a long time when you are going to be an author. it is very difficult." "you don't suppose you are all out of practice, do you?" asked helen anxiously. "why, rosanna, that would be too perfectly splendid! a real play! where could we give it? we couldn't rent a real theatre." "oh, my, no!" said rosanna, beginning to be rather frightened at the picture helen was conjuring up. "we won't have that sort of a play. we will have a little one that we can give in grandmother's parlor, or over at mrs. hargrave's." "i wouldn't," said helen stoutly. "i just know you can write a beautiful play, rosanna, and i think we ought to give it in some big place where a lot of people can come, and we will have tickets, and chairs all in rows and a curtain and everything." "oh, i don't believe i could write a good enough play for all that," cried rosanna. "well, just do the best you can and i know it will be perfectly lovely." "i tell you what," said rosanna, beginning to be sorry that she had spoken. "please don't tell elise or anyone about it until i see what i can write, and then after you and i have read it, if it is good enough, we will show it to uncle robert and see what he says." "it _will_ be good enough," said helen positively. "just think of the piece of poetry you wrote to read at the girl scout meeting. it was so lovely that i 'most cried. all that part about the new moon, and how you felt when you died. it sounded so true, and yet i don't see how you know how you are going to feel when you die. i can't feel it at all. i suppose that is because you are a poet. mother says it is a great and beautiful thing to be a poet, but that you must look out for your digestion." "my digestion is all right so far," said rosanna. "i am glad to know that, though, because if your mother says so, it must be so." "of course!" said helen proudly. "when will you begin your play, rosanna?" "right away after dinner," said rosanna. "that is, if uncle robert goes out. if he stays at home i will have to play cribbage with him. if i go off to my own room, he comes right up. he says he is afraid that i will get to nursing a secret sorrow." "what is a secret sorrow?" asked helen. "i don't know exactly," said rosanna. "uncle robert looked sort of funny when i asked him, and perhaps he made it up because he just said, 'why--er, why--er, a secret sorrow is--don't you know what it is, rosanna?'" "sometimes i wonder if your uncle robert really means all he says," said helen suspiciously. "i wonder too," agreed rosanna, nodding, "but he is a perfect dear, anyway, even if he is old. he is twenty-four, and grandmother is always saying that robert is old enough to know better." "i know he will be all sorts of help about our play, anyway," said helen. "i know he will too," said rosanna. "we will show him the play the minute i finish it." rosanna went right to work on her play whenever she had any time to spare. when saturday morning came she went with doctor maclaren to see gwenny, and after she had introduced him to gwenny's mother she went and sat in the automobile with mary and luella and myron and baby christopher to talk to. but she scarcely knew what she was saying because she was so busy wondering what the doctor would do to poor gwenny, whose back nearly killed her if anyone so much as touched it. the doctor stayed a long, long time, and when he came out he stood and talked and talked with gwenny's mother. he smiled his kind, grave smile at her very often, but when he turned away and came down the little walk rosanna fancied that he looked graver than usual. "is she _very_ bad?" rosanna asked when the machine was started. "pretty bad, rosanna dear," said the doctor. "she will need a very serious operation that cannot be done here. she will have to go to a hospital in cincinnati where there is a wonderful surgeon, doctor branshaw, who specializes in troubles of the spine. he will help her if anyone can. she is in a poor condition anyway, and we will have to look after her pretty sharply to get her in as good a shape physically as we can. if she goes, i will take her myself, and will have her given the best care she can have. what a dear, patient, sweet little girl she is." "yes, she is!" agreed rosanna absently. "well, if she is as sick as you think, i don't see but what we will just _have_ to earn the money some way or other!" rosanna was very silent all the way home, and that afternoon she retired to the rose arbor and worked as hard as ever she could on the play. it was really taking shape. rosanna would not show the paper to helen or to elise, who had been told the great secret. she wanted to finish it and surprise them. by four o'clock she was so tired that she could write no longer. she put her tablet away and started to the telephone to call helen. as she went down the hall the door bell rang. she could see a familiar figure dancing up and down outside the glass door. it was elise, apparently in a great state of excitement. rosanna ran and opened the door. elise danced in. she caught rosanna around the waist and whirled her round and round. "behold i have arrive, i have arrive!" she sang. "of course you have arrived!" said rosanna. "what makes you feel like this about it?" "behold!" said elise again with a sweeping gesture toward the front door. mrs. hargrave's house-boy, grinning from ear to ear, was coming slowly up the steps bearing a large covered tray. elise took it from him with the greatest care and set it carefully on a table. "approach!" she commanded, and rosanna, really curious, drew near the mysterious article. slowly elise drew off the cover. under it in all the glory of a golden brown crust, little crinkles all about the edge, sat a pie looking not only good enough to eat, but almost _too_ good. "peench off a tiny, tiny bit of ze frill," said elise, pointing to the scallopy edge. "a very tiny peench, and you will see how good. now i can be the girl scout because all the other things i can so well do." rosanna took a careful pinch and found the crust light and very flaky and dry. "perfectly delicious, elise!" she pronounced it. "did you do it all yourself?" "of a certainty!" said elise proudly. "i would not do the which otherwise than as it is so required by the girl scouts. and now i am most proud. if you will so kindly take me when you go to the meeting this afternoon, i will offer this to the most adorable little captain as one more reason the why i should be allowed to join." "of course i will take you," said rosanna. "i was just going to telephone for helen. if she is ready we will start at once." "i will go for my hat," said elise. then anxiously, "will the beautiful pie rest here in safety?" "yes, indeed; it will be perfectly safe," laughed rosanna. elise was the happiest little girl in all the room at the meeting. everyone fell in love with her at once, her manners were so gentle and pretty and she was so full of life. her curls danced and her eyes, and her red lips smiled, and it seemed as though her feet wanted to dance instead of going in a humdrum walk. the scout captain and the committee on pie decided that elise had made the most delicious of its kind. at the close of the business part of the meeting, the captain asked as usual if anyone had any news of interest to offer or any requests or questions to ask. it was all rosanna could do to keep from telling them all about gwenny and asking for advice and help, but she decided to keep it all to herself until she had finished the play. then if it turned out to be any good (and it would be easy to tell that by showing it to uncle bob) she would take it to the captain, and if she approved, rosanna would bring the whole thing up before the next meeting. on the way home, helen said to rosanna, "how are you getting on with your play, rosanna? did you work on it this afternoon as you expected to?" "yes, i did, and it seems to be coming along beautifully," said rosanna. "i wanted to ask you about it. don't you think it would be nice to put in a couple of songs about the girl scouts, and perhaps a dance?" "simply splendid!" said helen. "oh, rosanna, _do_ hurry! i can scarcely wait for you to finish it. girl scout songs and a girl scout dance! do you know the webster twins can dance beautifully? their mother used to be a dancer on the stage before she married their father, and she has taught them the prettiest dances. they do them together. they are awfully poor, and i don't know if they could afford to get pretty dancing dresses to wear, but i should think we could manage somehow." "oh, we will," said rosanna. "i _do_ wish we could have our families help us!" "think how surprised they will be if we do this all by ourselves except what uncle bob does, and our scout captain." "i don't see that uncle bob can do very much," rejoined rosanna. "but he is real interested and wants to help." "we ought to let him do whatever he can," said helen. "father often tells mother that he hopes she notices how much she depends on his superior intellect, but she just laughs and says 'nonsense! helen, don't listen to that man at all!' but we must depend on our own superior intellects now." "it won't take me long to finish the play," said rosanna. "it is only going to be a one-act play, and if it isn't long enough to make a whole entertainment, we will have to have some recitations and songs before and after it." "i do think you might let me see what you have written," coaxed helen. "i would rather not," pleaded rosanna. "somehow i feel as though i couldn't finish it if i should show it to anyone before it is done. i will show it to you the very first one, helen. here is one thing you can hear." she took a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, and while helen walked very close beside her commenced: "this is a song sung by two sisters named elsie and allis. and you will see what it is all about." "is there a tune for it too?" said helen in great wonder. "no, i can't make up music," said rosanna regretfully, "and, anyhow, i think it would come easier to use a tune everybody knows. this goes to the tune of _reuben, reuben, i've been thinking_. you know that?" "of course," said helen. "now let's hear the poetry." rosanna had written: "two girls come on the stage, one from the right and one from the left. one is dressed in beautiful clothes, and the other very neat and clean, but in awfully poor things. she has on a thin shawl. she is elsie. the rich child is allis. allis sees elsie, and sings: song air, _reuben, reuben, i've been thinking_. _allis._ elsie, elsie, i've been thinking what a pleasure it would be, if we had some friends or sisters just to play with you and me. all our time we spend in study there is no place nice to go. after school an hour of practice oh, i get to hate it so! _chorus_ just an hour or two of practice, one and two and three and four; add, subtract, or find the tangent; everything is just a bore! _elsie._ then, dear allis, when we finish, we can go and take a walk; that, unless the day is rainy, then we just sit down and talk. and there's not a thing to talk of, not a scheme or plan to make, not a deed of gentle loving, nothing done for someone's sake. _chorus_ not a thing for us to aim for-- not a height for us to climb! just the stupid task of living; just the bore of passing time! _enter girl scout with many merit badges on her sleeve._ _girl scout._ did i hear you wish for friendships? mates to join in work and play? someone true and good and loving you would chum with every day? see this uniform? it tells you you can wear it; be a scout! see the sleeve with all the "merits"? you could win without a doubt. _chorus_ _all--_ oh, what fun we'll have together! oh, what work and jolly play! walks and talks and happy study with the girl scouts every day. chapter iv when rosanna finished, helen gave a sigh of delight. "rosanna," she said, "it is perfectly beautiful; perfectly _beautiful_! shall you have the webster girls sing that?" "i had not thought of them," confessed rosanna. "i thought it would be nice for elise and you, helen. you both sing so sweetly and you can both dance too." "i shall be frightened to death," said helen, trying to imagine herself on a real little stage; at least on a make-believe stage with a curtain stretched across mrs. horton's or mrs. hargrave's parlor. but frightened or not, she was more than pleased that rosanna had thought of her, and she had no intention of giving up the part. she and elise commenced to practice on the song, and between them made up the prettiest little dance. mrs. culver and mrs. hargrave were delighted to play their accompaniments and suggest steps. of course they had to be told something of what was going on, but they were very nice and asked no questions. a week later rosanna's little play was finished and ready to show uncle robert. rosanna was as nervous as a real playwright when he has to read his lines to a scowly, faultfinding manager. she invited helen over to spend the night with her so she could attend the meeting. her grandmother was out to a dinner-bridge party, so rosanna and helen and uncle robert went up to rosanna's sitting-room and prepared to read her play. and if the truth must be told, uncle robert prepared to be a little bored. but as rosanna read on and on in her pleasant voice, stopping once in awhile to explain things, uncle robert's expression changed from a look of patient listening to one of amusement and then to admiration. by the time rosanna had finished he was sitting leaning forward in his chair and listening with all his might. he clapped his hands. "well done, rosanna!" he said heartily. "i am certainly proud of you! why, if you can do things of this sort at your age, rosanna, we will have to give you a little help and instruction once in awhile. well, well, that _is_ a play as _is_ a play! don't you think so, helen?" "it's just too beautiful!" said helen with a sigh of rapture. "just too beautiful! which is my part, rosanna?" "i thought you could be the little girl who discovers the lost paper so the other little girl scout's brother will not have to go to prison. that is, if you like that part." "it is the nicest part of all," sighed helen. "what part are you going to take?" "i didn't think i would take any," said rosanna. "oh, you must be in it!" cried helen. "no, rosanna is right," declared uncle robert. "it is her play, you see, and she will have to be sitting out front at all the rehearsals to see that it is being done as she wants it." "that is what i thought," said rosanna. "but you are going to help with everything, are you not, uncle robert?" "surest thing in the world!" declared uncle robert heartily. "but as long as this is all about the girl scouts, won't you have to show it to your girl scout captain, or leader, before you go on with it?" "of course," said rosanna. "who is she?" asked uncle robert carelessly. "why, you saw her, uncle robert," replied rosanna. "have you forgotten the dear sweet little lady who called when i was sick when we were looking for someone very fierce and large?" "sure enough!" said uncle robert after some thought. if rosanna had noticed she would have seen a very queer look in his eyes. he had liked the looks of that young lady himself. "well, what are you going to do about it?" "i suppose i will have to go around to her house, and tell her all about it and read it to her." "is it written so i can read it?" said uncle robert, glancing over the pages. "very neat indeed. now i will do something for you, if you want me to save you the bother. just to be obliging, i will take your play and will go around and tell miss hooker that i am rosanna's uncle, and read it to her myself." "why, you know her name!" said rosanna. "um--yes," said uncle robert. "i must have heard it somewhere. for goodness' sake, rosanna, this place is like an oven!" "you _are_ red," admitted rosanna. "well, i wish you would do that, please, because it makes me feel so queer to read it myself. it won't take you long so we will wait up for you to tell us what she thinks." "i wouldn't wait up," advised uncle robert, getting up. "if she likes me, it may take some time." "likes _you_?" said rosanna. "i mean likes the way i read it, and likes the play, and likes the idea, and likes everything about it," said uncle robert. he said good-bye and hurried off, bearing the precious paper. the girls sat and planned for awhile, when the doorbell rang. rosanna could hear the distant tinkle, and saying "perhaps he is back," ran into the hall to look over the banisters. she returned with a surprised look on her face. "what do you suppose?" she demanded of helen who sat drawing a plan of a stage. "it is uncle robert, and miss hooker is with him. oh, dear me, i feel so fussed!" "come down!" called uncle robert, dashing in the door. "i have a surprise for you both." "no, you haven't! i looked over the banisters," said rosanna, as the three went down the broad stairs. miss hooker thought the play was so good and she was so proud to think that one of her girls had written it that she was anxious to talk it over at once, and had asked uncle robert to bring her right around to see rosanna and helen. they all drew up around the big library table, and uncle robert sat next miss hooker where he could make suggestions. and miss hooker and the girls made a list of characters, and fitted them to different girls in their group. finally miss hooker said there were several places that needed a little changing and would rosanna trust her to do it with mr. horton's help? at this uncle robert looked most beseechingly at rosanna, who, of course, said yes. "where will we give it?" asked helen. "as long as it is a benefit we want a place large enough for lots of people to come. all our families will want to come, and all the girl scouts' families, and perhaps some other people besides." "we will give it here, won't we, uncle robert? grandmother will let us, i'm sure. in the big drawing-room, you know." "not big enough," declared uncle robert, while both girls exclaimed. "now this is the part i can help about and i have just had a great idea. you all know that big barn of mrs. hargrave's? we boys used to play there on rainy days when we were little. the whole top floor is one immense room. we can give our entertainment there. mrs. hargrave will give the barn, i know. and for my contribution or part of it, i will see that you have a stage and a curtain and all that." "how dear of you, mr. horton!" said miss hooker. "oh, uncle robert, a curtain that goes up and down?" "of course," said uncle robert, "and footlights and everything." "o-o-o-o-h!" sighed both girls, and miss hooker looked at uncle robert and smiled and he seemed real pleased. "i think i must go if you will be kind enough to take me home," said miss hooker. "rosanna, you must tell the girl scouts about gwenny at the next meeting, and read your play. then we will get right to work, for the sooner this is staged, the better. we don't want to interfere with the christmas work." after mr. horton had taken the tiny little lady home, the girls raced upstairs and went to bed, but it was a long, long time before they could get to sleep. they finally went off, however, and did not hear uncle robert when he came home whistling gaily. they dreamed, however, both of them, of acting before vast audiences that applauded all their speeches. and at last rosanna woke up with a start to find that helen was clapping her hands furiously and stamping her feet against the footboard. after rosanna succeeded in awakening her, they had a good laugh before they went to sleep again. at breakfast uncle robert was full of plans for the benefit. "miss hooker and i went all over your play last night, rosanna," he said, "and smoothed out the rough places. you know every manuscript has to be corrected. it is on the table in my room. you had better read it over after school, and if it suits your highness i will have it typewritten for you, and you can go ahead. i am going to see about the barn now, on my way down town, and if mrs. hargrave is willing--and i am sure she will be--i will get a carpenter to measure for the staging. i suppose," he added, "i ought to ask miss hooker to look at the place and get some suggestions from her?" "oh, i wouldn't bother to wait for her," said rosanna, who was wild to see the stage built. "she won't care what you do. if you like, i will tell her how busy you are and that you won't bother to come around to her house any more because you can attend to things just as well yourself." uncle robert looked hard at rosanna. it was a queer look; sort of the look you would expect from a cannibal uncle who has a little niece that he wants to eat. rosanna, catching the look, was surprised and quite disturbed. but when uncle robert spoke, he merely said, "thank you, rosanna; but you see i _do_ need miss hooker's advice very much indeed. the fact is i will never be able to put this thing through as well as i want to put it through unless i can consult with her every day or so. in fact, if i cannot consult as often as i need to, i will certainly have to give it up. and that would be awful, wouldn't it?" "of course it would, uncle robert," answered rosanna. "i just hated to have you bothered." "i will stagger along under the burden," said uncle robert, trying to look like a martyr. "the thing for you to do is to forget how hard i am working and how much help i have to have doing this, and get your girls to studying on their parts." "miss hooker says i am to read it at the scout meeting next week and then we will give out the parts and let them be learning them." "all right, sweetness; get after them," said uncle robert, kissing rosanna, and helen, too, "for luck" he said, and going off whistling. "i think the play is making uncle robert very happy," said rosanna as the front door slammed and she heard a merry whistle outside. "he is a changed person these last few days." "that is what often happens," said helen. "probably he did not have anything to occupy his mind after business hours, so he was unhappy. mother says it is a serious condition to allow oneself to be in. now that he has our play to think about, he feels altogether different. i do myself. do you know it is time to start for school? let's be off so we won't have to hurry, and we will have time to stop for elise." elise was ready and the three girls sauntered down the street together. as they passed a great imposing stone house, elise said, "it is a château--what you call castle, isn't it?" "yes," said rosanna, "and a cross old ogre lives in it. he and his sister live there all alone, with lots of maids and men to serve them, and he is so growly-wowly that minnie says even the grocer boys are afraid of him. that is his car in front of the door. did you ever see anything so large?" "or so lovely?" added elise. "if he was not so ze what you just call growlee-wowlee, he might carry us to school; not?" "there he comes," said rosanna. "does he look as though he would carry any little girls _any_where unless he carried them off to eat?" the great carved door opened and an old gentleman came down the steps. he walked with a cane and to the children he seemed very old indeed with his snow white hair and fierce moustaches. he scowled as he came and stopped to switch with his cane at a vine that had straggled up the step. he noticed the three girls approaching, and scowled at them so fiercely that they involuntarily stopped to let him pass. but he was in no hurry to do so. when he had looked them over sufficiently, he looked past them and snorted loudly at something he saw up the street, but when the girls looked around to see what was the matter, there was only a little baby girl playing with a little woolly dog; so they all looked back again at the old gentleman. he seemed to fascinate them. three pair of round eyes fixed on him caught the old gentleman's attention. "well, well, well!" he said testily. "what do you see? come, come, speak out!" elise drew back but the other two stood their ground, and rosanna, who had seen him all her life and was at least accustomed to him, said gently: "we see _you_, sir." "ha hum!" sputtered the old gentleman, drawing his fierce white eyebrows together. "what about me, young woman, what about me to stare at?" rosanna was distressed. there seemed nothing to do but tell him the truth and that was almost too awful. she smoothed it down as well as she could. "if you will excuse me for saying so, you looked a little cross," she said, "and--and something must be making you very unhappy." "it is," said the ogre. "it makes me unhappy to see what a silly no-account world this is; full of small children, and woolly dogs, and things. kittens! babies! chickens! bah! all making noises! all getting up at daybreak to play and meow and crow. bah! of course i am unhappy!" he crossed the walk, waved the footman back with his cane, stepped painfully into the car, and with his own hand slammed the door shut. but his anger blinded him. he did not take his hand away soon enough, and the heavy door caught it. with a cry of pain, he dropped back on the cushions. the middle finger was crushed and bleeding profusely. "heaven protect us!" cried elise. the old gentleman was almost fainting. rosanna did not hesitate. the girl scouts had to understand first aid. she ran up to the car and entered it, tearing up her handkerchief as she did so. helen, close behind her, was doing the same thing with hers. chapter v gently but firmly taking the bleeding finger in her little hand, rosanna bound it up in the strips of linen, folding them back and forth in quite a professional manner. helen helped her to tie the bandages. not until they had finished did they take time to glance up at the old gentleman. he was deathly white and leaned heavily against the cushions. "now, sir," said rosanna, "if you will have your man drive you to a doctor, he will treat it with an antiseptic and it will soon be all right." the old gentleman commenced to brace up as he saw that the bleeding at least was checked. the girls got out of the car, and the old gentleman with a muttered, "thank you, thank you," gave an order and the chauffeur drove rapidly away. "he said _thank you_ once for each of us anyway," said helen. elise shuddered. "your dress!" she said, pointing to rosanna. sure enough, rosanna was spattered with blood. "oh, dear, i will have to be late," she said. "just look at me! i will have to go back and put on a clean dress." she turned reluctantly and ran back home, while the others went on to school and the automobile carried the old gentleman rapidly to the office of his doctor. while the physician was attending to the hand, the old gentleman, whose name was harriman, sat and sputtered: "first time i ever saw any children with a grain of common sense!" he declared. "little girl acted in a fairly intelligent manner. suppose it wouldn't happen again. children never know anything, especially girls. bah!" "oh, yes, they do, mr. harriman," said doctor greene soothingly. "oh, yes, they do! now i have two little girls of my own, and i can tell you--" "don't!" said mr. harriman. "i make it a point never to listen to fond parents. i am sure the two girls who fixed me up were unusual--very unusual." "yes, they were," said the doctor. "you will have an easier time with this hand of yours, thanks to their skill." "queer!" said mr. harriman. "seemed to know just what to do." "must have been girl scouts," said the doctor musingly. "girl scouts? what foolishness is that?" said mr. harriman. the doctor smiled. he thought of his own two daughters. "ask them about it," he said, rising, and would say no more. mr. harriman limped out. "what are girl scouts?" mr. harriman asked his chauffeur as they drove to his office. "i dunno, sah," said the colored man, starting. he always jumped when mr. harriman spoke. everyone wanted to. "idiot!" said mr. harriman. "yes, sah," said the chauffeur cheerfully. there seemed nothing else to say. mr. harriman's hand healed very quickly for so old a man, and the doctor stubbornly gave all the credit to rosanna's first-aid treatment. mr. harriman could say "stuff and nonsense!" as many times as he liked, but it made no difference to the doctor, who smiled and refused to discuss the matter. mr. harriman commenced to have a troublesome conscience. he felt as though he should call and thank the little girl who had befriended him to such good purpose, especially as he had known rosanna's grandmother all her life, but he could not bring himself to do it and contented himself with sending two immense wax dolls and a huge box of candy to rosanna's house addressed to "the two girls who recently bound up my hand." rosanna and helen were quite embarrassed, but mrs. horton, who was immensely amused, told them that all that was necessary was a note of thanks, which they wrote and sent off in a great hurry. they didn't want to keep mr. harriman waiting. no one did. but he couldn't find out anything about the girl scouts because the only persons he asked were the very persons who would never know anything much about anything that had to do with girls or good times or youth or happiness. he asked his old friends at the club, when he felt like talking at all, and so the time went on. in the meantime, at a scout meeting rosanna found herself telling the girls all about gwenny and the play and the plans for sending the poor little cripple to cincinnati for the operation which might make her well. it was only _might_. doctor maclaren and the other doctors whom he had taken to see gwenny would only say that it could be _tried_. and the great surgeon, dr. branshaw, had written dr. maclaren that as soon as the child was in a fit condition she could be brought to him and he would do what he could. he said nothing about the cost, rosanna noticed, when she read his letter, so she could not tell the girls what the operation would cost. they were all as interested as they could be and promised to work as hard as they could selling tickets, and the ones who were chosen to take parts in the play were very happy about it. as a matter of fact, all of them were to come on the stage, for those who had no speaking parts came on and marched and so had a share in the glory. and the way they learned their parts! they almost mastered them over night. rehearsals went on, and the day was set for the entertainment. there was a great deal of hammering up in mrs. hargrave's barn. mrs. hargrave and miss hooker and uncle robert spent a good deal of time up there, but they would not let anyone else in. even elise was barred out, and although she wrung her little hands and talked a funny mixture of french and english in her pretty coaxing way, not one of the three would relent and let her peek in. "wait until it comes time for the dress rehearsals," was all they would say. a week before the play, a big box came for uncle robert. he opened it in rosanna's room. it was full of tickets nicely printed on yellow pasteboard. rosanna read them with rapture: the name of the play, _her_ play, and at the top in large print, benefit performance "you have not said anything about what the performance is to be a benefit _for_." said rosanna. "that's all right," said her uncle. "and you have forgotten to say the price of the tickets," wailed helen, who was again spending the night. "well," said mr. horton, "when i went to order those tickets for you, i had an idea. and it was this. i thought as long as this was a benefit performance, why not let it benefit everybody present?" "how can it do that?" asked rosanna. "in this way," said uncle robert. "there will be all sorts of people there, because some of the girl scouts, miss hooker says, are very poor indeed, and some of them belong to families who have plenty of money. so miss hooker suggested a very good scheme. tell the girls when they sell tickets to say that as it is a benefit and so forth and so forth, that the tickets are simply to let the people into the hall. as they go out they are to pay whatever they think it is worth, from five cents up." "perfectly splendid!" said helen, catching the idea at once. "i don't know," answered rosanna. "they will have seen the performance and suppose everybody will feel as though it is worth only a nickel?" "oh, they won't feel like that at all, rosanna," said helen. "i think every single person will think it is worth a quarter. think if they would all pay twenty-five cents!" "i know several who expect to pay a dollar," said uncle robert. "if they only will," cried rosanna, almost sobbing, "gwenny can go to cincinnati this very winter! i think it is a good idea, uncle robert. after all, it is a good thing that you did consult with miss hooker, even if it _has_ taken a lot of your time. i think you have been so kind." "oh, i haven't minded," said uncle robert in a generous way. "why, you must have minded," went on rosanna. "i have kept track all i could, because i was so much obliged to you, and you have been over there at miss hooker's house consulting--well, you had to go over five nights last week, and miss hooker is always saying, 'i had a telephone today from your uncle.' you must be tired to death. i nearly told miss hooker so, but i thought it might sound rude." "you are right about that, rosanna; it would have been very rude indeed, excessively rude i may say," said mr. horton with some haste. "i can scarcely think of anything worse for you to say. my sainted maria!" "i didn't say it," rosanna assured him, "and the thing is so nearly over now, only a week more, that it really doesn't matter." "not a particle!" said mr. horton. "but i wish you would promise me that you won't say anything of the sort. not that it matters, but i seem to feel nervous." "of course i will promise," agreed rosanna. "i love miss hooker but of course i love you more, and i just do hate to have you bothered." "it is mighty nice of you, sweetness, but you must not worry about me at all. now to change the conversation, as the man said when he had nearly been hanged by mistake, you give these tickets out to your girl scouts and tell them to offer them to the people who would be most likely to give more than a nickel. it ought to be easy. they are to say that the benefit will cost them five cents or up as they leave the hall. with your permission, i will make a few remarks and tell them about gwenny. but we will not mention her by name, because if there should be a newspaper reporter lurking around he would put it in the papers and that would be very embarrassing." after uncle robert had gone out the girls made the tickets up in little bundles, one for each girl in the group. their own they spread out on the table, planning how they would dispose of them. "whom shall you sell to first?" asked helen. "mr. harriman," said rosanna quietly. helen dropped her tickets. "dear _me_, rosanna!" she cried. "i would be too afraid to offer him a ticket." "_i_ am not," said rosanna. "i would do more than that for gwenny, and i am not afraid of him at all. not even if he roars. and he has lots and lots of money. i shouldn't wonder at all that he will be one of the dollar ones if he comes. and he has _got_ to come if i go after him." "dear _me_!" said helen again, quite awed. "you are brave. shall i come with you?" "if you like," replied rosanna. "we will go right after school tomorrow." the interview with mr. harriman took place as planned the first thing after school. school let out at two o'clock, and it was half-past when the girls mounted the steps of the grim old fortress in which mr. harriman lived. now it happened that half past two was a very dark hour for mr. harriman because at about that time he was always in the clutch of a bad attack of indigestion brought on daily because he would _not_ mind his doctor and omit pickles and sweets from his bill of fare. at this time he read the morning paper and reviled the world at large. his sister always left him with the excuse that she wanted to lie down, and he was alone with his abused stomach and his pepsin tablets and his thoughts. the two girls entered the room and waited for him to speak. mr. harriman looked up from his reading with a dark scowl. most of the newspaper was on the floor where he had thrown it to stamp on. he always felt better when he stamped on the editorials that displeased him most. it seemed to soothe his feelings. he managed to grunt, "'dafternoon! 'dafternoon!" when he saw the two girls advance across his library, and then he waited, looking over the tops of a very grubby pair of glasses for them to state their errands. it was rosanna who spoke first, although generally helen was the spokesman. but helen was frankly afraid of the grouchy old gentleman, while rosanna was too anxious to help gwenny to be afraid of anyone. so she said, "please excuse us, mr. harriman, if we have interrupted your reading." "well, you have!" said mr. harriman gruffly. "whadder you want? sell me chances on a doll's carriage or sofy pillow? who's getting up your fair? meth'dist, 'piscopal? here's a dime." he held out the money, which rosanna took gently and laid on the table beside him. "thank you," she said. "we don't want any money today. we have come to tell you about an entertainment we are going to give. first if you don't mind i think i will just shine up your glasses. you can't see to think through them the way they are," and as helen looked on, expecting to see rosanna snapped in two any second, she held out her hand for the glasses, shaking out a clean pocket handkerchief as she did so. no one was more surprised than mr. harriman himself when he took off the smeary spectacles and handed them to rosanna, who silently polished them and handed them back. they _were_ better; mr. harriman acknowledged it with a grunt. "girls are real handy," said rosanna with her sweet smile. "grrrrrr!" from mr. harriman. "whadded you want to tell me?" but his voice certainly seemed a shade less gruff. rosanna, speaking distinctly and as carefully as though she was explaining to a small child, told the old man about gwenny and the benefit and after that, as he sat perfectly still looking at her through unnaturally shiny glasses, she went on to tell him about the girl scouts. you couldn't tell whether he cared a snap about it, but at all events he listened, and helen and rosanna both thought it was a good sign. they did not dare to glance at each other, but rosanna went on talking until she felt that she had told him all that he would want to know if he had been a regular sort of a human being instead of a grouchy, cross old man who seemed to delight in scaring everyone away from him. "that's all," said rosanna finally, smiling up into the scowling old face. there was a long silence, "grrrrrr!" said mr. harriman again. "so you want me to come to your show, do you? haven't been to a show for forty years! no good! silly!" "ours isn't," declared helen, suddenly finding her voice. "our entertainment is perfectly splendid!" "perfectly splendid!" mimicked mr. harriman. "sounds just like a woman! all alike, regardless of age. grrrrrr!" "you will come, won't you?" asked rosanna. "please do! you see it is only a nickel if you do not think it is worth more." "a great many persons are going to pay a quarter," hinted helen. "all right, all right!" said mr. harriman. "you are less objectionable than most children. i will come if i can remember it." "suppose i come after you?" suggested rosanna, remembering what she had said to helen about getting mr. harriman if she had to come after him. "all right, all right! let it go at that! i know your sex! you will forget all about your agreement by the time you reach the next corner. if you come after me, i will go to your show. in the hargrave barn, eh? anything to sit on, or shall i bring a chair?" "no, sir; uncle robert has fixed seats and everything. and i will come for you quite early because i have to be there doing my part." "that's nuff!" grunted mr. harriman, nodding curtly. "'dafternoon!" he resumed his paper, and as he caught the opening sentences of the article before him, there came a sound like the grating of teeth and the noise of a large boiler that is about to explode. the girls said, "good afternoon!" in two small voices and went out as quickly as they could. helen breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the outer air. "rosanna, you are certainly a very brave girl," she said. "i am glad to get out alive. every minute i expected to hear him say, 'fee-fi-fo-fum, i smell the breath of an english-mun!'" rosanna laughed. "he is pretty awful," she granted. "but i mean to make him come. i think it will do him good to see that play, and i shall certainly go after him. if he thinks i am going to forget about him, he is greatly mistaken." "let's try to get rid of all our tickets this afternoon. you know we are to meet uncle robert at the barn at five o'clock to see the theatre he has fixed up. oh, helen, i am _so_ excited!" for a couple of hours the girls repeated the story of gwenny and the benefit until they could say it by heart. the tickets went so fast that they were sorry that they did not have twice as many. at a quarter of five they hurried back to mrs. hargrave's, where elise was waiting for them and uncle robert soon joined them. there was a short wait then, because he refused to unlock the door before miss hooker arrived although the girls begged and begged, assuring him that she wouldn't mind. finally they heard the tap, tap, tap of her tiny shoes on the old brick walk, and round the corner she came, looking more dimply and dainty and altogether beautiful than ever. uncle robert looked as though he could eat her, but somehow it was not the sort of look he had given rosanna that other time. not at all! rosanna noticed it. chapter vi the stairs were broad and easy, and the girls ran up after uncle robert who proceeded to fit a large key in the lock of the big door at the head of the stairs. it was a very fine stable, built many, many years ago, and finished outside and inside with great care. the walls were all sealed or finished with narrow strips of varnished wood. as the door swung open, the three girls stood dumb with amazement. then "oh, _darling_ uncle robert!" cried rosanna, and threw herself into his arms. uncle robert looked over her head at miss hooker and smiled. "glad if you like it, kiddie," he said. "it is my contribution to little gwenny. and doctor rick told me to tell you that he would send some music for his share." "oh, helen, helen, isn't that _splendid_?" cried rosanna. "now we won't have to have a victrola! it will be like a real theatre." "just exactly," said helen absently. she could not give very much thought to the orchestra when the little theatre claimed her attention. there was a real stage, and before it a long green tin that the girls knew concealed the footlights. a splendid curtain hung before them, painted in a splashy way with a landscape. to the girls it seemed a rare work of art. well, the sign painter who had done it was rather proud of himself, so it _must_ have been all right. they walked down the aisle between rows of nice new benches, made with comfortable backs. mr. horton left them and went around back of the stage. immediately there was a sound of ropes squeaking, and the curtain rose as majestically as though it was the curtain of a real theatre. and there was the stage! the same accommodating sign painter had painted a back drop and "flies" as they are called. it was a woodland scene. trees were the thing that accommodating sign painter could do best, and he had made lots of them, as green as green! he had also painted two canvas covered boxes so that you could scarcely tell them from real rocks. "isn't that pretty nifty looking scenery?" asked uncle robert proudly. "it only goes to show that there is a lot of kindness floating around loose in this work-a-day old world. the man who painted all this knew gwenny's mother when she was a girl, and when i asked for his bill he said he had done it all sundays and nights and it was his contribution. he wouldn't take a cent. doing it nights is why some of the trees look sort of bluish but i don't think it hurts, do you?" "what a nice, _nice_ man!" exclaimed miss hooker. "i should say it _doesn't_ hurt! to think of his working nights after painting all day long. i should admire those trees if they were a bright _purple_!" "of course you would," said uncle robert softly. "you are like that." rosanna was hurt. "why, uncle robert! she doesn't mean that she would just as _soon_ like a purple tree as a green one. she means how nice it was of the man." "thank you, rosanna; it is all perfectly clear to me now," smiled uncle robert. "perfectly clear." he looked again at miss hooker and she smothered a little smile behind her little handkerchief. they hated to go out of the theatre and see uncle robert lock the door. then they separated. elise danced off to the house. miss hooker and helen went down the street together, and uncle robert and rosanna cut across the garden. rosanna's heart was full. she wanted _everybody_ to be happy. "uncle robert," she said, "sometimes i wish that you were going to get married after awhile. if you were only going to marry miss hooker or some young lady just like her, so little and sweet!" "well, it is worth considering," said uncle robert. "i wonder now, just for the sake of argument, that is, if i _should_ do it to accommodate you, i wonder if miss hooker _would_ marry me." "oh, no," said rosanna. "she wouldn't _think_ of it." "ugh!" said uncle robert. it sounded as though someone had knocked all the air out of him. "no," continued rosanna. "we were talking about minnie getting married one day, and i said it was the only wedding i was ever apt to have anything to do with because i had heard you say many times that you were not a marrying man." "what did she say?" asked uncle robert in a sort of strangled voice which rosanna, skipping along at his side, failed to notice. "oh, she said, 'how interesting!' and i said, 'isn't it? because he is nicer than anyone i know, but he says that girls never cut any figure in his young life except to play with.'" "what did she say then?" demanded mr. horton. "nothing at all," answered rosanna, "but she is sensible too, because the next time i was there, she asked more about minnie, and then she said she had decided never to marry. she said she liked to be polite to men and help them pass the time, and to assist them in worthy works, but further than that she despised the whole lot of them, especially blonds." rosanna looked up to see what color hair uncle robert had, and noticed a very queer look on his face. "you look so queer, uncle robert," she said tenderly. "don't you feel well?" "no, i don't," said uncle robert. "i think if you will excuse me i will take a walk." "how _do_ you feel?" persisted rosanna. "i feel--i feel _queer_," said uncle robert. "i feel sort of as though i had been gassed." he turned abruptly and went down the walk, leaving rosanna staring after him. at dinner, however, uncle robert declared that he was all right, so rosanna stopped worrying. everything went rushing along. and everything went beautifully, thanks to the energy everybody put into their work. a couple of days before the day of the entertainment uncle robert appeared with a copy of the programs that he had had printed. all the girl scouts, when rosanna brought it to the rehearsal, read it until the paper was quite worn out. at the bottom of the page, after the program part, was printed plainly, _given by the girl scouts of group ii_. whoever saw the program at all could not fail to see that they were all in it, one as much as another. at last the great day came! it was saturday, of course. no other day would be possible for busy school girls. directly after supper, the scouts commenced to file into the theatre by ones and twos and threes. they gathered in the dressing-rooms back of the stage, where they sat or stood in solemn groups. helen and elise had arrived, and as rosanna started across the garden she happened to think of mr. harriman. she could not suppress a groan of dismay as she remembered her promise to go after him. there was no time to get helen or elise to go. she looked wildly up and down for some other girl scout, but there was not one in sight. if she did not go, mr. harriman would indeed think that all women were alike. so she flitted down the street looking like a good fairy in her shimmering blue dress, with the tiny wreath of forget-me-nots banding her dark hair. she had not taken time to put on her blue evening coat, with its broad bands of white fox fur, but held it round her shoulders with both hands as she ran. mr. harriman was at home, the footman said, but he was engaged; had company for dinner, and they had not quite finished. would she wait? rosanna said she was sorry but she would have to go right in and speak to mr. harriman. so she passed the pompous servant and at the dining-room door a still more pompous butler, and stepped into the presence of mr. harriman and his guests. miss harriman, a thin, scared little old lady, sat at the head of the table. opposite her, busy with a large dish of plum pudding, sat mr. harriman. his two guests sat on either side of him. they were old too, so three white-haired old gentlemen turned and looked at rosanna as she entered and dropped a curtsey. "'devening! there you are again! grrrrrr! didn't forget, did you? bah! want i should go to show?" said mr. harriman, partly to rosanna and partly to the others. "yes, sir; this is the night," said rosanna. "what's this?" asked one of the gentlemen, who looked as though he could not have said _grrrrrr_ or _bah_ to save his life. "that's a girl scout," said mr. harriman. "told you at the club that i would find out about 'em. here's a live one. caught her myself." he acted quite pleased. "shall i wait and walk over with you, mr. harriman," asked rosanna, "or will you come as soon as you can? you see i must be over there very early." "i will come m'self," said mr. harriman. "want piece puddin'? no? s'good! i will come later. won't break my word. didn't break yours. bring these fellows along if they have any money." "how much will we need?" said the third old gentleman, laughing. "anything from a nickel up," replied rosanna. "cost you a quarter," said mr. harriman. "cosgrove, here, will have to pay thirty-five cents. based on income tax!" rosanna, watching him, thought she saw a real twinkle in mr. harriman's eye. she warned them to be on time and promised to save three seats for them in the front row. then she went skipping happily off. three instead of one to come to the play, two quarters, and thirty-five cents made eighty-five cents right there! it was enough to make _anyone_ skip. when she reached the barn people were filing up the broad stairs, and the room was already half full. uncle robert stood near the door nodding and smiling and telling the girl scout ushers where to seat one and another. rosanna hurriedly wrote "taken" on the backs of three tickets, and laid them on three spaces on the bench nearest the stage. as people kept coming, she commenced to wonder if there would be seats enough. she whispered her fear to uncle robert. "that's all right," he said. "i have one of the box stalls downstairs full of camp chairs, and the sign painter is here to help me bring them up if they are needed." "you think of everything," said rosanna fondly, then set herself to watch the door for mr. harriman. it was not long before she heard the clump, clump, clump of his cane and the heavy footsteps of his two friends. she escorted them proudly to their seats, and left them nodding appreciatively at the bright curtain and all the fittings of the little theatre. then she hurried around back of the stage. "they came, eighty-five cents' worth!" she whispered to helen. "what do you mean?" "mr. harriman is here and two of his friends," said rosanna. "and mr. harriman and one friend will give twenty-five cents, and the other will give thirty-five." "good!" said helen. "how do i look? is the place filling up? have you seen the music doctor rick sent? five pieces! they have just come. they are down in the feed room getting their instruments out. oh, i am _so_ excited! and it is all to make gwenny well." "i am going out now," said rosanna. "i wish you could all sit out in front. it does not seem fair for me to do so." "it _is_ fair," helen assured her. "didn't you write the whole play? of course you must see that it is played right." when rosanna appeared she glanced at mr. harriman and was surprised to have him beckon her to him. "sit here," he said, making a small but sufficient space between himself and one of his friends--the thirty-five cent one, rosanna noticed. she sat down, and as she did so the music started off with a flourish. how splendidly it sounded! it quite drowned the sound of people entering. uncle robert, and the sign painter, and a couple of brothers belonging to one of the girls were busy bringing camp chairs and placing them in the wide aisle and along the sides. two bright red spots burned on rosanna's cheeks. she looked at her wrist watch. in five minutes it would begin. and it did. a row of girl scouts in crisp, natty looking uniforms, marching according to size, so that the large girls were in the center of the stage, came out before the curtain and sang one of their best girl scout songs. their voices were so sweet and they sang so well that they had to return and give an encore. mr. harriman pounded with his cane. then the webster girls, dressed as fairies, came out and danced what the program called the moonbeam dance, and behold, uncle robert had fixed a spot light so they looked pink and white and purple and blue by turns and it was like a real theatre. there was so much applause after this that rosanna could not help wondering if it was a good strong barn! then there was a short pause while the orchestra played. as it ended, uncle robert appeared before the curtain. he looked so beautiful to rosanna in his evening dress with his merry eyes and pleasant smile, that her eyes filled with tears of pride. and he made a beautiful simple little speech. he told the audience a great deal about the girl scouts and all the good the organization was doing for the girls and others as well, and then he told of the little lame girl, suffering so hopelessly and so patiently, and how these girl scouts had determined to help her. he told them there was no price set on the tickets, because some might feel like giving ten cents or even a quarter or so but that no one was _asked_ to leave more than a nickel. and then he called their attention to the beautiful curtain and told them that that and the scenery was the gift of a friend who was a sign painter, who had done it sundays and nights after work as his contribution to the benefit, and everybody clapped furiously, and mr. harriman and the thirty-five cent gentleman commenced to nudge each other behind rosanna. _she_ was sitting on the very front edge of the bench. then uncle robert said: "after another short selection by the orchestra there will be a play written by one of the girl scouts. we hope that you will enjoy it." he bowed, and stepped behind the curtain, while everybody clapped and mr. harriman thumped with his cane. as the orchestra struck up, the thirty-five cent gentleman leaned over to mr. harriman and said, "what are you going to do about it, dick?" "do 'swell's you do," said mr. harriman. "just as much?" questioned the thirty-five cent gentleman. "yes," said mr. harriman, snorting. "and fifty over!" "i will break even with you both," said the third gentleman, leaning across. mr. cosgrove took out a check book and a fountain pen and commenced to write. mr. harriman leaned behind rosanna and watched. "poh! hum! grrrrrr! piker!" he said, and mr. cosgrove, laughing, tore up his check and wrote another which he handed to mr. harriman. rosanna did not think it would be polite to look, but wondered what in the world they were doing when they should have been listening to the music. "s'all right," said mr. harriman. "girl's pretty lame, isn't she, rosanna?" "gwenny can't walk at all," replied rosanna, "and even at night her back hurts so she can't sleep." "poor little broken pot," said the third gentleman softly. "a pity that the hand of the potter slipped." "save your poetry, bristol!" grunted mr. harriman. "this talks better." he struck the check book with his pen, and mr. bristol, borrowing a page, wrote busily as the curtain rose. rosanna, hoping they would forget business for a while, bent her eyes on the stage. chapter vii as the play progressed rosanna commenced to doubt her own senses. it did not seem possible that she could have written anything so good and so interesting. when the act ended, there was a louder burst of applause than at any other time, and to rosanna's horror some one in the back of the room commenced to cry, "author, author!" rosanna did not realize at first that they meant her and was looking around the room with a great deal of interest when she felt both mr. harriman and mr. cosgrove pushing her to her feet. she stood up because they shoved her up, and she did not know what to do next. then the most amazing thing of all happened. mr. harriman rose to his feet and taking rosanna firmly by the arm as though she might dash off any instant, he started toward the three little steps at one side of the stage. up these steps he sternly piloted rosanna, while everyone in the room clapped and clapped again. all of louisville knew mr. harriman, and when everybody saw that _he_ was escorting the little girl who had written the play, they sat quite still to see what would happen next. when they reached the stage and stood facing the audience, someone called, "speech, speech!" but that was 'way, 'way beyond rosanna, who was perfectly overcome anyway. she looked pleadingly at mr. harriman, who knew what she meant, and took pity on her. "hum, grrrrrr," he commenced. "ladies and gentlemen, this little lady, who is the author and producer of the play you have just seen, asks me to speak for her. she thanks you for your appreciation, and for the help you are giving to herself and these other generous girl scouts in their efforts to assist a girl less fortunate than themselves. you have heard about the little cripple who is to be benefited by the work of these girls, and i think we, the audience fortunate enough to be present at this memorable occasion, will esteem it a pleasure to do what we can toward making it possible for this little sufferer to obtain a possible cure through a very serious and expensive operation. we thank you. grrrrrr!" he _glared_ at mr. cosgrove and mr. bristol, and bowed. rosanna dipped a hasty curtsey, and they went off the stage again as everybody clapped and the music struck up the jolliest piece they knew. the entertainment was over! back with mr. cosgrove and mr. bristol, each old gentleman shook hands with rosanna and started for the door, where uncle robert, intent on the most important part of all, sat at the table on which was a shoe box with a slot cut in the cover. he was smiling and beaming and saying, "thank you!" over and over as people congratulated him on rosanna's play. miss hooker stood beside him looking so sweet and true and pretty that when mr. harriman came up and looked at her, and started to say "grrrrrr," it actually sounded like a purr! he hastily shoved something white through the slot, and mr. cosgrove and mr. bristol followed him, looking very guilty. then mr. harriman turned back. "absolutely confidential, horton! no newspapers!" he said. "absolutely, sir, and thank you," said uncle robert, bowing to the three. he commenced to suspect something! miss hooker stooped to whisper something to robert. as soon as the last person had left the hall, he obeyed the whisper, and taking the precious box, which was sealed with red sealing wax where the cover went on, he went behind the scenes. all the girls were there, as well as the sign painter and the two brothers. these three looked immensely relieved when a fourth member of their sex appeared. mrs. hargrave was there too, and she was inviting everyone to walk over to her house and have something to eat. she said she believed it was customary after the first presentation of a play. when some of the girls said they would have to go home with their folks on account of getting home with escort, mrs. hargrave at once added that she had arranged with mrs. horton to send the girls home in their automobiles. so very soon they were all in mrs. hargrave's immense dining-room, sitting in chairs ranged round the room and being served chicken bouillon and sandwiches, and fruit salad, and olives, and cocoa, and ice-cream with whipped cream on top. all they could eat of each thing too! "i can't wait to see the inside of that box," said mrs. hargrave after all the girl scouts and the sign painter and the two brothers had said good night and thank you, and had gone. "what if these children of ours _do_ have to sleep half the day tomorrow? telephone your mother, miss hooker, that you are here with me, and that you will be home presently, and we will go into the library and watch robert count the money. and whatever is lacking, when it comes to settling for that operation, mrs. horton and i intend to make up." robert horton laughed. "i have an idea that you are on the safe side of the bargain, dear lady," he said. "i think this box will surprise us." "how much do you suppose is in it?" asked miss hooker as she started for the telephone. "a hundred dollars?" "five hundred at the least," answered uncle robert. everybody started to hurry for the library at that as though the money in the box would have to be counted as rapidly as possible for fear it might fly away. uncle robert happened to sit beside miss hooker again, but rosanna sat on the other side. he cut the sealing wax and opened the box. there was all sorts of silver money there _except nickels_! there was not one nickel. dimes, quarters, fifty-cent pieces, and silver dollars, but not a nickel. uncle robert placed the coins in neat piles, then he commenced to stack the paper money. after he had done this, he sorted out five checks, which he laid by themselves quite respectfully, face down. then he drew out a pencil and paper and commenced to count. no one spoke. at the last, still keeping the faces of the five checks out of sight, he added them in, covered the paper with his hand, and looked up. he seemed dazed. "how much do you think?" he demanded. "don't make us guess, robert," said his mother. "two thousand, two hundred and thirty-four dollars and twenty-five cents," he said slowly. "impossible!" exclaimed mrs. hargrave sharply. miss hooker gave a gasp. the girls, perfectly round-eyed, sat silent. "there it is!" said mr. horton. "mr. bristol and mr. cosgrove each gave a check for five hundred dollars, and mr. harriman wrote his for five hundred and fifty." mrs. horton sniffed. "dick harriman never gave twenty-five dollars to anything like this in his life," she said. "well, here is his check," declared her son. "so _that_ is where the fifty came in," said rosanna, finding her voice. she repeated the conversation she had heard. everybody laughed. "poor dick!" said mrs. hargrave. "he doesn't feel well, and his bark is so bad that i doubt if anyone ever before stopped to see what his bite was like until rosanna tried. i reckon he is happier tonight than he has been for a long while. he would think it was a great joke, too, to cajole henry bristol and clinton cosgrove into giving that money. well, they can afford it many times over, so it will do them all good." "too bad rick maclaren isn't here," said uncle robert. "he has a sick patient on hand, and couldn't come. i will tell him the first thing in the morning." "and these girls _must_ go to bed," said mrs. horton. "are you going to stay with rosanna, helen?" "i think i will just have to go home and tell mother and father about it if there is any way for me to get there," replied helen. "if miss hooker feels like the extra walk, we will take you on our way to her house," said uncle robert eagerly. "i would love it," said miss hooker obligingly. rosanna marvelled. miss hooker lived blocks away from helen, in the opposite direction, but as the older people said nothing, rosanna kept silence. at all events the benefit was over, and her uncle robert would no longer feel obliged to spend all his time with a mere girl, because no matter how lovely, rosanna knew that he didn't care for girls. a number of girls ranging in age from twelve to sixteen were busy repeating in a number of homes that night just how they had felt at different times during the evening, and explaining to less fortunate brothers and sisters how good everything had tasted afterwards. and sunday morning, a great many mothers had a difficult time getting their girl scout daughters awake. rosanna had a long talk with uncle bob. she wanted to know what was going to be done about the money. "i have been thinking about that," said uncle robert. "i will put it in the bank the first thing tomorrow morning. i shall put it in the office bank for safe keeping until then." "do you suppose it will take all of it for gwenny's operation?" asked rosanna. "no, i do not," robert replied, "but of course doctor branshaw is a very high priced specialist, and he sets his own fees." "if he knew that gwenny was a poor little girl and that the girl scouts were taking care of her, i wonder if it would make any difference?" uncle robert shook his head. "i don't believe i would ask a favor of anyone, now that you have earned such a lot of money. just go ahead and pay her way like good sports. at that, with the hospital charges and nurses paid, i think you may have a little left over. if we have, we will have to find the best way to spend it for gwenny. i want to consult with miss hooker about it later if she is not too tired." "consult again! oh, _poor_ uncle robert!" said rosanna compassionately. "i thought that was all over with." "it is not as painful as you seem to think," said uncle robert dryly. "at all events, my health is not breaking under the strain. i never knew you to fuss so, rosanna. just what have you up your sleeve anyhow? don't you like your captain after all?" "oh, i perfectly _love_ her," cried rosanna warmly. "you don't know how sweet she is, uncle robert! and she is such a good captain. every girl in the patrol loves her and will do anything in the world for her." seeing that uncle robert appeared to be listening, rosanna went on warming to her subject. "at the rally, i heard one of the ladies say that our captain was considered the best one in all the city. and she looks so young; just like one of the girls when she gets into her scout uniform. when we are on hikes, she runs around and plays with us and joins all our games. oh, yes, uncle robert, i do love her dearly!" "i don't know but what i do myself," admitted uncle robert unexpectedly. "why, uncle _robert_!" said rosanna in a shocked tone. "what a thing for you to say!" uncle robert wondered if he had made a mistake. it was not the sort of a remark he would want repeated. so he made another mistake. "wasn't it? a joke, rosanna; just a merry jest. thought you would laugh over it. ha ha! ha ha!" "ha ha!" repeated rosanna to be agreeable. sometimes uncle robert was rather disappointing. "but she is lovely anyway, and has loads and loads of friends, and, uncle robert, i think she has a sweetheart because boxes and boxes of flowers come to her, and she just keeps a little one to wear, and sends all the rest to the hospital. and lovely books come by mail and the fattest letters! one had poetry in it, too. i could tell by the shape of the writing down the page." "don't snoop, rosanna," said uncle robert sharply. "i didn't, uncle robert," said rosanna in a hurt tone. "she was sitting close to me on the sofa, and i couldn't help seeing. she liked it too, because she smiled so sweetly and showed all her dimples, even the one that almost _never_ comes out." "what a little ray of sunshine you are, rosanna!" said her uncle strangely. "thank you; a girl scout _ought_ to be," replied rosanna. "well, you are, all right, sweetness," said uncle robert. he sighed deeply almost as though the ray of sunshine had not come his way at all. he kissed rosanna and then sat her down rather hard in a deep chair. "i don't know when i have felt so cheered up. and now, if you would like to call the garage and order the little car for me, i will go around to see doctor maclaren and tell him the good news of our fortune. and on second thoughts, i don't believe i will have to consult with miss hooker at all. i think perhaps you are right. i have bothered her enough." "she has been _very_ polite and kind about it all, hasn't she?" asked rosanna. "most polite and kind," mr. horton agreed. "but we don't want to wear her kindness out, do we, rosanna? i will go see rick, and in a day or two my part of this affair will be finished. and i won't have to bother anybody. i am thinking of a little trip out west, rosanna. i wish you could go with me." "i wish i could!" said rosanna, "but grandmother wouldn't want me to leave school, and besides i couldn't leave the scouts just now. where do you think of going, uncle robert?" "nowhere in particular, unless--" he thought a moment. "it might be fun to look up some place where they had never heard of the girl scouts." "perfectly splendid!" said rosanna. "_that_ would be doing a good deed. you could tell the people about us, and start a patrol. i must tell miss hooker about this; she will think it is so nice of you. she appreciates kind acts, even if she doesn't like men." "it is not worth mentioning, rosanna," answered uncle robert. "besides, i didn't have just that in mind. however, i hear the car and will leave you before--before i do anything i regret." he went off, and rosanna watched him through the window as he started his car. he was real jerky with it, and it sputtered and missed, and went off with a leap. "he is all tired out," thought rosanna. chapter viii time passed, a great many things happening. gwenny, accompanied by her mother (there being plenty of money for everything), was taken away to the place of her great trial. when the question arose as to what should be done with mary and tommy and myron and luella and baby christopher, rosanna thought of minnie, always so good and kind. she went to see her, and the result was that minnie volunteered to stay at gwenny's and run the little house and take care of the children as long as mrs. harter was needed in cincinnati. both doctor maclaren and mr. horton went with mrs. harter and gwenny, and made the journey as comfortable as they possibly could. the great doctor branshaw, after seeing his patient, said that she must have at least a week of rest under his own eye before he would be willing to try the operation. so gwenny was settled in a sunny room at the hospital where she at once became the pet of the ward and doctor maclaren and mr. horton came home. late in the afternoon, the very next sunday, mr. horton came into the house looking the picture of gloom. he scarcely spoke to his mother and rosanna but rushed up to his room and immediately there was a sound of things being dragged around, and many footsteps. and the door opened and shut a great many times. mrs. horton wondered what that boy was up to now and went on reading. but rosanna listened with a black suspicion growing in her mind. and, sure enough, mr. horton came down presently to announce that he was going away for a few weeks. he was getting stale, he said, and needed a little change. when he saw rosanna's round eyes fixed on him, he looked away but repeated that he felt stale. "it is that war," said his mother, as though the war should be severely reprimanded. "before you went into that war, you were always contented. now nothing contents you for long." "perhaps you are right," admitted robert absently. "at all events i can be spared from the office just now better than at any other time, and i am going to go away." and go he did an hour later. mrs. hargrave and elise came in presently to take sunday night luncheon. "where is robert?" asked mrs. hargrave, seeing that no place was set for him. "gone off for a vacation," said his mother. "dear me, isn't he well?" asked mrs. hargrave. "perfectly, but he just took one of his notions and went." "anything--er--happened, do you suppose?" questioned mrs. hargrave. "anything--er, _you_ know. misunderstanding?" "possibly," answered mrs. horton. "that is what i suspect. but i don't _know_ anything." "oh dear, oh dear!" cried mrs. hargrave, folding her fine old hands together. "it is too bad! can't something be done? why, robert is the finest boy in this world! he is just what i dream my son would have been if i had had one. do you suppose one could say anything to the other person?" "no, indeed," said mrs. horton. "i don't _know_, you see. i only suspect." so uncle robert went away, and gwenny was off at the hospital, and rosanna and helen spent all their time drilling elise in the requirements of the tenderfoot examination. elise was quick to learn, but she found more difficulty in learning this because her knowledge of english was of course limited. the girls were anxious to make a brilliant showing with their recruit. over and over they drilled her in the tenderfoot examination, at the last requiring her to write the answers to the examination paper which read as follows: tenderfoot examination, written. a give the scout promise. b what does the scout motto mean? give the scout laws in order. a what is the purpose of the scout movement? b what does a scout's honor mean? c give the meaning of one law. d how and when should the scout salute be given? e explain the scout badge. a who made the american flag? b why was a flag needed? c in what city was it made? what year? d name the committee appointed to design it. a quote general washington's words about the flag. b when was the flag officially adopted? c describe the first official flag of the stars and stripes. a what do the stars represent? the stripes? b for what do the colors, red, white and blue stand? c how many stars has the flag now? what day is flag day? d when is a new star added and why? give fully the respect due the flag. a what should scouts do when the national anthem is played? b what should civilians do at retreat? scouts? a what is the united states government? b who is at its head? c name the commissioners of the district of columbia. a write america. b write the star spangled banner (omitting rd stanza). then followed the demonstration of knots and knot tying. over and over they drilled her, and elise was an apt pupil. her delicate little fingers seemed to know of themselves what to do. "i am glad she is to _write_ that examination," sighed helen the day before elise was to go to captain hooker and take her examination formally. she was to be examined on friday afternoon, and at the meeting saturday night she was to become a tenderfoot scout member of their patrol. "what difference does it make whether she writes the exam, or recites her answers?" returned rosanna. "she speaks brokenly, of course, but that does not matter." "all it matters is that no one could hear her speak of general washington the way she does in her funny broken english, without wanting to scream. it is so funny." funny or not, elise went through her examination most successfully and saturday night accompanied helen and rosanna to the meeting at miss hooker's house. their little captain had fitted up a room specially for her girls, where they could keep their various documents and where the seats, the neat desk for the secretary, and the standard for the big silk flag did not need to be disturbed in the intervals between meetings. elise was thrilled beyond words. as they entered the room she saw that the two girls saluted their little captain. not knowing if she was expected to salute before becoming a scout, elise dropped a shy curtsey and followed rosanna to a seat where they awaited the full number of scouts and the shrill whistle from the lieutenant which brought the meeting to order. "the first whistle means _attention_," whispered helen. once again it sounded. "that is for assembly," whispered rosanna on the other side, as all the girls rose. leaving elise in her seat, the scouts formed in double ranks at a distance of forty inches between ranks and an interval of sixty inches between patrols. the eight girls who formed a patrol took their places in groups as signified by the crosses. patrol patrol patrol xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx captain x x lieutenant elise found out afterward that number one in the front rank of each patrol is the patrol leader, and number four the corporal. at the command "company, attention!" from the little captain, now standing so straight and so stern that elise scarcely recognized her, the company as a whole stiffened to attention. the lieutenant, a tall, pretty girl of nineteen, then commanded, "corporals from patrols!" and the three corporals stepped forward two paces, made two right turns, and stood facing the center of the patrol. the corporals then snapped out together, "attention! right dress!" after which they faced left, took two paces, made right turn, right face, and looked critically down the line to see that it was perfectly straight. after two short left steps to straighten the rear line, they faced right, took four paces forward, and with two right turns got back in position facing patrol and called the command "front! count off!" the corporals then one after the other called the roll of her patrol, and finishing that, turned and reported to the lieutenant that the patrol was formed, after which they returned to their places in the ranks, and the lieutenant, saluting the captain, reported, "captain, the company is formed." inspection then followed. each girl, saluting, stepped forward and her hair, teeth, hands, nails, shoes and general appearance was scrutinized. elise watched all this with great interest, interest which deepened as the captain commanded "color guard, march!" and three girls stepped from the ranks and stood side by side for a moment, then at a word of command marched to the flag. there they saluted and marched back; when the captain and the lieutenant faced about, and the captain in her silvery voice said: "the flag of your country; pledge allegiance!" with one voice the girls united in the beautiful pledge to the flag, "i pledge allegiance to the flag, and to the republic for which it stands; one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all." elise looked at the silken folds of the glorious red, white and blue with tears in her eyes. how glad she was to make that pledge! had not that flag, the flag that was now her own, floated over the shell-racked fields of france? oh, she _loved_ it! the color guard returned, and the fresh young voices rose in the first verse of america. "scouts, your promise!" said the captain. "to do my duty to god and to my country. to help other people at all times. to obey the laws of the scouts." the voices rang out. "the laws!" said the captain. again the chorus of girls repeated: a girl scout's honor is to be trusted. a girl scout is loyal. a girl scout's duty is to be useful, and help others. a girl scout is a friend to all, and a sister to every other girl scout. a girl scout is courteous. a girl scout keeps herself pure. a girl scout is a friend to animals. a girl scout obeys orders. a girl scout is cheerful. a girl scout is thrifty. "dismissed!" said the little captain and, breaking ranks, the girls went to their seats where they sat talking in low tones until the sharp sound of the lieutenant's whistle called them to attention again. "now i do come," said elise to herself, and her heart commenced to hammer in quite an alarming fashion. but it was not quite time for her to rise. looking at rosanna, she saw her give a slight shake of the head, and elise leaned back in her seat while all the business of the meeting was settled and plans made for some aid for a poor family living near. one thing elise noticed particularly. the girls present were widely different in looks, and elise with her delicate perceptions saw plainly that they belonged in widely differing classes, so called. a few of the girls, rosanna among them, had the carefully cared for and delicately nurtured look of the very rich. more were like helen, clean, carefully groomed and almost precise in her dress and accessories. others were very evidently poor, with rough little hands that already told the story of hard work and few toilet creams. but whoever they were, they saw no difference in each other. they were girl scouts in the fullest and best sense of the word: sisters pledged to each other, and living up to that pledge in all earnestness and honor. elise, waiting for her summons to go forward, and understanding nothing of the business that was going on, threw her thoughts backward. she saw herself the idolized child of the gay, rich young couple in the great château, where long painted lines of powdered and frilled and armor-clad ancestors looked down at her from the long galleries, and where dozens of willing servants danced to do her bidding. then the picture changed, and with the roll of drums and the thunder of cannon she saw the hated foe march across her land, destroying as they came. father, mother, grandmother, home, riches; all went down as under a devouring tide. then the promises of her monsieur bob, and after long, long weary days spent with the ladies of the red cross came the journey into the unknown, that trip across an ocean that was to forever separate her from a past that was too terrible for a little girl to have known. to have found refuge in mrs. hargrave's tender arms, to have won such love and such friends--to be able to be a girl scout-- elise turned her eyes, brimming with sudden tears, to the flag. "never, _never_ will i zem disappoint!" she whispered tenderly, using as best she could the unfamiliar words of her adopted tongue. chapter ix at last elise saw the captain glance in her direction as the whistle blew once more for attention and the captain commanded, "fall in!" a look of serious interest appeared on the faces of the girls as they formed in a horseshoe, the captain and the lieutenant standing in the gap and the american flag spread out before them. elise, with helen beside her, walked to a place just inside the circle and stood facing the captain. in the lieutenant's hands were the staff and hat, the shoulder knot, badge and neckerchief of the tenderfoot elise. she could not refrain from a glance at them. how she had longed to wear all those things; the insignia of everything she had learned to admire and look up to in the girls of america! "salute!" said the captain. all saluted elise, who stood waiting for some order, she did not know what. "forward!" said the captain to helen, and the two girls stepped to the center. regarding elise with a long, careful glance, and speaking carefully, so the little french girl should miss nothing of the full meaning of her words, the captain asked: "do you know what your _honor_ means?" "yess," said elise, finding her voice after what seemed to her an endless time. "yess, it does mean that always i shall be trusted to be faithful and true and honorable." "can i trust you," asked the captain, "on your honor, to be loyal to god and your country, to help other people at all times, and to obey the scout law?" elise, coached by helen and rosanna, made the half salute in unison with the whole company, as she answered, "i do promise on my honor to be loyal to god and my country, to help other people at all times and to obey the scout law." "i trust you on your honor to keep this promise," answered the captain. the circle of girls listened with respectful and solemn interest. well they realized that the vow being given was not an empty or idle one. they knew that it entailed hard work, self-denial, and many hardships. yet they gloried in it, and silently renewed their own vows as they heard the tenderfoot make her promises. "invest!" came the captain's next order. stepping forward, the lieutenant gave elise her staff, and put the hat, handkerchief and knot on her, and smiled as elise said, "i thank you!" in her pretty way. then, at a whispered word, she marched up the line to the captain who pinned on her trefoil badge and explained that it was an emblem of her scout "life." if for any misbehavior, the trefoil or "life" must be taken away from her, she would become a dead scout for the time the captain ordered and for that time in disgrace. the new scout was then initiated into all the secret passwords, a proceeding which filled elise with despair; she felt that she would never be able to remember the queer words and phrases. then with the ceremony of marching back to their proper patrols the ceremony was over, and in a moment the formal meeting was dismissed. the girls crowded around, all anxious to meet the new tenderfoot and welcome her. they talked to her so hard that elise felt her head whirl. she was glad to hear the voice of the little captain suggesting a song. she handed a leaflet to elise, but the girls knew the songs, and gathering in a circle they wanted to know which one to sing. "sing _the long, long line_," suggested the captain, and the girls sang: the long, long line (tune: the long, long trail) recruiting song. do you feel a little lonely? are your friends too few? would you like to join some jolly girls in the things you think and do? don't you know your country's waiting? have you heard her call? see, the scouts are crowding, crowding in, where there's room for one and all! chorus there's a long, long line a-growing, from north to south, east to west, there's a place awaiting in it, too, that you'll fill best. we are sure you'd like to join us if you knew what we can do and we'd like, o how we'd like to make a good girl scout of you. it certainly sounded sweet as the fresh young voices blended, and elise thrilled as she listened. she was having such a good time! all the girls seemed so friendly and so sweet, with the exception of one girl who hung back and on whose face there rested the shadow of discontent and dissatisfaction. elise found herself wondering about her; she seemed so out of place in that happy, merry throng. but none of the other girls appeared to notice that one of their number sat apart and occupied herself rather ostentatiously over a book. they were all so busy making the evening pass pleasantly for the charming new tenderfoot who responded so prettily to their advances that no one spoke or looked at the silent scout, but presently elise noticed that the little captain sat down beside her and compelled her attention. even then the girl looked as though she preferred to be let alone. for a long while, the girls sat and told elise about their work and play and the camping in summer and the delightful hikes all the year. finally it came time to go home and some one called for another song. "which shall it be, elise?" asked helen. "you choose one of the songs." "i see one follows the air of the _old colored joe_," said elise. "i do know that loving song. please to sing that; and if i may, i will try to sing it also." "of course we will sing that, you dear," laughed the tall young lieutenant, and together they sang: we're coming (tune: old black joe) camping song. i come where the lake lies gleaming in the sun; come where the days are filled with work and fun. come where the moon hangs out her evening lamp; the scouts are trooping, trooping, trooping back to camp. chorus we're coming! we're coming! to the lakes, the hills, the sea! old mother nature calls her children--you and me. ii come where we learn the wisdom of the wood; come where we prove that simple things are good, come where we pledge allegiance to our land; america, you've called your daughters--here we stand. chorus we're coming! we're coming! 'til we spread from sea to sea, our country needs us--wants us--calls us--you and me! "that is so _most_ lovely," said elise as the song was finished, never for a moment realizing that her own pure and bell-like voice had added richness and beauty to the song. the other girls looked at each other and smiled. here was indeed a find. never had there come a scout to the council with such a wonderful voice. they felt that the pretty young tenderfoot was a great acquisition to their number. so they all crowded around and said good night,--all but the silent scout who had not joined in the jollity. elise and rosanna and helen filled the two automobiles that were waiting for them with the girls. never, never had those big cars been so crowded. certainly they had never held happier passengers. but there was no noise or boisterousness, no singing or whistling. the girls chatted in tones that were agreeably low and as each one reached her destination, she thanked rosanna or elise. when the last passenger in the hargrave car had been set down, elise leaned back in a corner and thought deeply. she was happy beyond words. to do good to someone every day; that was part of her pledge. such an easy part! but it was hard _not_ to be good when everyone was so good to her. then suddenly she thought of the sulky face of the girl at the meeting. all the time she was telling mrs. hargrave about the installation and the songs, and trying them over for her, she saw the dark, discontented face before her. she could not feel perfectly happy because somehow the face seemed to send her a message. "help me; help me!" elise heard in her soul. but what could she, a stranger, a girl who could scarcely speak the new language, what _could_ she do for that girl? and besides, why did she _need_ help? elise, whose bright eyes saw everything, had noted the beautiful silk stockings, the texture of the black hair ribbon, and at the last, the expensive fur that edged her coat. also a car had come for her, in which she went off alone. it was not poverty, at all events, decided elise. she could walk; she was not lame like the poor little blond in the corner. as elise thought it over, she puzzled more and more. she decided to ask rosanna or helen next day; then a better decision came to her. she would find out for herself. no one should tell her. then if she made any mistake, why, the mistake would be hers. but the next day but one the plot thickened. she went over with rosanna to see miss hooker about some scout work, and as they stood on the steps waiting for the door to open, it did open with a jerk, and the girl elise had been worrying about dashed down the steps and into her limousine. her face was disfigured with tears. "dear me!" said rosanna. "what do you suppose has happened to lucy breen? she has been crying." "assuredly. the _petite pauvre_ one!" answered elise sadly. rosanna with her usual directness asked miss hooker the moment they entered what was the matter with lucy. miss hooker hesitated. "you really ought not ask a question like that, rosanna," she said finally, "but perhaps i ought to tell you. you will all have to know." "please _don't_ tell me, miss hooker," rosanna begged with a deep flush. "i thought perhaps someone had died or something like that." "no, but for a week lucy must be a dead scout herself." "how _awful_!" cried both girls, and then were silent. "i prefer not to tell you why just now, but of course this will not make you shun her. you must show all the kindness and consideration that you can for her, and be with her all you can." more than that miss hooker did not seem to want to say, and the girls, saddened and quiet, finished their errand and left. a day or two later, going with mrs. hargrave to the red cross rooms down town, elise thought she saw lucy breen shrink out of sight behind some portières at the back of the store that the red cross used as a sales room. elise acted on a generous impulse. she went back through the store looking at one thing and another until she in turn came to the portières. behind them was a space used for a sort of store-room for articles brought into the shop, and as elise looked curiously through the curtains as though wondering what lay beyond, she saw lucy standing in a corner, crowded against the wall. elise nodded gaily. "are you what they call making the sort of things in here, lucy?" she cried. "is it not fun to see what the good kind people give away?" she stepped into the store-room as she spoke, smiling and nodding. "yes, it is droll, some of the things," she chattered on, as though lucy was doing her share in the conversation. finally, however, like a little clock, elise ran down. she could not think of a single thing to say further, and she trailed off, looking shyly into lucy's dark face. lucy was smiling a set and bitter smile. "don't you think you had better get out of this and leave me?" she asked. "perhaps you don't know that i have lost my badge. i shall be a dead scout for a week, and i don't care in the least whether i ever wear it again or not." elise came close and laid a hand on lucy's shoulder, but the girl shook it off. "_don't!_" she said pettishly. "i knew that you had resigned your badge for the so small time of a week," said elise gently, "but one week soon passes." "do you know _why_ i lost it?" asked lucy harshly. "no," said elise, "and i do not so much care. that is for you to know, and our dear captain. i am just so so sorry that you are unhappy. but you will be happy again. always unhappiness goes away. we do not forget, but it ceases to wound. and if the fault makes you so unhappy, why, certainly you will never, never so do again; will you, dear lucy?" to her surprise and dismay, lucy turned and, hiding her face in her arms, leaned against the cracked old wall and sobbed. "oh, i _am_ unhappy!" she cried. "i am unhappy, and i don't know what to do! sometimes i think i will run away!" "oh, don't do that; don't do that!" cried elise. "think of your dear mama and your father. oh, you could never have a fault that would make you need to do anything that would make them so unhappy!" lucy laughed her bitter little laugh. "i think i will tell you what has happened," she said, "and then you can see just how i feel." "can you not tell to someone more wise than i?" asked elise, her dismay growing. "i will be so glad to listen, but for advice, i am so ignorant, so what you call it? i speak your english so poorly, that maybe i say to you the wrong thing." "you needn't say anything," said lucy. "you were so good to come and speak to me, and i want to talk to someone. i had advice from miss hooker but i shall not take it." "was it not good advice?" asked elise, who thought every word that miss hooker uttered was a pearl of wisdom. "i suppose so," said lucy with a sneer, "but she does not understand. oh, elise, i shall _die_, i am so unhappy." "no," said elise softly, "you will not die so. if it could be, i would be dead long since but i am not, and i am happy--so very, very happy just as my most dear ones who are dead would wish me to be. so it will be with you." "i want to talk to you," said lucy. "let us sit here then," said elise, "where no one comes. there is a what you call 'meeting' which my maman is here to attend. it goes on in the upstairs, and she told me it would meet for an hour or two. tell me all your woe." she pulled lucy down on a pile of velvet curtains and patting her hot little hand, said softly, "i wait." chapter x "when i was only two years old, my real mamma died," lucy commenced, "and papa's sister, who was a great deal older than papa, came to take care of us. i had a brother five years older than i. aunt mabel was so kind to us, and let us do just as we pleased about everything. i don't see why things could not have gone on like that always, because as soon as i grew up i intended to take charge of the house and run it for papa. i am thirteen now so it wouldn't have been long before i could have done it. but when i was ten years old, my brother died, and after that, papa stayed away from the house all he could, although auntie mabel was always talking to him about his duty to me. "well, one day, when i was eleven years old, papa came home, and the very minute i saw his face i knew something had happened. "'goodness, papa,' i said, 'you look as though you had had good news!' 'i have, my dear,' he said, and then somehow as i looked at him i had such a funny feeling. all at once i didn't want to _know_ what made him look so glad. so i just sat there and said nothing. "'don't you want to know what it is?' he said, and i said, 'i don't know whether i do or not.' "papa came over and put his head down on my shoulder the way he used to when he called me his little comforter, and said, 'oh, yes, lucy, you want to know! please say you want to know what your daddy has to tell you.' "so i said, 'all right,' and elise, he was going to get married! oh, i just hated it! he told me lots about the lady. she was from boston, and that was why i had never seen her, and had never heard about it. she had never been in louisville. he said she was beautiful, and she did look nice in the picture he had in his pocket case, and he said she was just as lovely as she could be. i just sat there and let him talk, and finally he said, 'well, chicken, what do you think about it?' i don't know what made me say what i did. somehow it popped out before i thought. i said, 'are you sure she isn't marrying you for your money?' "and papa sort of stiffened up and looked hard at me, and finally he said in a queer voice, 'good lord, how old are you?' i said, 'i am eleven,' and he said, 'well, you sound like mrs. worldly wiseman, aged fifty. i suppose you will feel better if i say that the lady has more money than i have, and that i will be lucky if people do not claim that _i_ have been the fortune hunter.' "'well, what _is_ she going to marry you for?' i asked. 'she says she loves me,' papa said. i said, 'we don't want her here! we are getting along all right.' oh, i didn't mean to be so ugly, but somehow i _hated_ to have papa marry anyone, and i didn't know this lady. so papa went off awfully cross at me and the next person was auntie mabel. papa had told me first; he thought he ought to, and then he went up and told aunt mabel. she came down pretty soon. i was right there in the big chair, trying to imagine what it would be like to have a stranger in the house. "auntie said, 'well, lucy, what do you think of the news?' i said, 'it is nothing to us; we can keep in our rooms most of the time.' "'i can't,' said aunt mabel, 'because i shall leave when she comes. not that i have the slightest objection, but all the same off i go. i knew it would happen sooner or later, but henry waited so long that i hoped he was going to let well enough alone. but men are all alike!' and she _did_ go, elise, the very day before papa brought the lady home. and i _couldn't_ go because there was no place for me to go and auntie wouldn't take me with her because she said it would make papa angry. so i had to stay whether i wanted to or not. it was perfectly awful!" "poor, poor lucee!" murmured elise, patting the hand she held. "i was expecting to see a lady 'most as old as auntie, and papa came up the steps with somebody _young_. why, she was _awfully_ young, and had as much powder on her nose as anybody. i was looking through the curtains, and when i saw them coming, i ran upstairs and hid. papa hunted and called, but i wouldn't answer, and i heard him getting angry, and then she said, 'don't mind, henry; it is the most natural thing in the world. let me find her, i know just where to look,' and papa said in the silliest way, 'go ahead, darling, the house is yours, and the child too if you will have such a bad one.' "well, elise, she came up those stairs and straight to the table i was under, as though someone had told her! the cover went down to the floor, and she lifted it up, and said 'coop!' but i came out crosser than ever, and we had a horrid time. "so that is the way it went. worse and worse all the time. papa was not cross with me because she wouldn't let him be, and i felt pretty mean to think a stranger had to tell my own father how to treat me. at first she tried to act so sweet to me, and used to want to play with me. i told her i thought it was silly, but she said she had lots of brothers and sisters, and they always romped around together and had a fine time, and she said if i would only be friends we could have such larks. i told her i hoped i was polite and all she said was to wonder where i got my disposition. "at first they used to make me stay down with them at night after dinner, but by and by i was allowed to go upstairs. i said i wanted to study. i always kept a study book open on the table, and would go to reading it as soon as they came up. papa used to come in once in awhile, and she was always asking me if she could help me with my lessons. she said she used to help her brothers. "after a year, one of the brothers came to visit. he was a real nice boy, and i would have liked him only he was so silly about her; used to want to be with her all the time, and put his arm around her and all that! we had a real good time though, and i thought that i had been real nice to her before him until the day he went home. i was in the library, and he came in. i was just going to ask him to put his autograph in my album when he said: 'gee, you are a disagreeable little mutt! my sister would half kill me for saying it, but honest, i don't see how she stands you!' "of course i just walked out of the room. i knew then that she had been telling things about me. and i knew that must be the reason why papa was so different to me." "but _was_ he?" asked elise wonderingly. "yes, he was, and miss hooker says it is all my fault. i had been coldly polite to her for a good while before that. i read about a girl who was abused by a stepmother and the girl was too noble to abuse her in return. she was just 'coldly polite,' the book said, and so was i. but after that horrid boy went home i let myself be as mean as i could." elise nodded. "i saw it in your face," she said. "and the more i thought of it, the more i was able to _act_ ugly. it is so funny, elise, the way she makes everybody like her. papa just gets worse all the time, and the servants _adore_ her, and she is so popular with all the people who come to the house. she makes them all like her--all but me." "we will talk about that later," said elise. lucy sighed. "well, things have been getting worse and worse, but i think we have both tried to keep it from papa. we hate each other, but we don't want him to know how bad things are in the house. papa is not happy, though. oh, he has talked and talked to me and threatened to send me to school, and i always tell him i wish he would. but the other day the worst happened. papa had gone to the office, and i was reading in the library, and she was walking around and around, fussing and singing under her breath and sort of acting happy. it made me so mad. presently she saw me looking at her, and she said, 'don't you wonder why i am singing?' and i said, 'no, i had not noticed.' she went right on: 'i have had some good news, wonderful news, and i wonder if you would like to hear it, lucy?' "i said, 'i am not at all interested,' and went right on looking at my book. she came over and leaned down on the table close to my face, and stared and stared at me. she said, 'look at me, you bad, difficult, cruel child, look at me and tell me why you are bound to hate me so!' i never saw anyone look so angry. then her face changed and got pleasant again, and she said, 'what have i _done_? your own mother, if she can see this house and its unhappy inmates, knows that i have tried to make friends with you.' "i remembered how furious the girl in the book was when her stepmother spoke of her mother, and i raised my hand and slapped her." "oh, oh, oh!" cried elise, covering her eyes. "the poor, poor lady!" lucy went doggedly on. "of course i had no business to do that. she went to her room, and stayed there all day, and when papa came home he went right up. i was on my way to my room, and i heard him say, 'i don't believe it is a headache at all. i think lucy must have been annoying you,' and she said, 'no,' and papa said, 'i shall send that child away to school.' and she said, 'no, give us one more chance. i am going to see miss hooker, her scout captain, and see if her influence is strong enough to make lucy see things in the right way.' as soon as i heard that i made up my mind to see the captain first, so i went over and that was the day i saw you on the steps. we had had a long, long talk and she said i was all wrong and took away my trefoil. so here i am a dead scout, and i am so unhappy that i don't know what to do and i am going to run away. i want you to have my pony. i am going to send it over to your house tomorrow." "no, no, no!" cried elise. "everything is wrong; so wrong! oh, let me think! that poor, poor lady! i am so, so sorry for her." "sorry for _her_!" cried lucy. "there is no need to be sorry for _her_! i am the one to be sorry for. _she_ has everything." "why has she?" asked elise. "she has nothing that you have not. she has your most dear papa; so have you. you both have a most lovely home, everything beautiful, friends, comfort. you are safe in a great land, where no enemy may come and keel all you love. you have both the same things. you share them." she sat thinking. "yes, she is the one to be sorry for, because she is so disappoint. when she go to marry your _père_, she have something promised that she never gets and so she is full of mournsomeness." "she has everything papa can get for her," said lucy bitterly. "i wish you could see the pearls he gave her the other day." "pearls!" said elise scornfully. "what are pearls? he promised her something only _you_ could give her, and now she has it not, and she is sad, and you are sad; everybody sad. what do you call her?" "i don't call her anything," said lucy stubbornly. "i wait until she looks at me and then i say what i want to say." "foolish, foolish one," said elise, "that is what no one likes. besides, it is what you call rude not to speak the name. most rude!" she saw a frown deepen on lucy's brow and gently pressed her hand. "you wanted to tell me, did you not?" she said softly. "now i want to tell you what i have not so many times told because i cannot speak of it unless my heart feels like it does bleed. i have had _such_ sorrows, and have seen such dreadfulness; i have been so cold, and hongry, and frightened. i have lived in the wet underground for so long time that all this makes a differentness in me from you. something in me feels most old and weary. i keep it shut up because my darling maman hargrave wants me a happy child, and i want it for myself, but i do feel the oldness when i see others unhappy when they could so easily be full of joy. no, let me talk!" she added, as lucy tried to speak. "i must say this, i feel it on me, to save that poor lady her happiness. i shall be sorry for you some other day, but now i am most sad for her. when she marry your papa, she think all the time that she is going to have a most sweet daughter because that is how your dear papa would tell her of you, and then what happens? you know. "oh, lucee, dear, _dear_ lucee, there is one thing you must give to her, right now today quick." "what is that?" said lucy, startled by elise's vehemence. "_love!_" cried elise, her sweet voice thrilling. "love! so easy, so sweet! please, my lucee, do not turn away. i know i am right on account of the oldness in my heart. that tells me. think how most glad your own mother is to have the pretty one taking such good care of your papa and of you. does she select your clothes?" "yes," said lucy. "they are always the prettiest," said elise. "no other girl is so chic--what you call stunning. and so modest, so quiet. and you yourself say everyone but you loves her. you too must love her, and the best of all. you _must_! you are a scout, and so you do always the right thing. where is she now?" "home, i suppose. i came down to bring some of my last winter's dresses. oh, elise, even if i could, it is too late. i _can't_ go back to the beginning again and start over." "of course not," said elise wisely. "it is a most bad waste of time when we try going back to beginnings. it is better to start right from here. _anywhere_ is the best place to start. when you go home you start then! you start here by making some new sweet thoughts in your heart. dear lucee, please try! please, for the sake of your elise who also has to try to be always happy and not remember those blackness behind her. won't you, please? i know i am right. will you try to give her love?" lucy, the tears pouring down her cheeks, leaned her head against the shoulder near her. "i don't see how i _can_," she said huskily. "but i will try. i am so sick of everything the way it is." "of course you are!" said elise. "one is always seek of wrong. it makes a blackness over everything." "what will i do? how will i begin?" "i cannot tell you," said elise. "you will know what to do. something will tell you. something always tells. i think it is _le bon dieu_. just trust and you will know what to do and to say. come, let us go. i hear the meeting talking itself down the stairs. is your car waiting?" "yes," said lucy dully as she allowed elise to lead her through the store. "oh, elise, i _don't_ love her, and i don't know what to do!" "it is because of the hatefulness you put in your heart long ago that you do not love her," said the wise, sad little girl who had suffered beyond her years. she stood at the door of the limousine and smiled at the little girl who sank back so wearily. "don't forget it is _now_ we make those beginnings. and you owe her what your dear papa promised her, your love." she stepped back with a wave of her hand as the machine started away. lucy's heart throbbed violently as she approached her home. her one hope was that mrs. breen was out, so the moment might be delayed. but as she passed the door of the library she saw mrs. breen lying in a low lounging chair. how pale she looked! lucy was quite startled to see the look of suffering and weakness on the beautiful young face. she had been too blind to notice what had been worrying her father of late. was it _her_ fault? had _her_ actions brought her self-made enemy so low? lucy was shocked. she went up and put away her wraps. still she did not know what to do or what to say. twice she passed the library door. no thought came to her. she went in, not speaking, and selected a book at random from the nearest shelf. mrs. breen did not speak but her great blue eyes seemed to follow lucy appealingly. then lucy found her courage. what she said was rough and crude but it came from the heart--an honest statement and appeal for tolerance and understanding. she came, clutching her book, and stood facing mrs. breen. her voice sounded so husky and shaken that she did not know it for hers. "mamma," she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. "mamma, you know i do not like you, but i am going to try to love you!" and then, clasping her book with both hands, she fled. chapter xi years had passed before mrs. breen and lucy ever found the courage to speak of that day when lucy had hurried from the room, leaving mrs. breen too surprised to follow her, or even speak. she sat thinking, so glad and so happy and so proud of the courage shown by lucy. she heard the front door close softly and was not surprised, a little later, to have one of the maids come and tell her that miss lucy had telephoned that she was at mrs. hargrave's, and would stay for supper with elise. mrs. breen sat thinking for an hour, then the right thought came to her. she hastened to the telephone and had a long talk with her husband, and after a good deal of argument, she went to her room, packed a small trunk, ordered the car, had a talk with the housekeeper, and went out. she drove to her husband's office, and he ushered her into his private room. "now what is all this?" he demanded. "i told you over the telephone what happened in the library," mrs. breen said. "my dear, i am _so_ happy and so proud of lucy! but there will be the most distressing awkwardness for a little, unless something out of the ordinary happens to help her out. now i have never been away without you since we were married. so i have decided to give the child a chance to regain her poise and strengthen her new resolutions. something has changed her, and i am contented to accept it without question until the time comes when she will tell me of her own accord. i will go home for a week, and you must spend all the time you can with lucy. and when you feel like it, speak well of me." "that will be a hard job," said her husband, smiling. "i suppose so," said mrs. breen. "another thing, to keep her interest in me, if you should decide to repaper my room and want to _surprise_ me, i would be perfectly satisfied with lucy's taste." so when lucy came in that night, dreading the next step toward the right, she found only her father reading under the library light. "hello, donna lucia," he said, looking up. "did you know that we are orphans?" "no," said lucy. "what has happened?" "mamma decided very suddenly that she had to go home to boston to attend to some matters, and she did not have time to telephone you or call around at mrs. hargrave's. but she managed to stop in at the office, and she has left me in your charge." lucy heaved a sigh of relief. thank goodness, she would have a little time to herself anyway. a couple of days later mr. breen approached the subject of the new wall-paper. he merely _approached_ it, because at the first mention lucy fairly flung herself on it and appropriated it. the very thing, she decided. she thought that room was about as shabby as it could be. could she select the paper? of course she could! she knew exactly what mamma would like. at her use of the word mamma, mr. breen's heart leaped. he had been a patient, but very unhappy man, and the thought that his little household might become united was the greatest happiness he could imagine. so he grumbled out that he was glad of that, because he never could tell the _least_ thing about the silly strips of paper they showed in the stores, and lucy could go ahead and get whatever she wanted. but the following morning, when a van backed up to the door and a couple of men commenced to take away all the prettiest wicker furniture in the house he demanded some explanation. "why, they have to be painted for mamma's new room," said the practical miss breen. "you said i could go ahead, and i have gone!" "all our furniture has gone too, i should say," said mr. breen. "just the best of the wicker," answered lucy. "i thought and thought all last night, and i have decided just what would be the _loveliest_ thing in the world for her, with her violet blue eyes and golden hair. so when you were shaving i telephoned for the men to come and take the chairs and tables and that chaise-longue and they are all going to be painted. "and today you had better write her that you think it would be a good thing, as long as she is there, to stay another week. don't let her suspect, but _don't_ let her come home." "very well," said mr. breen with a twinkle in his eye, but outwardly very meek. "just as you say. send the bills to me." "oh, i was going to," said lucy with the happiest laugh he had heard from her for months. mr. breen did not come home for luncheon, and every day lucy managed to have elise or rosanna or helen take that meal with her. lucy worked like mad and nearly wore the workmen out, she hurried them so. mrs. breen decided to make a longer stay, but even then there was but little time, because lucy had decided that all the woodwork must be re-enameled. when that was done and the paper on, she cast aside the old rug with scorn, and took the three girls downtown to buy others. as the days went on, lucy found that her point of view was wholly changed. she was so intent on the beautiful surprise she was planning that it seemed to sweep her mind clean of all the dark and unworthy feelings that had filled it. she even wrote to mrs. breen at a suggestion from elise, a pleasant friendly letter, ending, "with love, lucy." and to her surprise mrs. breen answered the letter at once, with a long one all about her visit, and enclosing funny little cartoons of each one of the family, including the boy who had spoken his mind to lucy. strange to say, lucy was able to acknowledge the truth of the young man's remark. "some day," said lucy to herself, "if this turns out all right, i will tell him that he was _perfectly right_." lucy was coming to think, with a sense of deep chagrin, that she herself had been the one in the wrong. and being an honest girl and wanting very humbly and deeply to live up to the pledge of the girl scouts, she was growing most anxious to make good her faults. so she drove the painters and paperhangers and upholsterers almost wild, and had the happiness of seeing the beautiful room all settled and in order two days before mrs. breen was expected. it had a hard time staying settled however, because lucy spent all her time after school trying things in new places to see if they looked any better. her father vowed that he would go up and nail the things down, but he was just as proud and pleased as lucy. with all the planning and plotting, and various jaunts to the shops together, and to some movies and once to the theatre, lucy and her father had entered a new epoch in their lives. they too seemed to have forgotten the past. as elise said, they found that they could make a beginning anywhere. and once begun, they found that it was like a door that had opened into a beautiful place full of happiness and sunshine--a door that closed softly behind them and shut out all the despair and gloom on the other side. when the day came for mrs. breen's return, mr. breen insisted on lucy coming to meet her, and lucy, in whom some of the old dread seemed struggling to awake, went silently. but when she was suddenly caught in a warm embrace, before even her father was greeted, and when a sweet voice said, "oh, what a _long_ two weeks it has been, lucy! _do_ say you have missed me!" lucy felt that all was indeed well with her world. mrs. breen had brought another brother with her: a shy, awkward boy, evidently frightened to death of lucy, a fact which of course set her completely at her ease. they drove home, and lucy and her father dogged mrs. breen's footsteps up the stairs when she said she would go and take off her things. not for worlds would they have missed seeing her first look at the newly decorated room. and it was worth all the trouble to witness her delight and appreciation. so happiness and love and understanding came into the breen home. lucy wore her trefoil with a new gratitude and a new understanding. elise felt a happiness that she had thought she could never feel, for she had helped a sister scout through a dark and dreadful place in her life. mrs. breen was so happy that she sang and sang all the day long, and when one day a baby boy set up a lusty roar in the beautiful room that lucy had made, it was lucy who named him, and lucy who assumed such airs of superiority in speaking of "my baby brother" that the girls grew to avoid the subject of children in general as it was sure to bring from lucy some anecdote to prove the vast superiority and beauty of the breen baby. rosanna was happy too. uncle robert had been away longer than rosanna liked. she was surprised to find how much she missed uncle robert. and much as she loved him, and wanted him to be happy, she decided that it was really a good thing that he did _not_ care for girls. the various uncles who did like girls she noticed had a way of marrying one of them and leaving home for good. that was a poor plan, thought rosanna, as she felt the silence in the big old house. no number of girls could make the whistly noises uncle robert could when he ran upstairs three steps at a time or dashed down again. no one but uncle robert could tootle so entrancingly on the flute, or pick out such funny records for the victrola. no one in the world would think to bring one a box of candy and leave it hidden in his hat, or just outside the door for one to find after dinner. no other uncle would remember a little girl's birthday once a month with a new dollar bill. rosanna, driven by a real loneliness to confide in someone, spent much time with miss hooker and while rosanna honestly thought she was attending strictly to scout business, the conversation was sure to slip around to uncle robert. miss hooker never appeared to join rosanna in her talk, but it was surprising what a good listener she proved to be. the only time she said anything was when rosanna would enlarge on the way uncle robert felt about girls. then miss hooker would always assert that she thought he was perfectly right, because she herself thought very little of men. silly creatures she said they were, at which loyal rosanna would always declare, "but uncle robert isn't." miss hooker would answer, "_possibly_ not," in a manner that insinuated that perhaps he wasn't, and perhaps he _was_, but rosanna let it go. however, rosanna was happy because uncle robert had written her that he was coming home in a day or two, and that she might get ready to look in the left hand pocket of his overcoat, and whatever was there she could have. when she told miss hooker she was grieved to hear her say that she was not sure that she would be around to see the surprise, because she was planning to go away herself, and wasn't it too bad? "i should say it was!" said rosanna. "why, then you won't see uncle robert either!" "no," said miss hooker, "but it really doesn't make any difference. i don't suppose i am any more anxious to see him than he is to see me." when uncle robert appeared and came up the front steps three at a time as usual, rosanna was at the door to meet him. she jumped into his arms and hugged him until he begged for mercy. as she let him go, she happened to think of the left hand pocket, and had to think which was the left. while she was deciding, she heard a funny noise, and there in the pocket was a fuzzy head. the most adorable little head! it was a tiny baby collie, looking like a small bear. rosanna had him out in a second, and uncle robert left her with her new pet while he went to speak to his mother. that night he came up to show rosanna how to put her puppy to bed for the night, and when the little fellow at last snuggled down in his basket, and went to sleep, uncle robert settled down in his favorite chair and lighted a cigarette and wanted to hear all the news. "what shall i start with?" asked rosanna, listening to the soft breathing of the little collie. "oh, it doesn't matter," said uncle robert. "begin with miss--er gwenny." "why, you needn't call her _miss_," said rosanna. "you never used to! i thought first you were going to say begin with miss hooker." "ridiculous!" laughed uncle robert, cocking his eye up at the ceiling. "begin with gwenny, of course." "well," said rosanna, "we have only had two letters from her mother. one was soon after you went away, and said that gwenny was very comfortable indeed, and had a fine room, and was making a great many friends. the doctor couldn't tell when he would operate, because he would have to take gwenny any time she happened to be at her best. that was about all of that letter. the next one was just the other day. and uncle robert, they have operated! they telegraphed for doctor rick, and he is there now. but mrs. harter wrote that the operation was over and doctor branshaw thinks it will be perfectly successful." "well, that is perfectly splendid!" said uncle robert. "did she tell you how gwenny stood it?" "yes. she said for a couple of hours they were afraid her heart was going to stop, but that doctor branshaw stood right over her, and had everything ready to start it again if they could. he stayed with her all night. you ought to hear the way mrs. harter talks about him. she thinks he is a saint, as well as the greatest doctor in the whole world." "he assays pretty well toward solid gold," said uncle robert. "mrs. harter says they don't know when they will be able to get home, but already gwenny sleeps better and is beginning to want to eat. she never did, you know." "that is certainly fine news," said uncle robert. "anything else happened while i was away?" "you know that lucy breen?" asked rosanna. uncle robert shook his head. "she has turned out to be a real nice girl, and helen and elise and i go over there a lot. and her mother (it's really her stepmother, only lucy is mad if you call her that) is perfectly lovely. if you could only marry _her_, uncle robert!" "thank you, rosanna, but mr. breen looks husky and he might object." "oh, that was a joke," said rosanna. "like the time you said you pretty near loved miss hooker. i wish you could have heard her laugh when i told her that." "oh, you told her, did you?" said uncle robert. "it was so funny i had to." "what did she say?" asked uncle robert, sitting up suddenly. "she said she thought you were the most amusing person she had ever met and that no one could possibly take you seriously. i agreed with her." "i'll bet you did!" said uncle robert. "she has gone away," said rosanna as an afterthought. "she went today. i told her i was sorry she wouldn't be able to see what you brought me, and wouldn't see you either, but she said it didn't make any difference as she wasn't any more anxious to see you than she supposed you were to see her." uncle robert laughed a short, queer laugh. "well, rosanna, just you watch what happens now! i will just pay her up for that." "what do you care?" asked rosanna. "i don't see what difference it makes. she likes you all right; she thinks you are so funny." "i will show her how funny i can be," said uncle robert. "where has she gone?" "to atlantic city," said rosanna. "i may see her there," said uncle robert. "the doctor says the sea air would be great for me." "what ails you?" said rosanna anxiously. "you look perfectly well." "a little trouble with my heart," said uncle robert soberly. "it acts like the very deuce, rosanna. part of the time it feels sort of--sort of, well, sort of _empty_, and then it has spells when i get to thinking hard and beats as fast as it can. it is awful, rosanna." "i should say it was!" said rosanna, "oh, uncle robert, _do_ try to get it well! if anything should happen to you, i would think it was that benefit. you had to work so hard." "i think myself that had something to do with it," said robert, "but of course i only did my duty, and i don't blame a soul." chapter xii there was a long silence during which rosanna studied her uncle closely. she even forgot the puppy. what if anything should happen to uncle robert? as she looked at him it flashed over her that she cared for him with all her heart. she would not know what to do without him. she felt very sad, and when uncle robert looked up and surprised the worried expression on her face he laughed, and said: "cheer up, sweetness! i am all right, and i want you to promise me that you won't tell mother what i have just told you. i don't want to worry her." "i promise, uncle robert; and i always keep my promises," said rosanna. "that is a good thing," said uncle robert. "i wish i had known that before. i would have had you make me some." but he wouldn't explain that remark, and soon went out, not seeming to care for the rest of the news which, being all about the scouts, rosanna had left until the last as the most important. the girl scouts were very busy now getting ready for christmas. there was a cast-iron rule in that particular troop that all christmas presents should be finished and wrapped up three weeks before christmas. so with all their own work well out of the way, they were busy as bees making tarleton stockings and collecting toys and dolls for the particular orphanage they had assumed the care of. louisville is full of orphanages, and every year the girls were in the habit of choosing one of them for their attention. they dressed a tree, and secured presents for each of the children. these presents were often dolls and toys that had been cast aside by more fortunate children, but the girls took them and mended and painted and dressed them until you would have been surprised at the result. at least they never offered anything that looked shabby. the stockings were filled with popcorn and candy, and a big golden orange gladdened each little heart. rosanna worked harder than anyone. school went right on as it always does whether or not girl scouts are busy at other things, and every spare moment was spent with the dear little puppy that her uncle had brought her. mr. horton still complained to rosanna about his heart, but was unable to go east as he had planned. he often asked rosanna if miss hooker had returned, although rosanna had told him a good many times that she did not expect to come back before spring. but news came from gwenny. she was so much better that she could come back. as miss hooker was away, and uncle robert always seemed to have time to do things, the girl scouts made him a committee to go and pay the doctor and the hospital bills, and see that gwenny and her mother reached home safely. uncle robert dashed off to cincinnati that very night. the next day he returned without gwenny, and with a queer look on his face asked rosanna to ask their lieutenant, who was in charge of the troop, to call a meeting that very afternoon or evening. rosanna called miss jamieson up, and between them they were able to get word to all the girls. rosanna was as excited as any of them, because uncle robert would not tell her what the matter was. when the girls all gathered in rosanna's sitting-room, he came in, looking very mysterious and important. "i have news for you girls--quite remarkable news, i think. to begin, i went down to cincinnati and found gwenny so improved that i actually did not know her. of course she is still in a wheel chair, and will have to stay there most of the time for the next year but every day she goes through certain exercises, and soon will begin to take a few steps. doctor branshaw assured me that she will some day be as well as any of you. they have taught mrs. harter just how to rub her, and help her with her exercises. "after i had seen gwenny i went down and paid the hospital bill. it came to a little over two hundred dollars. i have the items in my pocket. then i went to doctor branshaw's office, and asked him for his bill. he said, 'sit down. i want to have a talk with you.' well, girls, he wanted to know all about you, and the work you are doing, and how many there are of you in the troop that is taking care of gwenny. i told him about the benefit, and he said he had heard about that from gwenny, and her mother as well. "i didn't want to bore him, so after we had talked you pretty well out, and over, i asked him again for his bill, and he said, 'horton, there is no bill.' i said, 'well, sir, whenever you will have it made out, i will give a check for it. the money the girls made is banked in my name for the sake of convenience.' "'how much is there?' asked the doctor. i thought he didn't want to charge over the amount we have so i told him. he fiddled with a pencil for awhile, then he said: "'horton, i make the rich pay, and pay well, but i do not intend to ask those girls of yours a cent for this operation.'" a great "o-o-o-o-h!" went up from the girls. uncle robert went on. "then the doctor said, before i could thank him, 'i wonder if the girls would mind if i make a suggestion,' and i assured him that you would like it very much. "'well then,' said the doctor, 'here it is. gwenny will require a great deal of care for many months to come, rubbing and so forth. why don't those good girls take the money and buy a little house somewhere on the edge of the city, or on a quiet street, where the harters could live and where mrs. harter would not have to work so hard to earn the rent? from what she says, the boys earn nearly enough to feed the family. what do you think of that?' "i told him that i thought it was a splendid idea, and would see what could be done about it. then he made the finest suggestion of all. he said that another week in the hospital would be of great benefit to gwenny, and why didn't i come home and see you and if you all approve, we can buy a small house and settle it and gwenny can be moved right there." a shriek of delight went up, and everyone commenced to talk at once. "order, order!" cried mr. horton. he could scarcely make himself heard. at last after much talking, it was settled that mr. horton should look at a number of houses, and when he had seen them he was to select the three that seemed most promising and take all the girls to see them. but he stipulated that a couple of older ladies should look them over with him, and mrs. breen and mrs. hargrave were chosen by unanimous vote. "now, girls, how are you going to thank the doctor?" he asked. no one knew and finally rosanna suggested that it would be well to think it over. so they all trooped home, uncle robert promising to make a report at the end of three days. it was a long three days, but it passed finally, and uncle robert appeared with an account of three little bungalows that seemed all that he had hoped for, and more. one of them he thought was the one for them to take, as it was right on a good part of preston street where the children could easily get to school. it was brand new, and had never been occupied. indeed it was not finished but would be within two or three days. after the girls had seen the three houses, mr. horton said he would tell them which one mrs. hargrave and mrs. breen liked the best. of course all the girls piled into the automobiles of the girls who had them, and made the rounds, and equally of course they all decided on the preston street house which was the very one that mrs. hargrave and mrs. breen had liked. it was all done except the plumbing in the kitchen, so mr. horton went right over to see minnie who was still keeping house for the harter children. minnie heard all about the new plan, and mr. horton asked: "now, minnie, do you feel like moving these people all over there, before mrs. harter and gwenny come home, or is it too much to ask you?" "just you fetch me a moving van the day you want we should move," said minnie, "and i will do the rest." she cast an eye around the dilapidated, shabby room. "my, my! what a piece of good luck for the _deservingest_ woman! i tell you, mr. robert, the time i've been here has been a lesson to me. the way she has scrimped, and saved, and patched, and turned, and mended, and went without! my young man and me on his wages ought to put away fifty dollars every month of our lives. and so i told him we was going to do. of course i will move 'em! and mr. robert, if it was so i could go around and see the house, perhaps i could tell better how to pack." "that's right, minnie. suppose we go over now," said mr. horton. minnie was overjoyed when she saw the little house, and at once picked out a room for gwenny. the other children could double up, but gwenny should have a room to herself. minnie seemed thoughtful all the way home, and finally said, "mr. horton, up in your garret, there is a pile of window curtains that don't fit anywhere, and they will never be used. i have handled 'em a million times while i worked for your mother. and there's a square table with a marble top that your mother can't abide the sight of, and a couple of brass beds put up there when they went out of date. if your mother would spare any of those things i could fix that house so tasty." "i don't suppose she wants any of them," said robert heartily. "i will speak to her about them when i go home, and after supper rosanna and i will take a joy ride over here and tell you what her answer is." the answer was that mrs. horton was only too glad to get rid of the things minnie had mentioned, and suggested that before settling the house minnie might go through the attic and see if there was anything else that she thought would be of service. mrs. horton, knowing that minnie would know better than she could, just what the harters would appreciate, refrained from making any suggestions; and minnie found many treasures in the attic. there were portières, and a soft low couch, the very thing for gwenny to rest on in the pleasant sitting-room, and the beds, and a table and two bureaus. and she found two carpet rugs. she set mary and myron to work with a pot of cream colored paint, and in two days the shabby old dining-room table and shabbier chairs were all wearing bright new coats. as soon as ever she could, she called on mr. robert for the moving van, and moved everything over to the new house. settling was a joy, there were so many to help. all the girl scouts wanted to do something, and between them they outfitted gwenny's dresser (a walnut one that was put through the paint test and came out pretty as could be). the two carpet rugs were laid down in the living-room and the dining-room, and looked scarcely worn at all after minnie had finished scrubbing, and tommy and myron had whipped them. the dining-room rug was dark blue, and how that table and those chairs did show up on it. the springs were broken down in the couch minnie had picked out, but she turned it over and her young man nailed a new piece of webbing underneath, and in five minutes it was as good as new. rosanna helped her as much as she could. when they were busy putting up the curtains minnie said, "rosanna dear, i think your uncle robert looks thin." "i think he does too," said rosanna, but remembering her promise would say no more. "in love," said minnie, wisely nodding her head. "of course _not_," said rosanna. "he doesn't like girls." "no, he doesn't. oh no!" said minnie. "of course he is in love! do you mean to tell me, rosanna, that you don't know that he is in love with little miss hooker? don't tell me that!" "i _do_ tell you," said rosanna. "he doesn't even like her, sweet as she is." "my good land, hear the child!" said minnie, sitting down on the top step of the ladder, and letting the stiffly starched curtain trail to the floor. "do you remember the day she came to see you when you were sick after your accident, and your grandmother had said you could be a girl scout? do you remember that your uncle robert was there when she came in? well, believe me, rosanna, your uncle robert fell in love with her that very day and hour and minute, and that's the truth." "i wish it was," sighed rosanna. "i _do_ wish it was, but he truly does not like her. i don't know why." "well, that beats me!" said minnie, picking up the slack of the curtain again, and sadly hanging it. "i certainly am disappointed, for she is the _sweetest_ little bit i ever hope to see, and it would be a mercy to see that good, kind, nice actin' young man get the likes of her rather than some high nosed madam, who would look down on all his humble friends (as friends we _are_, rosanna, as you may well believe)." rosanna did not answer. she was too low in her mind. she knew that uncle robert did not care for anyone, but what if someone _should_ grab him anyhow? rosanna felt that life was full of perils. two days later the little house was in perfect order, and uncle robert went again to cincinnati after gwenny. it was decided that no one should meet them on account of tiring gwenny after her journey, so uncle robert carried gwenny to the automobile and took her home to the little new house, her mother looking back with her sweet, anxious smile from the front seat of the automobile. when they reached the preston street house, and mary and myron and boisterous tommy and little luella all filed out quite quiet, but brimming with happiness, mrs. harter could only stare. "this is gwenny's house, mrs. harter, deeded to her. come in!" said mr. horton, as minnie rushed out and led the dazed woman into all the glories of the new home. mr. horton carried gwenny straight to her own room, and laid her down on the sparkling, gleaming brass bed, where he left her listening to mary's rapid explanations. when he went downstairs he found mrs. harter in the kitchen, crying silently. "now, now, mrs. harter, you must not do that!" he said. "brace up like a good woman! gwenny will need a lot of care for a few days, and you will need all your strength." "oh, but i am so thankful that my heart feels as though it would break!" said mrs. harter. mr. horton laughed. "it won't break," he said. "minnie, shall i take you home?" "thank you, sir, but my tom is coming over a little later. i have supper all fixed, so we will have a small feast to celebrate, after gwenny is attended to and safe in bed, so i will get home nicely, thank you." "good night then," said mr. horton. "don't let those girl scouts run over you, mrs. harter." he raised his hat and ran down the steps whistling. "there goes one good man," said minnie solemnly. "come, dear, and take off your hat in your own house, and see the ducky closet under the stairs to keep it in." and so it was that gwenny came home. mr. horton sped to his own home as fast as he dared drive the car, the chauffeur sitting silently beside him. robert was too happy to let anyone else handle the wheel. once more he dashed up the steps three at a time, whistling. rosanna was at the door. "be careful of your heart, uncle robert," she whispered, looking around to see that her grandmother was not within hearing. "were they pleased?" "_were_ they?" said uncle robert. "i should say they _were_! everybody perfectly happy! gwenny staring around her pretty room, and mrs. harter crying in the sink. yes, everybody is happy. teedle-ee, teedle-oo!" warbled uncle robert. "how good and kind you are, dear uncle robert!" said rosanna tenderly. "yes, _ain't i_?" said uncle robert, deliberately ungrammatical. "oh, yes, i _be_!" he went on chanting, as he sat down and fished out a cigarette. then changing to a sober tone, "rosanna, whom do you think i found in cincinnati? up there at that hospital as large as life?" "i don't know," said rosanna. "well, if you will believe me, there was that bad little bit of a miss hooker, who had come back from atlantic city to see that gwenny was all right. she helped me bring them home. and rosanna, perhaps i didn't _get even_ with her, for what she said about my being funny! you know i told you i would. i did! it was hard, hard work but i done it, i done it! tra-la-de-lu-de-lu-de-i-i-i-i-i!" yodeled uncle robert, whisking the ash off his cigarette. "what did you do to her?" asked rosanna in a small, fearful voice. uncle robert looked very sternly at rosanna. "what did i do?" he asked. "what did i _do_? well, i made her promise to marry me; _that's_ what i did! pretty smart uncle, hey, rosanna?" chapter xiii rosanna sank feebly down on the hall bench, and to her own surprise and uncle robert's dismay burst into tears. "well, who next?" said uncle robert. "mrs. harter crying in the sink, and you weeping all over our nice hall. oh dear, what a wet, wet world!" "oh, don't mind me," said rosanna, choking back her sobs. "i am perfectly happy, only everything turns out so differently from everything else!" "i suppose you are right," granted uncle robert. "you must be if you know what you mean." "i am not sure _what_ i mean," said rosanna, "but i am so glad, glad, _glad_ that you are going to marry that dear darling miss hooker instead of that high nosed madam!" "what are you talking about?" demanded robert. "high nosed? who is she?" "i think it is someone minnie made up," said rosanna. "she said what a shame if she married you." "well, she didn't and won't," declared uncle robert with conviction. "and as far as _nose_ goes, my girl has only enough nose so that one knows it _is_ a nose. get that, rosanna?" rosanna giggled. "have you told grandmother?" she asked. uncle robert looked suddenly sobered. "no, i didn't, and i should have done so first and i meant to, and it is all your fault, rosanna." "how so?" asked rosanna in surprise. "well, if it hadn't been for you i would never have been traipsing over the country on errands for the girl scouts and you wouldn't have been waiting for me in the hall, and i wouldn't have been so fussed at seeing you that i would forget to tell my mamma first. and she won't like it unless she gets told right quick," added uncle robert, getting up. rosanna wiped her eyes, whereupon uncle robert sang: "there, little girlie, don't you cry, we'll have a wedding by and by," and ran up the stairs, three at a time, whistling as he went in search of his mother. uncle robert was not one to take chances. after seeing his mother, who was truly pleased and had the good sense to show it, he started to mrs. hargrave's, and after a short visit left that dear old lady busy at the telephone. the result was a wonderful announcement luncheon a week later, given by mrs. hargrave, at which the little captain looked dimplier and sweeter than ever. after the luncheon she went over to rosanna's house, where she found all her girl scouts ready to congratulate her. "you won't give us up, will you?" they all asked anxiously, and she assured them that she would not. seeing that they were really anxious, she made them all sit down close around her, and one by one they sang the scout songs. they were happier after that, and only rosanna was just a little lonely when she thought of the days when uncle robert was away, and reflected that all the days would be like that by-and-by. just her grandmother and herself in the great stately old house, not occupying half of the rooms, and making so little noise that it made her lonely just to think of it. however, she put it out of her mind as bravely as she could. miss hooker stayed to dinner, and mrs. horton was so charming that rosanna could not help thinking what a very lovely young lady she must have been. after dinner, mrs. horton calmly carried her little guest away to her own sitting-room for what she called a consultation, and rosanna and uncle robert who had nothing whatever to consult about now, sat and read. upstairs, mrs. horton sat down opposite her son's sweetheart, and said smilingly: "i want to say something to you that robert does not dream i am going to say, and if you do not approve, i want you to be frank enough and brave enough to tell me. will you?" "yes, indeed i will," miss hooker promised. "i am an old woman, my dear, and silent. sometimes i fear i am not very agreeable. it is a hard and unchildlike life that our little rosanna leads here with me. i want you to ask yourself if for her sake you could bring yourself to live here for a few years. i know how dear a new little house is to a bride's heart, and i tremble to ask you such a favor. but rosanna has a lonely life at best, and with you here this house could be made gay indeed. "i would never ask it for myself, but i do for rosanna. i would gladly do anything i could for her, but i cannot fill the house with the sort of joy and gayety that she should have. she loves you deeply, and her uncle robert is her ideal. "wait a moment, dear," she added as she saw her guest was about to speak. "i want to tell you what we could do. there are nine large rooms on this floor. you could select what you want for a suite, and you and robert could decorate and furnish and arrange them to suit yourselves. i would be so glad to do this just as you wish, and then of course, my dear, the house is all yours besides. could you consider it?" "i don't have to consider it," said the little captain. "i have already thought about it, and was worried about rosanna, but i knew that she could not come to us and leave you all alone here. i am sure bob will be glad to arrange it as you suggest, for he is very devoted to his mother and to rosanna as well." mrs. horton gave a sigh of relief. "i can't thank you enough, my dearest girl," she said. "no one wants to make your life as happy as i do, and if there is anything i can ever do for you, you have only to tell me. now we must have everything new in the rooms you want, so we will go down and tell robert and rosanna. how glad that child will be!" rosanna was tired and very nervous, and when mrs. horton and miss hooker came down with their great plan, rosanna once more, to her own horror, commenced to cry. "well, for goodness' sake," her uncle cried, "i never _did_ see anything like this! what ails the child? this certainly settles me! i shall never, never plan to get married again. rosanna is turning into a regular _founting_; yes, ma'am, a regular _founting_!" "oh, i am so sorry--no, i mean i am so _glad_," said rosanna. "you mean you are all tired out, and ought to go to bed," said her grandmother. "and if i am to come here to live," said robert's sweetheart, dimpling, "i may as well see how i shall like putting a girl in her little bed." rosanna, nearly as tall as the little lady, laughed through her tears. she went over and kissed her uncle good-night. "i am sorry i was so silly," she whispered. "i was _so_ lonely when i thought you were going away that somehow when i found you were not, why, i just couldn't help myself." "i know how you felt. it is all right, sweetness," uncle robert whispered back. rosanna's clasp tightened round his neck. "uncle robert, shall i--do you suppose--will i be your sweetness just the same even after you are married?" uncle robert kissed her hard. "before and after, and forever and ever more!" he said. "just as soon as i get to be a sober married man, i shall be your uncle and your daddy too, and you are going to be the happiest little girl in the world." "oh, uncle robert!" was all rosanna could say, but her look thanked him and tears were very near his own eyes as he watched the little orphaned girl skipping off with her arm around the shoulders of his future wife. but they were tears of happiness. "don't you love this room, captain?" asked rosanna, as she switched on the soft flood of light. "indeed i do!" said miss hooker. "i expect to spend a great deal of my time here. between us, rosanna, we ought to be able to plan the most wonderful things for our scout troop. and next summer bob says he will find a place for us to camp, and fit us out with tents and all that, so we will not have to go to a boarding-house or hotel, but stay right in the open. won't that be splendid?" "think of it!" said rosanna. "won't the girls be wild when they hear about it? oh, dear, i wish i was eighteen so i could be a lieutenant!" "i don't wish you were eighteen," said miss hooker. "i like you just as you are." "oh, miss hooker, you are _so_ sweet!" said rosanna. miss hooker dimpled. "one thing we had better settle right now," she said. "what are you going to call me?" rosanna looked blank. "i hadn't thought about that at all. of course i can't go on calling you miss hooker, and then mrs. horton. and you are too little and too young to be anybody's aunt." miss hooker watched her with a smile. "what are you going to do about it then? i want you to call me just what you like. you are to choose." "then i will tell you what," said rosanna brightly. "i was reading the sweetest little story the other day about a spanish family, and they called each other _cita_. it means _dear_." "_cita_," repeated miss hooker. "why, i think that is just as sweet as it can be, and i should love to have you call me that." "then that is what you are, little cita," said rosanna with a kiss. and to her devoted household, cita she remains to this very day. cita and uncle robert did not seem able to agree on a date for their wedding. cita declared that it would take at least six or eight months to get what she mysteriously called her "things" together. uncle robert declared with equal fervor that she had everything she needed, and that they were not going to go off and live on a desert isle where there were no shops. finally uncle robert had an inspiration. "i tell you what let's do," he said after a long argument. "let's leave this to an outsider: someone with no special interest in the affair. and as a business man, i will name the agent." "very well," said cita. "see that you play fair." "i name and nominate miss rosanna horton, and as her aids and assistants i name and nominate miss helen culver and miss elise hargrave." "that is not playing fair at all!" cried cita. "you know perfectly well that they want us to be married soon." robert shook his head. "not at all! our marriage is detrimental to those persons named, insomuch as i shall take you off on a wedding trip, and by so doing shall interfere with the routine of work in your scout troop. that is a good committee, and i shall trust them. i shall now call them in." the three girls were working in the scout room on the tarleton stockings, filling and tying them. robert stepped to the door and summoned them. putting the question before them in the most serious manner, he told them that they were to decide. "i should think i ought to decide my _own_ wedding day!" cried cita. "you don't seem able to do it," said robert. "you have been trying to decide for the last ten days. you see it is a business proposition with me. perhaps if these good, kind young ladies succeed in fixing a wedding day, say before christmas, i won't have to buy you any christmas present." "i don't _want_ to be married before christmas," wailed cita, looking appealingly at the girls. rosanna nodded her head understandingly, and the three girls left the room. "when will we set it?" asked helen. "do they really mean that we are to do so?" "tell him we have decided on the fifteenth of february," said rosanna. "that is the date she has fixed, but he is such a tease that she has been teasing him in return. that will give her all the time she needs, and she won't be all tired out. everyone loves her, and wants to do things for her and, besides, it is going to take weeks to get those rooms fixed. i never saw grandmother so fussy over anything before. she is going clear to new york and is going to take cita to select hangings, and she has an artist friend selecting pictures; that is, a list for cita to look over. grandmother wants every last thing to be cita's own selection. and, girls, it is going to be _too_ lovely. what do you think? you know those ceilings are about twenty feet high, and grandmother has had them all lowered with plaster board and beams, so it looks so much cozier. grandmother is really splendid. i never loved her so much." "are you almost ready to report?" demanded uncle robert at the door. "all ready!" said helen as the committee went skipping in. "well, let's hear the verdict," said uncle robert. "if this committee is as sensible as it looks, i expect to hear them say that the date is set for next week tuesday." "the fifteenth of february," said rosanna firmly. a look of relief spread over cita's face. "wha-a-a-t?" said uncle robert. "impossible! why, _i_ named this committee and by all the rules of politics you should have brought in the report i want." "but it wouldn't have been fair," said rosanna. "what has that to do with politics?" groaned uncle robert. "all right! i have been done up; sold out, and by my own constituents. the fifteenth of february it is. but don't you dare to make it a day later, young ladies!" he rose. "where are you going?" asked rosanna. "where?" said uncle robert, with a twinkle in his eye. "_you_ ask me where? well, i am going to drag myself downtown to get that christmas present." "and now," said cita after he had gone, "now don't let's think of weddings or anything else but our scout work. things have been dragging lately, and i think it is my fault. if we do not do better and snappier work right away, i will know it is my fault, and i shall give the troop over to someone else. engaged girls have no business trying to run a troop." "don't say that, cita," said rosanna. "we have all been working so hard for christmas that i think we have no energy left." "possibly," said cita, "but we must put things pretty well in order at the next meeting, and before then i want all these christmas things marked and in their proper baskets. that meeting, the last before the holidays, will be an important one." "then let us go to work merrilee," said elise, picking up a stocking, and letting a gumdrop slide down into the toe. chapter xiv after the usual formalities of a meeting, captain hooker desired the girls' full attention. she held a formidable sheaf of notes in her hand, and it looked to the scouts as though there was going to be a good deal of work parcelled out to them. "in the first place," said their captain, "i have asked the approval of the national headquarters, and you are at liberty to send a thanks badge to doctor branshaw. now you have not yet sent him any formal thanks for what he did for gwenny and i wonder if any of you have an idea of some attractive way of expressing your gratitude." "i thought of something, captain," said lucy breen, "but perhaps it wouldn't do." "let us hear it," said the captain. "how would it be to write him, each of us, a short letter of thanks, just a few words, and at the top of each letter paste a snapshot of the girl who has written it? then bind them all in a sort of cover or folder with our motto and a print of our flower on the outside." "i think that is simply a splendid idea," cried the captain. "don't you think so, girls?" of course everyone did, and it was settled that rosanna should go and buy the paper for the letters so they should all be alike. as for the cover, miss hooker, who was an artist of more than ordinary talent and skill, offered to illuminate the cover with the cornflower as the motif; and she decided to illuminate it on parchment, with the deep blue of the flowers and dull gold lettering. the girls who had no snapshot of themselves promised to have one taken at once. before they finished, the "thanks book" as they called it, promised to become a beautiful and very attractive affair. miss hooker warned them all to write natural and simple letters. "how many of you have been over to see gwenny in her new home?" asked the captain. "after the holidays, i think it would be a very kind thing for you to each give up an afternoon once in so often (you can decide how often you can spare the time), and go spend the afternoon with gwenny. her mother feels that she should do a little work now and that faithful little mary is taking care of a couple of children over here on third street every afternoon, to earn her share of the household expenses. so gwenny is left very much alone." "my mother has been in the norton infirmary for a month," said one of the girls, "and she said the nurse told her that it would mean a great deal to some of these patients if we girls would only come in once in awhile, and talk to some of the patients who get so lonely. mother said there was a boy there with a broken hip, and he was always going to be lame, and he grieved so about it all the time that it kept him from getting well. and there was another patient, a girl about my age, with something wrong with her back. she is in a plaster cast, and her only relative is a father who travels, and he is in california." "now there is an idea for you all," said miss hooker. "i want to talk all these things over today, because if i am away at any time i want to feel that i know just about what you are doing. i should think that it would do a lot of good to visit those poor young people. there is just one thing to remember if you want to be popular with the nurses and helpful to the patients: always stay just a little _shorter_ time than you are expected to. then the nurses feel that you are wise enough to be trusted without tiring the patients, and the patients are left with the desire to see you soon again." "that is just what my mother said," said the girl who had spoken. "she says so many people come who just stay and stay and if the nurse does not get around in time to send them home, why, they have the patient in a fever." "perfectly true," said miss hooker. "make your visits short--and often. next," said the captain, "i want to tell you that lucy breen has passed the examinations successfully in two subjects. she is now entitled to wear the merit badge for horsemanship and clerk." all the girls clapped. "_bon bon_, dear lucee!" whispered elise. lucy smiled back at the dear girl who had befriended her at a moment when she needed a friend so badly. "i want to ask how many of you girls are taking regular exercises every morning?" asked captain hooker. "it does not seem as though you had as good color as you should have. i want my girls to be the finest looking troop at the great meeting in the spring. it is to be in washington; did i tell you? and i want every one of you to go. now, there is an incentive to work. the rally is in june just after school is over, and i want you to earn the money for your railroad tickets. of course we will all get special rates, and it will not cost us anything after we arrive there, as we will be the guests of the washington scouts, or some of the women's organizations. but you should all of you be able to earn ten dollars before that time. it will take that much, but no more. if any of you girls belong to families who could send you, you are at liberty to help some other girl who is less fortunate, but you must each one of you earn the sum i have mentioned." "what if we earn more?" asked lucy breen. "i am sure you will be glad to have a little spending money when you get to washington," said miss hooker. "some of us will earn more and some less," said helen. "after we earn the ten dollars, why couldn't we put everything else we earn in your hands, and then it could be evenly divided at the end, and we would each have the same amount to spend, and when we come home we can each tell what we spent it for." "splendid!" exclaimed miss hooker. "what do you girls think of that? i think it would be quite a test of your ability to get a good deal of pleasure or profit out of a stated amount." again everybody clapped, and with a little more discussion the subject was left settled. one of the webster girls raised a hand. "what would you suggest that we could do to earn money?" she said. "all we can do is dance, and mamma won't let us dance in public until we are grown up. we don't know how to do anything else." "marian, i get awfully cross with you sometimes," laughed miss hooker. "what are those two merit badges on your sleeve?" "oh, _those_!" said marian in a helpless voice. "the gridiron for cooking and the palm leaf for invalid cooking. but i can't go out and cook." "what can you make best?" asked miss hooker. another girl spoke up. "she makes the loveliest jellies you ever tasted and they always stand right up, never slump over at all." "and you, evelyn webster, what is that on your sleeve?" "the palette," said evelyn. "there you are!" said miss hooker. "what is the good of earning these badges if you are never going to make use of the things they stand for?" she picked up the girl scouts hand book that was lying on her lap, and turning over the pages said, "listen to this: "employment. "'stick to it,' the thrush sings. one of the worst weaknesses of many people is that they do not have the perseverance to stick to what they have to do. they are always wanting to change. whatever you do, take up with all your might and stick to it. besides the professions of nursing, teaching, stenography and typewriting and clerking, there are many less crowded employments, such as hairdressing, making flowers, coloring photographs, and assisting dentists, and gardening. there are many occupations for women, but before any new employment can be taken up, one must begin while young to make plans and begin collecting information. 'luck is like a street car, the only way to get it, is to look out for every chance and seize it--run at it, and jump on; don't sit down and wait for it to pass. opportunity is a street car which has few stopping places.' "now there you are, marian and evelyn, with your jelly and your beautiful lettering. make some of that jelly, and put it in the prettiest glasses you can find, and tie the tops on with a little ribbon from the five-and-ten-cent store, and illuminate some sample cards for window displays, and take them down to the women's exchange. you, evelyn, take your cards to the manager of one of the big stores, and ask him if he could use such work. he will probably want a thousand of them. i am glad this came up. if you are all as helpless as evelyn and marian when it comes to using your knowledge, why, there is really not much use in earning merit badges. "i think we will talk this over for ten minutes informally, and then we will call the roll, and see what each one thinks she can do." the captain turned to the lieutenant and commenced to talk to her in a low tone, and for ten minutes the room buzzed. then at the sharp command of the lieutenant's whistle silence fell, and the roll was called, and each girl's chosen task was jotted down beside her name. the outlook was rather black for some of the girls who had chosen to try for merits in unusual rather than in available subjects. for instance, one girl wore badges for proficiency in swimming, signaling, pioneer, pathfinder, and marksmanship. none of these seemed to offer an opening for moneymaking, especially during the winter months. but she was plucky, and merely said that she would find a way to earn the money. and she did it by going to the y. w. c. a. and assisting the swimming mistress for a couple of hours every afternoon. so well did she do that when the money was turned in, she had twenty-five dollars to put in the general fund for spending money. another girl had a merit badge for aviation, but she went to work in her workshop and built box kites that no boy could resist, and sold them by the dozen. as miss hooker told them, the trick was to make use of what they had learned. of course a good deal of this worked itself out later, but when they had finished their discussion, and miss hooker had urged them to get to work as soon as they possibly could, she changed the subject by saying, with just a little hesitation: "i wonder how many of you know that i am to be married?" every hand rose and a voice said, "but we don't know when." "that is what i want to talk to you about," smiled miss hooker. "we are going to be married on the fifteenth of february, and i shall not have bridesmaids and all that girls usually have; i want my own scout girls as attendants--all of you. will you all come?" there was a series of exclamations of "oh, miss hooker!" and "indeed we will!" "thank you!" said miss hooker, quite as though she was asking a favor instead of conferring one. "then i will depend on all of you, and a little later i will tell you the plan i have for the wedding. of course you are to arrange to attend the reception afterwards, and we will have automobiles to take you all home." "oh, thank you, thank you!" chorused the girls. miss hooker found that after her invitation it was impossible to interest the girls in anything in the nature of routine work, so she soon dismissed the meeting, and the girls as usual piling into the automobiles belonging to rosanna and elise and lucy and one or two others, were driven home in a great state of excitement. a girl scout wedding! that was what it amounted to. miss hooker,--their dear captain, thought so much of them that she had chosen them to attend her rather than her own friends. it was thrilling in the extreme. it struck about twenty of them about the same time later, that there had been nothing said about clothes. this was an awful thought. rosanna seemed likely to know more than any of the others, on account of the distinction of having miss hooker marry her uncle, so the twenty anxious maidens rushed to as many telephones and gave central a very bad time for about an hour, saying "line's busy," while rosanna talked to each one as she secured a clear line, and assured her that she knew nothing at all about it. chapter xv the fifteenth of february sparkled all day long. not half of the scouts were able to sleep, and they saw the round bright sun bounce out of the east and start blazing up in a cloudless sky. all day it was the same. not a cloud in the sky, not a shadow on the earth. automobile horns seemed to take on a joyous toot. the heavy "ding, dong, ding, dong," of the locomotive bell as it crossed third street lost its mournful tone and sounded sweetly solemn like a wedding bell. all day relays of restless scouts belonging to captain hooker's troop drifted in at the open door of the beautiful old cathedral and watched the silent workmen setting the palms and flowers under the direction of a bevy of young ladies who were miss hooker's schoolmates and life-long friends. they had claimed the right to decorate the church since they were not included in the wedding other than as spectators. on twenty-four beds twenty-four girl scout uniforms in a terrifying condition of starch and cleanliness lay stiffly out, with hats and staffs beside them. and at about three in the afternoon twenty-four girl scouts lay down on other beds, so they would be "fresh" for the wedding. all the shades were pulled down, but not one of the twenty-four managed to get to sleep. it was awful! actually painful! each one lay wondering what the others were doing, and what miss hooker was doing. wondered what she would wear, wondered if she was frightened. the two websters had refused to rest in separate rooms, so they talked in a cautious undertone, while their mother in the next room pressed imaginary creases out of their tunics. the whole troop had beautiful new hair ribbons from miss hooker and from mr. horton a beautiful gold bangle bracelet. a messenger boy had delivered them all around just at noon, and while they rested twenty-four left arms were held up to catch the light on the gleaming band. the idea of anyone sleeping! at six o'clock sharp the lieutenant, miss jamieson, hurried up the steps of the hargrave house where the girls were to meet, and ten minutes later three patrols marched nervously along and turned in. then for endless ages, too nervous to talk, they sat waiting for the automobiles that were to carry them to the old cathedral. they were torn with fears. what if mr. horton and his best man, doctor maclaren, had forgotten to order the cars at all? what if they should be late, and the wedding go on without them? the voice of mrs. hargrave's house boy announcing "de cahs is heah, ma'am," sounded like music. the cathedral, down in the oldest part of the city, seemed a million miles away, and the cars crawled. not a traffic policeman but stopped them as they approached--but at last they arrived and entered the church. how beautiful it was, softly yet brilliantly lighted through its high arches. white satin with heavy gold embroideries draping altar and desk, tall candles burning at either side of the cross. and somewhere softly, thrillingly out of space, spoke the most entrancing music. people went down the aisles in gaily clad groups, the delicate perfumes of the flowers worn by beautiful women wafting to the girls as they passed. mrs. breen's two brothers and the brothers of the two girl scouts who had helped at the benefit were all acting as ushers and they were certainly busy. standing just inside the door, the girls were aware of a little stir, and a group entered, walking more slowly and carefully than the others. even the girls were surprised as they stared. for first of all came gwenny, gwenny leaning heavily on the arm of the kindly sign painter, but gwenny was _walking_! behind, looking very shiny and quite agonized, followed mary and tommy and little myron firmly clutching the still littler luella, who looked on the verge of tears. after them, to close all avenue of escape, walked mrs. harter, and minnie and tom. very slowly, in gwenny's halting footsteps, they went down the aisle--down and down until they came to the satin ribbon that fenced off a portion of the seats for miss hooker's most particular friends. and even then they did not stop, for doctor maclaren, who was with them, led them to the fourth seat from the front. it had evidently been saved for them, for in the corner next the aisle was a big pillow for gwenny's back. cita's girl friends kept drifting in, lovely, colorful creatures in dancing frocks, and the girls reflected with joy that they too were asked to the reception afterwards. then came the group of the bride's relatives, and close behind, mrs. horton, walking with her hand on the arm of the older breen boy, and looking like a queen in her pale gray satin robe, brocaded with silver. and then the lieutenant, who had been standing outside all this time, returned, looking quite pale, and gave an order in a tone so low that half of the girls did not hear at all, but they were so keyed up that they knew just what to do and formed a double line facing the chancel. the music burst suddenly, joyously into the wedding march, and the girls started slowly down the broad aisle, keeping step to the music. so smoothly and so quickly had it been done that they had not had a glimpse of the bride, who was following them on her father's arm, with rosanna all in white before her as maid of honor. down the aisle, straight and trim, marched the guard of honor. when the first two girls reached the foot of the chancel steps, they stopped and turned to face each other, taking two steps backward. as the line all formed, the staffs were raised until the tips met, and under this arch, all misty tulle and gleaming satin, her cheeks faintly flushed, her lips softly smiling, passed their little captain. mr. robert who had been waiting just beyond came forward and took her hand, and the dean stepped down to meet them, while the bishop waited before the altar. the music muted. and in the place of the march came faint sighs of melody. then in a pause of the ceremony, from somewhere silvery chimes rang out. the little bride stood motionless, her tulle train seeming to melt into the whiteness of the marble on which she stood. and then, almost at once it seemed, it was all over. the little captain had made her new vows, the ring was on her hand, the blessing on her bowed head. quite solemnly mr. robert kissed her, then the organ broke out with a burst that filled the great church, and fairly beat down the rising throngs, as the married couple, passing under the crossed staves, passed down the aisle and out into their new life. the guard of honor, in their automobiles once more and whirling after the bridal car to the reception, found their tongues and all talked at once. no one listened; no one cared. they went through a canopied, carpeted tunnel across the sidewalk to the house, and there were firmly handled by a bevy of colored maids who took their staffs and hats and sent them forth with nothing to do with their hands. but mr. robert shook all the hands they had, and the little captain kissed them each and every one. and then she asked them to form just back of her until she had greeted all the guests. this took a long time, but was such fun, because they saw everyone and all the dresses, and everything. but finally the line thinned out, the congratulations were over, and the little captain, taking her filmy train over her arm, drifted out among the guests and the girls broke up into groups. a little later rosanna came hurrying around to tell the girls to come to the library. they found the captain and her husband there, talking to a chubby, smiling, altogether kindly and delightful little gentleman, who stared beamingly at them through immense horn-rimmed spectacles. "i want to present you to doctor branshaw, girls," said mrs. horton. "he came all the way from cincinnati to attend our wedding and to meet you." the girls stepped up one by one to be presented to the great man. "i didn't see any other way of meeting you all," he said. "my time is always so broken, and they keep me so busy down there that i actually didn't have time to write and tell you how greatly i appreciated that book you sent me. i think it was quite the nicest thing in the world. i shall always keep it." "it was poor thanks for what you did for gwenny," said miss jamieson, finding that someone had to answer. "i was glad to do it," said the doctor, "after you had led the way. it is an honor to work with the girl scouts. when you are twice as old, yes, three times as old as you are now, you will realize what a wonderful work you are doing in the world. i come across evidences of it every day. this gwenny, for instance. did you see the way she went down that long aisle tonight? why, that girl is going to be well, perfectly well! think of the years of pain and misery you have saved her, the agonizing nights and the untimely death. whose plan was it, anyway?" "rosanna horton's," said half a dozen voices. rosanna flushed. "no, don't say that!" she objected. "it is just as the doctor says. if i thought of it it was because i am a scout. call it the girl scouts' plan." "yours or theirs, miss rosanna; it was a divine thought and should make you all happy. you have given the three greatest boons to a fellow creature: life, health, and happiness, and all because your splendid order teaches you to watch for just such opportunities. now i will give you an opportunity to do a good deed tonight," and he laughed the jolliest laugh. "there are a couple of very wise gentlemen here tonight, who would like to talk to me, and they would want to talk about operations and anesthetics and all those things that i left locked up in my office at home. but i can't tell them that, so i wish you could just look after me for the next hour, and sort of beau me around, you know, and if you see any bald heads or spectacles bearing down on us, just close in and protect me." "oh, we will!" chorused the girls, greatly pleased. so the great dr. branshaw, quite the greatest and most eminent man present, passed happily from room to room surrounded and tagged by a chatting, smiling throng of uniformed girls. when a cheering looking line of waiters appeared with plates and napkins, the great man and his little court settled in a cozy nook and proceeded to fly in the face of all the best health experts. and to see the doctor shamelessly send for more bouillon, and consume sandwiches, and sliced turkey, and candied sweet potato and salad, and oh, dear, all _sorts_ of things, was enough to make any scout hungry, and they just feasted and feasted. although the doctor refused to talk to the wise men, he did talk to the girls, getting on the subject dearest to him, as all professional men will, and telling them many an amusing story and pathetic incident. finally he rose. "i must go, girls," he said. "i said good-bye to mrs. horton when i came in, so i could just slip out a little side door there is here." he shook hands all around and patted each straight shoulder. "don't forget me," he said, "and remember if there is anything i can do to help, we are all working together. see this?" he smiled and pulled aside his coat. there on his waistcoat was the thanks badge they had sent him. "i always wear it," he said, and with a merry good-bye hurried through the little door, and was gone. rosanna went to the hall and looked out. "hurry, hurry!" she called. "here she comes! we nearly missed her!" the bride, in her travelling dress, was coming down the stairs. she paused on the landing and looked down at the sea of smiling faces below. then suddenly she tossed her bouquet out. a dozen hands reached for it, and the girl who caught it danced up and down. everyone laughed. "what did she do that for?" asked one of the websters. "the one who catches the bride's bouquet," said miss jamieson, "will be the next one married." "quick!" cried elise. "let us all form the guard-line for her. never mind those staves!" slipping through the throng and out the door, the girls formed a double line to the automobile waiting at the curb. a great white bow was tied on the back, and rosanna quickly took it off and hid it. "cita wouldn't like that," she explained. then she stood with her hand on the door. the house door opened and in a blaze of light, confetti and rice showering about her, rose leaves floating above her, the little bride and her tall young husband ran down the steps and through the double line of scouts, who closed solidly before the door of the limousine as she entered it. the other guests were shut out. for that moment she was again their little captain and belonged to them alone. forming in a solid group, they suddenly shouted the girl scout yell, threw her a shower of kisses, and crying good-bye over and over, watched her little hand wave a farewell as the car sprang forward. * * * * * helen and elise were rosanna's guests for the night. a couch had been prepared so the three girls could sleep in the same room. they rolled themselves up in bathrobes, and sat on the edge of the couch just as they had sat on the top step so many months ago, only this time elise did not knit. she too sat with her chin in her hands, staring out of the window. rosanna had snapped off the light. a million stars in a deep frosty sky looked down on them. the night sparkled. it was very, very late, but mrs. horton with surpassing wisdom had not asked them to go right to bed. she too was awake, dreaming long dreams. presently elise spoke. "so much of happiness makes me sad," she said. "well, it is all over," sighed rosanna. "not at all!" cried elise. "what could be over? not meeses horton, who is just beginning. not us, who have so many, many works to do. not gwenny who steps into a new life. just see all those stars. they shine and sparkle always, no matter what goes on down here." "you sound like a little sermon, elise dear," said helen, smiling. "i don't know just yet what it is you call sermon, but i hope it is nice," replied elise. "yours is, anyway," said rosanna, kissing the fair face beside her. "all i meant was that this is over, the wedding and all that. oh, of course i didn't mean that _everything_ was over. it is just as though a beautiful day had ended, as it has," rosanna continued. "others will come, many, many other busy, beautiful days, and on my honor, i will try to do my duty to god and my country, to help other people at all times and to obey the scout laws," said rosanna softly, lifting her eyes to the eternal stars. the end generously made available by the internet archive.) old boston taverns and tavern clubs [illustration: captain john marston, - landlord of the "golden ball" and "bunch of grapes"] old boston taverns and tavern clubs by samuel adams drake new illustrated edition with an account of "cole's inn," "the bakers' arms," and "golden ball" by walter k. watkins also a list of taverns, giving the names of the various owners of the property, from miss thwing's work on "the inhabitants and estates of the town of boston, - ," in the possession of the massachusetts historical society w. a. butterfield bromfield street, boston copyright, , by w. a. butterfield. foreword. the inns of old boston have played such a part in its history that an illustrated edition of drake may not be out of place at this late date. "cole's inn" has been definitely located, and the "hancock tavern" question also settled. i wish to thank the bostonian society for the privilege of reprinting mr. watkin's account of the "bakers' arms" and the "golden ball" and valuable assistance given by messrs. c. f. read, e. w. mcglenen, and w. a. watkins; henderson and ross for the illustration of the "crown coffee house," and the walton advertising co. for the "royal exchange tavern." other works consulted are snow's history of boston, memorial history of boston, stark's antique views, porter's rambles in old boston, and miss thwing's very valuable work in the massachusetts historical society. the publisher. contents. page i. upon the tavern as an institution ii. the earlier ordinaries iii. in revolutionary times iv. signboard humor v. appendix; boston taverns to the year vi. cole's inn vii. the bakers' arms viii. the golden ball tavern ix. the hancock tavern x. list of taverns and tavern owners list of illustrations. capt. john marston _frontispiece_ page the sign of the lamb the heart and crown royal exchange tavern portrait of joseph green portrait of john dunton the bunch of grapes cromwell head board bill the cromwell's head the green dragon the green dragon sign the liberty tree the brazen head the good woman the dog and pot how shall i get through this world? the crown coffee house old newspaper advertisement julien house the sun tavern the three doves jolley allen advertisement the bakers' arms sign of bunch of grapes sign of golden ball map showing location of cole's inn coffee urn map of boston, bromfield house fireman's ticket portrait of governor belcher exchange coffee house, - exchange coffee house, hatch tavern lamb tavern sun tavern (dock square) bonners' map of boston, old boston taverns. i. upon the tavern as an institution. the famous remark of louis xiv., "there are no longer any pyrenees," may perhaps be open to criticism, but there are certainly no longer any taverns in new england. it is true that the statutes of the commonwealth continue to designate such houses as the brunswick and vendome as taverns, and their proprietors as innkeepers; yet we must insist upon the truth of our assertion, the letter of the law to the contrary notwithstanding. no words need be wasted upon the present degradation which the name of tavern implies to polite ears. in most minds it is now associated with the slums of the city, and with that particular phase of city life only, so all may agree that, as a prominent feature of society and manners, the tavern has had its day. the situation is easily accounted for. the simple truth is, that, in moving on, the world has left the venerable institution standing in the eighteenth century; but it is equally true that, before that time, the history of any civilized people could hardly be written without making great mention of it. with the disappearance of the old signboards our streets certainly have lost a most picturesque feature, at least one avenue is closed to art, while a few very aged men mourn the loss of something endeared to them by many pleasant recollections. as an offset to the admission that the tavern has outlived its usefulness, we ought in justice to establish its actual character and standing as it was in the past. we shall then be the better able to judge how it was looked upon both from a moral and material stand-point, and can follow it on through successive stages of good or evil fortune, as we would the life of an individual. it fits our purpose admirably, and we are glad to find so eminent a scholar and divine as dr. dwight particularly explicit on this point. he tells us that, in his day, "the best old-fashioned new england inns were superior to any of the modern ones. there was less bustle, less parade, less appearance of doing a great deal to gratify your wishes, than at the reputable modern inns; but much more was actually done, and there was much more comfort and enjoyment. in a word, you found in these inns the pleasures of an excellent private house. if you were sick you were nursed and befriended as in your own family. to finish the story, your bills were always equitable, calculated on what you ought to pay, and not upon the scheme of getting the most which extortion might think proper to demand." now this testimonial to what the public inn was eighty odd years ago comes with authority from one who had visited every nook and corner of new england, was so keen and capable an observer, and is always a faithful recorder of what he saw. dr. dwight has frequently said that during his travels he often "found his warmest welcome at an inn." in order to give the history of what may be called the rise and fall of the tavern among us, we should go back to the earliest settlements, to the very beginning of things. in our own country the pilgrim fathers justly stand for the highest type of public and private morals. no less would be conceded them by the most unfriendly critic. intemperance, extravagant living, or immorality found no harborage on plymouth rock, no matter under what disguise it might come. because they were a virtuous and sober people, they had been filled with alarm for their own youth, lest the example set by the hollanders should corrupt the stay and prop of their community. indeed, bradford tells us fairly that this was one determining cause of the removal into new england. the institution of taverns among the pilgrims followed close upon the settlement. not only were they a recognized need, but, as one of the time-honored institutions of the old country, no one seems to have thought of denouncing them as an evil, or even as a necessary evil. travellers and sojourners had to be provided for even in a wilderness. therefore taverns were licensed as fast as new villages grew up. upward of a dozen were licensed at one sitting of the general court. the usual form of concession is that so-and-so is licensed to draw wine and beer for the public. the supervision was strict, but not more so than the spirit of a patriarchal community, founded on morals, would seem to require; but there were no such attempts to cover up the true character of the tavern as we have seen practised in the cities of this commonwealth for the purpose of evading the strict letter of the law; and the law then made itself respected. an innkeeper was not then looked upon as a person who was pursuing a disgraceful or immoral calling,--a sort of outcast, as it were,--but, while strictly held amenable to the law, he was actually taken under its protection. for instance, he was fined for selling any one person an immoderate quantity of liquor, and he was also liable to a fine if he refused to sell the quantity allowed to be drank on the premises, though no record is found of a prosecution under this singular statutory provision; still, for some time, this regulation was continued in force as the only logical way of dealing with the liquor question, as it then presented itself. when the law also prohibited a citizen from entertaining a stranger in his own house, unless he gave bonds for his guest's good behavior, the tavern occupied a place between the community and the outside world not wholly unlike that of a moral quarantine. the town constable could keep a watchful eye upon all suspicious characters with greater ease when they were under one roof. then it was his business to know everybody's, so that any show of mystery about it would have settled, definitely, the stranger's _status_, as being no better than he should be. "mind your own business," is a maxim hardly yet domesticated in new england, outside of our cities, or likely to become suddenly popular in our rural communities, where, in those good old days we are talking about, a public official was always a public inquisitor, as well as newsbearer from house to house. on their part, the puritan fathers seem to have taken the tavern under strict guardianship from the very first. in , when the price of labor and everything else was regulated, sixpence was the legal charge for a meal, and a penny for an ale quart of beer, at an inn, and the landlord was liable to ten shillings fine if a greater charge was made. josselyn, who was in new england at a very early day, remarks, that, "at the tap-houses of boston i have had an ale quart of cider, spiced and sweetened with sugar, for a groat." so the fact that the law once actually prescribed how much should be paid for a morning dram may be set down among the curiosities of colonial legislation. no later than the year the number of applicants for licenses to keep taverns had so much increased that the following act was passed by our general court for its own relief: "it is ordered by the authority of this court, that henceforth all such as are to keep houses of common entertainment, and to retail wine, beer, etc., shall be licensed at the county courts of the shire where they live, or the court of assistants, so as this court may not be thereby hindered in their more weighty affairs." a noticeable thing about this particular bill is, that when it went down for concurrence the word "deputies" was erased and "house" substituted by the speaker in its stead, thus showing that the newly born popular body had begun to assert itself as the only true representative chamber, and meant to show the more aristocratic branch that the sovereign people had spoken at last. by the time philip's war had broken out, in , taverns had become so numerous that cotton mather has said that every other house in boston was one. indeed, the calamity of the war itself was attributed to the number of tippling-houses in the colony. at any rate this was one of the alleged sins which, in the opinion of mather, had called down upon the colony the frown of providence. a century later, governor pownall repeated mather's statement. so it is quite evident that the increase of taverns, both good and bad, had kept pace with the growth of the country. it is certain that, at the time of which we are speaking, some of the old laws affecting the drinking habits of society were openly disregarded. drinking healths, for instance, though under the ban of the law, was still practised in cotton mather's day by those who met at the social board. we find him defending it as a common form of politeness, and not the invocation of heaven it had once been in the days of chivalry. drinking at funerals, weddings, church-raisings, and even at ordinations, was a thing everywhere sanctioned by custom. the person who should have refused to furnish liquor on such an occasion would have been the subject of remarks not at all complimentary to his motives. it seems curious enough to find that the use of tobacco was looked upon by the fathers of the colony as far more sinful, hurtful, and degrading than indulgence in intoxicating liquors. indeed, in most of the new england settlements, not only the use but the planting of tobacco was strictly forbidden. those who had a mind to solace themselves with the interdicted weed could do so only in the most private manner. the language of the law is, "nor shall any take tobacco in any wine or common victual house, except in a private room there, so as the master of said house nor any guest there shall take offence thereat; which, if any do, then such person shall forbear upon pain of two shillings sixpence for every such offence." it is found on record that two innocent dutchmen, who went on a visit to harvard college,--when that venerable institution was much younger than it is to-day,--were so nearly choked with the fumes of tobacco-smoke, on first going in, that one said to the other, "this is certainly a tavern." it is also curious to note that, in spite of the steady growth of the smoking habit among all classes of people, public opinion continued to uphold the laws directed to its suppression, though, from our stand-point of to-day, these do seem uncommonly severe. and this state of things existed down to so late a day that men are now living who have been asked to plead "guilty or not guilty," at the bar of a police court, for smoking in the streets of boston. a dawning sense of the ridiculous, it is presumed, led at last to the discontinuance of arrests for this cause; but for some time longer officers were in the habit of inviting detected smokers to show respect for the memory of a defunct statute of the commonwealth, by throwing their cigars into the gutter. turning to practical considerations, we shall find the tavern holding an important relation to its locality. in the first place, it being so nearly coeval with the laying out of villages, the tavern quickly became the one known landmark for its particular neighborhood. for instance, in boston alone, the names seven star lane, orange tree lane, red lion lane, black horse lane, sun court, cross street, bull lane, not to mention others that now have so outlandish a sound to sensitive ears, were all derived from taverns. we risk little in saying that a bostonian in london would think the great metropolis strangely altered for the worse should he find such hallowed names as charing cross, bishopsgate, or temple bar replaced by those of some wealthy smith, brown, or robinson; yet he looks on, while the same sort of vandalism is constantly going on at home, with hardly a murmur of disapproval, so differently does the same thing look from different points of view. as further fixing the topographical character of taverns, it may be stated that in the old almanacs distances are always computed between the inns, instead of from town to town, as the practice now is. of course such topographical distinctions as we have pointed out began at a time when there were few public buildings; but the idea almost amounts to an instinct, because even now it is a common habit with every one to first direct the inquiring stranger to some prominent landmark. as such, tavern-signs were soon known and noted by all travellers. [illustration: sign of the lamb.] then again, tavern-titles are, in most cases, traced back to the old country. love for the old home and its associations made the colonist like to take his mug of ale under the same sign that he had patronized when in england. it was a never-failing reminiscence to him. and innkeepers knew how to appeal to this feeling. hence the red lion and the lamb, the st. george and the green dragon, the black, white, and red horse, the sun, seven stars, and globe, were each and all so many reminiscences of old london. in their way they denote the same sort of tie that is perpetuated by the bostons, portsmouths, falmouths, and other names of english origin. ii. the earlier ordinaries. as early as there were at least two ordinaries, as taverns were then called, in boston. that they were no ordinary taverns will at once occur to every one who considers the means then employed to secure sobriety and good order in them. for example, josselyn says that when a stranger went into one for the purpose of refreshing the inner man, he presently found a constable at his elbow, who, it appeared, was there to see to it that the guest called for no more liquor than seemed good for him. if he did so, the beadle peremptorily countermanded the order, himself fixing the quantity to be drank; and from his decision there was no appeal. of these early ordinaries the earliest known to be licensed goes as far back as , when samuel cole, comfit-maker, kept it. a kind of interest naturally goes with the spot of ground on which this the first house of public entertainment in the new england metropolis stood. on this point all the early authorities seem to have been at fault. misled by the meagre record in the book of possessions, the zealous antiquaries of former years had always located cole's inn in what is now merchants' row. since thomas lechford's note book has been printed, the copy of a deed, dated in the year , in which cole conveys part of his dwelling, with brew-house, etc., has been brought to light. the estate noted here is the one situated next northerly from the well-known old corner bookstore, on washington street. it would, therefore, appear, beyond reasonable doubt, that cole's inn stood in what was already the high street of the town, nearly opposite governor winthrop's, which gives greater point to my lord leigh's refusal to accept winthrop's proffered hospitality when his lordship was sojourning under cole's roof-tree. in his new england tragedies, mr. longfellow introduces cole, who is made to say,-- "but the 'three mariners' is an orderly, most orderly, quiet, and respectable house." cole, certainly, could have had no other than a poet's license for calling his house by this name, as it is never mentioned otherwise than as _cole's inn_. another of these worthy landlords was william hudson, who had leave to keep an ordinary in . from his occupation of baker, he easily stepped into the congenial employment of innkeeper. hudson was among the earliest settlers of boston, and for many years is found most active in town affairs. his name is on the list of those who were admitted freemen of the colony, in may, . as his son william also followed the same calling, the distinction of senior and junior becomes necessary when speaking of them. hudson's house is said to have stood on the ground now occupied by the new england bank, which, if true, would make this the most noted of tavern stands in all new england, or rather in all the colonies, as the same site afterward became known as the =bunch of grapes=. we shall have much occasion to notice it under that title. in hudson's time the appearance of things about this locality was very different from what is seen to-day. all the earlier topographical features have been obliterated. then the tide flowed nearly up to the tavern door, so making the spot a landmark of the ancient shore line as the first settlers had found it. even so simple a statement as this will serve to show us how difficult is the task of fixing, with approximate accuracy, residences or sites on the water front, going as far back as the original occupants of the soil. next in order of time comes the house called the =king's arms=. this celebrated inn stood at the head of the dock, in what is now dock square. hugh gunnison, victualler, kept a "cooke's shop" in his dwelling there some time before , as he was then allowed to sell beer. the next year he humbly prayed the court for leave "to draw the wyne which was spent in his house," in the room of having his customers get it elsewhere, and then come into his place the worse for liquor,--a proceeding which he justly thought unfair as well as unprofitable dealing. he asks this favor in order that "god be not dishonored nor his people grieved." we know that gunnison was favored with the custom of the general court, because we find that body voting to defray the expenses incurred for being entertained in his house "out of y{e} custom of wines or y{e} wampum of y{e} narragansetts." gunnison's house presently took the not always popular name of the _king's arms_, which it seems to have kept until the general overturning of thrones in the old country moved the puritan rulers to order the taking down of the king's arms, and setting up of the state's in their stead; for, until the restoration of the stuarts, the tavern is the same, we think, known as the =state's arms=. it then loyally resumed its old insignia again. such little incidents show us how taverns frequently denote the fluctuation of popular opinion. as gunnison's bill of fare has not come down to us, we are at a loss to know just how the colonial fathers fared at his hospitable board; but so long as the 'treat' was had at the public expense we cannot doubt that the dinners were quite as good as the larder afforded, or that full justice was done to the contents of mine host's cellar by those worthy legislators and lawgivers. when hugh gunnison sold out the _king's arms_ to henry shrimpton and others, in , for £ sterling, the rooms in his house all bore some distinguishing name or title. for instance, one chamber was called the "exchange." we have sometimes wondered whether it was so named in consequence of its use by merchants of the town as a regular place of meeting. the chamber referred to was furnished with "one half-headed bedstead with blew pillars." there was also a "court chamber," which, doubtless, was the one assigned to the general court when dining at gunnison's. still other rooms went by such names as the "london" and "star." the hall contained three small rooms, or stalls, with a bar convenient to it. this room was for public use, but the apartments upstairs were for the "quality" alone, or for those who paid for the privilege of being private. all remember how, in "she stoops to conquer," miss hardcastle is made to say: "attend the lion, there!--pipes and tobacco for the angel!--the lamb has been outrageous this half hour!" the =castle tavern= was another house of public resort, kept by william hudson, jr., at what is now the upper corner of elm street and dock square. just at what time this noted tavern came into being is a matter extremely difficult to be determined; but, as we find a colonial order billeting soldiers in it in , we conclude it to have been a public inn at that early day. at this time hudson is styled lieutenant. if whitman's records of the artillery company be taken as correct, the younger hudson had seen service in the wars. with "divers other of our best military men," he had crossed the ocean to take service in the parliamentary forces, in which he held the rank of ensign, returning home to new england, after an absence of two years, to find his wife publicly accused of faithlessness to her marriage vows. the presence of these old inns at the head of the town dock naturally points to that locality as the business centre, and it continued to hold that relation to the commerce of boston until, by the building of wharves and piers, ships were enabled to come up to them for the purpose of unloading. before that time their cargoes were landed in boats and lighters. far back, in the beginning of things, when everything had to be transported by water to and from the neighboring settlements, this was naturally the busiest place in boston. in time dock square became, as its name indicates, a sort of delta for the confluent lanes running down to the dock below it. here, for a time, was centred all the movement to and from the shipping, and, we may add, about all the commerce of the infant settlement. naturally the vicinity was most convenient for exposing for sale all sorts of merchandise as it was landed, which fact soon led to the establishment of a corn market on one side of the dock and a fish market on the other side. the =royal exchange= stood on the site of the merchants' bank, in state street. in this high-sounding name we find a sure sign that the town had outgrown its old traditions and was making progress toward more citified ways. as time wore on a town-house had been built in the market-place. its ground floor was purposely left open for the citizens to walk about, discuss the news, or bargain in. in the popular phrase, they were said to meet "on 'change," and thereafter this place of meeting was known as the exchange, which name the tavern and lane soon took to themselves as a natural right. [illustration: the royal exchange tavern (merchants bank site, state street) the tall white building, mail coach just leaving] a glance at the locality in question shows the choice to have been made with a shrewd eye to the future. for example: the house fronted upon the town market-place, where, on stated days, fairs or markets for the sale of country products were held. on one side the tavern was flanked by the well-trodden lane which led to the town dock. from daily chaffering in a small way, those who wished to buy or sell came to meet here regularly. it also became the place for popular gatherings,--on such occasions of ceremony as the publishing of proclamations, mustering of troops, or punishment of criminals,--all of which vindicates its title to be called the heart of the little commonwealth. indeed, on this spot the pulse of its daily life beat with ever-increasing vigor. hither came the country people, with their donkeys and panniers. here in the open air they set up their little booths to tempt the town's folk with the display of fresh country butter, cheese and eggs, fruits or vegetables. here came the citizen, with his basket on his arm, exchanging his stock of news or opinions as he bargained for his dinner, and so caught the drift of popular sentiment beyond his own chimney-corner. to loiter a little longer at the sign of the _royal exchange_, which, by all accounts, always drew the best custom of the town, we find that, as long ago as luke vardy's time, it was a favorite resort of the masonic fraternity, vardy being a brother of the order. according to a poetic squib of the time,-- "'twas he who oft dispelled their sadness, and filled the breth'ren's hearts with gladness." after the burning of the town-house, near by, in the winter of , had turned the general court out of doors, that body finished its sessions at vardy's; nor do we find any record of legislation touching luke's taproom on that occasion. vardy's was the resort of the young bloods of the town, who spent their evenings in drinking, gaming, or recounting their love affairs. one july evening, in , two young men belonging to the first families in the province quarreled over their cards or wine. a challenge passed. at that time the sword was the weapon of gentlemen. the parties repaired to a secluded part of the common, stripped for the encounter, and fought it out by the light of the moon. after a few passes one of the combatants, named woodbridge, received a mortal thrust; the survivor was hurried off by his friends on board a ship, which immediately set sail. this being the first duel ever fought in the town, it naturally made a great stir. [illustration: joseph green noted boston merchant and wit, died in england, satire on luke tardy of the royal exchange tavern by joseph green at a masonic meeting, "where's honest _luke_,--that cook from london? for without _luke_ the _lodge_ is undone; 'twas he who oft dispelled their sadness. and fill'd the _brethren's_ heart with gladness. for them his ample bowls o'erflow'd. his table groan'd beneath its load; for them he stretch'd his utmost art.-- their honours grateful they impart. _luke_ in return is made a _brother_, as _good_ and _true_ as any other; and still, though broke with age and wine, preserves the _token_ and the _sign_." --"entertainments for a winter's evening."] we cannot leave the neighborhood without at least making mention of the massacre of the th of march, , which took place in front of the tavern. it was then a three-story brick house, the successor, it is believed, of the first building erected on the spot and destroyed in the great fire of . on the opposite corner of the lane stood the royal custom house, where a sentry was walking his lonely round on that frosty night, little dreaming of the part he was to play in the coming tragedy. with the assault made by the mob on this sentinel, the fatal affray began which sealed the cause of the colonists with their blood. at this time the tavern enjoyed the patronage of the newly arrived british officers of the army and navy as well as of citizens or placemen, of the tory party, so that its inmates must have witnessed, with peculiar feelings, every incident of that night of terror. consequently the house with its sign is shown in revere's well-known picture of the massacre. one more old hostelry in this vicinity merits a word from us. though not going so far back or coming down to so late a date as some of the houses already mentioned, nevertheless it has ample claim not to be passed by in silence. the =anchor=, otherwise the "blew anchor," stood on the ground now occupied by the globe newspaper building. in early times it divided with the _state's arms_ the patronage of the magistrates, who seem to have had a custom, perhaps not yet quite out of date, of adjourning to the ordinary over the way after transacting the business which had brought them together. so we find that the commissioners of the united colonies, and even the reverend clergy, when they were summoned to the colonial capital to attend a synod, were usually entertained here at the _anchor_. this fact presupposes a house having what we should now call the latest improvements, or at least possessing some advantages over its older rivals in the excellence of its table or cellarage. when robert turner kept it, his rooms were distinguished, after the manner of the old london inns, as the cross keys, green dragon, anchor and castle chamber, rose and sun, low room, so making old associations bring in custom. it was in that john dunton, a london bookseller whom pope lampoons in the "dunciad," came over to boston to do a little business in the bookselling line. the vicinity of the town-house was then crowded with book-shops, all of which drove a thriving trade in printing and selling sermons, almanacs, or fugitive essays of a sort now quite unknown outside of a few eager collectors. the time was a critical one in new england, as she was feeling the tremor of the coming revolt which sent king james into exile; yet to read dunton's account of men and things as he thought he saw them, one would imagine him just dropped into arcadia, rather than breathing the threatening atmosphere of a country that was tottering on the edge of revolution. but it is to him, at any rate, that we are indebted for a portrait of the typical landlord,--one whom we feel at once we should like to have known, and, having known, to cherish in our memory. with a flourish of his goose-quill dunton introduces us to george monk, landlord of the _anchor_, who, somehow, reminds us of chaucer's harry bailly, and ben jonson's goodstock. and we more than suspect from what follows that dunton had tasted the "anchor" madeira, not only once, but again. [illustration: john dunton, bookseller, - ] george monk, mine host of the _anchor_, dunton tells us, was "a person so remarkable that, had i not been acquainted with him, it would be a hard matter to make any new england man believe that i had been in boston; for there was no one house in all the town more noted, or where a man might meet with better accommodation. besides he was a brisk and jolly man, whose conversation was coveted by all his guests as the life and spirit of the company." in this off-hand sketch we behold the traditional publican, now, alas! extinct. gossip, newsmonger, banker, pawnbroker, expediter of men or effects, the intimate association so long existing between landlord and public under the old régime everywhere brought about a still closer one among the guild itself, so establishing a network of communication coextensive with all the great routes from maine to georgia. situated just "around the corner" from the council-chamber, the _anchor_ became, as we have seen, the favorite haunt of members of the government, and so acquired something of an official character and standing. we have strong reason to believe that, under the mellowing influence of the punch-bowl, those antique men of iron mould and mien could now and then crack a grim jest or tell a story or possibly troll a love-ditty, with grave gusto. at any rate, we find chief justice sewall jotting down in his "diary" the familiar sentence, "the deputies treated and i treated." and, to tell the truth, we would much prefer to think of the colonial fathers as possessing even some human frailties rather than as the statues now replacing their living forms and features in our streets. but now and then we can imagine the noise of great merriment making the very windows of some of these old hostelries rattle again. we learn that the =greyhound= was a respectable public house, situated in roxbury, and of very early date too; for the venerable and saintly eliot lived upon one side and his pious colleague, samuel danforth, on the other. yet notwithstanding its being, as it were, hedged in between two such eminent pillars of the church, the godly danforth bitterly complains of the provocation which frequenters of the tavern sometimes tried him withal, and naïvely informs us that, when from his study windows he saw any of the town dwellers loitering there he would go down and "chide them away." it is related in the memoirs of the celebrated indian fighter, captain benjamin church, that he and captain converse once found themselves in the neighborhood of a tavern at the south end of boston. as old comrades they wished to go in and take a parting glass together; but, on searching their pockets, church could find only sixpence and converse not a penny to bless himself with, so they were compelled to forego this pledge of friendship and part with thirsty lips. going on to roxbury, church luckily found an old neighbor of his, who generously lent him money enough to get home with. he tells the anecdote in order to show to what straits the parsimony of the massachusetts rulers had reduced him, their great captain, to whom the colony owed so much. the =red lion=, in north street, was one of the oldest public houses, if not the oldest, to be opened at the north end of the town. it stood close to the waterside, the adjoining wharf and the lane running down to it both belonging to the house and both taking its name. the old red lion lane is now richmond street, and the wharf has been filled up, so making identification of the old sites difficult, to say the least. nicholas upshall, the stout-hearted quaker, kept the _red lion_ as early as . at his death the land on which tavern and brewhouse stood went to his children. when the persecution of his sect began in earnest, upshall was thrown into boston jail, for his outspoken condemnation of the authorities and their rigorous proceedings toward this people. he was first doomed to perpetual imprisonment. a long and grievous confinement at last broke upshall's health, if it did not, ultimately, prove the cause of his death. the =ship tavern= stood at the head of clark's wharf, or on the southwest corner of north and clark streets, according to present boundaries. it was an ancient brick building, dating as far back as at least. john vyal kept it in . when clark's wharf was built it was the principal one of the town. large ships came directly up to it, so making the tavern a most convenient resort for masters of vessels or their passengers, and associating it with the locality itself. king charles's commissioners lodged at vyal's house, when they undertook the task of bringing down the pride of the rulers of the colony a peg. one of them, sir robert carr, pummeled a constable who attempted to arrest him in this house. he afterward refused to obey a summons to answer for the assault before the magistrates, loftily alleging his majesty's commission as superior to any local mandate whatever. he thus retaliated governor leverett's affront to the commissioners in keeping his hat on his head when their authority to act was being read to the council. but leverett was a man who had served under cromwell, and had no love for the cavaliers or they for him. the commissioners sounded trumpets and made proclamations; but the colony kept on the even tenor of its way, in defiance of the royal mandate, equally regardless of the storm gathering about it, as of the magnitude of the conflict in which it was about to plunge, all unarmed and unprepared. iii. in revolutionary times. such thoroughfares as king street, just before the revolution, were filled with horsemen, donkeys, oxen, and long-tailed trucks, with a sprinkling of one-horse chaises and coaches of the kind seen in hogarth's realistic pictures of london life. to these should be added the chimney-sweeps, wood-sawyers, market-women, soldiers, and sailors, who are now quite as much out of date as the vehicles themselves are. there being no sidewalks, the narrow footway was protected, here and there, sometimes by posts, sometimes by an old cannon set upright at the corners, so that the traveller dismounted from his horse or alighted from coach or chaise at the very threshold. next in the order of antiquity, as well as fame, to the taverns already named, comes the =bunch of grapes= in king, now state street. the plain three-story stone building situated at the upper corner of kilby street stands where the once celebrated tavern did. three gilded clusters of grapes dangled temptingly over the door before the eye of the passer-by. apart from its palate-tickling suggestions, a pleasant aroma of antiquity surrounds this symbol, so dear to all devotees of bacchus from immemorial time. in _measure for measure_ the clown says, "'twas in the bunch of grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not?" and froth answers, "i have so, because it is an open room and good for winter." [illustration: the bunch of grapes] this house goes back to the year , when francis holmes kept it, and perhaps further still, though we do not meet with it under this title before holmes's time. from that time, until after the revolution, it appears to have always been open as a public inn, and, as such, is feelingly referred to by one old traveller as the best punch-house to be found in all boston. when the line came to be drawn between conditional loyalty, and loyalty at any rate, the _bunch of grapes_ became the resort of the high whigs, who made it a sort of political headquarters, in which patriotism only passed current, and it was known as the whig tavern. with military occupation and bayonet rule, still further intensifying public feeling, the line between whig and tory houses was drawn at the threshold. it was then kept by marston. cold welcome awaited the appearance of scarlet regimentals or a tory phiz there; so gentlemen of that side of politics also formed cliques of their own at other houses, in which the talk and the toasts were more to their liking, and where they could abuse the yankee rebels over their port to their heart's content. but, apart from political considerations, one or two incidents have given the _bunch of grapes_ a kind of pre-eminence over all its contemporaries, and, therefore, ought not to be passed over when the house is mentioned. on monday, july , , the first grand lodge of masons in america was organized here by henry price, a boston tailor, who had received authority from lord montague, grand master of england, for the purpose. again, upon the evacuation of boston by the royal troops, this house became the centre for popular demonstrations. first, his excellency, general washington, was handsomely entertained there. some months later, after hearing the declaration read from the balcony of the town-house, the populace, having thus made their appeal to the king of kings, proceeded to pull down from the public buildings the royal arms which had distinguished them, and, gathering them in a heap in front of the tavern, made a bonfire of them, little imagining, we think, that the time would ever come when the act would be looked upon as vandalism on their part. general stark's timely victory at bennington was celebrated with all the more heartiness of enthusiasm in boston because the people had been quaking with fear ever since the fall of ticonderoga sent dismay throughout new england. the affair is accurately described in the following letter, written by a prominent actor, and going to show how such things were done in the times that not only tried men's souls, but would seem also to have put their stomachs to a pretty severe test. the writer says:-- "in consequence of this news we kept it up in high taste. at sundown about one hundred of the first gentlemen of the town, with all the strangers then in boston, met at the _bunch of grapes_, where good liquors and a side-table were provided. in the street were two brass field-pieces with a detachment of colonel craft's regiment. in the balcony of the town-house all the fifes and drums of my regiment were stationed. the ball opened with a discharge of thirteen cannon, and at every toast given three rounds were fired and a flight of rockets sent up. about nine o'clock two barrels of grog were brought out into the street for the people that had collected there. it was all conducted with the greatest propriety, and by ten o'clock every man was at his home." shortly after this general stark himself arrived in town and was right royally entertained here, at that time presenting the trophies now adorning the senate chamber. on his return from france in lafayette was also received at this house with all the honors, on account of having brought the news that france had at last cast her puissant sword into the trembling balance of our revolutionary contest. but the important event with which the _bunch of grapes_ is associated is, not the reception of a long line of illustrious guests, but the organization, by a number of continental officers, of the ohio company, under which the settlement of that great state began in earnest, at marietta. the leading spirit in this first concerted movement of new england toward the great west was general rufus putnam, a cousin of the more distinguished officer of revolutionary fame. taking this house as a sample of the best that the town could afford at the beginning of the century, we should probably find a company of about twenty persons assembled at dinner, who were privileged to indulge in as much familiar chat as they liked. no other formalities were observed than such as good breeding required. two o'clock was the hour at which all the town dined. the guests were called together by the ringing of a bell in the street. they were served with salmon in season, veal, beef, mutton, fowl, ham, vegetables, and pudding, and each one had his pint of madeira set before him. the carving was done at the table in the good old english way, each guest helping himself to what he liked best. five shillings per day was the usual charge, which was certainly not an exorbitant one. in half an hour after the cloth was removed the table was usually deserted. the =british coffee-house= was one of the first inns to take to itself the newly imported title. it stood on the site of the granite building numbered state street, and was, as its name implies, as emphatically the headquarters of the out-and-out loyalists as the _bunch of grapes_, over the way, was of the unconditional whigs. a notable thing about it was the performance there in , probably by amateurs, of otway's "orphan," an event which so outraged public sentiment as to cause the enactment of a law prohibiting the performance of stage plays under severe penalties. perhaps an even more notable occurrence was the formation in this house of the first association in boston taking to itself the distinctive name of a club. the =merchants' club=, as it was called, met here as early as . its membership was not restricted to merchants, as might be inferred from its title, though they were possibly in a majority, but included crown officers, members of the bar, military and naval officers serving on the station, and gentlemen of high social rank of every shade of opinion. no others were eligible to membership. up to a certain time this club, undoubtedly, represented the best culture, the most brilliant wit, and most delightful companionship that could be brought together in all the colonies; but when the political sky grew dark the old harmony was at an end, and a division became inevitable, the whigs going over to the _bunch of grapes_, and thereafter taking to themselves the name of the whig club.[ ] under date of , john adams notes down in his diary this item: "spent the evening at cordis's, in the front room towards the long wharf, where the _merchants' club_ has met these twenty years. it seems there is a schism in that church, a rent in that garment." cordis was then the landlord.[ ] social and business meetings of the bar were also held at the _coffee-house_, at one of which josiah quincy, jr. was admitted. by and by the word "american" was substituted for "british" on the _coffee-house_ sign, and for some time it flourished under its new title of the =american coffee-house=. but before the clash of opinions had brought about the secession just mentioned, the best room in this house held almost nightly assemblages of a group of patriotic men, who were actively consolidating all the elements of opposition into a single force. not inaptly they might be called the old guard of the revolution. the principals were otis, cushing, john adams, pitts, dr. warren, and molyneux. probably no minutes of their proceedings were kept, for the excellent reason that they verged upon, if they did not overstep, the treasonable. his talents, position at the bar, no less than intimate knowledge of the questions which were then so profoundly agitating the public mind, naturally made otis the leader in these conferences, in which the means for counteracting the aggressive measures then being put in force by the ministry formed the leading topic of discussion. his acute and logical mind, mastery of public law, intensity of purpose, together with the keen and biting satire which he knew so well how to call to his aid, procured for otis the distinction of being the best-hated man on the whig side of politics, because he was the one most feared. whether in the house, the court-room, the taverns, or elsewhere, otis led the van of resistance. in military phrase, his policy was the offensive-defensive. he was no respecter of ignorance in high places. once when governor bernard sneeringly interrupted otis to ask him who the authority was whom he was citing, the patriot coldly replied, "he is a very eminent jurist, and none the less so for being unknown to your excellency." it was in the _coffee-house_ that otis, in attempting to pull a tory nose, was set upon and so brutally beaten by a place-man named robinson, and his friends, as to ultimately cause the loss of his reason and final withdrawal from public life. john adams says he was "basely assaulted by a well-dressed banditti, with a commissioner of customs at their head." what they had never been able to compass by fair argument, the tories now succeeded in accomplishing by brute force, since otis was forever disqualified from taking part in the struggle which he had all along foreseen was coming,--and which, indeed, he had done more to bring about than any single man in the colonies. connected with this affair is an anecdote which we think merits a place along with it. it is related by john adams, who was an interested listener. william molyneux had a petition before the legislature which did not succeed to his wishes, and for several evenings he had wearied the company with his complaints of services, losses, sacrifices, etc., always winding up with saying, "that a man who has behaved as i have should be treated as i am is intolerable," with much more to the same effect. otis had said nothing, but the whole club were disgusted and out of patience, when he rose from his seat with the remark, "come, come, will, quit this subject, and let us enjoy ourselves. i also have a list of grievances; will you hear it?" the club expected some fun, so all cried out, "ay! ay! let us hear your list." "well, then, in the first place, i resigned the office of advocate-general, which i held from the crown, which produced me--how much do you think?" "a great deal, no doubt," said molyneux. "shall we say two hundred sterling a year?" "ay, more, i believe," said molyneux. "well, let it be two hundred. that, for ten years, is two thousand. in the next place, i have been obliged to relinquish the greater part of my business at the bar. will you set that at two hundred pounds more?" "oh, i believe it much more than that!" was the answer. "well, let it be two hundred. this, for ten years, makes two thousand. you allow, then, i have lost four thousand pounds sterling?" "ay, and more too," said molyneux. otis went on: "in the next place, i have lost a hundred friends, among whom were men of the first rank, fortune, and power in the province. at what price will you estimate them?" "d--n them!" said molyneux, "at nothing. you are better off without them than with them." a loud laugh from the company greeted this sally. "be it so," said otis. "in the next place, i have made a thousand enemies, among whom are the government of the province and the nation. what do you think of this item?" "that is as it may happen," said molyneux, reflectively. "in the next place, you know i love pleasure, but i have renounced pleasure for ten years. what is that worth?" "no great matter: you have made politics your amusement." a hearty laugh. "in the next place, i have ruined as fine health as nature ever gave to man." "that is melancholy indeed; there is nothing to be said on that point," molyneux replied. "once more," continued otis, holding down his head before molyneux, "look upon this head!" (there was a deep, half-closed scar, in which a man might lay his finger)--"and, what is worse my friends think i have a monstrous crack in my skull." this made all the company look grave, and had the desired effect of making molyneux who was really a good companion, heartily ashamed of his childish complaints. [illustration] another old inn of assured celebrity was the =cromwell's head=, in school street. this was a two-story wooden building of venerable appearance, conspicuously displaying over the footway a grim likeness of the lord protector, it is said much to the disgust of the ultra royalists, who, rather than pass underneath it, habitually took the other side of the way. indeed, some of the hot-headed tories were for serving _cromwell's head_ as that man of might had served their martyr king's. so, when the town came under martial law, mine host brackett, whose family kept the house for half a century or more, had to take down his sign, and conceal it until such time as the "british hirelings" should have made their inglorious exit from the town. [illustration] after braddock's crushing defeat in the west, a young virginian colonel, named george washington, was sent by governor dinwiddie to confer with governor shirley, who was the great war governor of his day, as andrew was of our own, with the difference that shirley then had the general direction of military affairs, from the ohio to the st. lawrence, pretty much in his own hands. colonel washington took up his quarters at brackett's, little imagining, perhaps, that twenty years later he would enter boston at the head of a victorious republican army, after having quartered his troops in governor shirley's splendid mansion. major-general the marquis chastellux, of rochambeau's auxiliary army, also lodged at the _cromwell's head_ when he was in boston in . he met there the renowned paul jones, whose excessive vanity led him to read to the company in the coffee-room some verses composed in his own honor, it is said, by lady craven. from the tavern of the gentry we pass on to the tavern of the mechanics, and of the class which abraham lincoln has forever distinguished by the title of the common people. among such houses the =salutation=, which stood at the junction of salutation with north street, is deserving of a conspicuous place. its vicinity to the shipyards secured for it the custom of the sturdy north end shipwrights, caulkers, gravers, sparmakers, and the like,--a numerous body, who, while patriots to the backbone, were also quite clannish and independent in their feelings and views, and consequently had to be managed with due regard to their class prejudices, as in politics they always went in a body. shrewd politicians, like samuel adams, understood this. governor phips owed his elevation to it. as a body, therefore, these mechanics were extremely formidable, whether at the polls or in carrying out the plans of their leaders. to their meetings the origin of the word _caucus_ is usually referred, the word itself undoubtedly having come into familiar use as a short way of saying caulkers' meetings. the _salutation_ became the point of fusion between leading whig politicians and the shipwrights. more than sixty influential mechanics attended the first meeting, called in , at which dr. warren drew up a code of by-laws. some leading mechanic, however, was always chosen to be the moderator. the "caucus," as it began to be called, continued to meet in this place until after the destruction of the tea, when, for greater secrecy, it became advisable to transfer the sittings to another place, and then the green dragon, in union street, was selected. the _salutation_ had a sign of the sort that is said to tickle the popular fancy for what is quaint or humorous. it represented two citizens, with hands extended, bowing and scraping to each other in the most approved fashion. so the north-enders nicknamed it "the two palaverers," by which name it was most commonly known. this house, also, was a reminiscence of the _salutation_ in newgate street, london, which was the favorite haunt of lamb and coleridge. the =green dragon= will probably outlive all its contemporaries in the popular estimation. in the first place a mural tablet, with a dragon sculptured in relief, has been set in the wall of the building that now stands upon some part of the old tavern site. it is the only one of the old inns to be so distinguished. its sign was the fabled dragon, in hammered metal, projecting out above the door, and was probably the counterpart of the _green dragon_ in bishopsgate street, london. [illustration: the green dragon tavern] as a public house this one goes back to , when richard pullen kept it; and we also find it noticed, in , as a place for entering horses to be run for a piece of plate of the value of twenty-five pounds. in passing, we may as well mention the fact that revere beach was the favorite race-ground of that day. the house was well situated for intercepting travel to and from the northern counties. [illustration: the green dragon.] to resume the historical connection between the _salutation_ and _green dragon_, its worthy successor, it appears that dr. warren continued to be the commanding figure after the change of location; and, if he was not already the popular idol, he certainly came little short of it, for everything pointed to him as the coming leader whom the exigency should raise up. samuel adams was popular in a different way. he was cool, far-sighted, and persistent, but he certainly lacked the magnetic quality. warren was much younger, far more impetuous and aggressive,--in short, he possessed all the more brilliant qualities for leadership which adams lacked. moreover, he was a fluent and effective speaker, of graceful person, handsome, affable, with frank and winning manners, all of which added no little to his popularity. adams inspired respect, warren confidence. as adams himself said, he belonged to the "cabinet," while warren's whole make-up as clearly marked him for the field. in all the local events preliminary to our revolutionary struggle, this _green dragon_ section or junto constituted an active and positive force. it represented the muscle of the revolution. every member was sworn to secrecy, and of them all one only proved recreant to his oath. these were the men who gave the alarm on the eve of the battle of lexington, who spirited away cannon under general gage's nose, and who in so many instances gallantly fought in the ranks of the republican army. wanting a man whom he could fully trust, warren early singled out paul revere for the most important services. he found him as true as steel. a peculiar kind of friendship seems to have sprung up between the two, owing, perhaps, to the same daring spirit common to both. so when warren sent word to revere that he must instantly ride to lexington or all would be lost, he knew that, if it lay in the power of man to do it, the thing would be done. besides the more noted of the tavern clubs there were numerous private coteries, some exclusively composed of politicians, others more resembling our modern debating societies than anything else. these clubs usually met at the houses of the members themselves, so exerting a silent influence on the body politic. the non-importation agreement originated at a private club in . but all were not on the patriot side. the crown had equally zealous supporters, who met and talked the situation over without any of the secrecy which prudence counselled the other side to use in regard to their proceedings. some associations endeavored to hold the balance between the factions by standing neutral. they deprecated the encroachments of the mother-country, but favored passive obedience. dryden has described them: "not whigs nor tories they, nor this nor that, nor birds nor beasts, but just a kind of bat,-- a twilight animal, true to neither cause, with tory wings but whiggish teeth and claws." it should be mentioned that gridley, the father of the boston bar, undertook, in , to organize a law club, with the purpose of making head against otis, thatcher, and auchmuty. john adams and fitch were gridley's best men. they met first at ballard's, and subsequently at each other's chambers; their "sodality," as they called it, being for professional study and advancement. gridley, it appears, was a little jealous of his old pupil, otis, who had beaten him in the famous argument on the writs of assistance. mention is also made of a club of which daniel leonard (_massachusettensis_), john lowell, elisha hutchinson, frank dana, and josiah quincy were members. similar clubs also existed in most of the principal towns in new england. the =sons of liberty= adopted the name given by colonel barré to the enemies of passive obedience in america. they met in the counting-room of chase and speakman's distillery, near liberty tree.[ ] mackintosh, the man who led the mob in the stamp act riots, is doubtless the same person who assisted in throwing the tea overboard. we hear no more of him after this. the "sons" were an eminently democratic organization, as few except mechanics were members. among them were men like avery, crafts, and edes the printer. all attained more or less prominence. edes continued to print the _boston gazette_ long after the revolution. during bernard's administration he was offered the whole of the government printing, if he would stop his opposition to the measures of the crown. he refused the bribe, and his paper was the only one printed in america without a stamp, in direct violation of an act of parliament. the "sons" pursued their measures with such vigor as to create much alarm among the loyalists, on whom the stamp act riots had made a lasting impression. samuel adams is thought to have influenced their proceedings more than any other of the leaders. it was by no means a league of ascetics, who had resolved to mortify the flesh, as punch and tobacco were liberally used to stimulate the deliberations. [illustration: the liberty tree] no important political association outlived the beginning of hostilities. all the leaders were engaged in the military or civil service on one or the other side. of the circle that met at the _merchants'_ three were members of the philadelphia congress of , one was president of the provincial congress of massachusetts, the career of two was closed by death, and that of otis by insanity. iv. signboard humor. another tavern sign, though of later date, was that of the =good woman=, at the north end. this _good woman_ was painted without a head. [illustration: the good woman] still another board had painted on it a bird, a tree, a ship, and a foaming can, with the legend,-- "this is the bird that never flew, this is the tree which never grew, this is the ship which never sails, this is the can which never fails." the =dog and pot=, =turk's head=, =tun and bacchus=, were also old and favorite emblems. some of the houses which swung these signs were very quaint specimens of our early architecture. so, also, the signs themselves were not unfrequently the work of good artists. smibert or copley may have painted some of them. west once offered five hundred dollars for a red lion he had painted for a tavern sign. [illustration: dog and pot.] not a few boards displayed a good deal of ingenuity and mother-wit, which was not without its effect, especially upon thirsty jack, who could hardly be expected to resist such an appeal as this one of the _ship in distress_: "with sorrows i am compass'd round; pray lend a hand, my ship's aground." we hear of another signboard hanging out at the extreme south end of the town, on which was depicted a globe with a man breaking through the crust, like a chicken from its shell. the man's nakedness was supposed to betoken extreme poverty. so much for the sign itself. the story goes that early one morning a continental regiment was halted in front of the tavern, after having just made a forced march from providence. the men were broken down with fatigue, bespattered with mud, famishing from hunger. one of these veterans doubtless echoed the sentiments of all the rest when he shouted out to the man on the sign, "'list, darn ye! 'list, and you'll get through this world fast enough!" [illustration: "how shall i get through this world?"] in time of war the taverns were favorite recruiting rendezvous. those at the waterside were conveniently situated for picking up men from among the idlers who frequented the tap-rooms. under date of , when we were at war with france, bills were posted in the town giving notice to all concerned that, "all gentlemen sailors and others, who are minded to go on a cruise off of cape breton, on board the brigantine _hawk_, captain philip bass commander, mounting fourteen carriage, and twenty swivel guns, going in consort with the brigantine _ranger_, captain edward fryer commander, of the like force, to intercept the east india, south sea, and other ships bound to cape breton, let them repair to the widow gray's at the =crown tavern=, at the head of clark's wharf, to go with captain bass, or to the =vernon's head=, richard smith's, in king street, to go in the _ranger_." "gentlemen sailors" is a novel sea-term that must have tickled an old salt's fancy amazingly. the following notice, given at the same date in the most public manner, is now curious reading. "to be sold, a likely negro or mulatto boy, about eleven years of age." this was in boston. the revolution wrought swift and significant change in many of the old, favorite signboards. though the idea remained the same, their symbolism was now put to a different use. down came the king's and up went the people's arms. the crowns and sceptres, the lions and unicorns, furnished fuel for patriotic bonfires or were painted out forever. with them disappeared the last tokens of the monarchy. the crown was knocked into a cocked-hat, the sceptre fell at the unsheathing of the sword. the heads of washington and hancock, putnam and lee, jones and hopkins, now fired the martial heart instead of vernon, hawk, or wolfe. allegiance to old and cherished traditions was swept away as ruthlessly as if it were in truth but the reflection of that loyalty which the colonists had now thrown off forever. they had accepted the maxim, that, when a subject draws his sword against his king, he should throw away the scabbard. such acts are not to be referred to the fickleness of popular favor which horace walpole has moralized upon, or which the poet satirizes in the lines,-- "vernon, the butcher cumberland, wolfe, hawke, prince ferdinand, granby, burgoyne, keppell, howe, evil and good have had their tithe of talk, and filled their sign-post then like wellesly now." rather should we credit it to that genuine and impassioned outburst of patriotic feeling which, having turned royalty out of doors, indignantly tossed its worthless trappings into the street after it. not a single specimen of the old-time hostelries now remains in boston. all is changed. the demon demolition is everywhere. does not this very want of permanence suggest, with much force, the need of perpetuating a noted house or site by some appropriate memorial? it is true that a beginning has been made in this direction, but much more remains to be done. in this way, a great deal of curious and valuable information may be picked up in the streets, as all who run may read. it has been noticed that very few pass by such memorials without stopping to read the inscriptions. certainly, no more popular method of teaching history could well be devised. this being done, on a liberal scale, the city would still hold its antique flavor through the records everywhere displayed on the walls of its buildings, and we should have a home application of the couplet: "oh, but a wit can study in the streets, and raise his mind above the mob he meets." appendix. boston taverns to the year . the =anchor=, or =blue anchor=. robert turner, vintner, came into possession of the estate (richard fairbanks's) in , died in , and was succeeded in the business by his son john, who continued it till his own death in ; turner's widow married george monck, or monk, who kept the _anchor_ until his decease in ; his widow carried on the business till , when the estate probably ceased to be a tavern. the house was destroyed in the great fire of . the old and new globe buildings stand on the site. [see communication of william r. bagnall in _boston daily globe_ of april , .] committees of the general court used to meet here. (hutchinson coll., , .) =admiral vernon=, or =vernon's head=, corner of state street and merchants' row. in , peter faneuil's warehouse was opposite. richard smith kept it in , mary bean in ; its sign was a portrait of the admiral. =american coffee-house.= see _british coffee-house_. =black horse=, in prince street, formerly black horse lane, so named from the tavern as early as . =brazen-head.= in old cornhill. though not a tavern, memorable as the place where the great fire of originated. =bull=, lower end of summer street, north side; demolished to make room "for the new street from sea to broad," formerly flounder lane, now atlantic avenue. it was then a very old building. bull's wharf and lane named for it. =british coffee-house=, mentioned in . john ballard kept it. cord cordis, in . =bunch of grapes.= kept by francis holmes, ; william coffin, - ; edward lutwych, ; joshua barker, ; william wetherhead, ; rebecca coffin, ; joseph ingersoll, - . [in ingersoll also had a wine-cellar next door.] captain john marston was landlord - ; william foster, ; colonel dudley colman, ; james vila, , in which year he removed to concert hall; thomas lobdell, . trinity church was organized in this house. it was often described as being at the head of long wharf. =castle tavern=, afterward the =george tavern=. northeast by wing's lane (elm street), front or southeast by dock square. for an account of hudson's marital troubles, see winthrop's _new england_, ii. . another house of the same name is mentioned in and . a still earlier name was the "blew bell," . it was in mackerel lane (kilby street), corner of liberty square. =cole's inn.= see the referred-to deed in _proc. am. ant. soc._, vii. p. . for the episode of lord leigh consult _old landmarks of boston_, p. . =cromwell's head=, by anthony brackett, ; by his widow, - ; later by joshua brackett. a two-story wooden house advertised to be sold, . =crown coffee-house.= first house on long wharf. thomas selby kept it - ; widow anna swords, ; then the property of governor belcher; belcher sold to richard smith, innholder, who in sold to robert sherlock. =crown tavern.= widow day's, head of clark's wharf; rendezvous for privateersmen in . [illustration: the crown coffee house (site of fidelity trust building)] =cross tavern=, corner of cross and ann streets, ; samuel mattocks advertises, , two young bears "very tame" for sale at the _sign of the cross_. cross street takes its name from the tavern. perhaps the same as the =red cross=, in ann street, mentioned in , and then kept by john osborn. men who had enlisted for the canada expedition were ordered to report there. =dog and pot=, at the head of bartlett's wharf in ann (north) street, or, as then described, fish street. bartlett's wharf was in next northeast of lee's shipyard. =concert hall= was not at first a public house, but was built for, and mostly used as, a place for giving musical entertainments, balls, parties, etc., though refreshments were probably served in it by the lessee. a "concert of musick" was advertised to be given there as early as . (see _landmarks of boston_.) thomas turner had a dancing and fencing academy there in . as has been mentioned, james vila took charge of concert hall in . the old hall, which formed the second story, was high enough to be divided into two stories when the building was altered by later owners. it was of brick, and had two ornamental scrolls on the front, which were removed when the alterations were made. =great britain coffee-house=, ann street, . the house of mr. daniel stevens, ann street, near the drawbridge. there was another house of the same name in queen (court) street, near the exchange, in , where "superfine bohea, and green tea, chocolate, coffee-powder, etc.," were advertised. =george=, or =st. george, tavern=, on the neck, near roxbury line. (see _landmarks of boston_.) noted as early as . simon rogers kept it - . in edward bardin took it and changed the name to the =king's arms=. thomas brackett was landlord in . samuel mears, later. during the siege of the tavern was burnt by the british, as it covered our advanced line. it was known at that time by its old name of the _george_. =golden ball.= loring's tavern, merchants' row, corner of corn court, . kept by mrs. loring in . =general wolfe=, town dock, north side of faneuil hall, . elizabeth coleman offers for sale utensils of brew-house, etc., . =green dragon=, also _freemason's arms_. by richard pullin, ; by mr. pattoun, ; joseph kilder, , who came from the =three cranes=, charlestown. john cary was licensed to keep it in ; benjamin burdick, , when it became the place of meeting of the revolutionary club. st. andrews lodge of freemasons bought the building before the revolution, and continued to own it for more than a century. see p. . =hancock house=, corn court; sign has governor hancock's portrait,--a wretched daub; said to have been the house in which louis philippe lodged during his short stay in boston. =hat and helmet=, by daniel jones; less than a quarter of a mile south of the town-house. =indian queen=, =blue bell=, and ---- stood on the site of the parker block, washington street, formerly marlborough street. nathaniel bishop kept it in . after stages begun running into the country, this house, then kept by zadock pomeroy, was a regular starting-place for the concord, groton, and leominster stages. it was succeeded by the =washington coffee-house=. the =indian queen=, in bromfield street, was another noted stage-house, though not of so early date. isaac trask, nabby, his widow, simeon boyden, and preston shepard kept it. the =bromfield house= succeeded it, on the methodist book concern site. [illustration: _daniel jones of boston_, hereby informs his customers and others that he has opened a tavern in newbury-street, at the sign of the hat and helmet, which is less than a quarter of a mile south of the town-house: where gentlemen travellers and others will be kind- ly entertained, and good care taken of their horses. he hath accommodation for private and fire- clubs, and will engage to furnish with good liquors and attendance: coffee to be had when called for, &c. the house to be supplied with the news-papers for the amusement of his customers. n. b. knapp'd and plain bever and beveret hats, in the newest taste, made and sold by said jones. boston news-letter, feb. , ] [illustration: _stages._ the public are informed, that the of- fice of the new-york mail, and old line stages, is re- oved from state-street, to najor king's tavern near the market, which they will leave at o'clock, a. m. every day (sundays excepted). also, albany stage office is kept at the same place. the stage will leave it every monday and thursday at o'clock, a m. the apartment in state-street, lately occupied for the above purpose, is to be let. apply to major king. december columbian centinel. dec. , ] [illustration: _new-york_ and _providence mail_ stages, leave major hatches, royal ex- change coffee house, in state-street, every morning at o'clock, arrive at providence at the same day; leave providence at o'clock, for new-york, tuesdays, thurs- days and saturdays. stage book kept at the bar for the en- trance of the names. expresses forwarded to any part of the continent at the shortest notice, on reasonable terms; horses kept ready for that purpose only. all favors gratefully ac- knowledged by the public's most humble servant. _jan ._ stephen fuller, jun. columbian centinel, jan. , ] [illustration: julien house.] =julien's restorator=, corner of congress and milk streets. one of the most ancient buildings in boston, when taken down in , it having escaped the great fire of . it stood in a grass-plot, fenced in from the street. it was a private dwelling until . then jean baptiste julien opened in it the first public eating-house to be established in boston, with the distinctive title of "restorator,"--a crude attempt to turn the french word _restaurant_ into english. before this time such places had always been called cook-shops. julien was a frenchman, who, like many of his countrymen, took refuge in america during the reign of terror. his soups soon became famous among the gourmands of the town, while the novelty of his _cuisine_ attracted custom. he was familiarly nicknamed the "prince of soups." at julien's death, in , his widow succeeded him in the business, she carrying it on successfully for ten years. the following lines were addressed to her successor, frederick rouillard: julien's restorator. i knew by the glow that so rosily shone upon frederick's cheeks, that he lived on good cheer; and i said, "if there's steaks to be had in the town, the man who loves venison should look for them here." 'twas two; and the dinners were smoking around, the cits hastened home at the savory smell, and so still was the street that i heard not a sound but the barkeeper ringing the _coffee-house_ bell. "and here in the cosy _old club_,"[ ] i exclaimed, "with a steak that was tender, and frederick's best wine, while under my platter a spirit-blaze flamed, how long could i sit, and how well could i dine! "by the side of my venison a tumbler of beer or a bottle of sherry how pleasant to see, and to know that i dined on the best of the deer, that never was _dearer_ to any than me!" =king's head=, by scarlet's wharf (northwest corner fleet and north streets); burnt , and rebuilt. fleet street was formerly scarlet's wharf lane. kept by james davenport, , and probably, also, by his widow. "a maiden _dwarf_, fifty-two years old," and only twenty-two inches high, was "to be seen at widow bignall's," next door to the =king's head=, in august, . the old _king's head_, in chancery lane, london, was the rendezvous of titus oates' party. cowley the poet was born in it. =lamb.= the sign is mentioned as early as . colonel doty kept it in . the first stage-coach to providence put up at this house. the adams house is on the same site, named for laban adams, who had kept the _lamb_. =lion=, formerly =grand turk=. in newbury, now washington, street. (see _landmarks of boston_.) kept by israel hatch in . =light-house and anchor=, at the north end, in . robert whatley then kept it. a light-house tavern is noted in king street, opposite the town-house, . =orange tree=, head of hanover street, . jonathan wardwell kept it in ; mrs. wardwell in ; still a tavern in . wardwell set up here the first hackney-coach stand in boston. =philadelphia=, or =north end coffee-house=, opposite the head of hancock's wharf. kept by david porter, father of the old commodore and grandfather of the present admiral. "lodges, clubs, societies, etc., may be provided with dinners and suppers,--small and retired rooms for small company,--oyster suppers in the nicest manner." formerly kept by bennet. occupied, , by robert wyre, distiller. =punch bowl=, dock square, kept by mrs. baker, . =queen's head.= in joshua pierce, innholder, is allowed to remove his license from the sign of the =logwood tree=, in lynn street, to the _queen's head_, near scarlet's wharf, where anthony young last dwelt. =roebuck=, north side of town dock (north market street). a house of bad repute, in which henry phillips killed gaspard dennegri, and was hanged for it in . roebuck passage, the alley-way through to ann street, took its name from the tavern. it is now included in the extension northward of merchants' row. =rose and crown=, near the fortification at boston neck. to be let january , : "enquire of gillam phillips." this may be the house represented on bonner's map of . =red lion=, north street, corner of richmond. noticed as early as and as late as . john buchanan, baker, kept near it in . =royal exchange=, state street, corner exchange. an antique two-story brick building. noticed under this name, , then kept by benjamin johns; in , and also, in , by luke vardy. stone kept it in . mrs. mary clapham boarded many british officers, and had several pretty daughters, one of whom eloped with an officer. the site of the boston massacre has been marked by a bronze tablet placed on the wall of the merchants' bank, opposite a wheel-line arrangement of the paving, denoting where the first blood of the revolution was shed. it was the custom to exhibit transparencies on every anniversary of the massacre from the front of this house. the first stage-coach ever run on the road from boston to new york was started september , , by nicholas brown, from this house, "to go once in every fourteen days." israel hatch kept it in , as a regular stopping-place for the providence stages, of which he was proprietor; but upon the completion of the turnpike he removed to attleborough. =salutation=, north street, corner salutation. see p. . noticed in ; samuel green kept it in ; william campbell, who died suddenly in a fit, january , . =seven stars=, in summer street, gave the name of seven star lane to that street. said to have stood on part of the old trinity church lot. "near the haymarket" , then kept by jonathan patten. [illustration: the sun tavern (dock square)] =shakespeare=, water street, second house below devonshire; kept by mrs. baker. =ship=, corner clark and north streets; kept by john vyall, - ; frequently called noah's ark. =ship in distress=, vicinity of north square. =star=, in hanover street, corner link alley, . link alley was the name given to that part of union street west of hanover. stephen north kept it in - . it belonged to lieutenant-governor stoughton. =state's arms=, also =king's arms=. colonel henry shrimpton bequeathed it to his daughter sarah, . hugh gunnison sold it to shrimpton in , the tavern being then the =king's arms=. =sun.= this seems to have been a favorite emblem, as there were several houses of the name. the _sun_ in batterymarch street was the residence of benjamin hallowell, a loyalist, before it became a tavern. the estate was confiscated. general henry dearborn occupied it at one time. the sign bore a gilded sun, with rays, with this inscription: "the best ale and porter under the sun." upon the conversion of the inn into a store the sign of the sun was transferred to a house in _moon_ street. the =sun= in dock square, corner of corn court, was earlier, going back to , kept by samuel mears, who was "lately deceased" in . it was finally turned into a grocery store, kept first by george murdock, and then by his successor, wellington. a third house of this name was in cornhill (washington street), in . captain james day kept it. there was still another =sun=, near boston stone, kept by joseph jackson in . =swan=, in fish, now north street, "by scarlett's wharf," . there was another at the south end, "nearly opposite arnold welles'," in . =three horse-shoes=, "in the street leading up to the common," probably tremont street. kept by mrs. glover, who died about . william clears kept it in . =white horse=, a few rods south of the _lamb_. it had a white horse painted on the signboard. kept by joseph morton, , who was still landlord in . israel hatch, the ubiquitous, took it in , on his arrival from attleborough. his announcement is unique. (see _landmarks of boston_, pp. , .) [illustration: jolley allen, advertises all his good old friends, customers and others, that he has again opened shop, opposite to the three doves in marlborough-street, boston: and has for sale, at the lowest prices, the fol- lowing articles; muscovado sugars of various sorts and prices, single, middle and double refined english loaf sugars, lately imported, pepper, bohea tea, coffee, spices of all sorts, indigo, raisins, currants, starch, ginger, copperas, allum, pipes of all sorts, best durham flour of mustard, and most other kinds of groceries too many to enumerate, which he will sell from the largest to the smallest quantities.--likewise a very large and compleat assortment of liver- pool and staffordshire ware, which he will engage to sell by the crate, or single piece, as low as any store in town.--playing cards, wool cards, seive bottoms, a few pieces of oznabrigs and ticklenburgs, n{o}. and n{o}. . pins, a few pieces of sooses, damasks, sterrets, loretto's, burdetts, brunswicks, mozeens, for summer waistcoats, &c. &c. &c. also, at said allen's may be had, genteel boarding and lodging for six or eight persons if should be wanted, for a longer or shorter season, likewise good stabling for ten horses and car- riages. n. b. if any person inclines to hire the above stable, and place for carriages, they may have a lease of the same for years or less time from the said allen, and if wanted, on the same premises can be spared, room for forty or fifty horses and carriages: it is as good a place for horse and chaise letting as any in boston. boston news-letter, may , ] cole's inn the bakers' arms the golden ball tavern by walter k. watkins and the hancock tavern by e. w. mcglenen vi. samuel cole's inn. samuel cole came to boston in the fleet with governor winthrop, and he with his wife ann were the fortieth and forty-first on the list of original members of the first church. he requested to become a freeman october , , and was sworn may , . he was the ninth to sign the roll of the ancient and honorable artillery company in and in the same year was disarmed for his religious views. in he contributed to the maintenance of a free school and in to the building of the town house. in he was one of those chosen to receive monies for harvard college. in he opened the first ordinary, or inn. it was situated on washington street, nearly opposite the head of water street. here, in , sir henry vane, the governor, entertained miantonomo and two of canonicus's sons, with other chiefs. while the four sachems dined at the governor's house, which stood near the entrance to pemberton square, the chiefs, some twenty in all, dined at _cole's inn_. at this time a treaty of peace was concluded here between the english and the narragansetts. in , in the month of june, there sailed into boston harbor the ship _hector_, from london, with the rev. john davenport and two london merchants, theophilus eaton and edward hopkins, his son-in-law, two future governors of connecticut. on the same vessel was a young man, a ward of king charles i., james, lord ley, a son of the earl of marlborough (who had just died). he was also to hold high positions in the future and attain fame as a mathematician and navigator. the earl of marlborough, while in boston, was at _cole's inn_, and while he was here was of sober carriage and observant of the country which he came to view. he consorted frequently with sir henry vane, visiting with him maverick, at noddle's island, and returning to england with vane in august, . his estate in england was a small one in teffont evias, or ewyas, wilts, near hinton station, and in the church there may still be seen the tombs of the leys. he also had a reversion to lands in heywood, wilts. in he compounded with parliament for his lands and giving bond was allowed to depart from england to the plantations in america. on the restoration of charles ii. in , the earl returned to england and in the next year was assisted by the king to fit out an expedition to the west indies. in he commanded "that huge ship," the _old james_, and in the great victorious sea fight of june with the dutch was slain, with rear admiral sansum, lords portland, muskerry, and others. he died without issue and the title went to his uncle, in whom the title became extinct, to be revived later in the more celebrated duke, of the churchill family. it was shortly after the earl's departure that cole was disarmed for his sympathy for his neighbor on the south, mrs. ann hutchinson, and he was also fined at the same time for disorders at his house. in the following spring he was given permission to sell his house, to which he had just built an addition, and he disposed of it to capt. robert sedgwick in february, . cole then removed to a house erroneously noted by some as the first inn, situated next his son-in-law, edmund grosse, near the shore on north street. this he sold in to george halsall and bought other land of valentine hill. [illustration: the bakers' arms] vii. the bakers' arms. predecessor of the green dragon. thomas hawkins, biscuit baker, and a brother of james hawkins, bricklayer, was born in england in . he was a proprietor in boston in ; his wife hannah was admitted to the church there in , and that year his son abraham, born in , was baptized. his home lot was on the west side of washington street, the second north of court street. he also had one quarter of an acre near the mill cove, and a house bought in from john trotman. in james johnson, glover, sold three quarters of an acre of marsh and upland, bounded on the north and east by the mill cove, to hawkins. the latter was living by the mill cove by this time in a house built in , and beside keeping his bake house he kept a cook shop, and also entertained with refreshments his customers by serving beer. a mortgage of the property, in , to simon lynde discloses, besides the dwelling and bake house, a stable, brew house, outhouses, and three garden plots on the upland. in hawkins was furnished £ by the rev. thomas thacher to cancel this mortgage. the property extended from the mill pond to hanover street, and was bounded north by union street, and was feet by feet--about two thirds of an acre in area. thacher had married margaret, widow of jacob sheafe and daughter of henry webb, a wealthy merchant. mrs. sheafe had a daughter, mehitabel, who married her cousin, sampson sheafe. mr. thacher assigned the mortgage to sampson sheafe, and on october, , the time of payment having expired, sheafe obtained judgment for possession of the property, which had become known as the "bakers' arms," which hawkins had kept since as a house of entertainment. hawkins had married a second wife, and in january, , rebecca hawkins deeded her rights in the property to sheafe. may, , hawkins petitioned the general court, and complained that he had been turned out of doors and his household property seized by sheafe; that his houses and land were worth £ , and that sheafe had only advanced £ . he asked for an appraisement, and the prayer of the petitioner was allowed. in hawkins sued sheafe in the county court for selling some brewing utensils, a pump, sign, ladder, cooler and mash fat (wooden vessel containing eight bushels) taken from the brew house. he also objected to items in sheafe's account against him, such as "goodman drury's shingling the house and goodman cooper whitening it." at this time we find two dwelling houses on the lot. the easterly house sheafe sold in may, , to john howlet, and this became known as the star tavern. on april, , sampson sheafe sold to william stoughton the west portion of the hawkins property. in mrs. hawkins petitioned the general court in the matter, and also the town to sell wine and strong water, on account of the weak condition of her husband and his necessity. june, , the general court allowed her eleven pounds in clear of all claims and incumbrances. hawkins having died, she had married, june, , john stebbins, a baker. stebbins died december, , aged , and the widow rebecca stebbins was licensed as an innkeeper in . in the widow stebbins, then years old, testified as to her husband thomas hawkins having the south-east corner or sea end of half a warehouse at the draw bridge foot, which he purchased from joshua scotto and which hawkins sold in to edward tyng. that hawkins had used it for the landing and housing of corn for his trade as a baker. that he had bought the sea end for the convenience of vessels to land. it is probable the portion sold to stoughton had but a frontage of two hundred and four feet on union street. sheafe had torn down part of the building and made repairs, and had as tenant of the "bakers' arms" nicholas wilmot. wilmot came to boston about . in he was allowed by the town to sell beer and give entertainment, and in he was licensed as an innholder. by his wife mary he had elizabeth, who married ( ) caleb rawlins, an innkeeper, who died in , and ( ) richard newland; abigail, who married abraham adams, an innkeeper; hannah, who married nathaniel adams of charlestown, blockmaker; mary, who married john alger; and ann, the youngest, who married joseph allen. there were also two sons, samuel and john wilmot. nicholas wilmot died in , and his widow in a very short time married abraham smith, to assist in carrying on the tavern. the tavern, even at this time, was of some size, and additions had perhaps been built by stoughton. the rooms were designated by names, as in the taverns of old england. in the chamber called the "cross keys" met the scots charitable society, a benefit society for the residents of scottish birth and sojourners from scotland, two of the officers keeping each a key of the money box. the most noted of the chambers was that of the "green dragon," which at about this time gave the name of "green dragon" to the tavern. there were also the "anchor," the "castle," the "sun," and the "rose" chambers, which were also the names of other taverns in the town at that period. one cold december night in , just after midnight, a fire occurred in the "green dragon," and it was burnt to the ground and very little of its contents saved. snow on the houses in the vicinity was the means of preventing the spread of the flames, with the fact that there was no wind at the time. within a year or two the tavern was rebuilt by stoughton and again occupied by abraham smith, who died in , leaving an estate of £ : : . his widow, mary smith, died shortly after her husband. in her will she freed her negro women sue and maria, and the deeds of manumission are recorded in the suffolk deeds. viii. the golden ball tavern. in the manuscript collections of the bostonian society is a plan showing the earliest owners of the land bordering on the corn market. on the site now the south corner of faneuil hall square and merchants' row is noted the possession of edward tyng. another manuscript of the society, equally unique, is an apprentice indenture of robert orchard in . in the account of orchard, printed in the _publications of the society_, vol. iv, is given the continued history of tyng's land after it came into the possession of theodore atkinson. in the history of the sign of the _golden ball tavern_ we continue the story of the same plot of land. originally owned by edward tyng, and later by theodore atkinson, and then by the purchase of the property by henry deering, who married the widow of atkinson's son theodore. all this was told in the orchard article. it was about that henry deering erected on his land on the north side of a passage leading from merchants' row, on its west side, a building which was soon occupied as a tavern. samuel tyley, who had kept the _star_ in , the _green dragon_ in , and later the _salutation_ at the north end, left this last tavern in to take mr. deering's house in merchants' row, the _golden ball_. [illustration: sign of the bunch of grapes now in the masonic temple] [illustration: sign of the golden ball now in the possession of the bostonian society] henry deering died in , and was buried with his wife on the same day. he had been a man greatly interested in public affairs. in he had proposed the erection of a building for the custody of the town's records; at the same time he proposed a wharf at the foot of the street, now state street, then extending only as far as merchants' row. this was soon built as "boston pier" or "long wharf." he also presented a memorial for the "preventing disolation by fire" in the town. in the division of deering's estate in the dwelling house in the occupation of samuel tyley, known by the name of the _golden ball_, with privilege in the passage on the south and in the well, was given his daughter mary, the wife of william wilson. mrs. wilson, in her will drawn up in , then a widow, devised the house to her namesake and niece, mary, daughter of her brother, capt. henry deering. at the time of mrs. wilson's death in her niece was the wife of john gooch, whom she married in . samuel tyley died in , while still the landlord of the _golden ball_. the next landlord of whom we have knowledge was william patten, who had taken the _green dragon_ in . in he was host at the _golden ball_, where he stayed till , when he took the inn on west street, opposite the schoolhouse, and next to the estate later known as the _washington gardens_. he was succeeded by humphrey scarlett, who died january , - , aged forty-six, and is buried on copp's hill with his first wife mehitable (pierce) scarlett. he married as a second wife mary wentworth. by the first wife he had a daughter mary (b. ), who married jedediah lincoln, jr., and by the second wife a son named humphrey. when the son was a year old, in , two negro servants of scarlett, by name yaw and caesar, were indicted for attempting to poison the family one morning at breakfast, by putting ratsbane or arsenic in the chocolate. four months after scarlett's death his widow married william ireland. richard gridley, born in boston in , was apprenticed to theodore atkinson, merchant, and later became a gauger. in he kept a tavern on common street, now tremont street. here by order of the general court he entertained four indians, chiefs of the pigwacket tribe, at an expense of £ "for drinks, tobacco, victuals, and dressing." five pounds of this was for extra trouble. the committee thought the charges extravagant and cut him down to £ for their entertainment from june to july . in he took the _golden ball_. his fame in later years, at louisburg and elsewhere, as an engineer and artillery officer is well known. gridley was followed as landlord in by increase blake. he was born in dorchester in and married anne, daughter of edward and susanna (harrison) gray. her parents are noted in boston history for their ownership of the rope-walks at fort hill. blake, a tinplate worker, held the office of sealer of weights and measures, and in leased a shop of the town at the head of the town dock. he later lived near battery march, and was burned out in the fire of . in there was born in salem john marston. he married in hannah welland, and by her had three daughters. in , at the first siege of louisburg, he was a first lieutenant in the fifth company, commanded by capt. charles king, in colonel jeremiah moulton's regiment. his wife having died, he married her sister, mrs. elizabeth (welland) blake. his second wife died, and he married in elizabeth greenwood. he was landlord at the _golden ball_ as early as . in he purchased a house on the southwest corner of hanover and cross streets, and later other property on copp's hill. he is said to have been a member of the "boston tea party." during the revolution he was known as "captain" marston, and attended to military matters in boston, supplying muskets to the townspeople as a committeeman of the town. he continued to keep a house of entertainment and went to the _bunch of grapes_ in . there he was cautioned in for allowing gaming in his house, such as playing backgammon. he died in august, , while keeping the _bunch of grapes_ on king, now state street, and there he was succeeded by his widow in retailing liquors. he left an estate valued at £ . benjamin loring, born in hingham in , married sarah smith in boston in . during the revolution he kept the _golden ball_. he died in the spring of , and his widow succeeded him and kept the tavern till her death in . from the inventory of her estate it appears that the house consisted, on the ground floor, of a large front room and small front room, the bar and kitchen, and closets in the entry. a front and a back chamber, front upper chamber, and another upper chamber and garret completed the list of rooms. on the shelves of the bar rested large and small china bowls for punch, decanters for wine, tumblers, wine glasses, and case bottles. there also was found a small sieve and lemon squeezer, with a bible, psalm, and prayer books. on the wall of the front chamber hung an old highland sword. the cash on hand at the widow's death consisted of english shillings, new england shillings, english sixpences, a french crown, a piece of spanish money, half a guinea, and bank notes to the value of £ : . in one of the chambers was continental paper money, of no appraised value. benjamin loring, at his death, left his share of one half a house in hingham to be improved for his wife during her life, then to his sisters, abigail and elizabeth, and ultimately to go to benjamin, the son of his brother joseph loring of hingham. the younger benjamin became a citizen of boston, a captain of the "ancients," and a colonel in the militia. he started in business as a bookbinder and later was a stationer and a manufacturer of blank books, leaving quite a fortune at his death in . his portrait is displayed in the armory of the artillery company. a portrait of the elder loring (the landlord of the _golden ball_) shows him with a comely face and wearing a tie-wig. the columbian _centinel_ of december , , had the following advertisement: for sale, if applied for immediately, the noted tavern in the street leading from the market to state street known by the name of the golden ball. it has been improved as a tavern for a number of years, and is an excellent stand for a store. inquire of ebenezer storer, in sudbury street. mr. storer acted as the agent of mary, wife of the rev. benjamin gerrish gray, of windsor, n. s., who was the heiress of mary gooch, who resided at marshfield, mass., at the time of her death. mr. gray was a son of joseph gray of boston and halifax, n. s., a loyalist. mary, the heiress, was a daughter of nathaniel ray thomas, a loyalist of marshfield, who had married sally deering, a sister of mary gooch of marshfield. the property was sold by mrs. gray, june , , to james tisdale, a merchant, who bought also adjoining lots. it was at this time that the _golden ball_ disappeared from merchants' row, where it had hung as a landmark for about a century. tisdale soon sold his lots to joseph blake, a merchant, who erected warehouses on the site. there was still an attraction in the _golden ball_, however, and in we find it swinging in wing's lane, now elm street, for nathan winship. he was the son of jonathan, and born in cambridge. in he was living in roxbury. he died in , leaving a daughter lucy. he had parted with the _golden ball_ long before his death. in there was erected in south boston a building by one garrett murphy. it stood on fourth street, between dorchester avenue and a street, and here he displayed the _golden ball_ for five years, as his hotel sign. just a century ago, in , for want of patronage, it became a private residence. about the hotel was reopened as the south boston hotel. from south boston the _golden ball_ rolled back to elm street, and in hung at the entrance of joseph bradley's tavern. from this _golden ball_ started the stages for quebec on mondays at four in the morning. they arrived at concord, n. h., at seven in the evening. leaving there at four tuesday morning, they reached hanover, n. h., at two in the afternoon, and continuing on arrived at haverhill, n. h., near woodsville, at nine wednesday evening. the next appearance of the _golden ball_ was on congress street, where at no. was the new tavern of thomas murphy in . henry cabot, born , was a painter, and first began business at scollay's building in . he removed to blackstone street in , where he was located at various numbers till , when he went to north street. he resided in chelsea from till his death in . the occupation of this owner of the _golden ball_ was that of an ornamental sign and standard painter. his choice of a sign was not according to the traditions of his trade, and did not conform with the painters' arms of the london guild company, which were placed on the building in hanover street by an earlier member of that craft. it was no worse choice, however, than a sign which some of us may recall as swinging on washington street, near dock square, fifty years ago, "the sign of the dying warrior, n. m. phillips, sign painter." the _golden ball_ was the sign anciently hung out in london by the silk mercers, and was used by them to the end of the eighteenth century. mr. cabot's choice of a location to start his business life was more appropriate than his sign, as in the block of shops, owned by the town, connecting on the west side of the scollay's building, had been the paint shop of samuel, brother of christopher gore. coffee urn used in the green dragon. this interesting relic was given to the bostonian society during . it is a coffee urn of sheffield ware, formerly in the _green dragon tavern_, which stood on union street from to , and was a famous meeting place of the patriots of the revolution. it is globular in form and rests on a base, and inside is still to be seen the cylindrical piece of iron which, when heated, kept the delectable liquid contents of the urn hot until imbibed by the frequenters of the tavern. the _green dragon tavern_ site, now occupied by a business structure, is owned by the st. andrew's lodge of free masons of boston, and at a recent gathering of the lodge on st. andrew's day the urn was exhibited to the assembled brethren. when the contents of the tavern were sold, the urn was bought by mrs. elizabeth harrington, who then kept a famous boarding house on pearl street, in a building owned by the quincy family. in the house was razed and replaced by the quincy block, and mrs. harrington removed to high street and from there to chauncey place. some of the prominent men of boston boarded with her for many years. at her death the urn was given to her daughter, mrs. john r. bradford, and it has now been presented to the society by miss phebe c. bradford of boston, granddaughter of mrs. elizabeth harrington. [illustration: map showing location of cole's inn, with which hancock tavern has been confounded dotted lines indicate the present williams court (pie alley)] ix. the hancock tavern. "as an old landmark the _hancock tavern_ is a failure. there was not an old window in the house; the nails were bridgewater nails, the timbers were mill-sawed, and the front of it was of face brick, which were not made even in . at the time of the revolution it was merely a four-room dwelling house of twelve windows, and the first license ever given to it as an inn was in . the building recently demolished was erected during the years to ." with the above words, edward w. mcglenen, city registrar, effectually settled the question june , , at a meeting of the new england historic genealogical society, as to the widely credited report that it was in the _hancock tavern_, which for many years stood on corn court, the members of the boston tea party met, disguised themselves as indians, and from there journeyed to griffin's wharf, where they threw overboard the obnoxious tea. it was a special meeting of the society called to hear the report of a special committee appointed "to consider the question of the circumstances attending the formation and execution of the plans for what is known as the boston tea party." this committee was made up of men who for years had been students of that very subject, and the result of their researches is interesting and conclusive. william c. bates was chairman, and his associates were edward w. mcglenen, the rev. anson titus, william t. eustis, and herbert g. briggs. the members of the society were present in large numbers, and marshall p. wilder hall was well filled. william c. bates, as chairman of the special committee, spoke of the endeavors of himself and colleagues to avoid ground covered by historians. he said that places of rendezvous for the "mohawks" are to some extent known, for over half a dozen of the members have left to their descendants the story of where they met and costumed themselves. the four bradlees met at their sister's house, corner of hollis and tremont streets; joseph brewer and others at the foot of summer street; john crane in a carpenter shop on tremont street opposite hollis; joseph shedd and a small party in his house on milk street, where the equitable building now stands; and james swan in his boarding house on hanover street. in the testimony of the descendants, down to at least, there was no mention of the _hancock tavern_. the place of origin of the tea party and who first proposed it are matters of considerable discussion. many of the party were members of st. andrew's lodge of masons, which owned the _green dragon inn_, and the lodge records state that the meeting held on the night of the tea party had to be adjourned for lack of attendance, "public matters being of greater importance." [illustration: sheffield plate urn used in the green dragon tavern, now in possession of the bostonian society] it is not surprising that so much secrecy has been maintained, because of the danger of lawsuits by the east indian company and others. the members of the st. andrew's lodge were all young, many under twenty, the majority under thirty. mr. mcglenen's report as to his investigations was especially interesting, settling, as it did, three distinct questions which had been undecided for many years--the location of the inn of samuel cole, the location of his residence, and the much mooted point as to whether the "mohawks" met at the _hancock tavern_ for the preparatory steps toward the boston tea party. all three questions were based on a statement printed in the souvenir of the _hancock tavern_, reading as follows: on the south side of faneuil hall is a passageway through which one may pass into merchants' row. it is corn court, a name known to few of the present day, but in the days gone by as familiar as the corn market, with which it was connected. in the center of this court stands the oldest tavern in new england. it was opened march , , by samuel cole. it was surrounded by spacious grounds, which commanded a view of the harbor and its shipping, for at that time the tide covered the spot where faneuil hall now stands. it was a popular resort from the beginning, and was frequented by many foreigners of note. the seeming authority for these statements and others, connecting it with pre-revolutionary events, said mr. mcglenen, appears in _rambles in old boston_ by the rev. e. g. porter, pages and , evidently based on a newspaper article written by william brazier duggan, m.d., in the quincy patriot for august , , and to a novel entitled _the brigantine_ by one ingraham, referring to legendary lore. none of these statements can be confirmed. the confusion has been caused by the statement made many years ago and reprinted as a note in the _book of possessions_, vol. ii, _boston town records_, that somewhere near the water front samuel cole kept an inn; but letchford's _note book_, the _town records_, and the _suffolk deeds_ prove to the contrary. samuel cole's inn was kept by him from to , when he sold out by order of the colony court. he purchased a residence near the town dock seven years later. it adjoined the _hancock tavern_ lot, and was bounded on the west by the lot originally in the ownership of isaac gross, whose son clement kept the _three mariners_, an ale house which stood west of pierse's alley (change avenue) and east of the _sun tavern_. it is impossible to connect the _hancock tavern_ with any pre-revolutionary event. it was a small house, as described in the _direct tax_ of , of two stories, of two rooms each, built of wood, with twelve windows, value $ . it was first licensed in , and the earliest reference found in print is in the advertisement for the sale of lemons by john duggan, in the _columbian centinel_ in . as to cole's inn, from the records of the massachusetts bay colony court, it appears that samuel cole kept the first inn or ordinary within the town of boston. in the court gave him liberty to sell his house for an inn. this he did, disposing of it to robert sedgwick of charlestown, as shown in letchford's _note book_. the town records show that in edward hutchinson, samuel cole, robert turner, richard hutchinson, william parker, and richard brackett were ordered to make a cartway near mr. hutchinson's house, which definitely locates samuel cole on the old highway leading to roxbury, _i.e._ washington street (_town records_, vol. ii, rec. com. report, p. ). the _book of possessions_ shows in the same report that valentine hill had one house and garden bounded with the street on the east, meeting house and richard truesdale on the north, capt. robert sedgwick on the south, and the prison yard west. major robert sedgwick's house and garden bounded with thomas clarke, robert turner and the street on the east, mr. hutchinson on the south, valentine hill on the north, and henry messinger west. valentine hill granted, march , , to william davies, his house and garden bounded on the south with the ordinary now in the possession of james pen (_suffolk deeds_, vol. i, p. ). this presumably is _cole's inn_, then in the possession of robert sedgwick, and occupied by james pen. the question of cole's residence was easily settled by mr. mcglenen, when he read from deeds showing that in valentine hill sold to samuel cole a lot of land near the town dock. samuel cole died in , and in his will left his house and lot to his daughter elizabeth and son john. this property is on the corner of change avenue and faneuil hall square, and is now occupied by w. w. rawson as a seed store. the _hancock tavern_ is a distinct piece of property. mr. mcglenen read from deeds which proved that the land was first owned by john kenerick of boston, yeoman, and was first sold to robert brecke of dorchester, merchant, on january , . it was again sold to thomas watkins of boston, tobacco maker, in ; by him in to james green of boston, cooper; by him to samuel green of boston, cooper, in ; and by him willed to his sons and daughter in . the eastern portion of the original lot (that situated east of the one on which the _hancock tavern_, just demolished, was located) was sold by samuel green's heirs to thomas handasyd peck in . the _hancock tavern_ lot itself was then sold to thomas bromfield, merchant, in february, . the deed says: "a certain dwelling house, with the land whereon the same doth stand." bromfield in sold it to joseph jackson of boston, who owned it at the time of the revolution, and disposed of it on august , , to morris keith, a boston trader. morris keith, or keefe, died in april, , aged , leaving a widow and two children, thomas and mary. the son died in , the widow in , leaving the daughter mary to inherit the property. the inventory describes morris keefe as a lemon dealer, and the house and land in corn court as worth £ . mary keefe married john duggan, may , , and in john duggan was granted a license to retail liquor at his house in corn court. this is the earliest record of a license being granted to the _hancock tavern_, so called. mary duggan deeded the property to her husband in january, , a few weeks before her death. in john duggan married mary hopkins. he died april , , leaving three children--michael, born ; william, born , and john adams, born . mary (hopkins) duggan then married william brazier in . he died ten years later. the record commissioners' reports, no. , page , show the following inventory for : john duggan, owner and occupier; wooden dwelling; west on corn court; south on moses gill; north on james tisdale. land square feet; house square feet; stories, windows; value $ duggan's advertisement in the _columbian centinel_ of october , , reads: latest imported lemons--in excellent order, for sale, by john duggan, at his house, at the sign of gov. hancock outside the market. his address in the boston directory for is: "john duggan, lemon dealer, corn court, s. side market." in , duggan, who is described as an innholder, and his wife deeded this property to daniel english, who, on the same day, deeded it back to john, in order that he might have a clear title. "from these investigations," said mr. mcglenen, "i think it is clear that as an old landmark the _hancock tavern_ is a failure." the rev. anson titus then made his report of personal investigations relating to the tea party itself. he said that the only sure thing is this--that something happened in boston on the evening of december , . beyond this to make statements is dangerous. details of the affair were not subject of public conversation, because of the danger of prosecution and legal action. it was at the very edge of treason to the king. it is certain that there were a great crowd of visitors in boston that night from the country towns who had been informed of what to expect and had come for a purpose. secrecy was the word and obedience was the command. mr. titus quoted from the boston papers of that time and from gov. hutchinson's letters, but declared that it was impossible to learn of the names of the actual members of the party. he said that the "mohawks were men familiar with the vessels and the wharves. it is generally recognized that they were masons." "in conclusion, as we began," he said, "in , as in , very little is known concerning the real participants of the boston tea party. the lifelong silence on the part of those knowing most of the party is most commendable and patriotic. it was a hazardous undertaking, even treason, and long after american independence was gained, if proof which would have had the least weight in court had been found, there would have been claims for damages by the east india company or the crown against our young republic, which would have been obliged to meet them. the affair was a turning point in the history of american liberty, and glad ought we all to be that there is no evidence existing connecting scarcely an individual, the town of boston, or the province with the boston tea party." [illustration: the town of boston before showing the streets mentioned in the book of possessions outline traced from bonner's map details token from the records annie haven thwing © ] list of taverns and tavern owners. this list is taken from miss thwing's work on the _inhabitants and estates of the town of boston, - _, in possession of the massachusetts historical society. there also may be found the authority for each statement and further details. it does not include many inns mentioned in advertisements in the papers of the eighteenth century, nor the names of many licensed innkeepers whose hostelry had no sign. the colony records state that in persons annually licensed in boston to keep taverns and sell beer shall not exceed six wine taverns, ten innholders, and eight retailers for wine and strong liquors out of doors. in , as this was not enough for the accommodation of the inhabitants, the county court licensed five or six more public houses. in all licenses for public houses to be granted only to those persons of good repute, and have convenient houses and at least two beds to entertain strangers and travellers. in boston the approbation of the treasurer must be secured. the regulations of inns are given in detail in the records. =admiral vernon=, see _vernon's head_. =american coffee-house=, see _british coffee-house_. =anchor=, also called =blue anchor=, east side of washington street, between state and water streets (site of the globe building). in the _book of possessions_ richard fairbanks (innkeeper) had house and garden here. in he was licensed to keep a house of entertainment, and in sold his estate to robert turner, who was licensed in , and his widow penelope in . his son john turner inherited, and was licensed in . in george monk on his marriage with lucy, widow of turner, succeeded. monk married a second wife, elizabeth woodmancy, who succeeded him in , and kept the inn until , when she sold the estate to james pitts. in a neighboring estate bounded on the house "formerly the anchor tavern." from james pitts the owners were benjamin bagnal, in - ; william speakman, ; alice quick, who bequeathed to her nephew thomas knight in ; and mary knight was the owner in . =bair=, washington street, between dock square and milk street. in elizabeth davis was licensed at the bair in cornhill. as she was the owner of the bear at the dock this may have been a mistake. =bear=, see _three mariners_. =baker's arms=, in the house of john gill was on the southwest corner of hanover and union streets, "near the baker's arms." this was possibly then the name of the star tavern or the green dragon. =baulston.= william baulston had a grant of land in - on the west side of washington street, between dock square and court street. in june, , he was licensed to keep a house of entertainment. in he sold to thomas cornewell, who was licensed to keep an inn in room of william baulston. in - the property was bought by edward tyng. =bite=, see _three mariners_. =black horse=, prince street. it is commonly asserted that the early name of prince street came from a tavern of that name, but thus far no such tavern has been found on the records. black horse lane was first mentioned in . =black and white horse=, locality not stated. in robert sylvester was licensed. =blue anchor=, washington street, see _anchor_. =blue anchor=, in , "land where the blue anchor was before the fire near oliver's dock." =blue anchor=, locality not stated. in a man lodged at the blue anchor. =blue bell=, west side of union street, between hanover and north streets. in john button conveys to edmund jacklin his house, known as the blue bell. =blue bell=, southwest corner of battery march and water streets. the land on which this tavern stood was originally a marsh which the town let to capt. james johnson in , he to pay an annual amount to the school of boston. part of this land was conveyed by johnson to thomas hull. this deed is not recorded, but in in the deed of richard woodde to john dafforne the west bounds were in part on land now of deacon allen and hugh drury, formerly of thomas hull, the house called the blew bell. in the house was let to nathaniel bishop. in the inventory of the estate of hugh drury in his part is described as one half of that house mr. wheeler lives in and cooper's shop. in the partition of his estate in there was set off to his grandson thomas drury one half of house and land commonly called the castle tavern, the said house and land being in partnership with henry allen. in the division of allen's estate in , the house and land is set off to his widow judith. in judith allen and thomas drury make a division, the west half being assigned to judith allen and the east half to drury. judith allen died in , and in her son henry conveyed to robert williams the westerly part of the estate, consisting of dwelling house, land, and cooper's shop. williams deeds to his son robert williams, and the estate was in the family many years. =brazen head=, east side of washington street, between state and water streets. jan. , , a soldier was taken with the smallpox at widow jackson's at the brazen head. march , , the great fire broke out here. mrs. jackson was not a property owner, but leased the premises. =brewers' arms=, east side of washington street, between bedford and essex streets. in sarah, widow of samuel walker, mortgages the house called the brewers' arms in tenure of daniel elton (innholder). =british coffee-house=, north side of state street, between change avenue and merchants' row. in the _book of possessions_ james oliver was the owner of this estate. elisha cooke recovers judgment against oliver, and sells to nicholas moorcock in . moorcock conveys to charles burnham in , whose heirs convey to jonathan badger in . badger deeds to hannah cordis in "the british coffee-house." in the heirs of badger confirm to joseph cordis "the american coffee-house," and cordis sells to the massachusetts bank in . cord cordis was the innkeeper in and john bryant was licensed in . in this was a brick building, three stories, twenty-six windows, value $ , . =bromfield house=, bromfield street, see _indian queen_. [illustration: bromfield house on the site of the "indian queen" - bromfield street] =bull=, foot of summer street. in the _book of possessions_ nicholas baxter had house and garden here. in he conveyed this to john bull and wife mary, the daughter of his wife margaret. baxter died in , and in his will recites this deed and divides his personal property between his daughter mary, wife of john swett, and john and mary bull. in and mary swett attempted to regain the estate, but bull gained his case each time. john bull died in , and in his son jonathan buys the shares of other heirs. jonathan died while on a visit to england in or , and his will, probated in - , gives one third of his estate to his wife, and two thirds to his children, elizabeth, john, and samuel. both sons died before coming of age, and elizabeth inherited their shares. she married rev. roger price, and they went to england. she died in , and in her eldest son and daughter returned to boston to recover the property which barret dyer, who had married elizabeth, widow of john bull, had attempted to regain. john bull was licensed as innkeeper from to , when his widow mary succeeded. in mr. bean was the landlord, and in the house was let to benjamin bigelow. in william price was the owner and bethia page the occupier. a wooden house of two stories, thirty-one windows, value $ . the site is now covered by the south station. =bunch of grapes=, southeast corner of state and kilby streets. the early possession of william davis, who sold to william ingram in . ingram conveyed "the bunch of grapes" to john holbrook in ; adm. of holbrook to thomas waite in ; waite to simon eliot in ; eliot to leonard jarvis in ; jarvis to joseph rotch, jr., in ; francis rotch to elisha doane, ; his heirs to isaiah doane, . in it was a brick store. june , , francis holmes was the keeper and was to billet five soldiers at his house of public entertainment. in kept by weatherhead, being noted, said goelet, as the best punch house in boston. in one captain and one private soldier to be billeted at weatherhead's. to joseph ingersol licensed. in dudley colman licensed. in james bowdoin bequeathes house called "the bunch of grapes" to his wife. this was on the west corner of kilby and state streets. =castle=, west corner of dock square and elm street. in the _book of possessions_ william hudson, jr., had house and garden here. may , , a street leading from the castle tavern is mentioned (elm street). hudson sold off parts of his estate and in he conveyed to john wing house, buildings, etc., commonly called castle tavern. in wing mortgages to william brown of salem "all his new built dwelling house, being part of that building formerly known as the castle tavern." the estate was forfeited, and in brown conveys to benjamin pemberton mansion heretofore called the castle tavern, since the george tavern, subject to wing's right of redemption. in his will of - john wing devises to his son john wing the housing and land lying near the head of the town dock which he purchased of capt. william hudson, together with the brick messuage, formerly known by the name of the george tavern, which has an encumbrance of pounds, due william browne, now in possession of benjamin pemberton. in wing releases the estate to pemberton. in the heirs of pemberton convey to jonathan waldo, and the succeeding owners were: thomas flucker, ; in the same year it passes to isaac winslow and moses gill; gill to caleb loring, ; nathaniel frazier, ; david sears, ; william burgess, ; nathaniel frazier, ; john and jonathan amory, . in colonel brewer was the occupier. a brick house, two stories, twelve windows, value $ . =castle=, battery march and water streets, see _blue bell_. [illustration: fireman's ticket notifying of meeting at coleman's (bunch of grapes)] =castle=, northeast corner of north and fleet streets. the early possession of thomas savage, john crabtree acquires, and in conveys to bartholomew barnard. barnard sells to edward cock in - ; cock to margaret thatcher, who conveys to william colman in . colman to william everden in - , who mortgages to francis holmes. holmes conveys to john wentworth in . in john wentworth conveys to thomas lee house known as the "castle tavern, occupied by sarah hunt." in thomas love and wife deborah (lee) deed to andrew newell, the "castle tavern," and the same year newell to joseph lee. in joseph lee conveys to joseph austin the "king's head tavern." in owned and occupied by austin. house of three and two stories, twenty-five windows, value $ . =castle=, locality not stated. in adrian, widow of john cunningham, was licensed at the castle, and in mary english. =cole=, samuel cole's inn, west side of washington street, corner of williams court, site of thompson's spa. in - samuel cole set up the first house of common entertainment. in he was licensed to keep an ordinary, and in - had leave to sell his house for an inn to robert sedgwick. in james penn was licensed here. lt. william phillips acquired the property, and in - mortgages "the ship tavern." he conveys it to capt. thomas savage in . the later owners were ephraim savage, - ; zachariah trescott, ; nicholas bouve, ; john comrin, ; jonathan mason, ; james lloyd, , in whose family it remained many years. =concert hall=, south corner of hanover and court streets. in the _book of possessions_ jeremiah houchin had house and garden here. his widow sold to thomas snawsell in , and snawsell to john russell in ; eleazar russell to john gardner and priscilla hunt in - ; the heirs of gardner to gilbert and lewis deblois in ; deblois to stephen deblois in , and he to william turner in ; turner conveyed to john and jonathan amory in . in john amory was the owner and james villa the occupier. a brick house, three stories, thirty windows, value $ . villa had been a tenant, and was licensed as an innkeeper for some years. before it became a tavern the hall was used for various purposes--for meetings, musical concerts, and by the grand masons. =cromwell's head= or =sign of oliver cromwell=, north side of school street. in the _book of possessions_ richard hutchinson was the owner of land here. abraham brown acquired before ; sarah (brown) rogers inherits in - , and in gamaliel rogers conveyed to duncan mcfarland; mary (mcfarland) perkins inherits, and john perkins deeds to joseph maylem in ; john maylem inherits in , and the next owner is elizabeth (maylem) bracket, wife of anthony bracket. in elizabeth bracket was licensed at her house in school street, and joshua bracket was licensed in . in abigail bracket conveyed to john warren, who was the owner in , and henry vose the occupier. a wooden house, three stories, thirty windows, value $ . =crown coffee-house=, north side of state street, the first house on long wharf (site of the fidelity trust co. building). jonathan belcher was a proprietor of long wharf, which was extended from state street in . in his son andrew belcher conveyed to richard smith "the crown coffee-house," smith to robert shellcock in , and the administrator of shellcock to benjamin brown in . in stores covered the site. in thomas selby was licensed as an innholder at the crown coffee-house, and he died here in . in william burgess was licensed, and in and edward lutwych; rebecca coffin; richard bradford; and in rebecca coffin. [illustration] =dolphin=, east side of north street, at the foot of richmond street. nicholas upshall was the owner of the land in . he deeds to his son-in-law william greenough in . henry gibbs and wife mercy (greenough) inherit in - . in - henry gibbs conveys to noah champney "the dolphin tavern." john lowell and wife sarah (champney) inherit, and deed to neil mcintire in , mcintire to neil mcintire of portsmouth in , and he to william welsh in , welsh to prince snow in . in it was a wooden house of two stories and eleven windows, value $ . the dolphin tavern is mentioned by sewall in . in - mercy gibbs was licensed; in alice norwood, and james stevens. =dove, sign of the=, northeast corner of boylston and tremont streets. in the _book of possessions_ thomas snow was the owner, and in he mortgages his old house to which the sign of the dove is fastened. william wright and wife milcha (snow) inherit and in convey to samuel shrimpton, the heirs of shrimpton to adam colson in , colson to william cunningham in , cunningham to francis amory in , amory to joseph head in . =drum, sign of the=, locality not stated. in and mentioned in the _town records_. =exchange=, northwest corner of state and exchange streets. in anthony stoddard and john leverett deed to henry shrimpton house and land. his son samuel inherits in , and in - samuel shrimpton, jr., inherits "the exchange tavern." he mortgages to nicholas roberts in , and the administrators of roberts convey to robert stone in "the royal exchange tavern." in daniel parker and wife sally (stone) convey to benjamin hitchbone. in israel hatch was the occupier. a brick house, four stories, thirty windows, value $ , . in - the exchange tavern is mentioned by judge sewall. in rowland dike petitioned for a license. in seth blodgett was licensed, mr. stone, daniel jones, benjamin loring, john bowers, israel hatch. =exchange coffee-house=, southeast corner of state and devonshire streets. in the _book of possessions_ the land was owned by robert scott. the house was built in and burnt in ; rebuilt in and closed as a tavern in . =flower de luce=, west side of north street, between union and cross streets. in elizabeth, widow of edmund jackson, mortgages her house, known by the name of flower de luce, in tenure of christopher crow. =george=, west side of washington street, near the roxbury line. the land was a grant of the town to james penn in . in he deeds, as a gift, five acres to margery, widow of jacob eliot, for the use of her children. in eliezer holyoke and wife mary (eliot) convey to stephen minot. in - minot petitions for a license to keep an inn or tavern at his house, nigh roxbury gate. this is disapproved. in the george tavern is mentioned. in - samuel meeres petitions to sell strong drink as an innholder at the house of stephen minot, in the room of john gibbs, who is about to quit his license, and in - he was still an innholder there. in simon rogers was licensed. in stephen minot, jr., inherits the george tavern, now in occupation of simon rogers. in - occupied by andrew haliburton. in gideon gardner was licensed. stephen minot, jr., conveys to samuel and william brown in ; william brown to aaron willard in . in thomas bracket was approved as a taverner in the house on the neck called the king's arms, formerly the george tavern, lately kept by mrs. bowdine. aug. , , the george tavern was burnt by the regulars, writes timothy newell in his diary. [illustration: the exchange coffee house, - (congress square)] =george=, corner dock square and elm street, see _castle_. =globe=, northeast corner of commercial and hanover streets. in the _book of possessions_ the estate of william douglass. eliphalet hett and wife ann (douglass) inherit; nathaniel parkman and wife hannah (hett) inherit. in hannah parkman conveys to edward budd; budd to james barnard in . barnard to john greenough in . in the division of the greenough estate this was set off to william and newman greenough. greenough to joseph oliver in . oliver to henry h. williams in . in and the globe tavern is mentioned in the _town records_. =goat=, locality not stated; in mentioned in the inventory of elisha cooke. =golden ball=, northwest corner of merchants' row and corn court. edward tyng was the first owner of the land, theodore atkinson acquired before , and conveys to henry deering in . in part of deering's estate was the house known as the "golden ball," now occupied by samuel tyley. mary (deering) wilson inherits and bequeathes to her niece mary (deering), wife of john gooch. in benjamin gerrish gray and wife mary (gooch) convey to james tisdale house known by the name of the golden ball tavern. in stores covered the site. in samuel tyley petitions for renewal of his license upon his removal from the salutation to mr. deering's house in merchants' row. in it was kept by john marston. =grand turk, sign of=, washington street, between winter and boylston. in israel hatch (innholder). =green dragon=, west side of union street, north of hanover. in the _book of possessions_ james johnson owned three fourths of an acre on the mill pond. the next estate that separated him from hanover street was owned by john davis. in johnson deeds to thomas marshall, and marshall to thomas hawkins. in john davis deeds to john trotman, whose wife katherine on the same day conveys to thomas hawkins. in hawkins mortgages to samson sheafe, and january, - , the property is delivered to sheafe. in - sheafe deeds part to john howlett (see _star tavern_), bounded northwest by william stoughton. no deed is recorded to stoughton. stoughton died in , and this estate fell to his granddaughter mehitable, wife of capt. thomas cooper. she later married peter sargent and simeon stoddard. in her son rev. william cooper conveys the brick dwelling called the green dragon tavern to dr. william douglass. on the division of the estate of douglass this fell to his sister catherine kerr, who in deeds to st. andrews lodge of free masons. in it is described as a brick dwelling, three stories, thirty-nine windows, with stable, value $ . in william patten, late of charlestown, petitions to sell strong drink as an innholder at the green dragon in the room of richard pullen, who hath quitted his license there. =gutteridge coffee-house=, north side of state street, between washington and exchange streets. robert gutteridge was a tenant of hezekiah usher in , and was licensed in . in mary gutteridge petitions for the renewal of her late husband's license to keep a public coffee-house. [illustration: exchange coffee-house, from state street, looking south down congress square] =half moon=, southwest side of portland street. henry pease was the owner of the land in the _book of possessions_. he conveys to thomas matson in , and joshua matson to edward cricke in . in his widow deborah cricke conveys to thomas gwin house commonly called "the half moon." in gwin sells to william clarke. the children of sarah (clarke) kilby inherit and deed to john bradford in . his heirs were owners in . a brick house, two stories, thirty-nine windows, value $ . =hancock=, corn court. this property was acquired by john kendric, who sells to robert breck in - . later owners, thomas watkins , james green , samuel green , thomas bromfield , joseph jackson . jackson deeds to morris keefe in , whose daughter mary, wife of john duggan, inherits in . in it was a wooden house, two stories, twelve windows, value $ . =hatch=, east side tremont street, between west and boylston streets. the land was a grant of the town to richard bellingham in . martin sanders acquires and deeds to Ã�neas salter, and salter to sampson sheaf in . jacob sheaf to abiah holbrook in . adm. of rebecca holbrook to israel hatch in . israel hatch (innkeeper). =hawk=, summer street. in mentioned in the _town records_. =horse shoe=, east side of tremont street, between school and bromfield streets. in the _book of possessions_ this was part of the land of zaccheus bosworth. his daughter elizabeth and her husband john morse convey to john evered, _alias_ webb, in ; webb to william pollard in . john pollard deeds to jonathan pollard in the "horse shoe tavern." in the heirs of pollard convey to george hamblin, who occupied it in . a wooden house, two stories, eleven windows, value $ . in alex cochran was licensed here. =indian queen=, later =bromfield house=, south side of bromfield street. the possession of william aspinwall, who deeds the land to john angier in , and in the same year it passes to sampson shore and theodore atkinson; atkinson to edward rawson in - ; rawson to robert noaxe, ; noaxe to joseph whitney, ; whitney to edward bromfield, ; edward bromfield, jr., to benjamin kent, ; ex. of kent to henry newman, ; newman to john ballard, . in it was occupied by abel wheelock, trask, and brown. a brick and wooden house, two stories, thirty-four windows, value $ , with a stable. =julien restorator=, northwest corner of milk and congress streets. in the _book of possessions_ john spoor had a house and one acre here, which he mortgaged to nicholas willis in . in - henry bridgham sold a house on washington street to john spoore, so it may be possible that they exchanged lots. in bridgham was the owner. he died in , and his widow in . in his estate was divided among his three sons. john, the eldest, settled in ipswich, inherited the new house, and that included the west portion. in he deeds his share to his nephew joseph bridgham, who in - conveys to francis borland, then measuring ft. on milk street. borland also bought a strip of james dalton in , which addition reached the whole length of the lot, which has been abridged by the laying out of dalton's lane (congress street). francis borland died in , and left the milk street estate to his son francis lindall borland, who was absent and feared to be dead. jane borland married john still winthrop, and in the estate was divided among the winthrop children. these heirs conveyed the congress street corner to thomas clement in , and in he sold it to jean baptiste gilbert payplat dis julien (restorator). julien died in , and his heirs conveyed it in to the commercial co. the house was taken down in . in it was a wooden dwelling, three stories, eighteen windows, value $ . [illustration: view of tremont street, showing the "hatch tavern" in front of the "haymarket theatre" from an original painting by robertson, now in the boston public library] =king's arms=, west side of washington street, between brattle and court streets. nearly all of the original lot was taken for the extension of washington street, and the exact location obliterated. it was one of the estates at the head of the dock. in the _book of possessions_, owned by hugh gunnison, who in was licensed to keep a house of entertainment. oct. , , he mortgages the estate called the king's arms, and in conveys it to john samson, henry shrimpton, and william brenton (see _suff. deeds_, lib. , fol. , where there is an interesting and complete inventory). henry shrimpton gets possession of the whole, and in his will, , bequeathes to his daughter sarah shrimpton "the house formerly called the states arms." in - eliakim hutchinson, on his marriage with sarah shrimpton, puts the estate in trust for his wife, "heretofore called the king's arms." he also enlarged the estate by buying adjoining land of the william tyng and thomas brattle estates. by the will of eliakim hutchinson in , and that of his wife in , the whole estate went to their son william hutchinson, who in devised to his son eliakim hutchinson. eliakim still further enlarged the estate. he was a loyalist, and his estate was confiscated. in the government conveyed part of it to thomas green and the remainder to john lucas and edward tuckerman. =king's arms=, west side of north street, between sun court and fleet street. the lot of thomas clarke in the _book of possessions_, which he sold to launcelot baker in , and baker to george halsey in , the trustees of halsey to evan thomas in , "the king's arms." in his widow alice thomas mortgages the house formerly known as king's arms, and she sells it in to joseph bill. =king's arms=, on the neck, see _george_. =king's head=, northeast corner of north and fleet streets, see _castle_. =lamb= and =white lamb=, west side of washington street, between west and boylston streets, on the site of the adams house, the original lot of richard brocket, which he deeds to jacob leger in ; and ann leger, widow, to john blake in ; blake to edward durant in ; durant to jonathan waldo the southern part in - ; jonathan waldo, jr., to samuel cookson in ; cookson to joel crosby in . in joel crosby was the owner and occupier of the lamb tavern. a wooden building of two stories, twenty-four windows, value $ . in it was mentioned in the _town records_, and in augustus moor was licensed there. =lighthouse=, , mentioned in the _town records_. it was not far from the old north meeting house. =lion, sign of=, washington street, between winter and boylston streets. henry vose (innholder). =logwood tree, sign of=, south side of commercial street, between hanover and north streets. the lot of john seabury in the _book of possessions_, which he deeds to alex adams in , adams to nathaniel fryer in - , and fryer to john scarlet in . scarlet to joseph parminter in - . in - hannah emmes, sister of parminter, conveys to john read the house known as the "sign of the logwood tree"; read to thomas bently in , and bently to joshua bently . in it was occupied by captain caswell. a wooden house, two stories, fourteen windows, value $ . in mentioned in the _town records_. see also _queen's head_. [illustration: the lamb tavern (the adams house site)] =marlborough arms= and =marlborough head=, south side of state street, east of kilby street. in william hudson was allowed to keep an ordinary. his son conveys this in to francis smith, and smith to john holland. judith holland conveys to thomas peck in ; thomas peck, jr., to james gibson, . in mary gibson deeds to her children "house named marlborough next the grapes." james gibson to roger passmore, ; passmore to simon eliot, ; eliot to leonard, ; jarvis to benjamin parker, ; john erving acquires and deeds to william stackpole, . in it had been converted into a brick store. elisha odling was licensed in , sarah wormal in , and elizabeth smith . =mitre=, east side of north street, at the head of hancock wharf (lewis wharf), between sun court and fleet street. the lot of samuel cole in the _book of possessions_, which he conveys to george halsey in ; halsey to nathaniel patten, ; patten to robert cox, ; cox to john kind, - ; jane kind to thomas clarke (pewterer), - ; clarke to john jeffries, . his nephew david jeffries inherits in , from whom it went to joseph eckley and wife sarah (jeffries). in heirs of john jeffries owned house "formerly the mitre tavern." in the house had been taken down. =noah's ark=, southwest corner north and clarke streets. the early possession of capt. thomas hawkins. he was lost at sea, and his widow married ( ) john fenn and ( ) henry shrimpton. in william phillips conveys to mary fenn the house called noah's ark, the property of her first husband thomas hawkins, and which her son-in-law john aylett had mortgaged to william hudson, by whom it was sold to william phillips. in mary fenn conveys to george mountjoy, and in mountjoy to john vial. in vial deeds to thomas hutchinson. in the house was known as ship tavern, heretofore noah's ark, in part above and in part below the street called ship street. =north coffee-house=, north street. dec. , , edward morrell was licensed. =north end coffee-house=, northwest side of north street, between sun court and fleet street. the land of capt. thomas clarke in the _book of possessions_. elisha hutchinson and wife elizabeth (clarke) inherit. edward hutchinson conveys to thomas savage in . john savage inherits, and deeds to joseph tahon in , tahon to robert wier in , wier to john may in the "north end coffee-house." in capt. david porter was licensed to keep a tavern at the north end coffee-house. in john may was owner and occupier. a brick house, three stories, forty-five windows, value $ . =orange tree=, northeast corner of hanover and court streets. land first granted to edmund jackson, thomas leader acquires before , and his heirs deed to bozoon allen in . allen conveys in to francis cook "the orange tree inn." benjamin morse and wife frances (cook) inherit. john tyng and wife mary (morse), daughter of benjamin, inherit. john marshall and other heirs of tyng owners in and , when it was unoccupied. a wooden house, three stories, fifty-three windows, value $ . in jonathan wardell, who had married frances (cook), widow of benjamin morse, was licensed, and from to mrs. wardell was licensed. =peacock=, west side of north street, between board alley and cross street, on the original estate of sampson shore, who conveyed to edwin goodwin in , and he to nathaniel adams. in - joseph and other children of nathaniel adams deed to thomas harris house and land near the turkey or peacock. in elihu warden owns a shop over against the peacock tavern. sept. , , thomas lee petitions to keep a victualling house at a hired house which formerly was the sign of the turkie cock. =peggy moore's boarding house=, southwest corner of washington and boylston streets. on the original estate of jacob eliot. his daughter hannah frary inherits, abigail (frary) arnold inherits, and then hannah (arnold), wife of samuel welles. in samuel welles owner, and he with mrs. brown and peggy moore occupiers. a wooden house, two stories, and seventy-one windows, value $ , . =pine tree=, dock square. in capt. benjamin gorham was licensed on dock square, at the house known by the name of the pine tree tavern. gorham bought a house in of john steel tyler and wife mary (whitman), situated on northwest side of north street, between cross street and scott alley, which he sold in to john hinckley. =punch bowl, sign of the=, dock square. mrs. baker (innholder). =queen's head=, fleet street. april , , anthony young petitions to remove his license from the salutation in ship street to the sign of the swan in fleet street, and set up the sign of the queen's head there. nov. , , joseph pearse petitions to remove his license from the house where he lives, the sign of the logwood tree in lynn street, to the house near scarlett's wharf at the sign of the queen's head, where anthony young last dwelt. =red cross=, southwest corner of north and cross streets. in john osborn (innholder) bought land of tolman farr, to whom it had descended from barnabas fawer, who bought it of valentine hill in . the children of osborn sold it in to ichabod jones, whose son john coffin jones inherited. =red lyon=, northeast corner of north and richmond streets. nicholas upshall was the owner in . nov. , , francis brown's house was near the red lyon. joseph cock and wife susannah (upshall) inherit half in , edward proctor and wife elizabeth (cock) inherit in - half of the red lyon inn, john proctor deeds to edward proctor in , proctor to charles ryan in , ryan to thomas kast in , kast to reuben carver in . in william t. clapp was occupier. a brick and wooden dwelling, three and two stories, twenty-four windows, value $ . in mentioned in the _town records_. =red lyon=, washington street, see _lion_. james clark (innholder). =rising sun=, washington street, between school and winter streets. luther emes (innholder). =roebuck=, east side of merchants' row (swing bridge lane) a grant of land to leonard buttles in - . he sold to richard staines in , whose widow joyce hall deeds to thomas winsor in ; winsor mortgages to giles dyer in , who deeds the same year to thomas loring; loring to john barber in ; barber to john pim in . samuel wright and wife mary (pim) inherit. jane moncrief acquires, and conveys to william welch in , welch to william wittington in . in william wittington, jr., was the occupier. house of brick and wood, three stories, nineteen windows, value $ . in elizabeth wittington was licensed as an innholder at the roebuck, dock square. in william wittington at the sign of the roebuck was next to john sheppard. =roebuck=, battery march. july , , house of widow salter at the sign of the roebuck, nigh the south battery. =rose and crown=, southwest corner of state and devonshire streets. thomas matson was an early owner of the land. he deeds to henry webb in , webb to henry phillips in - . his widow mary deeds to her son samuel "the rose and crown" in - , gillum phillips to peter faneuil in , george bethune and wife mary (faneuil) to abiel smith in . in a brick house, three stories, forty-four windows, value $ . dec. , , a lane leading from the rose and crown tavern (devonshire street). =royal exchange=, state street, see _exchange_. =salutation=, northeast corner of north and salutation streets. james smith acquired the land at an early date. he deeds to christopher lawson, and lawson to william winburne in ; winburne to john brookins in "the salutation inn." elizabeth, widow of brookins, married ( ) edward grove, who died in , and ( ) william green. in william green and wife elizabeth convey to william phipps house called the salutation. spencer phipps inherits in , phipps to john langdon in , the heirs of langdon to thomas bradford in , bradford to jacob rhodes in , house formerly "the two palaverers." in it was occupied by george singleton and charles shelton. a wooden house, two stories, thirty-five windows, value $ . in edward grove was licensed, samuel tyley in , elisha odling , john langdon, jr., . in he lets to elisha odling, arthur young , samuel green , edward drinker . in called two palaverers. william campbell licensed , francis wright , thomas bradford , jacob rhodes . =schooner in distress= and =sign of the schooner=, north street, between cross and richmond streets. mentioned in the _town records_. =seven stars=, northwest corner of summer and hawley streets. the possession of john palmer. his widow audrey deeds to henry rust in ; rust to his son nathaniel, - ; nathaniel to robert earle, ; earle to thomas banister, , house being known by the name of seven stars; samuel banister to samuel tilly, ; tilly to william speakman, ; speakman to leonard vassal, ; vassal to john barnes and others for trinity church. =ship=, north street, see _noah's ark_. =ship=, washington street, see _cole's inn_. =ship, sign of=, west side of north street, between sun court and fleet street. the original possession of thomas joy, who sold to henry fane, and fane to richard way in - , thomas kellond , robert bronsdon - , william clarke - , joseph glidden , and his heirs to john ballard . in john ballard was innkeeper here. the executor of ballard conveys to john page, and page to george r. cushing of hingham in . in it was a wooden building, three stories, twenty-nine windows, value $ , and occupied by ebenezer knowlton, ziba french, and john daniels. =shippen's crane=, dock square. john ballard licensed as retailer. =star=, northwest corner of hanover and union streets. the lot of john davis in the _book of possessions_. he deeds to john trotman in , whose wife katherine deeds on the same day to thomas hawkins. in hawkins mortgages to sampson sheafe, and in - the property is delivered to sheafe. - sheafe conveys to john howlet, and in susannah, wife of howlet, deeds to andrew neale. - the heirs of neale deed to john borland house by the name of "the star," now occupied by stephen north and charles salter. john borland inherits . jonathan simpson and wife jane (borland) convey to william frobisher in . in it was a wooden house, two stories, twenty-eight windows, value $ . frobisher and thomas dillaway were the occupiers. the fore street leading to star inn mentioned. house near the star ale house. in john thing was licensed. house formerly the star tavern in union street. =state's arms=, washington street. see _king's arms_. =sun=, faneuil hall square. in the _book of possessions_ edward bendall had house and garden here. he mortgaged to symon lynde, who took possession in . his son samuel lynde inherits in , and his heirs make a division in . joseph gooch and others convey to joseph jackson in the sun tavern. jackson's widow mary inherits in and occupied the house with others in , when it was a brick house, three stories, twenty-two windows, value $ . - street running to the dock by the sun tavern. - now occupied by james meeres. owned by samuel lynde, now in possession of thomas phillips. capt. james day was licensed. =sun=, west side of washington street, between brattle and court streets. in gillum taylor deeds his estate to john hinckley bounded south by the land in possession of benjamin edes, late the sun tavern. =swan=, west side of commercial street, near the ferry. in thomas rucke mortgages his house called the swan, which he bought of christopher lawson in , and he of thomas buttolph, who was the original owner. =swan, sign of the=, see _queen's head_. in fish street (north street) extends to the sign of the swan by scarlett's wharf. =swann=, locality not stated. mentioned in _town records_. =three crowns=, north street, between cross and richmond streets. thomas coppin licensed. mentioned in the _town records_. =three horse shoes=, west side of washington street, between school and bromfield streets. the original possession of william aspinwall, who deeds land to john angier in . the heirs of edmund rangier to william turner in . turner to george sirce in . william gatcomb and wife mary (sirce) inherit. in philip gatcomb mortgages house known by the sign of the three horse shoes; william gatcomb to gilbert deblois, jr., in ; lewis deblois to christopher gore, ; gore to james cutler and jonathan amory, ; cutler to jonathan amory, jr., . =three mariners=, south side of faneuil hall square. the original possession of isaac grosse. thomas grosse conveys to joseph pemberton in , and joseph to benjamin pemberton in - "the three mariners." in - occupied by edward bedford. in the executor of benjamin pemberton deeds to benjamin davis the house known by the name of the "three mariners." in the house of elizabeth, widow of benjamin davis, known as "bear tavern," conveyed to henry whitten, whitten to john hammock in - , ebenezer miller and wife elizabeth (hammock) to william boyce in , boyce to william stackpole in the house known as the "bear tavern." in it was a wooden house, three stories, fourteen windows, value $ , and occupied by peter richardson. in the nineteenth century it was known as the "bite." =three mariners=, at the lower end of state street. thomas finch licensed. [illustration: the sun tavern (dock square) about ] =turkie cock=, see _peacock_. =two palaverers=, see _salutation_. =union flag=, battery march. william hallowell's house, known by the name of union flag. possibly not a tavern. =vernon's head= and =admiral vernon=, northeast corner of state street and merchants' row. the early possession of edward tyng, who sold to james everill - , and he to john evered _alias_ webb in . webb conveyed to william alford in . peter butler and wife mary (alford) inherit, and deed to james gooch in . in john gooch conveys to tuthill hubbard the "vernon's head." in it was a brick store. in richard smith was licensed, thomas hubbard . in william taunt, who has been at the admiral vernon several years, prays for a recommendation for keeping a tavern at the large house lately occupied by potter and gregory near by. sarah bean licensed , nicholas lobdell and , john bryant . =white bear, sign of=, location not stated. mentioned in the _town records_. =white horse=, west side of washington street, between west and boylston streets. land owned by elder william colburne in the _book of possessions_. moses paine and wife elizabeth (colburne) inherit. thomas powell and wife margaret (paine) inherit. in powell conveys to thomas brattle the inn known as the white horse. william brattle mortgages to john marshall in , and marshall deeds to jonathan dwight in . william bowdoin recovers judgment from dwight and conveys to joseph morton in ; morton to perez morton, . in it was occupied by aaron emmes. a wooden house, two stories, twenty-six windows, value $ . in thomas chamberlain was licensed, william cleeres in , mrs. moulton , israel hatch , joseph morton , aaron emmes . =white horse, sign of the=, cambridge street, near charles river bridge. moses bradley (innkeeper). [illustration: the town of boston in _new england_ by cap{t} john bonner ] footnotes: [ ] cordis's bill for a dinner given by governor hancock to the fusileers at this house in is a veritable curiosity in its way:-- £ s. p. bowls of punch dinners bottles of sherry brandy [ ] a punch-bowl on which is engraved the names of seventeen members of the old whig club is, or was, in the possession of r. c. mackay of boston. besides those already mentioned, dr. church, dr. young, richard derby of salem, benjamin kent, nathaniel barber, william mackay, and colonel timothy bigelow of worcester were also influential members. the club corresponded with wilkes, saville, barré, and sawbridge,--all leading whigs, and all opponents of the coercive measures directed against the americans. [ ] liberty tree grew where liberty tree block now stands, corner of essex and washington streets. [ ] the name of a room at julien's. transcriber's notes: passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}.